What’s in a Name?

Holy Name (Christmas I); January 1, 2006

Luke 2:21-38

Do you like to hold babies? One of the many things I like about being a pastor is the opportunity to take a baby in my arms and baptize it in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. The minister who baptized me, Duncan MacPherson, always used to kiss the babies after he baptized them. I don’t think that was in the service book he used, the 1946 edition of the Presbyterian Book of Common Worship.1 He was probably overwhelmed with the joy of holding a new Christian in his arms.

If you’re a mom or dad who is willing to trust other adults enough to let them hold your baby, you probably hope they will say things like, “Oh, she has your eyes!” or “Oh, what a beautiful child!” The first thing Mary and Joseph heard Simeon say, “My eyes have seen your salvation,” probably made them feel pretty good. The rest of it though? “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” I think if I were Mary, I would rather he looked at the baby and said, “Cootchy-coo.”

Well, in the reading today we have two separate incidents, but together they complete Luke’s Christmas story, so I’m going to reflect on both of them today. The first incident is Jesus’ circumcision and naming, which took place on the eighth day from his birth. Although we can be reasonably sure Jesus wasn’t born on December 25, we celebrate his birth on December 25, so the eighth day is January 1. What’s the gift for the eighth day in that old song? “Eight maids a-milking, seven swans a-swimming, six geese a-laying, five gold rings” and so forth.

They name him “Yeshua,” just as the angel said they would. “Yeshua” is “Joshua” and the Greek form of that is “Jesus.” “Joshua” means “The Lord saves,” so they name their baby “Savior,” following the angel’s direction. It strikes me that there is an awful lot of obedience in the Christmas story. Zechariah and Elizabeth name their son “John,” as they were told to, and they raise him to be a prophet, dedicated to God, not to find his own self-expression. Mary and Joseph have the child circumcised according to the law, go for the rite of purification according to the law, and name him “Jesus” just as Gabriel told them to. It is the eighth day; they have him circumcised and name him. It’s what you do. No: “Oh, we had to go to Omaha that weekend;” “We had a house-full of relatives and just couldn’t get around,” “You know, we don’t really believe in all that old stuff, so we’re going to let him decide when he’s older.”

Obedience to the will of God is something we’re not supposed to talk about in the twenty-first century; we’re supposed to find out what people want out of their religion and then give it to them in small, easily-digestible doses. Then again, the predominant religious movement in our country does emphasize obedience to the will of God, but sees God’s will as essentially equivalent to nineteenth-century Victorian morals and laissez-faire economics. That doesn’t sound right either. A little more direct attention to Jesus sounds like the order of the day. In fact, it seems clear that you and I and all our fellow Christians would do well in this new year to dedicate ourselves to more direct contemplation of Jesus: to his words, to his stories, to his actions, and especially to his way of salvation. No, I’m not announcing my program plans for the year, but am simply encouraging you to try to cut through the fog of words that tends to surround our news, our spirituality, our worship, and pay direct attention to the Person at the center of it all.

It was actually that venerable old philosopher, St. Augustine, who gave me the idea. In reflecting on the next event in our text – when Joseph and Mary bring Jesus to the temple “according to the law of Moses” (there that is again!) – Augustine notes that Simeon cries out, “My eyes have seen your salvation” when he looks at Jesus in the flesh. Augustine suggests that that is how everyone sees God’s salvation; we see it in the flesh. When I hold someone’s baby, I see the persistence of life, I see the possibilities of love, I see lots of hope for a new generation. I don’t think I see the salvation of God; how about you?

Probably not, for the baby Simeon holds is unique. This baby is not merely the one who talks about the salvation of God; he is not merely a prophet of the salvation of God; he is not merely a guru who urges us toward the salvation of God. He is the salvation of God; he is salvation in the flesh. The improbable prophecy of Simeon is that God’s salvation is in this child, in the child’s flesh, whose little hand maybe tries to grip Simeon’s finger while he is saying these things. Simeon, for all he must have enjoyed holding a baby barely more than a month old, looks beyond the baby’s cuteness and whatever noises the child makes to see the fulfillment of the promise of God.

Anna apparently doesn’t even get to hold the child; she sees the baby and immediately starts talking about him to everyone looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. I love the fact that Luke is unapologetic about calling her a prophet, and that in Luke’s book she is the first preacher of the Gospel. All the folks who think women should not preach had better have a debate with St. Luke. I know who I would bet on.

Anyway, Simeon sees God’s salvation in the flesh of Jesus, and Augustine reminds you and me that we also see salvation in the flesh of Jesus. He offers his flesh on the Cross as the power of redemption from death and sin; he is raised in the flesh to the resurrection of new life to win our salvation; he offers himself to us in the flesh in the sacrament of bread and wine.

What Simeon and St. Augustine tell us hammer two thoughts in my head that I cannot get rid of; if I share them with you then at least we can spread around the struggle. One thought is that all this stuff is simply too outrageous for someone to invent; whenever my mind grapples with doubt, Christmas reinforces my faith. The crèche and the Star and the angels’ song are all beautiful in their way, but the persistent picture of Christmas for me is Simeon holding a baby – just a baby, like the many you and I have held – holding a baby and saying, “My eyes have seen your salvation.” It is all so improbable. Christmas helps me believe.

The other thought is that since salvation is in the flesh of Jesus, that the name of Jesus is the power of salvation from sin, from death, from temptation, then one hour a week of dipping into some Bible and some songs and listening to some guy spout words, more words, is just not enough for us truly to be infected by the Spirit of God. And for a lot of us, we think one hour a week is a valiant effort. Frankly, I think one hour a week is just enough religion to inoculate ourselves against the real thing. I don’t have a clear vision of what to do about it, not really, but I am convinced that the salvation of God is deep and wonderful and the standard spiritual practices of 21^st century American Protestantism are mere body-surfing over it.

And finally (that’s your favorite word in the sermon, isn’t it? “finally”) Simeon sees in Jesus a sign, a sign that will be opposed, a sign that will result in a sword piercing Mary’s soul. Can we just stand with Mary for a moment as she hears those words? Simeon says them to her alone; does she shiver with the anticipation that Joseph may not be there with her when the sign is opposed, when the inner thoughts of many are revealed? What kind of monster says to a new mother that the result of this birth will be a sword piercing her soul?

When we are honest with ourselves and with one another, we admit that we ought to say that to every new mother and father. Because of this child, you will feel pain in your soul. You don’t need me to detail that for you, nor to remind you of all the ways you have caused pain to your parents. But we usually are not honest at moments like this; we usually look only at the hope and possibility that a new baby represents. But Simeon is close to the Lord; he knows what God is up to. And he knows that this baby is a sign not only of hope and possibility, but also a sign of judgment.

Stand, then, with Mary and comfort her for the words she hears, but don’t try to contradict them. If you contradict them, if you tell her not to pay attention to that unkind man, then you deny everything that Mary and Joseph have done in obedience to the will of God. You deny even the name they have given the child, Jesus, “Savior.” So stand with Mary and hold her hand as she shakes with fear, but remember Simeon’s words. Unless her soul is pierced with that sword, then the child’s destiny is not fulfilled. For salvation is no mere game of words, it is no mere dipping into spirituality in the course of a busy week; salvation is the work of God, and you and I have seen it – like Simeon we have held it – in the flesh of Jesus.

Let us pray. God of wonders, we praise you for showing us your salvation in Jesus. We pray for guidance to do your will as Mary and Joseph did, and to enjoy and live the salvation you have given us, in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Robert A. Keefer

Westminster Presbyterian Church

Clarinda, Iowa

[1] It isn’t; I looked it up (pp. 121-125).