Feast of the Holy Name

The night when she first gave

birth had been

cold. But in later years

she completely forgot

the frost in the beams above her

pain and smoking ovens

and the strangling of the choking

towards morning.

But above all she forgot the

bitter shame

of not being alone,

which is the fate of the poor.

Mainly because of that

in later years it became the feast

at which 
everything was present.

The rough chatter of the

shepherds fell silent.

Later in the story they became

kings.

The wind, which was very cold,

became the angels’ song.

Indeed, of the hole in the roof,

which let in the frost,

there remained only 
the star which looked in.

All this

came from the face of her son,

who was gentle,

loved song,

invited the poor to him.

And had the custom

of living among kings,

and seeing a star above him at

night time. (1)

Bertolt Brecht’s poem, ‘Mary,’ describes not only Jesus’ birth but also our process of re-seeing things, and renaming life experiences. This unique time of living with the story of the incarnation begs us to reconsider not only who Jesus is but who we are.

The readings of Christmas-tide vacillate between the humble place where Jesus was born to the vast heavenly space above us. Shepherds and kings, frost and stars, crowd our imaginations. Throughout this period, however, the readings constantly point us back to the mystery of God becoming incarnate and dwelling among us, of our receiving God’s presence, God’s shekina, as well as the breath of life which has been from before time.

This morning’s reading continues on the story-line of Jesus’ infancy, taking us to just a week after his birth when his parents, obeying Jewish law, take him to be named and sealed with one sign of God’s covenant, circumcision. At the time of being marked, the baby receives his name, ‘Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.’

And from that day on, Jesus grows into that name, God-with-us, Emmanuel. At the time Jesus was named, people thought and scriptural writings attested as well, that to call someone by name was to know the essence of that person. There are the stories of Abram and Sarai receiving new names, once God has discerned who and what they shall be for their people. Once they have their name they discover what they are to become.

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I always feel the pull between the secular observances of New Year’s Day and what we are commemorating here.

Edmund Morgan, writing in the New York Times several years ago about Ben Franklin, says: ‘Is it peculiarly American to want to make yourself a better person? Do people in other countries begin the New Year with a set of resolutions to get up earlier, cut down on drinking, stop smoking and lose weight? Do they energize themselves with books telling them how to be their own shrinks? Do people in, say, Italy or France, think they need to reform themselves annually? Surely not the French. Are bookstores in other countries filled with titles like ‘Fire up Your Life,’ ‘Dare to Win,’ ‘Your Road Map to Lifelong Happiness,’ and, yes, ‘Overcoming Anxiety for Dummies’? (2)

But who amongst us hasn’t had that tug, that yearning to start anew, to have a new name, to discover our essence? Even as a seminarian in my early thirties, I remember the powerful and hopeful experience of starting out a semester with clean, unwritten-in notebooks, and a pile of new books to read. It’s a neat experience but for most of us, once we have left academia, we have less opportunity to contemplate a new start. Life is more of an unending spiral that leaves us little opportunity to contemplate our true essence and who God wants us to become.

New Year’s and the Feast of the Holy Name both speak to that deep-down yearning to start out with a clean slate and get a new name as it were. But the new name is not about our name but how God calls us to a new way of being. God calls us back to those covenants we have made, giving us hope and courage to be who we are and who God created us to be. Through God’s calling us again and again God invites us to discover our essence.

For when God calls me by name, God is not calling me, ‘Dorothy Day,’ or ‘Rigoberta Menchu’ or the names of some of my icons of holiness, ‘Debbie’ or ‘Hannah.’ God calls me by name, Lee Alison, offering me a new way of being and a new way of living.

Each time God calls me by name, I am offered a clean slate, a new way of being. That is far more enriching than New Year’s resolutions which, in my experience, last about two weeks. The gift of being called by name is but a part of the whole wondrous gift of the incarnation that we celebrate at Christmas. Our response to God’s call is to remember the covenant we have made at baptism and answer with firm voice, ‘I will, with God’s help.’ That, too, is wondrous.


END NOTES
(1) Cited in Jesus of Nazareth, Dorothee Soelle and Luise Schottroff, eds (Louisville: WJK Press, 2002), 11.
(2) Edmund S. Morgan, ‘Poor Richard’s New Year,’ The New York Times, Tuesday, December 31, 2002, A21.