Walking into Nain, Jesus is having déjà vu yet in reverse. Luke is playing
with echoes, bouncing back and forth “browsing through time.”
Nain is a mirror (not a good one perhaps, but
a mirror nonetheless). Two crowds, both led by individuals, meet at the city
gate. Just outside the gate, Jesus leads a festive crowd full of life. Just
inside the gate a widow leads a funeral procession full of grief.
As Jesus looks at the crowd before Him, He
sees an echo of His future self (Marco!): a dead young man lying on a bier, his
mother and other women weeping and following. More importantly, He sees an echo
of His future mother (Polo!): a grieving widow who has lost her only son, her
security, her home and her place in society.
Jesus has a soft spot for widows who lose
their only sons, and the widow of Nain is no exception. Women were
undervalued in Jewish society in that they were socially and economically
diminished by the absence or loss of husbands and children. Women were seldom
allowed to fend for themselves, and when they had no close male relative to
defend their rights (a “goel”) they were left to the mercy of unscrupulous men
such as the Pharisees who “devoured widows’ homes” through various nefarious
means.
Jesus knows exactly what’s in store for this
woman now that her son is dead. And He finds that personally unacceptable.
“Don’t cry.”
Luke (somewhere behind us now) calls out
again, “Marco!” just as Jesus reaches up to touch the bier.
“Polo!” Suddenly, we are holding hands with
the widow of Zarephath at the foot of the stairs as we hear overhead the
renewed patter of two small feet and then watch them descend into view one step
at a time.
“Marco!” It’s a black day – the air is tight
and ominous. God’s wrath is racing through the air. Almost overhead, we hear a
rattling sound and watch alongside Mary and John as Jesus takes His last
breaths on the cross.
“Polo!” says the young man as he sits up on
the bier and we’re snapped back into the moment at hand.
It is indeed a miraculous moment, but it is
hardly a surprising one. By now, we ought to know that Jesus’ compassion knows
no limits, breaks all rules, smashes boundaries. Jesus gives the widow His
mercy as well. He could just as easily and effortlessly have said, “Let the
dead bury the dead, you follow me.” But instead, He gives her back her son along
with Himself – her present and her future.
This moment will come again, Luke reminds us.
After all, it’s just the dress rehearsal for a deeper, truer moment. Jesus will
re-enact this scene as He dies on the cross. In His last and perhaps most
personal act of compassion – struggling to breathe – He will motion to Mary, nod
to John and whisper, “Woman…behold thy son.”
