I’m up to my eyeballs in props for our next media missions endeavor. The Heritage Project will tell the stories of the early Church, believers and Christian martyrs in North Africa. Many of which have been forgotten, certainly in North Africa. We want to tell them.
By day I polish tons of shields and armor, build execution scaffolding, construct Roman altars, and import chain mail shirts and iron shackles through Spanish customs. Still, the list grows beyond my capabilities.
At night I worry about the sets I will have to paint, the dates and deadlines that will have to be met. Earlier this week while furiously scrubbing the rust off a Roman Centurion helmet, I kept repeating the word “centurion” over and over in my head. Where have I heard that word before?
The Faith of the Centurion (Matthew 8:5-8)
5 When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. 6 “Lord,” he said, “my servant lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly.”
7 Jesus said to him, “Shall I come and heal him?”
8 The centurion replied, “Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed. 9 For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”
I realized later that evening as I pondered this passage that I needed that faith and trust. I’ve trusted higher ranks in the military before, and this project is God’s strategic operation. I can trust. I can catch my breath. We serve under Magnificence.