Luke 7:1-10
June 2, 2013
I
often use the word “faithful” to describe a life I think is congruent with our
scriptures, and our understanding of God, Spirit and Jesus. Our goal, I assume, is to live a faithful
life.
But
you should know that I am intentional about using the word “faithful,” and not
“faith.” I rarely use the word “faith.” In my mind, being faithful is about how we live in each moment. On the other hand, having faith seems to me to be about things you
think or believe.
Faith
too easily, in my opinion, becomes believing in something: scriptures, God,
Jesus, Christ. Then, faith - the believing in – becomes enough. That becomes the sum total of what it means
to be faithful. I have faith that God
will answer prayers. I have faith that
things will get better. I have faith
that I can weather this storm. I have
faith that Jesus walks with me. I have
faith that God knows the future.
All
of these statements of faith are not necessarily wrong…for me, they’re just not
enough. I think being faithful goes far
beyond having faith in someone or something else. Being faithful seems to speak more to me
about my everyday life and the decisions I make about what I do and how I
live. It just seems more practical. My point is I’m far more comfortable talking
about being faithful than I am about faith.
So, this passage challenges me a bit.
It’s pretty hard to avoid that this is about faith. Something in the centurion’s words or actions
amazed Jesus, and he called it faith.
So
“faith”: What is it, and why does it
matter? At first glance it seems that
the faith of the centurion soldier was faith in Jesus. Faith that Jesus had the authority to heal
his beloved servant – that he was the one able
to heal – and faith that he would heal
his servant. It’s that simple. Faith is believing Jesus can and will heal
us, heal others. Faith is calling on
Jesus in those moments when we need him most and believing that he will save
the day – because that’s what he does.
But
when we look more carefully, it seems that faith is more complicated than
that. In fact, I think at the heart of
this passage is a paradox that makes me dizzy.
On first hearing, we might miss the nuance of the ending of this story. We think that because the centurion has faith
that Jesus can heal his servant with
just a word, and the servant is
healed in the end, Jesus did, indeed, heal the servant. But it’s not as clear as that. Listen again to how this unfolds: The centurion, says,
“Speak
the word, and let my servant be healed. 8For I also am a man set
under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes,
and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my slave, ‘Do this,’ and the slave
does it.”
He
believes that Jesus need only say so, and the slave will be healed, because
that’s how it works for the centurion in the Roman system. But listen carefully to what comes next:
9When Jesus heard this he was amazed
at him, and turning to the crowd that followed him, he said, “I tell you, not
even in Israel have I found such faith.” 10When those who had been
sent returned to the house, they found the slave in good health.
The
only words Jesus speaks are to praise the faith of the centurion. He doesn’t say, “be well,” “get up you are
well;” Not even “tell the centurion that
I have healed the servant.” There is nothing
that would indicate Jesus did anything with the servant. In fact, we don’t get to know explicitly who or what healed the servant. All
we know is that Jesus praised the centurion’s faith and when the friends went
to the house the servant was in good health.
To me, that indicates that it was the faith of the centurion that healed the servant – not a command from
Jesus.
Now,
this is not without precedent. It’s not
the only instance of someone’s faith, instead of Jesus, healing in the gospel
of Luke. In fact, there are two ways
that healing happens in the gospel of Luke.
One is the way we usually think of:
Jesus touches someone, or speaks a word, and makes them well. Jesus commands someone to get up and walk and
they do. It’s Jesus as the healer.
But
there are a number of places where Jesus makes it very clear that he is not the
one who is healing – it is the faith of another. “Your faith has made you well,” he says to
the woman who was bleeding. Your faith
has made you whole, he says to a leper.
Your faith. Not me. This passage is one of those – your faith…not
me.
Here
it is the faith of the centurion soldier that brings his servant back to health. It’s his faith, not Jesus. But the paradox is that the faith is faith
that Jesus and Jesus alone can heal. The
centurion had praiseworthy faith that was, in the end, wrong. Dizzying.
What
do I make of this paradox? Well by
definition I can’t resolve it. It
further complicates, for me, talking about faith at all. Being faithful I get. Having faith seems a bit more out of reach
for me.
But
here’s one thing I notice about the centurion soldier, and I wonder if it
doesn’t have something to do with the faith that Jesus praised: The soldier is a powerful man in a system
that recognizes power as the only thing that matters. He, himself, gives us a glimpse of the kind of
power he has. He says “jump,” and the
person asks, “how high?” When he wants
something done, he gives a command and it gets done. But here, his power has failed him, and he
reaches out beyond himself – even beyond his comfort zone – when he realizes he
can’t…no matter how much power he has…do this one alone.
When
he starts to reach out, I think that’s where his faith, and healing, begin. He asks the Jewish elders to help him. He reaches out to his friends to talk to
Jesus on his behalf. He has to go
outside of the power system – the one where all that matters is who has power
over whom – and move into a system where people care for one another,
regardless of who has the most or least status.
Because he reaches out, he leaves the world of the Empire, whether he
knows it or not.
On
one level, this all seems so obvious.
Reach out for help. Duh. More people are better than one. Like those commercials with the kids: The guy sitting at the preschool-sized table
with a bunch of kids and he asks, “Which is better; more or less?” And the kids pretty much answer, “More. Duh” It’s supposed to be so obvious: reach out for help when you need it. But it’s not always natural for us. Reaching out for help means admitting you are
powerless. Having power, believing we
have power, is comforting. It really
is. Giving that up, admitting we are
powerless is not always easy, so we tell ourselves we have power – that we can
fix things ourselves.
In
fact, I think there are a number of reasons we don’t reach out…even when our
most beloved ones are suffering.
Things
like fear of being disappointed. Fear of
being judged and embarrassed. Fear of
rejection. I don’t want to bother
anyone. I feel like I would be in debt
to someone. I want to fix it by myself –
I have my own ideas about how to do things and I don’t want people offering
alternatives. But all these things
hinder healing.
It’s
easier for me to think of myself being faithful – responding to others, doing
what’s right, living ethically, offering a hand to those in need. It’s much harder for me to think that having
faith has anything to do with being driven to my knees by the reality of my own
inability to alleviate suffering – by my own desperation and lack of power to
fix a broken world. But that’s because
it’s easier for me to think of myself as powerful. When I’m the one in need, when I’m not able
to help another, when the broken world is crushing me, what, then, does it mean
to be faithful? Well, being faithful can
also mean reaching out to others.
At
some point we all become the centurion.
Maybe we’re lonely, but too embarrassed to reach out. Maybe we watch as a loved one suffers and we
can’t help them, but we worry that asking for help is abdicating our
responsibility. Maybe we’re falling
behind in life, but think we can catch up if we just try hard enough. Maybe we are hurting…ill, depressed,
addicted, grieving, but fear if we reach out, we will be rejected or
judged. Maybe we are the ones with the
flooded basement. Maybe we are the ones
with lives destroyed by a tornado. Maybe
we live in the midst of violence. But we
want to be on the helping end because people will look at us with admiration,
not pity.
It’s
just as faithful to reach out in need as it is to respond. It’s just as faithful to trust others as it
is to be trustworthy. This is not how we
think – it’s not how I think. But it has
to do with living in a world of dependency…recognizing we live in a world where
we are dependent on one another for our health and wholeness because God
created a world of interdependencies. It
equalizes us. God’s kingdom is not like
a Roman army. In God’s kingdom all are
equally in need of one another and equally capable of responding to other’s
needs. It’s humbling, when you think
about it. For those of us used to being
the helpers – being in power – it’s humbling to need others. But that humility is valuable – it’s
praiseworthy, according to Jesus. It
changes the way we look at each other and value one another.
Faith:
Reaching out in need and responding to
others in need. Maybe it’s a paradox, but
maybe it’s not. Maybe faith is believing
that what is true – that we all need one another – is good. Amen.
