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The phrase “I am who I am” is a translation of the Hebrew verb “ehyeh asher ehyeh” (אהיה אשר אהיה) in Exodus 3:14, where God speaks to Moses from the burning bush. This verse is often referred to as the “I Am Who I Am” or “I Am That I Am.” This declaration conveys God’s self-existence, His eternal and unchangeable nature, and His supreme sovereignty over all creation. It’s a profound statement of identity that not only highlights God’s transcendence but also His intimate involvement with humanity. This name sets the stage for the personal relationship God desires with His people, and it’s echoed in the New Testament when Jesus uses “I am” statements, linking His divinity directly to the God of Moses, affirming His role in the divine plan of salvation.
The deeper meaning behind Yahweh’s declaration, “I Am Who I Am,” has always echoed in my soul, prompting me to ponder, why am I who I am? I am not self-existent, unchanging, or sovereign in any measure. Why did Christ choose me? Or was it I who chose Him? These questions, I’ll save for another day, for now, let’s talk about how I arrived here, how the Lord led me to this very moment.
The Beginning
Believe it or not, it all commenced at my birth… I entered this world into what I’d describe as a “lukewarm” Lutheran family. Consequently, I was baptized as an infant in my local LCMS church. Many would argue that this was the moment I became a Christian. Reflecting on it now, I see the grace and sovereignty that ultimately guided me to that precise moment.
But does the story end there… Wow, baptized as an infant—hooray! Article over, let’s move on to something more pressing. Yet, we all know life isn’t that straightforward. Especially in modern-day America, we’re immersed in a secular, godless society. It’s as if God has been removed from the equation, substituted by the gods of this world—woke ideology, abortion, environmentalism, and the like. Given this, we must ask, how does the narrative unfold from here…
While I was still young, my parents went through a divorce. In hindsight, I recognize the tremendous impact it had on me. It made attending church much harder and less frequent. As a result, my father stopped going to church altogether; in fact, until he met my now step-mom, I can recall only a handful of times when he actually attended a church. My mother’s side was different. My grandfather was deeply invested in my spiritual growth, and because of his commitment, he encouraged my mom to take us (my sisters and I) to church. His relentless advocacy for our faith eventually led to my Confirmation.
For those unfamiliar, here’s a quick rundown on Lutheran confirmation: It’s a pivotal rite of passage where young individuals publicly affirm their baptismal promises. The preparation typically includes catechism classes where they learn Lutheran doctrine, often from Luther’s Small Catechism, and might involve mentorship or community service. On the day of Confirmation, the confirmands take part in a church service where they could be quizzed on their faith, reaffirm their baptism, receive the laying on of hands by a pastor or bishop, and are blessed. They’re given certificates and often receive gifts like Bibles or crosses. However, I went through my confirmation without really absorbing much of it.
I’ll circle back to that, but let’s take a brief detour to my father’s side of the family. On that side, I was fortunate to have my other grandfather. For the purposes of this article, I’ll refer to my grandfather on my father’s side as Morgan, and on my mother’s side as John. My Grandpa Morgan had a quite different faith, for most of my life, he was part of the Methodist church, though he later leaned more towards Evangelical and Reformed theology. He and my grandma placed high importance on my spiritual growth. They would take my sister and I to various youth programs and other church events when we were out and about.
Looking back, here’s how I’d describe my grandfathers: Grandpa Morgan was all about personal faith, stressing the importance of prayer and study. Conversely, Grandpa John was more centered on devotion, ensuring I had some grounding in the Christian faith. Clearly, these aspects overlap and are deeply interconnected. But as of now, that’s how I’ll characterize them.
Honestly, I spent most of my life simply believing that God exists and that Jesus was God. I assumed most people held this belief. But in retrospect, my perspective has shifted. I now recognize the shallow or false professions of faith. To sum up my childhood, I grew up with a superficial and uninformed faith, one that I now refer to as the “My Buddy Jesus” faith. Neither I nor anyone in my immediate family—my father, mother, or siblings—truly grasped our faith. This lack of understanding would become extremely evident later on.
Before continuing to the turning point of my faith, there’s a childhood memory I can’t forget, for good reason. This memory is from when I was around 7 or 8 years old, during Halloween. My friends and I were playing in the backyard when we stumbled upon a goodie bag full of candy. We shared some of it and continued playing. Later that night, I was gripped by a fear unlike any other. My father had previously instilled in me the fear of God by warning me never to eat random candy because it might be poisoned. Reflecting on that incident, I was convinced I was going to die. Too scared to tell my mother, I turned to the only one I could—God. I prayed for hours, crying, and sobbing, pleading with God not to let me die because I wasn’t ready. In that moment of desperation, I made an oath to God. I promised Him that I would live the rest of my life for Him. What that fully entails, I’m still discovering.
How seriously God takes an oath from a 7-year-old, I’m not certain. But what I do know is that somehow, I’ve ended up here… writing this article. Is God holding me to my oath, nudging me, ensuring I keep my end of the bargain? I’ll leave that for you to decide. Either way, I believe we’re ready to discuss the turning point of my faith.
The Turning Point
When I was a teenager, my grandpa John suffered a heart attack. This incident led to my family attending church less frequently. I remember sensing something was off, though at the time, I couldn’t pinpoint what. Once my grandfather was able to drive again, our routine shifted; we began going to church, then golfing. It became our weekly ritual, mine and grandpa John’s. As the English poet Geoffrey Chaucer would say, “All good things must come to an end.” My grandfather, a lifelong smoker, was now being consumed by his habit. Interestingly, when he passed away, a key thought crossed my mind: There goes the foundation… the foundation of my family’s faith.
Around this time, we learned that my grandpa Morgan had been diagnosed with cancer. We all held faith that he would recover after his treatment… but that wasn’t to be. I watched as he gradually weakened, day by day, as the cancer gained ground. Eventually, hope faded. We knew he was going to pass away, and he did. There’s much more to this story, but it’s deeply personal, and I’d rather keep those details to myself for the meantime.
Interestingly, that same thought I had when my grandpa John passed away echoed in my mind again, this time with even greater implications. There goes the foundation… the foundation of my family’s faith… the foundation of my faith. You see, it was my two grandfathers who were the real driving force behind my family’s faith. They were the ones everyone turned to, followed, and depended on. Now, with both gone, the question loomed large: Who was going to take up the mantle, fill the gap, who would step into their shoes?
I spent a year not thinking much about it, watching as my family’s faith crumbled. No one stepped up to take the mantle. It was during this time that I began to ask deeper questions. It was odd, like something had awakened within me… There was no apparent external trigger, just a kind of sudden realization. All at once, I was hit with profound questions: “Do aborted babies go to hell?”, “Do I have free will?”, “Why does God allow bad things to happen?”, “Can I trust the Bible?”, “Did Jesus actually die for me?” These are just a few of the questions that raced through my mind. When I brought them to my mother—nothing; to my father—nothing. No one around me could provide answers. I was, as the kids say today, deconstructing my faith.
This naturally led me straight to the Bible. I began to actually read it, searching for answers. It took time, but gradually I started to find them. My passion for my faith ignited. Up until this point, I might have read perhaps 10 books total, which is pretty sad, I know. But suddenly, I became absorbed with everything related to religion. I attempted to refute Christian claims, but I failed. I discovered my answers and so much more. Christianity consistently seemed to hold its ground against the ideas and philosophies of atheism, agnosticism, and all other worldviews.
At this point, I stopped attending my LCMS church. I had taken my questions to my pastor, only to receive what I perceived as lackluster “answers.” Because of this, I began to see the Lutheran faith as weak; Lutherans couldn’t answer my questions. So, I started looking elsewhere, which led me to some unexpected places. Let’s explore some of them.
The Hebrew Roots Movement
Many of you follow me on 𝕏.com and have probably noticed that my name is “Gabe | גַּבְרִיאֵל”, where the Hebrew translates to Gabriel. But why Hebrew? Am I a Jew? No, I am not. You see, I joined a Discord community, which I’ll keep anonymous for now. The community was supposed to be all about Bible study, and to their credit, it was. However, many of the people involved were either directly or indirectly associated with the Hebrew Roots Movement (HRM).
For those unfamiliar with the HRM, here’s a quick rundown: The Hebrew Roots Movement is an effort to return to what it believes are the original Hebrew roots of Christianity. It advocates for adherence to the Torah (Mosaic Law), which includes observing the Sabbath, biblical feasts, and dietary laws, asserting that Jesus (Yeshua) did not abolish but rather renewed this covenant. Followers of HRM often adopt Jewish customs, learn Hebrew, and may reject traditional Christian holidays, considering them to be influenced by pagan practices. They often lack a centralized structure, leading to a wide range of beliefs and practices. While it emphasizes understanding the New Testament from a Jewish perspective, it’s criticized for it’s misinterpretations regarding Christian doctrine on salvation and the role of the law.
For those curious, I do have plans to write articles critiquing the HRM, given the lack of resources available on the subject.
Getting back on track, this group was actually quite beneficial for me initially. They challenged my understanding of scripture and taught me some Hebrew, but in the end, we couldn’t reconcile on several key issues. There’s only so long you can debate before you need to move on. At the time, I didn’t realize they were part of the HRM, which I now regard as cult-like, even worse than King James Onlyism. Speaking of KJO, let’s take another stroll down memory lane, shall we?
King James Onlyism
Currently, my second-most shared article is “KJV Onlyism: A Critical Examination,” where I provide numerous critiques of King James Onlyism, hoping to cover all possible ground. But what drove me to write that article? Was it just an issue with hyper-legalists? Partly, but the main reason was my experience in the formerly mentioned Discord community. While looking for a genuine church to join, having left the LCMS because I mistakenly thought Lutheran theology was weak (a BAD reason to leave a church), I visited several Baptist churches. For some reason, many of them adhered to this peculiar notion of KJV Onlyism. If it wasn’t clear already, I was in a strange place with my faith. But this belief was evidently wrong, and I knew it thanks to the HRM. They had taught me some Hebrew, which gave me insight into why translators choose certain manuscripts or English words.
That being said, I didn’t fit in with any of those churches, and if I thought Lutheran theology was weak, then these churches weren’t even on the spectrum. Nonetheless, these experiences still significantly impacted me. They deepened my understanding of textual criticism, the translation process, and the divisions among believers.
Crash and Burn
Eventually, things began to sort themselves out. I was piecing together what Christianity truly is, continually testing it against other beliefs and worldviews. By this time, I had bought a house and was living on my own, which was a challenging situation when navigating through all these thoughts. I had many sleepless nights, struggling to reconcile my beliefs. I was alone, genuinely scared, and had no one to turn to. I remember being angry at God for numerous reasons. I was upset about my life, my family, and myself. I hated myself, and if I’m being completely honest, I still do. It’s one of those issues I haven’t been able to truly overcome. When I use the term “hated,” I don’t mean merely disliked; I felt a profound, deep-seated pain and resentment towards who I was and still am, now alone, with only myself and God to confront that harsh reality.
I recall nights when my prayers morphed into screams, then into the deepest feelings of sadness and betrayal I’ve ever known. One night was particularly brutal. I had been fasting for about two weeks, feeling angry, bitter, and desperately lonely. But something extraordinary happened that night. I know many will dismiss this as a delusion or say I was delirious, but there I was, I had just prayed for hours, sitting on my bed in the pitch-black darkness of my room, their was no sound, but in that darkness and silence I felt as if someone was sitting beside me. It wasn’t just anyone; I knew, deep in my bones, it was God. After some time, I fell asleep, and the dream I had… that dream, like so many memories, was etched deeply within me. It was in a white space where I saw, or rather perceived, my Grandpa Morgan sitting in a chair, looking healthier than I’d ever seen him. All I could do was hug him and say, “I miss you.” He replied simply, “I loved you.” Immediately upon his statement I woke up my face already drenched in tears, and the only words that escaped my mouth were, “Thank you, Lord.”
What about now?
There is so much more I could discuss. But since those words, since that overwhelming feeling of peace—a peace I can’t even begin to explain, a love beyond my comprehension—I have stood up. I’ve decided to take the mantle, to fill in where my grandfathers once stood. I’ve already seen the fruits of this decision, yet there’s so much more ground to cover. Nonetheless, I’ve gone on long enough.
I’m still left with the question: why am I who I am? This journey, from the profound declaration of “I Am Who I Am” that initiated my self-evaluation, through the baptism, divorce, the loss of foundational figures, to the spiritual awakenings and intellectual challenges posed by the Hebrew Roots Movement and King James Onlyism, has all been part of shaping my identity. Each event, from my childhood oath during a moment of fear to the dream of my grandfather, has been but mere threads in the rope of my faith.
The “I Am Who I Am” statement from God reflects His unchanging nature, His sovereignty, and His personal relationship with us. My journey has been one of discovering why I am who I am in relation to His “I AM.” It’s not about self-existence or sovereignty in myself but about understanding my place in His plan. That encounter in the silence of my room, the comfort in my dream, these moments have not just shaped my faith but have begun to answer the question of my very identity.
Why am I who I am? Because through these experiences, God has called me to live out my oath from childhood, to explore, to question, to grow, and ultimately to serve in the footsteps of those who guided me, not by my own strength or wisdom, but by the grace and love of God. This is why I am who I am—a person continually shaped by God.
