Each Of Us Has a Name: Sermon for the Feast of the Holy Name

The Holy Name of Jesus, Latin, from Ely Cathedral

Hello, and Happy New Year!

Some of you may not know me. My name is Leslie. That name is from the Scottish, and it means “from the gray fort.”

My birth name is Leslie Barnes. This is the name I still call myself in my head.

My name when I am in trouble with my mother, even now at my age (and hers), is Leslie Irene-Katherine.

When I was born, my mother wanted to name me Irene Katherine. My father wanted to name me Leslie. In an act completely representative of my parents' refusal to ever give an inch in the face of the opposition from the other, they smacked all three of those names on the tiny little baby I was. I was the only kid in school who had three names (including a hyphen between two and three just to make it MORE weird), because after all, this was Oklahoma, not Middle Earth, Hogwarts, a camp song, or the British Royal Family. My few Catholic friends (once again, Oklahoma) always asked if that third name was my confirmation or baptismal name, and it took my transition to the Episcopal church to understand what they meant.

Then, when I looked up the meaning of my names, it got more involved. Leslie means “from the gray fort.” Irene means “peace.” Katherine” means “pure.” Barnes is of English or Irish derivation. The English meaning is someone who worked in a barley house, or a barn.

Once I knew the meaning of our last name, when my mother would criticize me for some uncouth behavior by asking me, “Were you born in a barn?” I would smile sweetly and say, “Yes. Apparently I was.”

Sigh. If I must.

So. Apparently, my full name (including maiden name of Barnes) means "From the Grey Fort Peace Pure Of the Barley House." Therefore, according to my names, I should live peacefully and chastely in a castle. Like Downton Abbey!

Liquid Barley.

And make beer.


This explains why I pored (ha ha!) voraciously over baby naming sites when naming my own children, thinking about meanings, sounds, former students who were trouble-makers, as well as initials and what they spelled.

Obviously, names have meaning. And naming something has power. Alexander the Great named 70 cities after himself during his 15 years of conquest before he died. Putting one’s name on something can also be a sign of ownership. It can also be a sign of neurosis, obviously.

One of the hopes of the process of naming is that the power of the name will rub off on the person being named. Thus, names have hopes and responsibilities often woven into them. The bearer of a family name has a responsibility not to bring that name into dishonor. It used to be that the official naming of a child denoted that child's acceptance by his or her family, and names were chosen for their meaning.

There also were some taboos in naming. In the Ashkenazi Jewish tradition, a child should not be named after a living relative. Japan, Sweden, Germany, New Zealand, and Denmark have some sort of limitation on the given names for babies, with Denmark going so far as having a list of 7000 approved names.

Names, especially in scripture, are serious business. One of the first powers that God gives to Adam in the Garden of Eden was naming the creatures God had made—and Adam got to name his wife, too. Now, that’s power.

The Bible is full of names being ordained for children to intimate what they will do as adults. Names are sometimes changed: Abram becomes Abraham, Sarai becomes Sarah; in the book of Ruth, Naomi, in her anger at the loss of her husband and sons, demands to be called Mara instead; Jacob becomes known as Israel after he wrestles with God; Simon becomes Peter the Rock (and sometimes acts like a blockhead). In many of these scriptures, it is obvious that names contain power, which is why some devout Jews today will not actually write the word "God," but use a nickname for God: “Hashem,” which means, surprise! “The Name.” Yes, names have power. Names can be a shorthand for destiny in scripture, myth, and literature.

Even at the end of life, your name matters. Many people throughout history have believed that as long as your name is remembered, you are never really gone after death, which is why we still build memorials to people who have died tragically. In The Book of Blessings, Jewish Prayers for Daily Life, the Sabbath, and the New Moon Festival, Marcia Falk translated this beautiful prayer by the poet Zelda to be used as a kaddish, a prayer in remembrance of the dead: 

Each of us has name

given by God

and given by our parents

Each of us has a name

given by our stature and our smile

and given by what we wear

Each of us has a name

given by the mountains

and given by our walls

Each of us has a name

given by the stars

and given by our neighbors

Each of us has a name

given by our sins

and given by our longing

Each of us has a name

given by our enemies

and given by our love

Each of us has a name

given by our celebrations

and given by our work

Each of us has a name

given by the seasons

and given by our blindness

Each of us has a name

given by the sea

and given by our death

Our names outlive us, and define us, but also sometimes change us.

Today we remember the naming of the newborn Christ child, and why that name matters. Even before his birth, Jesus was given a name by God through an angel. On the eighth day after his birth, which would be today, January 1, he was taken to the temple for his circumcision and naming.

Jesus is the translation of Y'shua, which means, "Yahweh is Salvation." Of course, Jesus was not the only name that our Savior bore.

When we were kids, my brother had a poster on his wall that had all of the names for Jesus on it. Isaiah 9:6, for instance, states that the child born to us shall be called
Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, and
Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 53:3 names Jesus as the Suffering Servant by whose stripes we are healed.

Hebrews 2:10 calls Jesus the Author of Our Salvation. Jesus called himself the Way, the Truth, the Life; the True Vine; the Son of Man; and the Good Shepherd.

Then there is the honorific of Messiah, or Christos, the one predicted for generations to be a light to the Hebrews and the redeemer of mankind.

Each one of these names reflects a special role that Jesus takes on for us. Therefore, each one of these names is a gift to us to try to help us, in our limited comprehension, understand the amazing thing that has been done for us through the incarnation of God, which is why Jesus was also called Immanuel, which means "God is with us."

What does this mean for us?

There is a lovely saying from the Midrash, which is the oral interpretation of the Torah rabbis over the centuries, that sums this up:

“In life, you discover that people are called by three names:

One is the name the person is called

by his father and mother; 

one is the name people call him;

and one is the name he acquires for himself.

The best one is the one he acquires for himself.”

It is because of who Jesus is for us that we call ourselves Christians. But what implication does it have for us to take this name onto ourselves?

Calling oneself a Christian in this day and age is a powerful assertion. Sometimes, it makes people nervous to call themselves Christian—they’re not too sure they can live up to the responsibility of that name. Some people who have called themselves Christians in history have not always behaved very much like Jesus. And that’s a problem for lots of us who seek to live into Jesus’s teachings. We have a lot of muddy waters to clear up in some people’s minds as to what it means to be a Christian.

That’s when we can remember all the beautiful names for Jesus, names that reflect his birth, life, and ministry, as well as in our experiences with Christ today. Thos name can help us remember how we can embody his teachings and his love in the world.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer called Jesus “the Man for Others.” He therefore believed the Church is truly being the Church only when it exists for those outside its walls. It starts by reminding ourselves of the names that Jesus carried.

We can remember that Jesus is our Wonderful Counselor—and we can try to be that for others, too, being present with those we meet and listening to them fully, celebrating who they are and the gift of the time we spend with them.

Jesus is the Prince of Peace—and we can try to embody peace, too, which is especially important in a time when too much of society is uncivil, uncaring, and self-centered regardless of the cost or effects on others.

Jesus is Healer and Reconciler—and we can be that too, if we take seriously the power Jesus’s love can have in our own lives, first of all, and let that love work to gentle us, to center us, and to help us let go of the weight of past hurts and anger. We can then take seriously our ability to effect real change in the world, work to heal the broken places we encounter in creation and in each other.

Jesus is the Light of the World—and with gratitude for his healing love, we can remember that we can be bearers of grace and light ourselves by our deliberate choices to walk in his wisdom, humbly, and with intention.

The name of Jesus is powerful indeed! God is indeed with us. Yahweh certainly does save. Jesus is proclaimed as the Messiah, as the point of contact between human frailty and God's infinite wisdom and love, the greatest gift of this Christmas season.

Alleluia!

Preached at Christ Church Cathedral in St. Louis on the Feast of the Holy Name, January 1, 2018.