Questions God Asks Us, Part 4: What Is Your Name?

 Friends, we’re now in part 4 of this sermon series I put together based on the book Questions God Asks Us by pastor and author Trevor Hudson. In each chapter Hudson looks at a question posed in the Bible either by God our Creator in the OT or Jesus in the NT, and then he looks at how we can faithfully respond to that question.

This morning’s question is one that God poses for the first time incognito, in the book of Genesis, deep in the Jacob saga. I preached about Jacob earlier in the summer, so you guys are versed on this story now. But God, appearing casually as just some guy, wrestles with Jacob, and Jacob demands a blessing from God-disguised-as-a-random-dude. God asks “What is your name?”, and the blessing comes from what follows–a total transformation for Jacob, starting with his name. He becomes Israel, the revered father of a nation.

There are several stories in the Bible of folks changing their names because they went through such a holy transformation that the old name didn’t fit them anymore–Abram becomes Abraham, Sarai becomes Sarah, Saul becomes Paul. Names matter, to us and to God. A name is something our parents picked and gave to us, one way or another. You might have epic family lore behind your name. You could be named after family. Or, your parents could have been like mine. “Natalie” just came out of a baby names book. My parents wanted to name me something recognizable, but in a sea of 80s babies named Jennifer and Jessica, they also wanted my name to stand out. They almost went with Clarissa, but my older sister’s name is Cassandra, and they didn’t want two C-names, so my mom saw Natalie in a baby book, and that was the end of that conversation. Then they got my middle name, Ora, from my dad’s Grandma. It’s Latin, and it means prayer. Put together, my name means “Christmas prayer”. When I had a daughter, Miss Lily, I passed that middle name down, and named her Lillian Ora. 

Names carry history, faith, legacy, and love. We’re called by names. Our names are embroidered onto Christmas stockings, engraved onto custom family silverware, and embossed onto our nicest books. They also get shouted down the hall because there’s a phone call for you, yelled out at the park because it’s time to go home now, or sternly bellowed because you’re in trouble, mister. Full first and middle name time. When I had my kids, older wiser people joked with me, don’t just imagine my kids names cross stitched on a decorative pillow, imagine yelling them because gosh darn it why didn’t you pick up your toys I tripped over your action figures and just about broke my neck. Our names carry the full spectrum of life. When we go on to life eternal, and folks want to remember we were here, they chisel our names on headstones, and on plaques if we did something honorable.

Names are deeply sacred. They’re the first thing we ever have and the last thing we leave behind on this earth. They’re also so often our first point of contact with the Divine. We see two sides of that dynamic in this morning’s scripture readings. In today’s Gospel, we see Jesus challenge the disciples on their relationship with him, and that challenge hinges on a simple question: what do people call me? What do you call me? What do you think I should be called? Do we know how to call out to Jesus by name? Then there’s this morning’s OT reading, where I’m going to spend more time because this story is so dear to my heart. 

This is a story that introduces us to a pivotal prophet in the Hebrew Bible, the one who discovers King David, and becomes one of his most esteemed mentors. Samuel. He’ll be that distinguished man some day, but right now he’s a 10 year old boy. His mom Hannah conceived him miraculously, after years of infertility and her mean sister wife bullying her about it. When she finally conceived her first born son, she promised that he’d live his whole life in service to God in the Temple. Though the text tells us that Hannah stuck around until Samuel was weaned, and she regularly makes cute little Temple outfits for him, she sacrificed the role of being the primary person to raise him. So now, the earthly person who has been doing that has been an old, wise priest named Eli. Eli has coached Samuel on how to read about God in scripture, and how to pray, but Samuel has yet to talk to God all by his big boy self. This is the story of God introducing the Divine self to Samuel–by calling out his name.

I spent a lot of time this week in the headspace of little Samuel, thinking about what the world must be like for him at 10, and why God picked that age, of all times in life, to begin a relationship. We were all experts on childhood once, because we were there. Our hearts were open, and we were playful and curious. But then we grew up. We got old, cynical, unimaginative, boring, serious, and straight to the point. And that’s after we’ve had our coffee. My daughter, the aforementioned Miss Lily, is 10 right now. Every ten year old is different. My ten year old is ten going on 17. At least on some days. Ten year olds are discovering their identity, and a permanent sense of self. Not just “what is my name?”, but “what do you think about when you hear my name?” For Lily, it’s more like “Y’all hear my name, get ready because it’s ON.” Lily is all about her vibes. She spends a ton of time on her ipad, and she texted me a giant list of links for clothes she needs for her new fall wardrobe. There’s a very specific theme and aesthetic she’s going for. She wants to redo her room, too, to represent who she is. We retired her dolls because she’s decided she’s “over that”, and I organized them for a doll tea party in the living room. Lily doesn’t have to feel guilty that they’re not being played with, because they have each other. Her favorite thing to do is shop for makeup and hair stuff at the mall. She has a robust social life, and if you hope to get on her calendar she’ll need 10 business days of advanced warning to try to squeeze you in there. She spent this whole weekend at a sleepover. She records TikToks. She memorizes dance moves from her favorite girly bands. She has entire relationships with people she met by playing Roblox. Don’t know what Roblox is? Ask a ten year old.

Ten is a magical age. My ten year old still has at least a toe in the door of childhood–she has a stuffy collection, and her favorite color is pink. But she’s kicked the door right open on the other side, where you approach adult life. What’s her name? She’s Lily. She’s mood. She’s a tiny girl boss. She wants to be an artist when she grows up. Or a geologist. She can’t quite decide. She wants to have kids, but not, like, a ton of them. And boy does she have big feelings about the state of the world. She went through a “save the butterflies” moment a while back. She wants to know why grownups on the news are so mean to each other. She’s worried about prejudice and discrimination, and those immature boys in her class that use the word “gay” as an insult. She wants to serve her community. And she has big feelings about her faith, and the Church. Some of that comes with the territory of being a PK, but there’s a reason why we make youth groups for kids this age, and why we confirm kids around this age. At this age, you’re getting ready to be a real helper.

God picked this age for Samuel, ten years old, an age where he still believes in the Tooth Fairy, but he also believes in justice, to reach out directly to him for the very first time. In order to really hear God, you need to listen like a ten year old–playful, imaginative, and open, but also sprouting big faith ideas that God can grow in you. God knew this, and called Samuel–by just saying his name.

Kids this age are still pretty literal. When Samuel hears his name being called, even in the middle of the night when he knows everyone is asleep, his first instinct is to look for the grownup who wants him to do something. He’s also still young enough to wake his caregiver in the middle of the night. So the first time God calls his name, Samuel pokes Eli, who rolls over, sees the blurry image of Samuel, and growls “Whhhaaaaaattt???” Eli sends him back to bed with his teddy bear and a glass of water. But Samuel hears the voice again, and goes to bug Eli, who has had a few minutes to think and realizes Samuel is hearing God’s voice. Samuel is young enough to trust his caregiver completely, young enough to fully embrace a new idea, but also old enough to understand multi-step directions. So Eli tells him, next time you hear the voice, know that it’s God, and just say this sentence: “Speak, for your servant is listening.”

I end the story there. If you’re curious what God actually tells Samuel, just read the next verse. But for me, that’s never the point of this story. The point is Samuel’s total trust. And it started with his name. What is his name? It’s Samuel. He’s compassionate, and devoted to his faith. He’s sensitive, and off beat, and he knows that sometimes the greatest gifts don’t come in the most obvious packaging. He’ll use all of that to help David someday very soon. But he heard the question, and he answered.

What is my name? It’s Natalie. I’m a pastor and a mom of three, perpetually teetering on the edge of insanity. But that narrow ledge where my servant heart and my scholar brain meet my weird personality is where the magic happens, and God uses every drop of it.

What’s your name? What identity do you carry around with you in this world? Who have you become as a child of God and a citizen of this world? What sense of self have you grown into? And how does God uniquely put you to work? You might not know right now, but when God calls your name, you should respond just like little Samuel, eager to hear the rest.

Speak, Lord, for your servants are listening.

Amen.