My heart has often been gripped by the one of the stories Luke tells from the life of Jesus. He tells of Jesus arriving in the town of Nain just as a funeral procession is making its way toward the tombs nearby. This was an especially tragic funeral, for the man who had died was “the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.” Tragedy had followed tragedy for this poor woman. She had already suffered the loss of her husband and now she was also having to lay to rest her only son.
But Jesus was having none of it. Filled with compassion, he approached that sad procession, brought it to a halt and said to the grieving mother, “Do not weep.” Then turning his attention to the corpse he commanded, “Young man, I say to you, arise.” And just like that, the young man was restored to life and restored to health. “And the dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.” What a lovely, beautiful moment.
As I pondered this moment recently I found myself considering this: How long was the gap between
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