The chapel was quiet, save for the soft rustle of my robe as I stepped into the confessional. The man on the other side fidgeted, his breathing uneven. He had introduced himself as Alu, though something in his tone suggested even that name felt borrowed.
"Speak, my son," I said. "What burdens your soul?"
He hesitated before blurting, "Father, I have too many names."
I blinked. "Too many names?"
"Yes!" he hissed, his voice low and frantic. "Alu, Abel, Amos, Adric, Arlen… the list goes on. I change them constantly. One for the merchant, another for the farmer, another for the innkeeper. I lose track, Father. I don't even know who I am anymore."
I paused, unsure if he was jesting or deeply troubled. "And why do you take so many names?"
"To avoid shame," he admitted. "Debts I can't repay, promises I've broken. Each name hides the man I was yesterday."
I sighed, leaning back in the confessional. "A name is but a shell, Alu—or Amos, or whichever you prefer. What matters is the soul within. Hiding behind names won't cleanse your conscience. Only truth will."
There was silence, then a shaky exhale. "Do you think God can forgive a man who doesn't even know his own name?"
"God knows who you are," I said gently. "And He will forgive you, but you must first face the truth of yourself—no matter how many names it takes."
He left quietly after that, and as I watched him slip into the night, I couldn't help but wonder if he would finally embrace the name only God truly knew.