The Village That Forgot Its Name

There once was a village nestled in a valley so lush it shimmered like emerald under the sun. The people of this village lived with a sacred rhythm — planting, harvesting, singing, grieving, celebrating, blessing. They gathered in circles under the moon and told stories of who they were: farmers, weavers, poets, healers, kin. They knew their name — not just the sound they used to identify themselves — but the deep, collective story of who they were in the world.

But over time, that memory began to fray.

At first, it was subtle. People stopped telling stories around the fire. The songs were sung less often. The fields were still planted, the houses swept clean, but something had shifted. People grew tired and anxious. People forgot the old rituals. They argued more. They stopped looking one another in the eyes.

Eventually, no one could remember why the village had gathered in circles, or why the grandmother trees at the edge of the village were considered sacred, or what the children’s chants had meant. The story that held them together began to dissolve. With it, their name, not the word, but the meaning, disappeared.

Then, one spring, a stranger arrived. She walked through the valley, sensing its silence. She saw the shuttered windows, the overgrown paths, the temple with its doors ajar. She turned to one of the villagers and asked, “What is this place called?”

The villager hesitated. “We used to have a name,” she said. “But now… I am not so sure.”

The stranger paused. Then, with great kindness, she said, “Perhaps it’s time to remember.”

Perhaps it is time to remember”

Remember What

At first, the villagers scoffed. Remember what? But something stirred. A few elders began to speak again, haltingly at first. Someone found a faded banner in a storeroom. A child asked to learn the song her grandmother once sang. People started gathering, not many, just enough, to sit in circles again. To light candles. To tell stories. To grieve what was lost. To listen for what might still be found.

As they did, something returned. The name did not come all at once — it came like birdsong at dawn, slowly, one note at a time. It came in the remembering of who they were to one another, and who they longed to become again. The name returned not because they found it written in a book, but because they began living as though it mattered.

Are we that village?

We are that village. We, too, are living through an era of forgetting. I am not speaking of nostalgia but rather something far deeper and more important. Perhaps the most important thing we do as leaders in such a time as this is to help people and organizations recover their name.

Maybe we recover our “name” through the relationships that remind us of who we are. We remember our name as we sit down and share our stories with one another lest we forget.

We need that reminding. It is easy to start believing we are what we produce, what we earn, or how useful we are. But we are more than cogs in the economy. We are people who ache to know what it means to be human—radiant and messy, mortal and bearing the image of the divine. Room to wonder, to grieve, to laugh, to fail, and to begin again are souls crave. We need someone who knows our name even when we have forgotten our worth.

Why Community Matters

That is part of why Jesus calls us into community. The point is not simply survival—keeping the doors open, paying the bills, and getting through another year. It has shared becoming. Together, we learn to become more patient, more courageous, more generous, more like Jesus. We practice forgiveness with people who give us reasons to need it. We discover gifts because someone notices them. We find courage because someone walks beside us.

So, we return to Jesus. We make time for one another. We pull up another chair and listen to a neighbor’s story. We let ourselves be known, too.

And gradually, we remember our name. We are beloved children of God, learning to love. Our vision grows clearer as we practice it together: becoming more like Jesus and helping our neighbors experience his love.

What more important thing could any leader do?