Humility and FaithDan Doyle
The centurion said, ‘Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed.’ – Matthew 8:8
The centurion in this passage from Matthew’s Gospel, speaks the truth for us all. His statement is one of pure humility and simple faith. He understood the power of a word that comes from one in authority, as his own word carried that kind of authority with those who served under him. He understood that Jesus was no common man, that the authority of Jesus’ word made his own authority and words pale in significance. He recognized Jesus’ spiritual authority, and had faith that a word from this Jesus could do what no mere human word could ever do for his servant. Because he believed Jesus could heal his servant, his servant was, indeed, healed.
When we gather together in Church, or in prayer with our families, or friends, in Jesus’ name, even though we know that we are not worthy, we believe that He enters under the roofs of our churches and homes, and is present to us. We believe that when we open the scriptures, either in private, or at our weekly services, that we are asking Jesus to enter the “house” of our minds, to “enter under the roofs” of our hearts, to speak there the words of everlasting life. When we receive the Eucharist, we do so humbly believing that Jesus wants, in the most intimate of ways, to “enter under our personal roofs” to heal us, to strengthen us, and to walk with us through our days.
Two things, then, are necessary: humility and faith. Are we not overwhelmed with humble awe that the Father, loves us so dearly that He spoke his Word, His only begotten son, Jesus, into the world to heal we mere servants from our sins? Even more humbling yet, is that He wants to do this every day. Let us, then, in all humility, and in true faith, like the centurion, ask Jesus to enter under our roofs daily. And know that, because of our humble faith in his infinite love for us, He will “enter” us, and touch us, and speak to us, and heal us of all of our woundedness. What else can we do with this knowledge but give thanks with all of our being, in all that we do?