More than forty years ago, our professor of theology at Wycliffe College in Toronto was Oliver O'Donovan. Professor O'Donovan believed that every word of Scripture, without exception, was the very word of God. And so it was, at his behest, that late one Wednesday afternoon, we theological students found ourselves in chapel reciting Psalm 58, an imprecatory psalm referring to vengeance and "untimely birth" that is normally excluded from Anglican worship in its entirety. Not just reciting it, but singing it, in a particularly ugly modern translation to a discordant and unsingable melody dreamt up by our new College organist. Worse yet, we were joined (that particular Wednesday afternoon) by the College's Board of Trustees. Awkward for all concerned; uncomfortable; cringe-worthy; certainly socially unacceptable; but Professor O'Donovan believed that every word of Scripture is the word of God.

Sometimes it seems to me that whoever selected the lectionary readings was not convinced that every word of Scripture is equally the word of God. It makes me uncomfortable when the lectionary skips over verses, makes the text into a patchwork with pieces missing, tries to tell us that there are some things we won't want, or don't need to hear. Today, for instance, the Old Testament lesson is Nehemiah 8, verses 1--3, 5--6, and 8--10. My first instinct is to wonder why verses 4 and 7 failed to make the cut.

The year is 444 BCE, give or take; the month, September, "the first day of the seventh month," and the place, Jerusalem. For the previous hundred and forty years, God's people have been in exile, ever since their defeat by Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon. Now they have permission to return home, but the process of repatriation has been painfully slow. Many families simply stay put. By now, in Nehemiah 8, most of those who wanted to return have already done so. The walls of Jerusalem and its holy Temple have finally been rebuilt, although there are no houses, and few people actually live within the city walls.

If I had been in charge, I would have summoned the surveyors, organized the architects, corralled all the building contractors. I would have drawn up a master plan for reconstruction. But Ezra the scribe does something else, something more important by far. He calls an assembly, stands on a wooden platform, and starts to read from the word of God. That is his master plan. He even arranges to have it translated, because most people now speak Aramaic, the language of exile, rather than Hebrew, the language of Scripture. For seven days, he reads from early morning until mid-day, when the sun gets too hot for them all to keep going.

Of course, we already know all this from the lectionary reading. So what's missing? Verse four: 

The scribe Ezra stood on a wooden platform that had been made for the purpose; and beside him stood Mattithiah, Shema, Anaiah, Uriah, Hilkiah, and Maaseiah on his right hand; and Pedaiah, Mishael, Malchijah, Hashum, Hash-baddanah, Zechariah, and Meshullam on his left hand.

And verse seven: 

Also Yeshua, Bani, Sherebiah, Jamin, Akkub, Shabbethai, Hodiah, Maaseiah, Kelita, Azariah, Jozabad, Hanan, Pelaiah, the Levites, helped the people to understand the law, while the people remained in their places.

What's missing are three lists of six, seven, and thirteen names, respectively: 25 names in all, or 25 with one repetition. Whoever put the lectionary together probably thought they were doing us a favour, because some of those names are real tongue-twisters, and don't add much to the story.

Or do they? This is the climax of the book. They've rebuilt the walls, they've rebuilt the Temple, and now at last, they read the Word of God. Before they go on with all the little details of their daily lives, they read from the Book of the Law of Moses because they have been in exile so long that they have forgotten how to live as the people of God.

One thing they haven't forgotten is that failing to live as the people of God is what sent their great-great grandparents into exile in the first place. So when they hear the words of the covenant that they have neglected and forgotten over their many years of exile, the people weep bitter, bitter tears. Nehemiah himself, the governor of the city, and Ezra the scribe, his second in command, have to rebuke them, order them not to weep or grieve, because this is meant to be a day for celebration. They must celebrate their return to faithfulness, not grieve the infidelities of the past, or even the possibility that they might one day wander into disobedience all over again.

Those 26 people stand with Ezra as he reads; some of them translate from Hebrew into Aramaic; they explain the meaning of God's word. Some simply wipe away tears. This is where those two missing verses come into play. However desperate their situation may have been, however distant their understanding, the people in exile have never fully forgotten their God. Those verses testify that in the land of exile, their mothers and fathers---and the mothers and fathers before them---kept the faith. Far from home, to be sure. Foreigners and strangers, no question. Knowing themselves to be under divine judgement. To all appearances, defeated by the gods of Babylon.  

But even in defeat, the exiles have not forgotten their God. We know this because of the names themselves. For ancient Israelites, names were never accidental. A name always said something essential about the child to whom it was given: the circumstances of their birth, the convictions of their parents, or the purpose they were destined to fulfill. Hebrew names are theology and devotion all wrapped up into one, as each generation names the next generation according to the ways of God.  

That is what we learn from those two missing verses and the names they contain. "Pedaiah" means "The LORD has redeemed"; "Pelaiah": "The LORD does wonders"; "Azariah": "The LORD has helped"; "Zechariah": "The LORD has remembered" (even in exile). Even in exile, one mother names her son Hilkiah: "The LORD is my portion"; another, Anaiah: "The LORD has answered prayer"; yet another, Malchiah: "The LORD is my king" (maybe not the wisest choice if the King of Babylon ever finds out what your name means). Still others, Hodiah: "The LORD is my splendour"; Uriah: "The LORD is my light." Two mothers, apparently, choose the name Maaseiah: "The LORD's own work."

Of course, not every name is quite so pious, but fourteen of those 25 names incorporate the unique name of Israel's God; eighteen if you add the ones that have been abbreviated. In Babylon, where other gods claim to be in charge, it's good to remember the name of your God. Those two missing verses record a living faith that survives exile when everything else has been lost and forgotten. They may be tough to pronounce, but they're worth every mouthful: "Mattithiah, Shema, Anaiah, Uriah, Hilkiah, and Maaseiah on his right hand; and Pedaiah, Mishael, Malchijah, Hashum, Hash baddanah, Zechariah, and Meshullam on his left."

One Hebrew mother names her son "Shema," which is the first word of Deuteronomy 6:4, the quintessential Jewish confession of faith: "Hear, O Israel: the LORD our God, the LORD is one." She knows that even in Babylon, there is only one real God. Another mother names her son "Yeshua." We know that name from its Greek translation: "Jesus." It means "The LORD saves"; "Yahweh is salvation." We know that name because that is what Mary named her son.

These days, we've mostly given up the practice of naming our children according to the ways of God. We still have "Daniel" (God is my judge); "Jeremiah" (the LORD will raise up); "Hanna" or "Hananiah" (the LORD is gracious), and one or two others. But we don't usually think about what they mean.

Maybe it doesn't matter anyway. Because even if we have given up on theologically pregnant names, God has not. In the Book of Revelation, the Lord of life promises that to those who are faithful, he will give a new name "that no one will know except the one who receives it" (Rev 2:17). Whatever our parents bestowed on us, or anyone else intended, whatever name we may have made for ourselves (good or bad), the Lord of life will tell us who we truly are. No longer self-made or self-named, every saint will have a new name, and we will know ourselves at last.

"No one will know except the one who receives it"; fair enough, but there are a few hints.  

Then I looked, and there was the Lamb, standing on Mount Zion! And with him were one hundred forty-four thousand who had his name and his Father's name written on their foreheads. (Revelation 14:1)

That's only a start. The last chapter of Revelation, the last chapter in the bible, describes the New Jerusalem, the eternal city of God:

The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads.  (Revelation 22:3--4)

It will be an honour to bear the name of the One who has redeemed us. If we can know anything about the name that will tell us who we have become, surely it will include the name of the One who remembers us, remakes us, and brings us home from exile.

Looking back, we see a man who stands on a wooden platform in a half-built city, proclaiming God's word to people who bear God's name. It's best not to omit, not to forget their names, because they did not forget the name of their God.

Looking forward, we see the Lamb upon the throne at the centre of a new city, the One who gives us each a new name. It is His name that keeps faith alive when we are far from home, the one name that will bring us home because He is faithful even when we fail or forget.

These days we don't much believe in the power of names. So maybe it doesn't make much difference if you leave them out of the lectionary reading, since most of the time one name seems about as good as another. Then again, some names speak of something greater. Some names can never be forgotten, never left out. Above all, the name of Jesus. Because not only do we name Him; He names us. He is the One whose name we are destined to bear, the One who transforms us into His likeness, the One by whose name we will be known for all eternity. It is His name that names us into life. AMEN.