Names
are very peculiar. When people ask, “Who are you?” Our first
response is likely our name. Yet, our names actually reveal very
little about who we are to someone who does not know us. It is much
more descriptive to name our profession, our education, our relationships, our
likes and dislikes. Names in themselves do not describe us and yet
they carry with them the burden and the power of total representation.
I was
not born with the name Lebak. In May of 2004, I drove to the Circuit
Court in Joliet, Illinois, to officially change my surname. That morning
six or seven cases that were called before mine, all requesting name changes. There
was a woman asking to reclaim her birth name, a woman who wished to change her
son’s last name to her own, and a man who decided that he wanted his middle
name to be Green Lantern.
According
to State Civil Procedure, “Any person who desires to assume another name may
file a petition in the circuit court praying for that
relief. If it appears to the court that there is
no reason why the prayer should not be
granted, the court may direct that the name of that person be changed
in accordance with the prayer in that petition.” I wish
that all prayer responses were that simple.
Names
in our religious and mythical history have often served as an indication of an
individual’s character, function, or destiny. In the Bible, only God and
men were given the authority to name: the father named his children and slaves,
Adam named his wife and all the animals. Biblical names often
suggested the traits of the child, like Esau for hairy. Some
were drawn from the names of animals or plants like Deborah which means bee or
Hadassah which means myrtle. Sometimes a biblical name was
ascribed before a person’s birth, to indicate some special
destiny. Today, most Americans no longer connect the roots of our names to
Biblical stories, nor do we necessarily think of occupations or our destiny
when we hear family names such as Baker, Hunter, Abbott, or Gardner.
The
morning of my court date for my name change, the judge called my case number. It
was all very simple, really. He asked for my driver’s license and
proof that I had paid the fee. The judge looked at the documents and then
looked at me.
“So, is Lebak your maiden name?”
“No sir,” I answered.
He
stared at me perplexed. “So, you just picked this one out of the air?”
“Something like that, sir,” I responded.
Actually,
I had put a lot of thought and prayer into Lebak. I
discovered the word while reading Prayers of the Cosmos by Neil
Douglas Klotz, which includes poetic translations of the Beatitudes,
The Lords Prayer and certain sayings of Jesus. Lebak is the word in
Aramiac for heart in “You will love the Lord your God with all your heart and
soul and strength. Lebak literally jumped off the page. In
Aramaic, Lebak means heart, the center of one’s life,
compassion, and audacity. I want to be reminded every time I say or sign
my name what is at the center of my life. I want to be reminded to be
compassionate, to validate my emotional experience, reminded of the impact that
I can have with my life, of the blessing that I can be. I may
even be described as audacious on occasion. Lebak was
fitting.
Abram’s
name changed to Abraham when he formed a covenant with God. His wife
Sarai later became Sarah. New Muslims consider the changing of their name
to be a mark in their lives between one stage (before Islam) and another (after
Islam). There I stood in court about to graduate
from seminary. The judge raised a single eyebrow and said, “Well, ok then,” He
stamped the paperwork and called the next case. I left the courtroom
with a sort of Las Vegas Honeymoon/Deer-in-headlights look. It had been
so much more uneventful than I had expected: no raising of the right hand, no
swearing to go by this name until death do I part, no parting of the clouds in
the sky or the earth beneath my feet. But something inside me
shifted.
To
distinguish ourselves and to join together, we say our names. May our
names, given or chosen, each time that we utter them, serve as a prayer, a
reminder, to look at how we are presenting ourselves to the world.
I met you in 2005 at ConCentric. Thank you for sharing your heart with us then as a Chaplain and now thru this blog!
ReplyDeleteHi Charlene! My pleasure.
ReplyDelete