Reflection - Faith

http://www.usccb.org/bible/readings/091718.cfm
I Corinthians 11:17-26, 33
Luke 7:1-10

In reflecting on the gospel incident given to us by Luke I want to narrow the focus tightly. For that reason it is important to set aside the good things the centurion had done for the Jewish community. We must ignore the laudatory comments of the elders which, as Luke records them, pertain to material things. We will also disregard the Jewish community’s support for this gentile Roman soldier. We will go straight to the key line: "I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith."

This exclamation of Jesus is prompted by amazement. It overshadows even the healing of the servant; and it appears to be the core of God’s word in this Scripture story. Jesus refers to the centurion’s explication as a statement of faith, though it is not offered in the usual form of “I believe.” Rather, it is a fuller, richer, more complete expression of the centurion’s spirit. An examination finds that it has multiple components: There is a confession of unworthiness before the Lord. There is an implicit acknowledgment of the Lord’s power. There is a foundation of trust that the request of one as unworthy as the centurion will be favorably received.

Faith is a somewhat nebulous issue in the realm of religion, for the word is often used to reflect a humdrum acceptance of what is known only by the teaching of others, or what is casually passed down from one generation to the next, but which lacks an interior, personal home. The origin and foundation of my own faith is something I have questioned over the years. In my youth it was incubated in Catholic education and anchored by a fascination with liturgy. In later years it was bolstered by the pragmatic: If I believe, and there is no God I’ll never know it; if I believe and there is a God, I made a wise choice. My pragmatism would eventually go another step, taking me into the arena of how Faith works for me. The faith of the centurion is now closer to the road I’m traveling, though my feet don’t always stay on the path.

What seems most notable about the centurion’s faith is that it is relational: You (Jesus) are worthy; I am not worthy. You have the power; I do not have the power. You are in charge of all things; I am only in charge over a group of men like me. We don’t generally have much problem with the issues of worthiness and power; and any lapses in these areas are most often corrected by a bit of simple reflection. It is the last which so easily slips from our awareness or our ability to acknowledge. While we may readily concede that, in the end, God wins, it’s easy to forget that he is also in charge all along the way to that end. Sometimes our forgetfulness is rooted in the insignificance of the issue at hand — I can’t find a parking space. Sometimes our forgetfulness is the product of the enormity of the quagmire — the country is headed in the wrong direction. Sometimes we are just stubborn — I can solve this problem on my own. From the time of the patriarchs we have been presented with dilemmas that required the kind of faith expressed by the centurion.

So we had Sarah, Abraham’s wife, dealing with the apparent conflict between the promise that she would bear a child and he fact that she was past her childbearing years.

So we had Abraham dealing with the apparent conflict between the promise of being the father of a great nation and the sacrifice of his only son.

So we had Moses, the outcast from Pharaoh’s court, telling Pharaoh what to do.

So we had a great number of former slaves trapped between the sea and Pharaoh’s pursuing army.

The list goes on. But these are all great things, important things, life changing things. It seems we’re more willing to accept the restoration of life to the dead than we are willing to accept the hand of God in the smallest of details in our lives. Yet, that is most often where the underpinning of faith needs to be established — not on the sand of the uncommon, the extraordinary or the eye-opening event, but on the bedrock of the common, the ordinary or the insignificant.