Pentecost 2C

Luke 7.11-17

June 6, 2010

            Unless the young man in this story died at night, what precedes our reading probably went something like this:  on this very day for whatever reason, perhaps a long struggle with illness, perhaps a random accident, a young man died.  On the very day of his death his body would have been laid out on a surface in his mother’s house.  As a final act of love, she would have lovingly attended to the body, washing it a final time, perhaps as tenderly as she had washed him as an infant.  His hair would have been combed, his body anointed with oil and perfume.  He would have been wrapped in linen. 

            While this was going on, the neighbors would have been alerted to the death and would have assembled for the funeral procession.  Still in great shock and yet able to go through the motions, the grieving mother, with no husband to offer his support, would have proceeded with the gathered community to a place of burial.  The sadness would have been unbearable, the weeping, inconsolable; the other women wailing with abandon; the community supporting her, holding her up in her grief.  Unlike today when we take time to pull ourselves together, to put on our best faces and greet our guests as they pay their last respected, this grief is raw and fresh.  As they made their way to the place of burial, wrapped together in a cloak of grief there would be no need for words.  The sounds of their feet moving in rhythm, the heaving of sighs and sobs would have been the only sounds heard.

            Leaving town at the village gate, they encounter another group entering the city.  Jesus and his disciples are making their way from place to place.  Jesus has been teaching and instructing disciples and crowds about the Kingdom of God.  He has even healed the sick, but this boy is beyond healing.  There is no life left in him.

            One would expect the disciples, Jesus and the crowd to move aside; to allow the mourners to pass.  Perhaps for a moment they would join in the mourning, perhaps they would utter a word of consolation as the mourners filed past.  But no, Jesus walks into the center of the grieving, straight up to the mother, a woman who has lost everything precious to her, and says, “Do not weep.” 

            Now, I’ve been to quite a few calling hours and I’ve heard some strange things said in the name of comfort; but I’ve never heard anyone tell a grieving family not to cry.  A complete stranger telling her to cease her tears literally hours after her son has breathed his last breath; it seems almost cruel. 

            The tension is almost palpable in the story.  Were the two groups in a stand off; one waiting to go into the town, one waiting on the other side of the gate to get out?  The leader, an unknown, enters into the depths of grief and utters a command to stop doing what comes naturally in such circumstances.  And then he approaches the bier.  He stops the procession.  He tells the young boy to rise.  And there is movement, but then hours after death there can be involuntary movement. 

            The climax of the story isn’t the rising, it’s the speaking.  And everyone was in awe of the miracle they just witnessed.  Grief turned to joy.  Weeping turned to laughter.  Death turned to life.  And the tongues of the crowd were loosed to give praise and glory to God.  And the speaking continued throughout all of Judea and all of the surrounding countryside. 

            I am amazed at this story.  I am amazed at the reaction of the crowd of mourners.  Jesus has raised this particular woman’s son back to life; and they claim, “God has looked favorably on his people.”  The blessing bestowed on this widow is a blessing for the community.  Her joy is their joy.  His new life is their new life.  The communal grieving has become true communal joy. 

            So often we wonder, “why her son and not mine?” “Why heal that man and not this one?”  “Why restore that person to wholeness while this person continues to suffer?” 

            Those are legitimate questions and yet I think we often miss the fact that we belong to each other; that as we live in community our lives are bound together in ways that your sorrows bring sadness and grief to my existence and your joys make my life whole and complete also.  The communal experiencing of life events, both good and bad, allows us full expression of joy and the mutual support and consolation of our brothers and sisters.  Celebrations become so much more meaningful when shared, and grief becomes more bearable when carried on the shoulders of many. 

            When we go through these times together they become our corporate story.  Nain will live on in infamy as the place where not “the boy” was raised, but “our boy” was raised; the place our God visited with mercy and grace.  And the community will be an inspiration to others.

            But what really, really grabs me in this story, is that Jesus does not just allow the mourners to pass him by.  He does not look respectfully down at the ground.  He does not turn away from the sight and sounds of death.  Jesus looks death straight on and enters into the midst of loss and trembling; he became enveloped by the lament and wailing. 

            Jesus walks straight up to a grieving mother and, despite the social awkwardness of his words, commands her to stop crying.  He touches the dead body.  Jesus is not offended by disease or death or snot nosed mourners or angry crowds.  Jesus is willing to enter into every aspect of the human condition. 

            We may wonder why, if Jesus can raise this widows son, why he doesn’t bring our loved one back to life.  But the reality is that Jesus has already brought all of us back from death to life.  In the waters of baptism we were joined with Christ in death so that as Christ was raised from the dead, so too are we. 

            Jesus has entered our reality.  Jesus has offered us life; not some life in the future, but life here and now to speak his praises; to utter our thanksgivings.  Christ was willing to enter death just as we will surely face death some day; so that we can proclaim boldly that death does not have the final victory. 

            Our lives are to be lives spent speaking to one another; retelling the corporate story of faith.  Speaking of the death and resurrection of our savior which gives us life and salvation now and forever.  Speaking words of encouragement when times are tough; words of new life in the midst of dying.  Our lives are to be reflected in our songs of praise.  And our words are to be constantly lifting before one another the blessings of our God. 

            Your story, my story are intertwined.  Our lives are intertwined.  Christ has entered our reality—the reality of the gathered community. He has visited us with grace and mercy in all of the circumstances we face. What words shall we speak to tell of his amazing visitation to us?  Amen