It was my privilege to once again serve as a Confirmation Sponsor for a young man at the Cathedral Parish. I am also spiritual director for another young woman. This letter accompanied their gift.
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It was Shakespeare’s Juliet Capulet who immortalized the
question “What’s in a name?” Indeed, for
her, it was only a name that created the barrier between her and the freedom to
love as she wished. All too glibly,
however, did she and the overwrought fans of star-crossed lovers ignore the
profundity of the question Juliet poses.
What is in a name? To my mind, it is much more than an appellation
to which we are conditioned to respond from our infancy. There is a great deal in a name.
Many ancient cultures were of the opinion that to know the
name of another gave one power over that person. To speak their true name was to control them. In a certain way this makes sense, I
suppose. One has but to call my name in
a crowded room, and I immediately respond to their beckoning. Likewise, sundry old ghost stories and
childhood dares pivot upon the act of repeating the grotesque name of some
ghoulish specter. Perhaps more to point,
God Himself uttered His name only to Moses, and from then on the Hebrew people
held his name in great reverence, never presuming to speak it, and punishing as
blasphemers those who did. Moreover, by
commanding that the cripple be healed in the name of Jesus, Peter restored him
to full bodily integrity. To use God’s
name gives one power and authority.
Aside from His own name, in the Scriptures, God seems to emphasize the
importance of the names of His own people.
Abram and Sarai become Abraham and Sarah upon entering into a covenant
with the Lord. Jacob becomes
Israel. Simon becomes Peter. Saul becomes Paul. In each instance, this name change
accompanied a new relationship with the Lord in which the new relationship
became the defining characteristic of the person’s life. Names are powerful. In a way, it could be said that a name
becomes the shorthand expression of the very essence of who a person is. To use a name is to make present the depth
and breadth of a person. A name is more
than a name; it is who a person is.
If what I propose is true, a rather startling question
begins to emerge. If, when my name is
uttered or when it is set to paper in my signature, it calls to mind the very
depths of who I am, should I not be able to provide some more thoroughgoing
articulation of that reality? In other
words, do I know who I am? It is toward
that end that I direct the remainder of my observations.
There are, with all people, those things which make them
unique. So it is with you. Your family of origin, your humor, your
hobbies, your interests, and your intellect are all tied up in what it is to be
you. These things are important, and
they are part of what I admire and find fascinating about you. They are not, however, at their core, the
most important things. You are much more
than these.
First and foremost, you are the beloved son of the Father. This, more than all else, defines you. He made an irrevocable claim upon you in your
baptism, and He has loved you with a love beyond our ability to express in
words from then until eternity. He has
loved you at your best, and He has loved you at your worst. He rejoices in your triumphs, He stands by
you in your miseries, and He never changes his mind about you. No sin you have committed, no sin you can
commit will ever prompt him to love you less.
You are His. Forever. He will never abandon you. So must you never abandon Him.
Because the Father loves you, you are good. I love my priesthood, and I cannot imagine
another life for myself, but this calling has not been without its moments of
suffering. Most poignant, however, have
been those moments when I have seen the goodness within you even as you
struggled to recognize it in yourself.
Thus, I cannot reiterate emphatically enough that you are good. You are not perfect. You are prone to sin. As with all of us, you are still working out
your salvation. This, however, does
nothing to detract from your goodness.
You are good because God has decided that you are good. In those moments when your goodness seems far
from you, when sin seems to overwhelm you, and when you feel most wretched,
please remember that I have never doubted your goodness, and if I can see it,
dull-witted though I am, surely God who made you can see it all the more.
Because God has chosen you, and because you are good, you
also, in a particular way through the sacraments you have received, are an
image of Christ in the world. You bear
His mark. You carry Him in the
world. You are not like other people,
you are like Him. This too, defines
you. Already you have begun to
experience the difficulties of choosing to live in a manner contrary to that of
your peers. These challenges will
continue. It will be easier to be like
other people. Resist this
temptation. Do not be like them. You are made for glory. Pursue it always.
Fountain Pens and Stationary |
All of these things and more are implied whenever someone
pronounces your name. This reality
becomes even more prominent when you set your name to paper. In applying your signature, you attest to the
truth of some claim or you vow to keep some promise, and you offer the very
depths of who you are as guarantor. As I
have established, who you are is no small thing. It is a weighty matter to speak your name,
and even weightier to write it. As such,
one should have a means by which to apply one’s signature the dignity of which
corresponds with the task it is meant to accomplish. Toward that end, please accept the gift that
accompanies this letter.
Yours paternally in Christ,
Fr. Tyler Dennis
You are a fine priest, my friend. Thank you for what you are doing for these young men.
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