Personhood is a particularly Christian idea (i.e., not Rogerian), as it is a product of life that rises and converges with the Personal Divinity, and co-inheres with Triune grace. This rising takes time, of course -- "time" that is very much an "energy" (not essence) of God. Thus it behooves a life to cohere with God's Son, God's time and God's earth, to pray in place, and to stay with the crest of grace.
That business of cohering is the Christian quest to discern God's will, to pray "Thy will be done," and to live it. One discerns and one obeys by prayer and fasting, by knowing the theology of Holy Tradition, by immersing oneself in the mysteries and graces of the Church, and by embracing the ascetical renunciation of passion, and embarking on the self-pouring pilgrimage of the Cross.
A man grows in time -- planted in image, sprung up toward likeness. A name, thus, is quite a personal story, perfected along time's way. It is grown in the sun, the wind and the rain, rooted in the earth and called by the sky. Time and Creation, and the Incarnation (for that matter) are thus inseparable. That is why time cannot be mathematicized as a mere dimension, and why it is no good suggesting that Christ might not have needed to come had things turned out differently in the Garden.
That's the way of getting a name, of becoming a person. That is why Saints are the only free people on earth. Their wave function of "uncertainty" (or freedom) does not collapse into necessity on either side of the horns of dilemma. In solidarity with the Body of Christ, in coinherence with the Triune grace, one becomes free, abundant, distinct and named on the crest of Time, in God's moment and in God's earth. Names are for free-men. Slaves of passion and insanity are demon, and are nameless.
Lazarus, in the Parable, kept his name and enhanced it. The Rich Man lost his, and was remembered only in terms of how he wished to be known in the duration of moral choice in the world: he is labeled, not named, in Hades, and even that only in terms of regret. Think of the brittle irony that bites like rust into an old corrugated shed roof on an ugly November day of gray: the desperate, whiny shade is monikered as the "Rich Man," who cannot presently pick up a mite, much less hoist the gold that was used aforetime to substantiate his fame.
Hades is the event horizon of irony, and the singularity toward which all passion gravitates inexorably. It is the rejection of grace, the disavowal of personhood, the betrayal of Jesus, the forsaking of time and the rupture of ego, the necrosis of soul. It is emptiness and the inspiration of demons. It is Nirvana, and the destroyer of psychic worlds.