Solemnity of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist Lk 1,57-66,80

Many of us may sometimes wonder: What is hidden in which currency? Does the name express something specific, does it hide something, or does it mean something special? Shakespeare addressed a similar question and answered it as follows: “A rose, whatever it is called, would still smell equally adorable.” Of course, he was right. And fragrant, even if we choose to call it, say, a mouse’s ear or a rabbit’s duckweed. Names are not as important in our culture as they were in ancient Jewish culture, for example. to mark the thing we are talking about and for the listener to imagine the same as us.

For example, if parents have two sons, they will call one Peter and the other Paul. So then they know which is which. And this is how they address them. For us, names are simply a kind of label that we attach to a person at his birth, and which the person then wears throughout his life. Of course, not all names are liked by people. There are cases when people do not know how to get used to their name, when they reject it internally, and there are even those who change it. The use of names in Scripture, as many of us know, is special. Names usually said something. They were given with a clear intention. They sometimes expressed the thoughts or feelings that children’s parents felt in connection with their birth. Take the name Isaac, for example. This name can be translated as “laughter.” When Abraham and Sarah had a child in their old age, they called him laughter.

For them, the name must have expressed how they felt facing the miraculous and unexpected event of their son’s birth. At other times, the name given to the child was a kind of proclamation or expression of faith. For example, the name Elijah. It means “Yahweh is my God.” The child Elijah was born at a time when there was growing tension in Israel over the worshipers of Baal. And so his parents wanted to express their devotion to the God of Israel. It should be remembered what preceded the events of which the Gospel writes today: Elizabeth, his mother, was old when she became pregnant, and she and her husband Zachariah had been childless until then, and her pregnancy was too much for both, but especially for Zachariah. He was unable to believe God’s promise that a child would actually be born to them. When that happened, he somehow couldn’t process it internally. Simply he became  dumb.

When the child was born, according to Jewish tradition, on the eighth day, the child was circumcised and named. My father was supposed to do it. But his father was incompetent because he was dumb. Therefore, the Relatives simply decided that, according to custom, he would be called after his father Zechariah. But Elizabeth intervened. “His name will be John,” which meant “God is merciful.” Surprised relatives consulted Zechariah, who agreed. Yes, this was exactly what he felt. He remembered what the angel had told him at his conception: “He will be great in the sight of the Lord.” And it was after this that his mouth opened. Boy?” It is exactly what many parents feel when their child is born: “What will he be of him, of her?” How will this child change the world? Will he be a man loving people, afflicting people, loving people, esteemed, honored, sought after? Or will it be a self-centered individual whose only object of respect and attention will be himself? What does this name say? If someone asked us or our parents this question, they would probably answer, “I have no idea.”

The names – certainly in the vast majority of cases – were not given to us because they would carry some special meaning. They were simply given to us as a kind of label so that our parents and other people could identify us. But even this is not a negligible fact. On the contrary, it is really very important. My name is just my name. My name means me. When someone hears my name, they emerge me. And it will emerge not only my face and appearance, but also my qualities and characteristics. The opposite is also true: when I hear my name, I will notice. And even if it sounds just inconspicuously, quietly, somewhere in the mass. I stretch my ear. And I wonder what they’re talking about. In that sense, then my name is me. Someone once said, “The sweetest music on earth is the sound of my name.” And it’s really true. Our names can be words that have no special meaning. But they have meaning to us. My name is me.