The leader who forgot his name: and the identity we might be missing too
Adobe
Do you remember your first leadership title? Maybe it was pastor, director, manager, or supervisor. You likely felt the affirmation and responsibility as someone entrusted to lead others. It's a significant moment, but it can also be a subtle trap.
Our title begins to shape how we see ourselves. It's easy to conflate role with identity, achievement with worth. It's an ancient struggle—one we see played out in King Solomon's story.
The excerpt below, taken from our forthcoming book, How Leaders Lose Their Way, explores this tension between title and identity. It invites us to consider who we might become if we, unlike Solomon, learn to fully embrace our God-given identity as beloved.
A king with two names
"Solomon" was only the first of two names given to Israel's future king. Shlomo, the Hebrew name David and Bathsheba conferred on their son, shared the same root consonants as the word shalom.
Meaning "peace," the name communicated great hope for Solomon's future: that his reign would be marked by peace and prosperity, that he would be a successful king. But not long after Solomon's birth, God sent the prophet Nathan to give Solomon a new name: Jedediah, "beloved of the Lord" (2 Samuel 12:25).
In Scripture, names and identities were closely intertwined, and whenever God changed someone's name, it represented a significant calling.
- Abram became Abraham, the father of many nations.
- Sarai became Sarah, mother of nations.
- Jacob became Israel, no longer a deceiver but one who wrestled with God.
But Solomon stays Solomon. He went by the name his parents had chosen, and although his reign was marked by geopolitical peace, Solomon never found peace within himself.
Instead, he vigorously pursued achievement: building the Temple, expanding the kingdom, accumulating wealth and wisdom, and making alliances with foreign powers. None of these accomplishments brought peace to his heart or secured a strong finish. In the end Solomon realized he had chased the wind.
I wonder what kind of king Jedidiah might have been. How might Solomon's story have been different if he had embraced his other name—beloved? What if all Solomon's actions were rooted in his belovedness?
Beloved
Henri Nouwen, a brilliant scholar, prolific writer, popular speaker, and compassionate priest, wrestled with Solomon's same temptation to find his worth in his achievements.
In his fifties, Nouwen left his teaching position at Harvard's Divinity School—a place where value was closely correlated with intellect and achievement—and traveled to Trosly, France, to serve as priest-in-residence among a community of intellectually disabled individuals.
Nouwen was, as he put it just after his arrival, "looking for a community of people that could lead me closer to the heart of God."
Over the course of that year and beyond, Nouwen uncovered the foundational truth of his identity. It wasn't what made him distinct or set apart from others but rather what is common to every human creation: He was the beloved of God. We are the beloved of God. He wrote, "Being the Beloved expresses the core truth of our existence."
The more Nouwen experienced this belovedness, the more he realized there was no going back to aligning his identity with his achievements.
There was nothing to prove, no achievement to pursue, and no need to search for alternative identities. "Every time you listen with great attentiveness to the voice that calls you the Beloved, you will discover within yourself a desire to hear that voice longer and more deeply. It is like discovering a well in the desert. Once you have touched wet ground, you want to dig deeper."
Nouwen recognized that ultimate meaning and satisfaction are found in belonging, not striving.
Over time, the pursuit of achievement will lead to one of two outcomes: constant striving or discouraged resignation, continuous climbing or aimless coasting. Those who think that the next accolade will be different from the last will continue their pursuit of achievement, often running roughshod over relationships and failing to love God and others well, in a quest to prove their worth.
Others will succumb to the weariness of constant striving, feeling discouraged, deflated, inadequate, and decidedly off mission. The only healthy way to break with our pursuit of achievement is to recognize that we are inherently beloved.
While Abram, Sarai, and Jacob received their new, God-given names as adults, Solomon received the name "beloved" as a baby. Before he had achieved a single thing, God called him "beloved." The same is true of us.
For Solomon and for us, a message of "Keep trying harder!" will cause us to lose our way. Staying on mission requires effort, but our first effort must be to reframe our way of thinking, to recognize that entirely apart from our achievements, aspirations, and titles, we are the beloved of God, who absolutely delights in his children: mess-ups, mistakes, and all.
Listen for the still small voice that says we are fully known and fully loved.
 | Peter Greer is president and CEO of HOPE International, a global nonprofit working to alleviate physical and spiritual poverty in 29 countries around the world. Peter’s favorite part of his role is spending time with the remarkable entrepreneurs HOPE serves. A graduate of Harvard’s Kennedy School, Peter has co-authored over 15 books, including Lead with Prayer, Mission Drift, Rooting for Rivals, and How Leaders Lose Their Way. While his sports loyalties remain in New England, he lives with his wife, Laurel, and their four children in Lancaster, PA. Learn More » |
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