399. An Only Son

An Only Son

Luk_7:12-15 : ’93Now when he came nigh to the gate of the city, behold there was a dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow; and much people of the city was with her. And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not. And he came and touched the bier: and they that bare him stood still. And he said, Young man, I say unto thee, Arise. And he that was dead sat up, and began to speak. And he delivered him to his mother.’94

The text calls us to stand at the gate of the city of Nain. The streets are a-rush with business and gayety, and the ear is deafened with the hammers of mechanism and the wheels of traffic. Work, with its thousand arms and thousand eyes and thousand feet, fills all the street, when suddenly the crowd parts, and a funeral passes. Between the wheels of work and pleasure there comes a long procession of mourning people. Who is it? A trifler says, ’93Oh, it’92s nothing but a funeral. It may have come up from the hospital of the city or the almshouse or some low place of the town’94; but not so says the serious observer. There are so many evidences of dire bereavement that we know at the first glance some one has been taken away greatly beloved; and to our inquiry, ’93Who is this that is carried out with so many offices of kindness and affection?’94 the reply comes, ’93The only son of his mother, and she a widow.’94 Stand back and let the procession pass out! Hush all the voices of mirth and pleasure! Let every head be uncovered! Weep with this passing procession; and let it be told through all the market-places and bazaars of Nain, that in Galilee today the sepulcher hath gathered to itself ’93the only son of his mother, and she a widow.’94

There are two or three things that, in my mind, give especial pathos to this scene. The first is, he was a young man who was being carried out. To the aged, death becomes beautiful. The old man halts and pants along the road, where once he bounded like the roe. From the midst of incurable ailments and sorrows, he cries out, ’93How long, O Lord, how long?’94 Foot-sore and hardly bested on the long journey, he wants to get home. He sits in the church, and sings, with a tremulous voice, some tune he sang forty years ago, and longs to join the better assemblage of the one hundred and forty-and-four thousand, and the thousands of thousands who have passed the flood. How sweetly he sleeps the last sleep! Push Back the white locks from the wrinkled temples; they will never ache again. Fold the hands over the still heart; they will never toil again. Close gently the eyes; they will never weep again.

But he of whom I am speaking was a young man. He was just putting on the armor of life, and he was exulting to think how his sturdy blows would ring out above the clangor of the battle. I suppose he had a young man’92s hopes, a young man’92s ambitions, and a young man’92s courage. He said, ’93If I live many years, I will feed the hungry and clothe the naked. In this city of Nain, where there are so many bad young men, I will be sober and honest and pure and magnanimous, and my mother shall never be ashamed of me.’94 But all these prospects are blasted in one hour. There he passes lifeless in the procession. Behold all that is left on earth of the high-hearted young man of the city of Nain.

There is another thing that adds very much to this scene, and that is, he was an only son. However large the family flock may be, we never could think of sparing one of the lambs. Though they may all have their faults, they all have their excellences that commend them to the parental heart; and if it were peremptorily demanded of you today that you should yield up one of your children out of a very large family, you would be confounded, and you could not make a selection. But this was an only son, around whom gathered all the parental expectations. How much care in his education! How much caution in watching his habits! He would carry down the name to other times. He would have entire control of the family property long after the parents had gone to their last reward. He would stand in society a thinker, a worker, a philanthropist, a Christian. No, no! It is all ended. Behold him there. Breath is gone. Life is extinct. The only son of his mother.

There was one other thing that added to the pathos of this scene, and that was that his mother was a widow. The main hope of that home had been broken, and now he was come up to be the staff. The chief light of the household had been extinguished, and this was the only light left. I suppose she often said, looking at him, ’93There are only two of us.’94 Oh, it is a grand thing to see a young man step out in life, and say to his mother, ’93Don’92t be down-hearted. I will, as far as possible, take father’92s place, and as long as I live you shall never want anything.’94 It is not always that way. Sometimes the young people get tired of the old people. They say they are queer; that they have so many ailments; and they sometimes wish them out of the way. A young man and his wife sat at the table, their little son on the floor playing beneath the table. The old father was very old, and his hand shook so, they said, ’93You shall no more sit with us at the table.’94 And so they gave him a place in the corner, where day by day he ate out of an earthen bowl’97everything put into that bowl. One day his hand trembled so much he dropped it and it broke; and the son, seated at the elegant table in mid-floor, said to his wife, ’93Now, we’92ll get father a wooden bowl, and that he can’92t break.’94 So a wooden bowl was obtained, and every day old grandfather ate out of that, sitting in the corner. One day, while the elegant young man and his wife were seated at their table, with chased silver and all the luxuries, and their little son sat upon the floor, they saw the lad whittling, and they said, ’93Son, what are you doing there with that knife?’94 ’93Oh,’94 said he, ’93I’97I’92m making a trough for my father and mother to eat out of when they get old!’94

But this young man of the text was not of that character. He did not belong to that school. I can tell it from the way they mourned over him. He was to be the companion of his mother. He was to be his mother’92s protector. He would return now some of the kindnesses he had received in the days of childhood and boyhood. Ay, he would with his strong hand uphold that form already enfeebled with age. Will he do it? No. In one hour all that promise of help and companionship is gone. There is a world of anguish in that one, short phrase, ’93The only son of his mother, and she a widow.’94

It was upon this scene that Christ broke. He came in without introduction. He stopped the procession. He had only two utterances to make; the one to the mourning mother, the other to the dead. He cried out to the mourning one, ’93Weep not’94; and then, touching the bier on which the son lay, he cried out, ’93’91Young man, I say unto thee, Arise!’92 And he that was dead sat up.’94

I learn two or three things from this subject, and, first, that Christ was a man. You see how that sorrow played upon all the chords of his heart. I think we forget this too often. Christ was a man more certainly than you are, for he was a perfect man. No sailor ever slept in ship’92s hammock more soundly than Christ slept in that boat on Gennesaret. In every nerve and muscle and bone and fiber of his body; in every action and affection of his heart; in every action and decision of his mind, he was a man. He looked off upon the sea just as you look off upon the waters. He went into Martha’92s house just as you go into a cottage. He breathed hard when he was tired, just as you do when you are exhausted. He felt after sleeping out a night in the storm just as you do when you have been exposed to a tempest. It was just as humiliating for him to beg bread as it would be for you to become a pauper. He felt just as much insulted by being sold for thirty pieces of silver as you would if you were sold for the price of a dog. From the crown of the head to the sole of the foot he was a man. When the thorns were twisted for his brow, they hurt him just as much as they would hurt your brow, if they were twisted for it. He took not on him the nature of angels; he took on him the seed of Abraham. ’93Ecce homo!’94’97Behold the man!

But I must also draw from this subject the conclusion that he was a God. Suppose that a man should attempt to break up a funeral, the brutality would shock every one; he would be seized by the law, he would be imprisoned, if not actually slain by the mob before the officers could secure him. If Christ had been a mere mortal, would he have had a right to come in upon such a procession? Would he have succeeded in his interruption? He was more than a man, for when he cried out, ’93I say unto thee, Arise!’94 he that was dead sat up. What excitement there must have been thereabouts! The body had lain prostrate. It had been mourned over with agonizing tears, and yet now it begins to move in the shroud, and to be flushed with life; and, at the command of Christ, he rises up and looks into the faces of the astonished spectators. Oh, this was the work of a God! I hear it in his voice; I see it in the flash of his eye; I behold it in the snapping of death’92s shackles; I see it in the face of the rising slumberer; I hear it in the outcry of all those who were spectators of the scene. If, when I see my Lord Jesus Christ mourning with the bereaved, my heart goes out to him and I say, ’93My brother,’94 now that I hear him proclaim supernatural deliverances, I look up into his face and say with Thomas, ’93My Lord and my God.’94 Do you not think he was a God? A great many people do not believe that, and they compromise the matter, or they think they compromise it. They say he was a very good man, but he was not a God. That is impossible. He was either a God or an impostor, and I will prove it. If a man professes to be that which he is not, what is he? He is a liar, an impostor, a hypocrite. That is your unanimous verdict. Now, Christ professed to be a God. He said over and over again he was a God, took the attributes of a God, and assumed the works and offices of a God. Dare you now say he was not? He was a God, or he was a fraud. Choose ye.

Do you think I cannot prove by this Bible that he was a God? If you do not believe this Bible, of course there is no need of my talking to you. There is no common data from which to start. Suppose you do believe it? Then I can demonstrate that he was divine. I can prove he was Creator, Joh_1:3, ’93All things were made by him; and without him was not anything made that was made.’94 He was eternal, Rev_22:13, ’93I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.’94 I can prove that he was omnipotent, Heb_1:10, ’93The heavens are the work of thine hands.’94 I can prove he was omniscient, Joh_2:25, ’93He knew what was in man.’94 Yes, he is a God. He cleft the sea. He upheaved the crystalline walls along which the Israelites marched. He planted the mountains. He raises up governments and casts down thrones, and marches across nations and across worlds and across the universe, eternal, omnipotent, unhindered, and unabashed. That hand that was nailed to the cross holds the stars in a leash of love. That head that dropped on the bosom in fainting and death shall make the world quake at its nod. That voice that groaned in the last pang shall swear before the trembling world that time shall be no longer. Do not insult the common sense of the race by telling us that this Person was only a man, in whose presence the paralytic arm was thrust out restored and the devils crouched and the lepers dropped their scales and the tempests folded their wings and the boy’92s satchel of a few loaves made a banquet for five thousand and the sad procession of my text broken up in congratulation and hosanna!

Again: I learn from the subject that Christ was a sympathizer. Mark you, this was a city funeral. In the country, when the bell tolls, people know all about it for five miles around, and they know what was the matter with the man, how old he was, and what were his last experiences. They know with what temporal prospects he has left his family. There is no haste, there is no indecency in the obsequies. There is nothing done as a mere matter of business. Even the children come out as the procession passes, and look sympathetic and the tree-shadows seem to deepen and the brooks weep in sympathy as the procession goes by. But, this that I am speaking of was a city funeral. In great cities the cart jostles the hearse, and there is mirth and gladness and indifference as the weeping procession goes by. In this city of Nain, it was a common thing to have trouble and bereavement and death. Christ saw it every day there. Perhaps that very hour there were others being carried out; but this frequency of trouble did not harden Christ’92s heart at all. He stepped right out, and he saw this mourner, and he had compassion on her, and he said, ’93Weep not.’94

Now, I have to tell you, O bruised souls, and there are many everywhere (have you ever looked over any great audience and noticed how many shadows of sorrow there are?), I come to all such and say, ’93Christ meets you, and he has compassion on you, and he says, ’91Weep not.’92’93 Perhaps with some it is financial trouble. ’93Oh,’94 you say, ’93It is such a silly thing for a man to cry over lost money.’94 Is it? Suppose you had a large fortune, and all luxuries brought to your table, and your wardrobe was full, and your home was beautified by music and sculpture and painting, and thronged by the elegant and educated; and then some rough misfortune should strike you in the face and trample your treasures, and their companions should taunt your children for their faded dress, and send you into commercial circles an underling where once you waved a scepter of gold, do you not think you would cry then? I think you would. But Christ comes and meets all such today. He sees all the straits in which you have been thrust. He observes the sneer of that man who once was proud to walk in your shadow, and glad to get your help. He sees the protested note, the uncanceled judgment, the foreclosed mortgage, the heart-breaking exasperation, and he says, ’93Weep not. I own the cattle on a thousand hills. I will never let you starve. From my hand the fowls of heaven peck all their food. And will I let you starve? Never’97no, my child, never.’94

Or perhaps this cortege at the gate of Nain has an echo in your own bereft spirit. You went out to the grave, and you felt you never could come back again. You left your heart there. God has dashed out the light of your eyes, and the heavy spirit that that woman carried out of the gate of Nain is no heavier than yours. Do we not all know? There is an uplifted woe on your heart. You have been out carrying your loved one beyond the gate of the city of Nain. But look yonder. Some one stands watching. He seems waiting for you. As you come up he stretches out his hand of help. His voice is full of tenderness, yet thrills with eternal strength. Who is it? The very one who accosted the mourner at the gate of Nain, and he says, ’93Weep not.’94

Perhaps it is a worse grief than that. It may be a living home trouble that you cannot speak about to your best friend. It may be some domestic un-happiness. It may be an evil suspicion. It may be the disgrace following in the footsteps of a son who is wayward or a companion who is cruel or a father who will not do right, and for years there may have been a vulture striking its beak into the vitals of your soul, and you sit there today feeling it to be worse than death. It is worse than death. And yet there is relief. Though the night may be the blackest, though the voices of hell may tell you to curse God and die, look up and hear the voice that accosted the woman as it says, ’93Weep not.’94 ’93Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure.’94

I learn, again, from all this that Christ is the master of the grave. Just outside the gate of the city, death and Christ measured lances; and when the young man rose, death dropped. Now we are sure of our resurrection. What a scene it was when that young man came back! The mother never expected to hear him speak again. She never thought that he would kiss her again. How the tears started, and how her heart throbbed, as she said, ’93Oh, my son, my son, my son!’94 And that scene is going to be repeated. Did you notice that passage in the text as I read it? ’93He delivered him to his mother.’94 O ye troubled souls! O ye who have lived to see every prospect blasted, peeled, scattered, consumed’97wait a little. The seed-time of tears will become the wheat harvest. In a clime cut of no wintry blast, under a sky palled by no hurtling tempest, and amidst redeemed ones that weep not, that part not, that die not, friend will come to friend, and kindred will join kindred; and the long procession that marches the avenues of gold will lift up their palms as again and again it is announced that the same one who came to the relief of this woman of the text came to the relief of many a maternal heart, and repeated the wonders of resurrection, and ’93delivered him to his mother.’94 Oh, that will be the harvest of the world. That will be the coronation of princes. That will be the Sabbath of eternity.

Autor: T. De Witt Talmage