Give Me a Name

Curious to explore a Black perspective within the Middle Eastern context of the Bible, I tagged along on the spiritual journey of an Ethiopian eunuch who has an unexpected encounter returning from a pilgrimage to the Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. When I chose to join the conversation between Acts 8:26-40 and Isaiah 56:3-5, I had to befriend my discomfort.

In the past, I’d heard the story in Acts 8 held up as a model of how to encourage religious conversion, or else framed as an example of acting in faith by taking a God-directed detour that may not make sense at first. While stories can be used to underscore a point, I’ve become more interested in engaging with stories as windows into the complex, nuanced lives of fellow humans—as invitations that allow us to connect more deeply with our shared humanity. I’m fascinated by how storytelling can powerfully shift the way we see God in ourselves and in each other.

As I had yet to hear the story of the eunuch’s spiritual transformation discussed with the eunuch’s point of view in mind, I decided to start there. Noticing that this character was presented as being unusual in multiple ways, I was moved to reimagine the backstory (as best I could, with all my limitations as someone living in another body, place, and time). I wanted to put words to what it might have felt like to walk in this person’s sandals. By giving this character attention, voice, and agency, I discovered another side of the truth emerging from the margins.

Steeping myself in the story, I first studied several English translations of both passages. Then, to support my reading of the biblical text, I searched for information on the implications of being a eunuch. What I found reminded me that the control of people’s reproductive rights by those in positions of power has taken many forms throughout history. My research also led me to reflect on the reality that government-sanctioned violence against people’s bodies in the name of service or protection is not merely a contemporary issue.

While I was aware that forced sterilization is an ancient practice accepted in a number of cultures—one that continues today—I was newly disturbed by what I read about genital mutilation in biblical times. I learned that young men who were selected to become court officials were often castrated. Supposedly, this was to keep them focused on their duties as civil servants and to make them more trustworthy in the presence of a queen or around a king’s harem. Because this surgery was performed before puberty, eunuchs’ physical development was stunted and their hormones and health were permanently affected.

I’m grateful I came across Peterson Toscano’s illuminating article “The Mystery of the Ethiopian Eunuch,”* which helped me to understand the cultural context better and to identify with the eunuch myself. Aside from being Black, single, and childless, I could relate to the theme of socialized “otherness” based on my countless experiences with living between worlds culturally and with people calling attention to the ways I don’t fit societal “norms.” Another layer of the story that began to resonate with me was the way traumas fracture one’s relationship with one’s body and create disconnection from one’s feelings, diminishing a person’s sense of humanity. Because I see the eunuch’s journey as ultimately being one of healing and restoration, I felt that it was vital to infuse the story with physicality and emotional awareness.

I was also intrigued by how the social construct of gender factors into this story about a person whose identity could be perceived as ambiguous. This sparked me to shake up some stereotypes as far as how traits such as courage, strength, leadership, and vulnerability are often conveyed in our idioms and cultural imagination as being strictly “masculine” or “feminine” rather than simply “human” qualities. (Thank you, Glennon Doyle, author of Untamed.)

In The Message paraphrase of the Bible, I was struck by how Isaiah 56:3 is interpreted: “Make sure no outsider who now follows God ever has occasion to say, ‘God put me in second-class. I don’t really belong.’ And make sure no physically mutilated person is ever made to think, ‘I’m damaged goods. I don’t really belong.’”

As I pondered the account in Acts 8, I noted that the eunuch isn’t named but is instead referred to categorically by nationality, physical/ability difference, class, and occupation. I realized it was common for the writers of biblical texts to use such demographics (in lieu of names) to describe characters who appeared only once. Still, it spurred me to consider how the decision of whether or not to include a person’s name can shape our perception of who is central to the story and who is a minor character. I saw ties between history and current events. Who is important enough to be mentioned as a unique individual? When some people are left anonymous, who does this protect, champion, or foreground? In my version of the story in Acts 8, even though some names were stated in the biblical text or could be inferred, I chose not to reference any of the characters or writers by name as a subversive way of treating everyone with the same degree of respect.

* Grateful acknowledgment to Peterson Toscano for background and inspiration: http://www.meetinghouse.xyz/everything/2017/3/23/the-mystery-of-the-ethiopian-eunuch