Sermon for June 5, 2013: Worth It

Sermon for June 2, 2013

Second Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 7:1-10

Preacher: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Ask any of our neighbors, and they’re likely to tell you they’re just waiting for us to put up a yard sign that says “Smith Family Bed and Breakfast”. Our kids don’t bat an eye when I tell them “Better clean up the basement today” but instead come right back with “Who’s staying with us this time, and what country are they from?” Just in the last year we’ve hosted a group of Palestinian teenagers, three girls from a Ugandan children’s choir, a priest from Bethlehem, a professional singer, a random British stranger on a bicycle tour across the U.S. (I preached about that experience last year!), an old seminary friend and her entire family, and of course a constant stream of Chicago friends seeking a respite from the city. 

We love hosting guests in our home, and consider it our Christian responsibility to show hospitality. Most of the time, we clean up a bit first. Last week we even bought a new mattress before Chicago friends came to stay. We noticed they hadn’t been out to visit for awhile, and then we remembered how much they hated our blow-up air bed. We put two and two together…and headed to the mattress store.

We’ve received many guests at our home, but there was one scheduled visitor who made me question if we were even worthy of his presence.

His name was Calvin Morris, and he was to be the speaker at the FaithBridge Interfaith MLK breakfast. As an eager new member of the MLK breakfast committee, I of course raised my hand and said, “Sure! I have room to host him at my house!” 

It wasn’t until I Googled the invited speaker that I started to question my eagerness to volunteer. I learned that the Rev. Dr. Calvin Morris was the national coordinator of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference's Operation Breadbasket from 1967 to 1971. After leaving there, he was the executive director of Atlanta's Martin Luther King, Jr. Center for Non-Violent Social Change, working directly with Coretta Scott King. As I read more of his impressive resume, I realized Dr. Morris was truly a history-maker—someone we might read about in a textbook on the Civil Rights movement. 

Suddenly, I wondered if it had been wise to offer to put this man in my basement. What would he think of that patch of carpet the dog chewed up? Did he even like dogs—or teenagers? Will our house meet his standards? Then, another panicked thought: This man is a community activist and an urban dweller—maybe he’ll be offended by my suburban existence! Maybe my house is too big!

In other words: I suddenly saw my home and my life with new eyes, and I judged myself completely unworthy. I wanted to forget the whole thing, and book the Rev. Dr. Morris a room at the Country Inn & Suites.  

Have you felt unworthy lately?

Feeling unworthy was apparently a new emotion for the Roman centurion in today’s Gospel reading. Here was a man who was accustomed to getting what he needed, when he needed it. He had a fair amount of power and privilege: servants working for him, soldiers under his authority, and an esteemed reputation within the community, cultivated after building a synagogue for his Jewish neighbors.

So when his beloved servant was ill, the centurion’s instinct was to use that power, privilege and accumulated respect to bring Jesus, a healer, to his home. He of course called upon the Jewish elders who had benefitted from his good deeds to visit Jesus, a Jewish man. 

Sure enough, when the elders reached Jesus they had only good things to say about the centurion. “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.” Having received this good recommendation, Jesus set out to see the centurion and, apparently, to heal the slave, when something surprising happened.

It’s not clear from the text what exactly occurred, but it seems that sometime after sending the messengers out, the centurion had second thoughts. Maybe, like me, he looked around his house and saw the chewed-up carpet. Maybe, as some scholars suggest, he was making a political move, expressing false humility to gain an even better reputation.

Or—maybe this Roman leader recognized that this Jesus, who was about to arrive at his house, possessed a different kind of authority; was working under a different system of values; would perhaps be unimpressed by a centurion’s status, privilege, or military might. This Jesus, after all, was said to be a miracle-worker, a healer, a prophet, and even more: the Son of God.

So the centurion sent out some friends with a different message: “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.” 

These words stopped Jesus in his tracks—literally. He stopped in the road and turned, telling the crowd that was always following him, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.” Jesus never made it to the centurion’s home, but when the centurion’s friends returned, they found the slave had been healed.

This centurion, because of his humility and surprising recognition of Jesus’ authority, has been lifted up as an example of great faith. But I must say that I struggle with this text, because what I don’t want you to hear today is one more reason to say to yourself “I’m not worthy.” I think we do enough of that already:

I’m not worthy of God’s love.

I’m not worthy of having a healthy relationship—this is the best I deserve.

I’m not worth being treated right at school or having friends.

I don’t have anything to contribute to the discussion.

Why would God listen to my prayers, after all the mistakes I’ve made?

I cringe when I think of teenagers, or a spouse in an abusive relationship, or someone who has never known God’s forgiving and redeeming love, hearing this story and thinking: “See? I’m right in thinking of myself as unworthy. Jesus even blessed this way of thinking.” 

But I don’t believe this is a story about Jesus blessing the kind of self-hate we are so good at cultivating. This is not a case study on how to beat yourself down so you are worthy of God’s attention. Humility is a virtue, but self-loathing is not. 

Instead, I believe the story of the faithful centurion is about authority. It’s about recognizing who has authority in our lives, and therefore who judges your worthiness.

When the centurion first called for Jesus, it was not “What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear”, but more like “What a solution I have in Jesus, all my problems to solve.” He sought an answer to his problem—a sick slave—using the authority he had at hand: power, privilege, money, position, reputation. According to this system, he judged himself worthy of having his request honored, his needs met, and his slave healed.  

The centurion was therefore not a person of faith at the moment he called upon Jesus—but it didn’t matter, because the religious leaders also seemed to agree with his judgment. “He’s a good guy!” they said. “You should totally do this for him, Jesus.”  

And you know what? The faith of the centurion didn’t seem to matter to Jesus, either. In the telling of this story, we often forget that Jesus was already on his way to visit the centurion when he received that message: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof.” Jesus was already on the road to the centurion, well before the centurion was on the road to faith. 

But the faith of the centurion is amazing, and surprising, and worthy of note, because it was he, an outsider, who was able to proclaim the truth. When even the religious leaders believed the lie that “If I am a good person and work hard, God will hear my prayers”, the centurion was the one who proclaimed: “Lord, nothing that I have and nothing that I have done has made me worthy of your visit. No matter what I bring to the table, Lord—you alone say who is worthy and not worthy. Your judgment matters, and no one else’s.” 

Sisters and brothers, I hope you are hearing today that the story of the faithful centurion is about just how worthy you are in the eyes of God. Here we encounter a Jesus who places no value on power or privilege, who doesn’t care how many soldiers we command or how big our house is, who never sees the chewed up carpet or the size of our credit card debt or the number on the scale. This is about a God who, through Jesus Christ, sees instead our faith alone and deems us worthy. And in fact, in this story we meet the Jesus who starts the journey toward you before you have any faith at all—because you are worth it.

In the book “Tattoos on the Heart: The Power of Boundless Compassion”, Father Gregory Boyle tells of ministering to a 15 year old gang member in a county detention facility. Father Greg asked about his family. 

“That’s my mom over there.” the boy said. “There’s no one like her. I’ve been locked up for more than a year and half. She comes to see me every Sunday. You know how many buses she takes every Sunday—to see my sorry self?”

He paused for moment, and then gasping through tears, he said, “Seven buses. She takes…seven…buses. Imagine.” 

What better way is there to explain the expansive love of God? How better to describe how God sees us, through the eyes of Jesus: You, Child of God, are worth a seven bus journey for a 15 minute visit. You are worthy of love, worthy of respect, worthy of hope and a future—not because of anything you have, or anything you have done—but because of Jesus and the cross. And Jesus says: you are worth even that. 

Amen.