Chain of Command (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

I recently saw a TV show where a traveling faith healer set up a large tent outside London. People came, night after night, to beg the healer to intervene for them with God. They all wanted just one thing: to be well. And the healer, invoking the name of God, appeared to heal all manner of frailties.

That's the kind of scenario we associate with faith healers: while in the physical presence of someone claiming to represent God, people appear to be healed of what ails them. There are witnesses, witnesses who can praise the healer and God for the miracle. It's as close to a standard as we come with this kind of thing.

So, with that standard in mind, imagine this scenario: an army captain is stationed is a foreign country where there is a history of insurgents trying to overthrow his government's presence there. The captain couldn't be more different than the locals; wealthy, well educated, a favored son of his country, and has a completely different religion. One day, he is informed that one of his staff has fallen ill; so ill, in fact, he is likely to die. The captain goes to local community leaders and asks them to reach out to an itinerant preacher and (supposed) miracle worker, who is traveling through that part of the country. The captain would like for the preacher to come and heal the ailing man.

Can you imagine an officer in our army doing such a thing? As the more advanced country, our healthcare is almost certainly better than any available in a "second world" foreign outpost. And, even stranger, would one of our army officers seek help from a local "miracle worker"? It sounds too bizarre to be believed.

And yet.

That's what's going on in the Luke passage in this week's Lectionary selections. Jesus enters Capernaum and is soon approached by the Jewish elders on behalf of a Roman Centurion! The local military leader of the repressive regime that has conquered their country! And if that's not strange enough, they want Jesus to come with them to the Centurion's house so he can heal the Centurion's servant! But, while this may sound very unusual to us, Jesus appears to just take it in stride. He agrees to go.

And, though quite a bit out of the ordinary, at least it meets the faith healing standard: Faith healer does the healing in the presence of witnesses.

It's what happens next that shocks even Jesus.

While on their way, a message comes from the Centurion to Jesus: “Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof. That is why I did not presume to come to you. Instead, say the word, and my servant must be healed. For I too am a man set under authority, with soldiers under me. I say to this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my [servant], ‘Do this,’ and he does it.” (‭‭Luke‬ ‭7:6-8‬ ‭NET‬‬, http://bible.com/107/luk.7.6-8.net)

Scripture says Jesus was amazed, that He marveled at the Centurion's faith in Jesus' authority. Everyone else, even Jesus, was expecting the standard. Instead, because of this Gentile's surprisingly expansive faith, Jesus honors his request. He does not go to the Centurion's house, and yet, the servant is healed anyway.

The authority of Jesus has not diminished by even the tiniest part since this happened.

What does your faith allow?

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READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 4 (9) (May 29, 2016)
First reading and Psalm
1 Kings 18:20-21, (22-29), 30-39
Psalm 96
Alternate First reading and Psalm
1 Kings 8:22-23, 41-43
Psalm 96:1-9
Second reading
Galatians 1:1-12
Gospel
Luke 7:1-10
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Friday morning's coming! If you can join us for Lectionary Breakfast, we would be delighted. We still gather at 8:00 at the Waco "Egg and I" restaurant for an hour not quite like any other. Food, faith, and a shocking amount of fun :-)

Enjoy the week!
Steve

The Sunday Milking (a Lectionary reflection by Steve Orr)

For a few years, my Dad was involved with a family friend in a dairy operation. Early on, before the dairy could pay for itself, the two of them also worked for one of the barge lines based in our hometown of Paducah, Kentucky. That job (pretty much everyone called it "working on the boat") required each of them to be away from home for an entire month; working, eating, and sleeping on the tug as it pushed barges down the Ohio River to the Mississippi, and then on down to New Orleans . . . and back.

Dad and our friend alternated months working on the boat; the one NOT on the boat handled the dairy. They would "swap off" the next month, and so on.

The dairy was a two-a-day operation. Once each morning and once each evening, the cows would make their way across the field and crowd up around the milking door. They were pretty insistent about being fed and milked on time. On the rare day we were late, we could hear them "bawling" clear out on the road.

I was expected to help Dad whenever he needed any assistance with the milking. I wasn't called on to do this too often, and, despite my grumbling about having to get up early or perhaps miss an after school activity, it really was no burden. While Dad got the equipment up and running, ensuring it was clean and ready, my job was to climb way up onto the feed floor, essentially an attic-like space filled with feed. I would make my way around the room, shoveling the feed into the tops of tubes that led down to where the cows would stand when being milked. I usually had to do this twice for each milking. When not shoveling feed, I helped with the cows.

The only time I really had a problem with all of this was one Sunday morning.

Even as a teen, Sundays were MINE. My "day of rest." My day to worship, attend Sunday School, and, in the afternoon, participate in youth activities before evening worship. We teens had such a great time being together, we often went out to the Dairy Queen after evening worship.

Nobody messed with my Sundays.

But one Sunday, the cows did.

I awoke early that Sunday to the sound of my Dad calling my name, telling me to get up because he needed my help with the cows. For a moment there, I was completely disoriented; wasn't this Sunday? But then, when my head cleared I KNEW it was Sunday. I pulled on my jeans and shoes, buttoning my shirt as I headed downstairs, but I griped all the way down the stairs . . . and all the way out to the farm. I whined about losing "Sunday time" to the cows; I was emphatic that we HAD to finish in time for me to get to church; I was oh-so-righteously ticked off at Dad for making me do this "on a Sunday!"

Dad didn't say a word all the way to the farm. He just let me rant. But, once we arrived and were walking toward the dairy barn, Dad turned and stopped me with a palm to the chest. I stopped walking (and, finally, stopped talking).

Dad said, "Do you hear that?"

Of course, I hadn't heard anything other than the sound of my own voice for several minutes. But as I paused, then, to listen, I did hear something.

"Yeah," I said, "It's the cows bawling."

And he then asked the question, the one that REALLY shut my mouth: "Do you know WHY they're bawling?"

In all the time we had been doing this, I had never once stopped to wonder . . . well, ANY thing about the cows. Sadly, I had to admit that I had no idea, really, why they were bawling. Somehow, in my youthful mind, I just thought they were ticked off that we were late.

Well, no.

"They're bawling," said Dad, "because they're in pain. And they will stay that way until somebody milks them."

I was just like those folks in this week's Lectionary selection from the gospel of Luke: I couldn't see past my own well-ordered world view to the actual living beings who were in need.

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http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu

READINGS FOR THE COMING WEEK
Proper 16 (21) (August 25, 2013)

Jeremiah 1:4-10
Psalm 71:1-6
Isaiah 58:9b-14
Psalm 103:1-8
Hebrews 12:18-29
Luke 13:10-17

I hope to see you Friday morning at Lectionary Breakfast. We're still having a great time discussing the scriptures over a great meal at "The Egg and I" in Waco. Join us if you can.

Enjoy the week!
Steve