The Widow at Nain

Text:  Luke 7:11-17

Theme:  “The Widow at Nain”

3^rd Sunday after Pentecost

June 5, 2016

FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH

Denton, TX

Rev. Paul R. Dunklau

+In the Name of Jesus+

11 Soon afterward, Jesus went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went along with him. 12 As he approached the town gate, a dead person was being carried out—the only son of his mother, and she was a widow. And a large crowd from the town was with her. 13 When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don’t cry.”

14 Then he went up and touched the bier they were carrying him on, and the bearers stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, get up!” 15 The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother.

16 They were all filled with awe and praised God. “A great prophet has appeared among us,” they said. “God has come to help his people.” 17 This news about Jesus spread throughout Judea and the surrounding country.

It is not as though they didn’t warn us.  In a graduate school, the professor – and I can all but picture him saying it from the chapel pulpit – declared:  “You will be called upon to do a considerable number of funerals.”  That didn’t exactly meet with a rousing response from the seminarians gathered.  Besides, there’s nothing in the Bible that insists that elders and pastors conduct funerals, memorial services, or committals.  All of that came later in the history of the liturgy that, it could be argued, is also the history of pastoral care.

 At Princess Diana’s funeral at Westminster Abbey in September of 1997, no one remembers who or what clergy officiated. (They were likely higher-ups in the Anglican communion.)  But they do remember that Elton John sang “Candle in the Wind” and they recall what a whopper of a eulogy Diana’s brother, Earl Spencer, gave.  At one point, he declared:

She (Diana) talked endlessly of getting away from England, mainly because of the treatment she received at the hands of the newspapers.  I don’t think she ever understood why her genuinely good intentions were sneered at by the media, why there appeared to be a permanent quest on their behalf to bring her down.  It is baffling.  My own and only explanation is that genuine goodness is threatening to those at the opposite end of the moral spectrum. 

Man, oh, man!  Did that rattle a few cages!  Yet, at the end of the day and with the circumstances in mind, the clergy did what the liturgy gave them to do.  Death is the great equalizer; it comes to princesses and paupers alike.  The mortality rate holds steady at 100%.  “The clock of life is wound but once, and no one has the power to tell just when the hands will stop – at late or early hour.” And yes, ministers are called upon to do a considerable number of funerals.  I once asked my friend Bill DeBerry, of Deberry Funeral Directors just down the road here, how business was going.  I was only making small talk, and I realized, too late, that it was a rather awkward question given his line of work.  “How’s business?”  He replied, “Steady.”

My first attempt at conducting a funeral was in 1984 in a little town called Pipestone, Minnesota.  I had been there only a week on a summer assignment.  An elderly lady died, dear loved in the congregation, and I remember standing there at the committal service.  I was at the edge of the green tent, and I was wearing my gown.  Big drops of rain began to fall, and then it started to pour.  I moved in closer to the casket to get under the tent.  The kindly funeral director, sensing that I would get wet, covered me with an umbrella.  “Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” and the ground was muddy. 

Pipestone is a farming community of about five thousand people.  The population of Nain, mentioned in today’s gospel, has, nowadays, a population of about one hundred fifty.  And Nain is about nine miles south of the town of Nazareth where Jesus grew up.  Apparently, it was a gated community – perhaps an ancient and miniature version of Robson Ranch or something like that.

Jesus and His entourage draw near to the gate.  What do they see?  A dead person is being carried out of the gate – presumably for burial.  “You will be called upon to do a considerable number of funerals.”  The funeral liturgy is in progress.  The body is carried in procession, and a large crowd of mourners follows it; the chief of which is the mother of the deceased.  She was no stranger to death.  We are told she was a widow; she had lost her husband.  Now, she is about to bury her only son. 

What does one say to a woman like that?  I recall another funeral setting early in my ministry.  I had performed the wedding ceremony for a young couple in the summertime.  Only three months later, the new bride, in the middle of the night, found her husband on the living room couch.  The husband, the picture of physical fitness, had died of a heart attack while sleeping. 

Days later, at the visitation, I stood next to the grieving widow.  One lady, a member of my church at the time, came up to extend her condolences.  She struggled to find the right words.  She said to the woman, “Well, he’s in a better place.”  The grieving widow replied, “Yes, but we had a pretty (expletive deleted) nice place here for three months.”  Sometimes, dear friends, the best thing to say is nothing.  Your presence is enough. 

The grieving widow, who had lost her husband and was now about to bury her son, did not see Jesus.  Part of the good news here is not that she saw him but that He saw her.  More than that, it says he “had compassion” on her.  The Greek word for “compassion” is tough to put adequately put into English.  Compassion is that feeling of care for another that is so intense that it is as if your guts are being torn up on the inside.  In that kind of compassion, Jesus says to her, “Don’t cry.”

Goodness, that sounds just as bad or even worse than “He’s in a better place.”  “Don’t cry.”  “Good grief, Jesus.  Tell me you have more tact than that.  Don’t you know, Jesus, that if there’s any place where it’s okay to cry it would be at a funeral.  Are you not aware, Jesus, that about every psychological study that has come down the pike suggests that tears are therapeutic and that grief and tears go together?”

Just as the poor widow was trying to process this, Jesus disrupts a perfectly good funeral.  Where were the police to block traffic to the cemetery?  He takes it (the funeral) over – and acts as though it belonged to him.  He touches the bier, and the pallbearers stood still.  They don’t know what to do.  But Jesus does.

He says to the dead person, “Young man, I say to you, get up!”  Revivified, the dead man, no longer dead, sits up and speaks.  What did he say?  We are not told.  We are told that Jesus gave him back to his mother. 

Jesus interrupted and disrupted a perfectly good funeral.  He did the same at His own funeral, for He was raised from the dead by the glory of His Father.  We believe that, at the day of the resurrection of all flesh, He will do the same for us.

Yet, as we so well know, there is more to being a child of God than going to church and paying premiums on an eternal life insurance policy. 

Remember that the widow at Nain was facing a time of transition.  What would become of her?  Her husband and son were gone.  She likely felt, herself, as good as dead.

People, institutions, and even churches face times of transition every day, and trying to change the subject by talking about politics at the water cooler doesn’t helpt.    A dearly loved member moves on or dies; the resources dry up; the prospect of the doors being closed is very real.  What do do?  Where to go?  We don’t know.  We look down; we grieve.

The good news is not that we see Jesus but that He sees us.  More than that, He is filled with compassion.  His person, His work, His words, His Gospel promises, although they may appear to interrupt and disrupt, are the constant.

“You will be called upon to do a considerable number of funerals.”  In nearly six years of being your minister of Word and Sacrament, I have found that to be true.  Those services were good only insofar as the words and promises of Jesus carried the day.  “All things (including grief and times of transition) work together for the good of those who are the called according to God’s purpose.”  The word of the Lord.  Thanks be to God.

Amen.