A new name.

You know what it’s like: someone says your name and their voice rings with true-blue dedication. You can tell they respect you and care about you. But you also know the derogatory hit—the inclement remark that twists your name into a derisive moniker. Or even worse, they don’t use your name but put a label on an imperfect part of your character, your clumsiness, or some defective trait that they seem to enjoy seeing in you. 

What does that label do? Some can shrug it off; some can ignore the snarky label. Still others crumple inside when a negative label becomes an identity. An inappropriate or scarring label can cause a flood of emotion that rolls over confidence and dissolves it like a sandcastle at high tide.

I had a label as a kid; “Apples.” I hated it. I got the label from the kids on the bus because every day I had an apple in my lunch. It was humorous to them but personal to me. When they spoke that name, it built up an identity in me that was like a wall. It separated me from ever knowing them as peers. I sensed I was in another realm, on another team, or at least somehow separate from the rest. It was a type of open wound on my self image that never fully healed in childhood. I tried to ignore it; but every utterance of that label was like a sucker punch. And even though I had long ago stopped bringing apples for my lunch, the label carried through even to high school.  

In the lesson for this coming Sunday, we are speaking about a woman who had a label: “unclean.” People may not have said the word, but they thought it; and so did she. It was a label that came from a well-meaning Old Testament law that was designed to drive home the point that we all need God: we are all “unclean.” But, regrettably for her, the label that was meant to be relieved by God’s provision in the law could not be washed away or erased by time - her condition was not temporary. The bleeding that caused her to be called “unclean” had persisted for twelve solid years. The temporary classification of “unclean” had become her permanent condition—or so it seemed.

What label did Jesus give her? He called her “Daughter.” Her bleeding did not separate her from Jesus or place her among the untouchables. When she secretly touched Jesus’ garment in a busy crowd, she had hopes for a silent cure. Jesus was fully aware of her secretive approach. Her condition brought a depth of concern and connection that must have been unexpected. Jesus spoke to her as a beloved member of his family—he spoke to her as his prized daughter. And Jesus publicly confirmed and relieved a twelve year ache: “Will this unpleasant condition be removed? Would anyone ever know I’m free from this affliction? Will my label ever change?” Jesus told the whole blooming crowd, “Daughter, your faith has healed you.” 

We don’t fully grasp how amazing Jesus’ words to her are. She had been under the weight of this oppressive physical condition that caused social isolation and personal embarrassment. Jesus could have let her slip away into the crowd without notice. That would have been wonderful. But there was more to accomplish on her behalf: she needed to know that God thought of her in a much more endearing way. How much better could you get than to be called Jesus’ Daughter. Plus, Jesus notes the depth and the persistence of her faith. He was saying that her trust is the thing that delivered God’s power. Jesus gave her status and recognition in one fell swoop—that’s the kind of identity makeover we all need.

Here it is: You will be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will bestow.// Isaiah 62:2b

Blessings to you in the name of Jesus,
Pastor Al