"Naming Ceremonies" by Rev. Barbara Merritt

Wed May 23 09:50:36 CDT 2007

M I N I S T E R ‘ S   M E M O

“Naming Ceremonies”

On Memorial Day Sunday, May 27th at noon, a christening ceremony will be
held in the Sanctuary for a newborn baby in our congregation. No matter
whether you call such welcoming celebrations Baptisms or Dedications or
Christenings, all such rituals involve the naming of the child. At these
sacred occasions we announce that every child of God’s name is important and
significant. There is something mysterious and almost holy about the names
we carry.
At the same time (noon) out on the front steps of the church another kind of
naming ceremony will begin. Only on this occasion the names spoken out loud
by members of our congregation (and by many other faith traditions) will be
the names of those who lives have ended violently in Iraq. Approximately
3,500 names of American soldiers and 3,600 identified Iraqi civilians and
soldiers will be read with honor and respect. Each of those names represents
not just the individual who bore that title while she or he walked the
earth. With each name we also invoke the community of all those who called
that particular individual by their formal titles. There are family and
friends who lovingly blessed them with nicknames and terms of affection.
Some of the most powerful and cherished names are known only to the most
intimate of family members. Certainly, many of these soldiers were known
most powerfully as “Dad” or “Mommy” or “son” or “sweetheart.” And the Iraqi
children who have died? Parents call their small ones by endless pet names
and made-up terms of affection.
It matters to human beings when someone remembers our name. It’s puzzling
and disorienting when we forget the name of someone we know well. (This has
to one of the most annoying and frustrating aspects of aging.) In our mind’s
eye we can see his or her face. We can know what they do and then greet them
warmly. But we won’t be able to rest until we can recall their names. Names
are powerful indications of the particularities and the unique individuality
of each person’s life.
The Vietnamese monk, Thich Nhat Hanh wrote of this universal longing to be
known:
Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughter at once.
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.
In his poetry, he names aspects of life that are lovely and inspiring:
Look deeply: every second I am arriving
to be a bud on a Spring branch.
to be a tiny bird, with still-fragile-wings,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.
I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
to fear and to hope
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and death
of all that is alive.
Such imagery is all quite beautiful and comforting. But then his poem asks
us to take in more of reality than most  of us want to see. He begins with
images of death in the natural world which are violent, but inevitable. Then
he illustrates how terrible human existence can be:
I am the mayfly metamorphosing
on the surface of the river.
And I am the bird
that swoops down to swallow the mayfly.

I am a frog swimming happily
in the clear water of a pond.
And I am the grass-snake
that silently feeds itself on the frog.
I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
And I’m the arms merchant
selling deadly weapons to Uganda.
I am the twelve-year-old girl,
refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean
after being raped by a sea pirate.
And I am the pirate
my heart not yet capable
of seeing and loving.
Near the end of his poem, he names the best and the worst:
My joy is like Spring, so warm
it makes flowers bloom all over the Earth.
My pain is like a river of tears,
so vast it fills the four oceans. . .
Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up
and the door of my heart
could be left open,
the door of compassion.
Inside the Sanctuary and outside the Sanctuary, we seek to open the doors of
compassion. Our congregation, like every other community, is involved in the
whole spectrum of birth and death, the welcoming of a new life and the
mourning of the passing of our brothers and sisters. The absolutely true
name of each soul is probably only know by the mystery we call by the name
of God. And yet we also can have the grace to understand that a particular
name and a face are irreplaceable and uniquely blessed. We are grateful for
the chances to welcome new life joyfully. And we are called to honor the
fallen, with all the compassion we can bring to bear.

                                          Barbara

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