The surgeon who had suffered losses in his own family, and was still in pain from a failed marriage, felt very distant from God. He replied in a chilling tone, "No, what I’ll find is damaged tissue, constricted arteries and weakened muscle."
The next day he opened the boy’s chest and exposed his heart. It was worse than he expected; a ravaged aorta, torn tissue, swollen muscles and arteries. There was no hope of a cure, not even the possibility of a transplant. His icy anger at God began to surface as he thought, "Where is God? Why did God do this? Why is God letting this boy suffer and cursing him to an early death?"
As he gazed on the boy’s heart he suddenly thought of the pierced heart of Jesus and it seemed to him that the boy and Jesus shared one heart, a heart that was suffering for all those in the world experiencing pain and loss; a heart that was redeeming the world by love.
Struck with awe at such goodness, such redemptive unconditional love, tears began rolling down the surgeon’s cheeks, hot tears of compassion for the little boy. Later, when the child awoke, he whispered, "Did you see my heart?" "Yes," said the surgeon. "What did you find?" the boy asked. The surgeon replied, "I found Jesus there."
This Sunday’s Gospel presents us with the tragic story of a widow who is about to bury her only son. The death of a widow’s only son means that the source of her livelihood, of food, of care, of clothes, of a home, is now gone. His death means utter poverty and a hasty death for her. In the story, Jesus is moved with deep compassion for her, and says to her, “Do not weep” - which means, “Don’t be afraid, don’t be sorrowful, I’m going to help you now.” He moves forward, touches the coffin and everyone stands still. He tells the young man to get up – arise! Then the dead son sits up, and begins to speak. Here in this most profound stillness, with an invisible laser-like movement of grace, Jesus gives the son to his mother. I often wonder what it was like for the young man to open his eyes and see only Jesus. Truly, he found Jesus there! What were his first words to his mother? I also imagine that Jesus may have had a premonition – an inner knowing - that this holy moment is a foretelling of what he will one day do from his cross – that of giving his own mother into the care of John.
So here we are with this nameless widow, whom we know at the time of Jesus, had no voice, no 401K, no Social Security benefits, no regular payments from a spouse’s Life Insurance, no weekly newsletter on “Tips for Getting Through a Crisis,” or any Grief Relief support group. But what we do know is that Jesus raised her up too! He gave her back to the community, to her son, to herself.
So let us ponder this week, When in our lives have we experienced being “raised up”? What experience, event, person, vision, story, poem, image, occasion, opportunity, chance, gift, moment, place, adventure raised us up with feelings of acceptance, belonging, being forgiven, being listened to, understood, and loved? Let us find Jesus there! Let us be aware this week for all the ways that we practice “raising up” others. Let us find Jesus there. And when we are recipients of being “raised up” by another, let us find Jesus there.
A story of "rising" from the landfill.
“For Grief” by John O’Donohue, from To Bless the Space Between Us
When you lose someone you love, Your life becomes strange, The ground beneath you gets fragile, Your thoughts make your eyes unsure; And some dead echo drags your voice down where words have no confidence.
Your heart has grown heavy with loss; And though this loss has wounded others too, No one knows what has been taken from you when the silence of absence deepens.Flickers of guilt kindle regret; For all that was left unsaid or undone. There are days when you wake up happy; Again inside the fullness of life, Until the moment breaks, And you are thrown back onto the black tide of loss.
Days when you have your heart back, You are able to function well, Until in the middle of work or encounter, Suddenly with no warning, You are ambushed by grief.
It becomes hard to trust yourself. All you can depend on now is that, Sorrow will remain faithful to itself. More than you, it knows its way, And will find the right time to pull and pull the rope of grief, Until that coiled hill of tears has reduced to its last drop. Gradually, you will learn acquaintance, With the invisible form of your departed; And when the work of grief is done, The wound of loss will heal, And you will have learned to wean your eyes from that gap in the air, and be able to enter the hearth in your soul where your loved one, Has awaited your return, All the time.
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