Abby King Writes: When You Can't Remember Your Own Name

Welcome to R&R!

Your monthly reflection and reading recommendations to nourish your soul.

When You Can't Remember Your Own Name.
 

In the TV show, Elementary, Sherlock Holmes works with a woman who’s never known her real name. Bounced from one foster home to another as a child, she’s grown into a serial liar, because she’s never known the truth about herself. At one point, Sherlock says to her, ‘It’s been troubling me that you don’t know your own name. If we want you to find your place in the world, then you need to know who you are.’
 
It reminded me of a story found in Mark’s Gospel. Jesus comes across a man who is in a wretched state. He’s tormented by demons, living among the tombs having been banished from polite society, continually howling and self-harming. Jesus asks the man what his name is, and the man answers, ‘My name is Legion, for we are many.’ For first century Jewish audiences, it’s an unmistakable association with the legions of the Roman army, the presence and power of the occupying oppressor.
 
Commenting on this story, Pádraig O’Tuama writes,
 
"‘What is your name?' [the man] was asked. And he answered, ‘I am what has afflicted me.’ How many of us know the truth of this? When we are towards the end of ourselves, we begin to believe that we are only what we struggle with.’"
 
I am stupid. I am worthless. I am not enough.
I am defective. I am broken. I am my mistakes.
I am anxiety. I am depression. I am chronic illness.
I am rejected. I am unloved. I am alone.
 
How many of us define ourselves by such names?
 
//
 
There’s a brilliant moment near the end of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The battle for Middle Earth is raging and the powerful Witch-King of Angmar is leaving behind a trail of death and destruction in his wake. His huge, faceless form shrouded in a black cloak, combined with the prophecy that no man alive can kill him, strikes terror into the hearts of all who cross his path. He is one of the enemy’s most powerful weapons.
 
At one point, he fatally injures Théoden, King of Rohan and the camera pans to Théoden’s niece, Eowyn, who has snuck into the battle disguised as a man. Her fury overcomes her fear and she battles with the evil Witch-King, aided by her faithful hobbit friend, Merry. The fight is fierce and cruel, and just when all seems lost, the Witch-King berates her in his arrogance: “Fool! Don’t you know that no man alive can kill me?”
 
At that moment, Eowyn pulls off her helmet, shakes out her hair, and proclaims aloud: “I am no man!” She raises her sword and delivers the death blow to this vicious enemy. It’s glorious; the defining moment that turns the battle towards the triumph of good.
 
I’ve always loved this scene for its feminist overtones, but it struck me recently that in this moment, Eowyn is speaking out the truth of her identity. The book puts her speech this way:
 
“No living man am I! You look upon a woman. Eowyn I am, Eomund’s daughter…”
 
Here is a woman who has come home to herself. She stands confident in the truth of her own identity, refusing to be defined by the assumptions the Witch-King makes about her. It’s an interesting contrast with her uncle, the king, who spends much of the narrative enslaved by the lies of Grima Wormtongue, easily manipulated because he has forgotten who he is.
 
//
 
When I talk to the children I teach, I often give them nicknames – treasure, lovely, darling, sugar. I want them to know they are precious and important to me. I want them to feel accepted and loved. I want to call out the best in them, remind them of who they really are.
 
In the book of Isaiah, the prophet speaks this beautiful promise over God’s people:
 
…you shall be called by a new name,
That the mouth of the Lord will give.
You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,
A royal diadem in the hand of your God.
You shall no more be termed Forsaken,
And your land shall no more be termed Desolate,
But you shall be called My Delight is in Her,
And your land Married,
For the Lord delights in you.
Isaiah 62:2-5
 
We have to listen out for our new name over and over again, to let it define us and become our firm foundation, our anchor to all that is good and beautiful and true, our warrior cry in the battle.
 
Beloved. Precious. Delighted in.
Wanted. Chosen. Cherished.
Accepted. Embraced. Enough.
Complete. Restored. Welcome.
Forgiven. Redeemed. Treasured.
 
The truest thing about us is not our brokenness, but our belovedness.
 
I have learned that if we are attentive, we can find the voice that calls us each beloved in every frosted leaf and starlit night. We hear its whisper in hot air on cold hands and boots that splash through the mud. We hear it through our loneliness and our friendships, our heartbreak and our celebrations. Our belovedness sings over us in grey winter skies and morning bird song, shafts of unexpected sunlight and days when the rain won’t end. It calls to us from our soft bodies, worn at the edges, and our aching souls, full of dreams yet to be fulfilled. It speaks through grief and joy, hope and despair, the spectacular moments and the ordinary, every-day.
 
Fear not, it whispers, I have called you by name. You are mine.

Reading Recommendations

In the Shelter: Finding a Home in the World, by Padraig O'Tuama

O'Tuama is a poet and readers reap the full benefit of that in this beautifully written, well-crafted spiritual memoir that blends autobiography, poetry, narrative theology and reflections on the Gospels. At the beginning of the book, O'Tuama reflects on Jesus meeting the disciples on Easter Sunday, and essentially says to them the Aramaic equivalent of 'hello.' He returns to this theme throughout the book, exploring ways in which welcoming ourselves, our fears and the people around us, can lead to a transformational encounter with God. I loved it.

All the Colours We Will See: Reflections of Barriers, Brokenness, and Finding Our Way, by Patrice Gopo

This incredible memoir reflects on colour, immigration, marriage, divorce the church and what it's like to live and love in the midst of our differences. Gopo is eloquent and wise and her compassion and intelligence shine through every page of her book. Her vulnerability is courageous, her tone poetic and her voice full of the truth and clarity born of experience. I read this book slowly to savour it, and taste its flavours properly. I'm so glad I read a book by someone with a different lived experience from me, and I highly recommend you read it too. 

Reluctant Pilgrim, by Enuma Okoro

I read Okoro's Advent Devotional and really loved it, so thought I would give her memoir a try too. It's an honest, vulnerable account of the author's search for real community and I found it beautiful and compelling. I became invested in whether Okoro would find a spiritual home and what it would look like if she did. I liked her and wanted her to find peace and belonging with other people who loved Jesus like she did. I won't spoil the ending for you, but it's a gracious, kind book that will leave you wider for reading it. 

And finally...

Congratulations to Jessica, who won the copy of Aundi Kolber's new book, Try Softer!

And if you know anyone who would like to receive this email monthly, just share 

With love and gratitude,
Abby