Read Abba's Child: The Cry of the Heart for Intimate Belonging for Free Online

quest for carnal satisfaction. His bandages are his identity. Appearances are everything. He convolutes esse quam videri (to be rather than to seem to be) so that “seeming to be” becomes his modus operandi .
    Midway through reading a newly published book, I noticed that the author had quoted something I had written previously. Instantly I felt a flush of gratification and a rush of self-importance. As I turned to Jesus in prayer and contacted my true self, the ubiquitous impostor was exposed anew.
    “Every one of us is shadowed by an illusory person: a false self,” Thomas Merton observed. He went on to explain.
    This is the man I want myself to be but who cannot exist, because God does not know anything about him. And to be unknown of God is altogether too much privacy. My false and private self is the one who wants to exist outside the reach of God’s will and God’s love   —outside of reality and outside of life. And such a self cannot help but be an illusion. We are not very good at recognizing illusions, least of all the ones wecherish about ourselves   —the ones we were born with and which feed the roots of sin. For most people in the world, there is no greater subjective reality than this false self of theirs, which cannot exist. A life devoted to the cult of this shadow is what is called a life of sin. [5]
    Merton’s notion of sin focuses not primarily on individual sinful acts but on a fundamental option for a life of pretense. “There can only be two basic loves,” wrote Augustine, “the love of God unto the forgetfulness of self, or the love of self unto the forgetfulness and denial of God.” The fundamental option arises from the core of our being and incarnates itself in the specific choices of daily existence   —either for the shadow self ruled by egocentric desires or for the true self hidden with Christ in God.
    It is helpful to understand that not all human acts proceed from the core of our being. For instance, a husband makes a sincere choice in his marriage vows to love and honor his wife. But one hot summer day, he loses his cool and gets into a blistering argument with her. Yet he does not retract his choice, because the anger arises from the periphery of his personality, not from the depth of his soul. The act does not touch the heart of his existence or represent a total commitment of his person.
    Impostors draw their identity not only from achievements but from interpersonal relationships. They want to stand well with people of prominence because that enhances a person’s résumé and sense of self-worth.
    One lonely night in the Colorado Rockies, I heard this message: Brennan, you bring your full presence and attention to certain members of the community but offer a diminished presence to others. Those who have stature, wealth, and charisma   —those you find interesting or charming or pretty or famous   —command your undivided attention, but people you consider plain or dowdy   —those of lesser rank performing menial tasks, the unsung and uncelebrated   —are not treated with the same regard. This is not a minor matter to me, Brennan. The way you are with others every day, regardless of their status, is the true test of faith.
    Later in the evening as I dozed off, contrasting images danced on the screen of my mind: Carlton Hayes, a magnificently chiseled athlete in his early twenties, six feet three, 185 pounds, bounces on a trampoline flashing an irresistible Crest-white smile. A crowd has gathered. He switches to skipping rope   —a dazzling display of coordination, agility, and grace. The onlookers cheer. “Praise God,” the athlete shouts.
    Meanwhile, Moe, someone from his retinue of attendants, approaches with a glass of Gatorade. In his early fifties, Moe is five feet four and paunchy. He wears a rumpled suit, shirt open at the collar, tie askew. Moe has a thinning sliver of matted hair extending from his temples to the back of his head, where it disappears