The Holy Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ - Wednesday, January 1, 2020

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
The Rev. Matthew Wright
The Holy Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ - January 1, 2020

Numbers 6:22-27
Philippians 2:5-11
Luke 2:15-21

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Today the Church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Name, which always falls on January 1st, eight days after Christmas, remembering the Jewish custom of circumcising and naming a male child on the eighth day. And so today we are celebrating the name of Jesus, but this feast also takes on a secondary meaning in light of our first reading. In the passage we heard from the Book of Numbers, we were given the priestly blessing: “The Lᴏʀᴅ bless you and keep you; the Lᴏʀᴅ’s face shine upon you, and be gracious to you; the Lᴏʀᴅ lift up the divine countenance upon you, and give you peace. So they shall put my Name on the Israelites”—on my people. The Holy Name of God being placed on the people.

Now the word translated in this passage as “LORD” is actually the unspeakable Hebrew Name of God, the Tetragrammaton, or the letters Yod-Heh-Vav-Heh (YHVH), sometimes pronounced by Christians as Yahweh, but traditionally never uttered by Jews. And so when the Name had to be spoken, it was replaced instead with Adonai, Lord, as a way of pointing to or speaking the Unspeakable. And it’s even been said by some of the rabbis that this name of God is actually the sound of the breath, and that this is why it’s essentially unspeakable, because we are actually speaking and carrying the name of God on every breath.

And so today’s feast holds, and celebrates, this tension between naming and the Unnameable, between saying and unsaying, which is a paradox that lies at the heart of all mysticism—how do we speak of the Unspeakable?

Now the name Jesus itself is a translation of the Greek Iesous, which, of course, is not the name his parents actually gave him. Most scholars assume that name would have been the Aramaic Yeshua, a shortened form of Yehoshua or, in English, Joshua. And etymologically that name, it begins with Yah, pointing to YHVH, the Unnameable, and it ends with shua, which can be traced to the verb meaning “to rescue” or “save” or to the noun for “a saving cry” or “a salvation shout.” And so this name itself holds the tension we’re speaking of—Yah, YHVH, the Unspeakable, speaks, cries out, shouts, to save us.

And salvation in the biblical languages is connected to the word for healing or wholeness. “Your faith has saved you” can also be translated “your faith has made you whole.” And so again, Yah-shua—the Unspeakable, present in our very breath, is our wholeness. A name pointing to the Nameless. This entire Christmas season is about the unfolding of this paradox—that somehow, in Jesus, the Unspeakable is spoken, the Infinite becomes finite—and that reality continues unfolding and deepens today when the Unnameable, for our sakes, takes on a name.

This paradox between saying and unsaying, naming and unnaming, is captured beautifully in an early Christian text called The Gospel of Philip, which was probably written in the late 2nd century—too late to be given canonical status, but a window into what early contemplative Christians were contemplating. It’s not a Gospel in the traditional sense of telling the story of Jesus; instead, it’s a collection of Christian mystical teachings. And in it, we’re given these somewhat shocking words:

“The words we give to earthly realities engender illusion, they turn the heart away from the real to the Unreal. The one who hears the word God does not think of what really exists, but a concept or an image of the Real. The same for the words Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Life and Light, the Resurrection and the Church, and all the rest. By these words we are made to think not of what exists, but of what does not exist, though these things could point to what really exists.”

A powerful early Christian reminder that all our words, including God, are simply pointers. Which means that there’s always the risk that we will mistake the pointers for Reality itself, and that we’ll end up worshiping our own mental constructs rather than the living God. And so Philip here, rather mercilessly, rips all of our words away from us—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Life, Light, and Church!

But then, after his demolition project, with great tenderness, he gives them all back to us; the passage continues: “But Truth brought names into the world for our sake, and one cannot refer to Truth without names. Truth is one, but its names are many for our sake, to teach us lovingly this one thing through many things.”

Today we celebrate this great mystery that the Unnameable took a name for our sake: “After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus…” Now this text always pairs in my mind with another, and since I’ve already brought in The Gospel of Philip I might as well bring in The Gospel of Thomas, which is simply an early collection of sayings of Jesus. And one of the sayings goes like this, “Jesus said, ‘A person old in age will not hesitate in asking an infant, seven days old, about the Place of Life, and will find life.’”

Here we have someone at one end of life going to someone at the other end—at the beginning—in order to discover (or remember) what life’s about. And significantly, Jesus says that this is “an infant, seven days old.” “After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child…” “A person old in age will not hesitate in asking an infant, seven days old…” A child seven days old is still in the state before naming, before taking on religious identity—in that original freshness, straight from God. And so when we hold these two texts together, we see this delicate dance between naming and unnaming, the seventh day and the eighth day. On the eighth day, Jesus, for our sakes, takes on a name… and then the Named One points us back, to the one seven days old, to the Nameless. We say, and we unsay. We name and we un-name. This is the great mystical paradox.

But today we celebrate and give thanks for the naming. Today the Nameless takes a name, Jesus. And I think that this is perhaps not only for our sakes, but for the sake of the Nameless as well. There is a need, a longing, flowing in both directions. The Nameless, I believe, delights in taking on a name—in taking on all these names [gesturing to the congregation]. “So they shall put my Name on my people.” And while the Nameless delights in being named, we are invited into the delight and fullness found in returning to the Nameless, to silence, to the breath.

And the Name of Jesus holds this paradox, open wide in both directions—Yah!—the Unspeakable—shouts salvation! The Name of Jesus, paired with the breath, is of course one of the Church’s earliest prayers—what we usually call the Jesus Prayer. It’s most common form today is “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me,” but in its earliest forms it seems to have simply been the name itself: Yeshua, Jesus, God saves, the Unspeakable makes whole.

St. John Chrysostom wrote in the 4th century of this prayer:

“The name of the Lord Jesus Christ, descending into the depths of the heart, will subdue the serpent holding sway over the pastures of the heart, and will save our soul and bring it to life. Thus abide constantly with the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, so that the heart swallows the Lord and the Lord the heart, and the two become one.”

And the two become One. The Nameless and the Named become One. And so I invite you in the brief silence that follows this sermon, to breathe the Name of Jesus. I learned the Jesus Prayer in a very simple form from Sr. Helena Marie of the Community of the Holy Spirit—simply breathing in “Jesus” on the in-breath, and breathing out “Mercy,” on the out-breath. Breathing in the love held in that name, breathing out mercy and compassion for all creation. If this form of the prayer calls to you, or if you’re drawn to or familiar with another, take a few moments with it now, breathing in this amazing reality: that today the Unnameable takes a name for our sake, and delights in placing the Divine Name on each one of us.

Amen.

Feast of The Holy Name - January 1, 2017

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert James Magliula, OHC

Feast of The Holy Name - Sunday  January 1,2017 

Br. Robert James Magliula

The ancient Romans had a god of doorways. Janus had two faces, one looking forward and the other looking back. He was the god of beginnings as well as endings. He was also the god of transition and change. The month, January, is named after him. So on the threshold of another year, as the vast majority of folks are waking up from last night’s party and switching on parades and football games, we gather this morning to sanctify this transition and to greet this new beginning.

The Church originally designated the observance of the first day of January as a fast day in 567 to counter pagan festivals. This day that celebrates the beginning of a new year has not always been so. Although the Gregorian calendar established January 1 as New Year’s Day as far back as 1582, in England it was not until 1752 that it replaced March 25, the feast of the Annunciation, as the beginning of the new year. January 1 eventually evolved into the feast of the Circumcision or the Holy Name, celebrating the naming of Jesus and his circumcision. In Jewish tradition the law required that boys had to be circumcised on their eighth day as a sign that they belonged to God’s people and that they shared in God’s covenant promises to Israel.

The acts of naming and being named are sacred practices in most faith traditions. Names are important to us—culturally, religiously, and individually. Names can be powerful things, and throughout Scripture God uses names to communicate divine purposes and to mark covenant blessings on those who enter into relationship with God. We’re told that God is the one who gives Jesus his name. And in giving Jesus his name, God is telling us something important about Jesus’ character and the role he will play in the story of God’s love for the world. Jesus was not simply named to establish his cultural heritage as a Palestinian Jew or to differentiate him from others. He was named Jesus to provide us with a beacon to follow and a way for us to move closer to divine goodness, grace, and mercy.

The name Jesus is the Latin form of the Greek, which is the transliteration of the Hebrew Joshua, meaning “God saves.” The name of Jesus is, as today’s collect states, “the sign of our salvation.” Given to us by God, this name is a verbal sacrament, something spoken that conveys to us the grace of God. When we use this name with faith and reverence, it is for us a prayer. Indeed, of all prayers it is the best. No other prayer is so simple. Bernard of Clairveaux wrote, “to praise the Holy Name of Jesus is to receive light, food and medicine for the soul.” Today, on this first day of the new year, we celebrate the fact that God has spoken that name to us, and not just as a word, but also as the Word made flesh. God has spoken the divine name to us as a person. We have been given the gift of a new relationship with God, a first-name relationship that is intimate and immediate.

Christians have our own mark of identity. Our equivalent of circumcision is baptism. We too are named within this formative sacrament, and we declare ourselves united with others of the Body of Christ through the vows of the Baptismal Covenant. In it Jesus connects our humanity to all that is God. It might help us remember the invisible cross on our foreheads at baptism, with a simple but powerful statement: “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked and Christ’s own forever.”

The passage from Galatians highlights a change in title that drastically changes our relationship to God. We were once “slaves” but now have been “adopted” and are called God’s children and heirs. In our baptism we were claimed, adopted, forgiven, renewed, strengthened, and made members of the Body of Christ. We have been given names in baptism that identify us as participants in the story of God’s love for the world. The name of Jesus is forever sealed upon our hearts. That name of Jesus within us compels us to work for justice, peace, and love for all. And the name of Jesus gives us the will and the strength to persevere in the ministry of reconciliation.

Just as the ancient Romans felt the need for a god of beginnings, there is within our human nature a deep yearning for new beginnings, and a natural hope that this year will be better than the last. We do not know what it will contain. In this world shattered by violence, in this day plagued by divisiveness and name-calling, the name of Jesus provides an antidote to hatred, a cure for violence, and a medicine for pain. Despite any sense of powerlessness or hopelessness or cynicism we might experience, our purpose in this time of transition is to be agents of the kingdom. Our work today, as Christians and monastics, is to witness to, and to help people discover, that God can still transform.

As we look backward and forward at the same time, an old way is ending and a new one is beginning. The kingdom breaks in where and when it is least expected. It is revealed to shepherds, not to kings, to the poor, not to the rich and the mighty. The Word becomes flesh and dwells among us, not in Jerusalem or the temple or a palace, but in a stable, wrapped in rags and lying in a feeding box. As we step across the threshold into a new year, perhaps our greatest hope should be that God is not finished with us, that God is still at work in our lives and in the world. The kingdom can come and it will come. Let us pray that God may fill our hearts with joy and hope, save us from our fears and doubts, and give us courage and strength to be instruments of the promised kingdom. +Amen.