moving from an ass to an heir
One day Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee, and he was baptized by John in the Jordan River. And when Jesus came up out of the water, he saw the heavens split open and the Holy Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven saying, "You are my beloved Son, and I am fully pleased with you."
Mark 1:9-11
Growing up I never really liked my name very much. Omar. For a little kid in Texas, a foreign sounding, deeply ethnic name was a nuisance. It stood out too much. It made a scene. In classrooms full of Mikes and Peters and Amys and Stephanies… Omar felt like the person who wore jeans to a wedding while everyone else was in suits. Very out of place. I always wanted to be a David.
My father is from Iraq, and in Arabic "Omar" means "first born son." My name was never really a problem until the first Sunday I attended what would be my church for the next twenty years. Fifth grade Sunday school. Everyone going around the room saying their names. All the sweet little Anglo Saxon names, many kids bearing the same name, as though in 1973 there were only a half-dozen names allowed by the government for parents to use. When it came around to me, I simply said, "I’m Omar." To which a kid named Paul responded, "Omar? What a stupid name."
Over the years, as different Middle Eastern despots and terrorist groups made headlines, my name was the butt of many jokes, stupid questions and varied translations. Then of course there were the nicknames that went along with such an Arab background: Dune-coon. Camel jockey. Sand nigger.
Of course, I always played along. After all, it was my friends who called me these names. It wasn’t like they were burning crosses in my front yard. I figured if I played along and poked fun at myself, it would show that I was just like them, and that would give me identity.
My Arab background and overly sensitive need to belong became a breeding ground for being taken advantage of. I did not know it, but I believed that I didn’t belong, so I needed to be whatever people wanted or expected me to be so I would be loved. People liked me sure, but I was "just Omar." In fact, one year while an intern at my church they gave me a shirt that said so on the back: "It’s Just Omar."
It was more than a phrase on a shirt. I lived into it. I didn’t realize how toxic that was.
Last year I started this blog. And I was a little afraid of what people would think of some of the things I said. That of course was a vine growing out of a bad root buried deep in the soil of the need to be loved. The need to be loved isn’t bad – in fact the Father embedded it in us – but how I looked for that love had taken some bad root.
So I called my blog "The Balaam Factor" after the prophet Balaam, who was spoken to by God through a donkey. My tag line was, "If God can speak through Balaam’s ass he can speak through mine." It was the perfect summary of who I felt I was. Looking back, I can see how I was hiding behind that line. It allowed me to say something while at the same time being self-deprecating. And self-deprecation is not humility. It is sin, because you are not living into who God created you to be: A child made in his image.
Names are important to God. That is why we are told what the names of the characters in the Old Testament meant. They described something about their character, history, where they were from, or even flaws or their destiny. Not too much has changed in the Middle East since the days of Abraham, Isaac (his brother Ishmael) and Jacob. My full name, literally translated, means "First born son of Hamid of the Rikab tribe."
Last year a friend of mind name Steve asked me to write down the lies I believed about myself. I scribbled six or seven in my journal. They are all rooted in one common idea: I am just Omar. Nothing special. Loved but not liked. Maybe liked but not respected. Wasted potential. Worst of sinners.
The next week when Steve and I met, I brought my shirt as a sort of "show and tell." He looked at me and spoke to me about my name. Omar. First born son. That means a lot in the Bible. The first-born son is the heir to all the father has. And I am joined with Christ. I am an heir with Christ in all that the Father has. My name is a living, literal gospel reality. I am not just Omar. I am not an ass. I am an heir.
We prayed together. Then he looked up and simply stated, "I’ll take that shirt." As I handed it to him he mentioned that many other times he had taken razors, drugs, booze and other items that people use to damage their lives, but never a t-shirt. Funny how a false idea of self can be as deadly.
That moment was a marker on the map, though not everything changed overnight. As my friend John David has said, we have to rehearse the things God gives us.
It is a spiritual fact that we live into what we say and believe about ourselves. That is why over and over God calls us things like "beloved" and "child" and "friend." This world is pretty hard when it comes to helping us define ourselves, so the Lord says it over and over, so we can rehearse.
Changing the name of this blog is part of that rehearsal. I am living into my name. I am living into who I was born to be: Created in the very image of God, loved by the Son, and sealed by the Spirit.
So, what is your name?
