猫咪头条

Saturday, December 14

Amos 9:8-15; Luke 1:57-66聽

What鈥檚 in a name? Much, it seems. I vividly remember walking into my first-grade classroom at the beginning of the school year. I was full of excitement and wonder as I searched up and down the neat rows of desks for my name on my assigned seat. Although officially Jennifer, my family called me by the nickname Jenny, which I had diligently practiced writing all summer in anticipation of this day.

But my excitement turned to disappointment when I saw that Mrs. Baker, the teacher, had written 鈥淛enni鈥� on my card instead. I dutifully took my seat, but as I waited for other children to arrive, I could only see the 鈥渋鈥� glaring mockingly at me. Knowing that it was important for the teacher to know my real name, I took my sharpened pencil from my pencil box and very carefully changed the 鈥渋鈥� to a 鈥測鈥� and then proceeded to make this correction darker and darker and larger and larger, so that Mrs. Baker could not mistake one letter for the other. With my six-year-old logic taking hold, I was sure I had solved the problem. Alas, Mrs. Baker was steadfast in her belief that Jenni was the correct short form of Jennifer. Despite my edits, she continued to write it that way. I, on the other hand, refused to bow down to tyranny and never wavered in writing Jenny. Boldly, I changed every 鈥渋鈥� that should have been a 鈥測鈥� so that my name was correctly spelled.

Looking back, I now smile at my young pluckiness and the teacher鈥檚 irrational stubbornness. But upon closer examination, I realize that Mrs. Baker鈥檚 refusal to see how important that 鈥測鈥� was to me spoke volumes about how she saw me. I was her student, obviously, but it felt like she didn鈥檛 see that my name was me.

Today, if I am unsure how to pronounce a student’s name, I never accept the response, 鈥淵ou can call me whatever you want,鈥� or, 鈥淚鈥檒l answer to anything. It doesn鈥檛 matter.鈥� If I hear a student say any variation of these lines, I stop and clarify that their name does matter and that I intend to say it correctly. I tell them their name is who they are and give them permission to correct me if I mispronounce it. I want them to know that I see them as more than just another student. I want them to understand that I see them as a person.

These same ideas present themselves in Luke 1:57-66. This scripture details the birth of John the Baptist, itself a miraculous event. John鈥檚 mother, Elizabeth, and father, Zechariah, were well advanced in years and had long ago given up hope of having children. But the angel Gabriel promised them that Elizabeth would bear a son. Despite Zechariah鈥檚 initial disbelief, the event did come to pass. As was the custom, it was naturally assumed that the child would be named Zechariah after his father. However, both parents were firm in their desire to name him John, meaning 鈥淕od is gracious.鈥� Although Elizabeth and Zechariah experienced pressure to conform to tradition, they did not waver. John鈥檚 name meant something. It was him. Soon, those around them recognized the appropriateness of this name. Today, we cannot imagine calling John anything different.

During this Advent season, like Elizabeth and Zechariah, may we remember God鈥檚 graciousness and strive to honor others as they are, not as we assume they should be.

Jennifer Putnam
Associate Professor, Ed.D. Associate Dean, College of Education Coordinator: EdD in Curriculum and Instruction Program