In My Grief I Hope

You will have to forgive me, this sermon is a little more confessional than I would care for it to be; but I am deeply heartbroken this morning. As many are currently searching through the rubble of elementary schools, homes, businesses, and hospitals, in the wake of one the most devastating tornadoes in Oklahoma history, we gather in this place, among one another, with one another, and in our own midst there is suffering: Friends diagnosed with horrible diseases; loved ones suffering unexpected losses. Our scripture passage this morning, then, causes me to grieve as well as causes me to hope.

Jesus enters a town called Nain, along with with his disciples and a large crowd that has followed him. A he approaches the town gate, a dead person is being carried out. We learn quickly that the dead man is the only son of his mother and she is a widow. When Jesus saw her, his heart went out to her and he said, “Don't cry.” Then he went up and touched the coffin, and those carrying it stood still. He said, “Young man, I say to you, rise up!” The dead man sat up and began to talk, and Jesus gave him back to his mother.

In the wake of such horrific natural disasters, and in the wake of our personal losses, this passage causes me to grieve because I would give everything I own if Jesus could appear, reach down beside the dead and say, “I say to you, rise up.” I would give everything for parents who have lost a child to hear those words. I would give everything for mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, friends and neighbors to be able to hear those words spoken as they struggle through the wreckage of homes and schools. I would give everything for us to hear those words. But we won't. And that saddens me.

It saddens me because here we are, thousands of years later and we are still waiting to hear those words from the Lord. It saddens me because, lately, it feels as though there is nothing but chaos and death around us. It saddens me because it is a struggle in my faith. It saddens me because instead of hearing the voice of Christ, our friends will hear some ill-thought-out, unbiblical explanation from some minister in the public eye or some minister turned politician. It saddens me because during weeks like this, that are becoming too far common, I cry out, as the psalmist did, “Oh God, our God! Why have you forsaken us? Why are you so far from saving us, so far from the words of our groaning? O our God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer, by night, and am not silent.” It saddens because there is no voice in the desert; there is no parting of the sea, no shouting, “Peace be still.” It saddens because I feel we've been abandoned.

It is then, in the midst of that dark despairing hole, that I hear Luke's words again, “When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her”. I hear those words and my faith is given strength because, while I may not be able to hear the Lord's voice in the midst of the mighty wind, I see the Lord on his knees digging through the rubble. I see the Lord, with tears in his eyes, watching over the helpers. My faith is strengthened because I know when I ask, “Where are you, God?” A small voice tells me to look among the hurting and see the Lord there.

Yes, this passage causes me to grieve and it causes me to hope.

My heart cries out, as the psalmist did, in lament of the destruction and my soul finds comfort as the psalmist continues, “For the Lord has not despised or scorned the suffering of the afflicted; God has not hidden his face from him but has listened to his cry for help.” It is in the attentive listening of the psalmist, we discover that it is possible to go before God with our broken hallelujahs. It is in the attentive listening to the words of Luke, “When the Lord saw her, his heart went out to her.” we find hope. In our listening attentively, we find hope in the belief that Christ is not absent when tragedy strikes. By listening attentively, we know Christ is not absent in our grief or our anger; we know Christ to be in the midst of the rubble. By listening attentively, we hear the psalmist speak in the very next psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd.” so we take hope in knowing that our shepherd is with us amongst the rubble.

If we listen to the story attentively, we see that this story is a communal story as well. The widow is not suffering alone, she is surrounded by others who are walking with her as she goes to bury her child. Jesus is not alone either, not only is he accompanied by his disciples but by a large crowd, following him in hopes to see some miracle. These two communities converge into one when Jesus meets the widow outside the gate. It is here we take comfort and hope because we see how Jesus bears the burden of another. He has compassion on her, reaching out and touching her son. In his compassion, Jesus touches the unclean dead, to bring hope and life back to the widow. In his compassion, by bearing the burdens of this widow, and of the community, Jesus returns her son back to her.

If we look closely we see how Jesus enacts the three Christian services: By listening attentively, he hears the cries of the widow and the crowd. By bearing the burdens of others, he reaches out and touches the coffin. By actively helping, he raises her son from the dead and returns him to her. In his compassion, we see that while we may not hear Christ speak those words today, we can help our neighbors in need. We can find the smallest of ways to help when tragedy strikes. We can open our hearts and mourn with them. We can help and take on their burdens as they recover, so they are not recovering alone.

While it is indeed hard to stay in community with one another, I believe it is even harder to allow the community to care for us when we are in pain or hurt. We are a prideful people, taught to not show weakness or ask for help in the midst of our pain. We are encouraged to bury the pain deep inside until it aches at us and harms us in other ways it never should. I think the truth is, if Jesus did show up and speak those words to us, we might deny him the chance to raise us because we are too prideful. This story shows the importance of allowing the community of faith, our Christian community in during these painful times. If we do not allow the community to help bear our burdens, we will surely crumple under them.

An article came across my newsfeed the other day which read, “California Town Still Reeling From Teen's Suicide”. As I read the article, my heart continued to sink as it revealed the statistics of teen suicide and it's relation to bullying both in person and online. My heart sank as the article revealed that these teens felt all was lost and they were unable to get help. They felt lost, empty, and alone. The article focused on girls who were sexually assaulted and then bullied because they were victims. Recently in Ohio, as two football players were convicted on raping a classmate, the victim was bullied by not only her peers but by the media as well. We are in a culture that turns victims of horrible crimes and of tragedies into scapegoats and place them at fault. In doing so, when the Christian community remains silent in these moments, and allow others to speak false words, where are they going to find hope and help? Where are they going to find a place where the words of Christ and the deeds of Christ are seen by others bearing with one another in love? Where are they going to find healing if they cannot find it in the church?

We teach our youth and children to bear their own burdens and not talk about their pain or ask for help when they need it. We teach them that toughness is not allowing others to see you weak or see you when you are bleeding. We teach them that church is not a place for their hurts or their pain. We teach them those things belong outside the church walls and the church gates. We must teach them differently. We must allow space in our sanctuary for them to find sanctuary, where they can speak of their fears, their anger, their hurt, their worries, and their struggles, and where they can be welcomed, loved, appreciated, and cared for. We must teach them differently, else our hearts will continue to be broken by the news of teen suicide on the rise.

As I turn the television off and put the days tragedies off to the side, I am reminded in our gospel story, of those who cannot. I am reminded of those who have been so deeply affected by a tragedy they are alone and isolated. I am reminded they do not have the luxury of turning it off. As I read this gospel story, as I read of Jesus' compassion, my heart urges me not to turn away from the hurting. It reminds me of my baptism, of my call, of my ordination. It reminds me of an old Neil Diamond song, “Now you got yourself two good hands and when your brother and sister are troubled you got to reach out your one hand for them 'cause that's what it's there for. And when your heart is troubled you got to reach out your other hand, reach it out to the Lord up there 'cause that's what he's there for.”

Indeed there is pain and suffering in our world. We may not be able to solve all the world's problems, indeed some are too big, but we can make a difference by serving one another by attentively listening, active helpfulness, and bearing with one another. We may be able to avoid tragedy but we can help others recover, we can reach out to them because Christ once reached out to us. We can reach out and offer a place of love and compassion because the Christ who took compassion on the widow, has taken compassion on you and I. Let us reach out our hand to the troubled, because that it is what it is there for. Let us have the courage to reach out our hand when in pain and in suffering to not only the Lord but to take the hand of the community that reaches out for us.