Advent Devotional by Lisa Shoemaker

Luke 1: 57-66 (NIV)

Then they made signs to his father, to find out what he would like to name the child. He asked for a writing tablet, and to everyone’s astonishment he wrote, “His name is John.” (Luke 1: 62, 63)

When our daughter Regan and her husband J.R. were expecting their second son, I remember that neither of them had settled on a name, even up to the time that he was born. I think that “Sam” and “Will” were contenders, and toward the end, “Peter” even made the short list. When our little grandson was born, I reminded J.R.—whose last name is aptly “Rockenfield”—that Christ said to Simon in Matthew 16:18, “ . . . you are Peter (which means ‘rock’), and upon this rock I will build my church, and all the powers of hell will not conquer it.” I’d like to think that’s how Peter Rockenfield acquired his name. And our eight-year-old Peter is a rock; he is solid in stature and stubborn in nature, with a will that is difficult to move. Yet he is also loving and protective—just ask his sister. 

Names are important, as Andrea Huffman reminded us in the first sermon she preached here at 2BC.

When Elizabeth defied Jewish tradition and named her son John (which means “graced by God”) instead of a relative’s name, and then when her husband agreed with her, experiencing a miraculous return of his speech, this couple expressed a confidence in God’s direction that circumvented what was expected in order to usher in something new.  A mighty collaboration of people and events was about to begin. With the advent of Elizabeth and Zechariah’s baby boy, the way would be prepared for the Christ, the Messiah, the Prince of Peace.

Names are lifelong identities that can inspire us, motivate us, or embarrass us. When John became an adult, he knew the unusual circumstances of his birth. His mere name clearly pointed to the fact that he would not follow ordinary Jewish tradition.  And that is exactly what happened—he became the voice in the wilderness, proclaiming the coming of a most extraordinary man.

Peace to us all this Christmas,

Lisa Shoemaker