Because I tend to be naturally curious, I found myself wondering the other day how often an infant needs to hear his or her name before linking that particular sound with his or her own being. I’m sure it has a lot to do with repetition—the more times, the better. Those infants who seldom hear their names probably have a more difficult time making the connection. And what about the infants who hear their names spoken only in harsh and angry tones? What kind of an impact will that have on the child’s sense of self?
When Judy and I were preparing to welcome our own children into the world, we marched into the maternity ward with several names (for boys and girls, since we didn’t know in advance). We did so because Judy was always adamant that we needed to see the child first, before deciding upon a name. “What if she doesn’t look like a Jessica?” she insisted.
I didn’t argue with her; although I couldn’t help thinking, “What does a ‘Jessica’ look like exactly?” Does your name really determine your identity? Would I be a completely different person if my parents had named me Bruce or Hal, instead of Bob?
The reason I mention this is because there are several biblical stories in which someone is given a new name as a way of representing that this person now has a new identity. Take Abram and Sarai, for example. Abram stands right at the brink of the century mark, and Sarai is only a decade behind him. They have carried their names with them for as long as either can remember, and like a well-entrenched routine, those names have come to define the pattern of their lives.
This is why, in a sense, bestowing new names becomes an act of God’s grace. New names bring fresh possibilities for the two of them. New names hold out the promise of new birth—both figuratively and literally! Abram, “the exalted ancestor,” becomes Abraham, “the father of multitudes.” Sarai—still barren at the time, mind you—becomes Sarah, “princess.”
Of course, one does not need to reach the ripe, old age of ninety-nine to sense that a long-sought dream is slipping away. Middle age can usher in similar feelings that life may have already passed you by. Even young adults—staring out at a sluggish economy and an ever-shrinking job market—may wonder if their hopes and aspirations are still attainable.
But God keeps calling out to us, “No longer shall your name be ….” It is God’s way of opening new doors, of unleashing new thoughts, of making possible new lives. My guess is that, like an infant learning to recognize his or her name, we may need to experience this grace repeatedly. Indeed, the more times, the better. But eventually we will start to make the connection between the sweet sound of amazing grace and our own being. God is calling out to us!
It is the same grace that made it possible for Abram to become Abraham, and Sarai to become Sarah, and Simon to become Peter, and Saul to become Paul. So the real question is … Who will God’s grace now make it possible for you to become?
When Judy and I were preparing to welcome our own children into the world, we marched into the maternity ward with several names (for boys and girls, since we didn’t know in advance). We did so because Judy was always adamant that we needed to see the child first, before deciding upon a name. “What if she doesn’t look like a Jessica?” she insisted.
I didn’t argue with her; although I couldn’t help thinking, “What does a ‘Jessica’ look like exactly?” Does your name really determine your identity? Would I be a completely different person if my parents had named me Bruce or Hal, instead of Bob?
The reason I mention this is because there are several biblical stories in which someone is given a new name as a way of representing that this person now has a new identity. Take Abram and Sarai, for example. Abram stands right at the brink of the century mark, and Sarai is only a decade behind him. They have carried their names with them for as long as either can remember, and like a well-entrenched routine, those names have come to define the pattern of their lives.
This is why, in a sense, bestowing new names becomes an act of God’s grace. New names bring fresh possibilities for the two of them. New names hold out the promise of new birth—both figuratively and literally! Abram, “the exalted ancestor,” becomes Abraham, “the father of multitudes.” Sarai—still barren at the time, mind you—becomes Sarah, “princess.”
Of course, one does not need to reach the ripe, old age of ninety-nine to sense that a long-sought dream is slipping away. Middle age can usher in similar feelings that life may have already passed you by. Even young adults—staring out at a sluggish economy and an ever-shrinking job market—may wonder if their hopes and aspirations are still attainable.
But God keeps calling out to us, “No longer shall your name be ….” It is God’s way of opening new doors, of unleashing new thoughts, of making possible new lives. My guess is that, like an infant learning to recognize his or her name, we may need to experience this grace repeatedly. Indeed, the more times, the better. But eventually we will start to make the connection between the sweet sound of amazing grace and our own being. God is calling out to us!
It is the same grace that made it possible for Abram to become Abraham, and Sarai to become Sarah, and Simon to become Peter, and Saul to become Paul. So the real question is … Who will God’s grace now make it possible for you to become?
posted by Dr. Robert Crilley at
4:21 PM
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