names

I just sent off the second of two Very Important Applications for history job openings in the region (whew!). This recent activity has caused me to ponder the presence of my name on this blog. I have considered abbreviating or obscuring my identity to camouflage my postings, concerned that if someone did a Google search they would find that I was a person of faith and that this would bias their evaluation of my academic credentials.

A quick search has revealed that I share my name with a British chiropractor, at least 5 people in Kentucky and a voice-over actor known for "posh" characters, but does not appear to immediately generate a listing for this blog, which I suppose reduces the need for concern. In any event, I'd imagine that if one searched long enough a reference to my work at church or my coming articles in The Little Lutheran would expose me. In any event, my name is staying where it is.

I enjoyed this posting by a fellow blogger about the way we don masks to disguise various aspects of ourselves and our lives, and it caused me to reflect upon how easy it is to present myself differently in different situations. I am a serious historian; I am a mother and wife; I am a person of faith. It can become difficult to maintain a fully realized identity that incorporates each of these important aspects of my character. I have heard stories of young women who remove their wedding rings before academic job interviews to avoid the judgment that they'll shortly be headed off on maternity leave. This judgment isn't legal, of course, but the perception remains that they'll be passed over in favor of someone who doesn't present such a "risk." It hadn't occurred to me before the friend shared this story ever to consider removing my rings. They've been there over 11 years; an eagle-eyed interviewer would see the indentation anyway. Regardless, I would never sacrifice this element of my identity. That feels untrue to who I am and untrue to my husband, even though we're happy with our family as it stands and committees needn't "worry" about my maternity leave risk.

Similarly, I feel an impulse to hide my faith lest it unfairly characterize my identity. My faith is central to my identity. It is my personal, deeply felt--and seriously considered--relationship with my God and with the world around me. It is not, however, reducible to any of the stereotypical tropes so often associated with American Christianity. It can be hard to be Lutheran in a world of 5-second sound bites, because the simple (and, paradoxically, complex -- we Lutherans love paradox) truth is that faith always is more complicated than that. Or, at least, it should be. (Note that while I use the term "Lutheran," this applies equally to many, many Christians -- more than are generally given credit.)

My Christianity does not mean I will vote a certain way, or adhere to a specific slate of policy positions. It does not mean I will judge others, browbeat or shy away from the rich tapestry of a life of shared and contested ideas. It does mean I spend time thinking about the ultimate questions of our existence, and that I have come to some conclusions about what existence means for me. It does mean that I believe in truth and in justice, although I recognize that good people differ about the specific implications of these terms. It means I have accepted my human shortcomings and accepted the gift of grace, freely given. It means I will continue to search, and question, and doubt, even as I strive to live a life worthy of the gift I have been given.

We all have beliefs. Those beliefs differ. These beliefs are mine. As Uncle Marty would say, here I stand; I can do no other. God help me. Amen.