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A new soldier, having just completed jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia, stood proudly at attention with his fellow paratroopers. His drill sergeant inspected the line, came to him, and noticed a torn pocket on his uniform. "Soldier, your blouse is frayed," he shouted. To which the soldier retorted, "Sir, this uniform isn't afraid of anything!"

Soldiers can be full of bluster. I've lived near a Marine base and watched them come and go. Jogging along the base roads. Shirts off. Muscles rippling. Tattooed. Swaggering in their uniforms. Full of assurance. Keen-eyed. Pride runs deep.

The text introduces us to a soldier, a centurion. His rank equals that of a sergeant-major in today's army. He'd be in command of 100 men. And he'd be the backbone of Caesar's army.

This soldier has an unusual distinction. He is one whom Christ commended. And for that reason he bears close scrutiny.

A Sense Of Mercy

Let's face it. Soldiers are taught to kill. It goes with the job. And some enjoy it with a cruel sneer.

Not this centurion, for surprisingly he has a sense of mercy. You see, his slave is sick. In his day a slave was a possession with no rights. He fulfilled a function -- no more, no less. Like a toaster, or a bicycle, or a chair. If a servant was no longer useful he was literally thrown out to die.

But this centurion cares. He petitions Jesus for his healing.

During the American Civil War, Federals threw themselves against Confederate fortifications at Fredericksburg, Virginia. Thousands of them were shot dead or left wounded on the field. They cried out in pain, begged for water and first aid, yet none came. Fearful of sniper fire, soldiers on both sides cowered in their bunkers. All except a man in grey, Sgt. Richard Kirkland. He bravely gathered canteens of water, crawled out on the field, and mercifully gave comfort to the blue-coated dying Federals. Sgt. Kirkland himself was killed in action months later at Chickamauga. But years later the Federals refused to forget the Rebel soldier with a canteen of water. "The angel of Marye's Heights," they called him. And today if you visit the killing fields of Fredericksburg, you'll find a monument gratefully erected to his memory.

A Sense Of Decency

The centurion was an officer in the Roman army occupying Israel. He was their overlord. They were the vanquished. Yet his lips weren't curled in a thinly veiled sneer. His face wasn't that of a killer who enjoyed his work. His visage was softened by mercy. And it was also etched with decency.

The Romans considered all religions as equally true and yet false. They also believed religion to be useful in controlling people. So they were cynical. Like Pilate, who at Christ's trial was to sneer, "What is truth?" As if nobody knew.

This man, however, this centurion, was more than casual with Judaism. He acted respectfully, even building a synagogue for the local Jews. Clearly, he served those he ruled. He was a public servant, a giver, a man of constructive usefulness.

A Sense Of Humility

This centurion is an extraordinary soldier. He is merciful. He is decent. But look again at his biography in the text. He is also a man with a sense of humility.

He is humble enough to ask Jesus for help. He knows how to kill in battle. But how does one heal? Aye! That's the issue troubling his breast as he languishes over his terminally ill servant. So he sends a soldier to fetch a Jewish friend from the synagogue. "Would you go to Jesus, ask him to pay me a visit, to heal my servant?" The Jew agrees and goes out to find Christ. But before he can return, the centurion is overcome with humility. He sends word to Christ, "I am not worthy to have you come under my roof."

He knew he was a soldier; Christ was a minister. He was a killer; Jesus a healer. He made war; Jesus wrought redemption. And the comparison left him wallowing in abject humility.

And there is something else here. The centurion, a Gentile, knew the Jewish law enough to know that if Jesus were to visit his post, Jesus would be rendered unclean. And he wished to spare Jesus that defilement.

The New Testament opens with Christ's Sermon On the Mount. And the Sermon On the Mount begins with the Beatitudes, the beautiful attitudes of poverty of spirit, mourning, meekness, and spiritual hunger -- all attitudes which find their embodiment in this soldier.

Aye, this is the man whom Christ commended. He is a noble man, a gentleman, with a sense of mercy, of decency, of humility.

A Sense Of Faith

The centurion also has a sense of faith. He sent word to Jesus, "I'm not worthy to have you come under my roof. Just say the word and my servant will be well. Just as I have men under my command, and I say go and they go, you, too, can delegate this job. Just say the word."

Jesus, hearing this, stopped dead in his tracks, amazed. "Never in all Israel have I seen such faith!" And, lo, the servant was healed.

Now, be very careful to note what impressed Jesus. What drew his commendation for the centurion was not his decency, not his building a synagogue, nor his humility or mercy. It was his faith.

Faith is what Christ is looking for. We do not purchase our relationship with God by offerings of money, mighty deeds, or good character. Healing, redemption, the grace of God come by faith.

Hebrews 11:6 explains, "And without faith it is impossible to please him. For whoever would draw near to God must believe that he exists, and that he rewards those who seek him."

Conclusion

Maybe you don't have an ounce of decency. Perhaps mercy is alien to your difficult nature. And humility? "Look for it in the dictionary, but not in me!" Yet is there in you a willingness in your desperate life to inquire of Jesus in matters of life and death? When life asks of you more than you have, when you find yourself helpless, will you turn to Christ in faith and call out to him for help? If faith is yours, if Christ is your trust, then you, too, have Christ's commendation.