J.C. Newton

To be honest, I fear running into old friends. It’s a senseless phobia that terrifies the senses at the very thought of having to explain my life’s journey over the past 10, 15 or 20 years of my life. My fear goes something like this…

Imagine you see somewhat familiar face picking produce in a local grocery store. You cannot remember their name off hand, but they look oh-so-similar to someone you knew long ago. Now imagine that they spot you from the distance, uncomfortably hurry your way, then strike up an excited conversation. 

“Hey, John!” They might start (Unless your name isn’t John, of course. That would be awkward…). “Long time, no see! How are you??” 

You politely answer back, still forgetting their name or the context of your former relationship, “Hey! I’m great. How are you?” They reply, (internally wondering why you didn’t use their name…) and then they ask the inevitable question: “What are you doing these days?” 

My initial reaction is usually to deflect their question by wittily describing my current shopping activity, the local weather, and anything else that would suffice as small talk. But I know that they don’t want to know what I’m doing today. They probably want to know what I’m doing for a living, you know, my job. 

“So, did you ever become that broadcasting icon that you wanted to become in college?”

“Ummm… well… no. Not exactly.”

“So, what are you doing these days?”

“Well, it’s a long story, my friend…”

Since no life follows a straight line of “flawless reason >> results in deliberate action >> bringing expected result,” describing how I came to live in Fayetteville, Arkansas would just take too long. It looks as twisted as my spine. What defined one stage of your life (the biggest influence/decision/ambition) may not define the next stage. Sometimes I wish I could just hand people a short book about my life since, say, college. But that would certainly be way too impersonal! 

I’m in a season of my life during which I’m struggling every day with the question of identity. As a Christian, I know two things for certain: 1.) who I am in Christ and 2.) that my wife, family and close friends dearly love me. But who am I in this world? What do I do? What am I worth? Can you relate to my struggle? I’d love to say simply that I am John Newton, a _________ (insert occupation, i.e. “farmer, baker, candlestick maker”). But I cannot. My life keeps changing, it seems, making definition difficult. Gosh, I never thought I would be permanently disabled by the age of 40, unemployed, a former everything, currently starting a ministry, and taking life one day at a time. How do I explain that? 

My struggle for identity always comes up when I meet new people. In the past year I have become part of two churches, one in Louisiana and one here in Arkansas. In each church I have had to make a lot of introductions to new faces — the first step of getting to know people. I don’t know if you have noticed this, too, but I find that our way of initially getting to know people usually begins with two questions, 

1.) What is your name?

2.) What do you do?

I think we choose these two questions because we live in a world of instant identity. Our society values us on what we do and, ultimately, whether or not that occupation is of value to the rest of society. “I run a Fortune 500 company” is a good answer. “I hug trees for a living” is just plain silly. More than a decade ago there was a great show on Discovery Channel called “Dirty Jobs,” in which the host, Mike Rowe, highlighted the unglamorous, mucky, thankless occupations and passions that make our world go around. In each episode, Rowe was showing how even the most mundane tasks allow for an organized, fruitful society. Garbage compactor may not sound glorious, but it is a necessary task to maximize landfill space and extend the use of a trash dump. Even mundane jobs have value to society.

But what about those of us who cannot work a 9-to-5 job? I get paid nothing. Am I then worth nothing?

My life has changed so much during my adult years that I don’t know how the world’s system classifies me. When I was a newspaper journalist, my identity was as a journalist. I carried my Associated Press card with pride and smiled with pride every time my byline was in the paper. I have boxes and boxes of newspapers as proof that I was “a someone.” When I became a seminary student, my identity was as an academic and a journalist. I added “minister” as I got more involved in my church. I dropped one job, then graduated from school, finally leaving “pastor” as my identity. My occupation. My calling. In 2006 that changed and I switched to communications specialist and graphic designer. In 2011-2012, I was a missionary-in-training. Late in 2012, my life permanently changed with my disability and I haven’t had an occupational identity since. Five years is a long time for a man to wonder about what he does, can do and should do.

And so, when people ask me, “What do you do?” my answer is convoluted or confusing. I feed birds, water plants, blog every now and again, encourage the weary, love my wife, help her to see God in our daily lives, make her laugh and try to display God’s strength through my physical weakness. Is that an occupation? This is my struggle. 

Identity. Who are you? Who am I? What do you do? Do you have an hour so I can explain what I do? 

As I read the New Testament, especially the letters of Paul, there is little ink spent on the subject of occupational identity and a lot of type concerning your personal identity. In fact, the space that concerns jobs usually refers to one’s attitude towards work. Work hard, as if for the Lord. Obey your master, as if for the Lord. If you have the ability, then work. But know that the Lord is interested in your heart first, for from your heart comes the rest of your ways — your attitudes and actions. 
In my heart I know that if I seek the Lord first and let His Spirit direct my steps, then I will do what is pleasing in His sight. My identity will be found as a man who seeks Him and knows Him and follows Him and loves Him. But I also know that the world will not understand this identity because it does not know Him. It will see this life as foolishness. 

In my heart I long for that kingdom ideal of being known for your character more than (or rather than) for your occupation. Being regarded as a man of prayer is far superior than being a man of property, for example. When God the Father looks down on you and me, He doesn’t regard us for being a “farmer, baker or candlestick maker” but instead “a son, a daughter… a beloved.” I hold on to this identity with great zeal, even as I struggle to explain what I do for a living — what defines me to the world. What do I strive to do? I strive to love the Lord my God fully and to invest in people’s lives for the glory of God and advancement of His Kingdom. I like that identity.