In Life's Most Mournful Moments . . . Jesus Comes

St. Luke 7:11-17
June 10, 2007
Pentecost 2C

As Jesus drew near to the gate of the town, behold, a man who had died was being carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. . . . And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her and said to her, “Do not weep.”

Dear brothers and sisters in Christ Jesus~

In all of life, there are few moments more mournful than a funeral procession. In those moments of movement to the cemetery, the sting of death is felt with acute pain. As we bear the lifeless body of a loved one to its resting place—then and there we truly find ourselves in the hour of deepest need, as we just sang in the Hymn of the Day.

In today’s Holy Gospel we encounter just such a mournful moment. At the village of Nain, a funeral procession was making its way out of the village gates. It was a sad scene, as funeral processions always are. But this one was even more tragic. The dead person being carried to the tomb was a young man. His life had been cut short. In the prime of life, death had claimed another victim.

But this tragedy was intensified by the fact that the dead man was the only son of his mother. A mournful mother was leading this funeral procession. And to make matters even more mournful, she was a widow. Now she was all alone in the world. She had no husband to support her, and her only son was dead. Her husband and son were dead, but if the truth be told, this mourning mother was herself as good as dead.

But as the widow wept over the death of her only son, St. Luke tells us that she was met by another only son—the only begotten Son of God. I want you to imagine that you are standing at the gates of the village of Nain that day. Had you been there, you would have witnessed first the funeral procession—a large group of mourners leaving the village, bearing the body of the widow’s only son. There would have been sounds of weeping and wailing, loud laments of mourning and pain. But as the large crowd of mourners was leaving the village, they encountered another large crowd on their way into the village. Coming into the village was Jesus with His disciples and a large crowd of followers. There at the village gates the power of death was confronted head-on by the Lord of life, Jesus Christ.

When the Lord saw the mourning widow, St. Luke tells us, “he had compassion on her.” That doesn’t just mean that the Savior felt sorry for her. It means that He literally felt her pain. He felt her fear. He felt her helplessness. He knew in His body her loneliness and grief. You see, the Savior is not immune to our suffering. Whatever your pain, whatever your fear, whatever your helplessness and grief—you don’t bear it alone. There is One who knows—and feels—the depth of your pain. This is what it means that Jesus had “compassion” on her.

“Do not weep,” He told the widow. Now, on the surface, that doesn’t sound very compassionate—at least in the way you and I carry out compassion. What pastor or counselor or chaplain would ever tell a grieving widow whose only son was being carried to his tomb, “Don’t cry?” If there was ever an occasion to shed tears, this was it! An absence of tears would actually be alarming under these circumstances. It’s God who gives us the ability to cry. Our tears help us cope. Our tears bring strength and healing. Why would Jesus say, “Don’t cry?” Because on that day, at that moment, at the city gates of Nain, Jesus would supply the strength. Jesus would give the healing. Jesus would transform life’s most mournful moment with resurrection joy. Tears were simply not necessary!

At that moment Jesus strode right up to the bier—the burial cot on which the corpse was resting—and He reached out and touched it. This was against the OT ceremonial law (Lev. 21:1-4, 11-12). Coming into contact with the dead made a person unclean. But rather than the dead man making Jesus unclean, the Savior’s touch brought purity and life to what was dirty and dead. And with that, Jesus spoke: “Young man I say to you, arise.” And the dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.

It was no coincidence that Jesus met the funeral procession that day. For as today’s Old Testament reading makes clear, Jesus was following the model of the prophet Elijah. There again, a widow’s only son had died. There again, a great prophet of God stepped into life’s most mournful moment, bringing a dead son back to life again. But in the OT reading, the widow speaks. And I think her words are instructive for all of us. At the moment of her son’s death, she lashed out at Elijah with these words: “What have you against me? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance and to cause the death of my son!”

There, in the words of a grieving widow, is great wisdom regarding life’s most mournful moments. She makes a connection—a connection between sin and death. It’s a connection that few people make nowadays. But it’s a connection made by the Scriptures over and over again: “The soul that sins shall die.” That’s the terrible, tearful truth behind all of life’s most mournful moments. “The wages of sin is death.” and no one, not even you dear hearer, ever misses payday. This is the silent sermon cackled by every coffin, painfully played out in every funeral procession. As sinners, you and I are not immune. It’s all a crying shame.

It was no coincidence that Jesus met the funeral procession that day. No, that day the Savior intended to give a paschal preview—a glimmering glimpse of death’s demise. His compassion is stronger than your sin, deeper than your death. His crucifixion cross is the sure sign that your sins have been taken away, your guilt atoned for. By the blood of Jesus, your wickedness is forgiven, and God Himself remembers your sins no more. His empty tomb testifies that Jesus has destroyed death. In His death you already died. In His resurrection Jesus opened the kingdom of heaven for you and all believers.

When Jesus walked into the life of this widow at Nain, God Himself came calling. It was no coincidence. And neither is it a coincidence when the living Christ meets you in your most mournful moments too. For when Jesus walks in on your life, things begin to change. In the mess and muddle of your sin, Jesus gets results. With His divine compassion He reaches out to touch you—even in the uncleanness of your sin and its wages. “Don’t cry,” He says, “I will never leave you or forsake you.”

Whatever the source of your mourning today, whatever triggers your tears, Jesus can help and heal. No matter how hopeless things may appear, there is no mournful place where the Savior’s compassion cannot reach. There’s no place in your life so dark that His light and love cannot lift you up again.

Beloved in the Lord, this is place where Jesus reaches out to lifeless corpses every week. For that’s what we are apart from Him. Here in the Divine Service Jesus puts His Words in our ears (much as He told the dead man, “I say to you, arise.”). Here today He places His very body and blood into our mouths—the same body and blood once nailed to the cross to secure your forgiveness. The Lord’s Supper is a matter of life and death. As one pastor put it, “We go to the Lord’s Supper as though going to our death, so that we may go to our death as though going to the Lord’s Supper.” Think on that as you kneel at the altar this morning.

We don’t see these things with our eyes, nor do we always feel the Savior’s touch. But we have His Word on it. And that’s enough for us. In His Word is the power of healing and hope. In life’s most mournful moments, the Savior always comes calling, bringing His life, His love, His compassion. To every repentant heart He says, “Do not weep.” And on the Last Day you will be glad to hear again His powerful words ringing in your ears: “I say to you, arise.” Amen.