I am not alone. . .

I grew up wondering where my Swedish mother and German father came up with the name Larry.  It was never short for anything -- not Lawrence or Lorenz or Lars.  It was always just Larry.  I used to joke that if I had a better name, I could have been somebody.  Then I realized even more how common was that name.

Driving in New Jersey I saw a sign for Larry Peters Motors -- alas I am a car salesman!   At least it would seem I owned the dealership.  A few years ago when we developed an affection for British TV, Grantchester caught our attention and sure enough even in 1950s England there was a cop name Larry Peters.  Then my wife was doing some ancestry stuff only to find that there are actually other people on my family tree named -- wait for it -- Larry Peters.  I am not at all unique.  There are many of us.

I suppose it was inevitable.  If they have to reuse Social Security numbers, it is highly likely that names will run out and have to be reused as well.  The parents who look into the eyes of their baby boy and decide that he looks like little Larry Peters probably did not think much of others who might be using that name.  I doubt my parents gave it a second thought.  In any case, my uniqueness long ago was forged in something more profound than a name on a birth certificate.  It was a baptismal certificate that gave my name its meaning and wrote it in the Book of Life.  That is our real uniqueness.  We belong to the Lord.

Larry Peters may carry some significance for those knew or know me but there is one who knows not simply my name but the number of hairs on my head and all the deepest darkest sins that I work so hard to hide.  He knows me not as someone impressive but as one who has been washed in His blood and raised up from death to live forever.  This is the name that matters.  In the annuals of history or in the results of a google search it might be heard to sort through the faces of those who share a name but are not the same.  Christ has no such problem.  He knows all His sheep and each of them by name -- complete with all their shameful history and still He loves them (and me!).  Thanks be to God!

Cemeteries often promise to remember those whose bodies have been laid to rest and tombstones pledge that those who are gone are not forgotten.  They are gone.  They are also forgotten.  Except by Him who was laid in a grave for the sake of everyone marked for death.  In a few weeks or so we will begin another cycle of Lent and Holy Week and Easter.  The greatest news of all is that when we know nothing for sure He cannot forget us.  Like Mary Magdalene whose pain and sorrow clouded her from recognizing our Lord or the sound of His voice, His call to her by name broke through the fog until it was the only thing that mattered.  

There was a time when I feared that no one would remember my name.  The day will soon come when they will not be able to figure out which one I am when an internet search for images of Larry Peters presents them with a full congregation of people claiming that name.  In that day I will join the ranks of those who are gone and forgotten by a world that stakes a great deal on a name but then forgets it at the drop of a hat.  No, it does not matter what moved my mom and dad to leave behind the many noble names of their Scandinavian and German heritage and settle on Larry.  Jesus knows me and He knows you, too.  In the end to know His name is to discover who you are.  I just hope we do not learn this lesson too late.