What's in a Name? Reflections on Exodus 3.1-15

 

RCL Proper 22A [i]

30 August 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Surrey BC

 

A name not chosen

            When I was born in 1953 in a US Air Force hospital in South Ruislip, it was the practice for the British registrar for births to travel the maternity wards to register the births of infants.  I imagine them carrying the traditional long-form birth register and their fountain pens.  They also brought with them the unbending formality and authority of the British civil service:  What is written is written.  Change almost always requires a private member’s bill in the House of Commons.

 

            It turns out that my parents had agreed on the name of a girl but not a boy.  So, when the registrar arrived at my mother’s bedside and asked what was name of the child, she quickly said, “Richard Geoffrey”, a combination of my father’s and my mother’s brother’s first names.  Thus it was recorded for all time:  this child, the son of Richard Donald Leggett and Thelma Jane Leggett née Broom, shall be known as Richard Geoffrey Leggett.

 

            The only problem was that no one had told my father.  He arrived sometime later and asked my mother, “How is Mark Andrew?”  She replied, “Well, I don’t know about Mark Andrew, but Richard Geoffrey is doing well.”  Fortunately for me – and for my mother – my father was not unhappy with the choice and the local member of Parliament was not required to rise in the House on matter of private privilege.

 

            If your years growing up were anything like mine, the only time you heard your middle name was when your parents wanted your attention or you were in trouble.  But about thirty years or so ago, I realized that I liked my middle name – my uncle is quite a character and will turn 100 this year – and I started using it in almost all official and public media.  I am Richard Geoffrey, a name that identifies me with my family but as importantly distinguishes me within that network of relationships.

 

Names are two-edged swords.

            I find that names are two-edged swords.  On the one side, a name can be restrictive.  Our names carry a story with them and also, as I mentioned above, distinguish us within a network of relationships.  When my younger son was a teenager, now some twenty years or so ago, he came back from a trip to Kerrisdale with some of his friends from Magee High School.  He looked so glum that I imagined something really terrible had happened.  When I asked him about this, Owen looked at me and asked, “Do you and Mum know everybody?”  It turns out that, in Owen’s version of the story, there was not a single place he went that day that someone didn’t say, “Owen Porter Leggett, how are your Mum and Dad?”  Poor Owen was trying to spread his wings a little, but his flight range was limited by his name.

 

            But at the same time, a name can be liberating.  We can celebrate how a name proclaims our individuality within our relationships, a name can become a talisman for our particular gifts and talents.  Right now I can tell you this:  if you want someone to help you with historical research, call Richard Geoffrey Leggett or David Michael Porter Leggett.  We’re the historians in our circle.  But if you want someone to help you write a young adult fantasy novel, then call Owen Thomas Porter Leggett or Paula Lee Porter Leggett.  Within our family, it’s Owen and Paula who have the greater imaginative forces.

 

            So it is, with great respect for William Shakespeare, that I disagree that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.  Names shape who we are and we shape what our names mean to those around us.

 

The God who likes their name.

            When Moses encounters the living God in the flaming bush on Sinai, his desire to know the name of this God is not an innocent question.  Divine names in the ancient world were more restrictive than liberating.  Knowing a god’s name gave the petitioner some control over what that divine being might or might not do.  This summer’s blockbuster film, The Odyssey, for example, is about human beings and divinities trying to control one another – with tragic results for those who are caught in the middle or who fail to invoke the right god for the right purpose at the right time.

 

            Moses is aware of how dangerous it can be to work with a deity.  This One has appropriately appeared in the midst of a burning bush and asked that Moses who has escaped the frying pan of Egyptian justice to jump into the fire of emancipating an enslaved people.  Is it any wonder that Moses wants to know a bit more about the One who making such an ask?

 

            But the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob will not be confined by giving a name that might give Moses some control.  When asked to give a name, what is grammatically called a noun, God answers with a verb, ‘I am who I am’ or ‘I will be who I will be’.  It is of the very essence of God to be free from any limitations that a name impose upon God’s freedom of action.  J. B. Phillips, an English New Testament scholar, once wrote a book with the title, Your God Is Too Small, a reminder that we often wish to put God in a box rather than acknowledge that our God is a desert God, not a tame God.

 

            Believing in such a God means recognizing that faith requires taking risks.  As much as we would like security, believing in the God of Moses, the God of Jesus, sets us out on a journey towards a destination along a path with many unexpected twists and turns.  What we can rely on is that we do not travel alone – we travel as a community, we travel in the company of all those who have gone before us, we travel in the company of the God who created all that is, seen and unseen, the God who in Jesus shares our flesh and blood, the God who in the Spirit leads us into truth and wisdom.

 

The God of the infinitely more

            When Paula and I came to Canada in 1987, we were not only changing countries, we also changed churches.  Despite our common heritage, Episcopalians in the US and Anglicans in Canada have differing forms of governance, differing cultures and differing worship.  One of the texts that quickly caught my heart is one we frequently say at the end of the eucharist:

 

Glory to God,

whose power, working in us

can do infinitely more

than we can ask or imagine.

Glory to God from generation to generation,

in the church and in Christ Jesus,

for ever and ever.  Amen. [ii]

 

Each time I say I find myself pondering the mystery of God who is unbound by human expectations, but who seeks us out to be co-workers in achieving God’s purposes – renewal, restoration, reconciliation, revelation.  Right now, in this place and in this time, ‘I am’ is at work, doing infinitely more than we expect – because that is God’s very essence, that is God’s ‘name’.  This God who chooses verbs rather than nouns to tell us about God’s very self invites us to live Christ’s risen life, to bring life to others, to give light to the world, to remain firm in the hope set before us, so that we and all God’s children shall be free. [iii]  Blessed be the name of the Lord, from this time forth and forevermore.

 

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[i] Exodus 3.1-5; Psalm 105.1-6, 23-26, 45c; Romans 12.9-21; Matthew 16.21-28.

 

[ii] The Book of Alternative Services (1985), 214.

 

[iii] The Book of Alternative Services (1985), 214-215 paraphrased.

 

Public Work for the Common Good: Reflections for the 13th Sunday after Pentecost

 

 RCL Proper 21A [i]

23 August 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Vancouver BC

 

Do well what you do best.

            When my older son, David, was a teenager, he began to take on roles in worship.  He was, and still is, a wonderful reader of the Scriptures, and so he happily took on his share in the reading of the Scriptures on Sundays.  In addition to his being a fine reader, the folks in the congregation were pleased to have a young person as part of the worship leadership.

            One Sunday it fell to David to read Romans 12.1-8, our second reading for today.  This would have been in 1999 or 2002.  In the translation we were then using, verse 8 reads as follows:  “ . . . the exhorter, in exhortation . . . “ rather than “ . . . the encourager, in encouragement . . . “ as we heard this morning. [ii]  David was reading with strength and clarity that morning and he confidently read this verse and said, “ . . . the extorter, in extortion . . . “.  To the credit of the congregation, no one laughed or gasped; they were not going to discourage one of their own young people by reacting to his misreading of the text.

            During coffee hour I was chatting with one of the older members of the congregation who had taken our children under her loving wings.  I mentioned how grateful I was that David’s mistake hadn’t generated any audible or visible response.  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘wasn’t Paul saying that we should do well what we do best?  If you’re going to extort, at least do it well.’

 

Public work for the common good

            In the early days of prayer book revision, a Greek word began to circulate more widely among English-speaking Anglicans – ‘liturgy’.  This word was often translated by the phrase ‘the work of the people’.  Understood in this way, people often thought it meant involving more lay people in the worship leadership of our congregations.  Indeed, the ‘Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy’ of the Second Vatican Council of 1963, which influenced the liturgical renewal of Anglican and Lutheran communities as well as Roman Catholic ones, states, “Mother Church earnestly desires that all the faithful should be led to that fully conscious, and active participation in liturgical celebrations which is demanded by the very nature of the liturgy.” [iii]

            It is a good thing that the leadership of worship has embraced the active participation of all the faithful.  But it is also important to look more closely at what the word ‘liturgy’ meant to the early Christian communities who spoke Greek not English.  For those communities, leitourgia, the original Greek word, meant much, much more.  Leitourgia means ‘a public work voluntarily undertaken by the few for the common good of all’ – ‘a public work undertaken by the few for the common good of all’.

            In ancient Greek literature, a world in which what we call sacred and secular were thoroughly integrated, leitourgia was used to describe a tax used for the well-being of the entire community or even a bridge built by wealthy citizens to connect their community to a major road into a larger market town.  Leitourgia embraced the idea that we are members of a community with obligations to one another and that we were to use our gifts, our charisms, to build up koinonia, the ‘communion’ of our fellow human beings.

 

Midwifing the promise

            When there arose a pharaoh who did not remember Joseph, there was still a community that did remember him and the promises that God had made to the descendants of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.  When that pharaoh sought to control and even to diminish the Israelites, he had not counted on two midwives, Shiphrah and Puah, devising a plan to do well what they did best – bringing new life into the world.  And so, these two women undertook to do leitourgia, using their gifts to ensure the common good of their people.

            When Jesus reached a critical point in his mission and had turned his face towards Jerusalem, he asked his followers to declare their understanding of who he was and what he was to accomplish.  When he did this, Peter stepped in and did what he does so frequently in the Gospels – speaking the truth even if he’s not sure what that might lead to in the future.  And so, Peter using his gift of speaking the truth declares that Jesus is the Messiah, the one in whom our world finds its meaning and its future.

            When Paul chose to write to the Christian community in Rome, a community he had never visited but hoped to do so, we confronted their struggles to understand what it meant to be a mixed community of Jewish and non-Jewish believers.  When they voiced their belief in their distinctive superiorities, Paul employed his wit and wisdom to remind them of their mutual interdependence, each one upon the other.  And so, Paul reminds them that only the whole body of Christ – not one group or faction or individual – has the gifts necessary to undertake its role in working with God to achieve the divine purposes for the world.

 

Words and actions

            It is common these days to hear politicians and other public figures respond to the tragedies with assurances of ‘thoughts and prayers’.  To be sure there are times when there is very little one can do in the face of a catastrophe, but ‘thoughts and prayers’ can be symptomatic of an inclination to inaction.  

            Among the different Christian traditions there has always been a debate about the relationship between what we confess as our faith – orthodoxy – and what we do as Christians – orthopraxis.  The writer of the Letter of James sums up this tension succinctly: 

 

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone claims to have faith but does not have works?  Surely that faith cannot save, can it?  If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?  So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.  But someone will say, “You have faith, and I have works.”  Show me your faith apart from works, and I by my works will show you faith. [iv]

 

            It would have been a good thing for the midwives to have prayed for salvation, but quite something more to devise their plot to deceive the pharaoh.  It would have been a good thing for Peter and the disciples to confess their faith in Jesus, but quite something more to join him on the road to Jerusalem and to the cross.  It would have been a good thing for the Christians in Rome to rejoice in the gifts that God through the Spirit had distributed in their midst, but quite something more to use those gifts to transform the urban centre of the Roman Empire.

            In the months ahead as Saint Helen’s gathers for worship and service, embrace the opportunity to engage in a public work for the common good, a work that springs forth from our confession that Jesus is Lord.  Discover how the gifts that God has given to this community are enriching and can enrich further the life of the Parish and the life of this neighbourhood.  Some who live here are hungry physically, but you and I know well that there are also others who hunger spiritually, who yearn to find meaning and hope during times of material uncertainty and social transformation.

            Over the past eight months I have seen and can confess that this Parish knows how to use its gifts.  There is a yearning to do and to be more.  The good news is that the gifts the Parish needs are already here.  

            I’ll give Paul the last word.  Just after the words we heard this morning, Paul then writes these:  “Let love be genuine; hate what is evil; hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honour.  Do not lag in zeal; be ardent in spirit; serve the Lord.  Rejoice in hope; be patient in affliction; persevere in prayer.  Contribute to the needs of the saints; pursue hospitality to strangers.” [v]  May it be so.

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[i] Exodus 1.8-2.10; Psalm 124; Romans 12.1-8; Matthew 16.13-20.

 

[ii] Romans 12.8 (NRSV) compared with Romans 12.8 (NRSVue).

 

[iii] Paragraph 14 of Sacrosanctum Concilium as accessed at https://www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19631204_sacrosanctum-concilium_en.html on 10 August 2026.

 

[iv] James 2.14-18 (NRSVue).

 

[v] Romans 12.9-13 (NRSVue).

 

Facing Fear: Flight, Fight or Faith -- Reflections on Matthew 14.22-33

 

 

RCL Proper 19A [i]

9 August 2026

 

Saint Helen’s Anglican Church

Vancouver BC

 

Flight is not an option.

         I’m not sure when it began, but at some point in my life I adopted penguins as my favourite animal.  I think penguins are like the clergy:  we dress up in snappy black and white, sometimes with a little extra colour; we waddle around slippery terrain and fall down – but get back up.  Penguin is one of the few Welsh words adopted into the English language and means ‘white head’, a name given to the birds by the Welsh sailors of Sir Francis Drake when they rounded the Cape of Magellan.

         Penguins are not solitary creatures; they live in large colonies and often form life-long relationships, both heterosexual and homosexual ones.  While they are ungainly on land and, as you may know, flightless, penguins are remarkably agile in the water and will travel great distances to forage for food.

         Now I think that the algorithms that shape our social media feeds have caught on to my love of penguins.  Recently on Facebook an ad popped up for t-shirts, hoodies and mugs that featured penguins.  My favourite one was a hoodie with a penguin holding a drawn sword.  Underneath was the caption:  ‘Flight was never an option!’

 

Flight or fight

         At some point in our evolutionary history, our brains developed what is known as the ‘fight or flight’ response to an external, and I think, internal threats.  It is a response that we make with little or no thoughtful reflection.  We size up the situation in the blink of an eye and decide what we’re going to do.  This ‘fight or flight’ response is not only present in individuals but also in communities.

         In some ways this ‘fight or flight’ plays a role in today’s familiar story of Jesus walking on the water to join his disciples who are struggling in troubled waters.  Faced with something that they have never seen before, a human being walking on the surface of the waves, the disciples hunker down – with the exception of Peter.  In one of his finer moments, Peter chooses to ‘fight’ the moment, to take the risk to cross over to Jesus.  But, as we all know, that choice to ‘fight’ soon gives way to ‘flight’ as the reality of the situation grips Peter.  I know what Matthew puts into the mouth of Peter, but I am tempted to think that Peter said something more like this:  ‘Jesus, what was I thinking?  Get me out of this!’

         Most of the time we don’t pay close attention to what Jesus says once he and Peter are in the boat.  Jesus does not say that Peter and the others have no faith; Jesus says, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” [ii]  In those few words I see Jesus doing two things – (i) he acknowledges the power of fear and (ii) he proclaims the greater power of faith.  Faith, I think, is the choice to dare to take the risk to assess the moment rather than simply react.  Faith takes a longer view of a situation, whereas our ‘fight or flight’ response is only concerned with the immediate moment.

 

Faith and the choice of fight or flight

         Some of you may have read Frank Herbert’s now classic Dune series of novels; perhaps you have seen both of the recent screen adaptations.  One of the themes that threads throughout the novels is the importance of taking a longer-term perspective on human history.  Some characters in the novels look backwards and then seek to ‘do the math’ regarding the probabilities of a strategy achieving their purposes.  One character looks forwards and sees all the possible paths, some that overwhelms him and ultimately leads to his doom.  But what links all of these characters is their willingness to face their fears with wide open eyes.

         If you are familiar with the novels, then you will know that one of the ways the characters face their fear is by reciting what is known as the ‘Litany Against Fear’.

 

I must not fear.  Fear is the mind-killer.  Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.  I will face my fear.  I will permit it to pass over me and through me.  And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.  Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.  Only I will remain. [iii]

 

While Frank Herbert was not a fan of organized religion of any sort, his words do remind us of a simple truth in a life of faith:  Faith is the choice to face our fears.

 

“Ventures of which we cannot see the ending” [iv]

         When Joseph’s brothers sold him into slavery, they had no idea what they were setting into motion.  What they intended as a convenient way to rid themselves of an annoying sibling who enjoyed their father’s favour ends up being the salvation of the entire family.  But there’s one thing about Joseph.  Throughout his entire ordeal, he believes that God is at work to bring about the divine purposes for Joseph, for his family, for Egypt.

         When Paul witnessed the stoning of Stephen, he had no idea what was being set into motion.  The martyrdom of Stephen and Paul’s own efforts to suppress the early Christian movement came to no avail, and even Paul found himself caught in the web of the love of God made known in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.  Paul the persecutor on behalf of a rigorous fidelity to what he understands to be God’s Law becomes Paul the apostle to those who by that Law are deemed outsiders.

         In the more than four decades since I was ordained, I have witnessed communities such as ours react in a communal ‘fight or flight’ response.  Some communities have fought against the ending of our privileged place in Canadian society and refused to look courageously at what we might learn from this and how our faith might lead us into a more life-giving response.  Other communities have fled and turned inward and then, one day, simply turned out the lights and turned in the keys.

         But this has not been the story of this Parish.  This Parish has, on more than one occasion, faced its fears and, instead of becoming combative or enclosed, has chosen to learn, to grow and to respond.  This is not a Parish that responds instinctually to fear; it is a Parish that prays, reflects and then acts to share the good news of God in Christ in a neighbourhood where that good news is truly needed.

         Next Sunday this Parish will enter into a new chapter of its story.  No doubt the waters in which we sail are choppy; no doubt there will be moments of uncertainty.  But there is more than a little faith here.  There is a belief that God is here in our midst, leading us, healing us, challenging us, so that we and all God’s children shall be saved, made whole, in witness to what God can do.

         On this Sunday, as I preside and preach for the last time as your priest in charge, I close with a prayer from the Lutheran tradition that I believe in a prayer for such a time as ours, a time in which our boats are shaken but not swamped, a time when our fears are real but need not be paralyzing, a time in which our hopes are greater than our doubts:

 

O God, you have called your servants to ventures of which we cannot see the endings, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.  Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go, but only that your hand is leading us and your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.[v]

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[i] Genesis 37.1-4, 12-28; Psalm 105.1-6, 16-22, 45c; Romans 10.5-15; Matthew 14.22-33.

 

[ii] Matthew 14.31b (NRSVue).

 

[iii] https://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/58.Frank_Herbert accessed 8 August 2026.

 

[iv] Evangelical Lutheran Worship (2006), 317.

 

[v] ELW 2006, 317.