When my brother was a little guy, he called me “Wicky” because he had a hard time pronouncing my name. And I have a friend who used to call me Slick, but for the most part, I really don’t have a nickname. There are times, however, when someone will call me Vick. My grandpa used to do that. A woman in my office does that now. Since few people refer to me using that casual form of my name, it somehow conveys a kind of affection or closeness to me.
I know that names are important to God. His rich character and attributes are housed in his many names. He invites us to call on his name to be saved. One of the first jobs given to a human (aka Adam) was to name the animals God created. God also had a practice of changing people’s names (think Saul/Paul or Abram/Abraham or Sarai/Sarah).
I love the part of this passage of Revelation about the white stones, each with a secret name written on it. To think that Jesus has a “nickname” for me is almost too much to take in. I want to share this passage with my daughter who’s been asking me a lot of questions about heaven lately. I get the idea that she’s sometimes anxious that heaven will be filled with such a swarm of people that we’ll spend eternity standing in line to get a few minutes with Jesus. Being able to give her the news that God has a special secret name just for her should offer reassurance that she won’t be lost in the crowd. God is intimately aware of her and holds her dear.