Just a quick reminder as we get into the heart of Luke in the coming weeks that one of Luke’s main themes is that of inclusion— with those outsiders, those outside of the normal welcome of society.
Also, I think it is worth noting as we head into this section—because we are going to encounter a number of stories and parables that we might be familiar with from the other Gospels—that, in my opinion, Luke is a particularly gifted storyteller.
He really understands the purpose of story—not just in the way he tells the story to us, but also in how he arranges it. The location of particular stories, what he puts side by side, as is the case today, are all very intentional and, perhaps, skillfully done.
Luke 7:1-17
After Jesus had finished all his sayings in the hearing of the people, he entered Capernaum. A centurion there had a slave whom he valued highly and who was ill and close to death.
When he heard about Jesus, he sent some Jewish elders to him, asking him to come and heal his slave. When they came to Jesus, they appealed to him earnestly, saying, “He is worthy to have you do this for him, for he loves our people, and it is he who built our synagogue for us.”
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. But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed. For I also 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 the slave does it.”
When Jesus heard this, he was amazed at him, and turning to the crowd following 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, they found the slave in good health.
Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And with her was a large crowd from the town.
When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not cry.” Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stopped. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!”
The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.
Fear seized all of them, and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has visited his people!”
This word about him spread throughout the whole of Judea and all the surrounding region.
For the word of God in scripture, for the word of God among us, for the word of God within us—thanks be to God.
***
It is a tale of two different worlds—not only by proximity in Luke’s narrative but also by Jesus’ compassion.
A centurion. And just to be sure we’re on the same page—that is not the half-man, half-horse of Greek mythology. That’s a centaur. A centurion is a Roman military officer who commands a regiment of about 100 soldiers. A centurion.
The centurion in Luke’s Gospel is a man of authority, someone who is well-connected, who has resources at his disposal. And yet, he seeks Jesus—not for himself, but to heal a favorite slave.
Professor Gerald Liu writes that the centurion in Luke’s account excels at acting in the interest of the empire. The leaders who advocate for him say, “This man is worthy of Jesus.” But do they do so because they genuinely admire him? Or because they fear him? Or perhaps, it’s a bit of both?
Yes, the centurion built them a synagogue, but he probably did so with slave labor. And this mix of mixed motives and compromised relationships typifies life under an occupying empire. Those with power are not necessarily interested in the well-being of the people—only in how the people can be held in check and serve the empire’s interests.
So it’s hard to know—are the sentiments expressed toward him real? Or are they simply part of the system?
Does the centurion value his slave because of genuine affection? Or is it merely utilitarian? He seeks help, but he never actually goes out of his way. He never leaves his house. He sends others to do his bidding for him. He gives orders—because that’s what he does.
Now, in contrast, we meet someone from the opposite end of the power spectrum—a widow.
This widow has suffered a double blow: no husband, no son. Therefore, no power, no standing. She can bark all the orders she wants, but no one is listening to her.
Unlike the centurion, who has many people around him—whether out of fear, admiration, or obligation—the only conceivable reason this woman has a crowd in mourning is because they care about her and her son.
Now, you and I—we don’t like to be close to death. We’d rather avoid it, if at all possible. Hospitals, nursing homes, funeral homes—these are not places we typically look forward to visiting, are they?
But we do. And usually, there are only two things that compel us to go: genuine love or a sense of obligation.
This story is a tale of two sides of the power spectrum. And yet, perhaps Luke places them side by side not to highlight their differences, but to reveal what they have in common.
Because all the power, all the wealth, all the might in the world cannot overcome death.
The centurion is used to giving orders—but in this case, he is powerless. Today, he seeks healing for his slave. Tomorrow, death might come for him.
The widow, on the other hand, is accustomed to feeling powerless. She knows there is nothing she can do—which doesn’t necessarily make it any easier to accept.
Now, given these two figures, we might assume that Jesus is going to choose one over the other. That he will either pick the centurion or the widow—power or love.
And to be sure, Jesus does choose. But it is not power over love, or love over power. Jesus chooses life over death.
Professor Liu writes, “Christ has compassion on everyone.” The truth speaks that compassion is not an alliance. Jesus is moved not only by the centurion’s power and command, but also by the plight of the slave for whom he advocates.
Brené Brown writes, “Empathy has no script. There is no right way or wrong way to do it. It’s simply listening, holding space, withholding judgment, and communicating that incredibly healing message: ‘You are not alone.’”
Jesus, in his compassion, makes room for all.
And really, in our story today, in many ways, the centurion is the one to be pitied most of all. Because he has placed his trust in something that will ultimately let him down.
The widow, on the other hand, knows what matters most—even if she has lost much to gain that wisdom.
To be sure, this does not excuse the centurion for any harm he may have caused others. And so, these two stories leave us not with clear-cut answers or simple commands to obey, but with a challenge—one that we must apply to our own lives.
It challenges our notions of who is deserving and undeserving. It challenges us to have compassion for each person.
Because when we get close to death—when we allow ourselves to face life in all its joy, all its pain, all its sorrow, and all its goodness—the choices that often consume us are not as important as we think they are.
To live with an eternal perspective may not be something we can maintain every day.
But when the opportunity comes—may we have the trust to not let it pass by. May we see it for the blessing that it is.
And may we know, in all circumstances, that we are not alone. The God of all compassion does not abandon us—either in this life or in the life to come.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
