“Through the Eyes of the Widow”

Second Sunday of Pentecost

Sunday June 6, 2010

1 Kings 17: 17-24

Psalm 146

Galatians 1: 11-24

One of the greatest challenges facing the church, at this point in history, concerns the issue of biblical interpretation.  The question of biblical interpretation is, in fact, at the heart of a number of the most significant issues in our world today.  From the debates about the relationship between religion and science, to the issues related to claims to the land in Israel and Palestine, to the question of the church’s perspectives on the relationship between the sexes (and between people of the same sex), to understandings about the relationships between people of different faiths – all of these questions are influenced, in significant ways, by questions of biblical interpretation.  

Should the Genesis account be read literally or metaphorically?  Did God mean for the people of Israel to have exclusive claim to the land forever?  What does the Bible actually say about sexuality and marriage?  Is there space in the kingdom of God for those who believe, but who do not view Christ as Lord and Saviour?  Each of these questions – as with so many others – draws us into the importance of the interpretation of Scripture.

As Presbyterians, we are a part of a tradition which invites us to root our spirituality, in a very important way, in the words of Scripture.  As a tradition which does not defer to a central teaching authority in the Church, each one of us is called, depending upon the guidance of the Spirit, to read and interpret the Bible for ourselves.  This call to read and to interpret the texts for ourselves does not invite us to a great license in the practice of our faith – that is, we cannot twist the Bible to make it say whatever we want it to say.  Rather, it invites us to accept a great deal of personal responsibility for the ways that we interpret and apply the words of this important book.  And this call to personal responsibility for our faith necessitates that we not only take account of what the Bible says, but also that we seek to pay attention to how we are interpreting what the Bible says.

A host of questions present themselves.  When should a passage be interpreted literally?  When should it be interpreted in a more spiritual or metaphorical sense?  From which perspective should we read a text, and where do we find ourselves in the story?  When is a text relevant to a moment in culture and history, and when is it universally applicable?  They are complex questions.

Today’s lectionary reading offers us an interesting opportunity to explore the question of interpretation.  On one level, the story recounts an unusual but interesting event in the life of Jesus – while journeying to a small town called Nain, Jesus saw the body of a young man being carried out; Jesus had compassion for the young man’s mother, who was identified as a widow; Jesus raised the young man to life; and he restored him to his mother. 

But the true power of this passage, for our lives, may only be revealed to us when we step away from the most literal interpretation of it and towards deeper – but equally faithful – ways of reading the text.

So how do we read and interpret this story in a way that we begin to catch sight of its profound – and incredibly powerful – relevance to our lives?

The answer to this question might begin by pondering what each of the characters in the story symbolizes or represents; to observe the movement of the story through those symbolic identities; and then to seek insights that we might draw from it for our own lives and our own faith.

So, first, to the question of the symbolic or representative function of each of the characters in the story.

The first character that we are introduced to is Jesus himself who, as the story opens, is journeying with his disciples and the crowds, to the village of Nain.  Nain was not Jesus’ hometown, but was rather a small village not far from Nazareth.  This, itself, is an important point, since the story suggests that the characters that we shall later meet – and particularly the widow and her son – had not come seeking Jesus’ help. Jesus had come to them.  They were not part of the throngs of crowds that brought their sick and dying loved ones to him – to the contrary, he had come to them; he had come to Nain.

So what does Jesus symbolize or represent?

As with so many of the stories in the Gospels, Jesus clearly represents himself – but he also represents something far greater.  The Gospel stories repeatedly present him as a symbol and a representative of the love and power of God at work in this world and in the lives of those whom he encountered and interacted.  Such a reading does not undermine his historical identity – and although there is debate about the historical details of the life of Jesus of Nazareth, there is very little reason to doubt his actual historical presence.  But, if we step away from the merely historical reality of Jesus, in our interpretation of this story, and instead ponder this ‘representative’ or ‘symbolic’ role of Jesus, deeper levels in this passage begin to emerge. Jesus represents, incarnates, symbolizes the love of God at work in this story.

A second important character, in the story, is the widow.  We are not introduced to her by name – which, in itself, may be intended to signal to us that she is serving as a symbolic or representative role in the story, rather than as a personalized individual.

So what, then, does the widow represent?

In order to understand the role of the widow in this story, we must call to mind the fact that widows, in that ancient culture, were incredibly vulnerable individuals.  In a patriarchal society, a woman who did not have a husband to care for her confronted difficult circumstances.  Their economic livelihood, their legal protection, and their personal safety was at some degree of risk.  But if a widow had children – and particularly male children – they were not in quite as desperate circumstances.  A son would be their advocate, a son would protect them, a son and his family would eventually provide for them in their older years. 

And it is in this identity that we begin to catch sight of the metaphorical or symbolic importance of the young man who had died as well.  That is, he was not only her own child, but he represented the widow’s hope; he was her protection as she aged; he was her advocate and her defender.  He was her confidence about life and about the future.

But he was dead.

And, with his death, now only had she lost a child, but her hope had also perished; she had been subjected to the harsh emotional strain of losing both her husband and her son; she was a woman for whom any sense of certainty or comfort or security about the future was being carried out of the city on a funeral bier.  And, as Christ approached her, his first words – “do not weep” – reveal that her eyes were damp with the tears of sadness, of loss, of hopelessness, of anxiety, of fear.

There is a dear woman in this congregation who often reminds me that we do well to resist categorizing individuals and groups of people in the Bible as ‘them’.  Her words often remind me that whenever we read passages that refer to categories of people -- the poor, the vulnerable, the widows, the orphans, the marginalized, the outcasts – we have a tendency to separate ourselves from ‘them’ and to fail to see ourselves in their experiences.

Such a reminder may be particularly relevant to our interpretation of this passage.  That is, whether we are a widow or not, every one of us does well to see this story through the widow’s eyes.

In every one of our lives, there will come times when we will be able to relate – in a very personal way – with the experience of the widow that day.  We may not have lost a spouse and a child, as this widow had done, but there will come times, in our lives, when we will feel that all hope is slipping away; there will be times in our lives when the emotional strains and tragedies of life seem to rob us of any sense of certainty or confidence about the future; there will be times in our lives when life itself seem potentially risky and even dangerous, when our sense of stability, or security seems to be stolen from us.

It is in those times that we do well to see the story through the eyes of the widow. 

Because it is when our eyes are damp with the tears of grief, of loss, of anxiety, of uncertainty, of hopelessness, of fear that we begin to pay particular attention to how Christ acted in this passage.  First, we realize the significance of the fact that Jesus had come to Nain; that is, she had not come to him, but he had come to her – as the love and grace of God always do.  Second, he looked upon her with compassion.  In verse 13, we read, “when the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her”. We sometimes forget, or find it hard to believe that the God before we bow looks upon us -- and particularly upon those in times of need – with compassion. Third, Christ spoke to her words that were intended to reassure her and comfort her – words that we all need to hear in times of struggle.  “Do not weep”, he said. 

Do not weep.  I have come to you.  I have the power to restore hope.  I have the power to transform your grief into joy, your sadness into laughter, your fear into faith.  Do not weep.

And then, in the presence of Christ, the dead son was restored to life.  But not only was he restored to life, but he was also restored to his grieving mother.  In verse 15, we read that “the dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.”  Because God’s power and love were at work, the widow’s sadness was overcome; her hope was restored; and her faith was renewed.

A more metaphorical reading of this story begins to reveal that this story is, in an intriguing way, a summation of the entire Gospel message.  After all, consider the movement of this story – in the midst of sadness at the death of a son, people had lost hope and had experienced fear about the implications of that death for their lives; and yet, in the midst of that time of anxiety, the power of God in this world was revealed, triumphing over death, restoring a dead son to life and renewing faith in the minds and hearts of those who had been suffering.

Like the widow who had lost her son; like the disciples who had lost their friend; like all of us who have had times when hope and faith seem to be slipping away from us, the presence of God’s grace and love at work in this world continue to come to us, to restore us, to transform our lives. 

But in order to appreciate this powerful truth, we need to enter into this text, to let it live within us, to interpret it, not from the perspective of some unmoved observer, some dispassionate reader.  Rather, in order to fully realize the good news that lies at the heart of this story, we need to read it, and interpret it -- through the eyes of the widow.

Because often, the widow is us.