Fourth Sunday of Advent: December 21, 2025 | The Rev. McKenzi Roberson

Fourth Sunday of Advent: December 21, 2025

Isaiah 7:10-16 | Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18 | Romans 1:1-7 | Matthew 1:18-25

The Rev. McKenzi Roberson

Growing up, I was the only one of my friends who actually liked my name. McKenzi Jo Roberson, shortened to Kenzi when I was a kid because it was two less letters to write in what felt like a long name and cheekily remaining as Kenzi when I learned for a school project that the traditional Scottish family name MacKenzie means “descendant of wise leader,” so just Kenzi would mean my name was wise leader. I even liked my name so well that when I went through my phase of wanting to be an author and needed a pen name I settled on Jo MacKenzie.

Names are important. Across many cultures of folklore, you do not want to give your name to magical beings, because giving them your name is giving them immeasurable power over you. Names create the reality we live in, both giving shape to people and places and such, and names making meaning of it all. Names are relational, something given and something received. They hold stories and memories as well as hopes and dreams.

And in our gospel this morning, we see humans name God. In Matthew’s version of Jesus’ birth story, we get Joseph’s perspective. Matthew, like Jesus, was a good Jewish boy who knew the prophecies of his faith. God’s anointed one, the messiah, the one who would save the people of Israel from their oppression, was foretold to come from the line of David, just as Joseph had.

Joseph knew that Mary was pregnant and that it wasn’t his child. Mary had no rights in this context, no social protections as an unwed pregnant person, and so it was remarkable that Joseph was not going to let anger or disappointment or shame get the best of him and drag her through the mud. But then the messenger of God came to Joseph and asked for an even more remarkable thing: claim this child, who isn’t your blood, as your own, for this is the child of prophecy. And so Joseph keeps Mary with him, and by naming this child adopts him into his family and adds him to the line of David.

It’s important to remember that Joseph didn’t have to do this. Joseph didn’t have to believe the angel God sent. He didn’t have to accept Mary, and he certainly didn't have to accept her child. But he did. By naming Mary wife and naming her child Jesus (son of Joseph descendent of David) Joseph participated in creating the cosmic changing event of the incarnation.

From the time of Adam in the garden of Eden naming the animals, God has invited us into God’s creative work. God has given us agency and imagination to see what is around us and create something new. And God made the platypus, so you know God delights in even our silliest creations. Whether it’s crafts or music or flower arrangements or stories or beautifully efficient spreadsheets, the act of creation is one of the ways we live into being made in the image of God.

And as we participate in the act of creation, we have a responsibility to do so in a way that aligns with the values of God. This is how we circle back to the power of names, because when we name something we are creating our relationship with the thing we name.

To start close, we name ourselves. Some of us in this room have changed the name we ask other people to call us, whether through marriage or growing into a fuller understanding of who God made us to be. That’s not my story to preach, but I can imagine there’s something of living into the values of honesty and joy in claiming these new names.

But I’m thinking also about the other names we call ourselves, the ones in our heads that we don’t often share, the ones we would never call our friends. The mean names, the cutting names, the names that make it clear we are too much or not enough.

The names we call ourselves creates our reality. They shape our imagination for what is possible. The names we give ourselves can give us energy or they create limits for us. Often the names we take on aren’t even names we choose, they are names that the people around us have given us. These names can be hard to shake off. Sometimes it takes the help of close friends or professional therapists to release the hurtful names that others have given us and take on names that reflect the reality of who God has made us to be.

In case you need reminding, you are beloved. That is a name each and every one of us can call ourselves. Taking on names like beloved that reflect the values of the kind and gracious God who made us in turn helps to create the reality where we can more easily live into the values of God. How can we bear the fruit of peace if each time we name ourselves we commit an act of violence?

To move our focus a little broader, we name each other. As I said earlier, names are something both given and received. Names become a reality we create together. So when people give us names that are hard for us, whether they are syllables or pronouns that are tricky for our tongues, it matters if we get it right. Christians are called to be collaborators who build each other up, so when people tell us who they are we are called to create that reality with them.

There are also the names we give the people in our lives whose proper names we do not know. How do we name our neighbors? What name do we give to the people who sleep on our church property? What name do we give to people on the street corner? What name do we give to people being deported without due process? What name do we give to the people in prison? What name do we give to the people who do not look like us or think like us?

We can give our neighbors names that reinforce their humanity, or we can give them names that reduce them to problems to be solved, objects of fear or inconvenience. We can give people names that reflect the way that the world sees them or the way that God sees them. The names we choose to call our neighbors have the power to shape both our reality and theirs. These names shape the way we answer questions like should we be afraid or does this person deserve a warm meal and a safe place to sleep?

Broadening our focus as wide as it goes, we also name systems. Part of serving a God who values justice is keeping our eyes open for injustice. In our baptismal covenant we promise to “strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.” Part of respecting the dignity of every human being is naming when the powers that be are trying to strip away that dignity. Naming systems of racism, misogyny, homophobia, classism, xenophobia, naming when the powers of greed, violence, and death are at work is just the very first step of the justice and reconciliation God calls us towards, but we cannot begin that journey until we name the reality that allows us to see the injustice and violence at play.

So now that we’ve considered the names of ourselves, each other, and the systems we swim in, there is just one last name to consider – what name do we give to God?

No one name for God will ever capture God’s essence this side of heaven, of course. That’s why we see so many names for God throughout scripture. Each name points to a component of who God is. Matthew gave us two names though, which makes for a good starting place. The first name is Jesus. Is a variation on the name we receive in English as Joshua. It means God saves. As you might imagine, this was a popular name in Jesus’ time, when the people of Israel were living under the oppression of the Roman Empire.

The meaning of this name doesn’t fully crystallize until we see just how it is God saves through Jesus. It isn’t coming in might, being born to royalty and dismantling the system from within. Nor does this salvation come through the might of military rebellion, gathering an army and dismantling the system from without. No, God’s salvation comes from subverting the system. God’s salvation comes from changing the rules of the game.

God said I see your greed, I see your vanity, I see your devotion to death, and I reject all of it. Instead, here is a way that looks like foolishness, a way of generosity and respect for all persons, a way that walks through death and comes out laughing on the other side. In Jesus, God saves us in a way we never could have guessed. And Jesus continues to save us, again and again and again, every time we turn to him for help.

Part of what allows Jesus to save us is illuminated in the other name given for God: Emmanuel. God with us. I don’t think I am ever going to get over my wonder at the incarnation. God became human. It short circuits my brain. For a time, God was with us so thoroughly as to experience the absurdity of the human experience. More relevant to my point, God is with us in solidarity when we are called hateful names because of the experience of Jesus being called names, mocked for his lineage, dismissed as “just the carpenter’s son,” when Jesus was trying to say that he is something more. God is also with us in the moments of joy and being named rightly, no more so than when God names Jesus “my beloved son.”

God is with us. When the dark and the cold and the wet seem interminable, when the rivers rage and when the future looks bleak, God is with us. When we are warm at home, gathered with dear ones and full of good food, God is with us. God is with us, even when we forget to look or when we look as hard as we can and still see nothing. God is with us every step of the way, nudging our hearts and shaping our imagination, drawing us ever closer to God as we await the day that Christ will return in glory.