Be Thy Name

So, what is it we’re supposed to hallow? God’s name.

Hallowed be thy name. When I think about the phrase, I interpret it as a statement of awe. Hallowed be thy name! An exclamation that would gush out of a person’s being when they encountered God, similar to the way a marvelous sunset catches the breath and evokes a response of “Wow! Beautiful is that sky!” Hallowed be thy name!

But I’ve encountered people who explain the phrase as a prayer request. They approach it from two different perspectives. One involves voicing a passive wish: May your name be kept hallowed among people. The other asks God to be a bit more proactive in the hallowing process: May you hallow your name, O Lord!

But what is it about a name that deserves such special attention?

Names identify us. They explain to other people who we are. My name is Karen. It isn’t a unique name. The year I was born, it was one of the top ten most popular names for girls. I’ve gone through life among a host of people who wear this same label. But, within the circle of my immediate family and my closest friends it still sufficiently identifies me. In this context, I’m just Karen, and other people who happen to share the name need to be identified with more information: Karen from work, Karen from next door, Karen with a last name.

During the past few years, my name has become entangled with unflattering associations. The collective cleverness of internet users decided that the name Karen would be a convenient stereotype to identify middle-aged or older females who are white, racist, self-entitled, obnoxious busybodies. I want to object, but then I wonder whether my age, generation, and race simply make me blind to offenses I’ve committed. When I hear my name used to identify behaviors that would make me feel ashamed, I want to protest, but doing so would just reinforce the label. So, I keep my mouth shut and pretend that people know the difference between the invention and the reality. I sometimes wonder if God feels a similar type of perplexity when people misuse his name.

Names also define us and place our relationships in context. For example, consider my childhood friend, Pamela. Well, our teachers called her Pamela. I called her Pam. So did all our friends. Her parents and older siblings called her Pammy, but that version of her name — an endearment tossed about so casually in her home — was out of place on the lips of anyone but immediate family.

My own name didn’t lend itself to much variety, and I felt the absence of a nickname. No one ever coined a private, cozy moniker to use in special rapport with me. Once I grumbled about this to my friend Robert. I got no sympathy. Not even a shred. He hated it when people misused or adulterated his name. Bob, Bobby, Rob. Anything but Robert. And he was Robert. No question about it. He admired my name because it wasn’t susceptible to such corruption.

And that’s the point. Names and how they are used reveal a lot about the one named and that person’s relationship with the namer.

People are also identified in more ways than just names. Titles expand and clarify who people are and the relationships among them. When I married my husband, I decided to take the title Mrs. with his last name. Many people make different decisions that reflect varying ways of evaluating how they want to be identified. Some of the issues involve societal expectations, legal hassles, professional continuity, heritage, individualism, collectivism, racial or ethnic associations, perceived status, or even promotional or iconoclastic tendencies.

Other designations aren’t specifically chosen. They are bestowed as the result of a specific relationship or they are earned by my actions. My children call me mom. Serving in various other capacities, I’ve been called by many titles depending on the work underway: wife, co-worker, editor, writer, member, chairperson, volunteer, and so on.

Sometimes mail arrives at my home addressed to “Occupant.” I answer to that name, although usually not with much attention. Occasionally seed catalogs come with their beautiful pictures of plants. They’re addressed “To the gardener at…” Gardner? With my black thumb? They aren’t for me. That’s not my name. They’re intended for my husband. “Resident.” “Concerned citizen.” Neither of us pays much attention to these generic salutations. “To the book lover at…” Yes, that got my attention.

In Hebrew, words used to refer to God included El or Elohim or El Shaddai (God almighty) or Adonai (lord; master) and other similar terms, but these were not names. These were titles.

Yet, God also has a name, a unique name that belongs to God alone. Translated, it means roughly “I Am” (Exodus 3:14). In ancient times, the Jewish people kept God’s name so holy they didn’t speak it aloud. When they wrote it down, it was represented by four characters in the Hebrew alphabet. This special four-letter representation itself has a fancy name: Tetragrammaton. In English, the four letters are often given as JHVH or YHWH, and the most commonly used pronunciations given to them are Jehovah or Yahweh. But these are approximations, guesses.

There are people who feel comfortable using versions of this holy name. I am not among them. If we’re declaring that God’s name is hallowed, or if we’re asking him to hallow it, I hesitate to speak it carelessly, especially if I might mispronounce it.

In the New Testament, even Jesus’s name is used sparingly among the people who address him. Most often they rely on titles, Rabbi, Teacher, Lord, or Master. Narrative portions of the text identify him by name when describing things Jesus did.

Here are some specific instances where Jesus was directly addressed by his name:

Demons:

• What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Mark 1:24 and Luke 4:34
• What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Mark 5:7; Luke 8:28

People pleading for mercy:

• Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me. Mark 10:47; Luke 18:34
• Jesus, Master, have mercy on us. Luke 17:13

People who were dying, literally:

• Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom (spoken by the thief on the cross). Luke 23:42
• Lord, Jesus, receive my spirit (spoken by Stephen as he was martyred) Acts 7:59

And, Pilate or whoever else may have inscribed the sign that was hung over Jesus when he was crucified:

• This is Jesus the King of the Jews. Matthew 27:37
• Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews. John 19:19

But, although many people who had interacted with him seemed to prefer to use Jesus’s titles, his name permeates the New Testament and examples of doing things in his name, through his name, or because of his name abound.

Some people argue that with Jesus’s advent we’re closer to being buddies with God, and therefore, have the right to use his name with abandon. But I notice that Jesus himself, in teaching his disciples to pray, addressed God with a title (Father) and prayed: Hallowed be thy name.

There are a host of titles that describe many of God’s and Jesus’s attributes, actions, and relationships. Perhaps the most frequently used is Lord, which honors God’s power and authority. The list that follows includes some that are especially meaningful to me. It may be that other titles are more meaningful to you (see “Titles and Characteristics that Describe God,” at the end of this book, for a longer list). The dozen included here provide an indication of the various ways I have stood in awe before God. They help me focus my prayer to God in a way that identifies God and still hallows God’s name:

• Abba (Mark 14:36)
• Comforter (Psalm 23:4; Isaiah 51:12)
• Creator/Maker (Genesis 1:1; Genesis 14:19)
• Fortress (Psalm 59:9; Psalm 91:2)
• Hiding Place (Psalm 32:7)
• Hope (Psalm 71:5; 1Timothy 1:1)
• Immanuel (Isaiah 7:14; Matthew 1:23)
• Light (Psalm 18:28; Isaiah 49:6; John 8:12; Revelation 21:23)
• Majesty (Psalm 68:34; Hebrews 1:3)
• Master (Jeremiah 3:14; Luke 5:5)
• Teacher (Psalm 143:10; John 3:2)
• Wonderful Counselor (Isaiah 9:6)

All these titles and more belong to God. And, to the Son. And to the Holy Spirit. Let us speak them and hallow God’s name.