What's In A Name?

At St. Anselm's (Benedictine) Abbey in Washington, DC, when you became a novice, you received a religious name. You could keep your own name, but they already had a Fr. James (and still do), so my name was going to change.

The way that the process worked is that you submitted three names to the Abbot. You may not get any of the names you submit. I submitted Gandolfo (a Franciscan Blessed), Cuthbert, and George. George is the patron of England and the monks of St. Anselm are English Benedictine monks. George was my father's name and I was his only son.

In the monastery, they did not celebrate birthdays. Instead, they celebrated name days, which would be the feast day of the patron saint you received the religious name for. St. Cuthbert's day is March 20th. Same as my birthday. I knew I was not going to get Gandolfo (for the obvious reason. No! Not the LOTR reference! Gandolfo was a Franciscan, not a Benedictine, nor was he a Saint, but a Bkessed is pretty close). I made sure the Abbot knew my birthday was the same as St. Cuthbert. They did not mind us having cake and ice cream on our name day, but not on our birthday. We were not to celebrate that day because we were “reborn” when we entered the novitiate as we were to be “reborn” when we made vows). So, imagine my surprise when I was told my name would be Cuthbert.

For a year and a day, I was Br. Cuthbert. Then it was time to make Simple Vows. My parents were coming down for the ceremony. I had asked the Abbot if he would change my name to George. I explained to him that there was always a wall between my father and myself – one I could never break – and this might help me put a hole in it. He said I should ask the novice master. The novice master, Fr. Boniface, chewed me out left and right, up and down, saying it was “the sin of pride,” and made it sound like that if I did not drop my request, I would not be allowed to take vows, so I dropped the request – and waited.

Three years later, it was time to renew my vows. At St. Anselm’s, one renewed their vows for three more years. After the three years, you can, if you want, make Final Vows (You were in Simple Vows for six years before you made Final Vows). Before you renew your vows, the community votes to see if they want you to renew vows. I was told it was a unanimous yes. To renew the Simple Vows, there was no ceremony. You just signed your name in a book. Simple as that.

I asked the Abbot if I could have my name changed to George. This took him by surprise. I, once again, tried to explain how there has always been a “wall” between my father and myself. One I was never ever to break. My father’s name was George J. Porto. J for John. My name would be George J. Porto. J for James. I told the Abbot that the rules of the Church were rather difficult for my parents at times. Perhaps, by taking my father's name, this would help break the wall. The Abbot was unwilling to change my name.

The road that would lead to St. Anselm’s was not an easy one for me. It was fifteen years of being rejected by one place or another and all because I was lame from spastic parapelegia. St. Anselm’s did not mind and accepted me. Nevertheless, I told the Abbot that if he did not change my name to George, I would leave. He hemmed and hawed. He said it had never been done in monastic history. I said that the Mass in English had never been done before, and that changed. Allowing women to dine with us in the refectory was forbidden until my second year there. He wanted a compromise. George-Cuthbert or Cuthbert-George. He said, “I cannot believe you would want to give up on this. Is your love for your father that important to you?”

“Feeling loved and understood by my father is that important to me. You do not realize what this man has endured his entire life. The pain he carries, that he dreams about - coherently - in his sleep. This...." I paused, trying to think of the word, "denomination that we belong to, this Catholicism, has brought him pain. Pain and shame. So much shame that he thought he was unworthy to ever receive Communion, and here I am, his only son, embracing this life, becoming a part of the clergy that told him he was nothing. Yes! I would not only leave anyone that tells my dad he is nothing, I... would.. spit in their face." Pointing at the book where I was supposed to sign my name, I actually said, “I will not make any deals with you. I'll resign. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life will be my own." The Abbot was taken aback, not realizing I was quoting my favorite television show (The Prisoner), and asked again if I would really leave. Too worn out to argue, I said, "Look in my eyes." The Abbot's face turned white. I walked out.

At the time, it was October, and I was teaching in the school. If I did not renew my vows, they would have had to get a teacher right away, and, if it was not a monk (which would have been likely), they would have to pay that teacher. It came down to the final hours and, during the wee morning hours, a note was slid under the door. It informed me that my name had been changed to George. At around 3:00 am, I went around the monastery and wherever my name was, I replaced it with my new name. Later, after Morning Prayer, which ended close to 6:00 am, I went with the Abbot and signed the book.

Later that day, I called my father and told him what I did. He did not know any of this had been going on. He was happy, we talked for ten minutes which, for us, was a long time, but that wall between us never broke.