What's in a Name?
My romp through the 90s sitcom Mad About You is winding up, and the newlyweds at the center of the show, Paul, and Jamie, are now parents of a crawling infant. Paul's parents want to keep up, and their offering in that direction is an odd one. His mother orders a handstitched rug featuring both of them. Jamie grapples for an escape, trying to explain that she and Paul are trying to keep the child from looking down. They want to think of Bert and Sylvia, and they want their daughter to do the same. This particular looming legacy, however, is a bit much.
Elizabeth, who has just given birth to the baby who will become John the Baptist in the narrative of Luke 1, could identify with Jamie's predicament. Luke 1:58 (New King James Version) sets a wholesome and encouraging scene, relating, "When her neighbors and relatives heard how the Lord had shown great mercy to her, they rejoiced with her. So far, so good. But pressure comes with the postpartum baby shower. The next verse tells us of the crowd's expectations of the baby's name, "They would have called him by the name of his father, Zacharias." This baby, conceived uniquely and destined for a unique mission, is eight days old, and the well-meaning society around him is already enforcing expectations. Like father. Like son. It's expected.
When Elizabeth summons parental fortitude to resist, the crowd offers a fallback position in verse 61 that would have pleased Bert and Sylvia Buchman. If the baby isn't going to have expectations set upon him to be an exact duplicate of his father, his parents are allowed to pick a different pattern and name the little prophet after a relative without upsetting precedent and consensus. No, says Elizabeth. Her resistance is reinforced by her husband Zacharias who might have expected the baby to be named after him. His name, they both resolve publicly, is John.
The names themselves are instructive as we consider the power of spoken and unspoken assumptions and expectations. Zacharias' name means, "the Lord has remembered." It looks backward to a faithful heritage, and this is altogether good. Such a pattern, no doubt, helped Zacharias to see what faithfulness looked like and to carry forward his priestly duties even while facing the scorn of infertility. He even continued them, reports Luke 1:23, after the angel appeared to him and announced the birth, and after the angel struck Zacharias mute. Until God tells me to do something else, Zacharias' name and testimony seem to remind us, he was going to keep doing what he knew to do.
Thus we inherit the specifics of God's Word from previous generations. Thus, likewise, we inherit a lot of healthy habits which we see effective in the lives of our parents, our relatives, and in the community around us. The Lord has remembered to surround us with quirky Berts and Sylvias who have run life's race before us. We would be wise to remember that they love us, and to learn from their example as we crawl, walk, and run.
Still, like those two woven faces on the rug that would have overpowered any other decor, too much is too much. There is also something healthy in insisting on a John identity, and being sure to pass that on to those we influence. With that name, the Baptist carries on him before he can even explain it "the grace and mercy of the Lord" bound up in the name on which his parents insisted.
When we see responsibilities as parents, as spouses, as friends, as disciplers of the people God has placed into our lives and under our influence the deliberate naming of John is a helpful reminder. This person is an active, unique expression of God's present grace and mercy. That quality will persevere after our role in their lives as come to an end. My grace and mercy, says the Father Who promised David that He would be a Father to the adult Solomon after David was gone, is a Gift that keeps on giving.
Shakespeare's Romeo is right that a name has its limits. Assigning the right label or category to someone we care about initially is not enough. I'm delighted then, at the prophetic glimpses Gabriel gives us into how the relationship between John and his parents could be described. John, he predicts in Luke 1:17, would be the type who would turn the hearts of fathers toward children. Joy and gladness, says Gabriel who doesn't shy away from stern words, are going to describe this home.
These are not assumed qualities. Zacharias and Elizabeth were already well set in middle-aged routine. John, in turn, brought not only the normal disruptions of a baby but a boisterousness that never left him. By God's predictive, persevering grace, quiet, solid citizens were able to raise a Bam Bam for the Lord. From the adult John the Baptist who prepares the way for Christ, we see that Zacharias and Elizabeth must have kept God's present grace and mercy in mind through the ups, downs, and compromises of relationship.
We, from the discipline of initial perspective through ongoing reactions, can do the same. As Dallas Willard's mother insisted to his father with her last words before leaving him a single parent, we can keep eternity before those we influence. This is far more important than contriving to impress our faces upon their memory.
Elizabeth, who has just given birth to the baby who will become John the Baptist in the narrative of Luke 1, could identify with Jamie's predicament. Luke 1:58 (New King James Version) sets a wholesome and encouraging scene, relating, "When her neighbors and relatives heard how the Lord had shown great mercy to her, they rejoiced with her. So far, so good. But pressure comes with the postpartum baby shower. The next verse tells us of the crowd's expectations of the baby's name, "They would have called him by the name of his father, Zacharias." This baby, conceived uniquely and destined for a unique mission, is eight days old, and the well-meaning society around him is already enforcing expectations. Like father. Like son. It's expected.
When Elizabeth summons parental fortitude to resist, the crowd offers a fallback position in verse 61 that would have pleased Bert and Sylvia Buchman. If the baby isn't going to have expectations set upon him to be an exact duplicate of his father, his parents are allowed to pick a different pattern and name the little prophet after a relative without upsetting precedent and consensus. No, says Elizabeth. Her resistance is reinforced by her husband Zacharias who might have expected the baby to be named after him. His name, they both resolve publicly, is John.
The names themselves are instructive as we consider the power of spoken and unspoken assumptions and expectations. Zacharias' name means, "the Lord has remembered." It looks backward to a faithful heritage, and this is altogether good. Such a pattern, no doubt, helped Zacharias to see what faithfulness looked like and to carry forward his priestly duties even while facing the scorn of infertility. He even continued them, reports Luke 1:23, after the angel appeared to him and announced the birth, and after the angel struck Zacharias mute. Until God tells me to do something else, Zacharias' name and testimony seem to remind us, he was going to keep doing what he knew to do.
Thus we inherit the specifics of God's Word from previous generations. Thus, likewise, we inherit a lot of healthy habits which we see effective in the lives of our parents, our relatives, and in the community around us. The Lord has remembered to surround us with quirky Berts and Sylvias who have run life's race before us. We would be wise to remember that they love us, and to learn from their example as we crawl, walk, and run.
Still, like those two woven faces on the rug that would have overpowered any other decor, too much is too much. There is also something healthy in insisting on a John identity, and being sure to pass that on to those we influence. With that name, the Baptist carries on him before he can even explain it "the grace and mercy of the Lord" bound up in the name on which his parents insisted.
When we see responsibilities as parents, as spouses, as friends, as disciplers of the people God has placed into our lives and under our influence the deliberate naming of John is a helpful reminder. This person is an active, unique expression of God's present grace and mercy. That quality will persevere after our role in their lives as come to an end. My grace and mercy, says the Father Who promised David that He would be a Father to the adult Solomon after David was gone, is a Gift that keeps on giving.
Shakespeare's Romeo is right that a name has its limits. Assigning the right label or category to someone we care about initially is not enough. I'm delighted then, at the prophetic glimpses Gabriel gives us into how the relationship between John and his parents could be described. John, he predicts in Luke 1:17, would be the type who would turn the hearts of fathers toward children. Joy and gladness, says Gabriel who doesn't shy away from stern words, are going to describe this home.
These are not assumed qualities. Zacharias and Elizabeth were already well set in middle-aged routine. John, in turn, brought not only the normal disruptions of a baby but a boisterousness that never left him. By God's predictive, persevering grace, quiet, solid citizens were able to raise a Bam Bam for the Lord. From the adult John the Baptist who prepares the way for Christ, we see that Zacharias and Elizabeth must have kept God's present grace and mercy in mind through the ups, downs, and compromises of relationship.
We, from the discipline of initial perspective through ongoing reactions, can do the same. As Dallas Willard's mother insisted to his father with her last words before leaving him a single parent, we can keep eternity before those we influence. This is far more important than contriving to impress our faces upon their memory.
My hope is my children and grandchildren exceed positively any impact I make on this world. So far, so good.
ReplyDeleteAs above, they've got a lot of positive habits from you, also. Thanks for stopping by.
Delete