Trusting Faith

Second Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 4 – Year C

June 2, 2013

Luke 7:1-10

After Jesus had finished all his sayings in the hearing of the people, he entered Capernaum. A centurion there had a slave whom he valued highly, and who was ill and close to death. When he heard about Jesus, he sent some Jewish elders to him, asking him to come and heal his slave. When they came to Jesus, they appealed to him earnestly, saying, "He is worthy of having you do this for him, for he loves our people, and it is he who built our synagogue for us." And Jesus went with them, but when he was not far from the house, the centurion sent friends to say to him, "Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; therefore I did not presume to come to you. But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed. For 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." When 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." When those who had been sent returned to the house, they found the slave in good health. 

Have you ever been surprised by someone’s faith?  What I mean is have you ever heard someone making a declaration about God or faith, or some other religious type of comment when it was the last thing you would have expected?  I’m not talking about some off-hand comment, or phrase that has become part of our common language or a default comment to misfortune; I’m speaking about a genuine declaration of faith or belief.  From time to time this happens.  I’m always caught unaware.  I’m not really sure what to do, how to respond.

In our text from Luke we are surprised, and we are not the only ones; Jesus is also surprised.  He is surprised by the intense declaration of faith that came from a completely unexpected source.  We are often too quick to put all the Romans and Pharisees in the same group, as being irritants and sources of problems for Jesus.  This is an example, and a lesson, that a person’s title or position, or group allegiance does not tell the entire story of who that person is.

At its heart this passage is about faith, and that faith is not limited to the people in which we expect faith to be present.  The centurion was a middle-ranking officer in the Roman Army, he most likely received his orders from a commander located in Caeserea (about fifty miles away.)  The centurion would have been in direct command of the forces in Capernaum.  He understood the nature of command, he knew intimately how the orders of those above you were to be followed, and those below you were to follow yours – the risks for not following orders were not light.  Insubordination was often punished in a most severe way.

The centurion had a beloved slave.  To us, this may sound a bit strange.  How can you love a slave?  But in a culture where slavery was a part of everyday life, it was not uncommon to have slaves be some of your closest friends and confidants.  It’s likely that this individual had been a part of the centurion’s life for years, and had traveled with him wherever he went.  Yes, he was a slave, but he may have also been a best friend.  How would you react to the severe illness of your best friend?

The centurion had most likely heard stories about Jesus.  He may have heard that this man was performing miracles, and was a man of deep compassion.  Regardless of the specific reasons for his decision, he sends messengers to request that Jesus come to his slave’s aid.  As most of us probably would also react, Jesus seems to have been initially taken aback by the request.  We can surmise this because the messengers (fellow Jews), speak up and tell Jesus that the centurion is a different kind of man, he is a ‘good’ Roman.  He has gone so far as to fund the building of a synagogue.  So Jesus goes.

However, on the way to the man’s home, another group of messengers comes to them on the road.  The centurion has come to the decision that he is not worthy of Jesus entering his home, but he still believes that Jesus can help his slave.  We all know from our text what happens, we know that the centurion’s slave is healed.  We hear Jesus’ statement about the faith of the centurion.

When it comes to faith, there are lots of different words, lots of different ways to talk about our belief in God, our dependence on God.  Two of the most common ones are hope and trust.  “Our hope is built on nothing less than Jesus’ blood and righteousness,” say the words of the hymn.  “How blest are they that trust in Christ,” says another.  Trust and hope spin around one another at the center of faith, at the center of our relationship with the God who saves us.  As I’ve been reflecting on this text this week, as I’ve been reflecting on the nature of faith, I’ve been drawn to one of these words far more than another.  I think one of these words is a far better expression of faith than the other.

When I think about the word hope, lots of different things come to mind.  When I’m making a recipe for the first time, I hope that it comes out right.  When I send my daughter off to school in the morning, I hope that she has a good day.  When I hear about a car accident, I hope that everyone is okay.  With all the water that we have right now, with all the flooding and people with water in their basements, I hope that the rain will soon stop.

As I thought about hope, I realized that hope is always put up in opposition to another possibility.  I hope that the recipe comes out well, rather than failing miserably.  I hope the day at school goes well, rather than requiring a note from her teacher.  I hope those in the car accident are okay, rather than being seriously hurt.  I hope the flood water recedes, rather than rising higher.  I hope because I know there is another option, something I don’t want to happen.  My hope is there expressing the deep knowledge that there is nothing I can do about the situation, it’s out of my hands.  In many ways, in many situations, all I have is hope.

Trust though is different.  I think most of us have either seen or participated in something called a trust fall.  If you don’t know what I am talking about, a trust fall is an activity of trusting others.  What you do is place your trust fully in another person (or a group of people), turn your back toward them, close your eyes and fall backwards into their waiting arms.  You have to trust they will catch you.  You have to let yourself fall fully, or you will have to do it again and again until you finally just let go and fall.  Until you trust that there is no option of falling, that there is no other option than being caught.  You can’t hope to be caught; you have to trust that you will not be dropped.

When the centurion came to Jesus seeking to have his slave healed he didn’t do so hoping that Jesus would heal him, he came trusting that Jesus would heal him.  In the words of the centurion, we see that trust explained.  In a military setting the centurion was used to, it was necessary to trust that your orders will be followed.  If you are leading a charge, you have to trust your soldiers are there behind you.   When it comes to giving orders, it is necessary to give the order and trust that it will be followed.  If you hope it will happen, you will feel this need to always check and make sure, to ensure that your orders are being followed.  As a commander, you will never be able to focus on the things you are supposed to be doing, because you will be spending all your time making sure those under you are doing their jobs.

When Jesus comments on the centurion’s faith, I think it was a comment on how much he trusted.  The centurion didn’t doubt for a second.  The centurion didn’t look to Jesus as being a final option, or one option among many.  Jesus was the one and only option.  The centurion expressed his faith as trust, not hope.

One of the things I’ve come to see in the last week about trust and hope is that when we focus on hope, we leave space for ourselves.  Hope leaves openings for other stuff to filter in.  “I hope it doesn’t rain, but if it does, I’ll….”  Hope leaves space for us to feel like we are doing something.  We grab ahold of the rope swing, and hope that it holds – meaning, we prepare ourselves in case it breaks mid-swing.  When people refer to faith in terms of hope, what they are really saying is they hope they are right, because the alternative is too terrible to comprehend.  What they are really saying is they are still in control, because they haven’t let go.  They haven’t put their trust in God; they are hoping that God was the right choice to make, rather than trusting that God has chosen them.

One of the most beloved Christian writers of the last century was Henri Nouwen.  His deep and profound words about spirituality have been transformative and freeing for many people.  In his last book, written shortly before he died, he wrote, "Somewhere along the way, in the life of the maturing Christian, faith combined with hope…grows into trust."  Faith may begin as hope, yet as we walk the paths of faith, as we journey through this life, we find that our hope is transformed into a holy trust.  No longer do we hope that God loves us, we trust it.  No longer do we fret and worry about our salvation, hoping that in the end we will be welcomed; we trust in God’s promises.

Our hope may be based on Jesus’ love and righteousness, but it must be transformed into a trust that allows that love and righteousness to transform us, to free us, to heal us.  To set us free from worry, to set us free from hoping we have been forgiven, to trusting in that forgiveness.  Faith grows from hoping that God has received us as his own, to trusting we are his beloved.

May the example of the centurion, who trusted in Jesus rather than hoped, be an example for us.  May we fall in trust into the hands of God that we may be caught and carried by the arms of love.  May we stop hoping and begin trusting.  Amen.