August 23, 2026
Pentecost 13 / Proper 16, Year A
The Rev. Dr. Elaine Ellis Thomas
St. John’s Episcopal Church, Essex, CT
Exodus 1:8-2:10 ~ Psalm 124 ~ Romans 12:1-8 ~ Matthew 16:13-20
When the Holocaust remembrance museum was established in Jerusalem in 1952, it was called Yad Vashem which means a memorial and a name. The intention was to collect and remember the names of the 6-million Jews who died at the hands of the Nazis. The inspiration for this name was taken from the Prophet Isaiah who wrote:
I will give, in my house and within my walls,
a monument and a name
better than sons and daughters;
I will give them an everlasting name
that shall not be cut off. (Isaiah 56:5)
An everlasting name. To know and use someone’s name is more than an identity. It says that we see them, that they have worth, that they cannot be erased from memory.
God gave Abraham a name. God changed Jacob’s name to Israel. God is in the naming business.
You know who does not have a name? Pharoah. You know who else does not have a name? Pharoah’s daughter.
Moses has a name. His mother has a name – Jochebed. His sister is Miriam. And these two midwives have names – Shiphrah and Puah.
The Hebrews were thriving in Egypt, even as their enslavement became more onerous. As with all insecure and small-minded rulers, Pharoah felt threatened by their growing numbers so ordered that all the boy babies be killed. I suppose we can’t expect Pharoah to have known much about reproductive biology, because if you don’t want a bunch of babies being born, it’s really the girl babies who grow up to be child-bearing women that you need to be worried about, but it was the boys he was worried about, the ones who would grow up to be warriors. He was so worried, in fact, that he personally ordered these midwives to do away with them. The idea seems to have been that, if they killed the baby before it was fully out of the birth canal, they could say it was stillborn and not be accused of murder.
And in the first recorded act of civil disobedience in all of scripture, the midwives did not comply. As midwives, Shiphrah and Puah were responsible for bringing life into this world, not snuffing it out. And so, they made up a story. Or did they? It’s a little ambiguous, and if these Hebrew mothers are really that strong, it would have been even more worrisome for Pharoah. Maybe they told the truth or maybe they lied, but they were God-fearing women, and they did not comply. And God rewarded them.
It’s worth noting, I think, that the great theologian of the early church, St. Augustine, thought these women lied and were rewarded only for helping Israel, but that lying is wrong in all cases. Gregory the Great thought this, too, believing they got their reward on earth but certainly would not be rewarded in heaven. At least Martin Luther got this one right, recognizing that the pressure of living under tyranny justified disobeying an unjust order.
I think we can safely say that telling a lie to Pharoah is of a lesser category of wrong than following his murderous order, no?
Shiphrah and Puah, these named midwives, were blessed by God with families of their own. Thwarted, Pharoah comes up with a new plan, ordering all the Egyptians to toss the boy babies of the Israelites into the Nile. In an ironic twist, Moses’s mother sort of complies, placing him in the water but where she knew he would be found, and the unnamed daughter of Pharoah takes him out of the water. Another act of civil disobedience whatever her motivation might have been. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Traveling along the road with his companions, Jesus wants to know who people think he is. What is his name? Is he John the Baptist or Elijah or Jeremiah or some other named prophet? And Peter responds with titles that are used as names – Messiah, Son of the Living God. It is reminiscent of the prophecy from way back in Isaiah when the name given is not a traditional name, but a title:
For a child has been born for us,
a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders,
and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
(Isaiah 9:6)
Jesus knew that his name, his identity, was an important thing for his immediate circle to understand. Sure, the demons all seemed to know who he was and the Canaanite woman who called him Son of David, but if his closest friends didn’t know, how would they tell others about him?
Even the location of this scene is about names. It was originally called Panias, taken from the name for the Roman god Pan. Then it was named for its local ruler, Philip, son of Herod the Great. Caesarea was tacked on to honor the Roman ruler, whichever Caesar happened to be in power at that time.
This Jesus stands in opposition, in contrast, to all of them, and Peter and the others better get that sooner rather than later. When Jesus asks him the direct question, “But who do you say that I am?,” I can imagine Peter’s mind racing – not one of the prophets, not Pan, not Caesar, not Philip – before the lightbulb goes off and he wildly waves is arms, “Oooh, oooh, I know. You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God!” And Jesus gives him the gold star, the keys of the kingdom. Now we all know that in the next breath, Peter blows this moment of glory, but for now, let’s just rest in the knowledge that Peter got the name right. The Christ. The Anointed One.
By what name are we known? Sure, I’m Elaine and you’re John and you’re Mary and you’re Brian. But what does that name signify? Paul tells the Romans not to be conformed to this world, so when people see us, do they see someone who knows who our Messiah is? Do they see someone who is like everyone else they meet, a typical resident of this country in the 21st century? Or does our name evoke an image of Shiphrah and Puah who refused to go along with an evil ruler just because he held power? Do people think of kindness and generosity when they hear our name? Compassion? Cheerfulness?
Jesus asked the disciples to tell him who people said that he was. Their answers were not bad, they just missed the mark. When people name us, as individuals and as the people of St. John’s, who do they say we are? Do they see people being transformed more and more into the likeness of Christ or into the likeness of the world? Are we being conformed to Pharoah or to Christ? It’s a question worth pondering when the world around us seems to grow courser, uglier, and more difficult with each passing day.
When we gather here, we are shedding the identity the world might try to place on us and are reminded through Word and Sacrament who and whose we are: the beloved children of God. That’s our name: Beloved.