The Worthy Centurion?
Why did Jesus heal the centurion’s slave? How a person answers this question will undoubtedly shape how they understand God and God’s kingdom.
The centurion and his entourage approach Jesus on the basis of his merit. First he sends some Jewish elders to make his plea, and they insist of the centurion, “He is worthy to have you do this for him”—in other words, he merits this—“for he loves our people, and it is he who built our synagogue for us” (7:4-5). But a little while later, the centurion sends some more friends to pass on a message directly from him, “Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof… [O]nly speak the word.” (7:6-7). Here the centurion refutes any claims to his own merit.
When Jesus expresses amazement at the centurion’s faith, however, I am initially inclined to hear his words of praise as a direct rebuttal to the centurion’s self-deprecation. I hear honor added to honor, merit stacked upon merit. Not only is this an altruistic centurion who cares for the people under his authority, but also he is humble and trusting. If anyone deserves to have his request for healing granted, it is this upright and well-respected centurion.
To put it another way, here is what I hear between the lines. The centurion says, “I’m not worthy,” and Jesus says, “On the contrary, you are more worthy than anyone I know.”
But the truth is, this picture of events that I’m imagining conforms more to the contours of our present world than it does to the contours of God’s kingdom. This picture of events resembles any number of feel-good, inspirational movies, where an upstanding character perseveres with integrity through difficult circumstances and finally meets with due reward. The message of this storyline is that, ultimately, good behavior is rewarded.
But this is not the gospel. The gospel is even better than this. God’s kingdom is better than this.
Unconditional Compassion
Immediately following the story of the centurion’s healing is another story of healing, but it could hardly be more different.
To begin, the person of interest is not a man of power, but a widow who has lost her final support, her son. Whereas the Roman centurion seeks Jesus’ help and sends multiple people to plead on his behalf, this widow does not address Jesus. Perhaps most crucially of all, there is no suggestion that this widow has any standing or has done anything that would merit Jesus’ attention. There is not even a mention of her faith.
All that is said is this. Jesus sees her. And he is moved to compassion. Which is to say, his response is not intellectual but visceral, emotional. It is not a weighing of the scales, a matter of judging what is worthy of his attention. His compassion is unconditional. He cannot help but care.
He says, “Do not cry,” but I imagine that he himself has a tear in his eye. He shares the widow’s sorrow…before he shares his hope and joy. Is this not the way of compassion? Is not the shared bearing of a burden also the beginning of a shared hope and joy?
The final difference between these two stories is easy to miss. Whereas Jesus heals the centurion’s slave from afar, through some spiritual confluence of the centurion’s faith and his own love, Jesus raises the widow’s son through the most intimate, immediate gesture. He approaches the funeral bier and touches it. If the centurion had thought Jesus as a Jew would have avoided the impurity of his gentile home, then he was mistaken, because here Jesus willingly touches death. In his religious tradition, this would have rendered him “impure.” But in reality, it expresses the resurrection power of God’s compassion.
The Reason Jesus Heals
The reason that Jesus heals the centurion’s slave, I think, is the exact same reason he raises the widow’s son. It has nothing to do with merit. It even has nothing to do with faith. (To be sure, faith is the reason that the centurion seeks Jesus, but it is not the reason Jesus heals his slave.) The reason that Jesus heals is plain and simple. He is moved to compassion.
This is the gospel, the good news, and it is even better than the feel-good, inspirational stories our world tells. Because the truth is, none of us is perfect, and even the best of us will encounter hard times when faith founders and despair crowds around us. If at some points in our life we find ourselves in the centurion’s shoes, living respectably and enjoying the support of friends who will speak in our favor, we will at the other times find ourselves in the shoes of the widow, having lost our last support and perhaps even our faith.
Thank God for the compassion of Christ, who draws near to our wounds, our impurities, our death, whose touch raises us to life. You have experienced this yourselves, I’m sure of it. Compassion heals and raises us to life. There are times when a long, genuine hug or a heartfelt note heals you in a way no drug or therapy can. There are times when the silent companionship of a friend divides your loneliness in half and gives you the strength to go on. There are times when you see something in nature, a bird or a sunrise, and it is as though God were speaking directly to you, telling you what you need to hear. In all of these times, Christ is with us. His compassion is what heals and raises us to life.
A few weeks ago, I went skiing with my brother and nephews. When one of my nephews learned that we would not be staying in the mountains past that night, he became inconsolable. Literally. We heard his muffled cries long after the lights had been turned out in his room. Finally, my brother went to be with him. He knew better than to try to reason with my nephew, to try to help him see things differently. He simply shared my nephew’s sorrow. He said he was sad too. Then he asked if he could cuddle for a moment, and my nephew finally relented from his despair and said, “Yes.” All was quiet, calm, as my brother shared his hope with my nephew.
It was a minor event. Nothing at all like what happens when we lose a loved one or suffer a serious trauma. But I trust that, whatever the degree of our loss and suffering, the truth remains the same…Christ sees us. Draws near to us. And it is his compassion that heals.
“I Will Give You Rest”
Last Sunday I mentioned a congregational conversation that I am inviting you to be a part of in a couple of Saturdays. No matter how I talk about that conversation, I feel some discomfort. Thinking about the future and about change usually makes me feel some discomfort. Even as I recognize that change is often an invitation to be faithful and an opportunity to grow.
So I’m grateful for this week’s passage. I’m grateful for the reminder that God’s care is not conditional upon our being right or good…or even faithful. God’s care is unconditional. Christ sees us and our need. Christ draws near to us. Christ shares our sorrow, even as he shares the hope and joy of new life.
My prayer for our conversation and for the present phase of discernment is that we can rest in the presence of Christ and his compassion. That we can see the see the tear in his eye even as he says, “Do not cry.” And that we will find ourselves less burdened than before.
Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” The paradox of faith is that when we let go of control, the result is not chaos…but rest for our souls.
Prayer
God of compassion,
Whose mercies are new every morning—
We rejoice that you see us
And know our need,
That you share our sorrow and discomfort
Even as you share your hope and joy
…
Inspire us by the stories of the centurion and widow
To live secure in your care,
To know that healing and new life
Is the gift of your boundless compassion.
In Christ, of gentle and humble heart: Amen.
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