March 4, 2009
In our day, names tend to be doled out at the whim of parent’s wishes and cultural fads. We name a child what sounds good to us, and what sounds good to us is shaped by what kinds of names seem relatively familiar to us. That’s why every third girl in my classes in school was named “Stephanie,” and why my sons play with so many girls named “Madison” now. When you hear the names “Harold” or “Rupert,” you assume you’re dealing with someone of an older generation, and no one expects to find an elderly woman named “Tiffany” these days. In a generation, there’ll be lots of nursing homes filled with men named “Conner” and women named “Emma.” Those names will sound as old as “Milton” or “Gertrude” sounds today.
Sometimes a child is named after a family member or a cherished friend, but even then the options are limited by custom. A dear old uncle named “John” is more likely to be honored with a namesake than an uncle named “Ebenezer” (though “Ebenezer” is a great biblical name, and I hope it comes back).
In the world of the Bible, though, a name spoke something of who you are, or at least who your parents expected you to become. Esau is named that because he’s born red and hairy (Gen 25:25). Jacob gets his name from wrestling with his brother in the birth canal (Gen 25:26). Both grow into their names—with Esau acting like a beast for red stew (Gen 25:29-34) and Jacob wrestling with God (Gen 32:22-32).
A name is important to one’s identity. And that’s why in the story of our fathers and mothers God keeps changing people’s names.
After all, the people of God never considered themselves “sons of Terah,” or even “sons of Abram.” They were sons of Abraham, a name that means “father of many nations” (Gen 17:5). That name seemed nonsensical at the time for this childless homeless man. It seems almost a mockery to call his barren old wife a “princess”—as the name “Sarah” means (Gen 17:15). The children of Israel, furthermore, were children of Israel. That identity reflects another name change, when the one whose name meant “deceiver,” Jacob, wrestled with God on the riverbank. God names him “Israel,” because he has struggled with God and men and won (Gen 32:28). It sure doesn’t seem as though Israel has won—on the run from his angry brother, limping away from his encounter with God.
But God names the things as though they are, and then makes them that way (Rom 4:17). The same thing’s happened with us.
Our God tells us he’s not ashamed to be named the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—he’s identified himself as such for millennia (Heb 11:16). More importantly, he’s identified himself as the God and Father of Jesus Christ. Let’s remember that “Jesus” is a new name. The Word of the Father is not properly called “Jesus” until he is so named. And he is named “Jesus” by a Galilean carpenter, probably without the equivalent of a grade-school education, who believes what he hears from an angel. The name tells a story: “He will save his people from their sins” (Matt 1:21).
Think for a moment about how even in the name of Jesus, God is showing he is not ashamed of you. This name is the one God promised Abraham he’d uplift. The very glory of God itself resounds through the universe when “at the name of Jesus” every knee is bowed (Phil 2:9-11). Even the demons, when they shriek out “Jesus of Nazareth…We know who you are,” must tremble at the fearful promise of that name—and must recognize that he is his Father’s son. On the great and terrible day of the Lord, Satan himself will be forced to, through demonically clenched teeth, mouth the same word the angel once spoke to Mary, the name everyone of us in Christ has cried out to for salvation: Jesus.
In his ancient blessing of his people, God commands Aaron and his sons to “put my name upon the people of Israel, and I will bless them” (Num 6:27). Little did they imagine just how he’d do this. He hides his people in One who is named Immanuel—“God with us” (Isa 7:14), who is named Jesus—“Yahweh saves.” As we bear the name of Christ, that’s our name now.
Even in the saying of his name—Jesus—we’re telling the old, old story of amazing grace. In the saying of that name, our God is telling us that he isn’t ashamed even of the least of us, Jesus’ brothers.
When Jesus asks his disciples who the Son of Man is speculated to be, various names are rattled off: John, Elijah, Jeremiah, and so forth. When asked for Jesus’ identity, one of them announces, what God has already voiced: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matt 16:16). Interestingly, Jesus refers to this disciple first by his given name: Simon, the son of John. Jesus, though, gives him a new name: Peter—a rock. Again, the name seems incongruous. The “rock” isn’t so solid when Jesus is arrested, and he runs. But Jesus knows what’s in store.
The location of his name change is a place called Caesarea Philippi, a region named after the ruler. Caesar’s name, it was believed, could be preserved through branding a piece of ground after him. I’ll bet it seemed as though that place would last forever. But, hidden in the heavenly places is a New Jerusalem, a city that will one day come down and transform the universe. The gates of that city have names—the names, John tells us, of the twelve tribes of Israel (Rev 21:12). The foundation stones of that city have names too—the names of the twelve apostles of Jesus (Rev 21:14). Caesar’s name is nowhere to be found.
Only in light of Jesus’ identity—the Son of the Father—does Peter learn who he is to be. Only there does he find where he fits in the household of God. The same is true for all of us. When we lose our identity, we find it in Christ.
If you’re in Christ, he’s given you a new name (Rev 2:17), a name you’ve never heard, and that wouldn’t make sense to you right now. But you’ll get used to it. Other re-names, like “Israel” and “Abraham” and “Peter” and “Paul” didn’t make sense either, at first.
More important than your name, however, is hearing it called out by One you’ve come to know, or rather who has come to know you. When you see him for the first time face-to-face, when your legal adoption is fully realized, the Spirit within you will cry out “Abba! Father!” And you’ll hear another voice, louder than all the others, cry out the same thing. You’ll turn to see him, the Messiah of Israel, the emperor of the universe, Jesus of Nazareth. And you’ll call him “brother.”
Russell Moore is Dean of the School of Theology and Senior Vice President for Academic Administration at The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary and executive director of the Carl F. H. Henry Institute for Evangelical Engagement. Dr. Moore is the author of The Kingdom of Christ: The New Evangelical Perspective (Crossway, 2004) and the forthcoming Adopted for Life: The Priority of Adoption for Christian Families and Churches (Crossway, May 2009).