The Third Sunday after Epiphany

“Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof; but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.”

I said a few weeks ago at Epiphany that this season in the time that follows Epiphany is really a homely season – that is, homely not in the sense of the word that means ugly or unattractive, but in the sense of relating to the home, to a dwelling, to comfort, and coziness. We have some friends whose houses are heated entirely with old woodstoves and are, in the true sense of the word, homely houses, houses you delight in coming into after being out in the cold snow.

This season is a time when homes are often blessed by priests or through the chalking of our doorways alongside prayer with our families. No coincidence that it’s likewise a time when we spend more time in our homes, finding comfort and solace from the biting winds and cold snow in places that are safe and familiar.

Part of the reason for our focus on homeliness this time year is, partly, because of the story of the nativity which should still be in the back of our minds and is still part of what we are celebrating – that even the lowliest place, a manger, was a fit first home for the Son of God, an unlikely place redeemed and made worthy by Jesus’ presence, that even that place perhaps amidst straw and animals had the same quality of homeliness that we appreciate in our own houses…though hopefully ours smells just a bit less like a barn.

But it’s also because time and again through the collect appointed for each Sunday, through our readings, there is a return to something simple. The collects don’t pray for any kind of profound revelation of the hiddenness of God, but for simple things like our deliverance from danger and provision of our necessities; a recognition (next week) of our frailty and the burdens we carry; references to the church as God’s household, and so on. At times in the readings Paul will talk about what it means to be part of this Christian family, how we are to love one another, clothe ourselves with kindness, love, and humility as we do with our clothes in the morning.

We think about homeliness during this time because it’s a time that is all about God coming to find a home within us. That this work of clothing ourselves, as Paul says, or Jesus says elsewhere in the scriptures about tidying up the houses of our souls, is about getting ready to receive a guest who has come to dwell in us and with us.

In the Gospel we hear this beautiful story about Jesus and the Centurion – a soldier, likely one of Herod Agrippa’s, a gentile – who comes to Jesus deeply concerned over the health of his servant, “‘Lord, my servant is lying at home paralysed, in terrible distress,” he says, to wit Jesus simply replies that he will go to this man’s home.

And in words that were traditionally part of the liturgy – words that a priest still says to themself before receiving communion and in some places the congregation says together, the Centurion speaks those words which echo through all time – “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; but only speak the word, and my servant will be healed.”

I heard a story from a former colleague and friend who had spent some time in parish ministry in rural Nova Scotia early in his life. He served a spread-out multi-point parish along the South Shore of Nova Scotia. The place ranged from some wealthier folks who summered in the area, down to old locals in ramshackle houses on backroads who fished all their lives just to feed themselves, some even having still dirt floors.

One day he called on an elderly couple in one of the far-flung points of the parish, a couple who lived in one such ramshackle house, and he never forgot that upon entering the couple began to weep, not out of sadness or anger, but out of joy, not because he was who he was but because of whom he represented. His visit was for them like a visit from the Lord; they wept that the Lord would deign to enter even their most humble yet homely house.

It's in this spirit that the Centurion says to Jesus what he says – that he is not worthy to have the Lord come under his roof. This is a sentiment that we hear reflected in a prayer we say every Sunday – the Prayer of Humble Access – the one we say right before communion, and in which we declare ourselves to be unworthy, “even to gather up the crumbs under thy table.”

This prayer is unique to the Anglican tradition, written by Thomas Cranmer himself (the architect of the BCP), but drawing on all kinds of earlier sources and prayers, and it is a gem of our tradition, a true treasure, for how it expresses the truth about our relationship with God, our dependence on grace, and what is given to us to make us worthy.

Often people hear this prayer and get stopped in their tracks – or perhaps you’ve known this prayer all your life and hate it – because we detest the idea that we are unworthy of anything, it flips our minds into that way of thinking that makes God some cruel judge and father, bent on punishing us and reminding us that we are dirt. But if only we would keep reading the prayer, then we would see that you can never take that thought about unworthiness apart from what is said about Jesus’ sacrifice. We pray the prayer to remind ourselves that we don’t come to the table of the altar trusting in ourselves, our power, our righteousness, our worthiness alone, but in God’s love and mercy.

Alone, no, we aren’t worthy, but we are made supremely worthy by God’s love and grace and by our becoming one with Christ so that we, “may evermore dwell in him, and he in us.” That he might evermore make his home in our hearts – how, then, if we give our hearts to him as a home in which to dwell, could we ever be thought to be unworthy of God’s love and mercy?

The Centurion in the Gospel was speaking of his home, but was also speaking of himself, perhaps thinking as we often do about whether we are worthy of Christ, worthy of grace. We can really sometimes beat ourselves up about who we are and what we do or have done and convince ourselves that we are not a fit place for love.

But it’s the recognition of this, the giving over of ourselves to God that makes us so very worthy. And this is what Jesus says to the Centurion in response to his humility and faith – and even that same hour was the servant healed.

Our work as Christians, our work here in this place, our work in our home privately and with our families, through the daily homely living out of our faith, is that the same might be said of us, that Jesus might find in us a homely and suitable dwelling.

One great thinker and writer of the last hundred years said that it’s often the case that we are content to receive whatever God wants to give, but it’s God’s nature and character to give without measure (more than we can ask or imagine).

We, like the Centurion, say, “I am not worthy that you should come under my roof,” But Christ says to us (as he says to Zacchaeus in Luke’s Gospel), “Make haste, for I must lodge with thee today.” 

“Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof; but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed.”