Year A
January 12, 2020
Matthew 3:13-17
While my brother was here last weekend, we were hanging out in my living room, playing video games. I don’t quite remember why he asked this question, but he asked me, “Why don’t you like the name, Alexis?” It got me thinking about names and what is in a name. When I was a child, I hated my full first name, like absolutely hated it. I couldn’t tell you why; I just knew that I was Alex. And I would (sometimes in a less than polite way) correct anyone who called me Alexis. I would tell my family that when I turned 18, I’d legally change my name to Alex. It is so odd to me, but some folks are really uncomfortable with my name – to the point that I’ve had conversations like this: “Hi, my name is Alex.” “Oh, what is that short for, Alexandria?” “Alexis, but my name is Alex.” “Well, that’s so pretty. I’ll call you Alexis because I can’t call a girl Alex.” Really?I still remember back in 3rd grade, my teacher misspelled my last name on my nametag for my desk, writing it as Alexis Wilt. I was so excited because, since she had to fix it anyway, she put Alex as the first name on my nametag. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have to explain to others (like substitute teachers) that my name was Alex; for the first time, what was in front of me matched the name that I call myself and matched the identity I had for myself. And that was a big deal. Names and identities have power. There’s something powerful in being called the name that you call yourself, without question or explanation; it is an affirmation of who we are and how we see ourselves.
Here’s the story behind my name. My mom wanted her first-born to be named Alex, after her uncle, Uncle Alex, better known as “Uncle Pean” (Short for Peanut – my Mom’s side of the family shortens EVERYONE’s name or nickname; My Mom is called “Bren” and I’m often just “Al”). Uncle Alex was my Gram’s brother, who died a number of years before I was born. But he was an incredible man. My mom grew up in a poor family. My grandfather worked factory work, and periodically faced times of lay-offs, especially as the steel and slate industries began to falter in the North East. Uncle Alex was single most of his life, and spent much of his time at my mom’s home. Especially in the most difficult times, he’d check the fridge and the pantry, make sure that there was bread and milk. If there wasn’t enough, there would be food and milk in the house the next day. He bought my mom’s shoes for the beginning of school each year. And he even saved bit by bit each year, so when my mom turned 16, she could get a car. Both my Mom and my Gram have said that if Uncle Alex were alive today, he would have spoiled my brother and I, even more than my Gram and Pap did. He was generous, steadfast, a provider, and a support even and especially when times got tough.
So today, my name is both an homage and an honor. Something to live up to and live into, and live out. And while I’m not going to legally change my name, my name is Alex. And this is who I am.
Whether you have a story behind your name or not, I think we all can agree that there’s power in a name, in what we call ourselves and one another – power to affirm and power to hurt, power to lift up, and power to tear down. We all learn as kids that the names we use for each other have power to heal or the power to do tremendous harm. And we all have a multitude of identities: sibling, parent, child, grandchild, friend, partner, teacher, pastor, nurse. These identities further reveal something about who we are, describe something about what it means to be Alex or Bob or Carol.
“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
In Jesus, as the Son of God, the divine comes close. In Jesus, as the Son of God, we’re brought into relationship with our creator and our redeemer. This is the one who comes to “fulfil all righteousness” – in other words, to bring us back into right relationship with our God. In Jesus, the Son of God, we are brought into relationship with a God that is so incredibly committed to us and to the world that this God puts on our flesh and lives our lives. No longer does God remain distant but rather God comes close, saying yes to our humanity and to everything that comes with this humanity. Divinity and humanity become one and can no longer be separated. And our humanity - the best and the worst of it - can no longer be a barrier to God’s love for us and for the world. In the baptism of Jesus, God affirms Jesus’s ministry and reaffirms that we have a God that is solidly and firmly with us - working to bring salvation and liberation to us and to all people through the love that encompasses all. The Beloved Son of God comes to affirm and proclaim the belovedness of all people everywhere – especially those on the margins – by risking it all – vulnerability, dirt and grime, the messiness of human relationships (including calling disciples that will fail him), even death – a mission and ministry that makes God well pleased.
“This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
In our baptisms, we receive a new name and a new identity. There’s advice floating around that on this Sunday, we should stick to Jesus’ baptism and not wander too far into our own baptisms because, well, Jesus’ baptism is something somewhat different from what we experience. I’ve taken that advice (and likely will at another time), but for today I’m going to ignore it. Because in our baptism, we’re linked with what we hear in the Gospel reading today. In the waters of baptism, we are named “Beloved” and called “children of God.” And we don’t get that reminder often enough. The world too often tells us that we aren’t worthy and we have to earn love. But in our baptisms, God says to each one of us “This is my child, the beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” In water, we are given the gift of the forgiveness of sins, but we also are united with Jesus in his life, his ministry, his death, and his resurrection. Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection are the story behind our names as beloved children of God. We are beloved not on our own merit, but because our God names us and claims us as children of God. In this water, God says to you and to me, you are beloved, you are worthy, you are mine. And nothing can separate you from that belovedness. Among all of our other names and identities, this is the primary one: beloved child of God.
To be clear, it isn’t that our other names and identities aren’t important. Yesterday, a few of us went to the EPIC leadership conference held by the Virginia synod. Pastor Kelly Bayer-Derrick, assistant to the Bishop, in encouraging us to introduce ourselves to those around us, helpfully reminded us that, while our primary identity is as a beloved Child of God, God also knows us by our names, the names that we call ourselves. We are beloved as we are, who we are. In the beloved Son of God, God put on flesh and took on a particular name, Jesus, in a particular place, with particular people, with a particular body, with particular personality traits, with particular identities: son, friend, brother, teacher, prophet. In becoming human, in Jesus, God affirms all of that – our names, our identities, our particularities are important. We’re not anonymous or faceless to God. No, we trust that this God, made known in the person Jesus, knows our names, our identities, our particularities better than we know them ourselves. But by water and God’s word, our identity as a beloved child of God becomes the primary name and identity that defines us, that centers us, that calls us. We live into and live out that identity in our particular names, bodies, identities, gifts, vocations; we live into and live out that identity as beloved child of God, as we proclaim the belovedness of all people and all of creation.
Today’s text and themes remind me of a quote on my office door from Jess Cook about water and baptism. It goes like this: “at some point in seminary I was introduced to the idea of remembering my baptism every time I interacted with water. This idea has held so strongly through years of practice that it now comes without thought – rain starts falling and every drop on my head, every plink on the gutter reminds me I am loved even when I do not have the capacity to ask for it. Tear ducts become wellsprings within me, sometimes gushing open at the most unexpected moments. The rain on my back a reminder of the holiness around me, each tear a reminder of the holiness within me, grounding me in who I am and connecting me to everything else. It rains, and I am loved. I cry, and I am loved. I wash my hands, and I am loved. Hard as I may try sometimes (and I guarantee I have certainly tried hard), I have realized that I simply cannot outrun my belovedness. None of us can.”
I hope that today, and every day, the water of the font, the water around us, and the water within us, are reminders of your identity: as a claimed and named beloved child of God. I hope that the water of the font, the water around us, and the water within us, are reminders that you simply cannot outrun your belovedness. Name it and claim it. You are God’s beloved child. And in you God is well pleased.Amen.
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