The lot for the East Gate fell to Shelemiah. Then lots were cast for his son Zechariah, a wise counselor, and the lot for the North Gate fell to him.
1 Chronicles 26:14 (NIV)

Over the years, I have dug into my family’s history. Working on a family tree, you deal with a lot of names that have little or no meaning. They are just names without context, kind of like reading through the list of Hebrew names compiled by the Chronicler in today’s chapter.

I have found it interesting, however, that certain individuals in my family have a reputation that has always been passed down with the name. Typically, I’ve noticed that what gets remembered is not the good things.

“He was a drunk.”
“No one had a good word to say about him.”
“She was always mean.”

One of my great-grandfathers, William, was one of multiple ancestors whose name was rarely mentioned without being followed by the fact that he was a drunk. When I inherited my mother’s collection of family photos and ephemera, I found a book that my great-aunt had written about his life. It would seem that she personally took it upon herself to learn her father’s story to try and understand the man with whom she never had much of a relationship.

The story was heartbreaking. His mother had been hired out to a family on a farm miles away from her home when she was just a young girl. She was treated like a slave. One of the sons seduced her and promised her the moon to have his way with her, but broke every promise. When she wound up pregnant she was dismissed and destitute. Her sister, married off to a well-to-do businessman, finally took her in with the condition she was to stay out of sight and no one would ever know they were sisters. An unwanted pregnancy of an illicit affair to a man who wanted nothing to do with the destitute young mother and her offspring. Welcome to the world, little man.

William’s life was tragic from the beginning. Despite his best efforts, tragedy seemed to follow him like a stray dog. He certainly made a number of mistakes in life that compounded his troubles, but I certainly began to understand why he learned to drown his sorrows. Perhaps the crowning tragedy of his life was that a rather complex and compelling life story was reduced to a simple “He was a drunk” to all of his descendants.

In today’s chapter, the Chronicler lists all of the families in the ancient Hebrew tribe of Levi who were assigned to be gatekeepers and treasurers in Solomon’s Temple. As I read through the long string of rather meaningless names, I was struck when the Chronicler mentioned a gatekeeper named Zechariah and then followed the name with “a wise counselor.” He didn’t mention any positive or negative character qualities about any of the other names. What made Zechariah such a “wise counselor” that the Chronicler was compelled to mention it? How cool to think that Zac, an otherwise forgettable ancient gatekeeper, had a reputation for giving wise advice that would be remembered for over 3000 years.

In the quiet this morning, I find myself asking a simple question: When my great-grandchildren see a photo of me and ask, “Who’s that dad?” What words will follow “Oh, that’s your great-grandfather Tom. He….” What will my descendants remember about me? Into what short phrase will my life be reduced by those who knew me?

Every day I contribute to the reputation by which I will be remembered.

If you know anyone who might be encouraged by today’s post, please share.