What's In a Name?

Genesis 12:1-3; John 3:16-17

Everyone here has a past.  Each of you has made a name for yourself in industry or the military or as doctors, teachers, lawyers, mothers, fathers, bankers, or craftsmen. You arrived with a reputation earned through hard work. But the uniquely wonderful thing about this part of the country is nobody cares who you were. We are only interested in who you are becoming.

Part of the blame lies in living in the land of Jefferson. I cannot begin to guess the number of post-graduate degrees that occupy this room. I have a box in my office that contains four framed diplomas. Why have they never made it out of the box?  If Thomas Jefferson insisted on simply being addressed as  Mr. Jefferson, who are we to place a title before our name?

But there is more to it than that. Many of you sitting here are known by your number. Bill Shiveley or Doug Wood could care less where I did my doctoral work but come Friday morning they want to make sure the handicap number I give is accurate. Some you spent careers untying complicated knots yet you never talk about it. But should I want to learn the art of tying a fly more than one of you would give me hours of your time. You are master gardeners. You volunteer at the rescue squad, at the tax office, at the church. Your past, however illustrious is just that, it is your past. You are now here, making a new name for yourself.

This morning texts are about two folks in the process of changing their names.  One text begins the story of one of the most famous characters in the Old Testament. The other celebrates the most cherished verse in the Bible. The texts are about  new beginnings just when two men are weighing their retirement options. They are about a man who is about to become famous and another who is already a legend. Both texts revolve around two men beginning a new journey under the same name, Child of God.

Abram was an old man. He had received his gold watch and was ready to sit by the fire and read those books that kept piling up on his shelf. His wife Sarai was an old woman. Retirement should have meant pampering her grandchildren except one must have a child to have grandchildren. Abram and Sarai had memories, they had regrets, but most importantly they had earned respectability. They could dote over their nephews and nieces. They had the right to sit back and watch………..except.

Nicodemus was a scholar. At an early age the local Rabbi had seen his potential. His memory was good and his desire to learn was even better. Nicodemus studied with the best teachers until he reached that day when the learner became a teacher and students were now coming to him looking for answers. He was highly respected and his voice had the ring of authority. He too was reaching the end of his career. He no longer yearned to spend his days in conversations with twelve year olds looking for a gem amidst all the paste.  He was ready to retire, to sit back, to enjoy letting someone else take over……….. except.

Except can be a mighty big word. Abram reviewed his life with no regrets except there was no one to whom he could bless with his name. He lived in the past and could see no future. Nicodemus knew the text, he served his community, and he had memorized the Torah. Life was good, except his legacy rested on who he had been rather than who he could become. Both men knew there had to be more, except nothing else seemed attainable, until they met God.

How envious I am of Abram and Nicodemus. They encountered God up-close and personal. In a dream Abram is issued an invitation to not only begin a new life but to begin a new family. God said, “Yesterday doesn’t matter, but tomorrow does. Pack up your bags; take only what is necessary and head west. I will give you a new name. You will be the father of a nation.” Can you imagine what his neighbors must have said? Abram lived in Ur, the center of the universe, yet on a word heard in a dream he headed with his wife and nephew into the wilderness.

And what about Nicodemus? He had it all but felt as if he had nothing. I like to imagine he was sitting at his desk and one of his disciples came up and said, “Teacher, there is no one wiser than you…..” and that is all he heard. Obviously the student had a question or perhaps even an observation but all Nicodemus heard was his own mind saying, “I am not the wisest. There is another and I must seek him out.”

Under the disguise of darkness Nicodemus searched out the young scholar who was upsetting many of his contemporaries. This man named Jesus obviously knew the Torah but he approached the text in a new and yet somehow an old way. This Jesus moved beyond the traditions of the law and spoke as one who embraced the compassion of the law. As a Pharisee this made Nicodemus a little nervous. But as a lover of the Torah his heart and mind were excited by the young man’s words.

Nicodemus asked, “I know you are from God. How can I see what you see?” Nicodemus got an answer he could have never expected. Jesus said, “Your mind and heart must be born again. You must believe that God’s love is so great, that God would do anything to give you life. Come out of your own darkness and celebrate the light of God. Come out of the darkness and see who you can become.”

Sometimes God comes in a dream; sometimes God comes in mid-sentence; sometimes it seems  God will never come.  When I was a teenager I spent a week as a counselor at a Jr. High retreat. My job was to hang out with the kids and make sure they got to all their events on time. Near the end of the week one of the adults took me aside and asked if I had ever considered becoming a minister. Then she said, “Pray about it. God will give you an answer.”

I took her up on her suggestion. After the kids had gone to sleep, I slipped out into the darkness and made my way to the edge of an open field. From that spot it seemed like I could see the end of the universe. I prayed seeking some instruction. After twenty minutes I became bold enough to ask God for a sign. I stayed out in that field for at least an hour looking at the sky. And I got nothing. No voice from above, no flash of light across the sky, not even a junior high kid asking me why I was sitting in the dark. 

Six years later Deb and I were sitting in a church service at First Presbyterian in Hopewell Virginia.  We had been married for less than a year but had known each other for the better part of our lives. I was in my last year of my commitment to the US Army. The minister had been droning for at least 20 minutes and both of us had lost interest fifteen minutes earlier. Deb touched my hand and then whispered in my ear, “You can do a lot better than that.”

God comes, in a dream, in the darkness, even in a sermon. So listen; in this season of Lent, listen; in this autumn of your life, listen. For the one who calls you child of God is only interested in tomorrow. Listen, and discover what God might have  in store for you.