What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name
would smell as sweet.”
– William Shakespeare, 1564-1616, British poet and playwright.
We have heard some great stories thus far this summer and I now give you
Exodus.
Since we have started using the Revised Common Lectionary, one of the interesting
benefits would hear snippets of one story this week, and then snippets of another
story next week.
But we get to hear larger chunks from some of the great stories of the Old
Testament.
“
Back when we were using the old lectionary, which is located at the back of our
Prayer Book, The new lectionary allows us to follow a story, week by week, pretty
much through its entirety.
And One of the faithful bible study participants has made this point before. But this
continuity allows us to notice some things we might have missed otherwise.
For example, it’s surprising how many people we meet in those stories who one day
come to a crossroads in their life, they make what is often a significant and difficult
Choice and as a result they are given a new name. Now, I’m not talking about a
superficial change of names, like what I went through when I decided that I
preferred to be called Larry Anthony Green rather than Larry Anthony Cornelius
Green. Because the kids called me AC Spark plug or sparky.
That a meaningless change because, as Butch Coolidge, a character in the movie
Pulp Fiction, correctly observes, that because we are Americans, our names don’t
mean squat.
But in the Old Testament, it was a different matter altogether; very often a
person’s really name meant something, and it could signify something about their
relationship with God.
For example, in one of those stories we encounter a man named Abram (“exalted father”)
who becomes Abraham (“father of a multitude”), when he decides that he can trust
that God will make him the ancestor of a great nation, even though he and his wife
are old and childless.
And then there was Jacob (“holder of the heel” or “supplanter”), who tricked his
aging and blind father into giving him the blessing that rightfully belonged to his
older twin brother Esau (“hairy”). One evening, Jacob wrestles all night long with a mysterious
stranger who turns out to be God’s himself. And for his stubbornness, and courage,
Jacob is rewarded with a new name, Israel (“strives with God”), and a permanent
limp.
Many years later, the descendants of Abraham and Jacob have settled in Egypt,
when one of Jacob’s sons, Joseph (“he will add”) was a high official in Pharaoh’s court.
And for a period of time – maybe several hundred years – the descendants of
Joseph flourish in Egypt;
I mean, they do well for themselves. But, as our first reading from Exodus
describes, “a new [Pharaoh] arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph,” who
doesn’t remember how Joseph saved the country from famine. And this new
Pharaoh is appalled at how large the Hebrew population has become, and
is afraid of the power their numbers represent. And so he contrives to control them
with forced labor and harsh taskmasters, and reduce their numbers by ordering the
Hebrew midwives to kill all of the newborn male children.
But two of the midwives, Shiphrah (“beautiful”) and Puah (we don’t know what her
name means; she must have been an American), have other ideas, and contrive
their own plan to allow the male babies to live. And the mother of one of these little
baby boys, puts her son into a basket and launches him, like a little tiny Ark, upon
the Nile River. Some time later, a daughter of the Pharaoh retrieves the baby, and
realizes that it is one of the Hebrew children. And because it seems to be in the nature of children to disobey their parents, she arranges for a Hebrew wet-nurse to take care of the baby boy until it is weaned, when she takes the boy into her own household, and names him Moses (“drawn up” or “drawn out
of the water” or “deliver”). And it turns out to be a pretty good name for the boy,
because he grows up to deliver the Hebrew people from their slavery in Egypt, and
lead them, through and beyond the waters of the Red Sea, to a new land that will
be their own.
Later still – and we hear about this in today’s gospel reading – Jesus gives one of
his disciples, Simon (“he has heard”), a new nickname: Peter (“stone” or “rock”).
One priest I know described him as the original Rocky, or Rocky I. But Simon isn’t
given this new name because he is rock-like in the ordinary sense – except that he
sank like a rock when he tried to walk on water – but rather because he shares
some of the characteristics of his famous, but equally flawed, forebears, Abraham
and Jacob and Moses: that is, Simon has an unflagging trust in God.
And he has an imagination. After all, he was the only one of the Disciples who even
tried to walk on water. And, as we heard in today’s gospel reading, he’s the one
who knows the answer to Jesus’ question “Who do you say that I am?” And Simon’s
response is: “You’re not John (“God is gracious”) the Baptist, or Elijah (“my God is
Yahweh”), or Jeremiah (“God has uplifted”).
You’re not the forerunner of the one who is to come. You are the one who is to
come. You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” BINGO! And as a prize for
answering what may be the most important theological question of his life, Simon
gets ... a nickname!
It may be worth noting, as I have done before, that “Messiah” and “Son of the
living God” don’t mean exactly the same for Peter as they do for us. And they
probably didn’t mean the same thing for Simon as it did for Jesus. But Simon was
close enough! – the horseshoe may not have encircled the state, it was close
enough to count. And this prompts Jesus to declare: “On this rock I will build my church!” But it’s not, mind you, on the “rock” of Peter’s flawed personality or faith, but on the rock of his recognition of the Messiah.
Because this is, after all,the irreducible minimum of the Christian faith – this is
what makes us the people of God – that we recognize who is ruler of our lives, and
know that his name is Jesus (“God is salvation”).
But what does it mean that we understand who Jesus is? It must be important,
because, as Jesus declares, “the gates of Hades will not prevail against” those who
possess that understanding. It means, I think, that death – of body, mind and spirit
– and the fear of death, no longer has any power over the people of God. And this
is the message we are given to proclaim: that death has been conquered by life. That was the message given by God to Abraham, and by Moses to the Pharaoh, and by Jesus to everyone he encountered.
And this is the message we are to proclaim. And we, as the people of God, are
entrusted with the keys – which I take to mean the message, the proclamation, the good news – that can free people from the sting and fear of death.
But do we use those keys? It took Simon Peter quite a while before he knew what it
all meant. But, because he had a good imagination – and faith needs imagination to
be complete – one afternoon he had a dream. And in that dream, a veritable
banquet was spread before him; a banquet of foods forbidden by the Jewish
dietary laws. And in his dream, God commanded that Simon Peter should eat. And
when he awoke from that puzzling dream, Simon Peter was given an opportunity to
choose whether a certain Gentile family should be welcomed into the young
Christian church, or kept out. (Up until that point, only Jews were being encouraged
to join the church.) And, luckily for us, he used those keys to open the door to the
church, rather than lock it. And so, these are our ancestors in the faith: Abraham,
who was the aging, and sometimes incredulous, patriarch of many nations; Jacob,
who cheated his family and wrestled with God; Moses, who was condemned to
death but drawn out of the water; and Peter, who never met a Messiah he didn’t
eventually deny knowing. They are God’s “rocks” of faith and imagination:
And what do they ask of us today? What message do they want us to hear?
Probably, it’s something like this: “You who come after us, are like us. You are not
perfect; you may even have been cruel or deceitful or cowardly. But God has
chosen you to convey his blessings, and he frees you from the slavery to fear and
uncertainty. No longer do you need to make bricks for Pharaoh – or whatever his
name may be for us today – because you know that there is more to
life than making more money than your neighbor. And no longer do you need to
obey Pharaoh, when he orders you to harm someone, or to cook the books, or tell
lies about the pension fund to his employees. And you especially don’t have to stay
in Pharaoh’s country club, if it excludes any of God’s beloved children. And know
this: there is only one king for you: the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. And
once you recognize him, you will find that you too have the keys –
the power – to open the gate for others; to draw them out of whatever it is that
keeps them from the freedom and life God wants all of us to have.”
Well, because we are all God’s people now, we can have a new name. And it’s up to
us to decide what that name will be. And what that name will mean. And what that
names says about us, and our character. We have a new name. And we have faith.
And we have imagination. We are the “rocks” of God’s kingdom, and into our hands
God has placed the keys to his kingdom. What remains for us is to go out into the
world, and act like God’s rocks, and use those keys well – for “whatever [we] bind
on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever [we] loose on earth will be loosed
in heaven.”
This sermon was preached by the Rev. Larry Green on August 21, 2011 at St. Chrysostom's Episcopal Church in Chicago, IL.
