Grace, mercy and peace to you through Jesus Christ who even has the power to raise the dead. Amen.

Lord Jesus, when no one else can help us, you will heal us. When no one else can cure us, you will cleanse us. When we face death, it challenges our faith. We feel that you have left us, that you are far from us, or that you are punishing us. Teach us this morning that death is not the absence of your love, but it is really the absolute proof of your love. Amen.

You are leaving the church building. The funeral is over. You are headed to the cemetery for the burial. Ahead of you walk six men who carry the coffin. Inside the coffin is the body of your son – your only son.

You are numb from sorrow. Stunned. You lost your husband, and now you’ve lost your son. Now you have no family. No one to take care of you and help support you. No one to love you, buy you flowers, or take you out for brunch on Mother’s Day. Not only are you grieving the loss of your son, but you are also worried about what is going to happen to you.

Suddenly everything stops. The pallbearers have stopped. You stop. A man has stepped in front of the casket. You don’t know him. You’ve never seen him. He wasn’t at the funeral. You would have noticed someone like him. He is comfortably and causally. He looks like he does a lot of traveling. He is wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt. He has long hair and a neatly trimmed beard. You have no idea what he is doing there.

Before you can object to his stopping the funeral procession, he steps up to you and says, "Don’t cry." You are thinking, "What do you mean, ‘Don’t cry!’? This is a funeral. My only son is dead. I’m all alone. Don’t cry? Who are you to tell me not to cry?" Those are your thoughts, but they never become words. Because before you can speak, he acts. He turns back to the coffin, places his hand on it, and says on a loud voice, "Young man, I tell you, get up!"

"Now just a minute," one of the pallbearers objects. But the sentence is interrupted by a sudden movement in the casket. The men look at one another and lower it quickly to the ground. It’s a good thing they do, because as soon as it touches the sidewalk the lid slowly opens … the young man sits up … and begins to talk.

Sounds like something out a science fiction novel? It’s not. It is right out of the Gospel of Luke. Today we examine Jesus raising the young man of Nain back to life. This morning we see that Jesus helps us understand death. How does he do that? He shows us that he has loving compassion. And he promises a gracious resurrection.

Jesus was walking through the little town of Nain when he witnessed a crowd coming towards him. It was a funeral procession. Jesus knew that this was a very sad occasion. A young man was dead. His mother was a widow. After the death of her husband she had found comfort in her only son. No doubt he had become her life. He was also her provider. There was a large crowd of people who followed the funeral procession and felt sympathy and pity for this mother. But what could they do to soften her grief? Nothing.

But then the Prince of Life enters the picture. He can do more than feel sorry. He can actually do something about her grief. Jesus had a loving compassion for this poor woman. "His heart went out to her." He told her, "Don’t cry." Then he touched the coffin and said, "Young man, I say to you, get up!" And then what happened? "The dead man sat up and began to talk"!

What is so odd about that last sentence? "The dead man sat up and began to talk." You got it. Dead people don’t sit up! Dead people don’t talk! Dead people don’t leave their coffins to return to their mommies.

Unless Jesus shows up. Because when Jesus shows up, you never know what might happen. The Bible tells us that Jesus never met a funeral that he liked.

Jairus can tell you. His daughter was already dead. The mourners were already in the house. The funeral had begun. The people thought the best Jesus could do was offer a nice eulogy, some kind words about Jairus’ girl. Jesus had some words all right. Not about the girl, but for the girl. "Little girl, get up!" (Mark 5:41)

The next thing the father knew, she was eating, Jesus was laughing, and the hired mourners were sent home early.

Martha can tell you. She had hoped Jesus would show up to heal her sick brother, Lazarus. He didn’t. Then she hoped he’d show up to bury Lazarus. He didn’t. By the time he made it to Bethany, Lazarus was in the grave four days and Martha was wondering what kind of friend Jesus was.

Then Jesus finally arrived. He told the people to roll the stone away from the grave. Martha protested that her brother would stink something awful. Jesus paid no attention to her and then he said in a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" The next thing his sisters and the crowd knew, Lazarus was walking out of the grave, peeling those grave clothes off. Now, he may have needed a shower, but he was alive.

In every instance where Jesus raised someone back from the dead, his heart went out to them. He had compassion on those left behind. When Jesus saw Lazarus’ tomb, he wept. When Jairus begged for Jesus to come, Jesus came. When he saw the widow crying, Jesus had to do something to help her.

In every instance Jesus demonstrated loving compassion. Not for the dead, but for the living, the remaining. The young man was better off in heaven, but his mother needed him. The little girl was better off in her heavenly Father’s arms, but her earthly father wanted just one more hug. Lazarus was better off in his heavenly home, but his earthly home felt empty without him. And so Jesus heart went out to the grieving, and he did something to take away their grief.

We must know that when we are suffering, when we are hurting, when we are grieving, Jesus is watching over us. He feels our pain. His heart goes out to us. He cares.

When your mother dies of cancer; when your grandfather, whom you never met, was killed in a war; when your baby is stillborn; when your best friend is killed in a car accident. Jesus knows. Jesus cares. He is able to dry tears.

Why hasn’t he dried all your tears yet? We still struggle with loneliness, pain, sorrow, death. But rest assured, Jesus struggled with death, loneliness, and pain on the cross. And he beat death at its own game. He victoriously rose from the grave and defeated death and slaughtered the sin that separated you from God. He dries our tears because he knows. He cares. He has compassion.

Its really nice that Jesus cares, but so what? If he really cared, then why does he allow death to hurt us so? That was really Martha’s question. She was hurting by the time Jesus finally showed up. "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." (John 11:32) "If you were doing your part, God, my husband would have beaten that cancer." "If you really are a God of love, Lord, my baby would have lived." "If you really listened to my prayers, God, my arms wouldn’t be empty right now."

When we face death, our view of God is challenged. Which, in turn, challenges our faith. Which leads me to ask a grave question. Why is it that we interpret the presence of death as the absence of God? Why do we think that if the body is not healed then God is not near? Is healing the only way God demonstrates his presence?

Sometimes we think so. And as a result, when God doesn’t answer our prayers for healing, we get angry. When relief doesn’t come, we become resentful. When we are allowed to experience pain and sorrow and discomfort, we begin to doubt and question and shake our fist at God. Blame replaces belief. "If you had been here, doing your part, God, then this death would not have happened.

It is in our nature to forget that God is always watching over us, always taking care of us, always working everything out for our eternal good.

Sometimes we are allowed to suffer or even made to suffer, all so that God might receive the glory. A war is fought so others might experience freedom – and hopefully, some day, religious freedom. Soldiers die and we are once again reminded of their bravery. You may lose your job, but God uses that to guide you in a better, more fulfilling direction. You lose the ability to eat what you want because of diabetes, but God uses that to teach you about healthier living. You may not get that promotion, but God uses that to motivate you to study and work harder. You may lose your life, but God uses that to shepherd you to a better, more beautiful, more glorious home.

When we see death, we see disaster. When God sees death, he sees deliverance.

A little boy had a terminal illness. He knew he was dying even though his parents hadn’t told him, so one day he asked his mother, "Mom what’s it like to die? Will it hurt?" The mother thought for a moment as she searched for an answer to the question then said, "Charlie, do you remember when you used to play with your friends all day? You’d be so tired that when we’d sit around and watch TV afterwards, you’d fall asleep in the chair with your clothes on. Well, that wasn’t where you belonged, but in the morning, you always woke up where you did belong--in your own bed. Your Dad carried you up the stairs, into your room, and tucked you into your own bed where you belonged." "Charlie," she continued, "I think that’s what death is like. It’s like waking up some morning and finding ourselves in another room, in the place where we belong -- safe in the strong loving arms of Jesus."

When we face death, it challenges our faith. We feel that God left us, that he is far from us, or that he is punishing us. It is exactly the opposite. Death is not the absence of love. Actually, it is the absolute proof of his love. "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever." (Psalms 23:4,6)

"The dead man sat up and began to talk." What is wrong with this picture? Remember, dead people don’t sit up! Dead people don’t talk! What kind of God is this? The God who holds the keys to life and death. The God who helps you understand death with his loving compassion and promise of a gracious resurrection. He is the kind of God you want present at your funeral. He’ll do it again you know – for you and for your Christian loved ones. He has promised he would. And he’s shown that he can. "Because I live, you too will live." (John 14:19) Amen.

"Thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ." Amen. (1 Corinthians 15:57)