Sermon: "Only Speak the Word," Season after Epiphany, February 09, 2025

Luke’s Gospel: Jesus and the Outsiders, Outcasts, and Outlaws

Scripture: Luke 7.1-17

Preacher: Rev. Ryan Slifka

Luke title for prayer

This week we’re continuing in Luke’s gospel, Luke’s story of Jesus. Last week we heard two different stories. Ones where Jesus was accused of violating the sabbath day.

This week we’ve got another pair of stories. What links these two stories, though, is that they are healing stories. Stories of Jesus’ divine curative powers.

The first story centers on a Centurion, a captain of the Roman guard. He has a slave who’s on death’s door. A slave he’s rather fond of, a slave he loves, even. So when he hears Jesus is in town, he sends some local Jewish elders to fetch him. In the hopes Jesus can save him.

Now, the original hearers would have understood the Centurion as a villain of sorts. Think of how a Palestinian would see an Israeli soldier in the West Bank. Or how a Ukrainian would see a Russian commandant in the Donbas. Or a Chinese soldier in Tibet. He’s not only a citizen of the occupying power, he’s a soldier. A bad guy.

Interestingly, though, the Jewish Elders name this guy as a friend of God’s people. Not only is he friendly to Jews, he ponied up cash for their Synagogue. Though he may be a cog in the great cruel Roman machine, this cog is not without kindness and compassion for the people in his charge.

Even more interesting, though, is what happens next. When Jesus finally turns the corner onto the Centurion’s block, some of the Centurion’s friends—probably fellow Romans—rush out to greet him. And they deliver a message from the Centurion himself. “Look,” says the message. “I’m not that great of a person, actually. I’m not worthy of your time, or your visit. But I believe in you. I’m a soldier who commands other soldiers. I know how it works, I say “go,” and they go. No need to come inside… just say the word, and I know my servant will be healed. His body’ll follow your orders like an obedient corporal.”

Whereas the Elders said he was worthy to have his servant healed, the Centurion’s tack is the opposite. Even though he seems like a pretty good guy, he doesn’t think he’s worthy at all. And this just blows Jesus away. He turns to the crowd and tells them that this Roman Centurion has shown tremendous faith, even greater faith than even your average God loving Israelite. So then when the servants head home—big surprise! The servant’s back from the brink. Up and at it again. Healed by the Word of Jesus.

So what are we supposed to make of this?

One question often comes to mind: is this scripture saying that if we, too, have faith like the Centurion, we will be healed of our diseases? If we believe hard enough, then will God take away our COVID? Or, more seriously, our cancer? Or even more seriously, the cancer of a child?

My answer to this is a simple “no.” Not because I don’t believe that miraculous healings happen. They have, they do. I’m a big fan of Shakespeare’s words on Hamlet’s lips, “there are more things in heaven and earth, dear Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Some of us here have stories that defy the normal course of nature. There are healings like this. And thanks be to God!

But my answer is “no,” partly based on the fact that I have known many faithful people. People who have faith, sincerely believe in God, have faith in Jesus Christ, that put me to shame. Ones who are sick, or with sick children. Ones who cried out to God for deliverance, but still got sicker. Ones who had dozens of prayer-warriors laying on hands. Still died, or watched someone closest to them die. My answer is “no” to that question… simply because it just doesn’t work that way. As if we could only marshal our own internal resources of belief. Then we’d be spared from the fact of our mortal bodies. With enough faith, then we’d be able to avoid all pain and death.

Which isn’t to say we shouldn’t pray for healing. We should! We do. I’m going to go anoint somebody with oil and pray for healing with later today. But it’s just not how it works.

It's not how it works. Because this story is not ultimately about our faith to bring about miracles. But it’s ultimately about something else. Something bigger. More beautiful.

We know this based on the next story in the series. The one after the Centurion and his servant. And, you know, the second healing story picks up where the last one left off. It picks up the ball, and takes it all the way to the end zone.

After his encounter with the Centurion in Capernaum, Jesus moseys his way over to this place called Nain. Here Jesus shows up at the city gate in the midst of a funeral procession.

Now, if your Old Testament spidey-sense was tingling when you heard this story it’s because this whole episode is a virtual re-enactment of 1st Kings 17. Where a miraculous healing’s performed by the great Old Testament prophet, Elijah. Remember way back in chapter 1, the angel Gabriel foretold a prophet who would come with “the spirit and power of Elijah.”[i] Jesus is that prophet.

The funeral’s for a man who is a widow’s only son. Just like in the case of Elijah. And just like the case of Elijah, this is a double tragedy. Not only has this mother lost her only child. As a widow, she’d have nobody to support her without her children. This likely spells the end for her, too. Here Jesus takes on Elijah’s mantle.

Now, there are a couple interesting differences between this and the episode with the Centurion.

First of all, unlike the Centurion, this person is an absolute nobody. Poor, a woman, no influence. Which is something Luke is all about. Lifting up the lowly, showing God’s concern for the least of these.

But there’s a second difference that’s more germane to our question.

The man’s coffin processes by, the widow trailing it in tears, as anyone would in her situation. Jesus sees this woman, broken with grief. And we’re told he has compassion on her. Though the English isn’t really strong enough. The Greek word it translates is more like, his guts are wrenched by this whole scene.[ii] The Lord, the Creator of heaven and earth’s guts are wrenched by the suffering, and tragedy of this nobody. Jesus sees her, comes to her, places his hand on her shoulder saying, “do not weep.”

Now, whereas Elijah stretched himself over the dead son three times, and begged and pleaded for the Lord to bring him back to life. Here Jesus just places his hand on the coffin and speaks. “Young man,” he says. “Young man, rise.”[iii] And he does just that. No pleading. Jesus gives the order and the young man obeys. Remember how the Centurion said, basically Jesus I know if you give the word my servant will follow it like marching orders into battle. Here again, like the servant, the son is cured by the word of Jesus. But this time Jesus takes it all the way into the end zone. This time curing death itself. Curing death with a WORD.

Remember what I said. This story isn’t about human faith, but it’s about the power of God. What’s happening hear is a display of Jesus’ authority. His authority over what the apostle Paul calls “the last enemy. What’s on display here is Jesus’ authority over death itself.

In the same way God spoke creation into being out of the chaos of dark nothing at the beginning of time, Jesus’ Word delivers two desperate people, and their loved ones, from the chaotic darkness of the grave. Jesus orders death to loosen its grip, and it can’t help but raise a white flag. And surrender.

Both of these stories are about the power of God over the power death. Spoken on the lips of Jesus Christ. His Word buries the grave itself in a grave.[iv]

And the beauty, dear friend, is that the same life-giving Word spoken by our Lord is for you and me, too.

Because if the gospel is true—and we believe it is—then none of us need fear death at all.

Why? Because what we have here is a sneak preview of what Jesus will eventually do. Like the only son of the widow of Nain, Jesus, who is the only Son of the Father of creation will be knocked down. Only to be struck alive again on the third day, raised from the dead on Easter Sunday. Unlike, the Centurion’s servant, or the widow’s son, though, Jesus is raised to new life, never to die again. Breaking death’s power once and for all.

I think it was the great Swiss theologian Karl Barth who once said that we need not see Jesus’ resurrection as unique. Simply because, like the resuscitation of the widow’s son, Jesus’ resurrection is the sneak preview of our own. Jesus is just the pilot episode for the forever-running series called eternity.

Doesn’t mean we won’t die at all, or experience all the suffering that goes with it. Like, both the servant and the widow’s son are healed. But then they’re gonna die again one day. No matter how much faith you have, you will die. I will die. We will die. No bargaining with the Lord will ever get us out of it.

But the beautiful promise is that our death is not the end. One day a Word will be spoken that puts an end to death forever, and orders us to eternal life. Jesus is simply the first fruit in a great harvest of vitality, the first child in a great family of life. One that includes you and me.

And not only you and me… like, both these stories include grieved loved ones. The Centurion is about to lose his friend, and the widow loses her only son. Friends. Parents, children. There’s this line that says that Jesus gives the son back to his mother. One scholar, Frederick Danker says this: “Death destroys relationships; Jesus restores them.” [v] Death destroys relationships; Jesus restores them. Like, the resurrection is not only a promise for us, it’s also the promise of a restoration to those we love and lose.

This past week, my little seven-year old daughter Martha and I were walking down town hand in hand. Beautiful sunny day. Looking into her little front-toothless smile I had this feeling of incredible gratitude for her. But then, a thought just intruded into my mind. What if she were to get sick? Or something more sudden. As a parent, you never really even want to entertain the thought. The thought is just so painful, you can’t even imagine just how painful it were to be if it were to actually happen.

Lucky for me, though, I happened to be studying this scripture this week for a sermon. And almost as quickly as the thought came to me, another one took its place: that even if I were to lose her somehow, it wouldn’t be for good. At that moment, I believe that Jesus was speaking his Word of life to me. Banishing death not only for me. But for her, too. That like Jesus handing the widow’s son back to him, she would one day be handed back to me. And at that moment I felt truly free. That even if this painful possibility were to come true, or a multitude of others, that on account of Jesus there is a reality even more true. Than even death itself.

So friends, dear friends. The stories of the Centurion’s servant and the widow of Nain are not just miraculous healings, but about something even more important. More wonderful. More beautiful. That faith, while important, is not the sole determinant of our fate. Not even death itself will determine our fate, in fact. All our fears for the future, all the anxieties and uncertainties that plague us and our world. The ones that draw us into ourselves, rather than outward to God and our neighbours. Just imagine… it’s all been undone. For death has been defeated in the death and resurrection. Of our Lord, Jesus Christ. It’s the power of God that holds the final say.

So, as you go forth, may you hold onto this hope and trust in the life-giving power of our Lord. May he loosen the chains of death that are dragging your down. And may he free you to find healing, find comfort in the assurance that we are promised a future where death, but life the final word.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

[i] Luke 1:17.

[ii] I am thankful to Brennan Manning for this insight, though I couldn’t find the source for this sermon.

[iii] R. Alan Culpepper, Luke, 158.

[iv] “Great physician as [Jesus] is, he encounters disaster at its depth, and his own body which will soon itself lie still in death is the instrument of life.” Frederick W. Danker, Jesus and the New Age: A Commentary on St. Luke’s Gospel, rev. ed (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1988), 161.

[v] Ibid., 162.