Shakespeare’s character Romeo—a Montague— stands under cover near the balcony of his beloved Juliet—a Capulet, bitter enemies of the Montagues—and listens surreptitiously as Juliet quietly bemoans their doomed love:
“‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy—
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,
nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What’s in a name? That which we call a rose
by any other name would smell as sweet…”
This morning, as we all metaphorically stood beside the baptismal waters, we heard a similar question, “By what name shall your child be called?” And as the child, whose name has been marked by water, is carried throughout the congregation, we feel the grace-filled connection with her. Names, you see, seem to connote relationship.
In one of the earliest stories in the Bible, the second creation story recorded in Genesis, chapter 2, God sees that the earth creature, Adam, is lonely. So God creates more creatures of the earth, and invites Adam to name them. As scripture says, “The Adam (the earth creature) gave names to all the cattle and to the birds of the air and to every animal of the field; but for Adam there was not found a helper as his partner.” In this case, it was assumed by God that a relationship would emerge from naming…God’s first mistake. So God here responds, moving beyond the assumption that names and naming will bring about a relationship.
In the biblical passages we heard this morning names and naming also play an important role. Abram, meaning “Great Father” is, with the promise of descendants, changed to Abraham, meaning “Father of Multitudes.” Sarai, the name Abraham’s wife brought with her as a foreigner from Mesopotamia, becomes Sarah, meaning in Hebrew “Princess.” With her name comes identity, a new tribe to call home. In the same story, even God’s name carries significance. The writer of this portion of Genesis calls God by the Hebrew name, El Shaddai, translated here as “God Almighty.” Interestingly, according to Valerie Bridgeman Davis who writes for the New Proclamation Commentary, the phrase El Shaddai is more accurately translated “God of the mountains,” or “God with (many) breasts.” Shocking perhaps! But recall again that names and naming often connote relationship. In this context, where Sarah’s own breasts are dry from having never given birth, God is named ‘The Many-Breasted One’, the one who, in relationship with Sarah, will be life-giving not just to one or two children, but to multitudes. Here, according to one of the contributors to New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary, “The community of faith must be open to new names for God, names that may be more congruent with the life experiences of people in new times and places.” Think of Hagar, for example, in the chapter before this one, lost out there in the wilderness and feeling forgotten, who dares to name God as “the One who sees me.” Ponder, if you dare, what name does God hold for you during this Lenten season?
In the Psalm reading, the notion of an intimate and faithful relationship with God—beginning with Abraham and Sarah and growing to embrace all peoples is repeated in the theme of universalism. Again, naming is significant. In this particular Psalm, God welcomes people from ALL the ends of the earth; God’s family is named to include ALL the families of the ALL the nations on earth. There is no mention of one tribe or denomination or heritage or religious tradition as being superior to others. ALL are embraced by this God and ALL are consequently called by the name of God’s daughters and God’s sons.
The theme of names and naming continues in the Gospel reading. Jesus calls himself by the equalizing name “Son of Humanity”—no different is he than any other human son or daughter of God. Yet, unlike any other, his pilgrimage will lead him to the cross. Peter, named “The Rock” for his sturdiness, blurts out, “No, you shall not die…No, never!” And immediately, Jesus renames Peter by the name of Satan—one who plots only to benefit self, one whose vision is wrapped all around personal need and isolating purpose. Jesus does not linger on Peter’s new name, but moves quickly, decisively, in this teachable moment, to remind the crowds that following in his footsteps is all about sacrifice, all about letting go…a relationship of sorts, that will change one’s life.
This past week I was able to attend a small portion of a conference on theological education held at Claremont School of Theology. I was there, really, to support my husband, Dr. John Sweeney, who was making a presentation on process theology…and by the way, he did a fabulous job! One of the speakers quoted words from Bishop Gene Robinson, that we are to be “followers of Christ, not admirers of Christ…” That turn of phrase intrigued me, and I looked up the sermon from which it was drawn. Preached at All Saints Church in Pasadena, in the summer of 2007, Bishop Robinson spoke with eloquence about the name by which we call ourselves: Christian.
“You know,” Bishop Robinson noted, “more and more, I am convinced that the Christian life is not about life after death—it’s about life before death. What God does for us after death, God will take care of. But what we do with life before death is up to you and me…So, it is right action, not right belief, not right thinking, that gets us to the heart of God…So it seems to me, that the real question, the challenge, really, for you and me of [being called Christian] is whether or not we want to be admirers of Jesus, or disciples [of Jesus]. It’s easy to admire Jesus—to think he was a nifty guy with really wonderful ideas. Following Jesus is a whole lot harder. Doing the work of ministry and doing justice—getting into some ‘Gospel trouble,’” as Bishop Robinson terms it, “is what we are meant to do…”
Later in the same sermon, Bishop Robinson continued musing about being named Christian, recalling that during the past Lenten season, he realized for the first time that the cross is such a political symbol.
“Now, let’s be clear,” preaches Robinson, “the Jews did not kill Jesus. That’s a bunch of anti-Semitic stuff that runs throughout some of the Gospels, especially John, and it is not true. The Romans killed Jesus. Now, the Romans killed lots of people, but they saved crucifixion for a very specific kind of criminal. And it was the one who challenged the Powers-That-Be. Who took on the government, who threatened the Pax Romana with their notions of turning the world upside-down like Jesus did. And they didn’t put them all high and lifted up like Cecil B. DeMille…crosses were actually quite low to the ground, so that as people died and began to rot away, the dogs could eat their flesh, and there would be almost nothing left to bury. The Romans wanted to make a real example of anyone who challenged the Powers-That-Be… When we put on the cross of Christ,” and I would add, when we call ourselves by the name of Christian, “we are saying that it’s not just religion that we are about. We are about changing the world, as Jesus changed it. We are about loving the people that Jesus loved…”
That, friends, is what it means to call ourselves Christian.
Now, I know and I have heard plenty of times from many of you, that using the name Christian is uncomfortable, embarrassing even. Given the horrific injustices that are perpetrated against vulnerable people by people named Christian, well, many of you have no desire to be in that club. Yet I say to you, do not let the behavior of others detract from our name. Do not let the beloved name of Christian be reframed as condoning hate or isolationism or empire or homophobia or racism or any of the other sins of our century. Take on the name you have been given—and let it be defined for others by your love and your compassion.
So, finally, Spirit asks each one of us during this season of Lent, what’s in a name? Jesus challenges us as he challenged Peter to ponder if we wear the name “Christian” are we going to be his admirers or his disciples? God waits, like Juliet on the balcony, asking us what’s in a name…what’s in your name? Nothing much, really…only our identity, and perhaps an inkling of our purpose, and, of course, embedded in our name is something of significance about our relationship with the God of Many Mountains, the God of Many Breasts, who loves and welcomes and feeds us ALL. By what name shall we be called in this season of Lent and beyond?
