What's in a Name?

As each of our children turned 1 year old, we planted a tree for him or her on our farm. Our twins Clare and Eva got their own willows, planted at the edge of the pond, and for Eli we planted a pin oak on the south side of our house. Six and three years later, respectively, the trees are still alive and thriving. Our children identify closely with their trees, and just recently they finally gave them names: Wheazy-Treezy Willow, Breezy-Freezy Willow and my personal favorite, Oakey-dokey.

These trees now belong to the fraternity of familiar, named trees, animals and places on our farm, such as the “secret field,” the “hugging trees,” “blackberry hollow,” “the old cherry tree” and a rooster I have been forbidden to butcher, since the kids took a shine to him and named him Fluffy the Roostery Chicken (a fate that may be worse than death).

Such naming may seem cute or quaint, but I have begun to see it as essential to the way my family and I live in our place. For that matter, names are part and parcel of being human. In the Garden of Eden, God gave Adam the task of naming the other creatures. Jacob and other patriarchs gave particular names to places of struggle and revelation. The risen Christ changed one grieving woman’s entire perspective simply by saying her name, “Mary.” Abram, Simon and Saul took new names to mark profound turning points in their journey of faith, as do my Benedictine colleagues at Saint Meinrad Archabbey when they make their monastic vows. Newly combined parishes often rename their community to reflect the new reality of their merger.

Names are important because they are connected to the deep human longing to belong, truly and authentically. At our core, most of us hunger to feel that we are a meaningful part of a greater whole, that we matter, that the 13.7-billion-year-old universe is not utterly indifferent to our existence. But we often feel anonymous and alienated, isolated from others and insulated from the natural world. This is true, I’m afraid, even in our churches, if the droves of spiritual pilgrims who come for study or retreat at Saint Meinrad are any indicator.

True belonging is not a nostalgic, parochial fantasy that globalization and the Internet have made obsolete. I have caught glimpses of it among the monks and students at Saint Meinrad, among those with whom I minister in my small rural parish and with family and friends and neighbors. But communion is not easy—certainly not in the modern developed world, with all its distractions and digitally enhanced narcissism, and I suspect in no time or place.

Names make belonging possible because they cut through the abstraction that leads to alienation. Names always embody particular knowledge that comes from being in relationship and from paying serious attention to the named. A priest remembers his parishioners’ names not because he has memorized entries in the parish directory but because he knows something of their story and has even become a part of it, baptizing their children or burying their parents. Fluffy the Roostery Chicken has a name because he lives on a small farm where children interact with him instead of being one among thousands of anonymous broilers in an industrial slaughterhouse facility, where my kids (or any visitors) are not allowed to set foot.

Particular names and real relationships do not come without conflict, chaos and heartbreak. And naming can certainly serve darker human impulses toward scorn (“calling someone names”), ego inflation (“making a name” for oneself) and control. But what other way is there than through names to help bring about healing, to move beyond sound bites and shouting matches into authentic belonging?

Affection, tenderness, compassion and care rarely happen in the nameless, faceless abstract; this is the truth of the Incarnation. Christian tradition speaks not of a prime-mover deity far removed from our daily existence but of a living, loving, communal God—a mysterious God beyond all names, who nonetheless chose to take a name, Jesus, and so enter into an intimate relationship with the created order and all of its creatures and places. And this God, whose name we have been given to know, also knows ours: “I have called you by name: you are mine.”

5 years 11 months ago
Wonderful article and reminder about the importance of naming-thank you! 
5 years 11 months ago
Beautiful piece.  Very insightful.  You just made "I have called you by name: you are mine" very real to me!  Thank you, Kyle.
5 years 11 months ago

“What’s In A Name?” Thanks Kyle, for a great article! One’s name is an essential part of one’s persona - like fingerprints it identifies who we are.  In his book, “Jesus Of Nazareth” in the chapter on the “Our Father” PBXVI says, “God addresses every individual by a name that no one else knows.” In confirmation the Pope references (Rev 2:17) where we discover that God writes each name on “white pebbles.” a “white amulet” a “white stone” depending on which translation you read.

I’m willing to bet that this means that God has a “pet” name for each of us, like a loving Father, Mother, may have for each child. Or like Our Lady of Guadalupe for Juan Diego whom she called in a soft voice, “Juanito” meaning “little John” and even further calling him. “Juan Dieguito.”

In closing you reminded us, that God said, “I have called you by name.” So true! And that, “this God whose name we have been given … also knows ours!” I’d love to know God’s “pet” name for me! Wouldn’t you like to know yours?

Laura Fanucci
5 years 11 months ago

Beautiful reflections on naming and belonging! I actually blogged about something very similar (with the same title, ironically!), reflecting on the awesome task of naming a child and how important "name stories" are, whether in call stories of Scripture or the personal stories from our own families about how we were named: http://motheringspirit.wordpress.com/2011/05/19/whats-in-a-name/

Your mention of the priest knowing his parishioners by name brought me some sadness though, when I think of how the priest shortage is affecting parishes and communities across the country. We lose something of the power of relationships to build up the body of Christ when the sheer size of our parishes and/or the workload of a pastor with two or more congregations hinders our ability to truly know one another by name.

Vanessa Landry
5 years 11 months ago
I have to wonder if there's something about the nature of rural living that elevates one's awareness of names. This seems particularly true of place names, in particular. 
When I navigate in the City (Chicago) I find myself thinking of abstract images, of building placements, of streets and intersections.  This is true whether I am walking, taking the bus, or the train. When I hear the name of the stop, I have to close my eyes and visualize what it looks like before I know where I am. Generally, I  have to think carefully to bring up actual street names in the sorrounding area.

When unchained by a grid of streets or a similarly abstract curve of a lake echoed out across that grid, I tend to rely on remembered names, that are ineoxerably linked to stories.

For example, to get from the Lodge to the Lodge mail box, I have to go past my (great) grandpa's old property (that burned down and that same night my grandma's hair turned white), Rainbow Rapids where great grandpa used to fish, and slowly through  Boxer curve where my mom ran the car off the road while learning how to drive.  Then I'm going past  the "haunted tree" and "'Grumbel's' fruit orchard" the latter has been abandoned for years.  We picked the partially  wild fruit and brought it home to make preserves.  Then, you go past evergreen chapel that my grandma helped to (literally) build, and there you are!  Connectivity to the outside world!  THere are no signs, but these objects are named and memorized with positions that seem more solid and less fluid than the gridded, fleeting landmarks in the City.  

For some scrupulous reason, I'd always thought of this practice to be vaguely pagan in nature. Thanks for clearing that up.  I feel much better about the whole thing!


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