The Child with Four Names
a sermon based on Isaiah 9:1-7
by Dr. David Rogne

Long ago in Egypt a slave girl held in her arms a newborn infant for whom there seemed no hope. The oppressive taskmasters required that the child should die. The girl framed a floating cradle, put the boy in it, and pushed him out on the waters of the Nile to survive or to perish, she knew not which. The child survived, and Moses grew to challenge the forces of oppression and led his people out of bondage.

Far more recently, at the opening of the nineteenth century, in our own country, a child was born in a rough cabin on Nolan's Creek in Kentucky. Nobody would have expected much to come from a child with such limited opportunities, but Abraham Lincoln went on to lead his people to abolish the practice of slavery.

Over and over again in the history of the race, when there has been some great job to do, God saw to it that a baby was born who could bring it to pass. Often, decisive births that can affect the course of history occur in an out-of-the-way place.

In the eighth century before Christ, a child was born who was to be king of his people. It was a perilous time. There were powerful and hostile neighbors. The inhabitants of his tiny country were filled with fear; the prospects for them were gloomy. When the young man acceded to the throne, the court prophet, Isaiah, wrote a coronation poem for the event. He suggested that the young monarch had just been born, for as a king was crowned it was assumed that he became a son of God. Without ever nam­ing the king, Isaiah proclaims that the king's reign will have an impact far and wide. So significant will be his reign, that he can be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. It is assumed that the one Isaiah had in mind was King Hezekiah of Judah. While Hezekiah was a good king, nothing about his reign merited the praise anticipated by the prophet, so people have looked elsewhere for the fulfill­ment of his words

Some seven hundred years later a baby was born of a lowly mother in an obscure village called Bethlehem, on the far fringes of a powerful empire. It would have been madness to believe that such a child could ever have any impact on a world enamored of wealth and power and position. Yet, we have gathered today, almost two thousand years later, in the name of that child. As far as Christians are concerned, God did in that simple village what he had always been doing. He was raising up a child to do what needed to be done. There are many people who feel that those noble words of Isaiah uttered so many centuries before, are more fulfilled by this child, born in a manger, than by anyone else who has lived before or since. Let us think about what kind of a message Isaiah was trying to give as he de­scribed the coming of the child with four names

The first name Isaiah uses reminds us of the need in each of us for inner peace.

In our age of anxiety we have learned the need for counseling. Most of us are aware that there are tensions within us which threaten our stability and sometimes pull us apart. We sometimes ask ourselves, "Why did I do that?" and we don't know the answer. Alfred Adler, the psychotherapist, said that each of us is crippled at an early age by at least three cripplers: a feeling of inferiority, parental neglect and parental pampering. These keep us from knowing who we are and from accepting ourselves. To under­stand ourselves, we sometimes need the help of a counselor. A sign in the office of a Los Angeles psychiatrist reads: "Specializing in people who have no idea who they are."

Isaiah says that God will provide someone who is a Wonderful Counselor, someone who will help us to figure out who we are. The 1982 film "Chariots of Fire" tells of the events that led to the refusal by Eric Liddell to run on Sunday in the 1924 Olympic Games, and of his subsequent vic­tory in the 400 meter race. In a biography of Liddell, Sally Magnusson tells how she was at first skeptical about Liddell. Everyone who knew Liddell had nothing but good to say of him. Surely, Magnusson thought, there must be feet of clay to be revealed somewhere. She did not find those defects, but instead, she found a man who worked at his faith, a man who gave his life as a missionary to China, a man who over and over was described by friends as Christ-like. Through his devotion to Jesus Christ he had discovered who he was, what he ought to do, and the courage to do it. Jesus is that kind of a counselor, one who helps us to know who we are--children of God, erring perhaps, but loved anyway.

The second name Isaiah uses speaks of the desire of each of us to be associated with power.

We tend to focus on military might as the way to exert our will in the world. The lesson of Scripture is that God often works through different means. Max Brown Vestal recently wrote these sobering words:

Strong, tall and sure

Goliath stood,

Well-armed with the latest

Military science had devised...

A long-range missile,

Called a spear,

And a short-range missile,

Called a sword

And an anti-missile shield,

So large that it was borne by another...

Confident and sure, Goliath stood...

Only a stone's throw from disaster.

In Isaiah's day, too, the focus was on military might, but he wanted to re­mind people that God is at work in other ways. So Isaiah speaks of a child who will be called the Mighty God, or perhaps more accurately, Divine Hero, someone chosen by God. But when God chooses a hero it isn't al­ways for military reasons. The year 1809 was a discouraging one in European history. Napoleon was dominant. His battles and victories dominated the news. But there were things going on in 1809 that didn't make news at all. In that year Lincoln was born, and Gladstone, and Ten­nyson, and Edgar Allen Poe, and Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Mendelssohn and Cyrus McCormick, the inventor of the harvester. At the very least, one must say that the world was not as hopeless as it looked. God was choosing God's heroes.

In the first century it looked as though Caesar had it all on his side. But a baby was born who set a new way of life in motion. The theologian, Oscar Cullman, has taken an image from World War II to describe God's work in Christ. He likens the advent of Jesus to D-Day. The decisive battle with evil was won in his life, death and resurrection. V-Day has not yet come. Therefore, we live between D-Day and V-Day, not in the fulfillment of victory but in the assurance of victory. Christians live in the expectation that we are fighting and working and living in a cause that is destined to prevail. Our cause is led by a hero of God's choosing.

The third name Isaiah uses reminds us that the human race is intended to live as a family.

Unfortunately, we have learned to distinguish ourselves from one another by focusing on our differences. We focus on religious differences and create the divisions which tear people apart, as in Iraq and Afghanistan. We emphasize our political differences and create one-sided tyrannies, such as exist in North Korea. We focus on eth­nic differences and create diabolical structures such as separate people in African nations.

To such people as we are, Isaiah proclaims the coming of one who may be called Everlasting Father. What he is describing is someone who can unite us into one family and help us to focus on those things that unite us. Mar­tin Luther King said, "I have a dream", a dream of black and white chil­dren playing together unhindered by racial difference. Those who fol­lowed him shared that dream, and they sang "We shall overcome "-not overcome each other but overcome what divides us.

A few years ago two women stood on the fringes of a peace rally in Belfast cynically jeering and laughing at the idea of a peace march. Both had lost their husbands in the sectarian vio­lence that divided their land. They were filled with bitterness. One was Protestant, the other was Catholic. They were shocked to discover that, despite their differences, they could agree on the stupidity of the peace march. As they watched, their attention was drawn to an old man holding high a beautifully carved dove with the word "peace" chiseled into the wood below. As they talked with him, they learned that he was looking for someone to carry the dove to all the peace marches. He was too old

and ill to make the journey. Yet, he wanted the dove to be carried on high as a symbol of his forgiveness of the death of his son, who had been shot in the sectarian violence two weeks before. The two women were so moved by the compassion of this stranger that they agreed to bear witness in his place. Their participation in the march that day was tinged with a hope that became a fierce commitment. They carried the dove across Northern Ireland to every peace rally. In the process they became firm friends and their example gave other people the courage to stand together for peace and justice. On the night of his betrayal, Jesus prayed for his followers that they might be one, even as he and the Father were one. And if there is one Father, there is one family.

The fourth name Isaiah uses focuses on our desire to live in an era of peace among the nations.

The history of our race seems to be one of unending conflict. I have books in my own library with such titles as "The Gallic Wars", "The Punic Wars", "The Iliad", which memorializes the Trojan War, a six volume set by Churchill, entitled "The Second World War" and others of similar ma­terial. War punctuates every era of human history and makes us wonder if it can be any other way.

As Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was listening to the ringing of the Christmas bells in Cambridge, Massachusetts in 1863, deep feelings and memories began to stir within him. It had been only six months since the Battle of Gettysburg: The nation was mourning the death of so many loved ones during the Civil War. Longfellow's own young son had been wounded. His thoughts turned to peace. The words from Luke "...peace on earth, goodwill toward men," inspired him to write his well-beloved poem:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old familiar carol play,

And wild and sweet

the words repeat

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men

And in despair, I bowed my head;

“There is no peace on earth,” I said,

“For hate is strong

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men!”

 

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep,

"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.

The wrong shall fail,

The right prevail,

With peace on earth, good will to men!"

The child called the Prince of Peace came to reconcile us to God and to one another.

To leave this child with four names back in Bethlehem, however, is to act as though he never lived. He is the decisive child to be born into the world. But whether or not anyone is decisive depends on us. Johann Se­bastian Bach may have been decisive in the realm of music, but there are many people to whom Bach might just as well never have been born. How decisive Christ is for the world depends on what he is in your life and in mine.

The twentieth century mystic, Howard Thurman, offers good words for a worship service on Christmas Sunday, and with his words I close:

When the song of the angels is stilled,

When the star in the sky is gone,

When the kings and princes are home

When the shepherds are back with their flock,

The work of Christmas begins:

To find the lost,

To heal the broken,

To feed the hungry,

To release the prisoner,

To rebuild the nations,

To bring peace among sisters and brothers,

To make music in the heart.

Let these be the ways the child with four names is born in us today.