The Name You Choose
The Name You Choose
In the early 2000s, I was staying with my grandparents. They had The Pebble and the Penguin on VHS.
Goofy movie. But there's one joke in it that's stuck with me for twenty-five years.
Hubie says, "Hey, Rocko! What do you call a flower before it opens?"
Rocko says, "What?"
Hubie says, "What do you call a flower before it opens?"
Rocko says, "A bud."
Hubie says, "I love it when you call me bud!"
Rocko groans.
I told that joke to my grandfather once. That was all it took, from that day forward, "Bud" was my nickname. Childhood into adulthood. No debate.
That's the thing about names. Some are planned. Some are earned. Some happen by accident. And some stick because one person you love decided they were calling you that whether you liked it or not.
Nicknames are sentimental.
First names are practical.
Your last name carries a reputation.
You didn't choose it. You didn't earn it. Someone handed it to you, and somebody may carry it after you. The way you live either honors it or drags it through the mud.
But there's one name that matters more than all the others. The name you get to choose.
Christian.
Christian is a name you choose to put on.
Nobody becomes a Christian by accident.
You are not a Christian because your parents were. You are not a Christian because you grew up in a church building. You are not a Christian because you know Bible stories, can quote a few verses, or have spent your whole life around Christian people.
Those things can shape you. They can point you in the right direction. But they do not make the choice for you. That's not Christianity. That's just a cultural residue. And that “residue” is easy to mistake for the real thing. The residue looks enough like faith that it rarely gets questioned least of all by the man carrying it. Again, that’s not Christianity. That's just familiarity with the process.
Galatians 3:27 says, "For as many of you as have been baptized into Christ have put on Christ." We put on Christ. We take His name on purpose.
And once we put that name on in baptism, it ought to mean something.
When my grandfather called me "Bud," that name meant something because of who said it. It carried a memory. It carried a connection to him.
The name Christian should carry more than that.
Colossians 3:17 says, "And whatsoever ye do in word or deed, do all in the name of the Lord Jesus."
That means the name is not just for Sunday. It follows you into your house, your job, your marriage, your parenting, your conversations, and the way you handle yourself when nobody is watching.
If I wear my family name poorly, I bring shame on my family. If I wear the name Christian poorly, I bring shame on Christ. That's the weight of the name.
So when I call myself a Christian, people ought to see evidence of it. Not perfection, no man has that. But evidence. A pattern that points somewhere.
1 Peter 4:16 says, "Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf."
There is honor in wearing the name. But there is also responsibility. The two have always gone together. You don't get the honor without accepting the weight of it. Peter wasn't writing to people who had it easy. He was writing to people who were paying a real price for the name they chose. And his instruction wasn't to lay it down when it got heavy. It was to hold it up. To let the suffering itself become a witness to what the name means.
Rocko groaned when Hubie called him bud. My grandfather laughed and made it stick.
I've carried a lot of names in my life. Some were given to me. Some were earned. Some just happened.But Christian is the one I got to choose and if I wear that name, I ought to wear it well.
Because nicknames fade. Family names eventually disappear.
But the name Christian carries eternal weight.
Love you dearly. Jacob.
