INTRO: THE NAME GAME
Good morning, family!
Hey, do you remember the Name Game? That old song?
You know—Katie, Katie, bo-batie, Bonana-fanna fo-fatie, Fee fi mo-matie… Katie!
Some of you just started doing the math in your heads about which names you used this with that maybe... didn’t end well. Which led to questionable outcomes, let's say. You bunch of degenerates.
But I want to play a different kind of Name Game this morning. A quieter one. A game I’ll call “Can You Name…”
Can you name all four of your grandparents?
Most of us probably can.
What about your eight great-grandparents?
That’s harder.
Your sixteen great-great-grandparents?
Unless your family has kept good records or one of them was famous, most of us draw a blank. And here’s the wild part: Go back 10 generations—that’s just 300 years—you’ve got over 2,000 ancestors. Go back 20 generations? Over 2 million. Thirty generations? Over a billion people contributed to your existence.
That’s… mind-blowing. But also kind of sobering.
Because I couldn’t tell you most of their names. I don’t know their stories, their struggles, their victories, what they loved, or even what they believed. It’s as if they were never here.
And someday... it’ll be like that with us, too.
A few generations from now, our pictures won’t be on anyone’s walls. Our names won’t be spoken. It’ll be like we never existed.
Except for this—you and I are not here by accident.
We are here because of people we can’t name—both biologically and spiritually. People whose faces we’ll never see, who never saw ours… were faithful. They prayed. They sacrificed. They kept going. They shared Jesus.
And now… you’re here.
So let me ask you:
Who shared the gospel with you?
Who discipled you?
What had to happen for you to meet Jesus?
Maybe it’s clear in your mind—someone invited you to church, or you had a conversation that changed your life. Or maybe it’s messier, like a tangled ball of spaghetti—one moment after another, grace upon grace, until one day your eyes were opened.
But here’s what’s true for all of us: behind your story are more stories. And behind those… generations of nameless saints.
Paul says in 1 Corinthians 4:15,
“Though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers. I became your father in Christ Jesus through the gospel.”
Every believer has a spiritual lineage—a gospel family tree.
We are the result of faith passed down. Through people we don’t know. With stories we’ll never hear.
And yet—their faithfulness led to you.
And maybe more stunning…
How many unnamed people will one day be traced back to you?
Because believe it or not, your spiritual legacy reaches back to Acts 11… to a church planted by believers whose names we’ll never know—but whose faith set the whole world in motion.
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
Let’s talk about Antioch for a minute.
Not the church down the road. The city—ancient Antioch. Massive. Multicultural. Messy. In the Roman Empire, it was the third largest city, right behind Rome and Alexandria. A hub of wealth, trade, and culture… but also a city deeply divided.
Think of a first-century New York City—a city of cities.
You had Little Jerusalem. Greek Town. Roman enclaves. Syrian quarters. People living next to each other, but not really with each other.
One historian says there were as many as 18 ethnic quarters—each with literal walls built to keep people apart. No one crossed them unless absolutely necessary.
That was Antioch.
And yet—that’s where the gospel broke through.
This was the place where walls came down.
Where people crossed racial, cultural, and religious lines.
This is the site of the first multiethnic, missional church plant in history.
And here’s what will absolutely wreck you:
It wasn’t planted by Peter.
It wasn’t started by John.
Not even Paul or Barnabas.
Luke tells us in Acts 11 that “some of them”—just some unnamed believers—came to Antioch and started sharing the good news with Greeks.
That’s all we get. “Some of them.” No names. No stories. No titles. Just faithful, Spirit-filled nobodies lighting a fire in a dark place.
And that fire has never gone out.
This is the church that launched Paul and Barnabas on their missionary journeys.
This is the church that first sent the gospel to the ends of the earth.
This is our spiritual family tree.
And it starts with... some of them.
Can I just pause here and say this: you are here because of the obedience of nameless saints.
Somebody shared the gospel with somebody… who discipled somebody… who led somebody… and eventually, that gospel reached you.
It’s like staying through the credits after a movie. Ever done that? Nowadays you almost have to—just in case there’s an extra scene at the end.
Hundreds—sometimes thousands—of names scroll by. Lighting crew. Set designers. Second assistant camera. Gaffers… whatever those are. Most of us don’t know a single one.
But without them—the movie doesn’t happen.
Fun fact: I have a cousin—I think she’s my mom’s second cousin—Fern Champion. Sounds like a made-up name. I’ve never met her. But she’s a casting director. Her name shows up in the credits of movies like The Mask and Wayne’s World—you know, the classics.
I remember watching VHS tapes, sitting through credits looking for her name.
She didn’t act. She didn’t write. She didn’t direct. But without her? The story doesn’t come together.
And that’s us.
Most of us aren’t going to be the Pauls or the Peters. You may never preach a sermon, plant a church, or go overseas. But that doesn’t mean you’re not essential.
We’re the “some of them.”
Carrying the gospel with us—into schools, into neighborhoods, into friendships, into Antioch.
That’s why I’m here, too. Not to be the star of the show. Not to be Peter. I’m not the rock on which this church is built. Honestly, I’m more like a cheerleader with bad knees and a Bible.
My job? To encourage. To equip you. To cheer for you.
To remind you: you’re part of the story.
You are carriers of God’s presence into this moment, this town, this church.
And maybe nobody will ever know your name. That’s okay.
William Barclay once said, “It has always been one of the tragedies of the Church that men have wished to be noticed and named when they did something worthwhile. What the Church has always needed, perhaps more than anything else, is people who never care who gets the credit for it so long as the work is done.”
These unnamed believers in Acts 11 may not have written their names in the history books—but their names are written in God’s Book of Life.
Because in the end, it’s not about making a name for ourselves.
It’s about lifting the name that is above every other name.
THE NAME ABOVE ALL NAMES
Do you guys remember that Hasidic Jewish rapper—Matisyahu?
He had this one line that’s stuck with me which I can still remember to this day: “Hashem’s rays, fire blaze, burn bright, and I believe.”
Man, that takes me back.
Listen to the first verse of his song:
“You’re all that I have and you’re all that I need. Each and every day I pray to get to know you, please. I want to be close to you, yes I’m so hungry. You’re like water for my soul when it gets thirsty. Without you there’s no me. You’re the air that I breathe…”
Even before I understood it all… I could feel the weight.
“Hashem’s rays, fire blaze…”
Hashem. The Name.
See, in traditional Judaism, Hashem—literally “The Name”—is how they refer to God. They won’t say the name He gave to Moses, YHWH. Not out loud. Not even in reading Scripture. It’s too holy. Too sacred. Too weighty.
So they just say... The Name.
Not as a way of avoiding God.
As a way of honoring Him.
A way of saying: He’s so holy we won’t even risk misusing His name.
And I think maybe we’ve lost some of that.
Because here’s the thing: the name you use reveals the relationship you have.
If I call my wife “Mrs. Hoffman,” that tells you something. Maybe not something good, but it tells you something.
If I call her “babe,” or “love,” or “my favorite human who puts up with all my nonsense,”—now that tells you something else entirely.
That tells you we’ve got history.
That I’ve done some dumb things and she’s forgiven me.
That I know her heart, and she knows mine.
It’s personal. It’s intimate.
The way we speak about God—the reverence we give His name—says something about how we relate to Him. Whether we treat Him like our personal assistant… or the King of Kings.
His name carries His character. His presence. His glory.
It’s not just a label—it’s who He is.
Proverbs 18:10 says, “The name of the Lord is a strong tower; the righteous run to it and are safe.”
1 Chronicles 16:8 says, “Give praise to the Lord, proclaim His name; make known among the nations what He has done.”
Malachi 1:11 says, “From the rising of the sun to its setting, My name will be great among the nations…”
His name will be great. Not mine. Not yours.
And here’s what’s absolutely wild: That holy, untouchable, blazing name—we’ve been invited to bear it.
We’ve been invited to lay down our name, our reputation, our need to be known—and pick up His.
We don’t follow Jesus to make a name for ourselves.
We follow Jesus to make His name famous—in every neighborhood, every workplace, every nation.
That’s why we do this.
That’s why we plant churches, love our neighbors, raise kids in the faith, pray when no one sees, give when it costs, and forgive when it’s hard—because of His name. To make His name famous among the nations.
Because there is a Name above every name.
A Name that one day every knee will bow to.
And if we get to carry that Name—even if we’re forgotten in the process—that’s more than enough.
That’s why we do this.
LAYING DOWN OUR NAMES
The gospel doesn’t erase your name. It redeems it.
You don’t stop being you. But you do lay “you” down—your identity, your reputation, your need to be seen and remembered—at the feet of the one name that matters above all others.
Becoming a Christian isn’t self-help.
It’s not self-improvement, self-realization, or self-anything.
It’s death. It’s transformation.
Jesus said, “Whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it” (Mark 8:35).
This is the very heartbeat of discipleship. Jesus invites you to become unknown for the sake of the kingdom. You lose yourself in obedience to Him. And it’s there, in service to Christ, that you begin to discover who you were truly made to be.
In Acts 11, we see this beautifully lived out. These unnamed believers who fled persecution carried the gospel with faithfulness. And because of their everyday obedience, a church was born in Antioch.
A movement was ignited and thousands of years later, we were born to faith because of their invisible obedience.
The Spirit of God has this beautiful, disruptive habit of making ordinary things eternally significant.
You think your job doesn’t matter?
You think your parenting, your prayers, your quiet faithfulness in this hard season are invisible?
God sees. God breathes on it. And suddenly, the mundane becomes holy ground.
And here’s the wild part:
We keep waiting for some “big” spiritual moment. Some clearer calling. Some more inspiring setting.
But all the while, the Spirit is saying:
“Let Me work right here.”
Ray Stedman put it like this: “The Holy Spirit at work is like a great river, cutting a fresh channel, going wherever He wishes.”
But what do we do?
We get out our shovels, dig a trench, and pour concrete.
“Here, Lord,” we say. “Flow through this. I’ve built a ministry model. I’ve got a plan.”
But the Spirit doesn’t follow our blueprints—He builds His own.
And we wonder why we feel dry.
Maybe the Spirit is trying to move… not in the “someday,” but in the now.
In this family. This job. This hard thing you didn’t choose.
Maybe the thing we’re calling ordinary is the exact place God wants to do the miraculous.
Family, what if we stopped trying to move to where we think God will use us best… and just offered Him what we’ve already got? What if God is calling us to grow where we are planted rather than continually transplanting ourselves to some version of church we feel like He can work in? Then we’re just carving our channels and trying to control the Spirit rather than being controlled by the Spirit. Trust that the Spirit of God wants to do something fresh in your ordinary. And He often begins by awakening your imagination to see Him moving in the very places you’ve stopped looking. To be nameless and faithful.
Luke doesn’t tell us who these believers were.
But he tells us what happened.
And then something incredible—almost ironic—happens.
In the very same passage where we meet nameless Christians… we see the church named for the first time.
“They were first called Christians at Antioch.” (Acts 11:26)
That name didn’t come from inside the church. It wasn’t the result of a branding workshop.
It came from outsiders. From neighbors and co-workers and city officials.
People who looked at these believers and said,
“They’re not just religious. Not just moral. They remind us of… Jesus.”
Little Christs.
They didn’t claim the name.
They didn’t promote the name.
They reflected the Name.
So here’s the question:
What about you?
If you never told anyone you were a Christian… would they know? Would anyone know you follow Jesus without you telling them? What about your life screams Jesus?
From your life. From how you treat people. From how you handle suffering.
Does anything about your life scream, “That person’s been with Jesus”?
Let’s be clear—this isn’t about spiritual image management.
It’s not about trying to look like a Christian.
It’s about being so filled with the presence of Christ that you can’t help but reflect Him.
That’s what happened in Antioch. These believers didn’t just carry a name.
They carried a presence.
They echoed the life of Jesus.
So what do we see in them?
We see that the hand of the Lord was with them (v. 21). This wasn’t man-made momentum—it was Spirit-empowered movement. The church is not a place to attend but a movement of people to which we belong. It’s been a while since I’ve said that, but I hope it sounds familiar.
We see that they spoke the word of the Lord to all people—not just those like them. There was radical inclusion and bold evangelism.
They gave sacrificially—sending support to others in need (v. 29).
They had a good reputation—so much so that Barnabas was sent to check it out and “saw the grace of God” (v. 23).
They remained faithful with steadfast purpose (v. 23).
They discipled one another—for a whole year Paul and Barnabas taught this growing community (v. 26). Can you imagine having Paul as your Pastor—discipling you? The apostle who met the risen Christ, who knew the Scriptures inside and out, who would go on to write most of the New Testament. Can you imagine the life-on-life, Spirit-filled, truth-soaked discipleship? Being formed into a people who lived and breathed the gospel. Learning together, gowring together, being shaped into something new together.
We see that they listened to the Spirit and acted—responding to prophetic word with generosity and unity (v. 28–30).
It wasn’t just a church. It was a movement. A community of people who had laid down their names, their preferences, their pasts. And who carried with them the one name that really matters:
Jesus.
CONCLUSION: NAMELESS FOR THE NAME
They never set out to be famous.
Most of them—we’ll never know their names.
But heaven does.
Their faithfulness echoes through eternity because they carried the gospel beyond the borders of comfort, culture, and convenience.
Jesus says in Revelation 3:5, “The one who is victorious will be dressed in white. I will never blot out the name of that person from the book of life, but will acknowledge that name before my Father and his angels.”
The world may not know your name.
But Jesus does.
He sees your faithfulness. Your sacrifice. Your obedience in ordinary, hidden places.
So let’s bring this full circle:
Who shared Jesus with you?
Who walked across the room—or across a border, or across years of silence—to bring the gospel into your life?
You may not even know their name.
But you’re here because they were faithful.
Now here’s the bigger question:
Who will be in God’s family because you were faithful?
Who might find Jesus because you decided to pray when no one else would?
Who might experience grace because you forgave what others wouldn’t?
Who could hear the gospel because you had the courage to speak up?
Maybe it won’t look like preaching.
Maybe it looks like raising your kids to know and love Jesus.
Maybe it’s a coworker watching how you treat people.
Maybe it’s a neighbor you’ve quietly loved for years…
or the one you serve by mowing their lawn when no one else does.
Maybe it’s someone who watches you walk through suffering and asks, “How are you still standing?”
Maybe it’s someone who hasn’t even been born yet—who will walk in your spiritual footsteps because you stayed faithful today.
What if your quiet obedience today becomes someone else's breakthrough tomorrow?
What if the story of salvation ten years from now starts with your whisper of surrender today?
What if your “yes” to God, right here in anonymity, becomes a spiritual chain reaction that outlives you?
Who in your life right now needs the hope you have?
Who has God already placed in your path—your family, your friend group, your workplace, your neighborhood?
What if you stopped waiting for someone else to be the “missionary”… and realized it’s you?
So here it is—your commissioning:
Go live nameless for the Name.
Go plant seeds you may never see grow.
Go be faithful where no one’s watching.
Go carry the Name above every name—Jesus.
Resources (*the views expressed within the following content are solely the author's and may not necessarily reflect the opinions and beliefs of Mountainside Church):
Midtown Downtown (Acts Series)
In Four Generations We'll All Be Forgotten
Phone: (828) 202-9143
Email: hello@mcboone.com