Have you ever had this experience? You're in a crowded room at a party or a gathering. There's a lot of noise going on and it's hard to focus on all the conversations that surround you. Then, from out of the general conversation, a voice sticks out: someone says your name. They're not talking to you, and they may be across the room, but there's something about hearing your own name that draws your attention like nothing else. We spend a lifetime listening to people call us by name. From childhood we learn to define who we are by how people say our names –tones of love or anger, pleasure or exasperation. It all goes deep into us and makes the sound of our name one of the most emotionally evocative sounds in our world. When someone says our name, it creates a kind of intimacy, a connection. Just think about the last time you heard someone you love say your name with tenderness. Remember how it made you feel. Someone knows you, accepts you, loves you.
Names have a power to them, a kind of magic. When we say someone name, we bring to mind everything that we know about that person. It's a kind of shorthand for them. You know their name, and to a greater or lesser extent, you know who they are. Names serve to define many things for us and about us: a sense of self, a sense of relationship, a knowledge of who we are in the community. Our names define us and they connect us with each other.
Almost all societies have a thing about names. In our Judeo/Christian tradition, names are potent things. They're an indication of identity; they mean something, often something quite specific. We are usually very aware of what our names mean an how that meaning relates to who we really are. Karla, for example, is a feminine for of Karl, meaning 'man'. Well I guess that's a pretty basic identity..... In scripture, people's names also mean things –Jonathan means “gift from God” Daniel: “God is my judge” etc. And sometimes a name could be changed, often, in Scripture, after an encounter with God. Jacob (Held by the heel) became Israel (God wrestler). Simon (to hear) became Peter (Rock). Saul (asked of God) became Paul (Small). These name changes were not trivial acts. Even now a change of name has enormous significance –some people take a new name when they feel it says more about who they really are. Even a name change when a woman marries can have a profound effect on her sense of who she is. What you are called reflects who you are.
If our names have power, it's not surprising that the name of God also has power. We call God Father, Mother, Creator, Sustainer, Lord and many others. We know that none of these names can express what God really is. God is profoundly unknowable. But they can suggest some of God attributes. Jesus also has many names: Counselor, teacher, healer, son of God. We name him in this way because it tells us at least something about our relationship with him. In the same way, our own names say something about who we are. As God transcends the names we give, so our own reality transcends our names and even our ability to know who we really are. Only the one who created us truly knows us. Only our maker sees us as we are and calls us by our true Name.
In today's gospel reading, there are many profound ideas, material for many sermons. John's gospel never lacks depth! But in preparing this sermon, the idea that struck me most was the image of Jesus as shepherd and his talk of naming. He tells us that he knows his sheep and calls them by name. Sheep aren't usually very bright, but they do know something very important. They know the sound of their shepherd's voice. They listen for him to call their name. They know he will show them the rich green pasture they need to live and grow.
What does this image tell us about our own relationship with Jesus? Not only does he know us, as might be expected from the risen Lord, but we also know him. He knows our Name –that which symbolized who we truly are, and we know his Voice, the voice that speaks our name in tones of love and surety, the voice that helps us understand and define ourselves. Hearing that voice speak our name shows us who we really are: known, beloved, the sheep of his pasture. There is an intimacy in this relationship, and also a dependence. We trust the son of the Living God to show us how go in and out freely, how to have abundant life.
In our context, it's not always easy to see what it looks like to have “abundant life”. What is our green pasture? We know that it probably doesn't have much to do with owning a big house and a fancy car (at least, I hope no one thinks that's what it means!). Abundant life has to do with living a life the way it's meant to be lived... in love and charity with one's neighbour. The reading from Acts that we heard today speaks about such a life: a life of study and fellowship, of hospitality and prayer. Here was a community that knew what it meant to life the life God wants for us: peaceful and joyful and open hearted. The writer of Acts tells us that “awe came upon everyone because of the wonders and signs being done”. All that was done was done with a generous heart. These were people who knew themselves known and loved. These were people that heard the Voice of the shepherd call them by name; these were the ones who spoke to each other in the same voice with words of love and encouragement.
We may wonder about our own ability to hear that voice. In this world of pain, greed and anger, where is our strong shepherd? Where do we hear the voice of Jesus? We can only look to the Body of Christ. We listen for the voice of our shepherd whenever we turn to each other in our need. It sounds like an enormous responsibility --to show Christ to our neighbour, and it is. But luckily for us, it's possible; it's even normal and natural. Many of you have been speaking with Christ's voice for years. I know because I've heard you.
As you know, next week will be my last Sunday with you here at the Cathedral. It's been a wonderful time. In some ways it seems only yesterday that I stood at the chancel for the first time, marveling at the choreography of clergy and servers. In other ways, it seems like I've been here forever and known you dear kind-hearted people for a very long time. When I first arrived, I was a stranger, hesitant, hopeful, awkward. It's hard to prepare oneself for service in a cathedral! If ever someone needed to hear the voice of a shepherd, it was me. But there you were, welcoming me in. You were the shepherd's steadying voice. Everywhere I turned, there were new words of welcome, there was generosity of spirit, there was laughter, understanding, affection. And I knew I could turn to you not only for affection and understanding, but for good constructive criticism. The voice of the shepherd sometimes has to be firm. But I always knew that you were acting out of a sense of love and responsibility, and I appreciate it deeply.
I've learned to love you all, and most especially those with whom I've had the most contact –my Lay Committee, the Dean and all the clergy with whom I have been honoured to serve. And especially I've learned to love my supervisor Joyce – my counselor, my teacher, my friend, my sister. So many of the the names I give her are the same ones we use to name Our Lord. This isn't a coincidence. I'm sure, knowing her as you do, that you can understand the reason I use them, and how appropriate they are.
I'll miss you all horribly when I leave, but I'm more than comforted to know that long after I've left, here in the Cathedral your voice, like the voice of Our Lord himself, goes on, welcoming in the stranger, speaking words of comfort to the lost, rejoicing with the joyful. I've been blessed by my time with you. May you continue to be a blessing to each other, and a witness to the love of Christ.
Amen
Karla Holmes