June 2 — Second Sunday after Pentecost

Listen to this sermon HERE.


Micah’s Little League baseball season is over.  It’s been a great first-time experience for us as a family — first-time cheering as baseball parents for our child, and tons of firsts for our little Micah, who played a great season...  It all closed out yesterday, where his team, the VDO Yankees, made it all the way to the championship game against the mighty, mighty A’s (earlier in season: line drive, grand slam to CF).  Yankees put up a valiant effort, but lost the game, just in case you were curious, like most of us scorekeepers-in-life tend to be.  But I was so proud of—not just Micah, but—all the kids, boys and girls, who are learning and developing and having fun…and I was proud of Micah...

I could talk about Micah’s season and baseball in general all morning, but I wanted to reflect particularly here on words at a little league baseball game, namely the words from the parents and fans in the stands.  (We know they can hear everything as they step up to the plate…)

I don’t have to tell you that words are powerful and necessary, and can make us or break us.  [pause]  And when it comes to what words we use when we cheer for our kids from the stands, after this season, no surprise, I’ve been reminded again that our words have great effect.  (unlike For the Love of the Game: “clear the mechanism”.)  Obviously a parent has great effect on their child.  Certainly true, when down on his/her kid from the stands.  But even more, I’m thinking about the subtleties in all positive words we use and how those words can help or hinder.  I got to the point where I was probably over-analyzing every word I said, and heard others say to the kids.  

For example, “C’mon get a big hit now,” I think puts a lot more pressure on a kid than just, “You can do it, buddy, you got this!”  

There’s a way that our words can get into our heads, and either help or hurt.  I don’t have to tell you this, and you don’t have to experience Little League baseball to know it.  

Words are powerful; they make a difference.

I hope you can call to mind the greatest compliment anyone has ever paid you.  And I bet you could tell me verbatim the meanest thing anyone’s ever said to you or about you.  Words have power.

And this is a recurring theme in our gospel text from Luke today: the power of words.  Unlike other stories in the Gospels there’s no touching or embracing, or Jesus lifting the sick person up...Jesus never even sees the centurion or his beloved servant — it’s all just words.  

This Roman centurion, like a Captain or a Colonel in the Armed Forces, has been hardened by battle, and experience, and time; and he more than most knows the power of words: He’s gotten to where he is by following words, orders.  And now, the people that he commands from his high rank live or die by his words.  Like the text says, when he says “go,” they go, and “come,” they come.  We’re not playing around here: he’s a centurion in the great Roman army, the world’s super power.  

Yet we see a different side of this Roman centurion today, when, it says, one of his dear servants becomes sick and is close to death.  Chances are, he’s seen a multitude of deaths in his time as a soldier, but something is causing him to reach out here. Something has cracked his tough exterior, and this brave, old soldier is scared, scared to the point that he’s not even going to leave this boy’s side; he sends others with a word.  (Old cowboy that Jim Hanson saw in Arizona: broken)

The centurion sends others to go find this one Jesus, who—word on the street (another powerful word) has it—is a healer.  This Jesus..heals people with his words.  We can use our words to do all kinds of things.  Jesus uses his words to bring healing healing and new life.  

Well, the story goes on, and the Roman centurion gets honest.   Once Jesus is on the way to help him, the centurion sends his friends out to admit something to Jesus, “You know, I’m not worthy of this power that you have.”  I have not earned it, I cannot repay you, I’ve made too many mistakes along my way to justify you offering my beloved boy, my faithful friend, this gift of healing.  

But the centurion asks anyway, despite his shortcomings: “But only say the____and my servant will be healed.”

Here we are.  We’re all the centurion.  Probably afraid to get too close to Jesus, really, afraid to leave the things we love.  We’re all the centurion...when we’re honest:  unworthy of Jesus’ healing, unable to repay the gift, and making far too many mistakes along our ways, hurting people with our words and our actions.  [pause]  We are all the centurion.

But the centurion goes on:  “(I am not worthy) but only say the word and my servant will be healed.”  Despite it all, that hardened, old centurion asks something of Jesus: that Jesus “only say the word,” and then we see the faith of that centurion because he trusts that Jesus’ word will heal, his acceptance of Jesus’ word is enough.  We’re all that centurion:  In the end, all we can do is be faithful, that is open our hands and receive; accept the gift of grace.

We are all the centurion, practicing our faith, by (1^st) being honest about our shortcomings, and (then) despite them, still demanding from Christ a blessing—the healing, the salvus—that lasts. (Katie demanding a blessing).  Finally all we can do is accept that gift of grace, open our hands and receive those words of healing.  [pointing to Table] “This is my body given for you; my blood shed for you.”

Words are serious.  We’re not playing around here.  They are a matter of life and death.  They can break us or they can make us anew.  They can “crack” open, news about this one Jesus.  And the word that we receive again this day, from the Divine, is “yes”.  “Yes, you are mine. Yes, you are loved.  Yes, you have fallen short.  And yes, I forgive you.  Yes, I will come under your roof this day, to bring healing, and to dwell in your midst.  Yes, I will gather you into a beloved community with other sinner/saints.  Yes, your servant is restored to health.  And yes, you have my blessing today and every day.”  This is God’s word to us.  And all we can do is open our hands and accept it.  According to Luther, this is the definition of having faith.

God’s “yes” makes all the difference, friends in Christ.  

Like a parent’s  word from the stands, God’s word has serious effect.  It can shape us, and it is just the right word, just what we need to take the pressure off, to give us concentration and focus for the tasks that are ahead of us, and to allow us to let our past failings go (can’t dwell on your last strike out), so that we can now give it our very best.  
Jesus’ words heal.  To him be the glory.