Oft times when my thoughts are scattered, I find that meditating on the model prayer that Jesus gave His disciples Matthew 6:9-13 gives structure to my prayer time. That was where I was that day, my mind on laundry and dusting, on getting things ready for work the next day, on the million voices of daily life that vied for my attention.
“Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name,” the words rolled off my tongue with practiced ease. All of the sudden I was gripped by the question, What Name, Father? What Name is it that I am declaring is sanctified, to be reverenced, held as Holy?
A name is more specific than just a word. I may say the word boy, and any young human of the male gender that I encounter would fit that description. But when I say the NAME of my son Braden, there is a flood of memories and emotions that accompany it. I have time invested into that name, twenty four years of smiles, tears, laughter, and joy. I have energy invested into that name, caring for him as a child, making sure he had food and clothing, driving him to Sunday school and cheering at ballgames. My heart is invested in that name through a history of Christmas mornings and birthdays, family meals and vacations, days that seemed filled with love and long nights of prayer. The name Braden is precious to this mother’s heart.
So I sat that day with my eyes on the sky, awestruck by the thought of the God I was addressing so casually. The Jews say that God’s Name is too Holy to be spoken and refer to Him as HaShem (The Name) or Adonai. What Name can I use to address my God that is hallowed, sanctified in my experience, when I speak to Him? He is not some idol on a shelf to be referred to as a “god”. He is so much more than that. I have time and energy invested into this relationship with Him. My emotions and memories are tied up in Him. I have a history with Him that is deep and rich. It is filled with Sunday morning church services and children’s bible classes. It is laced with years of studying the Word and nights lying on my face in the secret place with His glory beaming over me. It is woven into the very fabric of who I have become, every heart beat keeping time to eternity’s drum, every borrowed breath a whisper of worship. What Name is deep enough to hold the flood of Who I have known Him to be?
To Hagar, the despised and disposable slave girl running from an unfair situation, He was El Roi, the God Who Sees her. To Abraham, his heart breaking as he held a knife to Isaac’s throat, He was Jehovah Jireh, the God Who provides a substitutionary sacrifice. To the Israelite children, leaving the familiar sands of Egypt and facing an unknown journey, He was Jehovah Rapha, the Healer Who kept them year after year in the wilderness. To Moses, standing over the battlefield with arms that felt like lead, He was Jehovah Nissi, the banner that waved as a victory ensign over the soldiers waging war in the valley. To Gideon, filled with fear after standing before God, He was Jehovah Shalom, peace. To David, heart pounding as he raced toward Goliath’s threats of death, He was Jehovah Rohi, the Shepherd Who protected and guided his steps.
But Who is He to me? I can surely agree with these ancient men and women. He is the God Who sees me (and knows me but loves me anyway). He is the God Who has provided for my needs in miraculous ways. He is the God Who heals me, Who brings me victory, Who is my peace. He is the Shepherd Whom I have learned to trust with my life. I have a history that can testify that He is all these things and more. Perhaps the truth is that no single name is sufficient to hold the wealth of Who He is and has been in my life. He transcends my bankrupt vocabulary. He is Who He said He was, I AM.
