In the wake of the worldwide conversations about slavery reparations, my mind wandered back to a movie I watched many years ago. I cannot remember its title anymore, but one scene has never quite left me.
It is strange how certain images stay with us long after the credits have rolled.
Whenever I read Isaiah 43:1, that scene quietly returns.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.”
The marketplace was crowded, but strangely silent in spirit. Men and women stood in chains, barely clothed, waiting to be bought. They were not seen as people with stories, dreams or families. They were merchandise.
Prospective buyers walked slowly through the rows, inspecting each slave as though examining livestock. They lifted chins, stretched out arms, checked shoulders and backs, looking for strength and usefulness. Every glance carried the coldness of ownership.
What struck me most was that no one cared about their names.
The slave owner did not call them by name. He called them by numbers.
Each person answered to a number because somewhere along the journey, their names had been taken from them. Their identities had been stripped away before the chains ever touched their wrists. Whoever bought them would simply give them another name, another life, another master.
Imagine, for a moment, that you were standing there.
Far from the land where you were born. Separated from everyone you had ever loved. Cold. Exhausted. Afraid. Every passing stranger stared at your frail body as though deciding whether you were worth the price. Some looked with disgust. Others looked with indifference. None looked with compassion.
You had almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen as a human being.
Then, from somewhere beyond the crowd, a voice broke through the noise.
“Let her go.”
The marketplace fell still.
The slave owner turned toward the voice, surprised that anyone would interrupt the auction. A man stepped forward. There was nothing threatening about him, yet somehow everyone seemed to make way for him.
He looked at you differently.
There was no contempt in his eyes. No calculation. No greed.
Only kindness.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe.
The slave owner, sensing something unusual, demanded an outrageous price. Far more than he had ever asked for even the strongest slave.
Perhaps he hoped the man would walk away.
Instead, the stranger quietly placed everything he had before the owner. His jewellery. His wealth. Every possession of value.
The slave owner stared in disbelief.
“But this is more than I asked.”
The man simply replied, “Take it. And never come near her again.”
He walked over to you himself.
He loosened your chains.
He took off his own coat and wrapped it around your trembling body. You were too weak to stand, so he carried you in his arms and walked away from the marketplace without looking back.
Away from the chains.
Away from the shame.
Away from those who only ever saw your value in what you could produce.
As you rested against him, a thought crept into your heart.
Was I really worth that much?
What if he changed his mind? What if he realised he had paid too much? What if one day he returned to reclaim what he had given away?
Almost as though he could hear the questions you never spoke aloud, he smiled and said,
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are mine.”
Perhaps that is why this verse has always moved me.
God did not negotiate because we were valuable. We became valuable because He chose to redeem us.
He did not purchase us to own us the way the world owns things. He redeemed us to restore what had been stolen. Our dignity. Our identity. Our belonging.
The world may number people according to status, wealth, failures or achievements.
God still calls people by name.
And if the One who gave everything to redeem you knows your name, then you never have to question your worth again.
