Once, when I was a child, I decided I’d be helpful. It had been a long day and the family was tired, so I thought I’d make them all a Milo. Like the dutiful son I was, I insisted everyone relax on their favourite chair while I prepared everyone a hot cuppa to unwind with. I decided to add an extra teaspoon of sugar—a sweet treat that everyone very much deserved. After much hard work, I proudly served everyone and watched with pride as they all took their first sip. My pride, however, quickly turned to hubris as collectively, they all spat out their Milo and gave me a pained grimace.
“What did you put in this, Jesse?” asked my father.
With a creeping sense of horror, I realised that instead of sugar, I’d laced the Milo with salt.
A truism I often was told growing up was some variety of “you get out what you put in”. Input diet and exercise, and you’ll output good health. Input doughnuts and Netflix, and you’ll output poor health. Input salt into a Milo, and you’ll output a salty Milo.
Jesus once said, “A good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and an evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of” (Luke 6:45). In my time in pastoral ministry, I came to realise that this wisdom was a two-edged sword. On the one hand, church members with deep spiritual formation, shaped by experience, refined by suffering and tempered by patient endurance, were the greatest gift to both me and their church community. On the other hand, people carrying unresolved hurt, bitterness or unrepentant sin often caused deep difficulty within the church community. In my own life, I can’t express how many times a harsh word, a callous attitude or an unhealthy choice were the result not of what was in front of me, but what was in my heart.
It may sound trite, but I believe more than ever how important it is to reckon with this challenge: what am I allowing into my heart? I’m not just talking about media consumption, though of course that is a significant contributor. I’m thinking about the things that shape and change us over time—gender, culture, race, religion, politics, money, family—each of these arenas (and more) contain both opportunities for personal growth as well as pitfalls that can degrade us, limit us, make us lesser (or make us think and feel lesser about others). Either way, what we come to believe about these often-controversial issues will shape us over time. The question is, how?
Immediately following Jesus’ “Sermon on the Plain” in Luke 6 is the story about the Roman centurion—a figure we might expect to present as an adversary, but whose character subverts our expectations. First, he expresses immense grief at the sickness of a servant (7:2). Second, his goodness is attested to by Jewish elders—a surprising development (7:4,5). Third, the centurion gives Jesus great humility (7:6–8)—humility Jesus hasn’t earned, nor would be expected from a Roman officer to a Judean “nobody”.
It is precisely this combination of unexpectedness that amazes Him, causing Him to turn to those nearby and say, “I tell you, I have not found such great faith even in Israel” (7:9). Clearly, this centurion was more than an average Roman bureaucrat. There was something about him—something invisible—that had made him both loved by his men, as well as the Jews. Though he said he wasn’t worthy, the elders said he was worthy. Though he felt unworthy to host Jesus at his house, the elders commended him for building a house of worship. And, though he was a man of authority, he chose to use that authority for the good of someone “beneath” him. The centurion is a “good tree”, to use Jesus’ own phrase. His compassion, humility and faith reveal a good heart—a heart we would all do well to learn from.
