The Blessing of A Name Change

It’s been a few weeks since I made the declaration that I would no longer be identifying with the title of Christian or the institution of Christianity. I typed out my declaration, right there on my social media feed for all who mattered to me to see, with a sense of equal parts passionate purpose and uneasy dread. I knew what I needed to say for my own convictions, and was afraid of the almost certain response from the people in my life who I knew would object. At 3:50 in the morning, the purpose outweighed the dread, and I hit the post button.

Since that post, the bulk of the responses I have had, both in replies on my feed and in-person conversations, have been overwhelmingly along the theme of “me too.” I’m not the only one who has felt so betrayed and baffled by a religion who seems to be so far removed from the mission and character of the Christ it is named after.

I have had some people suggest that I don’t abandon, but rather reclaim the title “Christian.” I understand why this feels important. I believe that some people will work to this means. I’m grateful that they feel compelled to do so. I am not opposed to this… for them. But for me, it has been a journey that has led me to leave Christianity altogether.

I have looked back to my own patterns of explaining away some of the difficult narratives of Christian history, in ways that distance my personal faith and insulate me from the judgement of history.

• “Yes, people prayed and sang Christian songs at the foot of lynchings, but I didn’t! That was not Christianity! They may have claimed to be Christian, but that’s not what it is.”
• “Yes, the church (by the way, the Protestant church included) has a history of systematic abuse with an equally systematic and permissive cover-up. But that was them not us. That wasn’t me. I am not ok with that. Shame on them. But that is not Christianity!”
• “There is a history of antisemitism in the church, but that is people hiding behind their religion to espouse their racism! That’s not Christianity! That’s not me!”

And, at some point, the whole “that’s not Christianity,” argument fails to hold water. Why would I want to reclaim a leaky bucket?

I woke up the morning after I made my declaration and felt a since of commonality with the Hebrew Scripture’s Jacob. Jacob wrestled overnight with a man. Some presume this man was God, others say he was an angel. We can’t really be certain. We also don’t know why he was wrestling. But before the man left, he struck Jacob on the hip, causing him to limp the rest of his life. Then the man said, “let go of me so that I can go, it’s almost morning.” Jacob answered, “No. I will not let you go until you bless me.” And so, the man blessed Jacob. The blessing… a simple name change. “Your name is no longer Jacob (which means “deceiver”), but it is Israel (which presumably means “one who has wrestled with God”)” (see Genesis 32). That’s it. A limp for the rest of his life, all for the blessing of a name change. It seems a little odd and anticlimactic. That is, until you’ve had your name changed.

“It’s just a name, why wouldn’t he just reclaim it?” I can imagine the people whispering behind Jacob’s back, rolling their eyes as he walked away with a limp.  But I also picture Jacob looking in the mirror the first time he knew he wasn’t looking at “liar.” Why justify living in the shadow of a name that says you are someone you do not wish to be? He didn’t want the world to think they knew all about him as his name touted his reputation. He wanted to be known as something else. He wanted to be seen as someone to whom it mattered enough that he was willing to limp for the rest of his life. The man who wrestled God was no longer the liar.

I let go of the name Christian. I recognize that it may cause me to figuratively limp as I move through the world with those whom I love and for whom that title is still very important. I know that it might be a difficult transition to some who do not understand how I could give up on something that has been so significant in my life to this point. But I hope they will take the time to find out what my faith is beyond my dead name.

I am still figuring out what name my blessing will be. Even as I walk through life with a limp, I am enlivened by the possibilities. I don’t feel the need to hang my head as I search for a defense for the indefensible. I can offer heartfelt amends for the faith I have held that caused pain, violence and sorrow. I don’t have to distance my past from it. And I don’t have to marry my future to it. What a blessing indeed!