The Sixteenth Sunday after Trinity
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
From an early age, we begin to be taught the hard lesson that everything in this life is temporary. First, it’s something relatively minor in the grand scheme of things—maybe a beloved toy wears out, or an artistic creation is destroyed. The child is devastated, realizing, maybe for the first time, that the “undo” feature which works so well on a computer won’t work in real life. A well-meaning parent may swoop in, desiring to save the day, by purchasing a replacement. But in the end, this is both unhelpful and even detrimental for the child. Yes, the stuffed animal can be replaced, but at what cost? When else will a child begin to learn of the impermanence and fleeting nature of life?
It starts with a child’s things breaking, but soon it becomes more serious. As we grow older, we inevitably experience the end of relationships. It could be the end of a romantic relationship, but it could just as easily be a regular friendship which has run its course. There are many great times that two friends have shared together, there are beautiful memories that have been made. But life circumstances change. Someone changes schools, a job requires moving away, and goodbyes must be said. Yes, everything in life is temporary. All we can do is make every effort to enjoy the present, for change is the only thing guaranteed in the future.
So, it could be a toy breaking, it could be a relationship ending, it could be a move impending. All of this is but preparation for the inevitable end of this life—namely death. And so it is that the toy breaking, the relationship ending, or the move that separates one from another are merely a rehearsal for the one constant in the existence of fallen humanity. Death is unavoidable. It will remain until the end when Christ destroys death once and for all and ushers in the eternal life that has no end. Oh, how we long for that day! For we know that death is contrary to God’s plan. It’s not the way He made it to be. He did not intend for His people to live with this kind of pain. And yet, because of sin, it is a pain which we have brought upon ourselves.
And so, death is inevitable—as are the other facets of life which teach us of its impermanence and temporary nature. Now, don’t misunderstand. The loss of physical possessions or of relationships is painful—even more so in the case of death—but they are a necessary part of human life on this side of eternity because we must learn the hard truth that this life is temporary.
There is no place where one learns this hard lesson more profoundly than at the funeral of a loved one—especially when that funeral is for a child, especially when it is your only child, and especially when your spouse is already dead and you are all alone. Some of you know what this is like from similar experiences. But even if you have not experienced the death of a closed family member, you can imagine the pain, the sorrow, the loneliness, and the helplessness of the woman in today’s Gospel text. She walks out of the city gate in the funeral procession of her son. She is likely walking the very same path which she walked when her husband was buried. But now she is all alone—not literally, of course, for there is a crowd of friends and neighbors accompanying her. But in a very real sense, this woman is alone.
Those of you who have experienced tragic or deep loss know this feeling all too well. There are certain times in life when it really doesn’t matter who is physically around you. There are things, especially grief, that one must face alone. I certainly don’t want to downplay the importance of walking along side of another person in their grief. Your presence with someone in their grief can be powerful and strengthening in a way that can’t really be put into words. But that kind of presence notwithstanding, mental and spiritual anguish is something that must be endured individually. You cannot take grief from someone in the way that you can carry a heavy load of groceries for them. Buying a new toy or promising to FaceTime or visit after the move cannot make time roll back any more than keeping someone’s memory alive can bring them back from death. In the end, the temporary nature of life in this world means that each must bear his own load and learn to shoulder the effects of grief and loss.
But what happens next in our Gospel text is both instructive and comforting for us:
“And the Lord saw her and had compassion upon her, and He said to her: ‘Do not weep’” (Luke 7:13).
Jesus sees your pain, and He has compassion upon your suffering and grief in a way that no fallen human being can. Perhaps the most comforting words in our entire text are the words: “The Lord saw her.” The Lord always sees the suffering and pain of His people. He saw the affliction of His people Israel who were slaves in Egypt, so He sent a deliverer to bring them out of slavery and into the Promised Land. Likewise, the Lord saw the suffering of the woman in our Gospel text, and He said, “Do not weep.” And He stretched out His hand and touched the open coffin, and He said, “Young man, I say to you, arise” (Luke 7:14). And the young man arose, and He returned him to his mother.
Dear friends in Christ, in the same way, the Lord Jesus sees your hurt. He sees your grief. He knows your pain. And He says to you today: Do not weep. Sure, it’s okay to be sad when the reality of the impermanence of this life strikes you in the face. It’s okay to be emotional when you realize that what you have known is coming to an end—whether by death or other means. These words, “Do not weep”, are not a prohibition against all sorrow in this life, for even Christ Himself wept at the tomb of His friend. These words, “Do not weep”, are a prohibition against despair. As Saint Paul said to the Thessalonians, Christians grieve in hope. “Do not weep”, therefore, is a call to faith. You may (and, indeed, will) experience profound sorrow and grief in this life when faced with loss or death. But do not give up hope. For Christ sees you. And His love for you moves Him to compassion.
Christ stretched out His hand to touch the dead man, and in so doing, He ritually traded places with the dead man. Christ took his uncleanness and death upon Himself, in turn giving him His own holiness and life. For soon there would be another widow exiting the city gates in procession behind her only begotten Son, and she would witness His suffering and death. And Christ would stretch out His hands once again, this times as they were nailed to the cross, and the weight of the world’s sin would rest upon His shoulders. One Son died in place of another.
In the same way, Christ also touches you in His word and especially in His Sacrament. At the altar, His holiness becomes your holiness, His life becomes your life as your sin is placed up Him, and your death becomes His death. But Christ does not need to be sacrificed again on Calvary’s cross, for the death He died He died to sin once for all. And the life He now lives He lives to God so that you may be reckoned dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus our Lord. And so it is that the words of the crowd are profoundly true: “God has visited His people” (Luke 7:16).
Dear friends in Christ, this is the point: This life is temporary, but life in Christ endures. You are not in control of your life—that much is painfully obvious. But the Lord Jesus is in control.
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning (Psalm 30:5b).
For we who are in Christ, the example of the woman in our Gospel text is profoundly comforting—for she received in time what we shall receive in eternity. When she was reunited with her son, she learned that in Christ that which is temporary in this life is in the hands of God.
No, I can’t promise that in the new creation you will receive back your old broken toys, but I can promise you something far greater. In the new creation you will receive back your loved ones who have died in the faith—both those who have preceded you in death and those who will follow you. And you will likewise be reunited with all your friends in Christ, both far and near. Yes, the things of this life are temporary, but so is the pain of this life. In Christ we have a hope and a comfort which endures eternally. It is in this hope that we face earthly pain and loss, knowing that it is but temporary.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.
