Pentecost 3 - Year C
Kings 17:17-24, Luke 7:11-17
Therefore
my heart sings to you, O Lord
“Soon afterwards (Jesus) went to a
town called Nain.”
This story in Luke 7 is the only
biblical mention of the city of Nain. This
town still exists. It is about 4 miles
from Tabor and 25 miles southwest of Capernaum.
I also discovered that the Hebrew meaning associated with the town’s
name means “green pastures”, or more simply - “lovely.”
A lovely place. Lush green pastures. What a great place to find oneself.
The name would suggest a place very
similar to the one in which we find ourselves.
Isn’t this lovely? The beauty of the
lake; the cherished shade from the trees; the clear blue skies above us. The lush green pasture through which we
walked has been a bit too often visited by geese – let’s all admit. But hopefully you were able to tip-toe
through the piles without getting any on the cuff of your pants.
This is a lovely place. This place in which we find ourselves.
Lovely for other reasons, too. Would you not agree? Lovely because of the folks who are gathered
here with us. Lovely because of food
waiting at the top of the hill. Lovely as
a result of the yard games yet to make their way out of the trunks of our cars.
Jesus went down to the town of
Nain, and we have come to our own lovely place.
This beautiful green pasture.
But the lovely setting has a blemish. As one procession makes its way to the lovely
place, another procession is departing. No
amount of beauty can prevent us from seeing the weeping and wailing of this
widowed woman who now walks alongside those who carry her only son. It may be a lovely place, but there is nothing
lovely about the scene which Jesus encounters.
It is amazing, the amount of detail
given in this short story. The central
character isn’t the man who has died, it is his mother. And about her we learn many things. First, we are told that she was a widow. Anyone here a fan of “Game of Thrones”? Kalessi becomes a widow in Season 3. It takes to the current season for her to be
returned to her designated place – to the smelly hall in which past queens are
held. Even once powerful Queens, when
they become widows, are totally without resources or recourse. And so it would have been for this woman. The death of her husband literally meant no
home, no protection, no assurance of the next meal.
Here is a bit of sidebar: We speak of the reforms of Martin Luther. You may not know of his impatience with the
pace of reform – in the civil world.
Even as recently as the 16th century, women could not own
property. But Martin thumbed his nose at
the system by leaving his home to his wife Katie. The courts did not know what to do. But out of respect for Martin they let it
stand, so long as Melanthan would sign off on Katie’s management of the house.
In Luke 7, this pitiful widow had been relegated to the care of her
son. The death of her husband meant she
moved under the protection of her son. We
can only hope there wasn’t a jealous daughter-in-law. Downtown Abby fans? Remember the new wife of Lord "Dickie" Grey's son. Who tries to marry him off to Isobel Crowley.
In Nain, in this lovely place, all
the love has gone out of this woman’s life.
Her only son has died.
Another detail, one which would
have pricked the ears of the first hearers, but perhaps gone unnoticed by
us. They are carrying this man out on a
bier, a stretcher. The burial custom of
the day would have called for a casket. Caskets
were simple, come more plain than others, but none-the-less a container. Where is this man’s? Was he too poor to afford one? This is a possibility. Another thought may be that his death has
just occurred and they are only now carrying him to the place where his body would
be prepared for burial.
Another part of the custom was to
bury immediately. Combine these details
and the scene which is described is one of recent and raw grief. Here is a woman who has lost everything she
had hoped for and hoped in. She is
herself in the death-grip of grief and despair.
The place might be called “Nain,”
but there was nothing lovely about her experience there. Maybe this is why she is departing, making
her way out of that which would claim to be loving.
It is a lovely experience to be
with all of you today. But the glorious
procession to this place brought me back to the realities of processions made
the last two times I gathered with this community of faith. I have been away for four of the past five Sundays. But I came back twice, on two Saturdays, in
order to offer prayers and commendations for fellow travelers. Don Monn and Arn Jensen have both been
carried away by the weeping widows.
This community of faith is a lovely
thing. One of its strength’s is its refusal
to allow the painful processionals be ignored.
We will speak of this lovely place; lovely because it is prepared and
eager to change direction when necessary.
What comes next in the Luke story
is probably the worst example of pastoral care ever offered. Jesus walks up to the process and interrupts. He actually chides this defenseless woman for
doing the only thing she is capable of doing.
Jesus inserts himself into this large crowd and interrupts their
attempts to care for their neighbor. The
text says Jesus has compassion on her, but I wouldn’t suggest you start your
expressions of compassion by looking at a grieving mother and telling her to “Stop
crying.”
Of course, he is Jesus and he
probably already knows what he is capable of doing and is going to do. But none-the-less, I think he could have
found other words with which to greet her.
I know that some folks don’t like
it when I suggest reasons to be critical of Jesus. Such insinuations make some uncomfortable,
and they tend to tell the Personal Committee about it in the annual performance
reviews. I do appreciate those comments,
and please don’t stop submitting them or failing to speak of ways in which I might
improve my preaching and teaching.
Some folks don’t like it when I
suggest reasons to be critical of Jesus – but this is not one of those
times. I am not being critical of Jesus
here, I am being critical of all those who think that when Jesus’ way
intersects with our way that this means things are going to become all warm and
cozy.
But Jesus does not arrive like
that. He doesn’t take what we have or
pretend to have and make it even better. Jesus interjects himself into whatever
it is that we are doing and tells us to “Stop it!”
Jesus may have compassion on this
woman; but he has no patience for folks failing to realize the opportunity
which is set before them. Jesus is compassionate
toward us, but eager for us to drop the façade and live the life he (and maybe
only he) knows is possible for us.
Jesus is going to change everything
about this woman’s view of reality. He is
going to restore to her the one whom she thought she had lost. He is going to turn her mourning into
dancing. What is that line from the Psalm? “Weeping lingers for the night, but joy comes
the very next morning.” Jesus is going
to change everything about her life – but that change comes in the aftermath of
an abrupt halt. You don’t get to the
blessing without this awkward and possibly uncomfortable encounter and
exchange.
We have been allowed to believe
that God will sort of come along beside us and help us as we venture down paths
of which we cannot see the ending. That is
a warm and cozy sentiment, but it isn’t the way things happen in the
Gospel. The grieving procession runs
headlong in to the compassion procession.
Compassion is given, but only after the well-intended supporting crowd
has been jolted to a stop.
This is one of the stories in the
bible which brings together two very important aspects of God’s relationship
with us. (Notice the order in which I
put that – God’s relationship with us. We
create problems when we start from the perspective of our relationship with
God. The relationship is there because
of God’s coming to us.) This story
brings together two very important aspects of that relationship.
First, and always foremost, it is a
relationship defined by compassion. God is
gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love. It is by grace that we have been saved, lest
anyone might boast. Jesus acts in this
story because he has compassion for this woman.
Jesus is compassionate and caring; Jesus is loving and carrying.
Jesus loves us SO MUCH! Too much, in fact, to leave us as we were
before he encountered us. And that is
the second important lesson contained in this story.
Jesus’ compassion will not allow
him to take notice of us and then do nothing to re-form us. Jesus is eager to encounter us and save
us. But just as Abraham and Sarah were
blessed so that they might be a blessing, God’s compassion toward us transforms
us. We are changed, in the twinkling of
an eye, into a vessel capable of continuing to receive his grace and capable of
living the life which is eternal.
This is a lovely place. And we have come out here hoping to encounter
Jesus. Our great procession of cars and
trucks made its way down Highway 118 and Biggerstaff Road. Jesus has surely taken notice of this
procession. We might even claim that he
has stopped us in our tracks. How will
he change or lives? Will we allow him to
change our lives? Do we dare ask him to
bring the dead back to life? Or will we whimper
out a request that he will comfort us in our grief?
This is one of those days when I am
envious of faith communities in which there are altar calls. Don’t panic – I am not going to start
one. But altar calls do allow for
persons to make real their openness to being transformed. Martin Luther instructed us to remember or
baptism each morning when we wash our face.
Recall the promises made to you and renew your appreciation for God’s
grace. Start anew, each day. Altar calls allow faith communities to
support those who splashed water on their face and saw a new person. Altar calls make visible the change which comes
in our lives when the funeral processions are changed into restorations and
resurrections.
This is a lovely place. And we are a loving people. Made so by the grace of God. And may that grace continue to form us and
re-form us. May the compassion of Jesus take
root in our lives and prevent us from remaining where we were before Jesus
came.
Amen.