January 1, 2023, Holy Name of Jesus
Penelope Bridges
Alleluia: Unto us a child is born: O come, let us adore him, Alleluia.
Today we celebrate the Holy Name of our Lord. It’s appropriate that this feast is scheduled during the season of the nativity: we are still celebrating Christmas too. Jesus is given his name by an angel before he is born, in Luke’s Gospel by the angel who visited Mary at the time of the Annunciation and in Matthew’s the angel who visited Joseph in a dream. Only Matthew’s Gospel gives us the significance of the name, recounting that the angel said, “You will call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” Jesus, or Yeshua in the Hebrew, means Savior, or God Saves. The name God chooses for this child is specific and highly significant.
To name someone or something is to claim power over it. In the Genesis creation story, God gives the first man the power of naming the woman (Eve) and the other animals. So the man is recognized as the dominant creature in the creation, by virtue of being instructed to name all the other creatures. Naming matters in Scripture. Later in the Bible there are several instances where someone takes a new name as a sign of a new calling: Sarai and Abram – meaning complainer and father- become Sarah and Abraham – meaning princess and father of multitudes – when they are chosen to be the bearers of the promise of God. Jacob becomes Israel (which means he who strives with God) after his wrestling match with a divine being; and Jesus gives Simon the new name of Peter (or the Rock) as he calls him to be the foundation of the church.
Naming conventions used to be simple in the culture that white Americans inherited from England. At birth you got a first or Christian name, plus maybe a middle name that recalled a relative, and a last name that was your father’s last name. As a woman, if you married, you would take your husband’s name. In some quarters, at marriage your maiden name would become your middle name, but often your maiden name was simply obliterated, as the woman became an appendage of her husband, no longer a full individual with the right of self-determination. At the most recent marriage in St. Paul’s, just this week, the newly married couple were introduced as (I’ll use pseudonyms) Mr and Mrs John Smith. I have seen old tombstones where a couple lay at rest: the stone gave the husband’s name and dates; in the line below, “and his relict” was the only mention of the wife: in death her name was erased from memory.
For the most part today we have more choices: in this century, at marriage some couples take a new last name that is a combination of both their names. Many women choose to keep their own last name, and for clergy couples where the woman is ordained but the man is not, the proper mode of address is The Rev. Nancy Smith and Mr John Smith. Other cultures have their own variations on permitting each half of a couple to retain their own name and identity, and these cultural conventions often go hand in hand with a greater equality of rights for all genders.
I had a seminary friend who was from Kenya. She was outraged to learn that women in America were traditionally expected to give up their names at marriage. The power to name is a real power: to have a choice of keeping the name you were baptized with, or of choosing an entirely different name, is a symbol of autonomy.
I once knew a woman who had been named Johnnye by her parents. She hated the name: it obviously caused confusion at many points of her life, and when she retired from a long-tenured professional position she changed her name entirely, both first and last names, claiming a completely new identity that felt more true to herself. The power to choose a new name is deeply meaningful for trans-gender and non-binary people: it can represent something like a new birth, the first time someone feels like their name actually fits who they are. The Episcopal Church now offers a liturgy of renaming for those who choose to take a new name and feel the need to have it recognized and blessed by the church.
The power to name is not only a symbol of self-determination but it’s also a significant weapon in the arsenal of injustice and oppression.
Wealthy Americans who owned enslaved persons would rename them for their own convenience, sometimes using the same name for consecutive holders of a given position in the household; so for example the cook would always be known as Mary, no matter what her actual name was, so that the householder wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of learning a different name every time she replaced the individual doing the job.
Immigrants to this country from eastern Europe or Asia, who came through Ellis Island, were often assigned more English-sounding names, perhaps because the immigration officials simply couldn’t be bothered to figure out how to spell or pronounce a Slavic or Asiatic name. For the descendants of those immigrants it can present an almost insurmountable obstacle to tracing their ancestry back to the country of their forebears.
Much more recently, indigenous children who were taken from their families and sent to boarding schools were forbidden to use their own names and given Anglo names, as part of the effort to erase their cultures and force assimilation. All of these are examples of how to dehumanize someone: how to avoid recognizing them as fellow human beings, fellow children of God, individuals who deserve the right to claim their own personhood.
Those of us in the dominant culture are still prone to giving up easily on names that don’t roll easily off our lips: Jean becomes John, or Alejandra becomes Alex; or Jesús becomes Jesus. We believe we don’t have to make the effort, because we are part of the dominant population. But things are changing. Just recently there was a change of protocol on NPR, and reporters started saying Spanish or French names more accurately, without flattening and Anglicizing the pronunciation. It’s a subtle message that they are conveying: this name has integrity in itself, and its holder deserves respect.
In the recent maelstrom of publicity over extra-judicial killings of minority individuals across this country, the phrase Say Her Name has been voiced over and over. It may refer to Sandra Bland, who mysteriously died in police custody; or it may refer to one of the many transgender women who are murdered for no reason except their identity. Saying Her Name is a way to remember and give honor to a person, a beloved child of God, who was undervalued in her lifetime and whose life was ended in violence and hatred, someone whose name might be quickly forgotten by a world that doesn’t really care all that much about dignity or respect.
Those who work with our unsheltered neighbors know what a difference it makes for someone to hear their name, to be given an individual identity instead of being simply one of “the homeless”. And we can all empathize with this feeling, whether it’s being the new kid in school, or a first visit to a church, or even a newly elected legislator. When I served in a very large diocese, we would have over 500 people at our diocesan convention. I started to notice how lost the new clergy looked as they entered the enormous convention hall, and I developed a habit of seeking them out and greeting them by name. It was a tiny thing that I could do to help them feel like they were part of the community, that they were seen and recognized.
I’ve wandered a little far afield from today’s feast of the Holy Name of Jesus, but there is a point here. The child whose birth we celebrate in this season, who was given his name by an angel sent by God, came into the world to save us from the sins of discrimination, racism, and oppression. He came to teach us to respect the dignity of every human being. He came so that we would recognize the injustice in the world and join the struggle to wipe it out. He came so that we would recognize our neighbors, take the trouble to really see them, to really hear and say their names so that every child of God would know that they are valued, honored, and loved. This is the good news of Jesus Christ, whose names mean Savior and the Anointed One. We honor his name today as we honor his message of love, compassion, and dignity for all people. And there’s no better reminder than this message today, as we launch into this new year.
Alleluia: Unto us a child is born. O come, let us adore him, Alleluia.
