Isaiah 49:1-7

You

I have this vision. One day, no matter what soldier you ask, no matter what uniform they wear, if you were to ask them the question “Why do you serve?” Their immediate, unhesitant response will be “You.” Not their country, not freedom, not liberty, not peace, not even injustice. “You.“

While I was on a trip in Montgomery, Alabama, there was a large quantity of military staying in the same hotel I was in. Since I get up at 6am or earlier most days, they ate breakfast the same time I did. I couldn’t help but notice them. They all dressed alike some with more bells and whistles on their uniform than others but mostly the same. Over their heart was their affiliation, in this case it was Air Force and on the left was their name.

Did you know that? Every soldier has a name. Every soldier is a human being. Regardless of the branch they serve or even the country they serve, each one has a name. This is important. Don’t forget it.

I was in Montgomery on what is called a seminary Cross-Cultural trip. We were in the American South to learn about slavery and civil rights. Our first stop was the Whitney Plantation in Edgard, Louisianna which began operation in 1752. It is the only plantation currently open to the public which tells the plantation story from the viewpoint of the enslaved. While there you will learn how much your public education left out and just how much they led you to believe that was not true.

Lies of omission can be very powerful. We know the slaves worked the fields. We know the slaves cooked the food. We know the slaves served the household. We know the slaves made the tools for the workers. Know what they didn’t tell you? How the slaves knew how to do those things. Most of us naïve and foolish white children assumed that they were taught by amazing slave masters who, while skilled Artisans themselves, chose to teach these barbaric slaves skills, chose that instead of practicing their trade, opted instead to stand around with whips in their hands shouting ignorant things at people. Undeniably, this is a very white thing to do, but highly illogical unless you were led to believe it and lacked the necessary knowledge or drive to even question it, which is what white male European educated historians wanted you to do.

The truth is that Europe had already explored and even colonized much of Africa. While there, they found the diversity that Africa offers to the world. The largest people. The smallest people. Cultivators or difficult lands. Skilled artisans, blacksmiths, carpenters, and pottery. Incredible cooks and herbalists. You know… all that stuff archeologists dig up that has withstood thousands of years but we never bothered to connect the dots that they knew how to make those things like pyramids that we still can’t figure out how to make? African’s were enslaved from virtually every tribe for their resilience, their toughness, and silently in history, for their skills. Who has time to start training an adult slave that has barely survived a 3-month trip across the ocean to learn how to be a blacksmith? And yet, American children grow up in ignorance because to give them skills would mean we couldn’t look at them as barbarians barely intelligent enough to hunt and forage for food. To see them as intelligent human beings means we couldn’t treat them as animals. To acknowledge they came with a specific skillset means we would have to acknowledge they were individuals, that they had names.

Calling someone by name is to acknowledge their personhood. Just try calling out the name of someone you know in a loud, crowded space and see if they look up. There is an innate sense of identity carried in that word, which we are rightfully identified by. So, the first thing slave owners did was baptize new slaves. Cleanse them of their previous life and give them a new name that on this earth they may never be called by the one God will refer to them by. Their identity stripped.

This practice made it so that when white male European-educated historians would say who built the Whitney Plantation, the answer would be “Ambroise Heidel.” It’s changed names a few times but regardless of that, how many cypress trees do you think Ambroise cut down to build that house? How many rows do you think he hoed? How many nails do you think he forged? So, I ask you “Who built the Whitney Plantation?” The slaves. Incredibly, they not only built it but designed it so that the main house would withstand hurricanes. You think a European businessman or even European craftsmen, knows how to construct a building that can withstand a hurricane? How many hurricanes do you think have struck Germany in the last 500 years? Exactly.

When we take away the accomplishments of people and strip them of their identity, we don’t have to look at them as people anymore. It’s a great tactic for controlling people, worked well in WWII concentration camps, too. And it still works great in the military. To prepare soldiers to be able to kill “the enemy,” they strip that enemy of its contributions to the world and their names. You’re not killing Bùi Hồ Na; they’re a “Charlie.” Việt Nam cộng sản (Vietnamese Communist), degrades to Việt Cộng, to the phonetic Victor Charlie, to just Charlie. No name. No personal identity. No significant or useful contribution to the world. Not a human.

We can kill things that aren’t human. Start doing crazy things like learning their real name, where they’re from, what skills they have, and develop a relationship, killing them suddenly becomes a whole lot harder and leaves an even more devastating imprint on the human psyche. If they don’t have value, how do I? If I am not superior to them, how can I degrade them? If they are a human being just like me, serving some obscure elite leader I will likely never encounter or be personally acknowledged by, how could I kill them?

While still in your mother’s womb, God named you. God called you. God had a destiny for you. A hope for you. A promise for you. A life that they wanted you to be able to live to its fullest. God created you with purpose and intention. God made you into a polished arrow and had a target in mind that they wanted you to hit. And then, God gave you the freedom of choice.

The problem is, God gave that freedom of choice to everyone. And, there are a lot of people abusing their rights to the point that they are taking away your freedom to choose by exercising theirs. They are stripping you of the name God gave to you and trying to force a new name upon you that has a different destiny and does not fit you.

We choose our allegiance in this life. Sometimes that choice is made because we have decided that the cost to follow God’s path for us is too high. For a soldier to not follow orders, for instance, no matter how much their soul disagrees with what they are being asked to do, the cost is treason. To spare your life will cost theirs.

Throughout my cross-cultural journey in the South, following the path of oppression from enslavement, into the Civil Rights Movement, to the modern world of racism, I see people who made choices that did not align with God’s will to love one’s neighbor. But, at the same time, there were always those who worked from the shadows to try to bring God’s will to all people.

There were hundreds whose names are not widely known who filed legislative petitions, at risk of their own lives and status, to try to free those who had no political rights at all. Some provided transportation during the Montgomery Bus Boycott or seized the opportunity to push for human rights using logic, reasoning, and how they were of value to those in power. There were those whose tongues were like a sharp sword speaking words so truthful, with so much integrity and honesty, they could not be denied.

I listened to the speech Fannie Lou Hamer gave at the Democratic National Convention and was utterly captivated by the strength of her character. I learned of Claudette Colvin, a 15 y/o Black woman who refused to give up her seat on the bus before Rosa Parks, but didn’t fit the profile of the face of desegregation, so she was all but lost to history. I learned the names of the Mothers of Gynecology, Anarcha, Lucy, and Betsey, who were torturously experimented on for the glory of Dr. J. Marion Sims.

I was reminded of all the unnamed women of the Bible. The one at the well. The woman of Thebez who defeated Gideon. The woman who gave her last coin. The woman of Tekoa who convinced King David to reconcile with his son Absalom. The woman of Abel who ended a war by convincing the citizens to rise against Sheba, saving an entire city filled with women and children. I wish we could give them names.

While on my trip, a member of my traveling group sent out a message concerning a back injury that was presenting challenges to her in bringing her belongings downstairs. Two of us immediately responded, asking for her room number, and came right up to assist. We dropped off her bags where they needed to be and I went my own way. That evening in the discussion group she told the group about how much she appreciated the assistance, she thanked the gentleman by name, scanned the room twice to pinpoint me, hesitated quietly and quickly said “and her” immediately filling the air with more of her story trying to brush off that despite spending the last four days together, she did not know my name.

Obviously, I did not help her to be recognized. For those who continue to think power is loud and flamboyant. They will not recognize power in their midst. They will continually overlook it. Conversely, a student who is often overlooked, whom I befriended as they often sat by themselves, quietly waited their turn to speak. They were one of the last. The professor stuttered to remember their name. When she called upon them, they meekly asked if it would be okay to read something they had written the day before as a reflection. Asking permission for that which they had already been called to do.

The words that then spilled forth from their lips were soft but somehow easily heard by me on the far side of a large classroom. Beautiful poetry filled with strength and enlightenment struck their classmates with awe. By the third verse, the students listened on the edge of their seats as if an angel of the Lord had come to speak with them.

The words that would be remembered that evening came not from someone loudly shouting for attention and recognition but from the heart of one who had been called to share what was on their heart. The people paid attention not because they had to, but because they were drawn, no matter how far away.

We need to change our ways. We need to learn one another’s names. The name that God gave them, and we need to use it as often as we can. We need to press upon all of society, not just to our soldiers, that the reason they serve is “YOU.” We need to set a precedent that no life is deserving of unnecessary pain and suffering. As a people, we need to band together, we need to force our leaders to recognize that the one they serve is “you.”

God has called us to come out of the womb and into the world to make the choice to serve them. God will make our tongues like sharp swords. God will polish us like arrows and in their quiver will hide us away until they need to fire us. We serve God. We serve neighbor. We serve you. God is and always has been the reason we serve, yet somehow we continually forget. But there are those who remember. I pray that starting this day, the one who remembers is you.