Who You Say I Am Meaning: Identity, Grace & Freedom Explained

What if modern psychology and Christian thinkers explained your identity crisis together?

Introduction by Ben Fielding & Reuben Morgan

When we wrote Who You Say I Am, we weren’t trying to craft a clever lyric.
We were trying to give people a sentence they could stand on when their own thoughts were unstable.

So many believers know doctrine but live under accusation.
They sing about grace but wake up negotiating worth.

The song begins with a question on purpose:
“Who am I that the highest King would welcome me?”

Because faith often starts there, not with certainty, but with disbelief that love could actually move toward you.

Every section of the song answers a different fear:

• Welcome answers rejection
• Love answers shame
• Freedom answers bondage
• Grace answers guilt
• Chosen answers abandonment

The repetition is intentional. Worship is not information transfer.
It is identity formation.

You don’t sing to convince God.
You sing to remember what is already true.

The goal of the lyric was simple:
Replace the voice in your head with the voice of the Father.

Not louder emotion.
Clearer belonging.

(Note: This is an imaginary conversation, a creative exploration of an idea, and not a real speech or event.) 

Topic 1: Welcomed by the Highest King

Moderator: Brené Brown
Participants (5): Tim Keller, Christine Caine, Lisa Harper, Dallas Willard, Miroslav Volf

Brené Brown: We are sitting at a roundtable with one sentence on the table between us, like a name tag you either accept or refuse: “Who am I that the highest King would welcome me?” Before we get practical, I want to start with the ache under that line. When people hear “welcome,” they often translate it as “allowed.” Not celebrated, not wanted, not delighted in. So let me ask it this way. What does it actually mean to be welcomed by God, not merely tolerated?

Miroslav Volf: Welcome is not permission. Welcome is embrace. The difference matters because permission keeps you at the threshold. Embrace brings you into the home, into shared life. In Christian language, God’s welcome is not a grudging exception. It is the very shape of salvation. You are not simply spared. You are received.

Christine Caine: Yes. And for a lot of people, “tolerated” is all they have ever known from authority figures. So when God is called King, they flinch. But the gospel is saying this King moves toward you. He does not ask you to clean yourself up first so you can be presentable. He welcomes you while you are still shaking.

Dallas Willard: I would add that welcome is an intention to share life with you. God’s kingdom is not a club for the improved. It is a reality where God’s will is done, and the invitation is to live in that reality now. Being welcomed means you are invited into a life of apprenticeship to Jesus, not as a punishment, but as the natural next step of being loved.

Tim Keller: The word “welcome” carries the shock of grace. If you think God accepts you because you are good, then you will never feel welcomed. You will feel evaluated. But if the basis is Jesus’ work, not yours, then welcome becomes stable. It is not a mood. It is a verdict. The King welcomes you because the Son has made a way.

Lisa Harper: I keep thinking about the emotional weight of “welcome.” Some people hear it and immediately feel suspicious. They say, “What’s the catch?” But “Father’s house” language is intimate. It is relational. It’s not “you may enter.” It’s “we saved you a seat.” That changes the nervous system, not just the theology.

Brené Brown: That nervous system piece is huge. Many people can repeat the words, but their bodies are still braced like they’re about to be kicked out. So let’s go there. Why do people accept forgiveness intellectually but still feel unworthy emotionally? Why does it not land?

Christine Caine: Because wounds have a voice. Trauma has a memory. You can know the truth and still live like it’s not true because your life taught you something else. Shame says, “You are the problem.” And shame does not disappear just because you heard a correct sentence on Sunday.

Lisa Harper: Shame also loves time travel. It drags you back to the worst thing you did, or the worst thing that was done to you, and it makes that the whole story. So forgiveness feels like a legal transaction, but not a relational reality. People still feel like an orphan sneaking around the house, not a child coming home.

Tim Keller: Exactly. The heart does not change by information alone. The gospel is not just a set of ideas. It is an announcement that restructures identity. You can say, “I’m forgiven,” and still function as if your performance is your worth. That is why the song repeats, “I am who You say I am.” It is a counter-liturgy against the old liturgy of self-justification.

Dallas Willard: And we should be frank. Many people have never practiced living as the forgiven. They have practiced self-condemnation, rumination, and control. That is their discipleship. So when grace shows up, it feels unfamiliar. Emotional unworthiness is often simply the residue of spiritual habits that have not been replaced.

Miroslav Volf: There is also the social dimension. If you live in a culture of merit, the idea of a welcome that is not earned feels offensive or unreal. We learn to measure ourselves against others. God’s welcome dismantles that system. But we cling to it because it gives us a sense of control. Grace threatens control.

Brené Brown: That’s strong. Grace threatens control. And yet the human heart is addicted to control because uncertainty hurts. So let’s make this practical. When someone moves from “I’m allowed” to “I’m welcomed,” what actually changes? What shifts in their choices, relationships, and even the way they handle failure?

Lisa Harper: The first change is they stop sprinting. They stop trying to outrun rejection. When you believe you have a place, you don’t have to scramble for one. That shows up in boundaries, in rest, in the ability to say no without panic. It also shows up in confession, because you’re not protecting an image anymore. You’re protecting a relationship.

Tim Keller: And they become more honest. If acceptance is secure, you can finally admit how broken you are without fear of being discarded. The irony is that assurance produces humility, not arrogance. If you are welcomed by grace, you lose the need to look down on other people. You also lose the need to pretend.

Miroslav Volf: Welcome changes how you treat outsiders too. People who have been truly embraced learn to embrace. They stop drawing hard boundaries between “us” and “them.” They become hospitable. Not naive, but open. Because they no longer fear scarcity of belonging. The Father’s house has space.

Christine Caine: I see it as courage. When you know God is for you, you stop interpreting every setback as God against you. You can take risks, you can serve, you can stand up again after failure. A welcomed person does not live under the constant threat of abandonment. They live under love. And love makes you brave.

Dallas Willard: I would say it also changes the way you approach transformation. When you are tolerated, you obey out of fear. When you are welcomed, you obey out of trust. You begin to pursue holiness as healing, not as payment. The practices of Jesus become invitations, not burdens.

Brené Brown: I want to zoom in on one tiny word in the song that people skip because it feels too bold: “highest.” Highest King. That phrase can make some people feel small in a bad way, like, “Who am I to be noticed?” But in this lyric, the highest does not create distance. The highest creates wonder. So here is the last question I want to ask for today, and it’s the one that can reshape a week. If you had to give someone one simple, repeatable way to let “welcome” move from their head into their heart, what would you tell them to practice?

Christine Caine: I would tell them to speak truth out loud when shame speaks. Not once. Not occasionally. Daily. When shame says, “You don’t belong,” answer it with the lyric: “I am chosen, not forsaken.” Out loud. Your mind is not the only listener. Your heart needs to hear it too.

Dallas Willard: I would encourage them to spend time with Jesus in the Gospels as a person, not a concept. Watch how He treats the unworthy. Let that be your mental picture of God. Then, take one small act of obedience that flows from being loved. Not a grand vow. A small step. Apprenticeship is built that way.

Tim Keller: I would tell them to anchor welcome in something outside their feelings. Feelings are real but unstable. The cross is stable. When you wake up anxious, preach this to yourself: “I am welcomed because of Jesus.” Then ask, “What would I do today if that were true?” That question is surprisingly powerful.

Lisa Harper: I would tell them to practice receiving. Some people only know how to give, perform, achieve. Receiving feels unsafe. So let them receive love in a concrete way. Let someone pray for them. Let someone help them. Let God’s welcome come through human hands. Belonging gets installed through relationship.

Miroslav Volf: I would tell them to practice hospitality as a mirror of being welcomed. Invite someone in, literally or figuratively. Make space at your table, in your attention, in your patience. When you welcome others, you begin to believe your own welcome. We often learn love by giving it.

Brené Brown: That is a whole toolkit right there. Naming shame, practicing receiving, grounding in the cross, apprenticeship, and hospitality. And I’m hearing a theme. Welcome becomes believable when it becomes embodied. Not just sung, but lived.

Topic 2: Lost, Brought In, Loved

Moderator: Brené Brown
Participants (5): Henri Nouwen, Tish Harrison Warren, John Mark Comer, Curt Thompson, Father Gregory Boyle

Brené Brown: We are still at the same roundtable, but the sentence on the table changes. It is quieter, more personal: “I was lost, but He brought me in.” That line holds a whole life. And it also holds a fear. Sometimes when people say they were lost, they mean they were bad. Sometimes they mean they were numb. Sometimes they mean they were doing great on the outside and hollow on the inside. So let me ask in a way that makes room for all of it. When the song says “lost,” what kind of lost are we really talking about?

Henri Nouwen: Often it is the lostness of the heart that has forgotten its home. A person can be very successful and still live as if they do not belong. That is a deep lostness. It is not simply moral failure. It is the ache of exile. We wander because we do not know we are loved.

Tish Harrison Warren: I agree. “Lost” can be dramatic, but it is also ordinary. It can be a slow drift. We build routines that keep us functioning but not alive. We settle into anxiety or distraction, and one day we realize we have been gone from ourselves for a long time. The language of the song is honest because it does not romanticize lostness. It simply names it.

John Mark Comer: Lost is also a spiritual condition of being out of alignment. It is the soul living in a different story than the one God is telling. We are formed by the narratives we absorb, and modern life feeds us stories of scarcity, self-invention, hustle, outrage, and fear. You can be lost without ever leaving your neighborhood. You can be lost while scrolling.

Curt Thompson: I would add that lostness often lives in the body as much as the mind. It is dissociation. It is a chronic sense of threat. It is the nervous system that learned safety is not available. So you find coping strategies. Some are socially celebrated. Some are destructive. But the goal is the same: reduce pain. Lostness is frequently pain management.

Father Gregory Boyle: And sometimes lost is not even your fault. It is what happens when you are told your whole life you are disposable. I have sat with people who were treated like they did not matter. That kind of lostness is imposed. The miracle is not that they found God. The miracle is that God kept finding them, again and again, through someone who did not give up on them.

Brené Brown: That lands. Lostness as exile, drift, narrative capture, nervous system survival, and imposed disposability. If that is lost, then “He brought me in” is not a slogan. It is rescue. But here is the hard part. A lot of people have a very strong reflex when love shows up. They do not soften. They brace. They say, “This won’t last.” They say, “What do you want from me?” So why does love feel suspicious to people who have lived in shame or rejection?

Curt Thompson: Because the brain learns patterns. If closeness has historically led to pain, then closeness becomes a threat. Love is interpreted as a setup. The body anticipates betrayal. Shame then adds a story: “If they really knew me, they would leave.” So love feels suspicious because it contradicts both the nervous system and the shame narrative at the same time.

Henri Nouwen: Yes. And we also fear love because it requires surrender. We may prefer the familiar pain to the unfamiliar joy. In my own journey, I discovered how much I resisted being loved, because being loved meant I could no longer pretend I was self-made, self-sufficient. Love exposes our dependency, and that is frightening.

Tish Harrison Warren: There is also a theological reason. Many people have absorbed a picture of God as disappointed. Even if they would never say it, they imagine God with folded arms. So when the gospel says, “His love for me,” it feels too good. It feels like it must be a trick. Their internal image of God has not caught up to the actual God revealed in Jesus.

John Mark Comer: Our culture trains suspicion, too. Advertising, politics, social media, everything is trying to get something from you. So people assume love is transactional. They assume there is always a hidden hook. The gospel is the opposite of a hook. It is a gift. But a gift is hard to receive if you have been conditioned to trade everything.

Father Gregory Boyle: And when you have been rejected, you start to live with the fear that acceptance is temporary. So you try to control it. You perform. You please. Or you sabotage. You push people away before they can abandon you. Love feels suspicious because it is vulnerable to hope again. Hope can break your heart if it is taken away. So people choose numbness.

Brené Brown: That is so real. People choose numbness because hope feels like risk. Okay. Now let’s get practical in a way that respects people’s pace. The song says, “Oh, His love for me” twice, like it is trying to sink in. So how do you receive love without trying to earn it? Not as a perfect answer, but as a practice.

Tish Harrison Warren: I would start small and ordinary. Receive love through the concrete means God has given: prayer, Scripture, the table, the church, daily life. If you can only believe one inch of love today, believe that inch. Let it be gentle. God is patient. The Christian life is not a sprint into emotional certainty. It is a long obedience in the same direction.

John Mark Comer: I would say you receive love by slowing down enough to notice it. Hurry blocks love. When you are constantly moving, you cannot feel anything. So practice Sabbath, silence, unhurried prayer. Not as a law, but as a doorway. If God is love, then a life that never stops is a life that cannot be loved deeply, because it never stays still long enough to be held.

Curt Thompson: From a neuroscience perspective, receiving love requires a safe relational context. So I would encourage people to practice telling the truth to one trusted person. Not everything, but something real. When that person responds with care, the brain updates. Love becomes less abstract. This is how healing happens. We are transformed in the presence of someone who will not turn away.

Henri Nouwen: I would invite them to become attentive to the voice that says, “You are my beloved.” That voice is often quiet. Many other voices are loud. So you create space to listen. And then you resist the temptation to argue with God. If God calls you beloved, do not respond with a list of reasons why you are not.

Father Gregory Boyle: I would tell them: let yourself be loved by the people who show up. The homies teach me this all the time. They think they have to earn dignity. They think they have to prove they deserve tenderness. But tenderness is not a reward. It is a truth. So start by receiving one small act of kindness without deflecting it. Say thank you. Let it land. That is practice.

Brené Brown: I love that the practices you are naming are not performative. They are receptive. Slow down, tell one truth, listen for belovedness, stop arguing with grace, accept one kindness without batting it away. It is almost like the song is teaching the heart how to stop fighting.

Topic 3: Free Indeed

Moderator: Brené Brown
Participants (5): N.T. Wright, Jackie Hill Perry, David Goggins, Johann Hari, Bessel van der Kolk

Brené Brown: The sentence on the table now is the one people sing like they are trying to break a chain with their voice: “Who the Son sets free, oh is free indeed.” And right behind that line is a question many people are afraid to ask out loud because they think it sounds ungrateful. If I am free, why do I still feel stuck? So let’s be honest and careful at the same time. What kind of freedom is this song actually talking about? Is it emotional, spiritual, behavioral, or all of it?

N.T. Wright: The freedom in the New Testament is first of all a change of lordship. You are transferred from the rule of sin and death into the rule of Jesus. That has spiritual depth, but it is not only invisible. It reorders your life. It is the freedom to be truly human, to become the kind of person you were made to be. So yes, it will touch emotions and behavior, but it begins with belonging to the right King.

Jackie Hill Perry: It is all of it, but it starts with what you believe you are. When you are set free, you are not just given a new rulebook. You are given a new identity. Freedom is not merely the absence of temptation. Freedom is the presence of God in a way that changes what you reach for when you are lonely, angry, or afraid.

Johann Hari: From my angle, freedom has to include the structures around you, too. People can have a spiritual awakening and still be trapped in environments that keep them sick. Addiction, anxiety, depression, these are not only moral struggles. They are often responses to pain, disconnection, and lack of meaning. If faith is real freedom, it will also push us toward reconnection, community, and new ways of living.

Bessel van der Kolk: I would frame it as freedom from the past living in the present. Trauma is not the story you remember. Trauma is what your body keeps reliving. So spiritual freedom is profoundly important, but people may still feel stuck because their bodies have not learned safety yet. Freedom includes learning to inhabit the present, to calm the nervous system, and to feel choice again.

David Goggins: I hear “free indeed” as ownership. You stop being controlled by excuses, by comfort, by the soft voice that says, “Quit.” For me, freedom is discipline. Not punishment. Discipline is how you prove to yourself you are not trapped. But it has to be paired with honesty. If you ignore the pain underneath, you will just build another prison out of performance.

Brené Brown: That is a powerful spread. New lordship, new identity, reconnection, nervous system safety, and discipline that does not become self-hatred. So let’s go straight into the most tender part. What keeps people stuck after they have already been set free? What are the common traps?

Jackie Hill Perry: Shame is a big one. People confuse temptation with identity. They think, “I still struggle, so I must not be changed.” But sanctification is not instant perfection. Sometimes the enemy cannot stop you from being freed, so he tries to convince you it did not happen. He tells you your struggle is proof you are still enslaved. That lie keeps people stuck.

Bessel van der Kolk: Another trap is dissociation. If your body learned to survive by shutting down, you may confuse numbness with peace. Then when real feeling comes back, you panic and interpret it as failure. Healing often feels worse before it feels better, because you begin to feel again. That can look like being stuck when it is actually movement.

Johann Hari: Isolation keeps people stuck. A lot of our problems intensify when we are alone with them. People get freed in a moment, but they need a community to stay free. If someone goes back to a disconnected life, the same hunger returns. We all need belonging. You can call it the Father’s house. You can call it community. But without it, people often relapse into whatever gave them temporary relief.

N.T. Wright: I would also name distorted images of God. If you believe God is mainly disappointed, you will relate to Him through fear and performance. That recreates slavery inside the heart. Freedom includes learning to pray as a child, not as a prisoner. Many Christians live forgiven but not free because they keep acting like they are still under accusation.

David Goggins: Comfort. People want freedom without discomfort. But breaking patterns hurts. It is boring. It is repetitive. It is humiliating sometimes. If you are not willing to suffer a little for the life you want, you will choose the familiar cage because it is warm. Freedom is a fight, and most people quit when it stops being inspirational and starts being daily.

Brené Brown: So we have shame, numbness, isolation, distorted God-image, and comfort addiction. That covers a lot of human life. Now let’s talk about discernment. People can mistake avoidance for freedom. They can also mistake constant struggle for growth. How can someone tell the difference between real freedom and avoidance?

Bessel van der Kolk: Avoidance is when your world shrinks. Real freedom is when your world expands. Avoidance might reduce anxiety short term, but it increases fear long term because you never update the body’s alarm system. Freedom gives you more capacity to be present, to feel, to stay in relationship, to tolerate discomfort without collapsing or lashing out.

Johann Hari: I would say avoidance disconnects you from people and meaning. Real freedom reconnects you. If your “freedom” makes you self-absorbed, secretive, or isolated, that is likely not freedom. If your freedom leads you toward honesty, repair, purpose, and community, that is a sign you are becoming more whole.

N.T. Wright: In Christian terms, avoidance is often a false peace. Real freedom produces the fruit of the Spirit. It produces love, patience, self-control. Not flawlessly, but increasingly. You can look at the direction of your life. Is it becoming more faithful, more generous, more anchored in hope? That trajectory matters.

Jackie Hill Perry: Avoidance usually protects an idol. Real freedom exposes it. If I am “free” but I cannot face being alone, cannot face conflict, cannot face repentance, cannot face vulnerability, then I am probably still being ruled by fear. Freedom looks like I can obey God even when my feelings are loud. Avoidance looks like I organize my life so I never have to feel certain things.

David Goggins: I keep it simple. Avoidance negotiates. Freedom decides. Avoidance says, “I’ll do it tomorrow.” Freedom says, “I do hard things because I refuse to be owned.” But I also respect what Bessel said. If you are pushing so hard you cannot feel, you might be avoiding in a different way. You have to be tough and truthful, not tough and numb.

Brené Brown: Tough and truthful is a phrase people need. Okay, last question for Topic 3, and I want it to be usable on an ordinary Tuesday morning. If someone is singing “free indeed” but they still feel stuck, what is one next step that honors both faith and reality?

N.T. Wright: Return to the story. Read the Gospels and remember what Jesus has done, not what you are trying to do. Then join your life to a community where you can be known. The early Christians never imagined freedom as a solo project.

Johann Hari: Build connection on purpose. One supportive relationship can change everything. And reduce the sources of pain that keep driving the coping. If your life is unlivable, no amount of willpower will save you. Freedom often requires changing the environment as well as the heart.

Bessel van der Kolk: Start with the body. Practice a daily grounding ritual that signals safety, even for five minutes. Breath, movement, prayer with your hands open, a walk, something that tells your system: we are here, we are safe enough, we have choice. Then healing can begin to consolidate spiritual truth into lived experience.

Jackie Hill Perry: Confess one thing, not to be punished, but to be healed. Bring one hidden struggle into the light with a safe, wise person. The enemy loves secrecy because secrecy keeps shame alive. Freedom thrives in truth.

David Goggins: Pick one hard, specific action and do it today. Not ten. One. Something measurable. Make your bed. Take the walk. Write the apology. Delete the app. Go to the meeting. Freedom becomes real when you stack proof. But do it from identity, not self-hate.

Brené Brown: That is a complete toolbox. Story and community, connection and environment, body safety, confession, and one concrete act that builds proof. And here is what I want to underline as we close Topic 3. Feeling stuck does not mean you are lying when you sing “free indeed.” It might mean you are in the middle of learning how to live in freedom.

Topic 4: Ransomed and Grace Runs Deep

Moderator: Brené Brown
Participants (5): Martin Luther, C.S. Lewis, Philip Yancey, Richard Rohr, Cornel West

Brené Brown: The sentence on the table now is heavy with cost and tenderness: “Free at last, He has ransomed me. His grace runs deep.” Those are not Hallmark words. They are rescue words. But they can also feel strange to modern ears. “Ransomed” sounds like kidnapping. “Grace” can sound like a religious free pass. So let’s slow down and make it real. When the song says “ransomed,” what are we actually being bought back from in everyday life?

Philip Yancey: We are being bought back from the relentless economy of earning. Many people live as if love is a wage. You are valued if you perform, succeed, impress, stay useful. The gospel interrupts that system. Ransom says, you were not rescued because you finally got your act together. You were rescued because God refused to let you go.

C.S. Lewis: I think of it as release from an enchantment. Sin is not merely breaking rules. It is the curving in of the self. You become trapped in a small room with yourself, your appetites, your fears, your pride. Ransom is the door opening. Grace is the hand that pulls you out into air you forgot existed.

Martin Luther: You are bought back from accusation. From the courtroom in your head that never adjourns. The law says, do more, be more, prove it. The conscience agrees and then despairs. Ransom means Christ stands in your place. He takes what condemns you and gives you His righteousness. That is not poetry. That is the only thing that makes a terrified conscience rest.

Richard Rohr: I would say we are ransomed from the false self. The false self is the identity you construct to survive. The achiever, the pleaser, the controller, the person who needs to be right, the person who must be admired, the person who cannot be weak. Grace buys you back from that prison and returns you to your true self, which is already held in God.

Cornel West: And we are ransomed from nihilism, my sister, my brother. From the lie that your life is disposable, that suffering has the final word, that power is all there is. Grace is a divine interruption. It tells the poor, the broken, the despised, you are of infinite worth. And that truth has social consequences. If grace runs deep, then justice must run strong.

Brené Brown: I want to stay with that courtroom image because it is so relatable. People carry an inner prosecutor. They also carry an inner accountant. They want grace, but they keep recalculating the bill. Which takes us to the next honest question. Why does grace feel unfair to so many people, even people who love God?

Martin Luther: Because we want a ladder. The human heart wants to climb, to compare, to secure itself. Grace cuts the ladder at the bottom. It says, you cannot climb to God. God comes down to you. That offends pride, and it also terrifies pride. If I cannot earn it, then I cannot control it. So I resist grace.

C.S. Lewis: There is also a moral resentment in us. We want the universe to be tidy. We want the good to get good and the bad to get bad in a simple way. Grace is not tidy. It gives to the undeserving. That includes me, which I like, and it includes people I dislike, which I do not like. Grace reveals how much of my virtue is actually self-preference.

Philip Yancey: I have spent years writing about this because it is one of the most scandalous features of Christianity. Grace means God loves the people you are tempted to hate. Grace means God welcomes people you think should be kept outside. And it also means God keeps loving you on the day you fail. It feels unfair because it refuses to operate by the rules of merit.

Richard Rohr: Grace feels unfair because we are addicted to dualistic thinking. In and out. Pure and impure. Worthy and unworthy. The ego wants clear categories so it can place itself on the correct side. Grace dissolves those categories without dissolving truth. That is why it is hard. It asks you to live from mercy rather than superiority.

Cornel West: Let us be real. Some people love the idea of grace as long as it stays private and does not disturb their comfort. But grace is dangerous. Grace means the last can be first. Grace means the oppressed are seen. Grace means forgiveness and accountability can meet, but it will not allow you to hide behind respectability. The unfairness people feel is often the fear that grace will reorder the world.

Brené Brown: That lands. Grace is dangerous. It disrupts ladders, categories, and comfort. Now I want to take it from concept to daily operating system. The lyric says, “His grace runs deep.” Not shallow. Not occasional. Deep, like it reaches the roots. So what does it look like when grace becomes a daily way of living, not a one-time moment at an altar?

Philip Yancey: It looks like waking up and not starting your day with self-contempt. It looks like returning to God again and again with honesty instead of hiding. It looks like giving other people what you have received. Not because they earned it, but because you know what it is to be unearnedly loved. Grace becomes visible in patience, in kindness, in the refusal to cancel people in your heart.

Martin Luther: It looks like daily repentance, but not the kind that ends in despair. Repentance that ends in Christ. You name your sin without excuses and without self-destruction because your standing with God is not hanging by a thread. Grace makes confession possible because it makes condemnation impossible for those in Christ.

C.S. Lewis: It looks like being slowly remade. I once wrote about how God will not leave you as a cottage when He intends a palace. That rebuilding can feel inconvenient. Grace does not simply pardon. It transforms. Daily grace is letting God renovate your reactions, your desires, your pride, your impatience. And you begin to notice you are less interested in being admired and more interested in being good.

Richard Rohr: It looks like learning to live in the present moment without needing to defend yourself. The false self is always defending, always managing, always performing. Grace invites you into simplicity. You fail, and you do not collapse. You succeed, and you do not inflate. You are held either way. That is what it means to be rooted in something deeper than your scorecard.

Cornel West: It looks like courage with tenderness. You tell the truth, but you do not lose your love. You fight for justice, but you do not become a cold cynic. You forgive, but you do not enable. Grace gives you spiritual stamina. It allows you to keep showing up in a brutal world without becoming brutal yourself.

Brené Brown: I want to underline something I heard across all of you. Grace is not excusing. Grace is grounding. It is what lets you be honest without collapsing, accountable without despairing, and brave without hardening.

Topic 5: Chosen, Not Forsaken

Moderator: Brené Brown
Participants (5): Maya Angelou, Viktor Frankl, Desmond Tutu, John Stott, Brene’s “Inner Critic” (personified voice)

Brené Brown: The sentence on the table now is the one people cling to when their inner world is loud. “I am chosen, not forsaken. I am who You say I am.” This is not just a lyric. It is an identity claim. And identity is where shame loves to live. So I want to make this feel concrete, not inspirational. What voices compete with “who You say I am,” and which voice do people tend to obey most?

Maya Angelou: The voice of injury competes. The voice that says you are what happened to you. People obey it because it sounds like protection. It says, stay guarded, stay small, do not trust. But it is not protection. It is a cage with good intentions.

Viktor Frankl: The voice of despair competes. It says, your suffering has no meaning, therefore you have no future. People obey it because despair feels like certainty, and certainty can feel safer than hope. Yet meaning is not something we discover only after suffering ends. Meaning is something we choose to create even within suffering.

Desmond Tutu: The voice of accusation competes. The accuser always has evidence. He will bring you a file folder of your mistakes and hold it up like a mirror. People obey that voice because it appears truthful. But there is a deeper truth. You are more than your worst moment. God’s truth is not denial. It is redemption.

John Stott: There is also the voice of culture. It tells you your identity is your achievement, your status, your attractiveness, your productivity. And because this message is everywhere, people obey it almost without noticing. The gospel contradicts it. It says your identity is received, not achieved.

Brené Brown: I’m going to answer my own question as a data point. I think the voice people obey most is the one that carries the most shame. Shame is persuasive because it sounds like reality. It says, this is just how it is. But that is not the last voice. Okay. Let’s go to the next question, because people do not only struggle with competing voices. They struggle with betrayal. Failure. Being left. How do you rebuild identity after abandonment or after you abandon yourself through choices you regret?

Viktor Frankl: You rebuild identity by reclaiming your freedom to choose your attitude and your next step. Even when you cannot change what happened, you can choose what it will mean. That choice is not shallow optimism. It is an act of inner dignity. And dignity is the soil where identity can regrow.

Maya Angelou: You rebuild it with compassion for the part of you that survived. People talk harshly to themselves when they have been abandoned. They say, you should have known better. You should have been stronger. But the truth is, you did what you could with what you knew. You return to yourself the way you would return to a child. You speak gently. You tell the truth. You stop beating your own spirit.

Desmond Tutu: You rebuild through forgiveness, and I must be careful here. Forgiveness is not pretending it did not matter. Forgiveness is refusing to let what happened define you forever. Sometimes you forgive the other. Sometimes you must forgive yourself. That can be the hardest forgiveness. But you are not beyond God’s reach. That is the point of grace.

John Stott: In Christian terms, identity is restored by union with Christ. That sounds abstract, but it becomes concrete in this way: you begin to anchor your self-understanding in what God has done, not in what has been done to you or what you have done. You are chosen in Christ. You are not forsaken because Christ was forsaken in your place. This gives a foundation that suffering cannot easily erode.

Brené Brown: I want to name something subtle. Many people rebuild identity by performing a new identity. They become hyper-competent. They become the helper. They become the tough one. It looks like healing, but it’s armor. So here is the third question. What practices help a person live from chosen-ness instead of proving-ness? Not just believe it, but live from it.

Maya Angelou: Create a life that matches your worth. That means you do not stay where you are diminished. You do not keep company with cruelty. You do not drink from dry wells. Chosen-ness shows up in what you allow around your soul. When you know you are chosen, you stop auditioning for people who cannot love you.

Viktor Frankl: Practice responsibility, not as punishment, but as meaning. When a person lives from chosen-ness, they ask, what is being asked of me now that I am loved? Then they take one meaningful action. That action becomes evidence against despair. You prove nothing to earn love. But you create meaning because you have love.

Desmond Tutu: Practice community. The Father’s house is not merely an image. It is a reality expressed through people. Isolation breeds lies. Community corrects them. You need others to remind you who you are when you forget. And you need to be that reminder for them as well.

John Stott: Practice Scripture meditation, not merely reading. Let the truth inhabit you. Many people read quickly and remain unchanged. But when you meditate, you let God’s words contradict your false narratives. Over time, the louder voice becomes the truer voice. This is part of spiritual formation.

Brené Brown: For my part, I would add a practice that sounds simple and is actually hard. Stop performing your pain. Some people become attached to a broken identity because it explains everything. Chosen-ness does not erase your story. It redeems it. You can honor what you have lived without turning it into your name.

Let me offer a closing thought for Topic 5. Being chosen is not a mood. It is a home base. Being forsaken is what fear predicts. Being chosen is what love declares.

And that brings us full circle back to the chorus: free indeed, child of God, a place for me. Not because you achieved it. Because you were welcomed. Because you were brought in. Because grace runs deep. Because love gets the last word.

Final Thoughts by Ben Fielding & Reuben Morgan

If the song has done its job, it doesn’t end when the music stops.

You carry it into ordinary moments:

When you fail and expect distance
When you succeed and expect pride
When you feel invisible
When you feel disqualified

The line “I am who You say I am” is not confidence in yourself.
It is relief from yourself.

Identity in Christ is not a motivational idea.
It is a relocation.

You move from earning to receiving
From performing to belonging
From proving to resting

The reason the chorus repeats “There’s a place for me”
is because most people live as if the chair could be taken away.

But the gospel says the place was prepared before you arrived.

So the song is not asking you to become someone new today.

It is inviting you to stop arguing with who you already are.

Short Bios:

Ben Fielding — Australian worship songwriter and pastor best known for co-writing globally sung Hillsong Worship songs including What a Beautiful Name and Who You Say I Am. His writing focuses on clear theology expressed through simple, singable language that helps congregations internalize identity in Christ.

Reuben Morgan — Worship leader, songwriter, and longtime Hillsong Worship pastor whose songs (including Mighty to Save, Cornerstone, and Who You Say I Am) are sung worldwide. Known for shaping modern congregational worship toward accessible melodies and lyrics centered on grace and belonging.