On a white hot Sunday afternoon, while I was sitting comfortably in the pews of a beige-lit church listening to this Sabbath's words of encouragement, the minister speaking on stage said something that cast a chill over me and the rest of the mortals in the congregation. Now speaking in a powerful voice far removed from her previous mild tone, she asked a question that felt more like a demand - "Do you know your name?". There was a consuming silence that spread across the auditorium; the question was not difficult to answer, but still the silence persisted. She spoke again, "Most of you would answer with the name your parents gave you... I'm talking about the name you answer to". All those years ago this perplexed me, but now I know that names are mentally binding; they assign identity and give purpose. Each title we attach to ourselves becomes grafted on to us like an olive branch, with potential to transform our minds renew us.