Names: Identity's Key: by Phil Gaines

If you know me at all, you know that I love to read. Rarely am I not in the process of reading a book of some kind, and when I’m not actively doing that, I read articles about books. Though my literary interests are reasonably wide-ranging, talk to me about books for more than 5 minutes and it will invariably come out that my favorite genre is fantasy. Of the sixty books I read last year, thirty-nine were fantasy novels. I keep my finger on the pulse of the genre and pay attention to a lot of trends and tropes in current publishing. One thematic thread that runs through the genre, from the classics, like The Lord of the Rings, to breakout hits like Harry Potter, to more recent darlings like The Name of the Wind, is that names have power. Names echo throughout worlds, summoning, binding, encouraging, cursing, releasing, and more. In the real world, though, it often seems that names are little more than humdrum tags, alerting us that someone wants our attention, practically meaningless in the final analysis. And yet, I don’t believe that’s true; I think all of these diverse authors have uncovered something of worth, something with real spiritual significance, in their obsession with naming—they’re catching echoes of the Gospel and what it says about identity in their stories. 

Names are a key to identity; they encapsulate some core part of us in a collection of sounds. I think this is why, in the Bible, encounters with God so often end with a name-change. In the Old Testament, Abram and Sarai become Abraham and Sarah, and Jacob becomes Israel; in the New Testament, perhaps most famously, Jesus gives Simon the name Peter, the Rock, and Saul the name Paul. Each of these men and women met God and were fundamentally altered as a result, and He gave them new names to embody some part of that change. Now, do I think that all Christians should take on new names when they commit their lives to Christ? No, of course not. However, I think it is true that, just as surely as God changed Abraham’s name, He has given us new identities, complete with new descriptors—new names—through the work of Christ Jesus on the Cross. 

Let’s look at a few of the things God has said are true about us, a few of the names He has assigned to us. We are “chosen, holy, and dearly loved” (Col. 3:12). We are “blessed,” “blameless in His sight,” adopted as sons, redeemed, and forgiven (Eph. 1:3-8). As a body of believers, the Church, He calls us “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession” (1 Pet. 2:5). Even the Old Testament prophet Isaiah gets in on the action, for though he was writing to the ethnic people of Israel, the latter parts of the book are also written for the Church: we are “a crown of beauty” and “a royal diadem”; no more are we “Forsaken” or our land “Desolate,” but He names us “My Delight Is in Her” and our land “Married” (Isa. 62:3-4). God’s tendency to speak truth to us about who we are doesn’t even stop with the Church or the people of Israel, though. His salvific plan sprang from His love for the whole world and the people He had made (John 3:16); as Henri Nouwen writes, “…many conversations led me to the conviction that the words, ‘You are my Beloved’ revealed the most intimate truth about all human beings, whether they belong to any particular tradition or not” (Life of the Beloved, 30). 

It can be so hard to believe what God has said is true about me or about others. I look at myself, and I see sin and its consequences writ large. I possess tendencies toward pride, self-centeredness, selfishness, laziness, irritation with those who love me best, obstinacy, and fear, just to name a few. I have hurt people; I have damaged relationships; I have treated Christ’s sacrifice as a cheap source of forgiveness for whatever indulgence the flesh demands. Around me, I see other Christians struggling in their own ways with sin. It feels impossible that I should have a place at God’s table, that He would invite me into His Family, that He would want to hear my imperfect praises or my petulant petitions. 

And yet. (How much power do those two words contain?) The testimony of Scripture is clear: “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (2 Cor. 5:17)! Because of the incomprehensible nature of God’s radical grace, these myriad sins and brokennesses do not define me any longer. The Atonement of Christ freed my captive heart and gave me a crown of righteousness—His righteousness imputed to my account. In response, how could I do any less than my utmost to serve Him in newness of life, living out the holiness he has claimed for me? That is why, this year, I resolve to believe the Gospel-identity Christ has laid on me as deeply and as truly as I can. I am Phil, Nashville Fellow and avid reader, son, brother, and friend, but, deeper and more transcendent than all of those, I am a child of the King.

From The Valley of Vision

Jehovah God,

Thou Creator, Upholder, Proprietor of all things,

I cannot escape from Thy presence or control,

   nor do I desire to do so.

My privilege is to be under the agency of omnipotence

   righteousness, wisdom, patience, mercy, grace.

Thou art love with more than parental affection;

I admire Thy heart,

   adore Thy wisdom,

   stand in awe of Thy power,

   abase myself before Thy purity.

It is the discover of Thy goodness that can

banish my fear,

allure me into Thy presence,

help me to bewail and confess my sins.

When I review my past guilt

   and am conscious of my present unworthiness,

I tremble to come to Thee.

I whose foundation is in the dust,

I who have condemned Thy goodness

Defied Thy power,

Trampled upon Thy love,

Rendered myself worthy of eternal death.

But my recovery cannot spring from any cause in me,

   I can destroy but cannot save myself.

Yet thou hast laid help on One that is mighty,

   for there is mercy with Thee,

and exceeding riches in Thy kindness through Jesus.

May I always feel my need of Him.

Let Thy restored joy be my strength;

May it keep me from lusting after the world,

bear up heart and mind in loss of comforts,

enliven me within the Valley of Death,

work in me the image of the heavenly,

and give me to enjoy the first fruits of spirituality,

   such as angels and departed saints know.