Original Meaning

THE ISSUES IN Luke 7:1–8:3 surround the call to faith and questions about the identity of Jesus. He heals, but in doing so he forgives sin and raises someone from the dead, so that people wonder who he is. The populace anticipates a prophetic office, but Jesus’ actions suggest more. Jesus’ identity raises the issue of a proper response to him. Faith is a central feature in the stories of the centurion and the sinful woman. While the relationship between John the Baptist and Jesus shows that the divine calendar has reached a turning point, Jesus does the work of the era of fulfillment.

The healing of the centurion’s servant in 7:1–10 is another of Jesus’ miracles that reveal spiritual realities. What makes this story different is that the major figure is a Gentile, a centurion, even though he never shows up in the passage.1 The major topic of the healing is faith in light of Jesus’ authority. A second theme of Luke’s also emerges: Jews and Gentiles can get along with and respect one another. The unity of Jew and Gentile in Christ is emphasized more explicitly in the book of Acts and in Paul’s letter to the Ephesians (Eph. 2:11–22).

Jesus is now in Capernaum, one of the few specific notes of locale in the Gospel. The same pattern of word and deed that we saw in 4:16–44 appears here. Jesus speaks about his authority in 6:20–49 and then demonstrates it in 7:1–17. The centurion,2 who as a military man would be among the wealthy in the society, has come to appreciate what Jesus has been doing. Though we do not know his national background, we do know he is not Jewish. Perhaps he is a potential proselyte or, more likely, a soldier who follows the Roman custom of respecting religion as a socially healthy force in the empire.3

This centurion has a slave near death. He sends a delegation of Jewish elders to ask Jesus to heal this man. These are probably Jewish civil leaders, not synagogue leaders.4 The emissaries not only bring the man’s request, but they also lobby for him, arguing that he is worthy of aid. He has contributed to the building of the local synagogue. Such acts of generosity are not without ancient precedent.5 He loves Israel, which may mean he has shown respect for the nation. The question raised here is significant at two levels: Will Jesus minister to someone from outside of Israel, and will he minister to a wealthy man?

Jesus turns to go to the man’s house when a second delegation arrives. They report the response of the centurion in the first person, indicating that they are speaking for him. His message declares his own unworthiness in having Jesus enter his home. He does not want to trouble the teacher, but only wishes him to heal his slave. He understands Jesus’ authority and knows that if he just issues the order, the healing will occur. To drive the point home, he illustrates his understanding by appealing to his own role as a man in authority. All he needs to do is issue an order, and it is obeyed.

These remarks amaze Jesus, insofar as a Gentile has such faith. In fact, this Gentile has faith that is more perceptive and sensitive than anything Jesus has seen in Israel. What impresses him is both the centurion’s humility and his understanding of Jesus’ power (the ability to heal from a distance). One can argue that the essence of faith is humility: the recognition of the uniqueness of God’s power and our unworthiness before it, while trusting in God’s care. In a closing note, the text affirms that the healing takes place, just as the centurion has anticipated. The power of Jesus and the presence of faith form a powerful combination.

From the raising of a widow’s only son in 7:11–17 emerge two basic questions about Jesus: What kind of understanding does the Israelite public have of him, and why do they think of him this way? The resuscitation of the boy requires Jesus’ compassionate involvement with this widow, but it also suggests the Old Testament ministries of Elijah and Elisha (1 Kings 17:17–24; 2 Kings 4:8–37).6 This connection helps us see why the public responded as they did.

The event starts simply enough in the little village of Nain. We do not know for certain the location of this town, but it is probably three miles west of Endor and twenty miles southwest of Capernaum.7 As Jesus passes by the town, he encounters a funeral involving a widow, who has lost her only son. This detail is important, because in that culture a widow without children was alone and in need of protection. The Old Testament portrays widows and orphans as among the most helpless of people and uses the figure of mourning over the death of an only son as a sign of a painful loss (Jer. 6:26; Amos 8:10; Zech. 12:10). The death probably took place that very day, since the Jews usually buried immediately.8 The body rested on a burial plank, not a closed coffin, though it would have been wrapped in cloth. Mourners followed the plank as the community shared the grief of the widow.9

Jesus stops the procession just outside the city and touches the burial plank. That touch renders him unclean (Num. 19:11), but it also expresses his compassionate concern. Jesus simply tells the corpse to arise, a cruel remark unless he has the power to bring it to pass. The dead man—or better, formerly dead man—sits up. In contrast to Elijah, who stretched over a corpse three times (1 Kings 17:21), and Elisha, who touched a child with a staff laid over him (2 Kings 4:31, 34–35), Jesus simply utters a word. With his work done, Jesus hands the lad over to his mother in language that parallels 1 Kings 17:23. Jesus has restored the previously broken relationship between mother and son with renewed life.

The crowd concludes that Jesus is “a great prophet.” No doubt the biblical parallels are what produce this conclusion. They have respect for him, though in the context of the entire story of Jesus, Luke will show that granting Jesus prophetic status is not enough. The crowd also realizes that God is visiting the people, for these kinds of miracles are not everyday affairs. The ancients often recognized that unusual events signaled God was in their midst. The crowd here sees a connection between God and Jesus. So the report spreads far and wide throughout Judea and the countryside.

Bridging Contexts

THE MIRACLE OF the healing of the centurion’s slave is less a miracle story and more a character study. The bulk of the event treats the understanding of the centurion. He is the central character, and we should concentrate on what is said about him. He is an exemplary character, even though he is an ethnic outsider and is undoubtedly among the wealthy. He represents the universality of the gospel. Here also is a soldier with compassion, reflecting the type of person John the Baptist described in 3:14. Culturally, this man occupies three positions that could make him unresponsive, yet his eyes and ears have been open to respond. Jesus is able to say things about him that he cannot say of anyone in the nation of Israel. Thus any applications from this text must come from considering his character.

One other feature of this centurion text is crucial—the various combinations that are represented in Jesus’ encounter with him. We have the crossing of ethnic boundaries as a Gentile soldier meets a Jewish teacher and prophet. We have the crossing of social boundaries as the soldier, who has means enough to contribute to a synagogue, meets a prophet who ministers most often among the poor. We have the crossing of believing community boundaries, as Jesus, the one who brings the way of salvation to God, ministers to one interested in supporting religious ideals but one who has not yet made a personal decision.

All of the above elements cross over into our world. Jesus does not refuse the man because he is of a different race. Do we have such exclusionary clauses in our ministries? Jesus does not worry about class. Do we make such distinctions in targeting those to whom we will minister? Neither does Jesus argue for a type of separationism that says the centurion is not among God’s people, so he cannot receive ministry. Sometimes we underestimate the power of the testimony of the gospel to cross ethnic, social, or even lines of belief. Sometimes the way a person is drawn to God is through the indication that God can cross such boundaries to touch and change a heart.

Moreover, although Jesus is socially in the less valued position as far as the world is concerned, what he has to offer makes him the one with more to offer than the one he helps. Sometimes we let external factors affect how we see things. For example, when interacting with Christians from other cultures, we may assume those in the “superior” cultural, technological, or educational position have more to offer. Such biases are subtle, but all too real. Yet the very circumstances more socially humble believers have lived in frequently make them more sensitive to a whole array of issues that we are slow to understand.

Two personal situations are relevant, one in Latin America and the other in Eastern Europe after the fall of communism. I have traveled there with believers, only to be enlightened with how they understand poverty, suffering, persecution, and other circumstances where people have lived under severe limitations that I can hardly begin to understand. I found myself sitting at their feet, learning from their reflection on what the Lord taught them through those experiences and from their reflection on Scripture, and asking them questions about how one can best share Jesus in such circumstances. Other believers who have been to these parts of the world have told me of similar experiences. I have found a similar situation in watching some of my brothers and sisters in Christ minister in the inner city. It is not always the case that the teacher comes from a higher social station or has a higher degree!

The miracle of the resuscitation in Nain reveals much about Jesus’ compassion and the extent of his authority. We may often feel concern for another’s pain or suffering, but what do we do to meet it? Sometimes the first step is awkward, since we wrestle with how our effort to reach out may be received, or we wonder if by bringing up the painful topic, we will only make the pain worse. But sometimes the most effective ministry occurs in a small act of compassion, not in an attempt to solve the pain. Jesus did more here than we are able to do, but the way in which he acted is important. The touch on the coffin showed his willingness to identify with the situation and not back away from it. Perhaps the best we can do is offer a compassionate shoulder or a listening ear. But this kind of “touch” often reaches below the skin and meets the pain of a hurting heart.

As we have already seen, Jesus’ miracles are audiovisuals of great truths, and no truth is more fundamental than his authority to reverse death. What was the most tragic of moments, the loss of an only child, Jesus turns into a reunion. The story connects with the sense of tragedy one feels at death and shows how Jesus has the power to reverse its presence. Our ministry of gospel should offer the hope that in Jesus death can be overcome.

The final point of connection is the crowd’s speculation over the significance of Jesus. He is such a crucial figure in social history that every person must decide where he fits. The crowd expresses its opinion, and so must we. But I wonder if the crowd struggles with different things than we do. This ancient crowd does not struggle with the issue of Jesus’ miracle; they are there and see it. What they struggle to understand is his great authority. Today, the battle over understanding Jesus is more comprehensive, since we are distant from the witnesses of his ministry. We may accept he was a great religious teacher and may give him the respect of a prophet. But the reality of his miracles, especially one as dramatic as this, is often questioned.

The great claims Jesus made about who he is are doubted today. Distance from Jesus allows a kind of fog to set in. Many people comment on Jesus without knowing what Scripture teaches about him. Others challenge its portrayal of him. But if Scripture does not help us understand Jesus accurately, then how can we know anything about him? His works and words go together, and so does the portrait that Scripture gives. Though people today cannot see him as those in Nain did, they must see him in us or hear him in the testimony of Scripture.

Contemporary Significance

THE FIRST POINT of application regarding the centurion is that he, even as an outsider, had developed a good reputation with people from other backgrounds. One is reminded of the exhortation about elders in the church that they are to have the respect of those outside the community of faith (1 Tim. 3:7). This man achieved this reputation because he showed respect to the Jews and their customs. His support of the synagogue, even though he was not yet a believer, shows someone sensitive to the attitudes of others. The Jews, in turn, were responsive to him, indicating how mutual respect is one means of overcoming cultural and ethnic barriers. Luke is pointing out here that Jews and Gentiles can respect one another if each side makes the necessary effort, especially when each group is open to God’s way.

I am reminded of how missionaries respond to entering a foreign field or how one might approach a multicultural environment. The natural response is to honor one’s own cultural customs and keep to one’s own circle. Missionaries sometimes do this by associating primarily with fellow missionaries. But in a multicultural context, this is a form of isolation. One ministers less effectively to people of a different background and slows the process of learning to love, respect, and understand them unless one makes a concerted effort to enter into their world and attempts to appreciate their culture. In our country, as we become more diverse, Christians will need to develop cultural sensitivity if we hope to share the gospel in all the possible contexts. The Bible communicates a respect for “God-fearers” like Cornelius (Acts 10) and this centurion. With such openness we can build new bridges for the gospel where we might have formerly isolated ourselves through fear or ignorance.

Another application is that a position of power and wealth can be used in ways that do not use people but serve them. Here is a man of wealth who used his resources and power to the benefit of those around him. Here is a man of wealth who seemed open to the worship of God.

A look at two sets of statistics about giving in this country is appalling. The average person in this country gives less than five percent of his income to charity or other causes, though we consume over twenty percent of the earth’s resources. One wonders if percentages in the church are any different. By the world’s standards, most Christians in this country are wealthy. But do we use our privileged position for ourselves or for others, especially those in the household of faith? The Jews argued the centurion was worthy of Jesus’ attention. Part of the reason was his exemplary generosity and openness towards the people of God to whom Jesus came to minister. Should we who know him be any different?

The central lesson of the centurion story is the nature of the man’s faith. His humility had allowed others to honor him as a worthy man, but standing before the presence of God’s messenger, he understood that God owed him nothing. He did not even feel worthy of being visited by God’s agent. Yet he also understood God’s authority to heal and his compassion. He believed Jesus could heal by a simple sovereign word even at a physical distance—a situation that applies even more today in light of Jesus’ presence in heaven. And he knew that Jesus cared enough to do so. Such faith and humility in approaching God’s power are what amaze Jesus. This passage calls us to possess a similar faith. God owes us nothing, yet he extends his compassion to us. God honors us with his grace, not because we deserve it, but because he cares (1 John 4:9–10).

In the story of the resuscitation of the widow’s son we see the powerful reversal of death. Jesus deals here with the most fundamental obstacle we will ever face. If death were the end, then there would be no hope in this life or after (1 Cor 15:12–19). The judgment of God would make no sense, nor would his claim to restore and redeem us. Thus this miracle testifies to a central aspect of Christian hope. Its touching image reminds us that renewal and reunion are not an impossible dream. God promises to restore to life those who know his touch. In Jesus God takes the initiative to accomplish this renewal.

I recall a funeral I attended of one of my former professors. When I was a student, our school had celebrated the fiftieth anniversary of his coming to faith in Jesus. On that occasion he spoke of his hope in Jesus, planted in his heart in the 1920s when he was a young man. At the funeral, as speaker after speaker rejoiced at the ministry of his life and in his now being present with the Lord, I reflected on the great hope of overcoming death that we as Christians have, a hope this miracle pictures so vividly.

Even as I write, a six-year-old girl lies dying of leukemia in the hospital, just having lapsed out of a remission that looked so encouraging. Our church community, along with many others in our city, had interceded before the Lord for over eighteen months to spare her. On the one hand, I ask, “Why, Lord, are you taking her so young and so slowly? Why this pain, especially for her parents?” On the other hand, this text reminds me that ultimately God has control over bringing new life out of death and that one day, perhaps soon, should she not recover, this little girl will be free from her pain and present with the Lord.

What this dual reflection about these two dear believers tells me is that whether a saint dies old, after years of testimony, or dies tragically at a young age, the hope of what the miracle of the widow’s son pictures is still vibrantly alive. Death is not the end for those who know him. It involves a transfer into a level of life not known on this earth. While this miracle reminds us of our frailty and mortality, it also shouts out to us about God’s power to raise and transform. No wonder the crowd who saw this miracle was filled with awe. We should be too, as we contemplate his creative power and compassion.