A sermon based on Isaiah 43:1-7
Don Friesen
January 10, 2010
Ottawa Mennonite Church
While at university I spent an evening with an older cousin who showed me the Family Bible he had inherited from our maternal grandfather. As was the custom, my grandfather had inscribed the names of his children in the pages provided for that purpose, and whenever one of his children provided him with grandchildren, he would add their names to the family record. My mother had a page, of course, and I read through it with great interest, my cousin helping to translate the German script. According to my grandfather's Bible, my mother had five children; the names and dates of birth of the first two children had been inscribed with great care. The next two children – twins – had the correct birth dates but my grandfather had written down my sister's name as Norma, rather than Nancy, the name my parents actually gave her. Eager to see my own entry, I discovered that "a son" was born on my birth date, but no name was provided! I was a no-name kid, indistinguishable from other kids.
You may be surprised to learn that I was not devastated by my grandfather's failure to remember or to record my name; I had never really liked my grandfather, and truth be told, I don't think my mother liked him all that much! I think his name was John, but my mother said that his nickname was "Schoap-ya," because when he was young he was as cute as a lamb, and consequently everyone fussed over him and left him with the sense that he was the centre of the universe! Why bother learning your grandchildren's names when the apple of your eye is yourself!
It Could Be Worse
Anyway, it wasn't as if my parents put a lot of thought into my name; they picked it off a one-dollar bill! Had I been born several decades later I would have been called Loonie! As Garrison Keillor says his community taught him to say, when faced with unpleasantness: It could be worse. It could be worse.
Someone who used to work here recently sent me a list of things one should do to keep one's staff happy and motivated. I don't know if she was trying to make a point, retroactively, but the material she sent encouraged university supervisors to recognize their staff members with great sincerity and with an expression of true appreciation. I guess insincere recognition and false appreciation just won't do. Other suggestions included putting up a "Way to Go" bulletin board, or a "Smile Box," to receive staff members' positive notes about other staff members, and then it suggested that once a week a note be drawn and the "winner" be presented with a giant Tootsie Roll, or a gold star!
Wouldn't it be better, and simpler, to learn the names of your staff, take an interest in their lives, and be yourself? Although in the hands of this bunch names might very well be used to control, to groom, or for any goal other than the interest of the person being named!
But ... it could be worse. Having a name is preferable to being known by one's number. When I was in Grade 8 we studied Victor Hugo's Les Misérables (1862), and the novel's protagonist, Jean Valjean – or Jean-Val-Jean, as we used to say in Saskatchewan – spent a considerable portion of his life in prison, at which point, writes Hugo, "he was no longer Jean Valjean: he was Number 24601." (Les Misérables; Penguin, 1887, 1976, page 94) The musical version of the novel begins with the Inspector addressing him as such:
(Lyrics: Herbert Kretzmer; Music: Claude Michel Schonberg)
There May Be Reasons to Wear your Name Lightly
Jean Valjean demanded to be known by his name rather than the number by which he has been labelled, but by that time his name had also become a label, synonymous with thievery. When a Valjean comes to your home, you hide the silver candlesticks.
Some of our names become synonymous with bad things we may have done. "Oh, that's Johnny," we say, as if that explains everything. Some of us get trapped in a certain role, and attempts to change the role meet with great resistance. Any change threatens the family script. I have two acquaintances, one of whom met a tragic end when her attempts to transcend, ir not change family expectations received absolutely no encouragement, while the other acquaintance changed his name in an attempt to forge a new identity. I hope it worked.
Henry Nouwen (1932-1996), the gifted devotional writer, spent his last years as a member of the L'Arche community. He wrote, "Many of the people that I live with hear voices that tell them that they are no good, that they are a problem, that they are a burden, that they are a failure. They hear a voice that keeps saying, ‘If you want to be loved, you had better prove that you are worth loving.'" ("The Life of the Beloved," television program, May 17, 1991)
Some of us get labels affixed to us that do not capture who we are, and there may be reasons to wear those labels lightly. Rachel Remen tells the story of a cancer patient who had did exceptionally well despite a dire prognosis. Remen wondered if he was in denial, but her colleague said that the man, a farmer, took the same attitude toward his physician's prognosis that he took toward the words of the government soil experts who analysed his fields. He respected their knowledge and education, and listened carefully as they showed him the findings of their tests – telling him that corn would not grow in his field – but, as he told the doctor, "A lot of the time the corn grows anyway." (Rachel Naomi Remen, Kitchen Table Wisdom, pages 66-67)
The diagnosis is cancer? Fine. Let's wait and see what that means. He refused to take on the label. Our names can become labels. The expectations of others – and particularly our own – can limit and sometimes destroy us. It may be to our benefit to wear lightly labels that limit us.
Nonetheless, Names are Important to us
There are times to wear our names, labels and roles lightly – as far as we are able – but names are important to us. Genesis, chapter 11, tells a story as true to the human race now as it was then. The people of the earth, according to Genesis, said, "Come, let us build ourselves ...a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves...." (Genesis 11:4) Contrast that with the promise God gave to Abraham and Sarah: "I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great...." (12:2)
God's promise notwithstanding, we have been determined to make a name for ourselves! And we use a variety of approaches – not all of them worthy – to establish our identities. Some people need power to tell them who they are. If I become the vice-president of this corporation, then I'll be somebody. If I become an assistant deputy minister, then I'll be somebody. If I become a full professor, then I'll be somebody. If my staff begins to number in the hundreds, then people will know who I am!
Some people, including Christians, need enemies to tell them who they are. It also gives them someone to blame for all that is wrong with this world. Red-necks need their usual target groups to bash, and they in turn contribute to our identity by giving us something to oppose and disparage. William Sloane Coffin (1924-2006), while chaplain of Yale University, fell under the influence of Reinhold Niebuhr's social philosophy, and became a leader in the civil-rights and peace movements of the 1960s and 1970s. He noted that when President Johnson announced he would not stand for re-election in the middle of the War in Vietnam, half a million people in the peace movement lost their identity. Fortunately Richard Nixon came along and restored their identity by giving them someone equally objectionable to oppose.
One's identity, particularly if you are a Christian, should not require an enemy to tell us who we are. It's a negative way of defining ourselves. When I was growing up it was sufficient to define a Christian by what he or she did not do. In my corner of the world not smoking and not drinking took you most of the way to heaven. And so later, when I took up both of those habits, I knew that I was no longer a Christian. It was as simple as that. Now it's much more difficult to tell who is a Christian; you have to get to know the person, discern their spirit, probe their thought-processes and world-view, and examine their life. It was more clear-cut when I was young, but it was a negative and not a very compelling way to pursue the Christian life. I don't mean to diminish sin, but we shouldn't let our sins tell us who we are. The first disciples were motivated, not by what they were told not to do, but by a positive force, a spirit that grabbed them and wouldn't let them go, the "gravitational force of love," as Thomas Merton called it.
I Have Called you by Name
That spirit, that force, is apparent to me in our reading from Isaiah, where God tells His people, "I have redeemed you; I have called you by name.... When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, ...the flame shall not consume you. For I am ...your Saviour. ...you are precious in my sight, and honoured, and I love you...." (Isaiah 43:1-4)
What a warm, personal assurance of love: "I have called you by name...." A little boy came home from church and informed his parents that he had learned the Lord's Prayer in Sunday School. His parents thought that it would be nice to say the Lord's Prayer together at bedtime. They asked their son to lead it, and he began, "Our Father who art in heaven, how did you know my name?" It's not the version that we say with the children, but I like it! It speaks of the wonder and awe that a God so lofty and with such far-reaching and overarching responsibilities should know us by name. "How did you know my name?"
I had a professor at seminary with whom I worked together on a small committee for a year, yet even at the end of the year he continued to call me by a name that was not mine! It was annoying. It feels good, however, when someone remembers our name. A minister tells of being at an event quite unrelated to church, when he felt a tug on the back of his shirt. "Spinning around," he writes, "I saw eight-year-old Leon Axt with a quizzical look on his face and a question on his mind. ‘Do you know my name?'" It was one of the kids from church. When the minister replied, "Of course I do, you're Leon Axt," the boy grinned from ear to ear and ran off to catch up with his own family. (story told by Robert K. Tschannen-Moran)
I remember a similar satisfaction on perusing the records of a school district that no longer exists, and finding my father's name in them. He had been a member of the school board, and it was a delight to find his name and thoughts recorded, particularly since he had already passed on.
The Creator of the universe has your name inscribed on the palms of his hands, says Isaiah. (49:16) The Architect of history has your name recorded in the "Lamb's book of life," says the New Testament. (Revelation 21:27) We are not no-name Christians vaguely referred to in some celestial filing cabinet! "I have called you by name," says God. "You are precious in my sight, and honoured, and I love you...." (Isaiah 43:1, 4)
Those words were of immense comfort to a teenage girl who was in a serious car accident. Lee Strobel, a reporter for the Chicago Tribune, helped bring to light the deadly consequences of riding in a Ford Pinto, a car that was apt to burst into flames when struck from behind. One of the landmark Ford Pinto accidents took place in northern Indiana, when a Chevy van ploughed into the back of a Pinto and killed three teenage girls. Two of them burned to death within moments. The driver, an eighteen-year-old girl named Judy, was thrown clear of the accident but suffered burns to over 95% of her body. The doctors at the hospital where Judy was taken quickly realized that they were powerless to save her and sent her to a burn centre seventy-five miles away. A nurse rode with her. Because of the damages to her nerve endings Judy didn't feel much physical pain, but as the reality of her situation began to sink in, she was overwhelmed with anxiety and emotional anguish. She grasped that these were her last hours. Her family and friends were not there to help, and she began to sob. What could possibly comfort her? Nothing calmed her, until she mentioned the name of Jesus, and discovering that they were both Christians, the nurse began to recite Isaiah 43:
(Isaiah 43:1-3)
I Am one of God's own
Our Gospel lesson for today is the occasion of Jesus' baptism. Why Jesus chose to be baptized is a good question in and of itself. Why Jesus chose to be baptized by John is also worthy of enquiry, but what is arresting, in light of God's words in Isaiah, is that after Jesus' baptism "heaven ...opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." (Luke 3:21-22)
Jesus received the assurance of God's love, wonderfully expressed in words like "my Son" and "Beloved," and this was before Jesus had done anything! He hadn't yet preached, taught, healed, or died on a cross. The only thing Jesus had done to date, according to Luke, was to be born, and to annoy his parents by getting lost in the Temple on a family trip to Jerusalem! Yet God said, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased." (Luke 3:21-22)
This is good news for those of us who think we have to prove that we're worth loving. No proof is required! This is not about us; it's about God's redeeming love – a deep and transforming love that dares to believe that we – we are the salt of the earth and the light of the world! We do not have to prove ourselves! We are God's children, loved and accepted, and in whom God takes great pleasure.
Some years ago an historian researching family history talked to a man named Burnham Ledford. Burnham remembered, as a little boy, being taken by wagon to see his great-great grandmother, who was then over a hundred years old. Understandably, she was feeble. She was also blind. She was sitting in an old chair in the corner of a dark bedroom.
"We brought Burnham to see you," said his father.
The old woman turned toward the sound and reached out with long, bony fingers and said in an ancient, cracking voice, "Bring him here."
Recounts Burnham, "They had to push me toward her. I was afraid of her. But when I got close to her, she reached out her hands and began to stroke my face. She felt my eyes and my nose, my mouth and my chin. And all at once, she seemed to be satisfied, and she pulled me close to her and held me tight. ‘This boy's a Ledford,' she said, ‘I can feel it. I know this boy. He's one of us.'" (story told by Thomas G. Long)
God is like that old woman, holding us tight, and announcing, "You're one of us. You're mine. I have called you by name. I love you, and you are precious in my sight."
When Jean Valjean was released from prison, he quickly discovered that an ex-convict's life is incredibly limited, and so he stole silver from the bishop who had provided him with hospitality. When the bishop saved him from additional hard-time in prison by giving him the silver candlesticks, Jean Valjean was touched. He took on a new name – Monsieur Madeleine – and became a wealthy businessman and eventually the mayor of the small town in which he lived.
Years later the same Inspector who called him Prisoner 24601 was appointed Chief of Police in the same town. The Inspector came to suspect that Mayor Madeleine was actually Jean Valjean, a prisoner-at-large. When another man was arrested and identified as Jean Valjean, the mayor was afforded an opportunity to live the rest of his life in peace. However, he couldn't let another man go to jail for looking like him, so he went to the courthouse, identified himself, reclaiming his prison identity as Prisoner 24601.
His story is an interesting play upon names and identity. Jean Valjean had come to know who he really was, a beloved child of God, and resting in that knowledge he could embrace all of his past and all of who he was. If we know who – and Whose – we are, we are capable of amazing acts of courage.
"Five years for what you did
"My name is Jean Valjean," he replies. And the Inspector, who will become Valjean's lifelong nemesis, replies:
The rest because you tried to run
Yes, 24601."
"Do not forget my name!
The late Madeleine L'Engle (1918-2007) refused, on principle, to learn her social security number. She wrote, "If we are numbered, not named, we are less than human. One of the most terrible things done to slaves throughout the centuries, from Babylon to Rome to the United States, was to take away their names. ... If you take away someone's name, you can treat that person as a thing with a clear conscience." (Glimpses of Grace, page 60)
Do not forget me,
24601."
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you:
Hearing those words, Judy slowly took on the calmness and courage that lifted her through the last difficult hours of her life. She grasped that she belonged to God, and that no fire could destroy God's love for her. Nothing is able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:39)
I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you:
And through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you:
When you walk through the fire you shall not be burned,
And the flame shall not consume you,
For I am the Lord your God,
The Holy One of Israel, your Saviour."
Quotations of Scripture are from the New Revised Standard Version, unless otherwise noted.