When I think about superheroes and secret identities, I immediately think of Superman. Everyone knows the story. To the world, he is Superman—faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. But when the cape comes off and the glasses go on, he becomes Clark Kent, mild-mannered reporter for the Daily Planet.

Of course, we know the secret. Clark Kent is Superman. Or is Superman Clark Kent? It seems like a silly distinction, but the more I thought about it, the more interesting it became.

For many superheroes, the explanation is fairly obvious. Peter Parker doesn’t want everyone knowing he is Spider-Man. Bruce Wayne doesn’t announce that he is Batman. Clark Kent doesn’t walk into the Daily Planet wearing his cape.

Part of the reason is protection. If everyone knew who they really were, the people they loved could become targets. But there is another advantage. A secret identity allows the superhero to have an ordinary life. Clark can go to work. Peter can have friends. Bruce Wayne can move through Gotham society without everyone knowing what he does at night. There are two worlds. And somehow, they have to live in both. But not every superhero does this.

Stephen Strange was already Dr. Stephen Strange before he became the sorcerer we know as Doctor Strange. He had been a brilliant surgeon. After an accident damaged his hands and ended the career around which he had built his life, his search for healing eventually led him somewhere completely unexpected. He didn’t simply acquire a costume and preserve his old existence behind it. His encounter with something beyond the world he had known changed the entire direction of his life. Stephen Strange was still Stephen Strange. But his old life could no longer contain who he had become.

And that distinction made me wonder: Which kind of superhero am I more like? Someone maintaining two separate identities? Or someone whose encounter with something greater has transformed everything else? Because Christians can become surprisingly good at living in two worlds.

I have had quite a few identities during my life. Son. Husband. Father. Doctor. Business owner. Musician. Writer. Christian. Some of those identities were given to me. Others I worked very hard to acquire. Put me in a medical setting, and one identity comes forward. Hand me a guitar, and another appears. Put me around my family, and I am something else again.

None of that is necessarily dishonest. We all have different roles. But there is a difference between having different roles and having different identities. Because eventually I have to ask:

Which one is really me? And perhaps an even more uncomfortable question: Which one would be hardest for me to lose?

Imagine Clark Kent permanently losing his powers. Who is he then? Imagine Bruce Wayne losing his fortune, Wayne Manor, his company, the Batcave and everything that allows him to be Batman. Who is left? Imagine Stephen Strange never being able to operate again. For him, that wasn’t imaginary. The identity around which he had constructed his life was suddenly gone. That’s not merely a comic-book question.

Take away my career. Who am I? Take away the title people once put after my name. Who am I? Take away the accomplishments. The possessions. The reputation. The people who know what I have done. Take away every identity I have spent a lifetime constructing. Who is left?

That question becomes particularly important because eventually, whether voluntarily or not, many of those identities will be taken away. Careers end. Positions disappear. Children grow up. Bodies weaken. Possessions pass to someone else. Even our names eventually become memories. So if my identity is built primarily upon something temporary, I have a problem. Eventually, I lose myself.

There is an unusual sentence in Paul’s letter to the Colossians:

For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.
Colossians 3:3 (ESV)

Hidden.

That sounds almost like a secret identity. But notice what Paul says is hidden. Not my religion. Not my beliefs. Not even my relationship with Christ. My life.

Then he continues:

When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.
Colossians 3:4 (ESV)

Paul doesn’t say Christ is part of my life. He says Christ is my life. That changes the question completely.

Perhaps the great danger for a Christian isn’t simply that we hide our faith. It’s that we begin treating Christianity as one of our identities. Doctor. Father. Musician. Writer. Christian. Just another item on the list. An identity appropriate for certain places and certain situations. 

Sunday morning? Christian.
At work? Professional.
With friends? Something else.
Online? Perhaps someone else entirely.

We move between identities as easily as Clark Kent steps into a phone booth. Except Christianity makes a much more radical claim.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)

Following Christ isn’t supposed to give me another costume. It gives me a new life. In that sense, perhaps Doctor Strange provides the more interesting comparison. His encounter with another reality didn’t simply add another identity to his old one. It changed the life around which every other identity had been built. Shouldn’t an encounter with Christ do infinitely more?

And that’s where my little superhero thought experiment finally turned around on me. Maybe I’ve been asking the wrong question. I started by wondering why superheroes need secret identities.

Now I’m wondering: Do I have one?*

Is the person I am in Christ the identity around which everything else in my life is organized? Or has that become the identity I quietly put on and take off? Because if Christ truly is my life, then “Christian” cannot simply be one more role alongside doctor, husband, father, musician or writer. Those are things I do. Some are relationships I treasure. Some are gifts God has allowed me to enjoy. Some may last decades. Others may disappear tomorrow. But none of them can answer the ultimate question: Who am I? Only Christ can.

Which leads to one final irony. Clark Kent takes off his glasses and reveals Superman. Bruce Wayne disappears into the darkness and becomes Batman. Peter Parker puts on a mask and becomes Spider-Man. Stephen Strange is different. His old life was shattered, and what he encountered afterward changed the direction of everything that remained. Perhaps that’s closer to what the Christian life is supposed to look like.

I don’t need to become somebody else. I don’t need another costume. And I don’t need an alter ego. I need everything false, temporary and self-created to gradually fall away until the person God says I am becomes the person I actually live as. Maybe my identity in Christ was never supposed to be my secret identity. Maybe everything else was.

Love and trust the Lord; seek His will in your life.

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