Salvation, Epistle of Galatians,
by Rev. Thomas Hall
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A VISIT
FROM GOD
a sermon based on Luke 7:11-17
by Rev. Rick Thompson
Most of us have been there.
We may have been there as the ones most deeply
and personally touched by the death of someone, those whose hearts are weighed
down heavily with grief—like the widows in our first reading or in the story we
just heard.
Or we may have been there in the
funeral procession, further back from the family, but still touched by grief,
hurting as well out of compassion for the ones whose loss is greatest—like the
crowd of townspeople in ancient Nain, accompanying the grieving widow to her
only son's burial place.
We've been there.
And we know the outcome. We
know that an urn will be placed in its resting place, or a casket lowered into
the ground, and we will hear that reminder that this one—and, one day, each
of us—will be reduced to ashes and dust.
We know the power of death, and its
finality. Oh, yes, we hear the promise of resurrection in Jesus Christ,
but that seems to be so much less real, somewhere out there in the far, distant
future.
And, meanwhile, we are acutely aware
of our loss, intensely aware of our grief.
So can we even imagine it?
Can we even
imagine what it was like that day in Nain, when Jesus showed up, when
God-in-the-flesh paid a visit, and raised a dead young man to life? Right
in the middle of the funeral procession, in the midst of the weeping and
wailing, Jesus visited the people, and raised a young man to life, and, at the
same time, restored the widowed mother's life as well!
It's not hard at all, is it, to
imagine their surprise—and their fear!
Things just don't work that way, after all! When someone's dead, they're
dead—and that's it, until the final day of resurrection!
But not so in Nain. Not so when Jesus attends
the funeral. Not so when Jesus shows up, when God pays a visit!
Jesus shows up, and has compassion
on the widow. Not only because of her intense loss; how many parents,
especially in our day, expect to bury a child? We know how painful that
is. But, in addition to her loss, the woman—like the woman in the story of
Elijah—is now among the most vulnerable of the vulnerable in her world.
Her husband would have been expected to provide for her, and, when he was gone,
her son—and, now, her son is dead too. She has no one to depend on.
She has no social security. She could easily die of poverty and hunger.
But Jesus has compassion.
Jesus is moved—deeply moved—by the woman's plight. He cares so
deeply that he enters into her reality as fully as he can. And I'd say
that a Son of God who dwells on this earth, takes on human flesh, and suffers
death by crucifixion has pretty fully entered into her reality—and yours and
mine—wouldn't you agree? Jesus knows her pain because he will experience
it. Jesus knows her sorrow. His own heavenly Father will know the
sadness and sorrow of losing a child to death. Jesus knows. God
knows. And Jesus steps in—steps right into the woman's reality, oozing
with compassion.
Nothing can stop him. Not the cultural
expectation that a Jewish man should keep his distance from a woman in public.
Not even death could stop Jesus.
Did you notice what he did? He
spoke to the woman, “Do not weep.” And he touched the stretcher on which
the dead young man was being carried. That was considered taboo!
Just as he had in the previous story—when he healed the daughter of a pagan
Roman soldier—Jesus crosses boundaries. He crosses the boundary of gender.
He crosses the boundary of death. He crosses these boundaries because the
compassion and love and mercy of God can't be limited by the cultural rules we
would allow to prevent us from reaching out and showing our concern.
If I did today, for example, what I
did when I was a senior in high school, I'd be considered crazy. I grew up
in a small town. (It's not so small anymore.) People knew each other
well. We trusted people—unless it was public knowledge that so-and-so
shouldn't be trusted. So, one day, as I was driving home from school, just
a couple blocks from home—in a neighborhood I had know for years—I saw a man
lying in the street. I stopped the car. I approached him. He
had fallen, and was bleeding from a cut on his head. And he was drunk.
In that little town, in a time when
strangers and people in need were not considered threats, I helped the man up,
struggled to load him into my car, and drove him downtown to the local doctor's
office to get patched up. It seemed like the right thing to do.
Perhaps it would even be considered compassionate. To be sure, some would
consider it crazy. I doubt if I'd do it today—even in a town I knew well.
I'd probably keep my distance, and call the police. It would be a lot
safer, wouldn't it! I wouldn't be crossing any boundaries, would I!
Well, Jesus was compassionate.
He crossed boundaries again and again, this time because he was moved by the
circumstances of the woman whose son had died. So he did what he could to
help—and what
Jesus could do was considerable! He crossed the boundaries of gender
and death, and he spoke a word--”Young man, get up! Arise!”--and the man
got up, and began to speak.
Jesus had raised him from the dead!
Now, how could Jesus do that?
Do you suppose there's a clue later
in the story, when Jesus himself gets up, arises from death?
Jesus had power! Jesus had
the power of God! All he had to do was say the word, and the young man got
up from death! All Jesus had to do was say the word, and the young man was
alive! All Jesus had to do was say the word, and the widow had her life
back as well! All Jesus had to do was say the word, and the world was
changed. Yes, the world was changed: boundaries were broken down, and
death was robbed of its power,and, for the woman, her life was restored!
And the people were astounded. First,
stricken with fear—and who
wouldn't be afraid if we saw a dead person brought back to life, right
before our eyes! And then filled with awe at the power Jesus displayed.
And, finally, moved to praise and glorify God for the life-giving actions of
Jesus. “A prophet has come among us! God has looked favorably upon
us! This is nothing less than a visit from God!”
A visit from God—could it really be?
A visit from God—could such a thing
happen today?
Perhaps another story will help.
A father and daughter were on a
great ship, crossing the ocean together. Just before they left for their
journey, the father—who was a pastor—had preached about the immense, unending
love of God. It was a terribly difficult sermon for him to preach, because
it had only been a short time since his wife had died.
As the father stood against the
ship's rail, gazing at the vast and magnificent ocean, his daughter asked him if
God loved them as much as God had loved her mother.
“Of course!” the father responded.
“There is absolutely nothing bigger or more powerful and all-consuming than
God's love for us. It's the biggest thing there is!”
The girl kept questioning her
father, “Just exactly how big is God's love, Daddy?”
Finally, with great tenderness, her
father said, “Well, look across the ocean as far as you can see. 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 beneath us.”
The little girl thought about that,
and, finally, replied, 'And to think, Daddy, we're right in the middle of it.”[i]
Right in the middle of it.
That's where God is. Right in the middle of this world, where we do
our living and our dying. Right here. Right now.
“Could God visit us again?” is the
wrong question. The question is, rather, where is God at work, and
do we see it? Because, after all, God is in the middle of things.
And is it possible that one sign of
God at work is the compassionate actions of God's people? Actions that
risk crossing boundaries? Actions that respond to the deep needs of the
world by joining God in the middle of this world's struggles? Actions that
restore life and speak God's word of power? Actions that—dare I say
it?--can change the world in the name of Christ?
That's what happened one day when
the town of Nain received a visit from God—their world was changed, for the
better?
And I wonder—don't you wonder,
too?--if the very same thing could happen right here—right here, in our
city!
Because, after all, that little girl
is right: The great God of all is full of love and compassion and life.
And God is right here with us.
Right here with this hurting, suffering world. Right here, in the middle
of it all. Amen.
