The power of names
Commentary
Object:
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose would by any other name smell as sweet." Shakespeare's Juliet bemoans Romeo's family name of Montague and begs him to cast it off, but all who have seen the play know that is not so easily done. Names have power, both the names we are given and the names that we choose. Each of our lessons today touches on the power of names and naming in our lives of faith. Are there names we need to cast off? Are there names we need to claim? Today's readings offer much to ponder.
Exodus 1:8--2:10
Today marks a transition in readings from the book of Genesis, begun on Trinity Sunday in June, to the book of Exodus, which we will read into late October. It can be worth marking this transition and reminding parishioners of the remarkable story of the Hebrew people that has been read through the summer: Abraham and Sarah; Isaac and Rebekah; Jacob, Leah, and Rachel; Joseph and his brothers. I have found that many parishioners do not realize that the Israelites became enslaved in Egypt because Joseph's brothers settled there. Through multiple twists of fate and circumstance, their decision to sell Joseph into slavery led to their own great-grandchildren becoming slaves of the Egyptians. Though it is not assigned for today, it could be worth reading Exodus 1:1-7 to help parishioners understand this transition from the stories of the patriarchs to the stories of Moses and the liberation of the Hebrew people from slavery. It is worth noting too that the great expansion of the Hebrew population in Egypt fulfills the repeated promises of a great family that God made to the patriarchs in Genesis (13:16, 15:5, 22:17, 26:4, 32:13).
Today's story has many characters but only three are named: the two Hebrew midwives Shiphrah and Puah, and Moses. The king/pharaoh is not named; neither are Moses' parents or sister or even the pharaoh's daughter. The Hebrew words describing the midwives may be interpreted either as the NRSV translation states, "Hebrew midwives" or as "midwives to the Hebrews," which would make Shiphrah and Puah Egyptians, who would certainly be more likely to be trusted by the pharaoh to carry out an order to kill Hebrew boys. If the midwives were Egyptians, they are all the more remarkable for recognizing and fearing the God of the enslaved Hebrew people (Exodus 1:17). The compassion of the midwives and Pharaoh's daughter stand in stark contrast to the fear-inspired genocide commanded by Pharaoh. It is noteworthy in these early stories of the faith to find women named in their own right and not simply in relation to the men to whom they were daughters, sisters, wives, concubines, or mothers. Whether Hebrew or Egyptian, Shiphrah and Puah are rightly remembered and named for their acts of courage and their defiance. Some Christian commentators have noted that their actions may be the earliest recorded example of civil disobedience toward an oppressive regime, though this would require an extensive knowledge of world literatures and history to verify.
Romans 12:1-8
As in today's reading from the Hebrew scriptures, today's epistle reading also marks an important transition. Though we are still reading from Romans, Paul's main theological arguments, which we have read through the summer from chapter 6 through chapter 11, have concluded. The "therefore" in Romans 12:1 refers to Paul's exposition in the prior chapters of the grace and saving mercies of God given to us in Christ. In chapters 12 to 15:13, he moves on to an exhortation of how we should live in response to God's grace. We are to present our bodies to God as living sacrifices, which may seem to modern readers a lovely metaphor, but to Paul's readers in a time when animals were regularly slain as sacrifices in temple worship, I suspect it resonated far more viscerally. No longer are we to offer objects or animals outside ourselves to God; we are to offer our own selves. We are not to follow the ways of the world and present age but to let God transform our minds and actions. In Romans 1:18-32, Paul outlined the wickedness and sinfulness of humanity; the life he describes in response to Christ in chapters 12-15 is its opposite. A note on the word "perfect" at the end of 12:2, which has proven a stumbling-block to more than one faithful Christian: The connotation of "perfect" here and elsewhere in the New Testament (as when Jesus advises his hearers in Matthew 5:48 to be perfect as his Father in heaven is perfect) is of completion and maturity, as a small acorn achieves its perfection in a majestic, full-grown oak tree. "Perfect" here does not mean without blemish but living fully into the God-given potential we have been given. And Paul is clear in Romans 12:6 that we are not all given the same gifts to realize. The diversity of fully realized gifts within the community of faith is what makes up the body of Christ, the church. For those who feel weak in faith, it may be helpful to note that faith itself is a gift that God assigns in unequal measures (12:3). Rather than fretting about personal shortcomings, Paul invites his hearers into trusting the shared gifts and graces of the Christian community: prophecy, ministry, teaching, exhorting, giving, leading, and showing compassion.
Matthew 16:13-20
Jesus and his disciples enter the district of Caesarea Philippi, one of the northern-most points of their shared travels. The city of Caesarea Philippi lies at the foot of Mount Hermon, a notable mountain range that straddles the current Syria-Lebanon border and is part of the Golan Heights. Long a place of worship of the Greek god Pan, it is here, far from Jerusalem that the disciples begin to receive a deeper knowledge of Jesus. Peter's confession that we hear today is followed immediately by Jesus' beginning to teach his disciples about his coming death and resurrection. The Transfiguration, which follows in chapter 17, may have occurred on Mount Hermon.
Jesus is beginning to prepare for his own end in Jerusalem, and the language in this reading comes from Jewish apocalyptic traditions. When Jesus asks, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" he alludes to Daniel 7:13-14, in which the Son of Man is given eternal dominion over the world after the final judgment. The disciples' initial answers of John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets do not get to the truth Jesus seeks and in his next question he implicitly claims the title "Son of Man" that he has just used: "But who do you say that I am?" Simon Peter answers, "You are the Messiah [or the anointed one or Christ], the Son of the living God."
After 2,000 years of Christian usage, the word "Messiah" has more clarity of meaning than it did in Jesus' day. A messiah or anointed one was certainly an agent sent by God as a part of God's re-establishing rule on earth, but the notion of "The Messiah" claimed here by Peter is new. It may be worth noting Peter's attribution "Son of the living God" in contrast to the pagan (non-living) god of the region. Peter has named a truth about Jesus that Jesus is more than a prophet, healer, or teacher: He is one with a distinct and powerful relationship with God that has to do with ushering in the rule of God on earth.
It is even more than that, for Jesus responds by claiming not only the powers of earth but the powers of heaven for Peter. In giving Peter the keys of the kingdom of heaven, Jesus gives Peter the power to control entry into that kingdom. In giving Peter powers of binding and loosing, which are technical rabbinical terms, Jesus gives Peter authority to declare what is forbidden and what is permitted. Congruence between heaven and earth will be established in contrast to the conditions of their day. The name "Peter" from the Greek petros signifies more than simply a stone; it is more like bedrock or a huge rock outcropping like the Rock of Gibraltar. It is solid, foundational, and immoveable. Yet, after all this illumination and extraordinary promise, Jesus tells the disciples to keep it all quiet. No one else is to know that he is the Messiah. From our vantage point, we know that Jesus' living out of his messianic call was so different from anyone's expectations of a messiah that it made sense for the disciples not to proclaim it far and wide, but this order to keep quiet may have been confusing for the disciples. Indeed, immediately after this conversation, Jesus begins teaching them about his coming suffering, death, and resurrection (Matthew 16:21), which are not anticipated in any of the prophecies about a Jewish messiah.
Application
Last fall, my family visited Plimoth Plantation in Plymouth, Massachusetts, a "living museum" that seeks to present life as it was in the 1600s soon after the Pilgrims arrived. In the English village, costumed actors role-play historical characters, but in the neighboring Wampanaog homesite, modern-day members of the Wampanaog tribe demonstrate skills and answer questions about their culture and history. The center of the Wampanaog homesite is a bark-covered longhouse that seats several dozen people. When we visited, a tribal elder was there fielding questions from a motley collection of visitors. One person asked how names were chosen, and we learned that a member of the Wampanaog tribe might have several names in a lifetime, not just one. As a person grew and matured into new skills and responsibilities, and as the community identified and called out their gifts, the person would receive a new name. Over a lifetime, one person might have four or five distinct names, each name noting a season of their life, and each new name noting a transition in their status within the community.
We change names too in this culture, though seldom as often and fully as the Wampanoag. Titles may be added when we achieve a certain professional status; family names may be change upon marriage; nicknames may be claimed or discarded, but few of us actively choose to change our so-called Christian names: the names we were given at birth and again at our baptisms. Monks, nuns, and popes may take on new names as they profess their vows, but the rest of us usually trundle along with the names we were given as infants.
To name something or someone is to claim and define it in some deep way. There is good reason for the Jewish reluctance to speak the name of God -- to say God's name is in some way to draw bounds around what is boundless, to attempt to pin down what is beyond all our knowledge. About a year ago, my father received a diagnosis of Parkinson's disease. This is a terrible illness, not one to wish upon anyone, but in giving his diffuse and troubling symptoms a name, he and our family received some power over them. He was able to begin treatment for a defined illness, find a support group for Parkinson's patients and their spouses, and begin to plan for a different future than he and my mother had imagined. Having this name, while terrible, has been empowering, and so it may be for anyone with a serious medical or psychological condition: having a name for their experience can simultaneously condemn and liberate.
Saint Paul names a host of gifts within the Christian community: prophecy, ministry, teaching, exhorting, giving, leading, and showing compassion. Reading his list, I instantly begin assessing which ones I have (and which ones I don't!) and thinking about others I know who demonstrate these gifts. In settings that are conducive to dialogue, a fruitful sermon time could be devoted to expanding on Paul's list with the gathered community and inviting the congregation to name the gifts they see in each other.
Our gospel today is a powerful story of naming: first of Jesus claiming the name of Messiah that Simon speaks, and then of Jesus giving Simon his new name of Peter. As stated above, at the time of Jesus, the notion and definition of Messiah was diffused. In claiming this name and living, dying, and rising as he did, Jesus created a new definition of what it is to be a messiah. Does a messiah by any other name smell as sweet? Perhaps not, if Jesus had chosen a title like king, emperor, or lord. Any name carries with it a set of expectations that shape our perceptions of the individual who carries it, even if that individual comes to transcend those expectations, as Jesus did.
Jesus' naming of Simon Peter is also notable. Simon was a voluble, perhaps impetuous follower of Jesus who showed promise but who also made grave mistakes more than once. In calling him "bedrock," Jesus gave Simon a name to live into, a name to cling to when times got tough, a name to fulfill for the rest of his days. Given another name by Jesus, would Simon have become the same leader that Peter did? The names and the nicknames that we give one another can have great power; they can become self-fulfilling prophecies. Moses, named from a root word meaning "take out," was taken out of the Nile River, but he also became the one who took his people out of Egypt. Surely his name, combined with the story of his rescue shaped the man that he became.
What names and nicknames have we been given? What names do we claim and what names do we need to discard because they do not serve us as children of God? This world is full of cruelty and some of the names we have been called and have called others are best put away where they can do no more harm. Some names we need to let go. And some names we need to claim. In an increasingly secular society and varying with local cultures, some members of our congregations may be reluctant to claim the name "Christian" because of negative associations they or others have with the name. Yet we should all be brave enough to claim the name Christian. As Jesus did with the name Messiah, by our living and dying, we can give it a new definition apart from the lingering triumphalism of other times and places. "See how these Christians love one another," Tertullian is reputed to have said. May it be so.
An Alternative Application
In multiple ways, today's readings mark turning points in the lives of the faithful: We mark the birth and rescue of the infant Moses, who will lead his people out of slavery; we mark Paul's movement in Romans from theological exposition to exhortation of faithful Christian response; and we mark Peter's confession of Jesus as Messiah, which sets Jesus and the disciples on the long march to Jerusalem. This last Sunday of summer before Labor Day weekend is also for many of us a season of turning and a fruitful moment to consider the question, "How then, shall we live?" The beginning of a new school and program year often feels like the start of a new year, and it can be an excellent time to set new habits and resolutions, to start anew in seeking to live more faithfully as children of God.
Exodus 1:8--2:10
Today marks a transition in readings from the book of Genesis, begun on Trinity Sunday in June, to the book of Exodus, which we will read into late October. It can be worth marking this transition and reminding parishioners of the remarkable story of the Hebrew people that has been read through the summer: Abraham and Sarah; Isaac and Rebekah; Jacob, Leah, and Rachel; Joseph and his brothers. I have found that many parishioners do not realize that the Israelites became enslaved in Egypt because Joseph's brothers settled there. Through multiple twists of fate and circumstance, their decision to sell Joseph into slavery led to their own great-grandchildren becoming slaves of the Egyptians. Though it is not assigned for today, it could be worth reading Exodus 1:1-7 to help parishioners understand this transition from the stories of the patriarchs to the stories of Moses and the liberation of the Hebrew people from slavery. It is worth noting too that the great expansion of the Hebrew population in Egypt fulfills the repeated promises of a great family that God made to the patriarchs in Genesis (13:16, 15:5, 22:17, 26:4, 32:13).
Today's story has many characters but only three are named: the two Hebrew midwives Shiphrah and Puah, and Moses. The king/pharaoh is not named; neither are Moses' parents or sister or even the pharaoh's daughter. The Hebrew words describing the midwives may be interpreted either as the NRSV translation states, "Hebrew midwives" or as "midwives to the Hebrews," which would make Shiphrah and Puah Egyptians, who would certainly be more likely to be trusted by the pharaoh to carry out an order to kill Hebrew boys. If the midwives were Egyptians, they are all the more remarkable for recognizing and fearing the God of the enslaved Hebrew people (Exodus 1:17). The compassion of the midwives and Pharaoh's daughter stand in stark contrast to the fear-inspired genocide commanded by Pharaoh. It is noteworthy in these early stories of the faith to find women named in their own right and not simply in relation to the men to whom they were daughters, sisters, wives, concubines, or mothers. Whether Hebrew or Egyptian, Shiphrah and Puah are rightly remembered and named for their acts of courage and their defiance. Some Christian commentators have noted that their actions may be the earliest recorded example of civil disobedience toward an oppressive regime, though this would require an extensive knowledge of world literatures and history to verify.
Romans 12:1-8
As in today's reading from the Hebrew scriptures, today's epistle reading also marks an important transition. Though we are still reading from Romans, Paul's main theological arguments, which we have read through the summer from chapter 6 through chapter 11, have concluded. The "therefore" in Romans 12:1 refers to Paul's exposition in the prior chapters of the grace and saving mercies of God given to us in Christ. In chapters 12 to 15:13, he moves on to an exhortation of how we should live in response to God's grace. We are to present our bodies to God as living sacrifices, which may seem to modern readers a lovely metaphor, but to Paul's readers in a time when animals were regularly slain as sacrifices in temple worship, I suspect it resonated far more viscerally. No longer are we to offer objects or animals outside ourselves to God; we are to offer our own selves. We are not to follow the ways of the world and present age but to let God transform our minds and actions. In Romans 1:18-32, Paul outlined the wickedness and sinfulness of humanity; the life he describes in response to Christ in chapters 12-15 is its opposite. A note on the word "perfect" at the end of 12:2, which has proven a stumbling-block to more than one faithful Christian: The connotation of "perfect" here and elsewhere in the New Testament (as when Jesus advises his hearers in Matthew 5:48 to be perfect as his Father in heaven is perfect) is of completion and maturity, as a small acorn achieves its perfection in a majestic, full-grown oak tree. "Perfect" here does not mean without blemish but living fully into the God-given potential we have been given. And Paul is clear in Romans 12:6 that we are not all given the same gifts to realize. The diversity of fully realized gifts within the community of faith is what makes up the body of Christ, the church. For those who feel weak in faith, it may be helpful to note that faith itself is a gift that God assigns in unequal measures (12:3). Rather than fretting about personal shortcomings, Paul invites his hearers into trusting the shared gifts and graces of the Christian community: prophecy, ministry, teaching, exhorting, giving, leading, and showing compassion.
Matthew 16:13-20
Jesus and his disciples enter the district of Caesarea Philippi, one of the northern-most points of their shared travels. The city of Caesarea Philippi lies at the foot of Mount Hermon, a notable mountain range that straddles the current Syria-Lebanon border and is part of the Golan Heights. Long a place of worship of the Greek god Pan, it is here, far from Jerusalem that the disciples begin to receive a deeper knowledge of Jesus. Peter's confession that we hear today is followed immediately by Jesus' beginning to teach his disciples about his coming death and resurrection. The Transfiguration, which follows in chapter 17, may have occurred on Mount Hermon.
Jesus is beginning to prepare for his own end in Jerusalem, and the language in this reading comes from Jewish apocalyptic traditions. When Jesus asks, "Who do people say that the Son of Man is?" he alludes to Daniel 7:13-14, in which the Son of Man is given eternal dominion over the world after the final judgment. The disciples' initial answers of John the Baptist, Elijah, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets do not get to the truth Jesus seeks and in his next question he implicitly claims the title "Son of Man" that he has just used: "But who do you say that I am?" Simon Peter answers, "You are the Messiah [or the anointed one or Christ], the Son of the living God."
After 2,000 years of Christian usage, the word "Messiah" has more clarity of meaning than it did in Jesus' day. A messiah or anointed one was certainly an agent sent by God as a part of God's re-establishing rule on earth, but the notion of "The Messiah" claimed here by Peter is new. It may be worth noting Peter's attribution "Son of the living God" in contrast to the pagan (non-living) god of the region. Peter has named a truth about Jesus that Jesus is more than a prophet, healer, or teacher: He is one with a distinct and powerful relationship with God that has to do with ushering in the rule of God on earth.
It is even more than that, for Jesus responds by claiming not only the powers of earth but the powers of heaven for Peter. In giving Peter the keys of the kingdom of heaven, Jesus gives Peter the power to control entry into that kingdom. In giving Peter powers of binding and loosing, which are technical rabbinical terms, Jesus gives Peter authority to declare what is forbidden and what is permitted. Congruence between heaven and earth will be established in contrast to the conditions of their day. The name "Peter" from the Greek petros signifies more than simply a stone; it is more like bedrock or a huge rock outcropping like the Rock of Gibraltar. It is solid, foundational, and immoveable. Yet, after all this illumination and extraordinary promise, Jesus tells the disciples to keep it all quiet. No one else is to know that he is the Messiah. From our vantage point, we know that Jesus' living out of his messianic call was so different from anyone's expectations of a messiah that it made sense for the disciples not to proclaim it far and wide, but this order to keep quiet may have been confusing for the disciples. Indeed, immediately after this conversation, Jesus begins teaching them about his coming suffering, death, and resurrection (Matthew 16:21), which are not anticipated in any of the prophecies about a Jewish messiah.
Application
Last fall, my family visited Plimoth Plantation in Plymouth, Massachusetts, a "living museum" that seeks to present life as it was in the 1600s soon after the Pilgrims arrived. In the English village, costumed actors role-play historical characters, but in the neighboring Wampanaog homesite, modern-day members of the Wampanaog tribe demonstrate skills and answer questions about their culture and history. The center of the Wampanaog homesite is a bark-covered longhouse that seats several dozen people. When we visited, a tribal elder was there fielding questions from a motley collection of visitors. One person asked how names were chosen, and we learned that a member of the Wampanaog tribe might have several names in a lifetime, not just one. As a person grew and matured into new skills and responsibilities, and as the community identified and called out their gifts, the person would receive a new name. Over a lifetime, one person might have four or five distinct names, each name noting a season of their life, and each new name noting a transition in their status within the community.
We change names too in this culture, though seldom as often and fully as the Wampanoag. Titles may be added when we achieve a certain professional status; family names may be change upon marriage; nicknames may be claimed or discarded, but few of us actively choose to change our so-called Christian names: the names we were given at birth and again at our baptisms. Monks, nuns, and popes may take on new names as they profess their vows, but the rest of us usually trundle along with the names we were given as infants.
To name something or someone is to claim and define it in some deep way. There is good reason for the Jewish reluctance to speak the name of God -- to say God's name is in some way to draw bounds around what is boundless, to attempt to pin down what is beyond all our knowledge. About a year ago, my father received a diagnosis of Parkinson's disease. This is a terrible illness, not one to wish upon anyone, but in giving his diffuse and troubling symptoms a name, he and our family received some power over them. He was able to begin treatment for a defined illness, find a support group for Parkinson's patients and their spouses, and begin to plan for a different future than he and my mother had imagined. Having this name, while terrible, has been empowering, and so it may be for anyone with a serious medical or psychological condition: having a name for their experience can simultaneously condemn and liberate.
Saint Paul names a host of gifts within the Christian community: prophecy, ministry, teaching, exhorting, giving, leading, and showing compassion. Reading his list, I instantly begin assessing which ones I have (and which ones I don't!) and thinking about others I know who demonstrate these gifts. In settings that are conducive to dialogue, a fruitful sermon time could be devoted to expanding on Paul's list with the gathered community and inviting the congregation to name the gifts they see in each other.
Our gospel today is a powerful story of naming: first of Jesus claiming the name of Messiah that Simon speaks, and then of Jesus giving Simon his new name of Peter. As stated above, at the time of Jesus, the notion and definition of Messiah was diffused. In claiming this name and living, dying, and rising as he did, Jesus created a new definition of what it is to be a messiah. Does a messiah by any other name smell as sweet? Perhaps not, if Jesus had chosen a title like king, emperor, or lord. Any name carries with it a set of expectations that shape our perceptions of the individual who carries it, even if that individual comes to transcend those expectations, as Jesus did.
Jesus' naming of Simon Peter is also notable. Simon was a voluble, perhaps impetuous follower of Jesus who showed promise but who also made grave mistakes more than once. In calling him "bedrock," Jesus gave Simon a name to live into, a name to cling to when times got tough, a name to fulfill for the rest of his days. Given another name by Jesus, would Simon have become the same leader that Peter did? The names and the nicknames that we give one another can have great power; they can become self-fulfilling prophecies. Moses, named from a root word meaning "take out," was taken out of the Nile River, but he also became the one who took his people out of Egypt. Surely his name, combined with the story of his rescue shaped the man that he became.
What names and nicknames have we been given? What names do we claim and what names do we need to discard because they do not serve us as children of God? This world is full of cruelty and some of the names we have been called and have called others are best put away where they can do no more harm. Some names we need to let go. And some names we need to claim. In an increasingly secular society and varying with local cultures, some members of our congregations may be reluctant to claim the name "Christian" because of negative associations they or others have with the name. Yet we should all be brave enough to claim the name Christian. As Jesus did with the name Messiah, by our living and dying, we can give it a new definition apart from the lingering triumphalism of other times and places. "See how these Christians love one another," Tertullian is reputed to have said. May it be so.
An Alternative Application
In multiple ways, today's readings mark turning points in the lives of the faithful: We mark the birth and rescue of the infant Moses, who will lead his people out of slavery; we mark Paul's movement in Romans from theological exposition to exhortation of faithful Christian response; and we mark Peter's confession of Jesus as Messiah, which sets Jesus and the disciples on the long march to Jerusalem. This last Sunday of summer before Labor Day weekend is also for many of us a season of turning and a fruitful moment to consider the question, "How then, shall we live?" The beginning of a new school and program year often feels like the start of a new year, and it can be an excellent time to set new habits and resolutions, to start anew in seeking to live more faithfully as children of God.
