Such Great Faith (Matthew 8:5-13)
If ever there was a time that called for great faith, it feels like this is it. Our whole society is in the greatest need. Many are in the deepest sorrow. Large numbers are facing uncertainty in their employment; some have already lost their jobs. And those deemed to be most vulnerable are facing an anxious future.
In these next weeks, restrictions will begin to be eased, but what will that mean? What will the future hold for us? What will it take to recover from the past months? Do we have the strength to face and overcome the struggles that will inevitably come?
We need faith - and probably feel that we need far greater faith than we currently have. It would be good to know what that kind of faith looks like.
Is it essentially to do with the depth and strength of our feelings, akin to a supernatural optimism? A sense of bravery, of derring-do, in the spiritual realm? Is it an unwavering commitment that is married to moral clarity and attainment?
The phrase, "Such great faith" is used by Jesus in describing the Roman centurion who asked him to heal his servant who lies at home, "paralysed, suffering terribly". What was it about this man that merited such an accolade?
Nothing of what we have suggested. That isn't what we see in him. There are two essential ingredients to his faith, his "such great faith":
i. His own sense of unworthiness. Others petition Jesus on his behalf and proclaim his valued character, his sympathy for the Jewish nation and, hence, his meriting of help (Luke 7:4f). His own take on it is this: "I don't deserve to have you come under my roof."
Often we imagine this sense of unworthiness as akin to grovelling in the dirt, proclaiming our worminess, mentally scraping the sores of our sinfulness, as though the more we declaimed ourselves the more likely Jesus would be to help us. It isn't. Owning our unworthiness is not a betrayal of our God-given dignity. But it is facing our lack, our culpability; knowing the truth that even our best acts and thoughts are affected by our sinfulness.
Great faith faces that truth and owns it before Jesus. It doesn't try to barter with him, cut a deal on some promise of a reformed life or deeper pockets. It is an empty hand, placed deliberately and with humble joy, into his nail-pierced hand.
ii. The limitless authority of Jesus. Great faith looks not to itself but to Another. To the Son of God from all eternity. To the Son of Man who came to seek and save the lost. To the One who holds the keys of death and hades. To the one who disarmed powers and authorites, triumphing over them by his cross. To the One who is seated far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every name that can be given, who is head over everything for the sake of his people.
This is real authority, authority to heal and restore, the authority of loving mercy and renewing grace. Authority that delights to receive the lowly and answer their prayers. Authority that draws and invites faith, that causes hope to rise because its power lavishes goodness on the undeserving.
Such great faith: I don't deserve to have you come under my roof. But all authority is yours; just say the word.
And this great faith is not the preserve of the few who have the right credentials, who have history or status on their side. This man had no religious heritage to commend him; his cultural background was a pagan empire. He was familiar with violence and death. The most unlikely candidate? Which of us isn't? But the door's not closed; it's wide open to all who come as he came.
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Above the voices of the world around me,
my hopes and dreams, my cares and loves and fears,
the long-awaited call of Christ has found me,
the voice of Jesus echoes in my ears:
'I gave my life to break the cords that bind you,
I rose from death to set your spirit free;
turn from your sins and put the past behind you,
take up your cross and come and follow me.'
What can I offer him who calls me to him?
Only the wastes of sin and self and shame;
a mind confused, a heart that never knew him,
a tongue unskilled at naming Jesus' Name.
Yet at your call, and hungry for your blessing,
drawn by that cross which moves a heart of stone,
now Lord I come, my tale of sin confessing,
and in repentance turn to you alone.
Lord, I believe; help now my unbelieving;
I come in faith because your promise stands.
Your word of pardon and of peace receiving,
all that I am I place within your hands.
Let me become what you shall choose to make me,
freed from the guilt and burden of my sins.
Jesus is mine, who never shall forsake me,
and in his love my new-born life begins.
(Timothy Dudley-Smith)
