I Got A Name

A sermon prepared by Rev. Tim Kutzmark
Sunday, February 3, 2008 • Unitarian Universalist Church of Reading

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Borrow a cloud and drift high above the Earth,
Looking down at the smallness of your life.
The journey begins on a path made of your old mistakes.
The journey continues when you call yourself by name
—Nancy Wood

Her name was Jodi Love.

I met Jodi Love only once, when I officiated my sister’s wedding.  Jodi had introduced my sister to her future husband, so, naturally, at the wedding, I spoke of how ‘love’ had literally brought Tammy and Cary together…Jodi Love.  I remember Jodi’s smile, a smile that shined out beyond the ache faintly etched across her eyes.  I remember Jodi’s warmth, an embrace that reached out to others, yet seemed to leave something unthawed at the core of her own being.

Her name was Jodi Love.  She died four years ago.  She died in her apartment.  She died of a gunshot wound to her chest.  The police are unsure what actually happened that night of her death.  Only Jodi and an ex-boyfriend were in the apartment.  She may have been threatening to take her own life with the gun she held in her hand.  In the struggle to try to disarm her, the gun may have gone off, firing a single bullet into her heart.  Or, perhaps, the gun was not fired by her hand at all, but by the only other person in the room.  Suicide, accident, or murder: forensic evidence will never be able to reveal how she actually died.

When the bullet stopped her heart, Jodi Love was 31 year old.  In that short time, she had done so many things, touched so many people with her gentle wisdom, generosity, and unbelievable courage in the face of great challenge.  There was so much that was known about her.  And yet, in one moment of unknowable violence, she was reduced to a mystery, a police case that couldn’t be solved.  Instead of Jodi Love, a complex human being filled with strength and weakness, she became Jodi Love, the tragic women who died mysteriously of a gunshot wound.

My sister spoke of Jodi at her memorial service.  These were her words:

“In the days after Jodi’s death, I found myself describing her with the words that told of her death.  I changed her from Jodi my dear friend to Jodi who died tragically.  Like that I reduced her from a remarkable young woman who literally changed my life to an incomplete and disquieting image.”

We tend to do that a lot, don’t we?  We reduce people.  Even while alive, we reduce people.  Ignoring the broad fullness of their being, we reduce them to one small aspect of their lives, making one specific thing their identity.  Making that one reduction their name. 

We do it with groups of people.  We reduce them to one small aspect of their collective lives, as if individuality could by washed away by a projected conformity.  We do it all the time: Fundamentalist Christians, Mormons, Arabs, Iraqi insurgents, Red State, Blue State, the US Army, Democrats, Republicans, Conservative, Liberal. We turn the fullness of people’s humanity into an incomplete and disquieting image.

Reducing people as we name them.  We tend to do that a lot.  We reduce individual people.  Ignoring the broad fullness of their being, we reduce them to one small aspect of their lives, making that one reduction their name. “That’s Sam, the single guy.”  “That’s Maria, the lesbian.” “This is Michael, and he’s disabled.”  “There’s Amiri, the single Mom.”  Sometimes our reductions take on a sharper edge. “ That’s DiTonya, and she’s a bitter bi---“(well, fill in the blank).  “That’s Charlie, and he is just odd.”  “That’s Hillary, and she’s strident.”  “That’s Mitt and he’s inconsistent.”  “That’s Obama, and he’s inexperienced.”  “That’s John McCain, and he’s too old.”  We turn the fullness of people’s humanity into an incomplete and disquieting image.

Reducing people.  We tend to do that a lot.  We reduce ourselves.  “I’m Tim, the minister.”   “I’m Terrance, the recovering alcoholic.”  “I’m Lakshmi, I have cancer.”  “I’m Chana, I was abused.” “I’m Jorge, and I’m depressed.”  Sometimes our reductions take on a sharper edge.  “I’m Georgia, and I’m a loser.”  “I’m Fred, and I have nothing left to offer the world.”  We so often turn the fullness of our humanity into an incomplete and disquieting image.

What are the names we give? 

How do those names render us incomplete? 

Vietnamese Buddhist Monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes:

Please Call Me by My True Names  Look deeply.  Please call me by my true names, so I can wake up.  Please call me by my true names [so] the door of my heart [can] be left open.

What we call other people, how we name them, creates a sensibility that cocoons their very existence.  How we name other people determines how we perceive them, and how others perceive them.  That perception will shape their reality.

What we call ourselves, how we name ourselves, determines how we will relate to our own self.  How we name ourselves determines how we perceive ourselves, and how others perceive us.  That perception will shape our destiny.

The prophet Mohammed advised his followers: “On the Day of Resurrection, you will be called by your names and the names of your fathers; so keep beautiful names.”
 
Orthodox Jewish poet Zelda Mishkovsky writes:

Each of us has a name
Each of us has a name, given by the source of life and given by our parents
Each of us has a name, given by our stature and our smile and given by what we wear
Each of us has a name, given by the mountains and given by our walls
Each of us has a name, given by the stars and given by our neighbors
Each of us has a name, given by our sins and given by our longings
Each of us has a name, given by our enemies and given by our love
Each of us has a name, given by our celebrations and given by our work
Each of us has a name, given by the seasons and given by our blindness
Each of us has a name, given by the sea and given by our death

We have many names, but it is a wise person who tucks into the inner most region of their heart a name that points them towards their inherent worth and dignity, a name that points them beyond.

This is why some religious traditions invite people to choose a spiritual name. A spiritual name becomes a sign pointing again and again to their best selves.  A spiritual name reminds us of a reality greater than the present quandary or chaos.  As my spiritual teacher, Yogi Bhajan, once said: “Destination, destiny, and distance are covered with the strength and guideline of the compass called Spiritual Name.”

The method that discerns and bestows a spiritual name depends on specific cultures or traditions.  For the Native American teenager, a name was often revealed in the wilderness after days of fasting and meditating upon the Great Spirit.  For the young priestess of an indigenous South American tribe, a Shaman would discern the name while in a hallucinating trance.  In the Eastern mystical traditions, an aging man would turn to a guru attuned to a higher consciousness.  The twenty-year-old Catholic woman, ready to become a nun, selects her own Saint’s name after careful prayer and reflection.  Many of these traditions believe the new name is actually the name—the identity—the universe bestowed upon a person before they were born, and is only now being revealed.

In my spiritual practice, the ancient practice from Tibet and India known as Kundalini Yoga and Meditation, there is a tradition of spiritual names.  It is based on ancient astrological techniques and revelation through meditation.  Many years ago, now, I requested such a name from my teacher, Yogi Bhajan.  I received a name, a name in the ancient language of Gurmukhi, a spoken derivation of Sanskrit from the Punjab region of India.  The name my teacher bestowed upon me was, and is, this: Har Dayal Singh.  Har Dayal Singh translates as “Prince who lives as the manifestation of God as one who gives through kindness.”  I view that name not as an ego stroke, but as an identity to grow into, a possibility that I can move towards if I choose.  Rather than being always lost in the muck and mire of my own fears and reductions, my thoughts and actions can be guided by a name and identity that points the way to my higher self.

Is there something that could elevate your consciousness?  Are there qualities that are within you that could elevate you if you only allowed them to whisper more fully in your heart? 

Take a moment.  Really, take a moment.  Listen and reflect.  What are some aspects, some qualities that you possess—or that you yearn for?  What are some qualities or actions that could lift you towards a living and a being that is reflective of your higher self?

How could those aspects be shaped into a name?

My teacher believed my spiritual challenge and destiny is to learn to give through kindness while still claiming a dignity of self, and so my name became: “Prince who lives as the manifestation of God as one who gives through kindness.”  Who do you imagine you might be called to be in the world?  What do you imagine could be your true name?

Could your true name be one you haven’t dared to imagine?

Let each of us remember that we should never name carelessly.  Let us remember that we should never name endlessly.  Let us remember that we should always name meaningfully.

In our living and our dying, may our names lead us to where the lights are brighter and the hope is fuller.  In our living and our dying, may our names lead us to where the love—yes, the true love—is deeper. 

May it be so.  Blessed Be.  Amen.

 

©Copyright 2008 Rev. Timothy A. Kutzmark
All rights reserved.