In the Name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Luther’s great Easter hymn, Christ Jesus Lay in Death’s Strong Bands, has this line that has always fascinated me: It was a strange and dreadful strife when life and death contended (LSB 458:4). That strange and dreadful strife happened over the course of a particular three days. But for some reason I always pair the words of that hymn with this scene outside the village of Nain.
I imagine a country road, just after sunrise, and coming down the road from the town is a funeral procession: mourners and pallbearers dressed in black. Weeping had tarried through the night. The widow kept vigil by her son’s lifeless body. Maybe there were a few other kind women to sit up with her during the long dark hours. But now it was time to go out to the cemetery. And leading the procession I picture Death himself.
Then coming up the road from the opposite direction is quite a different procession. I picture it full of color, laughter, and joy. And leading this procession is the Lord of Life. And then the two processions meet. They stop. It’s as if all creation holds its breath—what will happen? Which one will give way? All you can hear in the still morning air is the soft weeping of the widow. It was a strange and dreadful strife when life and death contended.
But Luther’s Easter hymn and our Scripture reading go on:
The victory remained with life,
the reign of death was ended.
Holy Scripture plainly saith
that death is swallowed up by death,
its sting is lost forever. Alleluia!
The dreadful silence was broken by the Lord’s strong and compassionate words: Stop weeping. Young man, I say to you, arise.
Most of us have joined in a procession out to the cemetery. Most, except for maybe the very youngest among us, know the pain and tears of losing a loved one. Only some of us know the grief of burying a child. The ordinary progression of things is that children are supposed to bury their parents, not the other way around. I’m not sure if there can be a sharper pain or more bitter tears than that of a parent who has lost their child. Perhaps that has something to do with our Lord’s compassion on this tormented mother. Of all the thousands of people that surely died during Jesus’ three-year ministry, He only raised a handful of them. So, for His own good purposes He came to this grieving woman and showed His compassion to her.
He said to her, Stop weeping. That sounds so offensive to us, helpless people. Can you imagine saying that in the line at the funeral home? But what can we really offer the grieving mother or father? What can we do besides hug them and cry with them? Most of the time, the words we try to muster are woefully inadequate, if not downright unhelpful. As awkward as it might feel, we might actually try just using the words of Scripture the next time we go to a wake. We might say something like: “He was baptized and God has him in His hands.” Or, “We’ll see her again in the resurrection.” Or something as simple as, “The peace of Jesus be with you.” Our made-up words definitely won’t help, so we might as well speak God’s Word.
Jesus just says, Stop weeping. He says God’s Word. His Word. And He is not being mean—He has compassion on her. He is not scolding her or telling her that her tears are wrong. Her tears are right. Mothers should not have to bury their sons. Actually, no one should be buried, no one should be taken. Death is not what God originally intended. It comes as His punishment for sin. It is not what Jesus wants for this young man, or that weeping mother, or for us. And so He tells her to stop weeping because He is going to make things right. She won’t need to weep anymore because Jesus is going to return her son to her. He is going to give life to the dead. That is what Jesus does.
He is the Lord of death and life. This is true, not only because He is God, but because He is a Man. And from Nain, this Man, our God, went on to Jerusalem where He suffered death. He became like all men, subject to death. He took the punishment of all sinners. He suffered the pain and the tears. His soul was torn from His body, that means He died. He died our death—the death of sinners—in order to conquer death. Holy Scripture plainly saith that death is swallowed up by death. Our death, including the death of that young man, is all swallowed up by the death of Jesus.
And with the reign of death ended, the true King arose. His soul and body was reunited—a living person. This Man, our God, stepped out of our grave and now He lives and reigns forever. That is why Jesus can say Stop weeping and Young man, I say to you, arise. That is why Jesus alone can say that and actually make it all happen.
And of course you know when Jesus achieved all this: on a Sunday morning. On a Sunday morning He rose from the grave. That’s the day of the week forever marked with the victory of life over death. And that’s why Christians made it the practice to come to church on Sunday. It is the day of Resurrection. Not just the annual celebration of Easter, but every Sunday is Resurrection Day. Every Sunday morning is Easter morning. In the ordinary Sunday Communion liturgy the pastor sings, It is truly good, right, and salutary that we should at all times and in all places give thanks to You, holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God, through Jesus Christ, our Lord, who on this day overcame death and the grave and by His glorious resurrection opened to us the way of everlasting life (Common Proper Preface). This is the Day that the Lord has made. Sunday is the Day that the Lord has made. This is the Day of our Lord’s victory over death. And that means Sunday is the Day of our victory over death. Let us rejoice and be glad in it (Ps. 118:24).
Now, it’s still okay for Christians to cry in church. Even on a Sunday. It is okay to miss our sons, daughters, parents, and grandparents, even as we gather on a Sunday to celebrate the resurrection. It’s okay because we do not grieve without hope. On Sunday, we are celebrating our Lord’s resurrection, and the resurrection that is coming for our sons, daughters, parents, grandparents, and for ourselves. I believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting. We may still weep for now but we have hope. For it is here on Sunday, the Resurrection Day, that your Lord meets you and says to you once again, “Stop weeping. I forgive you all your sins. My peace be with you. Take, eat and drink My body and blood for the forgiveness of your sins. And wherever there is forgiveness of sins, there is also life and salvation.”
Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning (Ps. 30:5). We are still waiting for that final Sunday morning. The widow of Nain had a taste of it, because her dead son sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother. I can only imagine how the silence was broken as those two processions mingled together, laughing and singing, praising and glorifying God.
On that final and greatest Sunday morning—that final Resurrection Day—the Lord will meet us like He did at Nain. Death’s reign is done, so the silence of death will be broken, and the funeral procession will finally be stopped for good. And the Lord of Life will say, “Stop weeping. I say to you, arise.” And indeed heaven and earth, all creation and all believers, will shout and laugh and sing for the joy of that morning.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed! Alleluia!
In the Holy + Name of Jesus. Amen.
Preached at Trinity, Clinton, and Immanuel, Charlotte, IA
