***
My friends call me "Ab."
"Ab." Can you believe it?
My name is Abram,
son of Terah,
Nahor,
Serug,
Reu,
Peleg,
Eber,
Shelah,
Arpachshad,
Shem,
Noah,
Lamech (no, not that Lamech),
Methuselah,
Enoch,
Jared,
Mahalel,
Kenan,
Enosh,
Seth,
Adam and Eve,
made by God.
I bet you can't trace your ancestry back to the creator of the universe. Oh, sure, "knit me together in my mother's womb," we're all children of God, and so forth, but, still, to name all the generations between yourself and God? God, the High One, the eternal. El. The name be praised.
It's a lot to live down. Or up to, depending on your perspective. And it's not like my human lineage is full of nobodies, either.
Even pagans have heard of Noah, who crafted a boat on dry land, watched the sea rise up around him, and saved humanity.
Of Methuselah, blessed with long life even by the standards of those days, who would probably be living still but for the flood.
Of Enoch, who walked with God, and was taken.
Of Seth, conceived as a substitute for Abel, whose offering so pleased God and so angered his brother.
And, just in case simply having those people as my ancestors was not enough for me to take note, my father, Terah, bless his heart, cleverly named me Abram. Ab - ram. The father is great.
Thanks, pop. It's not like I was going to forget.
The weight of living up to that name. Oy. For 70 years I did what any rational person, given a name of that magnitude might do.
I tried to avoid it.
That seemed to work pretty well, and I thought ... 30 years ago I was certain ... I had a co-conspirator in El, the name be praised. Nearly 30 years ago, I had a vision.
I'm not normally one to put much store in visions, but there are things even cynics take seriously. Thirty years ago, El, the name be praised, showed up, and told me just what I wanted to hear.
"Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you."
There may have been some other things in that vision, but, truth be told, I heard nothing beyond that first sentence.
Finally, an excuse to extract myself from my ancestry. To shrug-off the burden of my name. To leave that place where everyone knew me, knew my parents, knew my grandparents, knew where I came from, and regarded me with worth because of my ancestors. This was a chance to start afresh.
I grabbed it.
But El, the name be praised, is sly. So it happened that in leaving and wandering and sojourning in lands not my own I discovered something about myself. Something I suspect El, the name be praised, was aware I would discover. I discovered that my name mattered to me.
In my wanderings, I was willing to do stupid things to survive. I lied about Sarai and called her my sister. I do not believe she has ever completely forgiven me for that. I attempted to establish my line through Sarai's handmaid Hagar. I might have gotten away with that ... except it worked. Neither Sarai, nor Hagar, nor Ishmael, nor Isaac have forgiven me that episode.
But despite my sometimes desperate circumstances, and despite my appalling lack of judgment in those circumstances, I never once, even for a moment, considered discarding my name. Never once did I lie about my identity. I discovered that my name became much more significant to me than it had been when I was living in my own country with my own people.
I was Abram, son of Terah, son of Nahor. Somehow my ancestry ceased to be cause for discomfort, a burden I had to bear. It became a point of pride.
Thus it was, twenty-five years after that first vision, at about the time I had finally and fully come to terms with my identity, had finally reconciled my name with my ancestry, that El, the name be praised, showed up. Again.
"I am El Shaddai. Walk before me, and be blameless. And I will make my covenant with you, and will make you exceedingly numerous. No longer shall your name be Abram, but your name shall be Abraham; for I have made you the ancestor of a multitude of nations. And Sarai shall no longer be called Sarai, but Sarah will be her name."
What? What?! You can't be serious. C'mon, El. You ripped me from my family and country, dragged me into this forsaken place, drove me as a stranger through other lands, and now, just as I was finally claiming my name, the name given me by my father, the name that traces back to you, now, now, you tell me to change it?
And why was it exactly, that you did not do this back when I was in my home country? Back when it was what I wanted? I cannot believe this.
And you think Sarai, after all I've put her through, is actually going to take this word from me as your word? And what kind of names are these anyway? Sarah, seed-bearer, and Abraham, father of a multitu ...
My life's most awkward situations have come about because of just this thing -- I tend to speak before I've thought. Sarah tells me my mouth is nomadic but my brain's in the tent.
In that moment I realized two things. One, I had not claimed my name as fully as I was making out, and two, my name was not actually mine to claim.
Ab - raham. Father of a multitude. Abraham. Shaped by my ancestors, but not defined by them. Abraham. Named by the Eternal Name. The name be praised.
And my friends call me "Ab."
Can you believe it?
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