Mathew 8

What strikes me about this story is the stuff we don't know. What I mean by " don't know" is that it can be known. 

I know a centurion with no legal family.

I know two years of commitment. (I know five years of commitment but that's a different story, my friends.)

I know pain.

I know seeing someone you love, anyone in pain.

I know treacherous travel and doubt and regret and blame.

I know Romans and I know Gentiles. (After all, I am one.)

I know truth. I know the sweet sound of truth. I know the sweet sound of the first truth.

I know the liberating warmth of belief . I know liberating warmth of repentance. I know liberating warmth of acceptance.

I know faith. I know bent knees. I know unworthiness. 

I don't know the language a heart speaks when lips are drowned in tears.

I don't know that I would travel as far as the soldier did, to meet the Son of Man. But I do know that if I did meet Him, I wouldn't let him go. I would probably ask him to come home with me and heal my loved ones. I would ask him to give me money and sooth my heart. I would tell him about the starving orphans in Africa and the slaves in America. I would fill his ears with so many words and I wouldn't allow him to say anything back. I wouldn't let him leave. And I wouldn't leave either. And that would (possibly...probably....maybe if I) make him sad. But really, I don't know. I just think he'd probably be disappointed, if I ever met him.

Sometimes I pray to God for new names. Its just something weird that I do. But I would like to be the centurion now if that's okay, Lord.