What's in a name, II

You've spent some time here. You are, perhaps, a frequent visitor. You notice I rarely mention myself by name. You notice, however that the address of this space is "http://jacsongs.blogspot.com" (no need to link that one, folks, you're here). Perhaps you're dedicated enough to visit Elsie's poetry blog-site, and have seen the line

the scent of jac's body
fresh from the shower

And you're wondering, who is this guy? What's up with this "Jonah" mask he wears when he visits Dr. Omed and others in the Salon blogosphere? What's up with this "jac" business?

Well, it's simple: my first name is "James" (inherited from my paternal grandfather William James); my middle name is "Andrew" (I believe this came from someone on my mother's side); and my last name begins with a "C". Put 'em together, and you get "jac".

I officially adopted this as my poetic nom-de-plume in high school, thinking I was quite clever. Turns out, not so much. See, my brother was David Austin C—. Our Gran wanted to call us "Dac" and "Jac". Understandably, David vetoed this idea out of hand. Can't blame him — after all, "jac" is phonetically related to "Jack". "Dac" ain't related to any name I'm aware of in American culture.

So, from high school on, my poetry has been signed "jac". A few close friends have adopted it as a nickname. The two Danas call me this — both the Rt Rev Dr Omed, and my step-sister.

In my Who Am I This Time? entry, I refer to "Still Life With Icons", and the fictitious names I gave my friends in the confessional poems I was creating during this time. I didn't mention the fictitious name I gave myself: Jason. For guys, this is the great adventurer who sought the Golden Fleece (which was the sense I had in mind when I assumed the name, poetically speaking). For gals, this is the a—hole who got what he wanted out of Medea, then dumped her.

So, one day I'm reading the good Doctor's blogspace (linked above, to the side, and frequently elsewhere), and I want to post a comment. The pop-up form asks for a name. Don't recall whether the entry I was commenting on was religious or not. Do remember I was "in a mood", and signed as "Jonah." Well, turns out that little pop-up form saves a cookie on the users' machine so that everytime you post a comment on any Salon blog, the little form assumes you're the same person. Every time I visit the Real Live Preacher, for example, and I post a comment, the top of the form asks — quite politely, I think — not Jonah?

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Why did I pick Jonah? Well, this is the guy best known — whether you're male or female — for doing time in the belly of a whale. Many times, driving the streets & going to work & dealing with the whole Great American Dream scenario, I feel like I'm living in the belly of the beast. Plus, the book of Jonah has got to be one of the funniest books in the Bible — it's right up there with the apocryphal Tobit.

I mean, this guy is a poster child for reluctant prophets everywhere. Obviously, no body asks for the job of "prophet" (I think it's Jeremiah who compares it to rape), but Jonah takes it to a whole new level. He makes Jeremiah look like a cheerful enlistee by comparison.

Yeah, we all know the guy did time in the belly of a great fish, but let's see the hands of those who remember why he did time in that fish. God told Jonah to prophesy to some foreigners, and Jonah said "No way! Look, God, you & I both know those folk deserve to fry painfully. But if I prophesy to them, they're going to repent, you'll forgive them, and they're off the hook. Go get yourself another pasty."

Well, God stayed on him, and Jonah figured he better skip town to avoid the whole situation. He talks his way onto a boat, and they put out to sea. Big storm comes up. Doesn't take long for the crew to figure out this grumbling prophet is the source of the problem, so they throw him in the sea.

But instead of letting him drown, God sends this big fish to swallow him. Lets him cool his heels for a few days in the belly of that beast, then the fish spits him out. Jonah finally sucks it up and prophesies to Nineveh (the afore-mentioned foreigners), and he lays it on like Billy Graham in his glory days: "If you don't repent, God's gonna fry your a-- in olive oil & serve you up to every nation west of the Nile."

Well, things end up pretty much the way Jonah expected. The Ninevans repent big time — the whole sackcloth & ashes routine. God smiles on the whole affair, and figures there's no need to do mighty smiting in these parts. Jonah goes and pouts under a tree.

See what I mean? Lot of yucks. In my handy NIV, Jonah is all of two pages long, so check out the original.

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Don't claim to be a prophet. Just another ordinary Joe, making his way through the belly of the beast.

But America needs a new prophet. Hearing King's "I Have a Dream" speech replayed on its 40th anniversary certainly brought that home. I think Granny D, that witness walking across America, is a prophet. I think Dennis Kucinich has a little prophet stirring in him.

What about you? Tired of living in the belly of the beast and pretending you like it? Do you have what it takes to be a prophet?