Written on December 28, 2007

Untamed Lamb by Larry Patten

In recent weeks, because of arthroscopic surgery, I was asked to give my name to various health professionals. Almost always, because of adding to or confirming information, I said, “Larry or Lawrence.”

One is the nickname; one is my legal name. Over the years, both have appeared on forms and databases. And I answer to both, although if Lawrence was yelled into a crowd I might not pay attention.

What name causes you to turn your head? In recent weeks, I’ve been thinking of names for at least two reasons. One involved the tragic events at the San Francisco Zoo. This appeared in the lead paragraph for Newsweek.com’s top story on the day after Christmas:

Investigators are combing the premises for clues, trying to figure out how, on Christmas Day, a 350-pound Siberian tiger named Tatiana escaped from its habitat . . .

It was a tragedy. One person was attacked and killed at San Francisco’s zoo. Two others were seriously injured. The tiger was shot to death. And yet if you never heard about the tiger’s escape, what do you imagine might happen if a 350-pound predator roamed in a public place?

One aspect of the story that fascinated me was the tiger’s so-called name. Tatiana. From Newsweek.com to local TV reporters, they all kept referring to Tatiana. What a beautiful name.

I bet she never turned her head when the name was spoken. We imagine, with animals, we can tame them by giving names.

As someone who is owned by three cats and a dog, I understand the power of names for animals. There is a story behind every name of every pet that has been part of my life. However, I don’t think the cats pay much attention to “their” names. Our dog appears to know her name, but I am convinced she is less aware of the six-letter name we’ve given her and more alert, as a pack animal, to the tonal sound and source. Most dog experts suggest a puppy’s name should be simple to hear and remember. One or two syllables. So, we chose Hannah . . .Ha-Nah. Even the fancy-schmancy prize-winning dogs with names like Sir Reginald Of The Berkshires On A Sunny Day are actually called Reggie or Dufus.

However our pets, though officially predators, are not Siberian tigers.

Tatiana. Nice name. But beware. A tiger, from cub to adult, and whether with a one or four-syllable name, is a wild, fearsome animal. We name them to claim and tame them. But it doesn’t really work.

In reading Matthew 2:1-12, on the first Sunday of Epiphany, we learn about the named Herod and the unnamed travelers from the east. All are concerned about the same person. Jesus.

But, really, his name is not yet “Jesus.” In all the traditional scriptures read between Advent’s start—anticipating the birth—and a “naming” of Joseph and Mary’s son during the circumcision reported by Luke 2:22-38, Jesus goes by many names. And no name.

Is he Emmanuel? The Prince of Peace? Christ? Messiah? Son of David?

Once in Matthew 2:1-12 he is called Jesus. Once, in those twelve verses, he is called the Messiah. But on four occasions in that passage (according to the NRSV translation) he is, simply, “the child.”

No name. The child. The names for Jesus are many: Nazarene. Lord. Beloved. Rabbi. None of them tame him. Though, I think we think so.

As I have often said, I don’t believe Jesus’ birth stories are based on fact. But I dearly love the myth memories of Joseph and Mary. And I believe that all of the birth accounts set us on a course, star-crossed and treasure-laden, where we are invited to place our name alongside Jesus’ ministry. But be careful of claiming the name.

The magi arrive. And like the shepherds, though also so different, they don’t use the name Jesus. All of them search for “a child.” They pay homage, Matthew said, with those foolish gifts. It is a wild moment.

Names tame us.

In the horrific events at that zoo, the tiger did what it did because, whether in a primeval forest, or an urban jungle, it was wild. Fearsome. It was an “us” hunting a “them.”

In the humble story of Jesus’ birth, the Gospel writers are careful. Many names are used. But at first it’s “the child.” The name will come. The name will matter. But it never tames him. And he will not be a predator. I like what John the Baptist proclaimed in John’s Gospel at Jesus’ baptism . . . “Behold, the Lamb of God.”

Fearsome. Wild. And yet a “Lamb” seeking and hoping to create only an “us” and not one “them.”