Anonymous Asks (333)

“Is the name you give your child important?”

In the beginning, names signified destiny. Adam is simply the word for “mankind”, while Eve sounds like the Hebrew for “life-giver” and resembles the word for “living”. Genesis explicitly tells us Adam named his wife Eve “because she was the mother of all living”.

Nowhere does it say God named either member of the first couple. He certainly named the species, but not the individuals. He left that up to our questionable judgment.

The First Names

Names are disambiguators, and I suppose you only need one when the possibility of confusion exists; for example, when I want to address individual ‘X’, but individual ‘Y’ thinks the message is for him. The moment that happens, we need these little verbal tags to distinguish between our friends and acquaintances, and — presto! — we have ourselves a recipe for identity and individualism. What Adam called Eve before she gave birth for the first time I can’t tell you. “Honey”, perhaps. Until Cain was born, Eve was mother of nothing, just Adam’s much-loved resident troublemaker. But the point is that both original names had significance in a way that calling a bespectacled fop Brutus or Clint may not, unless you are shooting for irony.

Likewise, Cain means “possession” and sounds like the Hebrew for “gotten”. That was most definitely intentional on the part of his mother. Abel means “breath” and comes from the word translated “vanity” in Ecclesiastes. We are not told that Eve named him, but obviously someone did, and they must have been at least a little prescient. The best guess at Abel’s literal meaning is “ephemeral” or “transitory”. He certainly was that. His murderous brother cut short his life, yet God commended his faith and righteousness. There are worse things than to live, believe, worship and die, I suppose. Eve definitely named Abel’s replacement, Seth. She said, “God has appointed for me another offspring instead of Abel”. Yes, Seth means “appointed”.

Names and Significance

So then, all the original names had significance to the parents who gave them. Seth’s son was Enosh, whose name supposedly means “mankind”, much the same as his grandfather Adam. It seems a little early in human history for people to start running out of distinct ideas, but then this is also the first reference we have in scripture to a father naming his own son instead of deferring to his more creative and defined wife. We can blame Seth for his limited imagination or reluctance to waste time thinking too hard. At least Enosh called on the name of the Lord, a major improvement over his uncle and his uncle’s offspring.

Scripture doesn’t tell us the significance of every name it records, and I question whether all are equally important or on the nose. Japheth’s name means “enlarge” and his father Noah blessed him accordingly, requesting the Lord increase his son’s area of influence. Isaac, Ishmael, Jacob and Esau all mean something that matters. Each of Jacob’s sons through Leah and Rachel were given names that meant something to their mothers. Unfortunately, in large part the series of names chronicled the strife between them. Leah started with the Hebrew words for “See, a son!” (Gotcha, Rachel!), “Heard” (as in “God heard that I am hated”) and “Attached” (as in “Surely my husband will be more attached to me now” — spoiler alert: Jacob wasn’t). Rachel wasn’t much better. Judah (“Praise”) is perhaps the only one of the bunch whose name is free of the specter of sisterly in-fighting.

The Right Fit

Sometimes names fit, sometimes they don’t. I have no idea what Willicia Goines was thinking when she called her son Mahershalalhashbaz (meaning “hasten the spoil”, the name God gave to Isaiah’s second son), but at school he went by Hershal and today he’s Mahershala. He became a well-known actor and found his birth name was too long to fit on the poster for his 2010 film. Sometimes names have to be at least minimally pragmatic, which is why we are constantly abbreviating the names of our friends and family members. Six syllables is too much work in any culture. Nobody is going to get called by more than three consistently, even if they beg you on bended knee.

My wife and I had chosen a first and second name of one syllable each for Son Number 2 some days prior to his birth, an act of faith or optimism given our first attempt at a second boy had died in the womb some months before. However, when Number 2 looked up at me from his mother’s arms, I realized we were wrong. The first name — by sheer coincidence, the name of an actor of whom his mother was quite fond — just didn’t fit. He was simply not a Bryce. I said, “This doesn’t work.” My wife took one good look and completely agreed, so we flipped the names and his second name became the one by which we all know him today. Oddly, it fits him about as perfectly as names ever fit, but it wasn’t the plan until we saw his face.

How can that be? I don’t have a clue. It just is. Maybe you’ve had a similar experience with naming a child or even a pet.

When God Names You

The first name I can find that definitely came directly from God is Ishmael. The angel of the Lord himself commanded it. Not to leave his younger half-brother out, God also named him Isaac. Later, he named the prophet Hosea’s children, his own beloved Son, John the Baptist and the aforementioned Maher-Shalel-Hash-Baz. Each name meant something and drew the attention of those who knew them to the plans and purposes of God in their generation and those to come.

God also changed more than a few existing names. Abram became Abraham (“father of many nations”), Sarai became Sarah (“princess”), Jacob (“supplanter”) became Israel (“God prevails”, or perhaps “contender of God”) and Solomon became Jedidiah (“beloved of the Lord”), though perhaps this was only a private name as the histories of scripture all suggest he used the name Solomon throughout his life. When the Lord Jesus walked the earth, he freely used the same privilege as his father, changing Simon’s name to Peter and nicknaming James and John the “Sons of Thunder”. In each case, the name change was appropriate to the situation and significance of the parties.

There are also names in scripture that are highly significant, but the theological meaning behind them does not become apparent for generations. I think of Melchizedek, whose name means “king of righteousness” and “king of peace”. His contemporaries would have known that, of course, but they would not have had the slightest clue that his name pointed forward to the only other priest of his order, the Son of God himself. We are not told that God gave Melchizedek his name, but if he didn’t, his parents were prophets.

The Limits of Intended Significance

All that said, for every character in scripture named by God or named in faith by his parents, we have dozens upon dozens for whom the significance of their names is not explained, if indeed there was any great significance at all. Human beings occasionally give their children names that are silly beyond belief. One poor little girl was named Britney Shakira Beyoncé by the dimwits who raised her. Nobody worth her salt wants to bear such a burden through life. Most children do not have to suffer like that, but neither do their names portend anything great. When I look at the Strong’s attempts to define the names of Bible characters, I notice such a wide variety of suggested meanings that often the intent of the parents, assuming they weren’t just copying their neighbors, seems entirely obscured. A name for which the meaning is unknown or unremarked is not a bad thing. It’s actually quite common.

Names sometimes reflect destiny. They definitely do not make destiny. For every Simon Peter there is a Simon the Sorcerer. For every John the apostle there is a John Calvin or a John Hinckley Jr. For every Thomas called Didymus there is a Thomas the Tank Engine. A parent so superstitious that she thinks what she names a child will somehow overrule its freedom of choice is probably also en route to the local Catholic priest under the impression that her child’s eternal destiny can be secured by a few drops of water.

My parents named me after a disciple, a perfectly ordinary name still in common use in the English world, and with numerous variations in other languages. As a result, my dearth of nomenclatural distinction makes me very difficult to locate on the internet, an unanticipated side-benefit about which I am unapologetically enthusiastic. Had they named me Hezekiah, Abednego, Zaphenath-paneah or Judas, this would not be the case. Thanks, Mom and Dad.

All Things Considered

I suspect some Christian parents name their children in hope they will want to be homeschooled rather than parade their awesomely weird monikers before the world. Oddly, these are not the children I know who are legally changing their own names at first opportunity, an emerging trend in the last couple of generations of miserable, rootless offspring looking for personal significance, or at least the illusion of enhanced cool. It never works. The newly-rechristened Skyes, Chelseas and Liams are still a mess, and most of the time the Nahums, Rebekahs and Nathanaels manage to end up at home in their own skin.

There may be good reasons to change a name, but I would never do it. No legal technicality makes a Paul into a Bono, a Reg into an Elton, a Declan into an Elvis or a Gordon into a Sting. Inside their heads, they remain who they always were, for good or ill. A life lived well can build good associations with a name. A life lived badly can poison it forever. Would you name your child Adolf, Mohammed, Lucifer or Saddam? Would you name your twins Ronnie and Reggie? Didn’t think so. Your name does not define you or limit you in any way. Rather, you grow into your name as you age and define it for the next generation of those you have opportunity to bless and encourage.

For Christian parents, I don’t believe it’s necessary to name your children after Bible characters. It may look cute to your friends, but it may not play so well with theirs. Certainly, we have no instructions from the Lord to prefer some names over others, though some choices will surely make their lives more difficult, and some will endear you to them more than others.

All things considered, would you want to be a boy named Sue?