even after death & dirt

The Holy Gospel according to St. Luke!

Normally she cherished such calls. Now that her husband had passed, every phone call her daughter made was a treasure.

Suddenly, though, the phone was heavy in her hand. Suddenly, though, this conversation was by no means a treasure.

This mother couldn't believe what her daughter had said, what she had heard...

So it was when her only-daughter made the announcement to the congregation that news finally sunk in.

Her legs stuck to the ground, her head felt as it it were deep underwater with tides pushing her this way and that, and all around her a terrible roar.

This widow wondered if the world itself had been turned upon itself.

"I have a brain-tumor that will eventually take my life," her daughter had said to the congregation. "I'd like your prayers."

It wasn't right, burying her daughter - it should be the other way around, the mother thought...

But so it was, that someone in the congregation, upon hearing the daughter's request, decided they could pray with that young woman as she approached her death.

But so it was, that this someone decided that the congregation would pray for this woman with their lips and their actions.

Finally, so it was that this person organized regular visits for the young woman, this person got together people to help this young woman plan her own funeral.

And then months later, so it was, one day in the hospital when that widowed mother felt time slow, moments stretching on and on until it felt like time stopped altogether.

What was happening was that her daughter was dying, her breaths becoming more shallow and less frequent.

What was happening, though, was that it was hard to hear her daughter's breathing.

What was happening, though, was that it was not just this widow and her daughter in the hospital room...

What was happening, though, was that members of the congregation had packed this hospital room as this young woman died; and they were singing the songs that would be sung at her funeral.

So it was, in that moment when that mother thought the procession of death would carry her daughter to the grace, that the procession of life interrupted everything.

So it was in that moment that time slowed.

As the hands of the clock took longer and longer to tick, the melody of those hymns made something apparent; apparent to everyone in that hospital room: the singing members, the nurses, the mother and the young woman; as time slowed and the room was filled not with space but people, as the room was filled with the scent not of antiseptic but bodies pressed together, as the room was filled not with the beeps and blips of monitoring devices but hymns, it became apparent to all that death was not going to have the last word that day.

God broke into that widow's world, and time slowed. God burst into that hospital room, and the procession of death was interrupted by the procession of life.

The widow looked up, with tears that had begun in the corners but now nearly burst from her eyes; she looked up and asked, "why me."

The room was still, and finally the person who months ago had decided really to pray for that young woman said, because you needed it.

The procession of death was interrupted by the procession of life...

There are moments, moments when time slows and God interrupts life.

There are moments, moments when hours, minutes even seconds stretch on because something remarkable, something miraculous, and something altogether holy is happening.

Just listen to today's gospel:

Jesus has just healed a Gentile, an occupying soldier's servant and now, with an entourage following, Jesus enters another city in Galilee. As he is approaching the city, though, another crowd passes his.

A young man, Luke tells us, is being carried out of the city to be buried. This young man leaves behind his mother. This young man's mother is another widow, and now she has little means to provide for herself.

The scene is tragic.

So it is, that as this entourage of death, full of mourners and this tragic widow, make their way out of the city, something happens.

 

Jesus leaves his entourage of life.

When Jesus does this, when he leaves his group, he crosses many boundaries.

The boundary of clean and unclean is crossed.

Jesus steps out of his group and touches the dead-body being carried out of the city.

AND WHEN JESUS DOES THIS, SOMETHING REMARKABLE HAPPENS:

EVERYTHING STOPS!

The crowd, the mourning, time itself.

It all stops...

But then another remarkable things happens:

That one who had been stopped tragically early by death, moves!

The young man sits up. He sits up and he talks!

Now even that last boundary, the boundary of life and death, has been crossed by Jesus.

When Jesus steps back from the void separating death from life, Jesus takes this young man who had been dead but is now alive, Jesus takes this young man and gives him to the grieving widow, gives him to his mother.

 

Suddenly time moves again!

 

As everyone watches this miraculous, incredible holy moment, time finally starts to click-along again, and everyone praises God.

This Gospel-scene is just like that first story we heard, about the widow and the young woman with a brain-tumor. These two stories have much in common.

 

This Gospel-scene is just like in that first story, that there are moments when time stops.

 

This Gospel-scene is just like that first story, that there are moments when God interrupts our processions of death, with one of life.

This Gospel-scene is just like that first story, that the person who God breaks into history on behalf of, is the one who needs it: the lame, the lost, the lonely.

What both of these stories convey is that the people God breaks into the world on behalf of, the people Jesus came to save, are the very people who can do nothing for themselves; the very people who find their story veering toward tragedy.

In other words, in both stories, and in this world generally; it is the ones who are in need: the lost, lowly, lame, that God's breaks into history to interrupt their procession of death with one of life.

And there is one more thing both of these stories have in common...

In both of these stories we see how tenacious God is. In both of these stories we see that God does whatever it takes to save God's creation.

In the first story we hear that God uses the body of Christ on earth, the church, to transform death into life.

In the second story we hear that God does something ungodly, leaving heaven to become a human, to transform death into life.

In both of these stories we see that God will use anything to interrupt those processions of death, even you and I, sisters and brothers.

In other words; these stories about God interrupting a funeral procession, are about people not like us, but us ourselves.

In those stories we heard not only about two widows who find their narrative hurtling drastically toward calamity, led by a procession of death, but we hear about ourselves, our world too. In these stories we hear about how God interrupts our processions of death.

In those moments when it seems the narratives can end nowhere except the grave, God interrupts the procession of tragedy, with a procession of life.

In both of these stories we hear whispers of how not just these stories ended, but how our story will end, the story of the world will end, how the story ends.

What happens is that as these stories end, we hear how our story ends.

And this is good news, sisters and brothers.

See, for those of us who sit comfortably here, tragedy can seem a ways off. But for those of us who sit here humbled here, we know that it is only a call from a doctor, a car that won't run, a loss in the family, that separates us from those widows we heard about today - regardless of how much we try to pretend otherwise and ignore how fragile life is.

The good news is that for those of us who sit here, wherever we may be, we get to hear clues to how the story ends. The good news is that we see that in all of these incredibly vulnerable narratives, God bursts in.

As these stories draw to a close, we notice Jesus' interruption giving the stories going headlong to tragedy, a new ending.

We hear the kind of ending God will give and does gives us all.

The good news is that for those of us who sit here, Jesus interrupts story. Jesus interrupts the story when we can do nothing ourselves but be carried toward the grave by a procession of death. Jesus interrupts the story by interrupting our procession and saying, "rise."

The good news is that for those of us who sit here, we hear about a God who doesn't interrupt history for the strong, beautiful, and wealthy; but the people who are in need: the lost, lowly and lame;

people such as you and I.

The good news, as Luke puts it, is that Jesus has compassion.

That is the good news.

As our procession of death goes to the grave, God is moved by compassion.

As the entourage of tragedy carries us away, God full of compassion interrupts the procession, touches our coffin and says, "rise."

When this happens, yes time slows, but when we move again we find ourselves and the world with us praising God.

That is the good news, when compassion rules, the world -us included - praise God.

Amen