"The Place of Compassion"

Sermon Text – Luke 7:1-10

No matter how many times I read the Gospel of Luke this week, I simply couldn’t find the answers to my questions. I read commentator after commentator, pouring through books, journals, and websites. No one was able to explain this week’s passage to me.

It’s a short little story with an uncomplicated plot and few characters. There is the centurion – a Roman officer who would have been in charge of 80 to 100 other soldiers. There is his unnamed slave – and we don’t really learn anything about him except that he is sick and dying. Jesus, of course, is a main character, but has little to say – just one line of dialogue. And two groups of people who work on behalf of the centurion – the first, a group of Jews who vouch for his character; the second, a group of his friends who broker the details of the relationship between Jesus and the centurion.

Just so you get a well-rounded understanding of the passage, I want to tell you what most commentators have to say about it. Overwhelmingly, this is thought to be a passage about the openness of Jesus and the importance of faith. Because Jesus’ one-liner is praise for the centurion’s faith – “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith!” – we come to this text wondering, “Just what is it that makes the centurion’s faith so great?”

So there is a lot of speculation out there about what makes the centurion so wonderful. Although he is a part of an enemy group – the oppressors of the Jewish people – he is kind to them. He has even built synagogues for them. He is also kind to his slave – rather than seeing him as a commodity, he seems to truly care about his well-being and health. Further, he is humble. Instead of approaching Jesus himself, he sends some of “Jesus’s kind” – Jews – to do the talking. In doing so, he follows the social norms of his day, avoiding awkward cross-cultural interactions. Plus, he seems to be telling Jesus, “I think you are so powerful that you don’t even NEED to come into my house to heal my slave. You can do it from afar!” Finally, in his little speech about authority, he seems to be saying, “I understand how power works. I operate in the power structure of the Roman government. And because I understand that, I also understand that you hold the real power here. I work on behalf of the government, but you wield the power of God.”

No matter how much I read, I just had a hard time getting myself sold on all this praise of the centurion. I just kept scratching my head, wondering why Jesus gave him such high praise. I mean, sure, he wanted to heal his slave, but we don’t know why. Slaves were valuable property. Did he want to heal him because he saw him as a human being endowed with the right to health and life? Or did he take care of him the same way I take care of my laptop – a valuable tool that I paid a lot of money for and I don’t want to have to replace if it breaks?

We don’t know. We hope it’s the latter, of course, but the text doesn’t say. I think assuming that he was warm and fuzzy towards his slave is just that – assuming.

Next – the Jews speak up on behalf of him, saying he was good to them and built them synagogues. While this may have well been true, it doesn’t necessarily mean he was having them over for tea or hanging out with them at the bar. First of all, what else were they supposed to say? Their oppressor, who wielded great power over them, asked them to pay him a compliment so he could get something he wanted. Of course they obliged. Secondly, building synagogues alone doesn’t mean he was a God-fearer or had any genuine respect for their religion. He may have simply been trying to keep them happy – a key component in any successful long-term occupation.

And then I just want to know more about why he didn’t want to actually enter into a relationship with Jesus. Why all these messengers? He says it’s because he doesn’t want to offend Jesus by having him come to his home, but in this culture, hospitality was one of the most highly regarded values. It seems to me that Jesus is a big boy and probably could have made his own decisions about whether he wanted to take on a scandal by going to the centurion’s home. Instead, he wasn’t given the option. While saying, “You are so much better than me,” with his mouth, the centurion is also saying, “But I will make all the decisions around here,” with his actions.

Finally, there’s the little speech about governmental power. Commentators seem to think he is praising Jesus for getting his power from God rather than Rome, but, seriously? When I read that? I feel like that’s a stretch. There are so many other things he could be saying. When I first read it, I felt like he was just explaining his predicament: “Look, Jesus. I have people I have to answer to. And I am lucky enough to be surrounded by people that do my bidding. I tell my soldiers and slaves what to do and they do it. And now one of my slaves is sick. Can you help me out?”

And the thing is – whether the centurion is wonderful and worthy or somewhat shady or somewhere in between – Jesus doesn’t ask any further questions. He gives the centurion what he needs. He praises him. And when he gets home, his slave is healed.

I finish reading this passage and want to know – did Jesus really do the healing? Or was it just some kind of coincidence? Because the passage doesn’t say anyone did the healing. It just says the slave was healed. And I also want there to be more.

I want Jesus to tell the centurion, “I’m coming to your house. We are going to enter into a relationship. We are going to know each other. I am going to see your slave. I am going to look into his eyes, learn his name, and bring him to wholeness. Not just physical health, but a sense of true wholeness. I am going to teach you to see him as a person. I am going to subvert the power structure and question your authority. I am going to question whether or not it’s really acceptable to own another human being.”

But, alas, Jesus does none of these things. Jesus simply praises the centurion, plays by his rules, and moves on to heal others. After turning this text over and over in my mind this week, the conclusion I came to is that this is a passage I really needed to study. I am not going to pretend to be speaking for any of you, but I needed to struggle with the deep desire I have for my Jesus to always be turning over tables, yelling at villains, and questioning the evil systems and structures of the world. Maybe you aren’t as cranky as me and you don’t need your Jesus to be so angry. If so, I am glad for you.

When I examine what Jesus does in this story, what I notice is that the entire passage is governed by one of Jesus’ superhero powers: compassion.

I don’t think it is a coincidence that this story takes place in Capernaum. The name literally means, “Place of Compassion.” It is the place that Matthew calls Jesus’ home base – the place he retreats to after withstanding temptation in the wilderness at the beginning of his ministry. Capernaum is also the place where Jesus got in trouble for teaching and healing on the Sabbath – acts of compassion for a people who were hungry for knowledge and for Simon Peter whose mother-in-law was quite ill. And it is the place where he healed a paralyzed man lowered through the roof in a scene of movie-worthy drama.

Capernaum. The place of compassion. Jesus’ home base.

Time after time in our scriptures, the people around Jesus wonder, “Where does this man get his authority? How does he do these mighty acts?”

Perhaps we never needed to look any further than the name of the town where he settled after beginning his ministry. The place of compassion.

I believe that compassion was one of Jesus’ superpowers. In chapter six of Luke’s gospel, he tells the crowd around him, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you.” And in chapter seven, he shows us how it is done. Regardless of this particular centurion’s character there is no way to sugarcoat the firm reality that he was an enemy of Jesus. He was part of an occupying force sent to rule over Galilee. And even if this particular centurion did it in a kind way, he was representative of a larger system that was cruel and callous.

Let’s not forget that it was Rome who would eventually coolly kill Jesus in the most cruel and callous of political murders. He was an enemy of Jesus. And Jesus met him with compassion.

Unlike me, Jesus did not question aloud his motives for watching out for the health of his slave.

Unlike me, Jesus did not question aloud the Jews’ real feelings about their local ruler.

Unlike me, Jesus did not question aloud what the centurion really meant when he talked about what it is like to be a man with authority.

Unlike me, Jesus did not question aloud the systems that allowed this person to own other people and treat them as property.

Jesus said only one thing – and that was, essentially, “Hey, you’re a good person. One of the best I’ve known.” Something within Jesus allowed him to see past my skepticism, my crankiness over systems that harm. I think it was his compassion. Because when the centurion’s messengers stood before him, he somehow managed to see all the way through them to the centurion himself. He managed to open his heart and see him – not as a centurion, not as an enemy – but as a person. Just a person. Like any of the rest of us. Good and bad and perfect and flawed and lovely and messed up all at once.  Just a human being. A beloved child of God.

And in seeing him, he had compassion upon him. And he did the thing he was being asked to do. If any of my obnoxious questions entered his mind, he silenced them and focused on the need at hand. He offered healing – both for the centurion who was clearly asking for some validation and, presumably, for his slave, who was close to death.

This Jesus guy. Try as I might, I don’t pretend to understand him. But I do know I plan on spending the rest of my life learning about him so I can keep trying to be more like him.