Called by Name ...
- Paul Coleman
- 7 hours ago
- 3 min read
Almost the first blog post I wrote on this site was titled “Behind the Mask.” In it I explored questions of identity and how much of who I thought I was, and who others saw me as, was simply the mask I put on to face the world.
The more unsettling question behind that post was this: who am I without the mask?
At the time I wasn't sure. I often still don't really know.
Recently I have found myself returning to that question again: who am I?
Like many people, I often describe and understand myself in terms of what I do and in terms of what other people say about me. This is not unique to people with ADHD, but in my experience it can be more intense.
ADHD brains tend to be interest-driven rather than importance-driven. Motivation is often strongest when something is novel, urgent, emotionally engaging, or deeply interesting. Because of this, activities that capture attention can become central organising points for identity.
I do not simply do theology, music, gaming, or photography. Those things easily become part of how I experience who I am, because they provide focus and meaning. Part of this is related to hyper-focus, where my engagement with a subject becomes intense and absorbing, sometimes to the point where it begins to shape identity itself.
At the same time, like many people with ADHD, I have grown up receiving mixed messages. I have often heard things like “you’re brilliant when you try,” alongside “you’re lazy,” or “you have so much potential.” Because performance can fluctuate dramatically, identity easily becomes anchored in the places where competence feels most stable.
So it becomes tempting to define ourselves through roles. The theologian. The fixer. The creative one. The gamer. The person who helps others. These roles provide a kind of stability in self-understanding when other aspects of life feel chaotic.
For me, ADHD is also strongly associated with Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria, a heightened sensitivity to criticism or perceived rejection. When approval or affirmation comes through competence or achievement, it is perhaps unsurprising that those things become focal points for identity.
Although the negative stories also become part of that same narrative. Lazy. Chaotic. Late. Those labels can become just as identity-shaping as the positive ones.
Yet my faith keeps drawing me back to a different starting point.
On Sunday morning I led worship at Queen’s based around Book of Isaiah 43:1–7, and one sentence in particular stayed with me:
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;I have called you by name; you are mine.”
The context of that passage matters.
These words were spoken to Israel at a time when their identity had collapsed. Their nation had been defeated and their temple destroyed. The structures that once told them who they were no longer existed. The usual markers of identity had disappeared.
And into that uncertainty God speaks.
Not with criticism. Not with a demand to get things right. Instead God speaks a declaration of belonging.
“I have called you by name; you are mine.”
In scripture, naming is never simply about recognition. Naming expresses relationship, claim, and belonging. To be called by name is to be known and held in relationship.
This is what strikes me most about the passage. God does not begin with what Israel has done, or failed to do. Their identity does not rest on their success or their competence (or lack thereof).
It rests on the fact that they belong to God.
For those of us who are used to defining ourselves through activity or achievement, that can feel deeply counter-cultural. It suggests that identity is not something we construct through performance. It is something we receive through belonging.
That does not mean the masks disappear overnight. Roles, interests, and abilities still shape our lives. They remain part of who we are.
But they are no longer the deepest foundation of identity.
The foundation lies somewhere else.
In the God who says: “I have called you by name.”
And perhaps that is why the passage begins with the words “do not fear.” Because when identity is grounded in belonging rather than performance, the question “who am I?” becomes a little less frightening.
Over the last few weeks I have found myself drawn to Amy Grant’s song Highly Favoured which captures something of the truth, that the deepest answer to the question “who am I?” is not found in what I achieve or how consistent I am, but in the grace of the God who knows me, calls me by name, and claims me as his own.
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