Two miracles. Two very different people. One unstoppable love.
A Roman centurion stands at the edge of hope and desperation. He’s powerful, privileged—used to giving orders and being obeyed. But in our scripture this week, power means nothing to him. His beloved servant, someone who matters to him deeply, lies on the brink of death. And the centurion? He has no claim to Jesus’ help, no right to expect a miracle. But he believes. Not in his own strength. He believes in Jesus.
And Jesus? Jesus doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t demand proof. He doesn’t check credentials. He doesn’t even need to see the servant. With a single word, from a distance, healing moves. Life returns.
Then, another scene. This time, a funeral procession. A widow walks behind the bier carrying her only son—her last remaining family, her last thread of security. The grief in the air is thick, almost unbearable. No one calls for Jesus. No one thinks to ask him for help.
But Jesus sees her.
He doesn’t wait for an invitation. He doesn’t check if she believes the right things. He moves. He steps into the sorrow, reaches out, touches her son, and speaks.
Then - life returns.
This is what Jesus does. He heals across the distance. He steps into grief because love refuses to stay away. He doesn’t wait for the “right” prayer or the perfect faith. He moves. He gives. He raises up.
And now? We begin again.
Not when we have it all figured out. Not when we feel worthy. We begin again the moment Jesus speaks, the moment Jesus reaches, the moment love refuses to let death have the final word.
So if you feel too far gone, too broken, too skeptical—come anyway. Bring your questions, your grief, your joy, your exhaustion. There is room for you here at Bethany. This is a place of hope. A place where faith makes space for doubt. A place where life begins again.
See you Sunday.
Peace,
Pastor Katie