In filium viduae

On the Son of the Widow. "And it came to pass afterward, Jesus went into a city called Nain, and many of his disciples accompanied him, and a great crowd. As he drew near the gate of the city, behold, a dead son, an only son, was being carried out for his mother, and she was a widow." All the sufferings were pitiable and full of great compassion. When an only son was released from the present life, the most loving mother cried out that she had become a mother in name only, whose birth pangs death had reaped. The vine had one cluster, and this the storm of death crushed; she possessed one staff, and this common death took away. The woman was unfenced and deprived of her staff; she considered life unlivable. Moreover, she had no ordinary consolation, having lost her only son. She was held by a double grief; her pain was inconsolable; no one could lighten her sorrow; tears flowed like a river down her cheeks, and the woman possessed unbearable mourning. She contemplated the beauty of the child; her heart was cut by affection. And she, a widow, had become everything, the heaviest of all, the most pitiable of all; she was deprived of both her husband and her only son. Truly the name of widow is pitiable, filled with pity, full of tears, clinging to compassion.

None of those who saw remained unmourning; the innermost parts of all groaned; they could not decide whom first to lament, the dead son or the living widow. But I was mistaken in calling the widow living; for what widow lives a life? For even if she seems to live (I speak with regard to present things, not with regard to future things), she is dead. For a widow in present circumstances, if she were well-off, somehow steals away her pain, anoints her expectation, her wound is treated, and her grief is lightened, she is strengthened by fruitfulness and often sleeps a little. For even if there are many things that grieve her, and those who plunder her are ready, yet nevertheless, with poverty absent, the burden is lighter. But a poor widow is a harbor of tears, and a well of temptations, an unwalled city, a spring without water, a mother of groaning, a parasite of joy, a housewife of poverty, a decreer of barrenness, a neighbor of famine, a weaver of grief, a broken staff, a harsh encounter, a bitter cohabitation, an unadorned statue, a desolate pillar, a rootless tree, a lightless mist, a porch of the church, a contriver of manifold prayers, emboldened against enemies, an accuser against them; and as to a husband, crying out to God, and having the wrath of God as a most ready vengeance for retribution, splitting the heavens with her appeals to God, with a embittered heart; beating her breast, like an executioner, if she does not quickly find God's help, for vengeance against those who trample upon her in injustice.

And the childless woman, poor on earth, without a protector, moves God with all his heavenly Powers to anger and indignation against those unwilling to be persuaded that God is a judge of widows and orphans. But if she happens to have a child, she is somewhat cheered by his age, and is beguiled by expectation, and is strengthened by the fruit. She sees the branch and embraces the root; she grasps the cluster and kisses the planter; she has the part and counts it as the whole; she clings to the living and does not abhor the dead; she observes the child's features and beholds the father's image reflected. And as long as the little child survives, the widow sails more calmly amid the stormy waves of life. But if it happens that the child dies while the mother is still alive, and bids farewell to the mother and joins the father—which this present widow has suffered—then she takes upon herself all the grief at once. For the only-begotten son of the aforementioned widow has died. Clad in the garment of mourning, she began to utter reckless words, and as if contending with an unjust judge, she brought forth blasphemous speeches, speaking as though suffering violence, saying: "Did my son alone burden the world? Are others distressed by their children, while from me, the only one, my only son has been torn away? I, the feeble one, live, while both the husband and the son are dead. Where then will anyone give me counsel? Who will look after me? I thought I had at least some small freedom of speech through him; it was enough for me only to be called mother. His father left him to me at the breast, without money.

I, the unprotected widow, leaning my hands to the work, have carefully raised him; I have made him double and triple garments, I have simply provided wages for his teachers; and now, when I expected the harvest of good things, then I have received the hail of trials. Oh, the pain! But I have found what I will do: I will be buried with my son; I will satisfy those who have begrudged me; my relatives devoured me as one possessing a brave son. Allow me, all who envy me my good child; for I now anticipate the tomb of my own true child; for living is henceforth ridiculous for me. When the widow cried out and grieved thus, immediately our maker Christ the God arrived, and gave her, God who foresees all things, who even before making all things clearly knew: For before forming you in the womb, I know you, and before you come forth from the womb, I have sanctified you; the father of orphans, and judge of widows, who transforms tears into joy, who made the gate of the city Nain a church, and showed the bed of the dead man an altar. For where the gift of resurrection is, there is the adornment of the altar; and where the hands of God the Word are extended, there the measure of resurrection is accomplished. For the funeral has become a sanctuary, and the carrying out has become a carrying in. For what does the Evangelist say? Seeing her, Jesus—that is, the Savior, and God the Word, Christ—was moved with compassion, seeing her. Seeing what?

A childless widow, without a husband, aged, bent over, mournful, tearing her hair, sprinkling her head with dust, blinding her heavy-lidded eyes, rending her unseemly garment, beating her much-groaning breast, and no longer able to cry out, having become frenzied. Seeing her in this state, Jesus felt compassion for her, and approaching, said to her, "Do not weep." But she, occupied with her grief, not truly perceiving who had come, shaking off her grief, answered the Lord, saying, "Do you tell me not to weep? And what consolation will you offer me then? Even if you were to move the whole world for my comfort, you would show me no comfort. For what is sweeter to a mother than the consolation of a son? Especially when they are widows and have promised themselves to only-begotten sons. How then can you tell me not to weep? Strangers mourn my son, and shall I not weep? The stones groan, and shall I be silent? My hope has been taken away, my life has departed, my confidence has been plundered, I see my life as hopeless, and I am stripped of all hope. Death has reaped my expectation; it has rendered me destitute from every side. It has left me and has waylaid him; it has left the root and cut off the branch; it has spared the trunk and withered the beautiful shoot; it has left the old one and cut off the young one. I have no one to look upon. For if I had another son, I could balance my grief and lighten the pain for the dead one by the sight of the living; but now I have nothing

A beautiful thing has been left behind; I am deprived of all joy. I used to look at the image of my child, and I beheld his original, his father; having this one, I imagined that one; I never considered myself a widow. For he, born of that man, lightened my misfortunes for me, and the one born of me cared for me more than my husband, and when I was grieving, I had him as a consolation. If ever despondency encompassed my mind, he would embrace me; and, clasping me, kissing me, delighting me with childish words, he would dispel the cloud of despondency. And you tell me, Do not weep for your son? Who are you to give me such advice? Then some from the crowd approached and said to her: What do you dare, woman, to contradict God? The Lord is present; he himself speaks to you; approach, entreat, supplicate; for his presence is not ineffectual. And she, having wiped her eyes, and straightened her garment, and covered her breast, fell at the feet of the Master, and, answering the Lord, said: Give me my child, and I will accept your counsel; for I am examined in the old age of my nature; for I see Sarah, and I gather hopes. And, approaching the feet of Jesus, she said: Forgive the rashness of your servant, Master, and the words baptized in my grief. For you are not ignorant of a mother's pain in the sorrow for her children; for this is your command. I nurtured him on hopes. I was deprived of my husband; at least grant me my child; lead my old age; for I am already failing. I do not say as Martha: If you had been here, my brother would not have died.

For just now, even while present, you bear his soul, and though seeming to depart, you leave no one behind. A little, Lord, grant your servant. You wept for Lazarus, whom you raised from the dead by your power; and I, shall I not weep for my son? And Jesus came and touched the bier, he who touches the mountains, and they smoke. And the bearers stood still. And he said: Young man, arise; take up the spirit of a young man, and trample upon death. I say to you, be raised; do not delay for the resurrection; for I am the life and the resurrection. I called Lazarus from the tomb, and he immediately leapt out of the grave, though he had been rotting in the tomb for four days, and many of his entrails had been ravaged by worms. But the voice of life, having scented the corpse, refashioned the dissolution of the flesh into fragrance, and the tomb became a womb for the one who lay there. But for you, death has recently contrived; I say to you, do not delay for the resurrection; for I am the resurrection. The one seen was a corpse, and the Lord spoke to the dead man as if he were listening. When does a corpse hear? And what does the Master say? I say to you, be raised; and immediately the dead man sat up; so that the watching crowds became as if dead, first because of disbelief, second because of the truth.

Why did he not leap down, but instead sit up? So that all might see the resurrection unobscured, and the event not be perceived as a phantasm. He all but said to them: I assure you who have heard that this is the very one who died a short while ago. And Jesus, stretching out his hand, took hold of the dead man and gave him back alive to his mother. She, receiving her son, was seized with both joy and disbelief: rejoicing at the child's resurrection, but disbelieving in the reality of the matter. The woman eagerly examined her son closely, feeling him with her hands, scrutinizing the positions of the eyes, the sense of smell, the lips, the forehead, and the entire formation of the face; then the hands and feet, and, in a word, the whole body. And she reasoned with herself, saying: Am I, then, perhaps deceived? Am I holding one person for another? Did he contrive my son's death for my consolation, to diminish my mourning, and to intensify my grief, and did Jesus hand over some stranger as if he were my own, wishing to lighten my pain? No one

I have as a witness the one who has become; I have never seen this, nor has any other with me ever beheld it; never has a dead man been seen risen on a bier. Taking her son, she spoke, saying: Tell me, she says, and do not be afraid, if you yourself are my son; say, do you know me? Do you recognize who I am? Do you know if I am the one who bore you? I recognize the features, but I do not believe the fact; the eye cries out, the pupil delineates, the eyelids proclaim, the hearing agrees, the formed partition of the sense of smell testifies, the lips give assurance, the very age urges. Move your tongue, dearest one, tell me the proofs of your life. Joy has stirred up a storm in me; I see you, and I am distressed; I carried you in my arms, I suckled you at my breasts when you were small. Tell me, my child, are you my son? And do not be afraid of me. But when, after all this, she received full assurance, and the mourner returned rejoicing, and the one lamenting glorified God, holding the child with her right hand, and going through the city to all, crying out with a loud voice: Magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together; because he raised my dead one, because he propped up the old vine, and made the one who was not a mother a mother again, and cut off the streams of tears; and glorify his name for ever; because glory is due to him for ever and ever. Amen.