The raising of the widow's son at Naim – how it unfolded
At Naim, Christ raises a widow’s only son before many witnesses, revealing his divine authority.
At Naim, Christ raises a widow’s only son before many witnesses, revealing his divine authority.
Editor’s Notes
In this part, Fr Coleridge tells us…
How Christ’s compassion restores a widow’s son and manifests divine power.
That the public raising at Naim confirms faith in him, and points towards later resurrections and a love stronger than death
Why Our Lord’s “Weep not” precedes the act: mercy removes the cause of grief.
He shows us that true compassion acts, commands life, and restores love’s rightful bonds.
For more context on the events discussed in this mini-series – and an odd connection between “the widow’s son,” Freemasonry and contemporary Catholic controversy, see Part I.
The Raising of the Widow’s Son
The Training of the Apostles—Part II
Chapter XII
St. Luke. vii. 11-16; Story of the Gospels, § 51
Burns and Oates, London, 1882
Scene at Naim
‘And it came to pass afterwards,’ says St. Luke, that is, after the visit to Capharnaum which had been marked by the healing of the Centurion’s servant, ‘that He went into a city called Naim, and there went with Him His disciples, and a great multitude.’
The language of the Evangelist shows that it was on one of the ordinary missionary circuits, and that our Lord was accompanied, as usual, by His disciples, the Apostles, and others, and by multitudes who had flocked from all sides, to hear His teaching and to witness His miracles.
‘And when He came nigh to the gate of the city, behold, a dead man was carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow.’
Thus, in the fewest words, does St. Luke paint for us the picture of the desolation which the death of this young man had left behind it. His mother had lost the staff of her life in her husband, and now the burthen of her bereavement was heaped up and crowned by the death of her only son.
The widow mentioned in the Second Book of Kings, who was sent by Joab to persuade David to recall Absalom, had feigned her story in the most touching terms, and she had told the King:
‘They seek to quench my spark which is left, and will leave my husband no name nor remainder upon the earth.’1
What this woman had painted as the greatest possible calamity which could befall her, had already fallen on this widow of Naim. She was utterly alone on earth, and the name of her husband and family were blotted out. Her old age could be cheered by no care of her boy, in return for the love of both of his parents. She was following him to the grave, and then all would be over for her.
She was well known, perhaps a person of some position in the city, for ‘a great multitude of the city was with her.’ Her calamity, and the natural sympathy which it called forth, thus brought our Lord the occasion of working a miracle that would be witnessed and attested by an immense multitude.
Multitudes present
The circumstances made it natural and inevitable that some thousands of people were present, the crowds accompanying our Lord meeting the crowds which poured forth from the city gates.
And, if the former multitudes were prepared to see almost any imaginable miracle without surprise, the inhabitants of Naim were witnesses provided, whose testimony could not be called in doubt, as that of enthusiastic followers of the wonderworking Prophet. In this respect this miracle stands out in the catalogue of our Lord’s wonders, like those of the multiplication of the loaves.
Again, the occasion was one of singular solemnity, and all hearts were prepared for the holy influences which grace might exercise, by the natural compassion for the poor widow, and the holy rite of sepulture which was to be performed.
All these circumstances add to the beauty of the incident, but we may suppose that the main motive in the Sacred Heart of our Lord was His infinitely tender compassion. It appears, also, that the spot itself was exactly fitted for a miracle which was to have a large number of attentive witnesses. The road ascending to the gate of Naim enabled the multitudes who were following Him to see our Lord above them, and the crowd that followed the bier had the whole scene before their eyes.
‘Weep not’
‘Whom when the Lord had seen, being moved with mercy towards her, He said to her, Weep not.’
The Evangelist speaks of the compassion of our Lord as the moving cause of the action which followed. The whole of the miracle is as it were contained in those few words, ‘Weep not,’ and in the compassion which dictated them. For the compassion of God can never be inoperative, except when men place, of their own malice, an obstacle in the way of His mercy.
Our Lord does not require of this poor mourner any confession of faith in His Divine power, but He leads her on to the formation of faith in Him by the gentle words with which He begins His intervention. For these words might have been addressed to her by an ordinary consoler, who had no power to assuage her grief beyond that of kind words, sympathy, and the suggestion of holy thoughts and motives of resignation.
But for our Lord to say, ‘Weep not,’ implied something more. It implied that He was about to console her grief by taking away altogether its cause.
First He spoke to the mourning mother, and that simple action must have arrested attention, and made the multitude of the disciples alive with the expectation of some marvellous work of mercy and love. Or, it may be, that they thought He might take the occasion to make the accident, as it appeared to be, of His meeting the funeral procession just at this point, the subject of some fresh Divine teaching concerning the frailty of life, the certainty and swiftness of death, and the great truths of the world beyond the grave.
‘I say to thee, Arise!’
Thus it was that the multitude paused, and there was a hush of attention, all eyes bent towards our Lord and the widow. Then ‘He came near and touched the bier. And they that carried it, stood still.’
Thus the multitudes also that were passing out of the gates after the mother and the bier, were arrested and their attention drawn to what was passing. Our Lord did not command the bearers, but they were moved by His majesty and the authority which He could not lay aside, and they obeyed Him instinctively, thus furnishing on their own part something of the conditions necessary for the miracle, at least in ordinary cases of the kind, in the way of obedience grounded upon faith.
And then there was another short pause. The bearers stood motionless, the multitude on both sides, the followers of our Lord and the mourners from the city, waiting in silent awe, the mother already full of the peace, resignation, and hope which a few words of all-powerful consolation had breathed into her heart. Then the solemn words were heard in the midst of the silence:
‘Young man! I say to thee, Arise.’
The words were not heard by the listeners in the vast multitude before their effect was seen. It would seem that the body was not bound round, as in the case of Lazarus—the young man lay on his bier as if on a bed. He moved instantly, sprang up into a sitting posture, and began to speak. Life was there, perfect, conscious intelligent life. He sat up of himself, and began at once to speak, showing that he knew where he was and what had taken place.
It would seem as if his words must have been an answer to those which our Lord had addressed to him, the word of Divine authority and power, commanding him, as the creature of his God, the Lord of life and death, to return to life.
As our Lord had said to the priests at Jerusalem, so had it been. The dead had heard the voice of the Son of Man and had lived. And the first words of the raised young man may have been words of obedience and thankfulness to his Saviour.
This soul had seen the realities of the world beyond the grave, but yet his lot had not been finally settled, there had been some delay in the Judgment, and he had not been hurried at once either to Purgatory, if he had died in grace, or to the place of eternal torment, if he had died in sin. His eyes had been opened to the great truths, the value of the soul, the miseries of this world, the poisonous nature of sin, the rights and the justice of God. He had much indeed to say, but the greatest of all the truths that had flashed upon his mind was that of the Work and Office and Person of our Divine Lord.
But our Lord was not there to listen to what this poor rescued soul might have to say to Him by way of gratitude, but to testify to His Divine Mission by a great work of mercy and Divine power. He thought first of the poor mother, compassion for whom had had so large a share in the selection of her son for this singular and most magnificent grace.
‘He gave him to his mother’
‘He gave him to his mother.’
And there the Evangelist leaves the story, with that severe reserve and simplicity which characterize him. It is left to meditative souls to feed their hearts and imaginations on the joy of the mother in her son and of the son in his mother.
Nor are we told, either about this young man, or about the other subjects of our Lord’s marvellous works of mercy, how they afterwards used the life or the health, or the faculties, which had been restored to them. The Evangelists are engaged in their peculiar work of furnishing to the Church of God for all time a summary of the sayings and doings of our Lord, and they do not dwell on the history of any one but Him.
Continues in Part III.
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The Raising of the Widow’s Son
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2 Kings xiv. 7