Luke 7:1-10 · The Faith of the Centurion
Just Speak The Word
Luke 7:1-10
Sermon
by Larry Powell
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It is somewhere written down that many years ago a rider on horseback approached a group of soldiers attempting unsuccessfully to move a heavy piece of timber. A corporal was observed standing nearby, hands on hips, barking the order, "Heave. Heave." Despite repeated efforts, the soldiers were unable to accomplish the task. Apparently of the mind that the situation hinged upon his determined commands, the corporal persisted, "Heave. Heave." Addressing the corporal, the horseman asked, "Why don't you help them?" Straightening himself, the corporal snapped, "Because I am a corporal." The horseman dismounted, joined the soldiers and provided the extra muscle necessary to move the timber. He then climbed back upon his horse, looked the corporal in the eyes and said, "The next time your men need help, corporal, send for the commander-in-chief." The horseman was George Washington.

Give some people a little authority and they sometimes begin to think of themselves more highly than they ought to think. The transformation may not always be intentional. Authority, by its nature is capable of working a gradual change on one's personality. With this in mind, let us think now about the centurion referred to in our text.

Jesus entered Capernaum only to discover, as he would discover many times, that his reputation had preceded him. Oh, he had been in Capernaum before, well enough, but by now even those of rank and station had begun to take notice of him.

"Now a centurion had a slave who was dear to him, who was sick and at the point of death. When he heard of Jesus, he sent to him elders of the Jews, asking him to come and heal his slave (Luke 7:2, 3)."

A centurion commanded a Roman legion, numbering 100 men. It was not in a centurion's best interest to risk compromising his authority by making "requests." The privilege of "command" came with the position. The disposition to "demand" was expected. It is fair comment to say that the deportment of a Roman centurion could generally be characterized to resemble that of the corporal mentioned earlier, standing at a safe distance from a task, issuing orders that it be accomplished. The centurion mentioned in our text reminds Jesus of his importance: "For I 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 he does it (7:8)." So, we may safely assume that when this man dispatched certain elders to ask Jesus to heal his slave, it was in the context of authority. Hardly. We will not want to rush past the fact that what we see happening here was a radical departure from our general characterization. This particular centurion jumps out at us because he is out of character. Jesus could not help but be impressed. He was further impressed when the Jewish elders volunteered, "He is worthy to have you do this for him, for he loves our nation, and he built us a synagogue (7:4, 5)." Jesus apparently was even more impressed when the centurion addressed him as "Lord," and confessed, "I am not worthy to have you come under my roof ... but say the word, and let my servant be healed (7:6, 7)."

Little wonder that Jesus declared, "I have not witnessed such faith, even in all Israel." Moreover, as insensitive as it may sound, it would appear that the immediate healing of the servant is almost incidental to the faith-filled abandon exhibited by the centurion. He impresses us as a good man, compassionate, and humble. A man of authority, figuratively prostrating himself in the presence of Supreme authority.

Power of the Spoken Word

Jesus consented to the centurion's request. However, the centurion, fully aware of the power of the spoken word uttered by one in authority, responded by saying something to the effect, "Oh no, you don't need to trouble yourself more. I'm not worthy for you to come under my roof. Just speak the word and my servant will be healed." He is obviously convinced that if he has the power to command the lives of one hundred men with a word, beyond the shadow of a doubt, it is within the power of Jesus to dispel even the powers of darkness with but a word. "Speak the word only, and my servant will be healed."

Let us now draw the proposition that words have power closer to our own experience. A certain ministry of words has been given to each of us although we are not always faithful to speak them.Words of reconciliation. Tempers flare and abrasive words are exchanged between you and a friend or loved one. Only moments before, the thought that such words would ever come from your mouth was inconceivable. Nerves are tense. Faces strain in hateful expressions. An awkward feeling presses down now upon the relationship. Words! Cutting and slashing words. See what they have done. And suspended there in your throat, dangling between passion and compassion, pride and reason, are two words waiting their time: "I'm sorry." Possibility words, sometimes impossible to say.

Words which remove fear. Here is a person sitting anxiously in a hospital waiting room. A friend or relative is undergoing a life-threatening operation. A multitude of "what ifs?" and "if onlys" race through a person's mind at a time like that. Finally, after what always seems like an inordinate length of time, the doctor enters the waiting room. "Everything went fine," he says, "No complications and the patient will be up in no time." What marvelous words! Just words, but see what they have done. They have removed the terrible weight of worry from tired shoulders, erased shadows which had crept in upon the soul, and replaced the unspoker fears with visible joy. Words have power!

When I was a little boy, it seemed everything on the street where I grew up was giant-sized. Especially trees. Tall, spreading elm trees lined both sides of the street, overlapping to form a kind of leafy tunnel. The sidewalks too, stretched like a corridor in both directions.

One evening, following considerable debate, my parents reluctantly agreed that I would be allowed, for the first time, to attend the local theater without their accompaniment. The theater was only four blocks away, but that was not the point. The point was that finally, they were not going to chaperone me to and from the theater with all their grown-up guidance. It would be a small step for humankind, but a giant step for me. I was so ecstatic about this unexpected windfall of overdue freedom that it somehow escaped me that although the theater was only four blocks away, it was also four blocks back. The significance of that was the four blocks back would be in the dark.

I do not remember anything about the movie, but I do remember the walk home. The night was very dark. Thick, hovering trees obscured whatever welcome light there may have been from the lone streetlight. Shadows flickered and danced in every direction and grotesque, stoop-shouldered, long fingernailed ogres who prey upon little children lurked behind every tree. I could not see them but I knew they were there. I also knew that they would come upon me from behind, clutch me with their clammy hands and whisk me away to wherever those kinds of things whisk people away to. It is very difficult to tiptoe four blocks without breathing, looking in all directions at the same time. Too frightened to walk, too afraid to run, my heart pounded against my shirt as if trying to break away and take its chances on its own. Now, there was only one block to go. Maybe I had a chance! But then I thought, "No they are going to wait until I am almost home and when I come to the front yard, maybe even the doorstep, they will capture me." Midway down the block, I saw it. The shadowy figure of a man in the middle of the sidewalk, coming slowly toward me. I knew there must be others closing in on me from their appointed places. Stopping in my tracks, I was just about to inform the neighborhood of my predicament when a voice said, "Something about to get you, boy?" It was my father's voice. Doxology and Hail Mary! He was coming up the street to meet me. My father's voice. Only words. But, my friends, I submit to you from personal experience, words can annihilate fear.

There is someone you know who needs to hear a word of assurance or encouragement. I do not know their names, but you know them and you know just such words they need to hear.

Words which remove loneliness. Leslie Weatherhead tells a rather pathetic story about Rupert Brooke, the English poet. Having boarded an ocean liner at Liverpool bound for New York, Brooke looked out on a sizable crowd of people lined along the quay to wave farewell to friends and family departing for America. Brooke had no friends in Liverpool and was suddenly overtaken by an almost unbearable sense of loneliness. Seeing a little street urchin standing alone on the quay, he rushed from the ship and made for the little boy. "What is your name?" he asked. "William," the surprised lad answered. "William, would you like to earn six-pence," Brooke asked. William was agreeable to do that. "All I want you to do," Brooke informed him, "is wave to me as the ship puts away." Weatherhead relates that Brooke never forgot the figure of the little urchin, waving a dirty handkerchief, delivering him from loneliness.

Sometimes that is about the sum of it, isn't it? We superficially wave a handkerchief to those we know to be lonely when we know what they would really appreciate is a sincere word. Loneliness is different from solitude. Solitude is intentional privacy. Loneliness is cricumstantial detachment. We could fine-tune the distinction, but we know the difference. More than that, we know the difference between detatchment and involvement. We know the difference between a playground filled with happy children and a nursing home filled with persons sorting through old photographs. We know the difference in home-bound shut-ins and the dedicated person or persons in your church committed to call on them. We know the difference in "waving a handkerchief" or giving a polite tip of the hat to one who is lonely instead of speaking words of fellowship and caring.

A hymn we sing from time to time contains the phrase, "Chords which were silent will vibrate once more." Taken in context of the total hymn, the phrase is understood easily enough, I suppose, but only recently have I come to fully appreciate extenuating implications pertaining to that particular combination of words. Dr. Charles L. Goodell produced a little volume not long after the turn of the century titled, What Are You Worth? In one of the chapters, he refers to a man standing beneath a great bell suspended high in a cathedral tower. The man patiently blew upon a flute, note by note, until at last a faint response from the bell was detected. He prolonged that specific note until the bell began to vibrate, every molecule awakened. The man then explains, "The deepest thing about that bell which no hand of mine could reach was the note to which it was tuned to respond." A musical note affecting an inanimate object, tuned to that particular note! Fascinating. I passed this information along to the music director of our church and asked her to explain it to me. "Oh, that is the overtone series," she smiled. She then proceeded to illustrate the principle on a piano by asking me to place my hand lightly upon certain keys. She would strike a particular key elsewhere on the keyboard and those beneath my hand vibrated in response. Keys were being activated because they had been tuned to the note effecting them. Does this suggest anything to us about the effect of caring words, spoken kindly to a lonely heart? It is a note to which the human heart is tuned to respond, and to speak such a word is to be in genuine ministry.

Words which heal. Ruth Graham, wife of evangelist Billy Graham, recalls how timely words healed a broken condition of her soul. Mrs. Graham's father served as a medical missionary to China. On one unforgettable day, bandits descended upon the city and presently became engaged in a shoot-out with the authorities. When the shooting was over, Mrs. Graham's father worked for hours over one of the injured bandits, summoning all his medical skills in an effort to save the man's life. Finally, when it was apparent that the man would survive, the exhausted doctor carefully wrapped the patient's head wounds and took his leave. Mrs. Graham relates that three hours after her father had returned home, she passed beneath the city gate. Hanging from the gate was the head of the bandit her father had labored to save, bandages and all! Of that horrible moment, she says, "My faith was thrown into chaos. I didn't know what I believed anymore. In the years which followed, her spiritual dilemma progressively worsened. Later in life, while a student at Wheaton College, she had occasion to speak with one of her instructors and told him about her faith struggle. Dr. Gordon Clark was known to be a scholarly man, given to hard logic and unemotional brilliance. She fully expected him to respond to her with hard, cold facts. She had assumed correctly. However, she says that all she really remembers is the way he concealed his remarks, "Ruth, there is still the leap of faith." These words, removed from that particular conversation, perhaps do not light up the darkness for you or me, but they did for her. She then proceeded to take the blind leap of faith and, according to her own testimony, has known peace in her soul ever since. Dr. Clark had spoken the healing word!

Healing words - words which change circumstances, were very much a part of our Lord's ministry. We will not call them all up here, but we may be assured that the memory of the man healed of palsy never turned loose of the words, "Be of good cheer, your sins are forgiven." Nor did the woman healed of 12 torturous years of hemorrhaging ever forget the words, "Be of good comfort, your faith has made you whole." The sweetest words ever to be recalled by the adultress who was given a new lease on life, were: "Neither do I condemn you, go and sin no more." The thief on the cross drew his last breath on this side of eternity with the triumphant words ringing in his ears, "Truly, I say to you today, you shall be with me in Paradise." Words of healing, all.

To be sure, the healing ministry of Christ was unique but, as Christians, we have been given another grace; the witness of Christian fellowship with the ability to change another's condition, if only their attitude about their condition, by speaking a healing word. The writer of Proverbs said it best: "A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in pictures of silver(25:11)."

Words of witness. A man came out of his house on his way to church one Sunday morning. Across the yard, his neighbor was loading his golf clubs into a station wagon. The neighbor said, "Henry, do you want to play golf with me today?" Henry, with an expression of self-righteous horror on his face, replied: "This is the Lord's day and I always go to church. Certainly I would not play golf with you today." After a moment of embarrassed silence, the golfer said: "You know Henry, I have often wondered about your church and I have always admired your devotion. You know also, this is the seventh time I have invited you to play golf with me, and you have never invited me to go to church with you."

Sometimes, the word of witness, like the other words we have mentioned, begs to be spoken.

"But say the word and let my servant be healed," the centurion appealed to Jesus. We admire his judgment, for the record shows that (1) his faith was not misplaced, and (2) his estimation of the power of the word was accurate. It was in such a spirit that you and I first came to Christ, was it not? Believing his word and convinced that in Christ there is life abundant. The presence of Christ in our own experiences continues to confirm that neither has our faith been misplaced nor the estimation of his power exaggerated. We know whom we have believed and are persuaded that he is able to keep that which we've committed unto him, not only against "that day," but today!

Look at that ancient soldier one last time. See him coming in behalf of another, engaging in ministry, putting together such a faith-filled, unrehearsed combination of words that our Lord could not help but take notice. Christ performed the greater ministry but the servant owes his healing to the centurion.

Let us be clear about it. We are not speaking of vocabulary or verbosity, but spiritual disposition. The disposition which embraces the strong spirit of Christ and dares to speak the word in behalf of another. There is someone to whom the sound of your voice is familiar, waiting to hear your voice now, speaking a word of reconciliation, fellowship, caring, healing, or witness.

"Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in thy sight O Lord, my rock and my redeemer (Psalm 19:14)."

C.S.S Publishing Co., BLOW THE SILVER TRUMPETS, by Larry Powell