Not long after that, Jesus went to the village Nain. His disciples were with him, along with quite a large crowd. As they approached the village gate, they met a funeral procession - a woman's only son was being carried out for burial. And the mother was a widow. When Jesus saw her, his heart broke. He said to her, "Don't cry." Then he went over and touched the coffin. The pallbearers stopped. He said, "Young man, I tell you: Get up." The dead son sat up and began talking. Jesus presented him to his mother. They all realized they were in a place of holy mystery, that God was at work among them. They were quietly worshipful - and then noisily grateful, calling out among themselves, "God is back, looking to the needs of his people!" The news of Jesus spread all through the country.
The town of Nain was a small village in the hill country of Galilee, just a short distance from Nazareth (Jesus' hometown), and perhaps a day's walk from Capernaum (Jesus' new, adopted home on the Sea of Galilee). It wasn’t a place people talked about - in the Bible, it is only mentioned this one time. Nain. There was nothing significant about Nain - except for the people who lived there. For them, it was home. It was where they lived, fell in love, married, raised their children, and died. And, as is true in small towns everywhere, the whole town was there for each other when the big moments of life happened. I would imagine the weddings were grand and the celebrations of birth were joyfilled events. And when death happened, they were there for each other then too.
When Jesus came to town that day, he would have known immediately what was going on. The whole town was in mourning and was part of the funeral procession. Unlike the typical funeral procession today, in Nain there would have been no city traffic to contend with. No indifferent motorists disturbed that they were delayed a few minutes for the funeral. No, this was a day of communal delay. Everyone was focused on the task at hand. A burial. The pallbearers were carrying the body in a wicker basket of sorts. There was no embalming. The deceased had likely died within the past day and the body quickly prepared for burial. This was as typical a small town village scene as you could imagine - people on foot, following a woman who was following the professional mourners with their cymbals, flutes and high-pitched shrieking and wailing.
Perhaps Jesus stopped to ask - or perhaps he just overheard the conversations - the deceased was a man, the only son of that widow, the one following so closely behind. Yes, that was her son. She’s alone now. And, suddenly, with that piece of information, the tragedy of the scene increased dramatically. A widow burying her only son. That is tragic any time it happens but at that time, in a patriarchal society, that meant the woman was suddenly without physical and financial support. Burying a child was tragedy enough - but she was also burying a future. The options before her were limited. From then on, she would live at the mercy of the very people who accompanied her. As the procession moved forward, the woman wept - of course she wept. The day before, he’d been alive. Now he was dead. Was it an accident? An illness? We don’t know and at that point it didn’t matter. The day before, she’d had a future, perhaps even some hopes and dreams, someone with whom to share her memories. Today it was all gone and the tenuousness of her future achingly clear. Her tears were real and the human situation playing itself out before Jesus was heart wrenching. So he stepped out, interrupting the forward movement.
With that gesture, the already dramatic scene became even more striking. This was a stranger - not unusual - but, instead of joining the procession as he should have done, he interrupted it. At first, the practical part of us might say . . . he couldn’t have stopped a whole funeral procession. But, think again. Have you ever traveled through a small town and stopped in to a café for a bite to eat. As you sit reading the menu, you become aware that the tone in the room has quieted. They are watching you, wondering where you came from. They may or may not ask the question out loud but you know you are being observed. They may well be friendly and even happy to see you but they still stop.
Anyone could join a funeral procession. But interrupting it was another matter altogether. The wailing and the tambourines were silenced. The sound of feet on the ground stopped and everybody watched. Who was this? A relative? A friend? A ne’er-do-well? He spoke first to the woman and told her not to cry. Grief is hard to stop but Jesus had the element of surprise on his side. Still, we don’t know whether she stopped weeping or not because the attention had turned from her to him. He approached the body and then spoke to it, to the deceased - young man, I tell you get up. That’s the first evidence we have the man was young. And then there was movement - movement only noticed because everything else had stopped. The text doesn’t say this but you can be sure there were gasps that rippled through the crowd. Some whispers. And then, a conversation between the stranger and the man. And then Jesus ‘presented’ the man to his mother . . . Ma’am, welcome your son home again! I love the words of the Message Bible at this point. They all realized they were in a place of holy mystery, that God was at work among them. They were quietly worshipful - and then noisily grateful. Of course they were. After all, they were all there, watching. What else could they do when the funeral procession was needed no longer? Make a parade . . . make a parade of astounded but noisily grateful people!
At first glance, this may seem ‘par for the course.’ Jesus did such things. Healing was part of his deal. Admittedly, this was a bit of a bigger deal since the man had actually died. Still, Jesus did such things. In fact, just before this healing Luke reported that Jesus had healed a centurion’s servant. With that healing, Jesus broke boundaries, reaching out even to a wealthy man in the employ of Rome. As he healed the servant, Jesus marveled at the centurion’s faith. In Luke’s gospel when Jesus healed people, he did so because of their faith or when the healing was not requested, there was at least an expression of gratitude on the part of the healed. Did you notice the difference in this healing?
The bereaved widow did nothing in this scene but cry. She did not ask for help. There is no evidence that she even noticed Jesus or that, if she did, she knew who he was. And, after the healing, there was no recorded expression of gratitude. In this story, we have only a grief-stricken mother, a dead son, a healing, a joyfilled reunion, awe-struck people and a parade. And life went on. As one commentator wrote:
We are left then, with only one thing - grace. Jesus did not resurrect this man because of the mother’s faith in God or even because the man deserved a second chance at life. He performed a miracle because, quite simply, he had compassion for the widow. This is authentic, undeserved, unasked-for grace.
It is possible of course, that the woman expressed great gratitude. It is possible that the man was well deserving of new life. It is possible that the woman’s faith was great and that the man was an exemplar of righteousness. But, that’s not what the text says or what the story is about. It isn’t fundamentally about the widow or her son. It is about Jesus and, even more, about God as revealed through this action of Jesus. This God of ours is a God of grace. And grace, is not something we ever earn or deserve. In the middle of nowhere God intervened in the lives of an ordinary man and an ordinary woman and if it can happen there, it can happen with you and me as well. And in fact it does. God loves humankind. Period.
I don’t really know how we got ourselves into the situation where good Christian people beat up other people saying that if they don’t believe the right way or say the right things, they are doomed. Grace is God’s free gift of love for everyone. That ought to make us more accepting, more loving, more willing to forgive, more generous. Whatever else happened that day in Nain, the only thing the gospel writer thought it important to tell us was that Jesus showed up, met people where they were, had compassion - loved them, and touched them with life. Through Jesus, we are reminded that God’s fundamental attitude toward us is always grace - undeserved love and mercy. We have no idea what the widow and her son did after that moment. I hope they made the most of the gift they were given. But the story isn’t about them. It is about God - God’s grace, God’s love, God’s power at work in us and around us and through us and - sometimes - despite us.
Years ago a man was traveling by ship with his young daughter across the ocean. Earlier that particular Sunday he had preached a sermon about God’s love. It had been a very difficult service to preach, because he was newly widowed. He was standing against the rail of the ship, looking out at the vast and magnificent ocean, when his daughter asked him if God loved them as much as they had loved her late mother. "Of course," answered her father. "There is absolutely nothing bigger or more powerful and all-consuming than Gods love for us. It’s the biggest thing there is!"
The little girl pressed on for more information, wanting to know exactly how big God’s love was. Finally her father with great tenderness said, "Well, look across the sea as far as you can. Look up and down and all around. God’s love stretches around to cover all of that; above the blue sky and deeper than the deepest part of the ocean underneath us."
The little girl pondered for a minute and replied, "And to think Daddy, we’re right in the middle of it!"
That’s what the widow and her son found in Nain that day long ago. Undeserved, unfettered grace. And it is the heart of the message Jesus tried so hard to convey. We’re right in the middle of God’s love. We don’t need a miracle to tell us that. What we do need are eyes to see and hearts to trust that God’s love is real, that it can’t be earned or deserved, only appreciated and lived. I love these words from the Sufi poet Rumi who wrote:
You are so weak. Give up to grace.
The ocean takes care of each wave
til it gets to shore.
You need more help than you know.
Indeed. And we live in a place of holy mystery and God is working among us. Take time this summer to notice and celebrate the gift.
