As
Jesus entered the village of Capernaum, a Roman captain came up in a panic and
said, "Master, my servant is sick. He can't walk. He's in terrible
pain."
Jesus
said, "I'll come and heal him."
"Oh,
no," said the captain. "I don't want to put you to all that trouble.
Just give the order and my servant will be fine. I'm a man who takes orders and
gives orders. I tell one soldier, 'Go,' and he goes; to another, 'Come,' and he
comes; to my slave, 'Do this,' and he does it."
Taken
aback, Jesus said, "I've yet to come across this kind of simple trust in
Israel, the very people who are supposed to know all about God and how he
works. This man is the vanguard of many outsiders who will soon be coming from
all directions—streaming in from the east, pouring in from the west, sitting
down at God's kingdom banquet alongside Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Then those
who grew up 'in the faith' but had no faith will find themselves out in the
cold, outsiders to grace and wondering what happened."
Then
Jesus turned to the captain and said, "Go. What you believed could happen
has happened." At that moment his servant became well. (Matthew 8:5-13,
The Message)
I've
pondered this passage on many an occasion. It took me a long time to understand
the centurion's attitude before I realised that he - a high-ranking officer in
a well-disciplined but notoriously cruel army - had not only recognised but had submitted to the kingdom authority he saw
in Jesus. An authority beyond the reach
of mortal men; an authority which superseded natural law, changed the molecular
structure of water, interrupted weather patterns and enabled Jesus to walk on
water and through walls.
We can learn lots
of lessons from that war-bitten veteran.
He recognised Jesus’s authority over the physical world.
He submitted to authority – both that of men in the army and that
of Jesus.
I wonder if the
centurion came to Jesus as a last resort,
having exhausted the medical resources of the Roman army? What a contrast between the two men: a Roman
officer in full uniform and armour putting himself at the mercy of a local
prophet, reputedly wacky and religious. A man who owned only the clothes he
wore, who travelled around the country on foot, a man of ‘no fixed abode’. The
Romans considered the Jews to be a
hysterical people, emotionally labile, highly reactive in contrast to the cool
discipline of the Roman army. There were frequent unruly protests, harshly put
down, which were indisciplined; disordered; uncontrolled – everything the Roman
army wasn’t.
It wouldn’t have
been an obvious choice for a Roman to go to Jesus for help with a sick member
of the household.
Do we exhaust all other avenues before we
turn to Jesus for help? A sticky problem, a difficult relationship – do we ask
Jesus for advice, help, intervention? Do we take the least obvious – in the
world’s eyes – choice?
The centurion didn’t put conditions on accepting
authority. The Roman army was incredibly well-organised with clear lines of
command. Superiors were held in respect. Orders from above were accepted
without question. The centurion would never have dreamed of openly questioning
his commanding officer.
Neither did he
question Jesus. He asserted that Jesus
could cure his servant at a distance
and with a word: no visit required,
no prayers or incantations, no laying on of hands.
What is our attitude towards authority? Do
we accept it without question? Do we, at times, argue or kick against it? Do we
treat those with authority over us with respect? People are flawed, of course –
how do we know when, perhaps, we should take different action?
The centurion recognised
Jesus’ authority and was gracious to him: he addressed him as ‘Lord’. He came
to Jesus from a position of humility,
although he could have commanded Jesus to come to his house and could have
demanded that Jesus heal his servant.
And look at the centurion’s
attitude towards the servant: The centurion was gracious to and concerned about him, seeking out the
Jew with a reputation as a healer and miracle worker. There were many who came
to Jesus asking for healing of their children, but this is the only recorded
incident where someone came on behalf of a servant.
How do we handle the authority we have
over others? What is our attitude towards those who are ‘under’ us? In work, at home...
The centurion
demonstrates real humility: Matthew
Henry says “Humble souls are made more humble, by Christ’s gracious
condescensions to them. Observe what was the language of his humility; Lord,
I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof (Matt.
8:8)”
To paraphrase Matthew Henry: We should
value God in those who seem less than we are: less intelligent, less wealthy,
less beautiful in appearance, less well-connected... The centurion was
desperate for Jesus to help him and knew Jesus could heal his servant just by
saying so: he didn’t demand that Jesus visit his house - he was really humble.
We
need to remember that when we come to God, we should have a real sense that we are
helpless to do anything for ourselves and, left on our own without Jesus, are
useless to God.
Jesus admires the
centurion’s attitude towards him. The centurion had more ‘simple trust/great faith’ than any Jew he had come across. More
faith than the disciples, who had already seen him heal many people? (Matthew
4:23 - 25) More faith than John the Baptist? Than his own mother?
Do we come to Jesus with similar faith
expectations?
This story
challenges our prejudices. What would the disciples have thought as they saw
the centurion – a Gentile, with whom no decent law-abiding Jew would associate
– approaching Jesus. Yet Jesus wants to go to the Roman’s house. And then there
is also the challenge the centurion poses, in his care for a mere servant.
How do we accept others who are different
from us? Perhaps a colleague who we have little in common with? Maybe even
someone who has annoyed us? Or someone we feel has undermined us at work?
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