I was born in Orange County, but moved to Denver when I was 11 years old, and I quickly became a Bronco fan. For years, Denver’s football home was known simply as Mile High Stadium. It wasn’t just a place, it was a landmark in Denver. So when it was renamed Invesco Field at Mile High in 2001, the backlash was immediate. In defiant opposition, the fans kept calling it Mile High. The signs changed, but the hearts of the people didn’t. Why? Because names aren’t just labels, they’re tied to identity. That’s sort of what happened in the ancient city of Philadelphia.
After a devastating earthquake in AD 17, Philadelphia was rebuilt with Roman help, and out of gratitude, they renamed the city “Neocaesarea,” which means “New Caesar.” But that name never stuck. The people eventually went back to calling it what they had always known: Philadelphia.
Imagine how much it would have meant to the church in Philadelphia to read,
I will write on him the name of my God, and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which comes down from my God out of heaven, and my own new name. (Revelation 3:12)
They knew all about names and new names. Jesus is speaking their language; he’s inserting himself into their story. He’s not just making a promise, he’s making a personal connection. He’s saying, “You’ve been renamed before. This time, the name will stick. Because this time, it’s coming from me.”
We live in a world that’s always trying to name us. We get names based on our looks, our income, our resume, our worst moments, or our highlight reel. Some names are subtle: Impressive. Important. Invisible. Some are harsh: Failure. Unlovable. Not enough. And we spend so much of our lives trying to either live up to those names or outrun them. But then Jesus steps in and says, “You don’t have to achieve your name. I’ll give you mine.” What great news; what relief! It’s a name not built on performance, but on his grace. Not earned, but received. Not shaky, but secure.
Jesus knows that we live in a shaky world. The ground beneath us trembles… sometimes literally. But his promise is steady: “You are mine.” When the world tries to rename you, Jesus reclaims you. You may feel overwhelmed and overmatched today. Maybe like the church in Philadelphia, you have little strength. But in Jesus, you’re not overlooked. You’re named. Marked. Claimed.
Not “New Caesar.”
Not “Not Enough.”
But Beloved. Child. Pillar. Mine.
So take a moment and breathe that in today: You don’t have to achieve your identity. You get to receive it. And when life shakes, or people mislabel you, remember: the One who holds the key, who opens doors no one can shut, has already spoken your name. And he never gets it wrong.
Pastor Ryan Paulson