Identity Crisis pt. 1

I am a student of words. I like words. I love crossword puzzles, acrostics, cryptograms. I read dictionaries for fun as a small boy. I derive secret pleasure from spotting spelling errors in the daily newspaper, in books, in the Sunday school literature used at my church, and on TV. I was once a copy editor for a two-bit biweekly paper. Scrabble is my favorite board game but, alas, no one in my family wants to play with me.

Words are tools. Words are to a writer what paint or charcoal pencils are to an artist. Words mean things. To convey an accurate message, the correct words must be chosen. (By the way, fellow board members who might be reading this: the word I was looking for last night was ‘solidarity.’)

My fascination with words annoys my bride incessantly. She will ask, “Honey, do you want to take the trash out for me?” I reply, “No.” Why, you ask? Because I don’t want to take the trash out. I want to sit in my chair, sip on my glass of iced tea, and watch Wipeout.

And she has the audacity to get mad at me for merely rendering a truthful answer to her question!

I told her that if she had asked, “Will you please take the trash out?”, I would have said yes, and then proceed to take the trash out. But she asked if I wanted to. That, apparently, is her way of asking me to do it.

“But honey, you asked if I wanted to, and I don’t want to. You need to be more precise with your words.”

It can be assumed that after such an exchange, the chance of rejoicing with the wife of my youth that evening is nil.

If there was a way to make money at it, I’d like to be an etymologist. Someone who studies the meaning and history of words. We use the word ‘vulgar’ today to describe something profane, something crude, boorish, or obscene. Just a few hundred years ago, Bible scholars rejoiced that Scripture was now available in ‘the vulgar language.’ The word then meant ‘common, or ordinary.’ A Bible in the vulgar language was a Bible that a working man could read and understand. Similar changes in meaning and usage have come upon words such as ‘cool,’ ‘sick,’ and ‘gay.’

What we say has meaning, whether we wish to acknowledge it or not. The words we use mean something, describe something, say something about us. It is important that we choose them carefully.

Same thing goes for names. Jewish families in Scripture would assign names to their children which reflected an attribute they had observed in the child, or one they hoped to inculcate. ‘Cain’ means to acquire. Genesis 4:1 quotes Eve as saying: “I have gotten a man from the LORD.” Jacob means ‘one who grasps the heel, or one who deceives.’ Jabez means ‘pain.’ (I wonder what Mom was thinking there.) It sometimes still happens. My mother-in-law wanted to name her last child Elizabeth, but her husband had an argument with a woman by that name at work and vetoed the idea. Instead, she was so glad to have finally delivered the child that she shouted out, “Glory Hallelujah!”. Hence, my wife’s name became Gloria.

Today we typically give our children names that we think sound good. My parents gave me my name because it was my father’s name. I’m not crazy about my name. I thought about using my middle name, but it’s a little late to be making changes, so I guess I’m stuck with what I’ve got.

Ronald (from Old English ‘Reginald’) a king, a mighty ruler.

Wayne (from ‘Wainwright’; an occupational name) maker of wagons.

Sutler (an occupational name) a merchant who sells provisions to an army.

Put it all together, and it says I am the king of the wagon salesmen. Perhaps I should work for GM. Maybe they wouldn’t have gone bankrupt if I had.

The meaning of words can change over time as society’s usage of those words change, and as society itself changes. This can create an uncomfortable identity crisis.

Case in point: “Millsboro Wesleyan Church.”

Back in the bygone days of faeries and trolls, this was the proper way to name a church. You identified its physical location, its affiliation, and its intended usage. If you lived in Millsboro and you belonged to the Wesleyan communion, this was your place to worship.

Fast-forward to the 21^st century. We are no longer merely a wide spot in the road on the way to the beach. We are no longer a homogenous community where everyone looks alike, thinks alike, dresses alike, and walks to church. The 19966 zipcode encompasses a large portion of Sussex County. Retirees, immigrants, and families are relocating to the areas surrounding Millsboro. Is it right that we should focus our attention solely on Millsboro (pop. 3,500) when some 35,000 people live within a 15 minute drive from us? Are we not supposed to ‘meet people where they are,’ both literally and figuratively? Concentrating our efforts only on one small town seems a bit myopic.

Yet that is what our name suggests we are about.

On to the next word. I doubt John Wesley would have authorized a denomination to bear his name. He was a devout member of the Church of England (known on this side of the pond as the Episcopal Church) who, after going through the motions as a parish priest, missionary, and scholar, posited that, based on Scripture, it was possible that the transforming power of Jesus could permit one to live without a desire to sin. From that came what is now known as the Methodist Church, and later, the Wesleyan Church. John was never a member of either organization. The term ‘Wesleyan’ was adopted to reflect the denomination’s focus on holy living in an unholy world, based on the theology of Wesley and Jacobus Arminius, a Dutchman who, likewise, would have blanched at the idea of a movement attached to him. Aside from bookworms like me, who knows (or cares) about Wesley or Arminius? Probably very few people. Certainly not the lost individual who, driving past a church with the script ‘WESLEYAN’ above the door, says. “I can’t go there; I’m not Wesleyan, whatever that is.” We exclude many people by brandishing that name. Christ is about inclusion, not exclusion.

And finally, one of my not-so-favorite terms: church. Those of us stuffed-shirts know that the church is the assembly of believers, the ekklesia, the family of God, the Body of Christ. To Joe and Jane Sixpack, however, the church is that red brick building on Wilson Highway. A church has a steeple, pews, probably an organ (that’s for another essay), and a cross somewhere on a wall. When most people think of church, they think of a structure, a building, a piece of real estate. Nothing could (or should) be further from the truth. Can we have church without a building? Of course! We ARE the church! How does our name indicate that? It doesn’t.

So what do we do about it? I’ll leave that for the next essay. Until then, I’ll be exerting my authority over the kingdom of wagon salesmen.