Is 62:1-5

14 January 2007

“What’s in a Name?”

            I want to begin today by quoting Shakespeare.  This is from the well-known scene in Romeo and Juliet in which Romeo, under cover of night, appears beneath Juliet’s window.  They belong to families, the Montagues and Capulets, respectively, who make the Hatfields and McCoys look like old friends.

            Anyway, Romeo’s been laying it on thick when Juliet responds:[1]

“‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy;— / Thou art thyself though, not a Montague. / What’s Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, / Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part / Belonging to a man.  O, be some other name! / What’s in a name! that which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet; / So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, / Retain that dear perfection which he owes / Without that title:—Romeo, doff thy name; / And for that name, which is no part of thee, / Take all myself.”

            And Romeo responds:

“I take thee at thy word: / Call me but love, and I’ll be new baptized; / Henceforth I never will be Romeo.”

            This is my question.  Is Juliet right?  Is she right in suggesting that a name “is no part of thee”?  That it really doesn’t matter?  What is in a name, anyway?

            Our scripture reading in Isaiah 62 would seem to suggest that a name does carry some weight.  Actually, it’s been pointed out that throughout the Old Testament, one’s name “can, in fact, stand for [oneself], become a concept interchangeable with [oneself].”[2]

            We’ve all experienced this at some level.  When I was in seventh grade, I had a class in which we were planning to do a play.  One of the characters was a butler or a chauffeur.  (I don’t really remember.)  As we were trying to decide on a name for him, the teacher said, “It needs to be something really boring, like James.”  The second she uttered that, she was instantly embarrassed and apologized profusely to me.

            It didn’t really bother me, though.  I’ve always liked the name “James.”  Sometimes people have addressed me as “Jim,” which I don’t mind.  However, my middle name is “Lee,” and when combining that with a version of my first name (which I’m less than thrilled about), you get “Jimmy Lee Moore.”  To me, that sounds like a fugitive from justice, wanted for bank robbery in five southern states!

            So, even if we don’t necessarily see our names as interchangeable with ourselves, they can still come pretty close.  Decide for yourself.  Which sounds more like the articulate, eloquent English playwright:  “William” Shakespeare or “Billy” Shakespeare?

            Our reading in Isaiah comes from the third part of the book, which begins with chapter 56.  Last week’s scripture text, from chapter 43, comes from the exile in Babylon, about a century after the prophet Isaiah’s lifetime.  That part of the book, chapters 40 to 55, is believed to have been written by a prophet following in the footsteps of Isaiah.  Today’s reading comes after the return from exile, in the late sixth century B.C.—some time around 520 B.C.

            There’s a new host of issues to deal with.  And all of this business of what name people are called comes into play.  But I need to give you some of the back story first.

            The Babylonians captured Jerusalem; they ransacked the temple.  They sent thousands into exile—basically, the upper classes.  Within a few decades, the Persians conquered the Babylonians.  They permitted as many of the exiles as so wished to return home to Judah.

During the time in exile, prophets like our anonymous friend, known only as Second Isaiah, encouraged the people and spoke of a future liberation.  Last week I made the comment, “Just as Israel passed through the water during the exodus from Egypt, there’s going to be another exodus—this time, from Babylon.”

            So, hopes are running high when the exiles return.  However, many years have come and gone, and the political and religious landscape has changed.  There’s a degree of friction between those who’ve returned and those who were left in the land.  A sense of discouragement sets in.  Ethical standards begin to fall, and many people believe that, as long as they offer the proper sacrifices in the newly-rebuilt temple, things are okay between God and themselves.

            But from the very beginning, that never was the arrangement God made with the people.  Far more important than how God is worshipped is if God is allowed to shape, to transform, the worshipper.

            That’s a point on which Klaus Koch, Old Testament professor, has reflected, in a somewhat scholarly way.  “It seems to be an [indelible] delusion of the human mind,” he says, “that it is possible to acquire a positive relationship to the [deity] through devotional practices and sacrifices, even if this piety finds no correspondence in a parallel concern for other people and the general good.”[3]  Long-winded he may be, but his point is well-taken.  It’s fine to renounce “one’s own well-being,” but “it must be for the sake of one’s neighbor in need.”[4]

            The good news is that God steps in.  Verse 1 says, “For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch.”  God isn’t content to let the people keep drifting away into corruption and cynicism and despair.  It was true then, and it’s also true today.

            The reason is found in verse 4:  “the Lord delights in you.”  And this is where that stuff about what name we’re called comes into play.  God tells the people that “you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will give” (v. 2).  Have others called you names—have you called yourself names—that reflect poorly upon you?  It doesn’t matter.  God Almighty has a new, wondrous name for you.

            Still, even so—what difference does it make?  What difference does getting a new name make?  It’s been said that “the new name stamps a new pattern of life, so to speak, on the recipient…the phrase ‘to be called’ is widely used to express a new way of life.”[5]

            Look at what’s going on in verse 4.  “You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate.”  We so often read that stuff without really thinking about it.  I know I do.  But let that sink in.  No more will your name be “Forsaken.”  No more will you be called utterly abandoned, left completely alone.  No more will your land be named “Desolate.”  No more will your land be called bare and empty—lonely and windswept—inhabited only by wild animals.

            In his book, Called by a New Name, Presbyterian minister Gerrit Scott Dawson speaks about “millions of refugees today” who can identify with the sense of forsakenness and desolation.[6]

            “Adrift on the high seas in flimsy boats, or waiting behind the fences of detention centers, they know the meaning of the word ‘forsaken.’  Their homelands have been destroyed by civil war, natural disaster, or famine.  Places once holy, once nurturing, have been deserted.  How desolate must their cities have become to inspire setting out for such exile?”

            Perhaps the names “Forsaken” and “Desolate” don’t apply to us in such literal ways.  Maybe the areas emptied of human life, and home only to wild animals, are more symbolic.  For example, who among us hasn’t endured the bite of betrayal by others—or the sting of self-betrayal—that has left us feeling abandoned and unworthy?

            Still, God shows up and changes all that.  The names “Forsaken” and “Desolate” get rubbed out with a divine eraser.  There’s a change of name:  “you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Married” (v. 4).  The Hebrew names are Hb; Ayxip]j, (hef^etsibah) and hl;W[B] (b^e`ulah), respectively.  Maybe you’ve heard a song about Beulah Land?

            Not only is God unwilling to let the people continue to drift away, but God loves them so much that he considers them to be his bride.  Jesus feels about us in a similar way.  That’s why we, the church, are called the bride of Christ.

            In his book, Dawson includes a line that I think is priceless.  “We are not what our circumstances attempt to dictate.  We are what God names us to be.”[7]  That is a powerful statement!

            Circumstances have attempted to dictate to us what we are, what we should be.  Circumstances have tried to tell us that we’re a dying congregation.  We should just close down, or merge with another congregation.  If we’re working from a business model, that might not be bad advice.  I know that I’ve been given that advice on more than one occasion.

            But not from God.  I imagine by now, you realize that I’m not one of those people who always claim to be getting messages from God.  Still, on this point, I’m pretty confident that what God names us to be is not what circumstances have attempted to dictate.

I don’t see a dying congregation.  Banu and I soon will have been here for seven years, and I can say without any hesitation that Westminster Presbyterian Church is more alive now than ever.  (Maybe the number “seven” has something to do with it—though I doubt it!)  God has been good to us.

All of this leads me to ask the question:  what is it that God is naming us to be?  Who is our Lord calling us to be?  What is in a name, anyway?

(And, if I may, I wonder about that name “Westminster” itself.  I wonder, what does it say to people here in the 21st century?  How many people even know what it means?  I personally would hope for something like “Hope.”  Not that I want to sway any potential renaming process, you understand!)

As I draw near my conclusion, I want us to revisit the nocturnal scene with Romeo and Juliet.  Juliet seems as if she’s about to say good night and go back inside when Romeo says, “O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?”  Juliet responds, “What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?”  To which Romeo replies, “Th’ exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.”  And Juliet assures him, “I gave thee mine before thou didst request it.”[8]

That is what our Lord says to us:  “I called you ‘beloved’ before you were even aware of it.  That has been your name, even when you have rejected my love—when you have spit it back in my face.”  That’s why we can sing, as we will in the song, “Hear the Good News of Salvation”:

“All the sins I have committed / To my Savior now I bring. / I bow down with tears of anguish; / Christ forgives and so I sing: / Jesus Christ, how much I love you! / Jesus Christ, You save from sin! / How I love you!  Look upon me. / Love me still and cleanse within.”

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