2.


At that time, when Jesus had entered Capharnaum, there came to Him a centurion, who entreated Him, saying, Lord, my servant is lying sick in the house, paralyzed, and is grievously afflicted. Jesus said to him, I will come and cure him. But in answer the centurion said, Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof; but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I too am a man subject to authority, and have soldiers subject to me; and I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes; and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it. And when Jesus heard this, He marveled, and said to those who were following Him, Amen I say to you, I have not found such great faith in Israel. And I tell you that many will come from the east and from the west, and will feast with Abraham and Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven, but the children of the kingdom will be put forth into the darkness outside; there will be the weeping, and the gnashing of teeth. Then Jesus said to the centurion, Go your way; as you have believed, so be it done to you. And the servant was healed in that hour.

Matthew 8:5-13

From “Homosexuality in the Bible: The Centurion’s Servant” by Isabelle Green.

Many scholars have highlighted the connotation of the Greek noun pais, which the centurion uses to describe his ill servant. It has a number of different meanings, such as ‘boy’ or ‘slave’. When referring to a ‘slave’ in the analogy he presents to Jesus, however, the centurion uses the standard Greek doulos, supporting the critical interpretation that his pais is no ordinary servant. Scholars have likewise suggested that it would be unlikely for a centurion to go to such lengths for a normal member of his household staff, and therefore their relationship must have been something more than that of master and servant.

One theory is that the pais was not the centurion’s servant or slave, but his ‘son’. However, a law introduced by the Emperor Augustus in 13 BC, which banned soldiers below the rank of officer from marrying, undermines this interpretation: although soldiers would father children outside of marriage, it was unlikely that he would have had an illegitimate son living in his home. Instead, many have suggested a reading of the pais as his male lover, due to literary evidence of homosexuality in the Roman military. Moreover, pais was sometimes used in Ancient Greek texts as a label for the younger partner of a same-sex relationship, alongside expressions of love or desire. In the Luke version of the passage, the centurion labels his servant entimos, which can mean ‘honoured’ or ‘cared for’, but may also signify emotional closeness in a romantic partnership.

The scholars Theodore W. Jennings and Tat-Siong Benny Liew have suggested that the dynamic between the centurion and his pais was more of a patron-client relationship; in this case, the centurion takes on the role of an influential patron, while his lover is a younger, less powerful man who relies on him like a client. This theory may provide an answer to a puzzling element of the story: why did the centurion not want Jesus to enter his household, despite asking for his help? Jennings and Liew explain that although the centurion is desperate in his appeal, he also fears that Jesus will come to his home in a position of authority and replace him in the role of saviour and patron to the pais. Again, the relationship lends itself to an interpretation of sexual power.

If we accept the theory that the connection of the centurion and his servant is homoerotic, then Jesus’ amazement at the centurion’s faith becomes highly significant in the discussion of religion and sexuality. Rather than recommending the death sentence that is prescribed for male homosexuality in Leviticus 20, Jesus praises the man’s faith, telling the crowd that he has never seen anything like it, and heals the pais. Far from condemning homosexuality, Jesus might be endorsing it. This reading of the centurion and his servant completely subverts the hetero-centric framework of love and relationships in the Bible, and therefore ought to be central to the discussion.

2.

Fat Tuesday

Yesterday, I read an internet meme that pictured the Blessed Mother as having had intimate relations with a shepherd, claimed it as a virgin birth, and started a religion. The meme was put out by a satanist. When I looked on their active tiktok profile, what I saw was a stream of memes taking pot shots at all religious faiths. 

They were all designed to provoke, defend, argue.

The myth of our age is: when challenged we have to engage, regardless of the costs; that in every situation there is a need to react, mostly without giving thought to consequence. I’m just as guilty as the rest. 

The day before the commencement of Lent is often given to excess, the focus being on the “what” we’re giving up rather than the “why”. This got me thinking about the reasons for this.

Christianity can be a faith of consumption, or it can be a faith of production, or it can be a faith which steps out of the need to consume, to produce, but it was never meant to be a faith that rests in consuming (be it the Sacraments or the need for approval or the need to be safe or the need to hidden or the need to avoid persecution) or producing (faith, safety, a need to be hidden, a need to avoid persecution, a need for power). Christianity is a faith that is meant to transcend these things and rest in the Infinite Possibility of a Being which knows us, which created us, which loves us, Infinitely. 

Those who would engage in argument or provocation for the sake of argument or provocation are operating lower than what we as human beings have the potential to operate as. I’m calling out politicians on all sides of the spectrum of left and right, religious leaders, activists, road ragers (including myself), and anyone else who provokes for the power without considering the consequences (including myself!)

Our faith calls us to consider that, Love steps above the human need to be right, or the shame of being wrong. It calls us to be challenges by beliefs we may hold as canonical that in fact are holding us back from knowing deeper considerations of living. It calls on us to love in the light of this, in the light that the love may be seen as a provocation. It calls on us to be silent, to dis-engage with the mundane and engage with the Divine. When Jesus talked about going into our room, locking the door, and praying to the Father, I think this is what He meant. Leaving behind the world, closing our eyes, mentally praying through memorized prayers, conversational prayer (where we speak, and listen), and then recognizing in the stillness the presence of Love greater than all that is outside the door we have closed to be in our solitude. This is the Franciscan method of contemplative prayer, and I invite you to engage with it during Lent:

Each day I’ll attempt to write on one of the readings of the day. Take up your Bible, in a place of stillness and calm, read quietly. Then, see the image of the reading in your mind, find yourself as a person that is part of it (either observing or actively taking part); let the scene play out. When your mind drifts, slowly re-envision the scene in your mind. As you do this, you will find yourself in a place of quiet where your inner chatter continues but you are drawn to the stillness and the chatter is more of a din in the background. Rest in this place, knowing this is the presence of God, for a few moments. If you wish, mentally pray, converse, but attempt to remain in the stillness and really listen. You may not hear anything, or feel anything: that’s ok. After a few moments in the stillness, return to the space you are in by opening your eyes. Breathe slowly. Journal about your experience if you’re called to do so. Set a timer for 15 minutes to begin with, slowly increasing the time you engage.

While tomorrow is the first day of Lent, the season has been upon us now for several weeks. We have been in preparation for the journey we begin tomorrow when we open the door, step out, and being to move closer to the greatest liturgical celebration of our faith.

Fat Tuesday