The Pain of Nain and the Hope of Easter

By Brian Allred

It’s easy to get sucked into the drama of an epic showdown. You can think old school like Luke Skywalker facing Darth Vader in Star Wars, or Rocky Balboa squaring off against Ivan Drago in Rocky IV (or perhaps you prefer his bout against Clubber Lang in Rocky III). More recently, there’s Iron Man facing down Thanos in Avengers: Endgame. Maybe you’re more drawn to the drama of sports showdowns like Michigan vs. Ohio State in college football, Duke vs. North Carolina in college basketball, or the Yankees playing the Dodgers in the World Series.

As entertaining as we might find these kinds of showdowns, they’re all trivial and inconsequential when we consider the epic confrontation that took place 2000 years ago at the gate of a small, backwoods village twenty-five miles southwest of the Sea of Galilee. At a place called Nain there was a conflict literally between life and death. A family ravaged by sorrow and the seeming finality of the grave intersected with a man who would oppose death head on to defeat it. In an episode recorded only by Luke in Luke 7:11-17, we find the pain of Nain clashing with the hope of Easter – and we’re invited to participate in the miraculous, joyous victory of Jesus. But the first thing we encounter in Luke’s text is crisis.

Crisis

The incident occurs after Jesus leaves Capernaum on the north side of the Sea of Galilee where he had encountered a Roman centurion who displayed remarkable faith. After subsequently healing the centurion’s servant, Jesus heads south “and his disciples and a great crowd went with him,” likely with a buzz of excitement over the recent miracle. But as they drew near to the gate of Nain, their excitement is dampened by something dark and gloomy—a funeral procession. Luke tells us that a “considerable crowd from the town” was participating in this march of grief. They are in the midst of the greatest crisis: death.

This funeral was particularly painful. Luke informs us that the deceased was “the only son of his mother.” The language Jesus uses later in verse 14 suggests he was likely somewhere between 15-25 years old [1]. Of all funerals, burying a child is perhaps the hardest to bear. It’s been said that losing a child is the greatest reason to doubt the existence of God [2]. It’s been described as a period placed before the end of the sentence. It seems out of order—parents aren’t supposed to bury their children. Instead, this woman must lead to the grave the one she brought forth into life. She must endure the overwhelming pain of looking upon his now lifeless body. The boy she had rocked, the boy she had bounced on her lap, the hands she held as he learned to walk are now pale and cold. She’s been robbed of all of the joy that this child brought to her life. There would be no more conversations, no more hugs, no sound of his voice or laughter. Just silence.

She knows the days ahead will be marked by Herculean efforts to build a house of normalcy out of cards and to maintain a composure that can collapse in an instant from memories triggered by a million things that make up her life. And she knows this because she has experience with funerals. Luke adds that “she was a widow.” Death stole her husband before it took her only son. In a culture in which women had little means of support and provision apart from men, the loss of her husband and her only son leaves her not only mourning but destitute and alone in her crisis [3].

Some of you reading this know the crisis of death and grief – the pain of Nain. You’ve been there. Maybe you’re there now. But we all need to face the reality that this is the crisis of every single one of us. The crisis can be seen going out of any city or town in the world at any time. It’s not if we’ll face the pain of Nain but when. If you’re married odds are that one of you will be putting the other one in the ground at some point. And I hope no one ever has to endure the loss of a child, but that only means you’ll be burying your parents. There’s no escaping that it’ll be one or the other.

A further truth is that at some point you’re going to be the one carried out to the grave. No one is getting out of here alive. That’s my crisis and your crisis. Can there be any comfort in the face of this reality? Yes. It’s found in the one with this other group approaching the funeral procession and the compassion he brings.

Compassion

What was Jesus’ reaction to the crisis, this scene of death and grief, this widow in her distress? We read in verse 13: “when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her.” Luke uses a rather strong Greek term to describe how Jesus felt [4]. Perhaps we could say it socked him in the gut. The paraphrased translation in The Message says: “when Jesus saw her, his heart broke.” Jesus was deeply moved in the face of this crisis and he was touched by this woman’s pain and sorrow. In his book Gentle and Lowly, Dane Ortlund remarks: “Jesus did not simply operate in deeds of compassion but actually felt the inner turmoils and roiling emotions of pity toward the unfortunate” [5].

Much like today, though we don’t like to admit it, people would have been tempted to wonder what this woman had done to deserve such hardship. What sins must this woman have committed to lose her husband and her only son? What was God punishing her for? But we don’t get any hint that Jesus thinks that way [6]. He doesn’t attach any stigma to this woman’s pain or to her son’s death. At the same time, Luke records no impulse on the part of Jesus to offer theological explanations for her circumstances either. He simply feels compassion.

Notice also he’s not responding to any expressed faith but simply to human suffering. Remember that Jesus had just come from healing the centurion’s servant where the centurion had expressed astonishing faith in the power and goodness of Jesus. But that’s not the case with this woman. All the initiative here is taken by Jesus. He doesn’t reserve his compassion for the famous, the powerful, the eloquent, the impressive or important, or those who come from the right places. And that’s good news because most of us are more like the widow than the centurion.

The compassionate response reflects the heart of Jesus and reveals that God cares about your pain. He is not cold or calloused or uncaring. He is far from indifferent or apathetic. Jesus cares deeply about your crises, your grief, and your losses. He sees your tears, he knows your sorrow, he walks with you through your darkest valleys. While he probably won’t give you theological explanations, you can be encouraged that: “The Lord of life stands beside you in death. The Lord of hope is your companion in your most hopeless moment. The Prince of Peace supports you when no peace can be found” [7].

But is this all Jesus does? Does he simply feel pity? We might rightly be encouraged by his sympathetic reaction, but that alone doesn’t alleviate her crisis or grief. Well, Luke doesn’t just tell us what Jesus feels—he tells us what Jesus says: “do not weep.” If someone has ever said this to you during a time of heavy loss and deep sorrow, you know this is less than helpful. But Jesus has reasons for saying it. He most surely doesn’t say it because grieving in the face of death is wrong [8]. But it’s not an empty platitude. He says it because he can fix the problem. He says it because he will resolve the crisis as his compassion leads to conquest.

Conquest

It’s likely that Jesus transgressed common social custom when as a complete stranger he invades the space and halts the progress of this procession according to verse 14: “Then he came up and touched the bier” [9].  Even more surprising than the violation of personal space is the fact that he touched the bier [10]. When he does, the bearers stop.

The showdown has now reached its apex. The foes are face-to-face. Life vs. Death. Jesus strikes first: “Young man, I say to you, arise.” What? Did Jesus just tell a dead guy to get up?  Does he think he could actually bring a dead person back to life simply by speaking a word? Was the mourning replaced with dismissive snickering? Well, if any one thought Jesus was joking they didn’t think it for long. We read in verse 15: “the dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesusgave him to his mother.” Not only was the young man brought back to life, he was healthy and talking. There is power in the word. The universe burst into life through the divine word, Jesus calmed the sea by his word, he healed the centurion’s servant by his word, and by his word he can even give life to the dead.

It’s worth pointing out that Jesus could have simply spoken a word and raised the widow’s son, as he had just done in healing the centurion’s servant. Why did he touch the bier? This seemingly unnecessary act would have exposed Jesus to the most severe form of ritual uncleanness according to Old Testament law [11]. A high priest wasn’t allowed to enter a room with a dead body, even if it was one of his parents [12]. It was ingrained in the Jewish mind that you don’t touch the dead. But Jesus touched the untouchable. He willingly infected himself with our uncleanness. Indeed, he embraced our death that we might embrace his life. As the apostle Paul would later write: “For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” [13].  Put another way: “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree’” [14].

In a miraculous display of grace and mercy, God restored an only son to this widow. This anticipates another miraculous display of grace and mercy: instead of giving an only son back, he gave an only son up—his only Son—to restore life to us. The events at Nain give us a preview of what would happen on Good Friday when Jesus took all the uncleanness and sin of his people upon himself, was crucified, and descended into the grave. They also give us a preview of what would happen on Easter morning when he would shatter the chains of death, rising in glorious victory, proving that our frailty, our mortality, our grief, and our death are not the final word.

Conclusion

The account of this miracle ends in verses 16-17 with the people understandably glorifying God and spreading the news about Jesus. After all, this is not the kind of news you keep to yourself. So praise God and tell those in crisis that there is atonement in Jesus’ touch. Praise God and tell those in need of compassion that they don’t have to be perfect, they don’t have to have the right words, they don’t have to be powerful, they can be in the midst of confusion, grief, pain, or regret—Jesus’ arms are stretched out to receive the broken and hurting. Praise God and tell of the conquest. Jesus is Risen. Death is defeated. The pain of Nain is swallowed up by the hope of Easter.

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notes

[1] According to Johannes P. Louw and Eugene Albert Nida, Greek-English Lexicon of the New Testament: Based on Semantic Domains (New York: United Bible Societies, 1996), 107, the Greek word νεανίσκος refers to “a young man beyond the age of puberty, but normally before marriage.”

[2] The saying is often attributed to Fyodor Dostoevsky but credible citations are lacking.

[3] According to Craig Keener, “For a widow’s only son to die before she did was considered extremely tragic; it also left her dependent on public charity for support unless she had other relatives of means.” See Craig S. Keener, The IVP Bible Background Commentary: New Testament (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1993).

[4] The verb is σπλαγχνίζομαι. For a thorough treatment on the meaning and various uses of the term, see Helmut Köster’s entry in Gerhard Kittel, Geoffrey W. Bromiley, and Gerhard Friedrich, Theological Dictionary of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1964), 548.

[5] Dane Ortlund, Gentle and Lowly (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2020), 106.

[6] In John 9:1-3, Jesus’ disciples seem to assume that a blind man’s condition must have directly resulted from someone’s personal sin – either his parents’ sin or his own. Jesus dismissed such a reductionistic understanding and so we should, too.

[7] Paul David Tripp, “When Grief Enters Your Door,” The Journal of Biblical Counseling, Winter/2005, 8-9.

[8] Jesus himself weeps at the grave of Lazarus in John 11:35.

[9] See Keener, The IVP Bible Background Commentary.  

[10] Jews did not use caskets at that time. The young man’s body would have been carried to the place of burial on a flat, open wooden plank, referred to in the ESV as a bier (Greek σορός), with the body being wrapped and lying face up. See Keener, The IVP Bible Background Commentary.  

[11] See Numbers 19:11-20.

[12] See Leviticus 21:11.

[13] See 2 Corinthians 5:21.

[14] See Galatians 3:13.