Luke 7:11-17
Trinity 16

✠ In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit ✠

    Philosophers say that one of the primary things that distinguishes us from the animals is that we live with the full conscious awareness that someday we will die.  That fact, of course, is uncomfortable for us, and so we tend to protect ourselves from death as best we can.  We avoid it.  We don’t think about it.  We ignore the realities of the graveyard.    

    We see that reflected in many of our funeral practices.  Bodies are embalmed to give the appearance that they are not dead, but sleeping–which at least fits in with the Christian teaching that death is a sleep from which we will awaken on the Last Day.  Cremation is sometimes chosen so that family or friends won’t have to be confronted with the reality of a corpse–which does not fit well with the Christian faith’s respect for the body which God created and the belief in the resurrection; plus most people don’t realize that the morticians who do the cremation literally have to grind up the bones since the bones don’t burn to ashes.  Funeral homes are decorated with plush linens and play syrupy background music.  Burial sites are covered with green artificial turf to hide the dark gaping presence of a grave. We try to keep things positive and talk about celebrating life and use euphemisms like “he passed away” rather than state the stark fact that our loved one is dead.

    Up until about 100 years ago, death was not quite as easy for us to avoid.  Death was the rule rather than the exception.  For one thing, the rate of infant deaths was much higher, and it was rare to find a family who hadn’t lost a child somewhere along the way.  In fact if you look at old European paintings of families, which were often wealthy families, you can frequently see one or more children depicted in all white clothing, signifying that they had died.  Disease was a greater threat to everyone back in those days, and it was rare to find a family where an adult had not died prematurely.

    Now, though, we are able to keep death much further away from us.  Today, death seems more the exception than the rule.  Today, death is much more an intruder.  Every now and then, when this intruder breaks into our lives, we’re shocked and surprised, because death seem so contrary to the normal stream of things.  And so we try to rationalize and spiritualize it as if it were somehow natural or good, even though deep down we know it’s not.

James Tissot (Nantes, France, 1836–1902, Chenecey–Buillon, France). The Resurrection of the Widow's Son at Nain (La résurrection du fils de la veuve de Naïm), 1886–1896. Opaque watercolor over graphite on gray wove paper, Image: 6 1/8 x 8 5/8 in. (15.6 x 21.9 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Purchased by public subscription, 00.159.115 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 00.159.115_PS2.jpg)

    In the Gospel, Jesus and the crowd with Him came face to face with a funeral procession.  A procession of Life confronted a procession of death.  Jesus did not dodge death or ignore it or avoid it or cover up the reality of it.  He didn’t offer the widow some empty words of comfort, that everything would work out OK.  No, He met death head on.  The widow’s son had died, and she was marching with his body into confusion and uncertainty.  But Jesus saw her, and He had compassion on her.  The Greek word here is the strongest word in Greek for compassion.  It means stirred, affected, moved, referring to great depths of feeling and great sympathy.  This widow, you see, didn’t really have a prayer.  She had already lost her husband.  Now the loss of her only son meant that there would be no man to protect and provide for her.  There was no social security and few sources of income for widows.  And in addition to her loneliness and sorrow came the knowledge that her family line had now ended.  The large crowd that followed the widow demonstrated the community’s sympathy with her plight.

    In our losses, we, too, may feel that we don’t have a prayer.  The death of our loved ones leave us hanging.  Relationships grow distant and die.  Grief and loneliness creep in and keep hanging on. Sometimes we just feel all alone.

    That’s what death does to us.  It cuts us off.  It cuts things short.  Romans 5 declares, “Sin came into the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all people, because all sinned.”  Death is not natural or good.  It’s the consequence of our rebellion against God.  The widow of Zarephath in today’s Old Testament reading recognized that the death of her son was the result of her fallen condition: “What do you have against me, man of God?  Did you come to remind me of my sin and kill my son?”  Romans 6 speaks those familiar words, “The wages of sin is death.”

    However, despite all of this, God takes the initiative and sends His Son to give us life, even without our prayer.  You’ll notice that the widow never said a word to Jesus, never called on Him for help.  It was simply the mercy and compassion of Jesus that moved Him to confront death and deal with it.  This is the story of the Cross, isn’t it–pure grace and undeserved love and help.  It is the cross which shows the depth of God's compassion, where we see the “man of sorrows, acquainted with grief.”  It is the cross where God literally stands with us, hip deep in the muck and mire of our human condition.  Just as Jesus touched the casket, so on the cross He touched our death and absorbed it into His own body to save us from it.  Outside the gate of the city, both at Nain and later at Jerusalem, Jesus allowed death to pass from us to Him so that we would be restored to life.  He who cried out in utter forsakenness at Calvary here says to the widow, “Do not weep.”  Because the Savior has shared our sorrows, He has redeemed our sorrows.  Because the Savior has shared our grief, He has redeemed that grief.  Because the Savior has shared in our death, He has redeemed us from death and brought us to share in His bodily resurrection from the dead.

    “Young man, I say to you, arise!”  Jesus’ words accomplished what they said.  They are the words of the Creator who brings life out of nothing.  Jesus alone has the words of eternal life.  And they are words He still speaks to you, “I forgive you all your sins.”  The sinless Son of God does not remain aloof, but comes right to you to take away your uncleanness, your death.  Jesus’ touch raised the widow’s son.  And His baptismal touch raises you also to life eternal, life which transcends all grief and sorrow and restores your hope.  Just as you died with Christ to sin by water and the Word, so also you have been raised with Him out of the water and given a new life of righteousness.  It is written in Romans 6, “Do you not know that all of us who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death?  We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death in order that just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life.”  That life is yours now by faith, under the cover of physical death which you must still experience.  But the life of Christ will be yours by sight in the age to come at the resurrection.  For Romans 6 goes on, “If we have been united with Him in His death, we will certainly also be united with Him in His resurrection.”

    At the time of our bodily death, our souls will be received into the blessedness of heaven.  And on the Last Day our bodies themselves will be raised from the dead by the power of Christ's own bodily resurrection to live in His glory.  Jesus said of us, “I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly.  I am the resurrection and the life.  He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.  And whoever lives and believes in me will never die.  Whoever hears my Word and believes Him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life.”  No longer are we dead in our trespasses and sins.  God has made us alive in Christ by the forgiveness of our sins.  Just as He said to the widow at Nain, so He says to you, “Don’t weep; for I have come to bring you life.”

    Our Lord confronts you in your dying condition and surprises you with the gift of Himself.  He gives Himself to you in the holy supper, where His living body and blood are fed into your mouths to give you His own life.  He is with you and in you.  Never will He forsake you.  And with His words of life, He gives you a prayer.  He teaches you to call upon God as your Father and to rely on Him in every time of trouble.

    Death has indeed been swallowed up in victory through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  God has visited His people in the most concrete and unexpected way.  By touching us through His Word and Sacraments, He raises us up and creates the faith we need to trust Him to help us through all our earthly losses.  Just as Jesus’ heart went out to the poor widow, so also He mourns with you in your losses and carries you through them to new life.  What a comfort to know that in Jesus, God has rescued you from your sin and death even before you could utter any prayer.  And now He hears and answers your prayers according to His good and gracious will, even the prayers of your heart that words cannot express.

    God has truly visited His people–not in some flash of glory that bowls us over.  God has come to us in a young rabbi named Jesus who shares in the life of His people, who is moved by love, mercy, and compassion for the grief of a widow, who touches her son’s casket, and says, “Young man, I say to you, arise!”  His Word of power is not distant, but personal, not cold, but human, not far away, but up close and real.  God has indeed come to help His people in Jesus Christ.  He is here even now in His flesh and blood to help you, both in this life and in the one to come.

    For now you cannot see Him; you must believe in Him who is present in our midst.  But at the Last Day, you will surely behold your compassionate Lord with your own eyes.  For He will come to the caskets of all who believe and are baptized, and He will say to you, “My brother, my sister, I say to you, arise!”

    ✠ In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit ✠

Painting above: James Tissot (Nantes, France, 1836–1902, Chenecey–Buillon, France). The Resurrection of the Widow's Son at Nain (La résurrection du fils de la veuve de Naïm), 1886–1896. Opaque watercolor over graphite on gray wove paper, Image: 6 1/8 x 8 5/8 in. (15.6 x 21.9 cm). Brooklyn Museum, Purchased by public subscription, 00.159.115 (Photo: Brooklyn Museum, 00.159.115_PS2.jpg)