Six.
Six letters.
Six letters in a name not used for hundreds of years.
J-O-S-H-U-A
Joshua. A man chosen by God through Moses to lead his people home to the promised land after years of wandering in the wilderness.
Joseph lay awake in the predawn hour, watching the stars slowly fade as the sun neared the horizon. The dream seemed as clear as if it had happened yesterday. The angel banishing his fear. The instructions: take Mary as his wife, name the baby Jesus.
Why Jesus? It was a Greek name. A foreign name for their liberating Messiah? In Hebrew, it translated Yeshua, or Joshua. That was better. Joshua, the hero of the Promised land. From the Jordan river flow stopping, to the Jericho walls crashing, to the vanquishing of all the Promised Land inhabitants, Joshua was a great name in Jewish history.
It meant the Lord saves. Joseph considered the name and what secrets it might be keeping about the future. JHWH knew, they needed saving. Their nation, a pale shadow of its former greatness, lay with a Roman sword at its neck.
Joshua, it was a good name. A name he would be proud to cry out when his time came. To be the father of the king, what wonder would that bring? What recognition, what power!
Joseph felt a twinge of discomfort as he remembered the angel’s last words, the reason for the name.
“Because he will save his people from their sins” “uke 1:21 NIV
What sins? Wasn’t their nation JHWH’s chosen one. Weren’t they already his favorites? How did that fit with liberation from the Romans?
What was he missing? Joseph wrestled with the conflicting ideas in his groggy mind. What kind of kingdom would he build?
“Joshua….. Jesus….” He mumbled as he drifted back into an uneasy slumber.