June 22, 2025

Pentecost 2 Lectionary 12

Luke 8:26-39

Epiphany, Winnipeg

It was the first night of my first year of University, at Camrose Lutheran College. Forty or so young men, ranging in age from just turned seventeen to twenty two, from places like Camrose and Edmonton and Calgary and Penticton, from places with more exotic rural Alberta names like Bawlf and Tofield and New Sarepta, and just to add some interest there were a few from Sweden and one from New Brunswick. A few of us knew one or two others, but for the most part we were all strangers. All we had were first impressions, and you know how much first impressions really tell us about anyone. Not much.

So forty or so of us sat there nervously, and the first thing the RAs did – they were the second or third year students who were helping guide us through those first few days – the first thing they did was get us to play the Name Game. We were sitting in a circle all around the lounge, and the first person had to say their name. The second person had to say that person’s name and then their own, and the third person had to say the names of the first and second and then their own, and so on until the last person had to say the name of thirty-nine people before they got to say their own. It was awful, sort of, although there were a lot of laughs along the way. I was maybe twenty-fourth in the circle, and to this day I really really don’t like ice-breaker games. BUT by the time that game was over I knew the names of forty or so people whose names were completely unknown half an hour ago. Instead of those first impression where I knew their clothes or their hair or maybe their music or their tics or their skin, I knew their names. And Todd and Jayesh and Kelly and Ernie and Rob and the other Rob and Ulf knew mine.

Jesus steps off the boat on to land and a man from the city meets him. We just met him a few minutes ago too. What’s his name? We hear that he has demons, and he’s lived naked among the graves for a long long time. He’s been put in chains to be restrained, he’s been held under guard to be kept under control, but the demons overpower the chains and he can’t be restrained; he’s just driven off into the wilderness of the landscape or the wilderness of his own tortured life. He meets Jesus, and Jesus says, “What is your name?” He replies, “My name is Legion.”

Legion is not his real name. Anyone at that time, in early first century Palestine, would know what “Legion” means. Their land that we now call Israel and Palestine was occupied by the Roman Empire, and the Roman Army kept the colonies under control, and the Roman army was divided into groups called….Legions. A Legion was a division in the army of around 5000 soldiers. So when Jesus asks a man, “What is your name?”, and the answer is “Legion,” it’s not really his name; it’s just that he has a legion of demons. The message might be sneaky but clear: this man has been taken over by a Legion of demons, like the land has been taken over and controlled by legions and armies, and Jesus is no more on the side of empires and their armies than he is on the side of demons who drive someone into the wilderness to live among the tombs.

To the Romans, the land that they occupy does not have a name that matters, whether that is Judah or Galilee or Gedara where this story takes place. It’s just a place to be dominated and controlled; kept in line by legions. The land has no name of its own.

Just like the one Jesus meets there on the shore. We don’t hear his name, we know nothing about him except that he doesn’t have his own life, he’s driven by demons, he’s dominated and controlled like an occupied country, and he doesn’t even get a name. He’s just Legion.

He’s probably been given many names, though. At another time someone might ask what his name is and he might just answer, “They call me crazy.”

What is your name? They call me “That One Who Lives in the Tombs.”

What is your name? “They call me “Put Him in Chains and Keep Him Quiet.”

What is your name? “I guess my name is I’ve Got a Demon.”

What is your name? There are five thousand names people could call him, but we never hear what his name is. He only gets named by the powers that control him. All kinds of names. A Legion of names.

Names matter. Not the names everyone decides to call you or me or anyone, but the names that are our own.

Remember in the summer of 2020, after George Floyd was murdered, when the Black Lives Matter movement became so visible? Remember what one of the slogans was when people gathered? “Say their names!” The real names of real people matter. They’re not just statistics or victims or a problem. Say their names.

We lose a loved one and we say their names – in prayers and memories and sermons and stories and laughter and tears. Their names. When a baby is born the first or maybe second or third thing we tell people, right off the top, is their name. We baptize a beloved of God: Marla Jane, Johann Arndt, Dorothea Yvonne, Scott Richard, Emily Alanna, Stewart Allan, you are baptized.

We meet someone, and we give them our names and ask them theirs. We might have to ask again a time or three or eleven, but we ask because we know that their name matters.

What is your name? Say it out loud. What is the name of someone else you see? Say it out loud (and if you’re drawing a blank you and just say mine: Paul.) Maybe the name you claim isn’t the name given you at birth, or it’s a middle or second or third name, but it’s the name you choose and it matters.

You know what it’s like when someone calls you by name. What is your name? It’s not Legion. It’s not whatever name someone else chooses to give you or insists on calling you. What is your name? It matters.

Jesus meets this man who says his name is Legion, and then the legion of demons leave the one they’ve tormented and they go into the pigs, and the pigs run into the lake. And the name Legion is drowned along with them.

We still don’t hear what his name is, but now when the people in the city and the country find him clothed and in his right mind, and they ask him his name, maybe he’ll just smile and say, “My name is Elmer. My name is not “Occupied” or “Crazy” or “Lives in Tombs,” or “Stay Away from That Guy.” I’ve got a name, and it’s Elmer.”

And then when he tells them what Jesus has done, maybe he’ll say, “Jesus gave me back my name. For such a long time someone else answered for me and said that my name is “Legion.” But Jesus gave me back my name. And my name is – here, say your name.” And that person’s name is – here, say their name.

What names are you know by? We have so many names, so many things they call us. Some of the names sit well. Her name is Smart. His name is Generous. That one over there: Their name is Witty. Your name is Considerate, or your name might be Gorgeous, or they might say that you are to be called Really Got It Together. Good names, but it can be so exhausting keeping up to a good name.

Sometimes the names we’re given aren’t so good. “You shall be named Obnoxious,” or we will call you, “A Little Bit Awkward.” Or someone will call you, “Doesn’t Look Like They Should.” Or maybe you name yourself those very names, even if you try to stop….

I’ve heard people in prison say that it feels like they’re only know by one name: “Criminal,” as though that’s the only thing they’ve ever done. Or the market sometimes knows us by only one name: Consumer. Or politics might know us by only one name: Voter.

What is your name? There are so many. A Legion of Names.

But what is your name?

Your name is Beloved Child of God. God is not waiting for you to get rid of all those other names before God will love you with that new name. And God is not waiting for any of us to make a good name for ourselves, or get the right name, before God names us Beloved Child of God. Life gives us so many names. Cyclist? Addict? Lover? Cree? Yoruba? Newfie? Diabetic? Lutheran? Gentile? Jew? Vegetarian, Married, on the Spectrum? PhD? Manly Man, Grade 8 Education, Retired, Gender Fluid, Climbing the Ladder, Unemployed? Life gives us so many names, but your name, my name, our name, is beloved child of God.

Take that name with you. And tell what Jesus has done: Given us back our name, named us Beloved Child of God. Set us free.