Widow of Nain

Glory to Jesus Christ. Glory to the Father, and

to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. I'm your

guest preacher today. It's so good to be back

among you, worshiping together. The first Sunday

I was gone, we joined the Orthodox community

in Rome. under the exarchate of Metropolitan

John of Paris. That's what Father Theodore is

under. And we served at this parish in a rather

new Roman church, only 400 years old, which the

Catholics loaned to the Orthodox. There was a

choir of, oh, maybe nine or 12 young women. I

would say none over the age of of 45, and most

under the age of 30. They were magnificent. It

was so beautiful. Of course, not as beautiful

as ours. But it was beautiful. And to be there

in that place was just such an inspiration. In

the second week, last Sunday, our little group

of pilgrims stopped at a church between Venice

and Padua. It's an 11th century, correct me if

I'm wrong, 11th century small basilica, much

smaller than this, which is not really used,

and it still has some frescoes from the Middle

Ages, and we did a typical service, because we

don't have a dementia, and we didn't have anything

else that we could do to serve liturgy. So, while

there, of course, I prayed for you as you were

praying for me. I want to speak a little about

this gospel, the first one we heard from St.

Luke about the widow and her son being taken

for burial. This is the Feast of St. Tikkun,

the anniversary of the glorification, that is,

the canonization of St. Tikkun of Moscow. His

icon, his threshold is here, up here, and in

the middle. Great missionary. wonder worker,

and confessor of the church. But I want to focus

on this gospel for a particular reason which

I hope will become clear. One doesn't have to

live too long before you experience the loss,

the death of a beloved member of your family,

a beloved friend. you're young enough and you

haven't had that experience, but you come to

church and you participate in the funerals of

those that are your brothers and sisters, your

fathers and mothers in Christ, so that you understand

that you are on a funeral procession in your

life. I'll say more about that in a moment. Very

recently, you witnessed the death of beloved

brother John Canagius, a long -time member of

this parish, a dear friend of mine. Now his wife

is a widow. We learned of her post, and both

men are righteous before God, I believe, looking

at their life, hearing them speak. the repose

of the monk Maximus, our former parishioner,

Vincent, who now leaves his family as orphans.

We have orphans and widows. The scriptures are

very clear about the church's caring and responsibility

to care for orphans and widows, all throughout

the Old Testament. Why? Because they have no

one. And in our present context, in this society,

it's not only orphans and widows, it's probably

single mothers, it's homeless men and women and

teens who, because their families are so terribly

broken, they're orphans too. And there's grief.

There's grief. We experience the grief of the

loss of John and Father Maximus. It doesn't matter

if they're 80 years old or 40 years old or whatever.

Doesn't matter that they lived a life in the

church. We have grief because of love. But it's

not grief that has no hope. Jesus our Lord, in

the gospel story that you heard today, that St.

Luke recounts, came upon a funeral procession

coming out of a small village. Of name. Coming

out of the gate. Two processions. St. Luke tells

us that Jesus, on the day after he healed the

centurion's servant, the centurion's slave, again,

a helpless person, the day after that, Jesus

is walking, intentionally going towards his gate,

and it is a procession of life, because Jesus

is the head of this procession. And there's a

traffic jam at the gate. Who's going to give?

Neither. Because Jesus, seeing that this is a

widow who has lost her son, do you know what

that means in that cultural context? This woman

had no one. No one. It wasn't just grief of the

loss of her son. Built upon the grief of the

loss of her husband. It was helplessness in that

society. She had no one. Her life would be one

of begging her neighbors to survive. That's the

way it was. There's no safety net to catch anyone.

Jesus looked into the eyes of that mother and

he saw her pain. He saw real questioning. He

saw a complete lack of understanding. How this

could have happened? My son has died. How could

God have allowed this? How could God have abandoned

me? And what does St. Luke say? The same thing

he says about the father of the prodigal son.

The same thing he says about the king who...

forgives the debt. The same thing he says over

and over in the Synoptic Gospels about Jesus.

And only about Jesus this word is used. It says,

he has compassion. Now, for us, compassion, thank.

What does it mean? You feel sorry for that person.

But the word in Greek doesn't just mean you feel

sorry. It means, in English too, you co -suffer.

But in Greek it means that he felt the sorrow

and the grief in the gut of his stomach. He carried

her grief. He took it upon himself. This is what

Jesus does with our sins, with our ignorance,

with our stupidity, with our sorrow and our grief.

He takes it on himself. He is the compassionate

God. And for the Greek world, which St. Luke

was writing for. A God who is compassionate?

Impossible! Not possible. God is distant and

unfeeling and uncarried about the lesser beings,

the humans, that walk upon the earth as ants.

But God made himself like us in Christ. And his

compassion reveals to us something new to the

world, that deep in his heart, God continues

to ache for our sins, for our grief. He is the

good shepherd. This is why he wept at the grave

of Lazarus. Everyone, without exception, is on

a funeral procession. Each one of us living our

life. We may take some detours, but in the big

picture, it's a funeral procession. You that

are baptized into Christ and have put on Christ

and have died with Christ and have already risen

with Christ and co -reign with Christ, walk with

him and know that all will be raised, all people,

and the world. will be renewed when the Lord

reveals himself in glory at the end. We Christians,

we have to realize we are already living the

life of the resurrection. Christ raised this

boy from the dead for the sake of his mother,

but he would die again, just as Lazarus would

die again, just as the young girl. who he rose

from the dead, from her bed, would die again.

So we are living now. That's why we come together

in the Divine Liturgy. To experience God's compassion,

yes, to gain some for ourselves, to give to others,

and to live as if we are already risen from the

dead, despite what the evidence around us says.

Because as I get older, I don't feel too resurrected.

But if my soul isn't participating in God's compassion

and glory and resurrection, then I will never

enjoy the blessings of the kingdom of God. We

don't let sin reign as king in our mortal bodies,

says St. Paul. We don't obey it. We did hear

just this extraordinary quote from the second

Corinthians. An admonition to choose the right

procession to be in. Not the procession of death,

but the procession of life. The procession to

the kingdom of God. Yes, we will experience death,

but we've already died. And we have been raised

in Christ. And our life is hid with him. So when

St. Paul says that what agreement has the temple

of God with you? Yes, collectively as the church,

but individually you have been given the Spirit.

What has the temple of God to do with idolatry?

With lust, he says, with rebelliousness, with

pettiness, with self -will or unbelief or jealousy,

gossip, lying, self -abuse, sin. What agreement

does the temple of God have with these things?

None. Because you are the temple of the living

God. I will walk in them. I will dwell with them.

They should be my sons and daughters. This gospel

also serves as a pattern to remind us that as

we are on this procession of life, not a processional,

a procession. of corruption to the grave, but

a procession to the resurrection, that our soul,

which can be like that sun, dead before meeting

Christ, is always going to be risen the moment

we meet Christ in prayer and in the divine liturgy.

I'll end with these words of St. Gregory of Nyssa.

This is his prayer at the funeral of his sister,

St. Macrina, who's depicted on the wall right

over there. Thou, O Lord, hast freed us from

the fear of death. Thou hast made the end of

this life the beginning to us of true life. Thou,

for a season, rests our body in sleep and awaits

them again at the last trumpet. Thou givest our

earth, which Thou hast fashioned with Thy hands,

to Thee, Earth, to keep in safety. One day Thou

will take again what thou hast given, transfiguring

with immortality and grace our mortal and unsightly

remains. Thou hast saved us from the curse and

from sin, having become both for our sake. Thou

hast broken the head of the dragon who has seized

us with his jaws in the yawning gulf of disobedience.

Thou hast shown us the way of resurrection, having

broken the gates of Hades and brought to nothing

him who had the power of death. That is the devil.

To our Lord, the victor over death and the giver

of life, be glory now and ever, to ages of ages.

Amen.