SERMON, PROPER 5C, LUKE 7:11-17

I said last week that Trinity Sunday is probably the most difficult Sunday to preach on because that's the Sunday when we try to describe in human terms the deeply un-human aspects and Personhood of the Trinity. And while that is generally true - wrapping our head around the Trinity can be difficult - I think a more difficult Sunday to preach on is this one. Today. That's because for the last six months we've had a long series of thematic gospels: Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Lent and Easter.

After all those extraordinary events, we are suddenly thrown into the long green season after Pentecost, otherwise known as Ordinary Time. There is no smooth transition here. The end of the Easter season shows us the Ascension of Jesus to be with the Father. Trinity Sunday is there to give us a theological context for our faith. And then . . . and then we are tossed mid-stream back into ordinary time and given a gospel text with no previous introduction. It's like walking into a cocktail party 45 minutes late and trying to figure out what is going on.

So here we are, late to the party, but just in time to see Jesus raise a man from the dead. And like any late-comer, we need to spend some time getting oriented - figuring out what is going on. This is where we begin that long, ordinary walk with Jesus. What a way to begin ordinary time.

So let's get reoriented. This passage helps to lay the groundwork between the Old and New Testaments in Luke. If you remember the post-resurrection road to Emmaus story, the disciples referred to Jesus as a prophet mighty in deeds and power. We get that same sentiment here as well when the people say a great prophet has been raised up.

Luke is tying Jesus to ancient Jewish history. If you hadn't heard the first lesson, you may not have caught that. But this gospel scene is almost identical to the story of Elijah raising the widow's son. Both stories involve a widow. Both stories have the widow being met by the city gate. And both stories use the exact same words of, "He gave him to his mother." Luke is telling us that Jesus is on par with the greatest prophet of Israel's past, that God has raised up this person for the benefit of the people, and that God is with us.

That gets us reoriented into the ordinary time of our long walk with Jesus. But what's really going on here? I was reading my latest copy of the ATR last week and the first article seemed to have a lot to say about today's gospel. The article, "Blindsided by God," by James Alison, was focused on the act of reconciliation. Today's gospel isn't about reconciliation, but the people in the story, as well as us, are blindsided by God in this encounter with Jesus.

As Alison says, this experience changes everything, leaves everything unchanged, and shifts the center of our gravity - our sense of stability - to somewhere totally outside our known universe. First of all, there is the realization that the God who created the world, the universe and everything has an incredible amount of gentleness and love for us. This love changes everything and nothing. That realization leads us to recognize that our sense of gravity, our sense of normalcy, has shifted. We have the ability to live and move within the power of the Holy Spirit in such a way as to be unaffected, and un-infected, by the world around us.

The normal cycle of life is that we are born, we live and we die. Our expectation within that cycle is that our children and/or grandchildren will be the ones to bury us. In today's gospel, that expectation is shattered. A lonely widow, who expects to be cared for by her son, is suddenly alone; she being the one to outlive her child. Some of us have had the experience of burying a child; some of us know people who have had to do it. It isn't expected. It certainly isn't in our realm of what we could call normal. And yet . . .

And yet, in the midst of this traumatic and sorrowful experience, Jesus is with us. He is there, offering compassion. In the midst of our sorrow, Jesus offers us comfort. It was here, it is here, that everything changes and nothing changes; because it is here that Jesus offers life.

For the widow and for those present, everything changed when Jesus raised the young man to life. He became a new creation. Those present, including us, also become a new creation with the realization that death no longer has a hold of us. It is this knowledge, this belief, that allows us to sing "alleluia, alleluia, alleluia," while at the graveside. We are a new creation - everything changes.

And everything remains unchanged. For the widow and others present, the normalcy of life returns. The son is alive. The widow will be cared for. For the others, daily routines still need to be kept. For those arriving late to the party, they might never even know that anything had been amiss.

But we know. We know that in the world of the mundane, in the world of petty arguments and major disagreements, in the world of the unchanged, everything is changed. We know a mighty prophet has been raised up. We know that God does indeed look favorably on his people. We know that we are becoming changed and transformed into a new creation. We know that we are resurrection people.

In the world of the seemingly unchanging, that resurrection knowledge changes everything. That makes this long season of green anything but ordinary. We are resurrection people; how will you be changed this year?