"And, who are you?"

This was the question posed at the beginning of a sermon given by the Berlin/Brandenburg District Superintendent, Christian Voller-Morgenstern, at a worship service in Kreuzberg earlier this month. You know when you are at holiday parties and people come up and ask you, “And, who are you?”. I had to laugh, as this question, simply in the disguise of another question – “What do you do?” – had plagued my four years in Washington, DC. The question(s) is not necessarily meant to offend, but there also isn’t really a good answer to such a question, particularly in speaking with someone who you are just meeting for the first time.

Where do I start? We are all accustomed to answer with qualifiers, attributes, associations and relational ordering. I am a sister. I am from Rochester, NY. I am a social worker. I am a Christian. I am an American. I am white.

Yes, these answers – what I do, what I look like, what my relationships are, what I believe, and what citizenship I hold – are all components of who I am, but they fail to answer the root question of ‘who I am.’ The question ‘Who are you’ demands a deeper analysis, a deeper answer. Although my identity is on the one side comprised of how I self-identify and the labels to which I self-ascribe, it is also shaped by how I present myself and how others see and perceive me in response. While one attribute of my identity may vary, such as a change in my citizenship, this change in identity does not, in actuality, change who I am. Yes, with a different citizenship, everything would be different, but everything would also be the same. I would still be who I am.

Although race, ethnicity, career, sexual orientation, education level and marital status are all components of one’s identity, none of them alone describe who a person is. I am neither the passport I carry in my pocket nor the work that I do. Yes, these are formative in making me who I am, but they are not the final deciding variable in who I am.

Identity is a topic that seems to pop-up everywhere in my life recently. Sitting with my work colleagues after our Christmas party with the children and youth at the Kindertreff a few weeks ago, we got to talking about identity. Identity comes up frequently in our discussions with the youth at the Kindertreff, as well, because they often find themselves living between or without identity.

As someone who tends to research, analyze, and contemplate the social, class, and racial conditions of those around me, anyways, I find it really interesting to internally reflect on the same issues. I have taken numerous university courses on issues of identity and have found some pretty interesting stuff in my research on issues of identity for migrants, for Muslims, and for those with 'migration background’ here in Germany.

Being abroad, it is interesting to note how predominant one’s citizenship and nationality come to serve as a dominant factor of identity, particularly in answering the question, ‘Who are you?’. I would never describe myself as a typical American. I fulfill almost none of the awaited stereotypes or clichés, much to the disappointment of those whom I meet. Yes, of course, being an American outside of the U.S. already makes me an exception. But, not only do I not eat American fast food, particularly from McDonald’s, I do not drink Starbuck’s coffee, or constantly have a bottle of Coca-Cola within arm’s reach.

To the disappointment of many of the children and youth with whom I work, I do not even watch television, am not up on my Hollywood movies and actresses and actors, and am not best friends with Justin Bieber (which is good, since he is actually from Canada, anyways). I don’t really care about American sports either, and if that doesn’t make me un-American, then I am not sure what does.

However, there are other ‘American’ things that slowly, I realize, have become more important to me, particularly the longer I am away. For example, the progression of American holidays (even the ones I previously considered irrelevant) and the current stand of the American university semester serve as key markers of time and time progression. And American politics remains an important, albeit frustrating, topic that I follow as closely as possible regardless of where I live.

And food. I don’t necessarily eat McDonald’s or a lot of pizza or hamburgers, anyways, and the staple American consummation of peanut butter has been substituted by the superior Turkish hazelnut butter, but I do stand strong on my love of cookies, muffins, and brownies. And, no, I am not sure that October 31^st can come and go without eating some Resse’s Peanut Butter Cups and candy corn, nor that the last Thursday in November can pass without some pumpkin pie or the acceptable equivalent.

But still, even in a foreign country, I cannot answer the question, ‘Who are you?’ with ‘I am an American.’. Who I am is much more complex than that.

During the sermon where this question was addressed, the District Superintendent posed the possibility of answering with, “I am a child of God.” Although we had to laugh a bit, simply considering the reactions that one would receive if one began answering in such a way in today’s secular society, there is some value in such an answer. While other variables of our identity may fluctuate, we remain the same. We remain children of God.

“And, who are you?” “I am a child of God. And so are you.”