I recently returned from my second trip to New Zealand to visit a close and long-term friend of mine, Hayden. When we planned our first trip, I told him I wanted to be outside as much as possible, soaking up New Zealand’s natural beauty. We planned for several hikes, and one of my favorite stops along the way was a bird sanctuary, a stunning 750 acres of lush forest. As we walked, I was amazed that Hayden could identify the birds by both their appearance and their songs. He could also tell me which birds were known for being aggressive and others that were more “cheeky.” His knowledge made me want to learn their names too, so I could share in the experience.

As we continued our journey through the South Island, I noticed it wasn’t just Hayden who knew the birds by name. This knowledge seemed common among the locals. I learned that New Zealand doesn’t have any native land mammals, so there is a deep pride when it comes to their birds. They even hold an annual “Bird of the Year” celebration, which I found really touching.

While reflecting, I had a flashback from many years ago when an old friend of mine used to dream out loud about living on a small farm to raise sheep. When I asked what he would name them, he grinned and said, “You can’t eat them if you name them.” I know that this isn’t always the case for small farmers, but I found it to be an interesting boundary. Names build relationships because they invite us to be present to what’s in front of us. Once we identify who someone is, we start to notice their personalities more, further building a connection. Which could make it harder to sever.

It made me think about how the desire to know someone’s name is really a desire for connection. Even though we might not always notice, we are already in relationship with birds – they pollinate plants, disperse seeds, and control insect and rodent populations. But when we learn their names, they’re no longer just part of the scenery. They become known to us. Naming marks the beginning of a relationship. To know someone’s name is a way of saying, “I see you.”

This truth extends beyond the natural world. When there have been mass shootings in the United States, I often hear protesters chant “Say their names!” so victims aren’t reduced to a number. They were humans who had names – names that were connected to families and friends. They had names that mattered. Saying their names helps us to not become numb to these atrocities in the future, and hopefully do more to prevent them.

When someone who is transgender or non-binary introduces themselves by their chosen name, honoring that name is a sign of respect and affirmation. It acknowledges their dignity and identity.

And it’s easier to scapegoat or dismiss entire groups of people when we don’t know their names. We are seeing this in our country right now, especially towards undocumented immigrants and the transgender community. Names come with stories and stories often challenge stereotypes and soften the walls we build between “us” and “them.” Naming is an act of recognition, and recognition is the first step toward love.

Perhaps a gift we can offer each other – human, animal, or even the land beneath our feet – is to call them by name and recognize their existence, their belonging, and their dignity. In a loud society that moves quickly, slowing down and building connection is a radical act of love.