It happened twice after the same worship service, one right
after the other. If it had happened just
once, I might have doubted it was a message from God, but twice? God was reminding me the importance of
learning and remembering someone’s name.
Manuel approached me right after the benediction, a well
dressed lawyer who recently passed the bar exam in Chile, carrying his young
daughter tenderly in his arms. He wanted
me to meet her. Then he said, “I have
been meaning to tell you something for a long time. I remember the first time we met, seventeen
years ago. It was during an open air
evangelism campaign. I was a young
teenager full of doubts about my faith and about continuing in church. You asked me my name. I told you ‘Manuel’, and you never
forgot. Every single time we met after
that, you called me by my name even though there were dozens of other young
people in the church. If I was important
enough to you for you to remember my name, I thought maybe I was important to
God, too. We haven’t seen each other
very much over the years, but thanks for always remembering my name. It has meant so much to me.”
I am not particularly good at remembering names. Some people will tell you they have had to
introduce themselves to me three or four times before I remember who they are. Even
though I know it is very important it for each of us to be called by name and
that I should strive to remember the names of the people I meet, I also know my
mind is feeble. I have to recognize that
it usually the Holy Spirit that brings a name into my mind, but sometimes I am
just too busy to pay attention.
Another young man, poorly dressed and with the air of the
mountain country side of Chile about him, stood off to one side patiently
waiting as I finished talking to Manual.
When I turned to greet him, he took a step back and then asked me, do
you remember who I am? I started
flipping through my mental card files and came up with a blank. “ I am from the
little church called Palmera de Cordillería (Mountain Palms). “ No bells rang.
Then, after a pause, a quiet, earthshaking voice like the whisper to
Elijah on the mountainside, spoke a memory into my mind. “Wait!” I exclaimed. “Don´t tell me! I know you! You are DAVID!” His face lit up like a thousand suns and his
eyes filled with tears! “¡Si!” he answered. “¡Soy yo!” I took both his hands into mine and asked him
how he was doing. “There is so much to
tell you,” he answered. “But God is with
me and I am doing well.”
Others began pressing into to greet me, just as happened
back when David was a child. I had visited
Palmera de Cordillería with Bishop Ulises Muñoz of the Pentecostal Church of
Chile fifteen or sixteen years ago when I was helping to set up the Sunday
School program at the Curicó Church. (By the way, I have never had the opportunity
to return there.) The Bishop had told me
that the Guide of this daughter church was opposed to any new ideas or
programs. (There are 65 daughter churches belonging to the Curicó church under
the leadership of different brothers or sisters appointed by the Bishop. The Bishop is the pastor of these village
churches.) The Bishop preached and I shared
the children`s sermon. The children had
stood in the greeting line along with the adults, and one boy, about ten years
old, informed me when he shook my hand, “my name is David.” “Just like David in the Bible,” I answered. “Do
you remember who David was?” I asked, but before he could answer the adults
pushed him on so others could greet me. David slipped back in the line, and
when it was his turn again, he said, “Wasn´t David one of Jesus’ disciples?” I smiled and said, “Wait here beside me a
minute. When I finish saying good-bye to
everyone we will talk.” I sat down next
to David and told him the story of David and Goliath, about David and Jonathan,
and how David had been King of Israel.
He listened open mouthed and eyes wide.
When there was no one left in the sanctuary but the Bishop and the Guide,
I called them over and asked them to listen.
“David” I asked, “Have you ever been to Sunday School?” “What is Sunday School?” he replied. “Would you like for your church to have
Sunday School,” I asked after explaining what it would be like and what he
would learn. “Oh yes!” he exclaimed. The Bishop turned to the Guide and said, “We
will be starting Sunday School in this church!”
Since that brief introduction so long ago, I have only seen
David one other time. He was fifteen or
sixteen, and that time he greeted me with “I know all about King David now!” Ten more years passed. Even if I could remember what he looked like
as a child or a teen, he is a grown man now.
“I wanted so much to see you and say thank-you,” I kept holding his
hands as he looked into my eyes. “Thank
you for remembering me. My heart bursting with joy!” He hugged me, and with the next person waiting
to greet me, I said to David, “please look for me again at the next church
gathering when we are both in Curicó. I
want to hear your story.” He smiled
broadly and nodded, turned away and disappeared into the crowd.
What is in a name?
Recognition, relationship, hope, transformation. With two very different young men, one right
after the other, the Holy Spirit reminded me of just how much is in a name.