Could you love a God like that?

Author Ken Gire wrote a series of books back in the 90’s that quickly became some of my favorites.  One of them is entitled Incredible Moments with the Savior.  I want to pull a story from that book and see if we can see things a bit differently. 

“Nain is a cozy community carved out of a rocky slope overlooking the valley of Jezreel.  It is springtime, and the valley is a sea of wind-blown grass, frothing with wildflowers; the air, redolent with the blossoms of fruit trees. 

But in the valley of this widow’s heart, it is the dead of winter.

Twice, death has reached its icy fingers into her family and wrenched loved ones from her.  First her husband.  Now her son.  Her only son.

For years she has faced an uncertain future. Now she faces it alone. With no one to hold her hand.  With no one to steady her steps.

No one to comfort her when she cries herself to sleep at night.  No one to wake up to in the morning.  No one to fix breakfast for.  No one to share the holy days, or the common days, or any days at all for that matter.  No one to grow old with.  And no one to look after her in the autumn of life.

No one.

Nothing remains but an empty shell of a house.  A house that years ago gave up waiting for a husband to come home from work.  And now, no longer waits for that husband’s son.

The sagging house is slumped in its own grief, retreating into itself, silent and still.  There are no sounds of animated talk that chronicle the day.  No ripples of laughter.  No late-night conversations.  Only quiet tributaries of grief running from room to room.

Bundled in her heart is a too-short stack of memories.  Not enough to cloak her from the chill of her present loneliness, let alone to keep her warm in her old age.

The open coffin leads the way to the cemetery outside of town.  Trailing in its wake is the weeping mother, relatives, close friends, and other mourners.  Interspersed throughout the procession are the melancholy, dove-like calls of flutes and the plaintive tinkling of cymbals.  A chorus of women chant their laments while men pray and plod along in silent vigil.

But at the same time this crowd is leaving Nain, another crowd is entering.  The one is following a coffin; the other is following Christ.  The one is filled with sorrow and despair; the other, with excitement and hope.

In respect for the dead the crowd following Jesus pulls back, allowing the funeral procession to thread its way through the gate. 

There, life and death stand on two distinct islands.  The bridge between the two is a mother’s grief, arching over a torrent of tears.

When Jesus sees the tears wrung from the mother’s heart, every thought that had preoccupied Him on His journey flees.  The whole of His attention focuses on this shattered woman.

All He knows is her desperation.  All He feels is her pain.  All He sees is her tears.

And those tears are the flame that melts his heart.

Jesus extends his hand to touch the coffin, and the procession lurches to a stop.  He isn’t concerned with protocol or etiquette or even with the fact that touching a coffin would render Him unclean in the eyes of the rabbinic law.  His only concern is for this desperate mother.

“Don’t cry.”

The words are not out of a textbook on pastoral care.  They seep from the cracks of a heart bursting with compassion.  Jesus turns to the woman’s son.

‘Young man, I say to you, get up.’

Two words to the bereaved, eight to the deceased.  But that is enough.  Enough to snatch a son from death’s pilfering hand and return him to the arms of his mother.

The young man sits up and talks!  What he says we are not told.  But surely one of the first words to stumble from his lips is ‘Mother’.

The miracle is an incredible display of the Savior’s power.  But there is something even more incredible about this auspicious meeting at the town gate.

This mother had not asked for a miracle.  She had not thrown herself at the Savior’s feet and begged for the life of her son.  She hadn’t demonstrated great faith.  In fact, she hadn’t demonstrated any faith at all.  As far as we know, she didn’t even know who Jesus was.

That is what is so incredible.

It’s a miracle done without human prompting.  Without thought of lessons to be taught to the disciples.  Without thought of deity to be demonstrated to skeptics.  It is a miracle drawn solely from the well of divine compassion.  So free the water.  So pure the heart from which it is drawn.  So tender the hand that cups it and brings it to this bereaved mother’s lips.”

 (Incredible Moments with the Savior, Ken Gire ©1990, Zondervan,  pp 41-45)

Let me ask you:  Could you love a God like that?  Would you not want to be near One who has already been moved by compassion at your plight?  He has already responded and provided a way for you to be reunited with your loved ones.  Already death has been conquered and only awaits divine Word before it must retreat and give up those it, even now, holds in its icy clutches.  When Jesus, who conquered death, gives the command, there is no power in heaven or hell that can hold back those who will respond to the call of the Conquerer.  I ask you again: Could you love a God like that?

The Return isn’t about the logistics, it’s about the Person.  It isn’t about knowing the facts, as important as they may be, but about knowing the One who, out of love, has already provided for us.  It’s about relationship.