On Confidence: The Centurion and His Slave.

When I was at art school, I learned that drawing is largely a matter of confidence: you have to trust the eye, and the hand will follow. Now that I’m learning the piano, I think I’ll finally need to trust the ear, and the sound will follow. And the best advice I’ve had on writing came from Barbara Jefferis: “Don’t get it right, get it written.” It might seem that the hand is primary, but in fact it’s confidence. The hand is secondary to the eye, the ear, and the thought. And it helps if the critical mind can be stilled while this process of trust is going on, for example, by playing it some Mozart to keep it happy.

            Yesterday Luke’s story of the Roman centurion and his dying slave was read. I have written a thesis on this topic, which is about confidence, a word derived from Latin confidere meaning ‘to trust altogether’ or total trust. (We have further an implication of boldness: bold trust). This thesis did rather well (unlike the most recent one, which might be the subject of a future blog), so you can trust what I say about the centurion and his slave, at least somewhat.

            The centurion who sends his friends to ask Jesus to heal his slave is a Gentile, a Greco-Roman slaveholder and a dominant male. My thesis set out to prove that this particular slave was a male concubine, a ‘boyfriend’ in modern terms, a possession certainly in a culture where sleeping with the master was unavoidable for slaves of all genders (including eunuchs who might be castrated to preserve their youthful looks) if the master so wished. And this master does love his slave, so much that he’s willing to sacrifice his honour by claiming to be ‘unworthy’ — a countercultural admission for a Roman officer — and having such confidence he thinks one word from Jesus will banish the evil spirits that cause disease. And he’s right: this has a happy outcome; reliable witnesses return to the house and find the slave in good health. ‘Not even in Israel have I found such faith,’ says Jesus: another insult for those who insist on ethnic and religious purity, and they’ll chalk it up against him.

            So who is this centurion? Firstly, he’s an enemy. He’s engaged in supporting the Roman occupation of Israelite lands; he’s keeping the peace, keeping it Roman. Secondly, he’s a foreigner, an alien conqueror: he sleeps with his male slave and his table is no doubt set with the appalling menu of forbidden foods that scares Peter when God commands him to visit the centurion Cornelius in Acts. And thirdly he’s a polytheist. He has allegiances to Roman military gods; as a centurion, he might be a priest of the Imperial Cult; his household gods would include, among others, his own genius, or guardian spirit who is expected to protect not only his personal household (including his slave) but the eighty men under his command and their families. How can Jesus do this?

            How should we treat our enemies? Jesus taught us to love our enemies, and do good to them. Healing the slave isn’t only for the slave: compassion for the master is part of the equation. How are foreigners and strangers to be treated? The Hebrew tradition gives clear direction on the welcoming and protection of strangers: that’s why Sodom went to the wall. What they eat and who they sleep with and whether they arrived on a boat or a plane are not at issue: taking care of the stranger within your gates is your responsibility. And what about polytheists? What do we do about them?

            I recently attended a conference at Australian Catholic University where a military chaplain gave a paper on liturgical theology. She’s a Uniting Church minister, but as a naval officer, she’s responsible for the welfare of all the ship’s company. At a Sunday Service a new member of the congregation came forward to receive the Eucharist: she knew him to be a Hindu. What should she do? She consulted her conscience; it was confronting for her. The UCA practices an ‘open table policy’ for those who ‘love the Lord’ but she didn’t know how far this could extend. She decided this was God’s business: she acted pastorally and served him, and spoke to him later. He told her he loved and revered the Lord Jesus, honouring him as one of the many names of God. And he was grateful to have been able to worship God in this way. He had come forward with the same kind of confidence the centurion showed when he sent his friends to ask Jesus to heal his slave. Luke’s Jesus found the centurion’s bold yet humble confidence more full of faith than official religion’s careful purity and rules.

            It seems to me that confidence, in drawing, or playing music, or relating to the truths of God revealed in Jesus, is what enables us, with total trust, to make sense of ourselves, our complex world, our simple hearts, and the hearts of others. Through Jesus Christ Our Lord.