Matthew 8:5-13
Last weekend Kim and I took our dog, Chuy, to Ocean City to walk on the beach. We like going there now and then throughout the winter months. On that day it was pretty cold and windy, so there were very few people there. We let Chuy off the leash to give him the rare joy of running free while we walked near the shore.
I am always torn between wanting to look out at the beautiful vista of beach and sky and sea and wanting to keep my eyes to the ground lest I miss some treasure. Shells, bits of coral, sea glass. Sometimes, not often, I find some perfect little shell. But more often I find some broken, imperfect thing that is extraordinary in its own way, and I pick it up.
I think perhaps the most wonderful treasures I have are the imperfect things, because they are unique and interesting in the way they look and feel. I don’t think I am alone in this; just last week someone showed me the stone she has chosen to carry in her pocket as a reminder of the brokenness in her own life – something we talked about last week. Her stone has what looks like a growth coming out of it, which is strange, and … absolutely beautiful.
So often we are drawn to objects with some kind of imperfection, some flaw which we don’t even think of as a flaw – just as some special quality. We like these imperfect wonders of nature. I do wonder, though, why it seems so much harder when we are talking about people.
It’s true, isn’t it? We try to make ourselves perfect, and we try to make other people perfect. Too often, when we see difference we don’t say that’s beautiful; we say that’s wrong. We say that’s unacceptable.
But Jesus doesn’t do that, does he? Right after he reached out and healed that man with leprosy – leprosy, the most unacceptable affliction – he encounters a centurion asking for his healing grace. This man was, of course, a Gentile. An outsider. Another kind of outcast.
He doesn’t have any right to ask anything of Jesus – no more than the man with leprosy had a right to be touched by Jesus – but Jesus’ immediate response to him is, “I will come.” No hesitation. No apparent distaste for the job. Just, “I will come.”
Extraordinary. But even more extraordinary is the centurion’s response to Jesus: There is no need. I know your power and how far it extends. I know that you need only say the word and it will be done.
And we see this man’s faith is of a different order than what we have seen before. He knows that Jesus’ power to heal and to save extends beyond himself. Only say the word, Lord, and it shall be done.
Story after story in the gospel tells us that Jesus came for the most unlikely souls – the sick, the lame, the outcasts, the outsiders. And again and again, we see Jesus act in ways to bring them in. To restore them to the shelter of community. Again and again, he does this, and his actions and words are saying to us: This is what the kingdom of God is like. All those who have been cast out will be brought in. All who have been broken by the diseases of their body, mind, or spirit – broken by a society that shuns them or simply doesn’t understand them, doesn’t love them. Yes, Jesus says, they will all come – from the East and the West and sit at table together in the kingdom of God.
This good news is for us, all of us! We might feel his arm around our shoulders gathering us in, saying “I do choose you,” as he said to the man with leprosy. Saying, “I will come for you,” as he said to the centurion. In our frailties and imperfections, and all our vulnerability, we are chosen. Jesus has scooped us up from the beach and holds us in his hand.
And the challenge for us is this: to have the same kind of faith this centurion had and recognize the healing power of Jesus that extends beyond himself. Extends to us and through us to others.
Do we have the boldness to approach Jesus with our needs as this centurion did?
Do we believe that, by our faith, Jesus’ healing will reach and bless our community?
Can we see the people around us as Jesus does? No matter their imperfections, no matter their differences, as beloved children of God, to whom Jesus would say, “I will come for you.”
May it be so. Amen.
