Where You’d Least Expect

Scriptures: I Kings 8:22-23, 41-43,   Galatians 1:1-12,    Luke 7:1-10

This passage from Luke, among my favorite passages from Luke’s gospel, is rich with meaning because of the many connections the people in the account make across boundary lines of social position and religion.  It provides a surprising portrait of a Roman centurion – a Gentile, and part of the Roman occupation of Galilee – who, rather than oppressing, overflowed with care for his servant and for the Jewish community in which he was stationed.  In a Roman culture in which slaves were considered just another form of property, to be treated with the level of care we would show for our household appliances, the centurion went to considerable lengths to gain healing for this slave whom he valued highly.  In a Jewish culture which maintained strong boundaries between Jews and Gentiles, this centurion had already gained goodwill among the Jews by building the community synagogue – remarkable in itself - and now reached across ethnic lines to seek the help of the community elders in contacting Jesus.   And the Jewish elders showed surprising compassion and humility as they approached Jesus on the centurion’s behalf.  As Jesus responded to the plea of the centurion as relayed by the Jewish elders, we learn that the centurion overflowed not only with compassion, but with extraordinary faith as he trusted that Jesus could heal his servant from a distance.  So extraordinary was his faith that Jesus told the crowd, “Not even in Israel have I found such faith.”  For our sisters and brothers in the Roman Catholic tradition, a slightly adapted version of the centurion’s words live on to this day in the congregational response immediately before reception of the Eucharist, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.”

The original readers of this account would have been reminded of another stories about the healing of foreigners – perhaps most strongly, that of Naaman, the Syrian commander who was healed by Elisha.  Like the centurion in our Luke account, Naaman sent emissaries to the king of Israel, asking the king to refer Naaman to someone who could heal him of a skin disease.  Like the centurion, Naaman the Syrian was willing to approach the Jewish prophet Elisha for healing.  Unlike the centurion, Naaman was furious when Elisha did not personally speak to Naaman, but merely gave instructions through a servant to dip himself seven times in the Jordan.  Fortunately, one of Naaman’s servants talked Naaman out of his anger at feeling snubbed, so that Naaman did as instructed and was cured – and became a worshipper of the God of Israel.

 The original readers of the Luke account might also have been reminded of the healing of the son of the widow of Zaraphath, about which we will read next week.  The widow lived in Sidon, and so, again, she was a foreigner.  Elijah, fleeing from the wicked king Ahab and queen Jezebel, heard the word of the Lord directing him to seek refuge with this widow.  The widow and her son were almost out of food, and about to eat their last meal together before dying – and yet, prompted by Elijah, she shared a little bit of that meal with the prophet.  In response, the prophet multiplied the food so that it lasted many days, and later raised the widow’s son, who had died.

 What are we to say of this?   One thing we learn is that God does not color within the lines we draw, so to speak.   In the Old Testament accounts, God’s generous mercy extends beyond the chosen people to foreigners, who respond with gladness and gratitude.  Amos tells of God’s grace in a way to shame Israel for feeling overly entitled, writing, “Did I not bring Israel up from Egypt, and the Philistines up from Caphtor, and the Arameans from Kir?”  That is to say, God’s gave deliverance not only to Israel, but also to the Philistines and the Arameans.  And Luke picks up this theme – of all the Gospels, Luke’s Gospel has the strongest message about Jesus’ inclusive ministry, and God’s inclusive love, not only of the chosen people, but of all those on the margins of society.  Indeed, in his very first sermon in his hometown synagogue, Jesus proclaimed, “There were many widows in Israel during the famine, but Elijah was sent to the widow of Zaraphath; there were many lepers in Israel, but Elisha was sent to Naaman the Syrian.”  For these words of inclusion, Jesus nearly got thrown off a cliff.  All’s the more wonder that the Jewish elders later were willing to seek Jesus out for the healing of the centurion’s slave – hey, maybe they actually did learn something from Jesus’ sermon.

2000 years later, we in the church are still trying to wrap our minds around the reality that God still insists on coloring outside the lines, that God’s generous love overflows in all directions.  God indeed loves those who have grown up in the church from infancy onward – but not only those once on the church’s cradle roll.  God’s love extends toward many people whom we’ve never met and never will meet, and toward many who are caught in our society’s struggle over who belongs and who doesn’t.  Think of the many debates raging in our country and in the church today.  In Bridesburg, the presence of racial diversity was historically a touchy topic – perhaps still is.  Our country is divided against itself on whether a path toward citizenship should exist for immigrants, and the number of hoops through which immigrants should be expected to jump along that path.  Muslims are routinely demonized, even more so since the 9-11 attacks, and with renewed venom since the bombings in Boston.  Likewise, while consensus is slowly moving at long last toward inclusion, our country is still deeply divided on the extension of civil rights; indeed, on the extension of so much as simple, basic human decency toward the LGBT community.   Pastors who preach about God’s generous love in these situations still risk being thrown off cliffs – or having weights tied around their necks and drowned in the nearest body of water.  And yet, as with the Roman centurion, faith in God can show up where you’d least expect.  We may find ourselves saying that “Not even in the church have we seen such faith.”

 Archbishop William Temple, of blessed memory within the Anglican community, famously preached that “The church is the only institution that exists for those who are not its members.”  Our church’s name, Emanuel, means “God with us.”  But not exclusively with us, and not exclusively for us.  God is with us at Emanuel, so that through our ministry, God can be with others.   

 

In a few minutes, we’ll be gathering about the table to share in Communion.  A strong message of the United Church of Christ, and a practice of Emanuel Church for many years, is that all seeking a closer relationship with Jesus Christ are welcome around the table.  There are no second class citizens in the Kingdom of God.  As we are invited to gather around the table, may we in turn invite others to share in the feast.  May it be so among us.  Amen.