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.”

     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.

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