The Advent of a Name

By Andrea Lingle

“Then he said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’”

Luke 9:20a

"Paying attention acknowledges that we have something to learn from intelligences other than our own."

Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass, p. 132

What can be said about curiosity? In my lifetime it has been the golden child of emotions. Living her spangled life in contrast to drab “boredom.” To be enraptured by the line of ants on the driveway was considered, not a waste of time, but a pinnacle of a well-spent childhood. Insatiability is gluttonous until sweetened with curiosity. Three hours eating chocolate chip cookie dough out of the refrigerator? Not good. Three hours tracking down the species of maple tree living in the side yard? Noble. Intelligent. Adorably quirky. 

But curiosity has a complex past. Wasn’t curiosity once a demeaning term? A word that went with peering through slats in a cage at some monstrosity. Come see the startling curiosities from a land far away. Curiosity was a word used to distance the other. Those trapped behind the bars were so alien they didn’t cause fear, just idle curiosity. Even decked out in academic regalia, curiosity isn’t straightforward. Curiosity is a privilege. Who can be curious? Who has the time, space, and permission to apply curiosity? Who is told to comply without asking questions.*

Jesus asked “them.” Whom did he invite to be curious? Not those who had studied enough or earned enough or traveled enough. He asked a couple of fisherman.

Who am I? 

Who do you see?

What do you make of the miracles?

Those we invite to be curious about who we are is revealing. It is a vulnerable thing to invite another to name you. True, the only one you can control is yourself (who hasn’t heard that one), and the only one, ultimately, responsible for your behavior and selfhood is, once again, you, but, it can be a bit difficult to see who that “you” is. Sometimes those around us can give us insight into who we are by telling us what they see in us if we are brave enough to listen openly. With one’s nose bent flat against the mirror, it is a bit hard to see clearly. The question “Who do you say that I am?” becomes an act of bravery when we ask with a sincere desire to be transformed. 

When you ask a dear friend who they see in you, what do they say?

When we ask those who are marginalized who they see in our faith communities, what do they say?

When we ask the ancient Redwoods who they see in humanity, what do they say?

But gentle friend, never forget, when we ask the Spirit who hovered over the waters of Creation and filled Mary’s heart with courage and song, “Who do you say that I am?” there is only ever one answer: beloved.