What’s in a Name?

The Jewish mystics teach that there is one name which is like the tree of which other names are branches and leaves.  This is the “Tetragrammaton,” the four-letter name which appears many times in the Bible as the most personal appellation of the God of Israel.  According to one tradition of interpretation, it is a form of the verb “to be” and points to God’s eternity.  Jewish translators sometimes render this name as “The Eternal.”  Another classical interpretation is that the name expresses God’s deep compassion. The Talmud gives its Aramaic equivalent as “Rachamana,” “The Compassionate.”

Rabbi Justin Jaron Lewis,

Director of the Jewish Studies Program, Queen's Theological College,

Queen's University at Kingston, ON

 

Genesis 1: 26 Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.” 27 So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. New Revised Standard Version

 

Luke 6: 27 [Jesus said,] “But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. 29 If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. 30 Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. 31 Do to others as you would have them do to you.

32 “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them. 33 If you do good to those who do good to you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners do the same. 34 If you lend to those from whom you hope to receive, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, to receive as much again. 35 But love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return. Your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High; for he is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. 36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven; 38 give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together, running over, will be put into your lap; for the measure you give will be the measure you get back.” New Revised Standard Version

 

Stewart

The smallest tasks of this young man’s daily life are the tortured efforts of time and concentration: unbuttoning a shirt, drinking a cup of coffee, unlocking a door, crossing a street. As I helped him dry off and dress, we chatted about our lives and our families.

“How many brothers do you have, Garibaldi?” he asked, using his nickname for me. “Are you married? What did you have for breakfast?”

“Two brothers, Studebaker,” I replied, using my name for him, “and a sister. No, I am not married, and I didn’t eat breakfast.”

His speech reflects longings and deprivations in his life. He told me of his twin: “He looks like me, but he is normal.”

Stewart has an unaffected candor. As a matter of fact, he has no idea what it means to be pretentious. What you see is what you get. If he is happy, it is all there; if he is sad, one has no doubt.

That is often the way for people with no power, no money, no exterior beauty. They have nothing to prove. And so Stewart is nonthreatening. He crashes through my defenses. He brings out what is good, whole, and deep down in me: the ability to love tenderly, speak truthfully, receive openly, and face gently my own weaknesses. Page 2

 

The music in me…

Coming closer, one hears a strange thing: he’s playing nonsense notes. No melody. No organized rhythm. The listener experiences incomprehensible music and the mysterious force that propels those flying fingers. The musician never seems to stop, lost in and driven by the inner power of some mysterious melody. He looks straight ahead, apparently oblivious to gawkers like me.

I linger for a few minutes whenever I see him. Inevitably I have created an imaginary scenario between us in which I approach Mr. Flutist and point out the obvious: “Excuse me, sit, are you aware that your music is not making any sense?”

He drops the flute from his lips, eyes me, and says, with a hint of exasperation, “So what? I’m crazy. But, man, I’ve got to play my song. I mean, don’t you?”

This book is about my song. It is not all the music in me, but there is a lot of it here. It is a song primarily about the people with whom I have lived and worked over the past several years as part of my mission on the streets as a priest in the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits. I have changed most of their names, but their stories, their compelling stories, I could never change. I have tried to express how they have broken me open and helped me to understand my own heart, and how they have led me closer to the song of hope for all human beings, which is in the heart of God.