“A rose by any other name would smell just as sweet”. So wrote William Shakespeare in Romeo and Juliet. For Juliet it means that Romeo’s family name ‘Montague’ didn’t matter to her.
However I think names are very important. As a ‘Smithson’ I get quit narked when people call me Mr Smith. The name Smith is very common across the UK but the name Smithson, according to genealogists, is very specific to the North of England and particular Yorkshire. My given name was chosen for me by my mother. Initially I was to be called John after my father but my older cousin beat me to that one so as she liked the Holywood actor Alan Ladd I was called Alan. (Any other resemblance to Hollywood stars is purely accidental!). At school I picked up the nick-name ‘Smithy’, another popular character this time in the Beano. (No further comment!!)
Since entering the ranks of the clergy many years ago, some folks have preferred to call me “Rev,” a title turned into a name which I’ve always felt a bit uncomfortable with since most of the time I feel irreverent. I hardly ever use it to describe myself except on the rare occasion when it gives me an easy access parking spot at the hospital when visiting folks.
In some cultures names are very important and have great meaning. In African tradition names are chosen with great care and have a profound meaning even to the role they play in guiding the future direction of a childs life.
Some times you can loose your name. At school we joked that our headmaster (The Boss) knew us all by name – we were all called ‘You Boy!’ However when some people have their name taken from them it can be intensely painful. All those who entered in the Nazi concentration camps lost there name and became a number, people of colour who were referred to by just the N-word at work. Women in abusive relationships and children in loveless families all lose their name when called stupid, lazy, ugly, useless. If you can remove someones name they become a non-person and therefore can be denied basic human dignity.
“I will call you by name,” Jesus says to those who have been known by many shame names. And in some place deep within our created-in-the-image-of-God identity, in the space where a light exists that no darkness or shame or defamation can extinguish, there in that space, he says, the voice of the one calling our name is familiar.
I suppose the name he calls us is the one we recognize as holding the essence of who we are and tells the story about how God sees us — the goodness and divine dignity so easy to forget, the gift of what it means to know that God is very thoughtful to consider it a good idea for you, me, and all of us to be in the world together, and the story about there never being a time when God has not held us in love and accessed our lives with an unreasonable compassion.
Perhaps the most transformative thing we can do for each other is to give each other space to tell our dehumanizing stories of naming and then to hold those stories with compassion and gentleness. And then at some point along the way share an alternative narrative that goes something like this: No matter what name you’ve been given, no matter the shame name you’ve carried, God is very thoughtful to have given what may feel to you like a new name, but, I suspect, is the name by which God has always known you.
No longer do you have to carry the weight of a shame name like Stupid, A Mistake, A Disappointment, Not Good Enough, or Unwanted. No! You are invited to live a story shaped by the name embedded in your identity by Compassionate Love, the name given to you by the main character who is always here. The name God gave you when first laying eyes on you. You are … My Delight. (Isaiah 62:4, Jeremiah 31:20)
God bless, Alan.