Give Us A New Name!
Sermon
Why Don't You Send Somebody?
Sermons For Advent, Christmas, Epiphany
What's in a name? Apparently more than we sometimes realize.
Our names are important to us. They carry the message of who we
are. Parents think carefully of what to name a new child. How is
it going to sound when that child grows to adulthood? Will it be
dignified? Distinctive? Pleasant? We want names that will not be
embarrassing or cause people to make jokes of them. Probably all
of us have been amused by someone's unfortunate name; one
probably chosen by a parent who failed to think of the long term
effect upon the child of the name they had chosen. A few years
ago Johnny Cash sang about "A Boy Named Sue," a hilarious parody
of the troubles a kid had going through life with a girl's name.
Most of us try to be more sensitive than that and choose names
that will wear well enough to last a lifetime, and sometimes
names that will be reminders of other beloved or notable people.
So many of us are named after others who have gone before us.
Jesus, for example, or "Yeshua," as it was more likely said, was
the name of the ancient prophet whom we call Joshua. It was a
proud and significant name, and according to Luke, told to Mary
by the angel visitant before the child was conceived.
Names have sometimes been made to carry messages. The eighth-
century prophet Isaiah gave his sons names which were
extensions of the message that he wanted his nation to hear. He
called his elder son "Shearjashub," meaning "a remnant shall
return." So everywhere that son's name was pronounced it
expressed Isaiah's confidence in the ultimate return of at least
a remnant of the Jews to Palestine from their Babylonian exile.
The second son he called "Mahershalalhashbaz," which meant "spoil
speeds, prey hastens." Whenever that name was spoken it
reiterated Isaiah's contention that Syria and Israel would soon
be conquered by Assyria. Perhaps such names were not very fair to
the children who had to bear them. I can imagine them wincing
under the very statement of their names; probably wishing Dad had
called them something a bit more ordinary.
And names have sometimes been used to signify some life-
changing event in one's life. You remember that Abram and Sarai
were re-named by the Lord as Abraham, meaning, "father of many
nations," and Sarah, to commemorate the covenant which the Lord
established with Abraham, together with the promise that Sarah
would bear a son. (Genesis 17:5f, 15-16) In the New Testament,
Saul became Paul, significant of his life-changing conversion on
the road to Damascus. And Jesus called Simon, the fisherman,
"Petros," or Peter, meaning "rock," significant of his strength.
But later when Peter showed signs of weakness Jesus reverted to
calling him Simon again, the significance of which the disciples
could not have failed to note.
In the missionary days of the 19th and early 20th centuries it
was not uncommon for converts to Christianity to adopt a new name
significant of their new faith. In our own day some notable
persons have changed their names significant of their conversion
to the faith of Islam. Thus Cassius Clay became Muhammad Ali, and
Lew Alcindor became Kareem Abdul Jabbar. With growing
consciousness of ethnic heritage many people -- those of African
extraction in particular -- have replaced family names inherited
from the time of slavery with names more nearly representing the
African heritage they rightly want to honor. We may ask, "What's
in a name?" The answer is, "plenty!"
In the reading for today the Isaiah school of prophecy, which
writes under the name of the ancient prophet, predicts the year
of the Lord's favor in which, among other things, the messianic
people "will be called by a new name." What we hear is effusive
and joyful poetry celebrating in anticipation a new relationship
between Yahweh and his people in the new age in which the glory
of God will transform the life and character of the people. In
the day of his coming the theretofore dismal fortunes of the
people will be reversed, and all nations will witness Zion's
vindication. And that day of vindication will be signaled by
their receiving a new name. That new name will remind them
forever not just who they are but whose they are. "They shall be
called the holy people, the redeemed of the Lord; and you shall
be called Sought out, and a city not forsaken." (Isaiah 62:12)
A continuation of the reading for today fleshes out the nature
of the Lord's vindication of the people. Remember, they are still
exiles, but this is what he wants them to envision.
You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.
You shall no more be termed Forsaken,
and your land shall no more be termed Desolate;
but you shall be called My delight is in her,
and your land Married;
for the Lord delights in you ....
-- Isaiah 62:3-5a
Those words Forsaken and Desolate are written as names, you
see. What a terrible thing it would be to be called Forsaken.
Like those exiles to whom the prophet wrote, who were sure they
would never get out of Babylon, there are people among us in the
cities and towns of our own wealthy and privileged land who see
their own situation as dismal, miserable and hopeless. Thousands
of people live in the desolation of run-down neighborhoods,
caught in the helplessness of unemployment or employed at such
minimal wages as to be captive to hopelessness that their lot
will ever change. Imagine,
in the midst of that desolation hearing such good news as, "You
shall be called by a new name which the mouth of the Lord will
give. You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, ...
for the Lord delights in you." (Isaiah 64:4) It might seem too
good to be true.
But that good news is central to our faith. Nobody is
forsaken, at least by God. So our very faith in God requires of
us that the desolation in our land must change. Proclaiming the
love of God and relieving the injustice that holds people as
captives in their own land is the job of the community of
believers -- the church. "For Zion's sake I will not keep silent,
and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest," is the way Isaiah put
it. It must be the same for us. As long as people live in
desolation and count themselves as forsaken the captivity is not
ended. So it is our ministry -- yours and mine -- to take the
issues of human dignity and human opportunity and human
brotherhood to the election polls, and to the courthouse, and to
city hall, and the state capitol, and to the Congress, and to the
White House, until the liberty we so blithely proclaim in
patriotic words is a reality in our communities. And if that
sounds a bit political to some people, it is. In fact we should
be bold to say that it is a distortion of the Christian faith to
think that our religious convictions do not have a corresponding
action in the world. So it is a spiritual task to which we are
called to work and lobby to obtain better housing and equal
opportunity to jobs and education and health care and the like
because those things are ancillary to our conviction that all
people are indeed children of a loving God. Let us be clear that
the thrust of our faith is not to gain passage to another world,
but to live as the people of God in the present. Therefore our
faith work is in this life, and in this world, for this is where
people are promised a new name. This is where we proclaim the
love of God and the unity of the family of God. Practicing our
faith means to declare it and act it out over and over again that
we are all children of God, and that we are brothers and sisters
to each other. That must be for us the believed and accepted norm
for all our human interaction.
Of course some may say that rescuing people from the abyss of
poverty and destitution is a cause that can never be won, perhaps
even quoting Jesus that the poor will always be with us. But let
none deny that there are victories along the way. After all, not
all those to whom the hopeful words of Isaiah were addressed
realized the hope of release from exile, but some did. Not all
the exiles returned to Jerusalem, but a few did. Not everybody
heard the angel song at the coming of Jesus, but a few shepherds
did. Few even saw a star, but a handful did and followed. Not all
of those who feel forsaken and desolate will hear the hope
offered them in the name of Christ today, but some will. And
thank goodness there are always some hopeful people ready to
seize upon the promises of God.
Luke's gospel tells us a hauntingly beautiful story. Jesus'
parents dutifully followed the provisions of the law of Moses,
and when he was circumcised at eight days they gave him the name
Jesus, just as the angel visitant had told Mary before he was
conceived. Mary and Joseph took their infant son to the temple to
"offer him to the Lord" and to make the customary sacrifice. But
there was someone there at the time who opened their eyes to a
much greater portent in all this than they had expected. He was
an old priest named Simeon; a good and righteous man upon whom,
Luke tells us, "rested the Holy Spirit." Simon was one of those
hopeful ones, confident in God, and "looking for the consolation
of Israel," and who believed that he would not die before he saw
the Lord's Christ -- the Messiah foretold long ago. Simeon was
certainly among a minority of the people with such an expectation
or hope, but it burned brightly in him. Imagine the parents'
surprise when this incense-drenched old man took the child in his
arms and spoke such exalted and prophetic words about him.
"Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, according to your
word; for my eyes have seen your salvation which you have
prepared in the presence of all people; a light for revelation to
the Gentiles, and for the glory of your people Israel."
- Luke 2:29-32
As though that were not enough, an old woman named Anna,
regarded as a prophetess, and who lived in the Temple and spent
her time in worship and fasting and prayer, came in at that very
hour and began to speak of this child to all who looked for
redemption in Jerusalem.
Probably not many took notice of all this. But those two old
people were satisfied that they had a sign from God in the person
of a little child, whose very name -- Jesus -- would come to be
spoken as the essence of the love of God to humankind. It didn't
break like a thunderclap upon those who heard. Even those amazed
parents, Joseph and Mary, went home puzzled. Nor years later as
he began his ministry did people regard him as at all unusual.
"Isn't this the carpenter's son?" they questioned, unaccustomed
to the power and authority of his words. Could the message of the
truth that makes one free be true for a people existing under the
oppressive rule of Rome? Could the assurance of God's love be
true for those who languished in poverty? Could the invitation
"come unto me" be true for the forsaken, the disheartened, the
desolate?
What Isaiah promised to the disheartened exiles Jesus offered
to people living in the exile of forsakenness or the desolation
of sinfulness and guilt. He offers it still. To people captive to
personal problems or addictions, or guilt, or a host of other
things he offers a relationship with God to redeem and transform
life. It is this good news we tell. It is this new life we are
called to live. And it is by a new name that we seek to know
others and by which we call ourselves, children of God.
Our names are important to us. They carry the message of who we
are. Parents think carefully of what to name a new child. How is
it going to sound when that child grows to adulthood? Will it be
dignified? Distinctive? Pleasant? We want names that will not be
embarrassing or cause people to make jokes of them. Probably all
of us have been amused by someone's unfortunate name; one
probably chosen by a parent who failed to think of the long term
effect upon the child of the name they had chosen. A few years
ago Johnny Cash sang about "A Boy Named Sue," a hilarious parody
of the troubles a kid had going through life with a girl's name.
Most of us try to be more sensitive than that and choose names
that will wear well enough to last a lifetime, and sometimes
names that will be reminders of other beloved or notable people.
So many of us are named after others who have gone before us.
Jesus, for example, or "Yeshua," as it was more likely said, was
the name of the ancient prophet whom we call Joshua. It was a
proud and significant name, and according to Luke, told to Mary
by the angel visitant before the child was conceived.
Names have sometimes been made to carry messages. The eighth-
century prophet Isaiah gave his sons names which were
extensions of the message that he wanted his nation to hear. He
called his elder son "Shearjashub," meaning "a remnant shall
return." So everywhere that son's name was pronounced it
expressed Isaiah's confidence in the ultimate return of at least
a remnant of the Jews to Palestine from their Babylonian exile.
The second son he called "Mahershalalhashbaz," which meant "spoil
speeds, prey hastens." Whenever that name was spoken it
reiterated Isaiah's contention that Syria and Israel would soon
be conquered by Assyria. Perhaps such names were not very fair to
the children who had to bear them. I can imagine them wincing
under the very statement of their names; probably wishing Dad had
called them something a bit more ordinary.
And names have sometimes been used to signify some life-
changing event in one's life. You remember that Abram and Sarai
were re-named by the Lord as Abraham, meaning, "father of many
nations," and Sarah, to commemorate the covenant which the Lord
established with Abraham, together with the promise that Sarah
would bear a son. (Genesis 17:5f, 15-16) In the New Testament,
Saul became Paul, significant of his life-changing conversion on
the road to Damascus. And Jesus called Simon, the fisherman,
"Petros," or Peter, meaning "rock," significant of his strength.
But later when Peter showed signs of weakness Jesus reverted to
calling him Simon again, the significance of which the disciples
could not have failed to note.
In the missionary days of the 19th and early 20th centuries it
was not uncommon for converts to Christianity to adopt a new name
significant of their new faith. In our own day some notable
persons have changed their names significant of their conversion
to the faith of Islam. Thus Cassius Clay became Muhammad Ali, and
Lew Alcindor became Kareem Abdul Jabbar. With growing
consciousness of ethnic heritage many people -- those of African
extraction in particular -- have replaced family names inherited
from the time of slavery with names more nearly representing the
African heritage they rightly want to honor. We may ask, "What's
in a name?" The answer is, "plenty!"
In the reading for today the Isaiah school of prophecy, which
writes under the name of the ancient prophet, predicts the year
of the Lord's favor in which, among other things, the messianic
people "will be called by a new name." What we hear is effusive
and joyful poetry celebrating in anticipation a new relationship
between Yahweh and his people in the new age in which the glory
of God will transform the life and character of the people. In
the day of his coming the theretofore dismal fortunes of the
people will be reversed, and all nations will witness Zion's
vindication. And that day of vindication will be signaled by
their receiving a new name. That new name will remind them
forever not just who they are but whose they are. "They shall be
called the holy people, the redeemed of the Lord; and you shall
be called Sought out, and a city not forsaken." (Isaiah 62:12)
A continuation of the reading for today fleshes out the nature
of the Lord's vindication of the people. Remember, they are still
exiles, but this is what he wants them to envision.
You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord,
and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.
You shall no more be termed Forsaken,
and your land shall no more be termed Desolate;
but you shall be called My delight is in her,
and your land Married;
for the Lord delights in you ....
-- Isaiah 62:3-5a
Those words Forsaken and Desolate are written as names, you
see. What a terrible thing it would be to be called Forsaken.
Like those exiles to whom the prophet wrote, who were sure they
would never get out of Babylon, there are people among us in the
cities and towns of our own wealthy and privileged land who see
their own situation as dismal, miserable and hopeless. Thousands
of people live in the desolation of run-down neighborhoods,
caught in the helplessness of unemployment or employed at such
minimal wages as to be captive to hopelessness that their lot
will ever change. Imagine,
in the midst of that desolation hearing such good news as, "You
shall be called by a new name which the mouth of the Lord will
give. You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, ...
for the Lord delights in you." (Isaiah 64:4) It might seem too
good to be true.
But that good news is central to our faith. Nobody is
forsaken, at least by God. So our very faith in God requires of
us that the desolation in our land must change. Proclaiming the
love of God and relieving the injustice that holds people as
captives in their own land is the job of the community of
believers -- the church. "For Zion's sake I will not keep silent,
and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest," is the way Isaiah put
it. It must be the same for us. As long as people live in
desolation and count themselves as forsaken the captivity is not
ended. So it is our ministry -- yours and mine -- to take the
issues of human dignity and human opportunity and human
brotherhood to the election polls, and to the courthouse, and to
city hall, and the state capitol, and to the Congress, and to the
White House, until the liberty we so blithely proclaim in
patriotic words is a reality in our communities. And if that
sounds a bit political to some people, it is. In fact we should
be bold to say that it is a distortion of the Christian faith to
think that our religious convictions do not have a corresponding
action in the world. So it is a spiritual task to which we are
called to work and lobby to obtain better housing and equal
opportunity to jobs and education and health care and the like
because those things are ancillary to our conviction that all
people are indeed children of a loving God. Let us be clear that
the thrust of our faith is not to gain passage to another world,
but to live as the people of God in the present. Therefore our
faith work is in this life, and in this world, for this is where
people are promised a new name. This is where we proclaim the
love of God and the unity of the family of God. Practicing our
faith means to declare it and act it out over and over again that
we are all children of God, and that we are brothers and sisters
to each other. That must be for us the believed and accepted norm
for all our human interaction.
Of course some may say that rescuing people from the abyss of
poverty and destitution is a cause that can never be won, perhaps
even quoting Jesus that the poor will always be with us. But let
none deny that there are victories along the way. After all, not
all those to whom the hopeful words of Isaiah were addressed
realized the hope of release from exile, but some did. Not all
the exiles returned to Jerusalem, but a few did. Not everybody
heard the angel song at the coming of Jesus, but a few shepherds
did. Few even saw a star, but a handful did and followed. Not all
of those who feel forsaken and desolate will hear the hope
offered them in the name of Christ today, but some will. And
thank goodness there are always some hopeful people ready to
seize upon the promises of God.
Luke's gospel tells us a hauntingly beautiful story. Jesus'
parents dutifully followed the provisions of the law of Moses,
and when he was circumcised at eight days they gave him the name
Jesus, just as the angel visitant had told Mary before he was
conceived. Mary and Joseph took their infant son to the temple to
"offer him to the Lord" and to make the customary sacrifice. But
there was someone there at the time who opened their eyes to a
much greater portent in all this than they had expected. He was
an old priest named Simeon; a good and righteous man upon whom,
Luke tells us, "rested the Holy Spirit." Simon was one of those
hopeful ones, confident in God, and "looking for the consolation
of Israel," and who believed that he would not die before he saw
the Lord's Christ -- the Messiah foretold long ago. Simeon was
certainly among a minority of the people with such an expectation
or hope, but it burned brightly in him. Imagine the parents'
surprise when this incense-drenched old man took the child in his
arms and spoke such exalted and prophetic words about him.
"Lord, now let your servant depart in peace, according to your
word; for my eyes have seen your salvation which you have
prepared in the presence of all people; a light for revelation to
the Gentiles, and for the glory of your people Israel."
- Luke 2:29-32
As though that were not enough, an old woman named Anna,
regarded as a prophetess, and who lived in the Temple and spent
her time in worship and fasting and prayer, came in at that very
hour and began to speak of this child to all who looked for
redemption in Jerusalem.
Probably not many took notice of all this. But those two old
people were satisfied that they had a sign from God in the person
of a little child, whose very name -- Jesus -- would come to be
spoken as the essence of the love of God to humankind. It didn't
break like a thunderclap upon those who heard. Even those amazed
parents, Joseph and Mary, went home puzzled. Nor years later as
he began his ministry did people regard him as at all unusual.
"Isn't this the carpenter's son?" they questioned, unaccustomed
to the power and authority of his words. Could the message of the
truth that makes one free be true for a people existing under the
oppressive rule of Rome? Could the assurance of God's love be
true for those who languished in poverty? Could the invitation
"come unto me" be true for the forsaken, the disheartened, the
desolate?
What Isaiah promised to the disheartened exiles Jesus offered
to people living in the exile of forsakenness or the desolation
of sinfulness and guilt. He offers it still. To people captive to
personal problems or addictions, or guilt, or a host of other
things he offers a relationship with God to redeem and transform
life. It is this good news we tell. It is this new life we are
called to live. And it is by a new name that we seek to know
others and by which we call ourselves, children of God.
