A sermon preached at Calvary Presbyterian Church, February 9, 2025

Scripture: Luke 7:1-17

Introduction to Worship:

Good morning and welcome to worship.

Today we will hear a story where Jesus heals people and it brings up the perennial question humans ask about who, exactly, is worthy to be healed.

In the Book of Genesis, in one of the creation stories at the beginning of the book, we’re told that God created humankind in their own image. This passage has led to a foundational belief in Judaism and Christianity, often called Imago Dei, or Imago DEI, which is latin for ‘image of God’.

Imago Dei does not mean that God has human features. It means that each of us, in our very particularities and differences and quirks and gifts and challenges, each one of us has divine features. The image of God is visible to us in each other.

The imago dei is the reason we value the dignity of each human being. It is why we would never call a person illegal. They may be undocumented, but someone made in the image of God is not illegal.

The image of God is why we love, welcome, and support people regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity. The image of God in each of them is visible to us.

There has been a lot of news the past few weeks, often about the canceling of Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion, or DEI programs. Often the canceling is mentioned in regard to meritocracy—letting people succeed on their merit. It is often canceled by people confirmed to office despite a lack of merit or qualification other than the color of their skin or their political allegiance. With no sense of irony.

But the truth is Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion are not about promoting unqualified candidates over better qualified candidates. It is about making sure people have an equal chance of being considered. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion help society benefit from the merit of a wider gathering of people. DEI programs better reflect the Imago DEI.

In 2 Corinthians, chapter 3, Paul writes: And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit. Therefore, since it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart.”

Because we are being transformed, Paul writes, we do not lose heart.  Because our work as the Body of Christ is to continuously be transformed into the image of Jesus, we cannot lose heart. Since it is the image of God in us that calls to the image of God in others, we do not lose heart.

It is okay if in the past few weeks, you have felt you were losing heart.  It has been a lot. And that is the plan. To overwhelm and exhaust our spirits.

So it is good we are here together, the image of God in our neighbors, reflecting God’s love to us.

As we enter worship this morning, let us set down the burdens we carry, if only for an hour, so that our hands, and our hearts may be open to receive the mercy of God.

Ted Loder, a methodist pastor, wrote this prayer many years ago, but it felt very timely to me when I read it. Let us pray:

“Sometimes, Lord, it just seems to be too much. Sometimes the very air seems scorched by threats and rejection and decay until there is nothing but to inhale pain and exhale confusion. Too much of darkness, Lord, too much of cruelty and selfishness and indifference.

Too much, Lord, too much bloody, bruising, brainwashing much.

Or is it too little? Too little of compassion, too little of courage, of daring, of persistence, of sacrifice.

Too little of music and laughter and celebration.

Oh God, make of us some nourishment for these starved times. Some food for our siblings who are hungry for gladness and hope. That being bread for them, we may also be fed and be full. Amen.”

Sermon

I confess this text makes me twitchy and I don’t like it. Luckily, we aren’t here to worship me this morning. But this wasn’t an easy passage for me to work with this week.

Let’s start with the slave-owning centurion. We can understand, all day long, that slavery in first century world was categorically different than the way we perpetuated it here for 400 years. Biblical slavery is still terrible and I’m not going to admire it, or anyone who benefitted from it, but I can try to remember that Luke was speaking to a different cultural context than we are in.

And yes, it is good that the centurion “valued highly” his slave, but this was likely because when you buy a human to do your work, you want them to be healthy enough to continue to work for you.

And then you have the religious leaders.

‘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.’

Let’s break that down.

He is worthy…for religious leaders in Jesus’ day, what would make someone worthy is their adherence to the statutes and traditions of the faith, not because they paid for the sanctuary renovation in the capital campaign. Yes, in the next few years, we’ll be undertaking a capital campaign here, most likely. And while I pray it will be a successful campaign, the amount of money contributed will not be what makes you worthy of receiving God’s healing.

Were the religious leaders afraid the centurion would stop pledging to First Capernaum if they didn’t get him special access to Jesus?

I am all fired up about this passage. Partly because I’m sick and tired of seeing religious leaders in this country try to curry favor with people in power and people with money.

And partly because I worry I’m guilty of the same.

As the religious leaders point out how worthy the centurion is of healing, they say:

He loves our people.

What does that love look like? 

What are the limits of how you love people when you:
—will snitch on those same people to an anonymous tip line,
—when you will deport those same people,
—when you will deny healthcare to them because of their gender identity or sexual orientation, or economic status,
—when you will withhold food, medicine, and aid to global partners,
—when you will use the government to sue private companies who value and hire for the diversity reflected in our country,
—when you will kill those same people you claim to love when the government tells you to because you’re a centurion?

What are the limits of our love?

I suspect I am not giving the centurion a fair reading in my heart right now because of what’s happening in the news.

Who knows. Maybe this centurion was leading the resistance. Maybe he had converted to Judaism, and was subverting the unconstitutional commands Caesar and his henchmen were sending his way so they could gain access to the treasury records.

But Luke doesn’t tell us that. If he’s a centurion, it’s because he’s good at obeying the rules of Caesar.

Luke tells us that the centurion agreed with me that he wasn’t worthy of having Jesus visit his home. “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.”

We’re told Jesus was amazed. Another translation is he admired him. ‘I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.’

I don’t want Jesus to admire centurions. They were leaders of the Roman occupation, the people who carried out Rome’s unjust and often cruel orders, the ones who subjugated people across the empire.

Remember also that Jesus dies because religious leaders align with Rome. They hand Jesus over on charges of sedition—which is conduct or speech inciting people to rebel against the authority of a state— they hand Jesus over to protect their own privilege and power, using the tools of politics.

I noticed the religious leaders said that the centurion loves “our people”, which suggests that they may not be as focused on how he loves other people.

That language is worth noting when we hear it today. We hear politicians and Christian leaders say that if we love our family and the people like us first, then we can maybe then also love people further away, if there’s enough love or money to go around.

When we hear that, we should be skeptical. And maybe angry. We should note who they try to include and exclude.

Elsewhere in this gospel, and we’ll hear it in a few weeks, a man comes to Jesus, asking just who, exactly, counts as a neighbor we are supposed to love. And Jesus tells the story of someone outside of the Jewish faith—a Samaritan—who saves a stranger on the side of a wilderness road, after religious leaders had passed him by.

The religious leaders in Luke’s story illustrate a thread that goes through this gospel and the Book of Acts, also written by Luke. There is a constant tension over who is our neighbor, who is to be included, who is worthy of healing. And every single time we draw a line deciding someone is on the other side of it, Jesus tells a story to erase that line.

What makes a person worthy of healing? Are the people oppressed by the centurion and his troops worthy of healing? Are the people who can’t afford to build a synagogue worthy of healing? Are people who don’t know who to ask for healing worthy of healing? People who can’t even ask for healing, maybe because they are dead?

That’s where the story continues.

Jesus hears us asking “who is worthy of healing?” as he walks through the countryside and stumbles upon a funeral procession. He sees a grieving mother, leaning on her friends, no husband or other children in sight, and realizes this woman is a widow, someone who’s only retirement plan, social security and medicare system was her son, now being carried to the cemetery. Her son and her chance at a future are dead.

And Jesus answers our question about who is worthy of healing by telling the grieving mother not to cry, and then bringing her dead son back to life.

For Jesus, there is no category of person—not even a dead one—who is not worthy of healing.

I want to shout this out loud to every single person out there right now who is in the process of dismantling structures of safety, feeding, health care, and the rule of law, especially the ones of them who claim to be doing it because they are Christian.

But the truth is, it has to start in here, with us. As a community, we have to continue to commit to seeing each person as our neighbor, deserving of God’s love and care. 

And it has to start even closer in than just this congregation. It has to start in my heart. 

Because, as you heard earlier, I would have been a very unhappy disciple if I’d been with Jesus when he turned toward the centurion’s home to offer healing because he built a synagogue.

Who would the centurion be today in your life, the one you could justify all day long that they were not worthy of healing?

Elon Musk’s college aged, proudly racist intern who was breaking into our Social Security records? Would I want Jesus to go heal him?

Perhaps you need to change that illustration for a different political agenda in your heart than the one that is in mine. Maybe Hillary Clinton’s secretary or something. I’m not sure who you’d pick.  And I wondered if it was an extreme illustration. But I don’t think it is.

By healing the slave of the centurion, Jesus shows us God’s love is not ours to withhold. God will love and heal who God will love and heal.

By healing the widow’s son, someone who was already dead, Jesus shows us God’s love is stronger even than death.

And that gives us hope when we see the death all around us.

Preacher William Sloan Coffin once said, “Hope resists. Hopelessness adapts.”

Jesus calls us to be in the hope business, resisting our own tendencies to declare people unworthy of God’s concern as surely as we resist those actions from others.

So we continue caring for our neighbors. We continue celebrating the differences between us that make us unique. We continue resisting ideologies that deny the humanity of anyone, because everyone is made in the image of God.

As we continue, hear a portion of this poem by Maya Angelou.

Continue
by Maya Angelou

My wish for you
Is that you continue

Continue

To be who and how you are
To astonish a mean world
With your acts of kindness

Continue

To allow humor to lighten the burden
Of your tender heart

Continue

In a society dark with cruelty
To let the people hear the grandeur
Of God in the peals of your laughter

Continue

To let your eloquence
Elevate the people to heights
They had only imagined

Continue

To remind the people that
Each is as good as the other
And that no one is beneath
Nor above you

Continue

To remember your own young years
And look with favor upon the lost
And the least and the lonely

Continue

To put the mantel of your protection
Around the bodies of
The young and defenseless

Continue

To take the hand of the despised
And diseased and walk proudly with them
In the high street
Some might see you and
Be encouraged to do likewise

Continue

To plant a public kiss of concern
On the cheek of the sick
And the aged and infirm
And count that as a
Natural action to be expected

Continue

To let gratitude be the pillow
Upon which you kneel to
Say your nightly prayer
And let faith be the bridge
You build to overcome evil
And welcome good… Amen

 

And we read the rest of the poem for the Benediction:

Angelou’s poem ends like this:

Continue

To ignore no vision
Which comes to enlarge your range
And increase your spirit

Continue

To dare to love deeply
And risk everything
For the good thing

Continue

To float
Happily in the sea of infinite substance
Which set aside riches for you
Before you had a name

Continue

And by doing so
You and your work
Will be able to continue
Eternally