I’ve struggled this week with these lessons about dead people being brought back to life. Don’t get me wrong: I have nothing against reviving people whose vital signs have flat-lined – that would certainly be my prayer if I were standing at by bed of a loved one so afflicted.

Nor am I bothered by the miracle tone of such stories. If God is God, then, by definition, God can do anything. Plus, it cheers me to picture the Grim Reaper gnashing its gnarly teeth at the loss of two more scores on its wicked sickle. Truly, says Paul, The final enemy to be destroyed is Death.

No, these stories are incredible incidents of very good news. For instance, in our O. T. lesson, neither the woman nor her son are part of God’s Chosen People – they’re foreigners, most likely worshipers of the Canaanite god Baal. So the fact that Elijah is even sent to them at all is amazing, to say nothing of the boy’s remarkable revival. But that doesn’t bother me either. God’s Spirit at work everywhere in the world is pure grace.

Then in the Gospel, another widow’s only son has died. As the youth’s funeral procession passes Jesus, he has compassion on the woman, and, it seems, the boy. The Lord says to her, “Do not weep.” Then he revives her son and presents him to his mother – and that doesn’t bother me – it’s crucial that Jesus prove his power over this dastardly demon called death.

So, can anyone guess what’s causing me to struggle with these stories? Here’s a clue: in the last two weeks, I have spoken with too many people whose hearts have been wounded by the sting of death – all of whom are still grieving …for none of their loved ones were miraculously revived.

I got a phone call this week from the wife of my former mentor, Paul Romstad – the pastor who became my confidant and confessor, my defender and friend. By accident, I was assigned to his congregation as a first year student at the Seminary. By design, he preached at my ordination five years later. Paul recently died, and though I’d heard the news, I hadn’t been able to talk with Annie about her loss. That wonderful and painful phone call brought the challenge of these lessons home to my heart as well.

It’s the fact that countless widows have watched their spouses and children die – without Elijah or Jesus there to bring them back to life. So, though this is good news for a fortunate few…what do we say to so many millions whose news is only bad, whose children/spouses/parents/friends have stayed dead and buried?

There is an unfairness at work here: these few folks in our bible passages for today were given a double gift that the rest of us can only entertain in the wispy mists of our dreams. Not only have their loved ones been brought back to life. At the same time, they have first-hand proof of God’s ultimate power: Heart-that-was-stopped-suddenly-starts-beating-again sort of proof, procession-for-the-dead-that-turns-into-a-parade-for-the-living sort of proof…while we, in the crowd, are left by the grave… holding on…to hope.

The echoes of my muddled musings and these confrontive questions, of course, reverberate for a very short time. For intellectually and spiritually I understand that this side of heaven I will never understand.

It’s a truth I embrace as captured in Isaiah 55 vv. 8-9: For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts – says the Lord…to us all.

So where is the good news here? How does this Word of God leave us at least strengthened if not blessed to face the days ahead? Well, here are some things that I’m thinking about:

I feel blessed by the woman’s courage to question Elijah…she is right to confront the man of God and plead her case, which she does with passion. You and I are not only allowed, but encouraged to do the same when tragedy strikes. Again and again, we are told to bring everything to God in prayer.

Another blessing I see is that Jesus shows compassion to those who mourn. When we feel alone and abandoned in grief, it’s often difficult to sense the Holy Spirit’s holy presence. This is especially true when we must find our way through that lonesome valley of the shadow of death. In those dark and lonely moments, it is a gift to envision Jesus, the Suffering Servant, as the One who prays: with us and for us in sighs too deep for words.

Finally, people who are caught in a famine thirst for cooling drink and hunger for filling food. So too do we when our hearts are heavy and our spirits weak. In the same way that the widow’s oil and flour were made to sustain her household and Elijah during the famine, God promises that the bread and wine, Jesus’ body and blood, will sustain us during our famine of faith, our grapplings with grief, our times of testing, our periods of pain.

This truly is a matter of death and life. For out of Jesus’ death comes God’s victory in life: this is our good news, this is God’s gift of grace, this is the promise that provides us with the hope we need to survive and thrive, to live and serve as children of our heavenly Father. Amen.