Tuesday, May 31, 2016

A Poem a Sunday
Pentecost 3 C
June 5, 2016

St. Luke 7:11-17 - New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)

Commentary:  Luke's miracle stories reveal a Christ who stands in solidarity of those on the margins of society.  This widow would be losing everything with her son gone - especially if her husband had no brothers to take care of her.  Jesus is constantly crossing boundaries of purity by this encounter with a dead body.  He brings new life to the widow, her son, and the village of Nain.

Jesus Raises the Widow’s Son at Nain

11 Soon afterwards[a] he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him.  12 As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town.  13 When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.”  14 Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!”  15 The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus[b] gave him to his mother.  16 Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has looked favorably on his people!”  17 This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.

Footnotes:

a.Luke 7:11 Other ancient authorities read Next day
b.Luke 7:15 Gk he

A Poem a Sunday
Pentecost 3 C
June 5, 2016

“Hold me tight!”
        she said.
In the middle of the night
        when death
took his last breath.

Nowhere to turn,
        you know.
Just a widow’s mite
        and so
a meager bier to go.

The Potter’s Field
        is where
a final resting place
        is there,
weeping all the way.

He was passing by
        when he
heard the widow’s cry
        as she
held her son once more.

Opening the bright door
        right there
at Nain’s village gate
        and now
see his weeping brow.

“Hold me tight!”
        he said.
In the middle of the night
        of death
he breathed in new breath.


‘A Poem a Sunday’
Copyright 2016 by kennstorck@gmail.com

May be used with permission

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