It was a few years ago now, but one day I came home for lunch and discovered a message on my answering machine from the Office of the Postal Inspector.

I tried to run through my head whether I had reused any uncanceled stamps lately or spindled or mutilated an official receipt. I had visions of “Seinfeld’s” Newman with a bucket over his head being taken in to see the all-powerful postmaster general. Unfortunately, the script didn’t play out as a comedy.

I was in fact being contacted because a man who worked at our denomination’s pension board had sold my Social Security number and birth date to an identity theft ring.

“What does that mean exactly?” I asked naively.

“Well, it means you’d better get a copy of your credit report; it probably won’t be pretty.”

That turned out to be the understatement of the year. As it happened, I was suddenly a resident of Schaumburg, Ill., a state I have never had the privilege to even visit. I apparently was living at the local branch of Mail Boxes Etc. From my nefarious hideout in Box 293, I had managed to obtain a cell phone, half a dozen credit cards, and a whole lot of merchandise. Apparently I have a passion for jewelry and high-end televisions with really big screens.

So it was that I found myself on a Monday afternoon unraveling a life that was in fact not mine. Calling the first issuer of a bogus credit card, I was asked, “Are you a customer?”

“Ma’am I really hope not,” I said, and launched into my explanation.

With a few clicks of a keyboard she said the phrase that I was dreading: “Uh oh! You are one of our customers, Reverend Blackstone, and by the looks of it, you’re not a very good one!”

After the initial shock and flurry of phone calls, the feeling that settled in was anger – anger that someone had in fact become me, had used my 20 years or more of (mostly) responsible purchasing to go on a spending spree. He had stolen more than my name; he had stolen my reputation.

As it happened, I was not responsible for any of the bills, and eventually the whole case went to trial. The only tangible loss was the hours I spent calling companies that had trusted “me,” ordering credit reports and canceling credit cards. Even years later, I cannot apply for credit without being home to answer the phone and confirm that I’m really who they think I am.

In the process of sorting this out I did an Internet search for “myself” and discovered that being Thomas Blackstone is really no big deal. In fact there are at least 19 of us, living in places such as New Hartford, N.Y.; Wilmington, N.C.; Piney Flats, Tenn.; Santa Rosa, Calif. (I’ll bet he’s not wearing his winter coat!); and my personal favorite, Snowshoe, W.Va.

All this is to explain that I find comfort in belonging to a religion of individuals. In a world in which we are known by our Social Security numbers, birth dates and mothers’ maiden names, it’s good to remember that Jesus said to his followers, “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me” (John 10:14). It is easy to misread that statement as an exclusion of others, and in fact, Jesus’ very next words are to remind the smug and self-important that theirs is not the only flock in God’s field.

Nonetheless, understood correctly, the Jewish-Christian teaching that God is my shepherd and knows me intimately and individually with all of my faults and promise, failures and potential is a piece of life’s puzzle that makes all others fall into place. Without a sense of personal destiny or vocation, without a sense that my existence has a useful purpose in the grand sweep of things, then it’s probably true that anyone could pretend to be me, and it truly wouldn’t make a difference.

As the Christian community walks through Lent toward Easter, these basic questions of identity are right out in front, as they are for all faiths during their holiest times. Who am I? How has God gifted me for what’s ahead? What am I “called” to do or say or write or support or resist? Will I be remembered by those around me, and if so for what?

May your personal purpose become clearer in the days ahead – and may the only person who defines you, be you!

The Rev. Thomas L. Blackstone, Ph.D., is a United Methodist pastor in Presque Isle and a brother in the Order of St. Luke. He may be reached via tlbphd@yahoo.com. Voices is a weekly commentary by five Maine columnists who explore issues affecting spirituality and religious life.