Where Somebody Knows Your Name

It happened to me again this past Tuesday. It's happened before, and sometimes I think it's happening more and more often. I was strolling leisurely in Macy’s when it happened. All of a sudden I heard a voice say, "Hi, Jeff. How are you? Nice to see you! What's happening?"

I looked at the face, saw eyes open wide and welcoming, and took in the loveliest grin I'd seen in a long time. For the life of me I couldn't remember who this person was! "Oh. I'm doing great," I said. "How have you been? It's so good to see you." The whole time I prayed two thoughts: please let her say something that helps me remember who she is; and, please, God, don't let my wife come near so that I have to make an introduction that betrays my unknowing.

Well one of those prayers was answered. My wife never came close. I was able to quickly slip away by saying I was in a rush to get through all the stores and see about the sales. Three days later I remembered Terry's name. Several years ago we worked together in state government.

I found the whole experience so embarrassing and so frustrating that I actually put some time into trying to figure out how this happens to me. At first I thought of something organic. Maybe there are some synapses in my brain that don't connect right. Or maybe the connections are OK, but the synapses don't fire right. I can't tell you how many times I walk into a room and forget what I went in there for. More often than not, the only way I can remember what I'm looking for is to go all the way back to where I started and retrace my steps.

Well the thought that I have a brain disorder was too scary, so I took another route. I decided that no matter how closely Terry and I had worked together, I had just never reserved much brain space in which to remember this colleague. Neither had I carved a spot in my heart to welcome and sustain this co-worker. Whatever sort of relationship we had was obviously task oriented, time-limited and quite impersonal. And in fairness to my fuzzy brain and resistant heart, what Terry and I had was not a relationship at all. At best, it was an association. Something with: minimal personal involvement; little emotional investment; and, very limited influence over the journey of my own becoming. In short, there was nothing memorable about what we had shared.

If my retelling this experience has touched a chord with you, we might all sometimes wonder if we can really ever know any other person. And sometimes, we might even wonder if we ever really know God.

This God is not something we can define, like memory. This God is not an object we can possess, like Christmas presents. We come to know God through one man, grown from a baby born in an obscure village. It may seem scandalous to make such a claim. But this is the core of our Christian faith.

When we say, "I believe...;" we're not merely observing an association. Our word of trust declares a personal relationship. It’s a relationship with: maximum personal involvement; intense emotional investment; and, a healing influence over the journey of our own becoming. And like all memorable, unconditional relationships, this one is pure gift: ours without deserving; ours without earning; ours for remembering; and, ours for life.

The glory of who we are in that relationship shines through every dark recess of our brains and enlightens every dark corner or our hearts. For through this Son, the desire of the One who ordered the planets and stars, the One so mighty, yet still so intimate, that every landing of each sparrow matters; the love of that One, is made known to us.

Our remembering Who it is Who seeks relationship with us in this birth of the Word made flesh comes down to simple but earth-shaking words: death no longer rules. We have been redeemed from hands too strong for us, by someone who’s been remembering our name since before we were born.

As your journey in faith moves from 2006 and into 2007, I hope you are part of a vibrant community, surrounded by other believers whose hearts, whose way of walking and whose ways remembering never let you forget that.