Listen now Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...

One of the first questions we ask someone that we’ve just met is: “What’s your name?” Names matter. They’re more than labels. They sometimes tell stories or carry family histories. They might even carry expectations. If you’re called Ivan the Terrible or Nigel the Naughty, Boudica the Warrior Queen or Minnie the Minx, then it will probably shape the way that you think about yourself.

Perhaps you’ve known someone who has spent their whole life trying to live up to a name that someone else gave them.

Or perhaps you’ve carried names given at school that have become part of your identity: “Not clever enough.” “Not confident enough.” “The difficult one.” “The quiet one.” “The one who always gets it wrong.”

I remember that when I was really little, I was quite a good reader. But when I started at primary school, they were using something called ITA to help children to read. It was a phonetic alphabet system – and for the life of me I couldn’t get to grips with it. That had me tagged as being a slow reader, and I carried that with me for a long time afterwards.

The poet Maya Angelou, thought of words not just as fleeting sounds but as tangible things that linger, that can impact both our environment and ourselves: “They get on the walls. They get in your wallpaper. They get in your rugs, in your upholstery, and your clothes, and finally into you.”

A new name

We all carry names of one sort or another. Today’s Gospel is about a new name. But it’s also about a new way of seeing.

Jesus asks the disciples a simple question. “Who do people say that I am?” The answers come quickly: John the Baptist. Elijah. Jeremiah. One of the prophets.

Then comes the deeper question: “But who do you say that I am?”

Simon answers with extraordinary clarity: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” It is one of the great confessions of the New Testament.

Then something unexpected happens. Jesus doesn’t simply praise Simon’s answer. He gives him a new identity: “You are Peter.”

Will become and is becoming

The Greek is wonderfully expressive here. Jesus says: You are Petros… and upon this petra… There is both a play on words and a promise. Simon becomes Peter – rock. Not because he already possesses rock-like faith. But because Christ already sees what Simon will become and is becoming.

That matters. Because only a few verses later Peter will misunderstand Jesus completely. And soon after that, he will deny ever knowing him. Peter is anything but rock-like. And yet Jesus gives him the name anyway. Grace always seems to work ahead of us.

Isaiah says something similar. The prophet speaks to people who are discouraged, exiled, feeling small, wondering whether God’s promises have come to nothing.

Isaiah simply says: “Look to Abraham.” Remember how it began. One old man. One elderly woman. One impossible promise. God called one – and made many. God did not begin with greatness. He began with possibility. Or perhaps more accurately, God began with what he already saw or envisioned, even if no one else did.

Belonging before usefulness

Paul carries the same thread into Romans. “By the mercies of God…”

Notice those words. Only then, only then, does Paul speak about offering ourselves to God. Christian life never begins with effort. It begins with mercy. It doesn’t begin with proving ourselves. It begins with receiving ourselves as people already loved.

Only then does Paul speak about gifts: Teaching, serving, encouraging, leading, showing mercy. None is superior. None is inferior. Each belongs to the whole body. Identity comes before activity. Belonging before usefulness. Grace before gifting.

But sadly, that’s not always how we actually live.

We often imagine we must first become impressive before God can use us. We think holiness is something we achieve. The Gospel quietly reverses the order. Peter doesn’t become the rock and then receive the name. He receives the name and spends the rest of his life growing into it.

Perhaps discipleship is exactly that. Us growing into the person that Christ already knows we can become.

Deeply hopeful

There is something deeply hopeful about that. Because it means our failures are not the whole story. Peter’s denial is not the end. Abraham’s doubts are not the end. Israel’s exile is not the end. Our own fears are not the end. Christ names us not according to our worst day, but according to his redeeming purpose.

I sometimes think of a sculptor standing before a block of marble. Most people see stone. The sculptor sees the figure waiting within it. Whether or not Michelangelo actually said it, he is often quoted as saying: “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.”

That image has stayed with me. Because it feels close to the way God works. God looks at Simon. Others see an impulsive fisherman. Jesus sees Peter, the rock.

God looks at Abram. Others see an elderly nomad. God sees Abraham, the father of nations.

God looks at us. Others may see only our limitations. Sometimes we see only our limitations. But God sees something else. Not because God ignores reality. But because God sees what grace is patiently bringing into being.

Already worthy

That doesn’t mean we remain passive. Peter still has much to learn. Paul still urges us to offer our lives. Abraham still has to leave home. Grace never removes the journey. It simply changes how we travel it. We no longer strive to become worthy of God’s love. We travel because we already are worthy.

The blessing that you’ll hear shortly contains this line: “May Christ already be speaking over you the name you are still growing into.”

That’s not pretending that we’ve arrived – and it’s not being defined by what happened in our past. It’s simply trusting that Christ knows us better than we know ourselves.

So, perhaps the invitation today is wonderfully simple: to listen again for the voice that first called Peter. The voice that called Abraham. The voice that still calls each of us by name. And ask yourself: what names have I carried for myself that Christ never gave me? And what God-given name might he already be speaking over me instead?

For the good news of the Gospel is this: Christ never calls us merely by what we have been. He calls us by what, through his grace, we are becoming. And he is always faithful to finish what he has begun.

For those becoming who God already sees

Blessed are you
who feel too small,
too ordinary,
or too unfinished
for the work
God has given you.

Blessed are you,
for God has always delighted
to begin with little.
One man became
a great nation.
One fisherman became
a rock.

May the Lord
who called Abraham
and renamed Simon,
teach you to trust
the patient work
of his grace.

May you not
measure your life
by what you lack,
but by the faithfulness
of the One who calls you.

May you discover
that Christ
is already speaking
over you
the name you are still
growing into.

And may the Holy Spirit
give you courage
to offer
your quiet gifts,
until your life
becomes a blessing
through which
others catch sight
of God.
Amen

‘Growing Into Your Name’ was delivered by Ian Banks at Christ Church, Walmersley on Sunday 23rd August 2026. It was based on Isaiah 51:1–6; Romans 12:1–8 and Matthew 16:13–20