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            The context of the scripture story this morning is that Palestine is an occupied nation. The stated Roman goal is to bring the blessings of civilization, peace, and stability to a volatile part of the world. A Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, rules mostly from a zone of safety along the Mediterranean, and is widely regarded as incompetent. His goal has been to encourage local leadership, but only up to a point. The professional all-volunteer army is stationed there to protect Roman “vital interests” and to react swiftly if those interests are threatened. The relationship between the military and the locals is tense. An insurgency has been going on for some time, with sporadic outbreaks of terrorism. Of the local population, some simply want the occupation army to withdraw and are willing to resort to violence; others want them to leave, but believe violence is counter-productive; some have determined that, though the Romans are infidels, it is possible to work with them to at least get some benefit; some have just given up in despair. How does Jesus fit into this picture? The short answer is that he is very hard to pin down. He wanders freely through a variety of settings keeping his focus on healing and proclaiming the coming Reign of God in its fullness and lifting up glimpses of its presence even now. But he doesn’t withdraw from the world. He seems sympathetic with the insurrection and harsh in his criticism of the accommodating attitude of the religious authorities, but remains non-violent. He heals and teaches among outcasts like prostitutes, outright collaborators like tax collectors, and even Gentiles. Somehow he seems unwilling to let any pre-conceived notions or prejudices get in the way of his determination to be an agent of healing and Good News.

            Now in the story at hand, though historical analogies have their limits, imagine that a U.S. military officer stationed in the Green Zone in Baghdad has a close subordinate who is not responding to treatment for a life-threatening illness. The medics are baffled. The officer hears through his sources that there is a Sunni folk-healer ranging about the area healing the sick. In his desperation, the officer determines to seek him out, and uses his contacts with a local mosque - one that he had ordered the Army to help rebuild after a bombing.

            Historians tell us that a first-century Roman centurion was a professional officer in charge of anywhere between fifty and one hundred fifty soldiers. His duties were roughly equivalent to those of a company commander with the rank of captain. Let’s try to read the story closely. The centurion’s slave is near death. The centurion must have had a fairly good relationship with the local people to have even heard about Jesus, and to know which Jewish elders to send to him. These leaders reach Jesus and portray the centurion as a worthy person who loves the Jews and even built a synagogue. The extravagance of their praise seems a little unlikely, but who knows? Perhaps they see it as in their interest to have a positive outcome from Jesus’ involvement. The relationship between oppressed and oppressor can be very complicated. The elders ask Jesus to come to the centurion’s house with them.

            Now notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say, “I don’t go to households that are unclean.” He does not say, “I came to heal the Jews first, so let him convert to Judaism.” He does not say, “I want to know if he will acknowledge the injustice of the Roman occupation.” He does not say, “What about his attitude toward the institution of slavery?” He does not say, “If I heal his slave, is he willing to form a secret alliance and pass along information to the zealots?” He does not say, “What has he done for us lately? How about building another synagogue?” He does not say, “Is he willing to consider a life of non-violence?” He does not say, “Is he pro-choice or pro-life and how does he feel about a ban on so-called ‘partial birth abortions?’” He does not say, “Is he willing to consider more humane forms of capitol punishment than crucifixion?” He does not say, “Does he accept me as his Lord and Savior?” He does not say, “Does he believe that I am divine.” He does not say, “Is he ready to give away his wealth to the poor and follow me?” He does not say, “Does he really believe I can heal his slave?” In other words, Jesus doesn’t say anything that we would expect him, as a good religious person, to say. What does he say? Apparently nothing, except “Let’s go.” He just gets up and goes with them. It would seem that the opportunity to end suffering and save a life, any life, was, for Jesus, reason enough to do it. No questions asked.

            So they set out together for the centurion’s house. And the scripture here says: 

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 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, the found the slave in good health.

            Isn’t that interesting? Faith in what? What is going on here? I believe the centurion saw something, knew something that others were missing. Somehow he saw that he and Jesus had something in common. They shared an understanding of what true authority is and how the power of authority really works. He is both deeply respectful of Jesus, and very aware of Jesus’ authority. So what did he as a military man know? To exercise authority you must realize that you are under authority. The power with which you exercise authority is directly related to your obedience to the power of the authority above you. Your authority is not something you have independently in and of yourself, but something you receive. The power of your authority is directly connected to the faithfulness with which you honor the nature of the authority you are obedient to. Now, we could say, he was simply expressing what it means to be part of a chain of command – in a hierarchical organizational sense. But it’s more than this. It is not just a mechanical set of operational principles, but a spiritual understanding of obedience. And, amazingly, it is something that the centurion, as a military man, and Jesus, as a prophet of God, both understood, where others do not.

            What about Jesus? The Gospels say repeatedly that people were amazed by Jesus because he spoke and acted as one with authority and not as a member of the religious establishment. But Jesus’ authority was not something that he simply carried around within himself, like a kind of free-wheeling, self-validating authority. No, the scriptures say repeatedly that Jesus was obedient to God, obedient even unto death. At his moment of testing, Jesus said, “Thy will and not mine be done.” Jesus’ perfect and trustworthy authority is one and the same with his perfect and trusting obedience. His divinity, if we wish to call it that, was not free-standing and independent. His divinity was an expression of his obedient responsiveness to the will of God. And the centurion knew, and Jesus knew he knew, that this perfect obedience bestowed upon Jesus the power to order the demons causing illness within the slave out of there. Indeed, throughout the Gospels Jesus addresses these invasive spirits in this way, and they obey.

            Back during the Vietnam War, I was the pastor of a blue collar church on Staten Island. At that time the U.S. Army Chaplains’ School was located at Fort Wadsworth. UCC faculty from the school and chaplains-in-training came to church, and some joined for the duration of their assignments. Often I would be invited to the base for lunch or family events or to play tennis. Nearly all of them had served tours of duty in Vietnam.

            It was most enlightening for me, through these friendships, to get a small glimpse of the military from the standpoint of these chaplains. For example, I was surprised to learn that, by that time, every one of them opposed the war. But they were steadfast in their pastoral care for the troops. Many were brave, decorated soldiers who had been in the midst of combat. They were tough and experienced, and totally unlike the goofy and ineffectual chaplains portrayed in military comedies like M*A*S*H. And I sensed they were very skillful in the pastoral care they offered, dealing with issues like grief for the loss of comrades, homesickness, fear, and a range of emotional issues. They really were healers, not simply morale boosters.

            But at a deeper level, it was interesting to hear how they functioned within the military chain of command itself. If I understood correctly, they were both part of that command structure, and at the very same time, able to range freely up and down the chain. And they all had stories, sometimes told very cautiously and elliptically, about how they had been able to cut through red tape, bring an important concern, some even tactical matters, to the attention of officers far up the chain of command. And, by the same token, they would be sought out for care and counsel.

            I don’t presume to understand how that works. But what came through to me was that these chaplains were able to do this because they were seen as acting not only in obedience to military authority, but in obedience to God. And, like the story of the centurion and Jesus, that interaction was subtle and complex. But when they talked and prayed with military leaders about doing what was right and what was compassionate, they spoke with an authority that was respected.

            Jesus and the centurion shared an understanding of authority. They saw that nothing is more important than healing human suffering. Jesus and the centurion, more than the other characters in the story (including the synagogue leaders) were obedient to simple compassion. Obedience to God is not ultimately obedience to a concept of God, a doctrine of theology, a teaching of the church, or any mandate for social or political change. It is the understanding that the reality of God is love. God’s love and human love are the ultimate authority.

AMEN.

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