Like, say, am I a real Virginian? Every once in a while, folks will make the claim that living inside Beltway doesn’t qualify a person as Virginian, that coming from the frenetically paced crucible of this region effectively de-Virginia-izes a soul. “Northern Virginia just isn’t Virginia,” some might say. “You’re not a real Virginian if you’re from Northern Virginia.”
I would argue to the contrary, and as evidence could present my having lived within the boundaries of the great state of Virginia for the vast supermajority of my life. I attended elementary, middle, and high school in Virginia. I am a graduate of the University of Virginia. I’ve been a Virginia taxpayer since I was 16 and working at a movie theater, and have paid taxes to the state of Virginia from every paycheck I’ve ever received, Lord help me. Not enough? I share a birthday with General Robert E. Lee, who…as the commanding general of the Army of Northern Virginia…might look askance at anyone who suggested Northern Virginia wasn’t Virginia. Lee, of course, was so Virginian that he kinda sorta forgot to be American, so more pointedly, am I a real American?
I was born in this nation’s capital, a citizen by birth, the child of two citizens whose lineage goes back a nontrivial distance. On my father’s side, I go back to the tide of Welsh and Scots-Irish immigration in the late 19th and early 20th century. On my mother’s side, I can trace my blood lineage all the way back to a man named Richard Howland, who came over as a bondservant on the Mayflower.
But does that make me any more American than someone who…of their own volition and with intent…took the Oath of Allegiance yesterday?
I would, obviously, say no. There is no difference, other than the significantly higher effort the naturalized citizen put into the process. If America is not a land of ideals, then it is nothing.
As a Christian, the answer to that question is also pretty straightforward. We’re not Christian by blood or heritage, but by faith and a personal commitment to do what Jesus has asked of us.
The Apostle Paul reminds us of this, every time we read him.
In his letter to the church at Phillipi, the most influential early follower of Jesus, whose energy and dynamism were absolutely central to the spread of the faith...and he’s the dude who takes no salary as a point of pride. Oh sure, it’s fine for some, he says. If people really need it. But for me? I’m not going there.
And that’s in the face of a set of credentials that was as impressive as anything the early Christian movement could have expected.
The funny thing about Paul sharing this list of credentials with the folks at Philippi was that they kind of already knew him, and knew him well. It was a church that he himself had founded, likely in around the year 50 in the Common Era. The short letter he wrote to them reflected their relationship, and that relationship was a good one.
The letter reflects that. It’s an expression of the love he felt for the community there, particularly as they had supported him through times of challenge. This letter was written during one of Paul's many imprisonments, most likely written from jail in Rome in the early 60s.
Paul thanks them for both their material support during his incarceration, but also for their prayers and care. What makes this sweet little thank you note so interesting theologically is its focus on expressing the nature of Jesus of Nazareth, and particularly the humility and self-giving nature of Christ. That's the focus of the well known hymn to Christ in Philippians 2:5-11, in which Paul encourages his readers to empty themselves of themselves, and be humble even in the face of their newly found connection to God.
In Philippians 3, Paul offers up something similar, but with a more pointed focus. Paul knew his background and his heritage, and recounted it to the folks at Philippi as a way of reminding them what mattered. In every way, he had done what he needed to do to be an identitarian. He’d studied the Torah and the Prophets ferociously, training at the feet of Gamaliel, grandson of Hillel, and one of the most renowned rabbis of that era.
There was very little doubt of Paul’s skill, training, and blood heritage. He had prepared himself in every conceivable way for leading a Jewish community. That was not the life he ended up living. Having had a powerful and transforming experience of Christ, Paul found himself radically changing the arc of his life.
What mattered was the transformative relationship he had with that odd man from Nazareth. It’s the kind of relationship that knocks you to the ground and blinds you, that shatters everything you thought you knew about yourself, and every preconceived notion you have about who you are.
Paul’s faith in the justice, grace, mercy, and love of Christ was what defined his life, and what gave him value. It is that relationship that allowed Paul to endure, and to press on through the considerable trials and difficulties of his existence, certain that there was a purpose to his life.
The other stuff? It helped, without question. Paul’s deep cultural knowledge of the Hebrew bible did sort of come in handy later on. But for all of his training and all of his experience, Paul completely rejected the idea that those things had any value.
What mattered was that his life had been utterly upended by the shattering grace of Jesus. Did it matter who he was and what his lineage was? Did blood or soil mean anything to Paul at all? Nope.
Ethnonationalism, heritage, and lineage also meant exactly jack-squat to Jesus, and there is no honest and plain-text reading of the Gospels that would suggest otherwise.
Strange that some of us seem to have so much trouble grasping that.
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