WHAT’S in a name? Perhaps nothing much. Names are sounds that we apply to differentiate one thing, or one person, from another; so “that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” But making mistakes about people’s names matters. We can become annoyed when others do it to us. And, when we stumble over someone else’s name, misremembering or forgetting it, it can result in awkwardness, even shame.
This part of John’s Gospel ends with a promise. We believe; and what he promises to us, as believers, is life “in his name”. With no frivolous intention, I want to ask, would being saved in the Messiah’s name have been so easy if he had been called Engelbert? or (confining myself to biblical options) Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz?
There is much to be said for the simplicity of a couple of syllables. We want to converse with our risen Saviour, to pray in and through his name, because that name in itself is powerful. It is even, all by itself, a prayer. It needs to be easy to say. It was decided before his nativity. It is not an expression of his human personality, which was as yet unknown. But it was a distillation of his essence: “God saves,” or “God, save!” Whether as a statement or a prayer, the name of Jesus opens up a path to God the moment that we utter it in faith.
When Adam named the animals in Genesis (2.19-20), his doing so was an act of power: the animals did not care what name they were given, either as a species or as individuals. But humans do care. We care because (quite apart from the fact that our names represent the tastes and aspirations of our parents, not ourselves) people can make judgements — on the basis of our names — about the kind of person we are. Most of us are strongly influenced by others’ judgements. No one who has watched the TV comedy series Red Dwarf wants to be called Duane Dibley.
For early Christians, the name of Jesus was a key to unlock the mysteries of God. But, even in the early days, within a hundred years of the resurrection, the name that they took from their Lord’s calling as Messiah — “Christians” — could provoke a different reaction, becoming a reason for condemnation.
When a Roman governor called Pliny wrote to Emperor Trajan for advice, he asked, “Is it the mere name ‘Christian’ which is punishable, even if innocent of crime, or rather the crimes associated with the name?” This shows how the label — the name — came with a weight of baggage. Trajan’s response gives the lie to the Romans’ reputation for persecution. He tells Pliny to punish any offences they commit, but not to hunt them down; and to accept their demonstrations of loyalty to the Emperor.
Trajan was a humane ruler. He did not assume that a name bestowed by others must necessarily reflect the truth about those “Christians”. He made a wise distinction between what label we apply to ourselves, or others, and who we actually are. That policy of judging by behaviour rather than labels is one that we need to emulate today; for in our own time, too, the name “Christian” can have negative connotations, encouraging others to make hasty judgements based on a label, not on fact.
If the name of Jesus and the label “Christian” have a “yuck” factor attached to them in everyday life (not in church circles, of course), it cannot be because of the intrinsic unattractiveness of faith in the Son of God. Read 1 Peter 1, and you find a thrilling sense of exaltation — ecstasy, even — at what God has done in Christ. Jesus has conquered death, and overcome the grimness of human disintegration. There is a snapshot of all that is most attractive and powerful in our resurrection faith.
If that is not what others see when they look at us, it is our problem, and it needs fixing. Easter is the time to live out the divine splendour of the kingdom, the power, and the glory of our risen Lord, Jesus Christ. I want to pray, with Jeremy Taylor, “Lord, I glory in nothing so much as that I am a Christian, that thy name is called upon me. O my God, though I die, yet will I put my trust in thee.”
