“What’s In a Name?”

First Congregational UCC – October 17, 2009

The Rev. Sharyl B. Peterson

Scriptures:  Psa. 9: 1-2, 9-11; Acts 11: 19-26; Col. 3: 12-14

Many of you know that Bob and I have moved many times in our almost-35 years together.  That’s meant a lot of garage-sales, because before each one of those moves, we’ve had such sales to eliminate some of our “non-essential” stuff.  As a result, we still own only a few of the things we bought when we were first married.

            One of the few treasured items that has made it through all the years since we bought it long ago at an auction at the Elks’ Lodge in Green Bay, Wisconsin, is an old wooden trunk.  Its black paint is battered, there are splotches of red paint that spilled onto it from something else, and most people probably wouldn’t give it a second look if they saw it in an antique store.  But the thing that makes it special – the main reason that we keep it – has to do with an inscription carefully hand-painted on the top.  It says “Andersdotter” (spell this out), and next to that name is the date, 1830.

            Awhile after we bought it, just because we thought it looked interesting, we took it to a friend of ours who was an antique dealer.  And she told us that our find was what is called an “immigrant’s trunk.”  It seems that in the nineteenth century, immigrants to this country from Europe brought as little as possible with them, because the shipping lines charged for every parcel brought on board.  There were guidebooks available for prospective immigrants that suggested various necessities, and immigrants used these guides to determine which items to bring.  To consolidate everything (and because Samsonite Luggage hadn’t been invented yet), they built or made wooden trunks in which to pack their belongings.  Trunks just like our old battered black one, that sits in our living room.

            One of the reasons we hang onto this trunk is that we know it was owned by a woman, indicated by the name on the top:  a “dotter” (daughter) of the Anders family.  That alone makes it unusual , since far fewer women brought trunks than did men.

            The other reason I continue to treasure it is that on my dad’s mother’s side of the family, there were “Andersons,” the generic name for the Anders family to which that long-ago immigrant was related.  I like to imagine that this trunk might have once belonged to some great-great-aunt or thrice-removed cousin, or someone else to whom I’m distantly related.

            The point is, it is the name on the trunk that makes it special.

            And in fact, it is the name on anything – or anyone –  that makes it or them unique and special.  Names are part of our identity.  Like the name on our immigrant’s trunk, the names that we carry as surnames connect us with our wider family.  They remind us how we are related to those who have gone before us, and how we are related to the next generation of family.  For example, you’re “Chet’s son,” or “Alice’s grand-daughter,” or “Chris’s mom,” or “David’s aunt.”   Our names remind us that we have obligations to other people, through the connections that we share.  And our names remind us that we are not simply individuals alone in the world, but that we are now and always part of a community.

            The names we carry also say something about the values we are supposed to share, and perhaps the way we are supposed to live.  For example, if you were raised as a “Bender” or as a “Peterson” or as a “Smith” or as a “Jones,” that meant something to your wider family, and they hoped it would mean something to you.  For example, it may have meant that you were expected to follow in a certain line of work.  Maybe your family had a family business, and you were expected to go into it.  Maybe your family members were all teachers – or doctors – or farmers, and you were expected to do that as an adult.  Or, carrying your particular family name may have meant you were expected always to be honest with others, to never tell a lie, and to always keep your word.

The name we have chosen to carry as a member of our faith community – the name “Christian” – does all those same things.  It connects us with the wider faith family to which we belong.  In particular, it connects us with our very distant forebear whose name we call our own – “Jesus Christ.”  It connects us with our faith ancestors from thousands of years ago, to those who are sitting next to us in our pew this morning.  It reminds us that we are not just individuals alone in the world, but part of a faith community, who are all in this together.  And it reminds us that there are certain values we are expected to uphold, certain ways we are to treat other people, and certain ways we are supposed to live.

            Now, so far, so good.  That sense of connection – that sense of identity – and that sense of what values are important – all sound like very good things.  And indeed, they are very good things.  But … and it’s a big “but” … I almost called this sermon “Is the name ‘Christian’ a dirty word?” 

And that is because among many people today, the name “Christian” carries some pretty negative connotations.  In fact, after several recent centuries of pretty positive connotations, we seem to have come full circle to the very beginnings of our faith story, all the way back in the time of Paul and the other early church leaders.  In fact, all the way back to the time referred to in our Scripture reading this morning from the Book of Acts, when the name “Christian” was a dirty word.

            To help understand why, I need to remind you a little about that first-century Christian history, just in case you haven’t thought about it lately.

            We know that the Book of Acts, from which this morning’s text comes, was probably written about 50 years after Jesus was crucified (give or take a few years).  And this book of the New Testament describes many of the happenings in the early Christian communities that began to spring up in the wake of Jesus’ death and resurrection.  In today’s text, we learn about one of the germinal moments in the early Christian church:  the point at which it first had to make a decision (and I would point out, it has had to make this decision again and again through history):  did Jesus Christ really mean for Christians to love everyone else, did Jesus Christ really come to show everyone what God’s love looked like, and did everyone really deserve to hear the good news of God’s love in Christ?  Because – in spite of the fact that it was still in its infancy, the young and barely-starting-to-develop Christian church had already become entrenched in a theological view that, despite Jesus’ teachings and model, was far from including everyone in God’s care and love.  And here’s what the Book of Acts tells us happened.

            As most of you know, the Christian church in Jerusalem was the first major bastion of Christianity in the world.  Among the leaders of the Jerusalem church was a man named Stephen, a man who is usually described as “wise” and “bold” and “full of faith.”  A good man, who loved Jesus, and was doing everything in his power to live the way he knew Jesus had taught.

            The developing problem was, a great many powerful church people disagreed with Stephen’s understanding.  In fact, the official position of many of the leaders of those first-century Christians in Jerusalem was that that Jesus had come, not to benefit or to save everyone, but to and for the Jewish people only (remember, the first Christians were Jewish converts to discipleship with Christ).  Stephen, on the other hand,  believed that Jesus had come for everyone, and had died for the salvation of everyone, and so, that good news should be preached to all people.  To all people.  Not just to the Jews, but also to the Greeks.  To the Gentiles.  To everyone.

And, just as Jesus’ message of God’s inclusive love had gotten him into serious trouble, the same thing happened for Stephen.  One day, as he was preaching to a large crowd that was not particularly interested in the kind of inclusivity he was talking about – seeing it as “too radical” – even as “heretical” – the people in the crowd became so enraged at what he was saying that they dragged Stephen outside the city walls, and stoned him to death.

            The result of Stephen’s death was a split in the (young, emerging) Christian church.  There were the people who had disagreed violently with Stephen (many of them powerful leaders in the church), and other people who had agreed just as passionately with the message he had preached.

After Stephen was killed, the people who disagreed with him stayed in Jerusalem, supporting what they believed were the real foundational beliefs of Christianity, and the people who agreed with Stephen’s view left Jerusalem, to scatter far and wide, and to preach the gospel to the wider world.  And some of those people in that second group went to the city of Antioch (today the city of Antakya in Turkey), which was one of the three largest cities of the Roman empire, a center of Greek culture, and a huge commercial hub – think, perhaps, the Chicago of its day.

            And in Antioch, that huge, cosmopolitan city, those early trend-setters in the faith preached that radical message that the good news of Christ was for everyone.  And it appears that they were on exactly the right track, because the text tells us:  “The hand of the Lord was with them, and a great number became believers and turned to the Lord.“

            In fact, those disciples in Antioch were being so successful that the Christian leaders in Jerusalem got nervous, and sent Barnabas, one of the most important leaders in the church, down to check out what was going on in Antioch – what were those people doing and saying that were drawing so many people to Jesus?!  Today’s text tells us, Barnabas was apparently delighted by what he found when he got there.  “When (Barnabas) came and saw the grace of God, he rejoiced, and he exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast devotion; for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.  And a great many people were brought to the Lord.”

            In fact, Barnabas was so encouraged and excited, he travelled to Tarsus to find Paul, and when he found him, he brought him back to Antioch, where the two of them spent an entire year meeting and working with the developing Christian church there.  “(A)nd it was in Antioch that the disciples (the followers of Jesus) were first called ‘Christians.’

            And yet … despite Barnabas and Paul’s elation at what was happening in this budding faith community, many folks who were not Christians, who had not been “brought to the Lord,” didn’t think much of their carrying-on about this man named “Christ.”  Or named “Chrestus,” as many of the early historical records refer to him.  And the general public wasn’t too excited about this “Chrestus” or his followers the “Chrestians” because all most of them knew about “Chrestus” was that he had been a criminal, who had been executed for crimes against the state.  Why on earth would anyone admire or respect people who followed – who believed in – who worshipped – a man like that?

            And we can begin to understand their point of view if we think back to the 1960s, in our own country, and remember the horrifying crimes committed by Charles Manson and his followers in California – the ghastly murders of Sharon Tate and several of her friends.  I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who respects or admires Charles Manson, or those who followed him.  In the same way, in the land where Jesus was executed as a criminal, no-one in the general public was likely to admire or respect him or his followers – the so-called “Christ-people.”  Remember that I said a few minutes ago that early in the church’s history “Christian” was a dirty word?  Well, it was.

            And for some people, it has remained so.  In fact, if we wanted to this morning, it would be easy to focus on things that people have done in the name of Christianity during the 20 centuries that have passed since those days in Antioch that could easily make people reject everything about our faith.  If we’re honest, we have to admit that the Christian faith has been used to justify wars … and genocides … has been used to justify the oppression of the poor … and of women … and of GLBT people … has been used to argue as a reason to suppress human rights, instead of working to increase them.

We could focus on all the ways that Christians – including us – have fallen short, in so many ways, of living out the message of love that Jesus Christ came to share.  I think it’s pretty easy to look at the world over the last 2,000 years – and even easier to look at the world around us today – and see all of the places we – people who claim ourselves to be “Christ-people” – have failed to follow Jesus’ call.

            But I also think that part of being honest about our name – “Christian” – is to remember the other side of the story as well.  To remember all the ways that so many people who bear the name “Christian” – “Christ-people” – have indeed followed Jesus’ teachings, and have done what they can to make our world a better place, even as He calls us to do.

Doing things like building some of the first public hospitals (like our own Congregational Deaconness societies did back East).  And like not only working for the abolition of slavery, but also building the first schools in this country to educate the freed children of African-American slaves (as did other of our Congregational Church ancestors).  And like standing side by side with sisters and brothers before and since who were protesting against discrimination … against marginalization … and for justice and freedom for everyone.

            “Christ-people” do things like some of what we see right here in our very own church.  Like the women who are “shepherds” for our congregation, and who go out every week to visit the women and men in our congregation who are no longer well enough to come to church.  So, our shepherds take the church to them.  Like the men who quietly, with no fanfare, bring in boxes of cereal … or children’s stuffed toys … or boxes of toothbrushes, for those in need of food … or of comfort … or of decent dental care.  They take seriously Jesus’ reminder that “when you do it to the least of these, you do it to Me.”

            Like the women sitting in our chapel on Wednesday afternoons, knitting or crocheting prayer-shawls and lap-blankets so that when someone – usually, someone they don’t even know – is ill … or grieving … or frightened … or lonely – they can wrap themselves in a tangible sign of someone else’s care for them.  And like the people who bake casseroles or bread, and take them to a sick friend, or the ones who sleeps all night on a lumpy cot in a cold church to help provide hospitality to people who are homeless, or the ones who walk for miles, in spite of bad knees or bad colds or bad tiredness, to help raise money for CROP Walk, or the ones who serves soup at the soup-kitchen, or prepare meals at the homeless shelter, or the ones who do a hundred other things to share Christ’s love with others in our community.

            What, then, do we mean when we say we – or someone else – is a “Christian?”  A “Christian” – a “Christ-person” – a– is every man or woman, teen or child, who speaks the loving words of Jesus, who extends the loving hands of Jesus, who models his or her life on the Way that Jesus lived and taught, and who does that because he or she loves Jesus.  And he or she doesn’t just love Jesus in the abstract sense – and doesn’t just believe in Jesus in an abstract way – but these people love Jesus so deeply they take what He showed us, and taught us, and did for us seriously, each and every day of their lives.

            A “Christ-person” – a “Christian” – is the person who understands and lives out – in real, concrete ways – Paul’s words in his letter to the Colossian church that we also heard earlier: 

As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.  Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.  Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.  And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body.  And be thankful.

            May each of us claim our name as a “Christ-person” – a “Christian” – with joy … with commitment … and with love.  And every day, when someone else looks at us, may they be able to see in the way we live the very deepest personification of who and what Christ calls us to be.  Amen.