About the widow's son

“After this Jesus went to a city called Nain; and with Him went many of His disciples and a great multitude of people. When He approached the city gates, they carried out the dead man, his mother’s only son, and she was a widow” (Luke 7:11–12). All sorrow, pity and full of much compassion! When the only-begotten son renounced real life, the sweetest mother exclaimed: “In name only, I am the mother whose sorrows of childbirth were overcome by death. There was one cluster on the vine, and the mortal storm destroyed it; she had one support, and that was taken away by death.” The wife was without support, deprived of support; looked at life as not worth living. She had no consolation for the loss of her only son. She was subject to double sorrow; the suffering was inconsolable; no one could ease the torment; Tears flowed down her cheeks like a river, and the wife’s sadness was unbearable. She thought about her son's manhood; love cut through the inside of her soul. And she became a plump widow, which is the hardest thing, the most pitiful of all; she lost her husband and only (son). Indeed, the name of the widow is pitiful, full of screams, tears, and arouses compassion. None of those watching were left without sadness; Everyone’s insides were torn; They couldn’t find anyone to grieve about more: about the dead son, or about the living widow. But I made a mistake by calling a widow alive: what kind of widow lives life? And if, apparently, she lives (I’m talking about the present, not the future), she is still dead. In real life, if a widow is rich, she gradually steals her sorrow from herself, arms herself with anticipation, heals her wound and alleviates suffering, strengthens herself with fertility and often little by little lulls herself to sleep. Although her sorrow is great, and her predators are ready, but, in the absence of poverty, the burden is lighter. But the poor widow is a haven of tears, a well of temptations, a defenseless city, a waterless spring, the mother of mourning, a parasite of gaiety, the mistress of poverty, a neighbor of hunger, a lathe of sorrow, a broken staff, an unpleasant meeting, a bitter cohabitation, an ugly decoration, a deserted pillar, a tree without a root, an unlit darkness, a church threshold, the invention of many prayers, a bold accuser of enemies. And, as to her husband, she calls out to God, and she has the wrath of God ready to take vengeance on herself. She, sad at heart, cuts through the sky with her prayers to God; like an executioner, she beats her chest if she does not quickly find God’s help, in revenge for those who unjustly attack her. And childless, poor on earth, without intercession, she moves God, with all His heavenly powers, into anger and indignation against those who do not want to believe that God is the judge of widows and orphans. If it happens that she has a son, she gradually enjoys the growth (of him) and deceives herself with expectation, strengthened by this fruit. She looks at the branch and respects the root; wields a brush and loves the one who planted it; she has a part, and she thinks about the whole; He embraces the living and does not disdain the dead; notices the features of the son and sees the image of the father. And while the child is alive, the widow can more easily endure the worries of this life; and if it happens that the child, while the mother was alive, died, said goodbye to the mother and went to her father, which a real widow experienced, then she immediately takes on all the suffering. As soon as the only son of the mentioned widow died, she, putting on the clothes of sadness, began to utter thoughtless words, and judged the Being as unjust, using reproachful words; as if having suffered violence, she said: “Has my only son burdened the world? Others are burdened with childbearing, but I am the only one who has been taken away from me. My life is helpless: my husband and son are dead. Who will comfort me in the future, who will look after me? It seemed to me that through him I had acquired a little courage; It was enough for me that I heard: “Mother!” His father left him to me as an infant, without means; and I, a helpless widow, with the support of my hands, diligently fed him, made him double and triple clothes, generously gave rewards to his educators - and now, when I was expecting a good harvest, I received a hail of trials. Oh, sorrow! But I figured out what to do. I will be buried with my son; I will satisfy my envious people; my relatives ate me because I owned my courageous son. Excuse me, all slanderers of my good fortune! I will precede the burial of my own son: after all, for me in the future, life is funny.” When the widow cried out and grieved like that, our creator, Christ God, immediately approached; and God, who foresaw everything, knew everything clearly before creation, saw her: “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, and before you came out of the womb, I sanctified you” (Jer. 1:5). He, the father of orphans and the judge of widows, the giver of tears in joy, made the gates of Nain a church, and the bed of the dead an altar. Where the gift of resurrection is, there is the beauty of the altar; and wherever the hands of God the Word extend, there the measure of the resurrection is accomplished. Coming out became a sacred act, and wearing out became bringing in. What does the evangelist say? “When Jesus saw her,” that is, the Savior and God the Word, Christ, “he took pity on her.” What did you see? A childless widow, grown old without a husband, bent over, pitiful, tearing her hair, with dust on her head, with heavy eyes, tearing obscenely at her clothes, striking (herself) in the chest and unable to cry out anymore, but, however, in her right mind. Seeing her in such a state, Jesus took pity on her and, approaching, said to her: “Do not cry” (Luke 7:13). She, overwhelmed with sadness, not exactly recognizing the person who had approached, throwing away the sadness, said to the Lord in response: “Are you telling me not to cry? But what consolation will You bring me? If you move the whole world to console me, you will not provide me with any consolation. What is sweeter than a son for a mother's consolation? And especially when they are widows, and their only sons are their support? How do You tell me not to cry? Strangers are sad about my son, and I won’t cry? The stones groan and I will remain silent? My hope is lost, my life has ceased, my cheerfulness is destroyed, I see my life as hopeless, and I myself am hopeless. Death destroyed my expectations, put me in a hopeless situation from everywhere; She left me and took him away; left the root and cut off the branch; she spared the trunk and dried up the mature shoot; she left the old woman and beheaded the young man. I don't have anyone to look at. If I had another son, I could curb my sadness, and with the sight of a living one, ease the grief for the deceased; and now I have nothing good left, I am deprived of all joy. I looked at the image of my son, and I saw the image of his father; having him, I imagined him; I never considered myself a widow. He eased my misfortunes and served me more than my husband, and, in my sadness, I had a comforter in him. If despondency ever took possession of my thoughts, he hugged me, and hugging me, often kissing me, delighting me with childish words, drove away the cloud of despondency; and You say to me: “Do not cry for your son!” Who are you who prompts me to do this? Some of the crowd approached and said to her: “Why do you, wife, dare to object to God? The Lord is standing next to you, talking to you; come, pray, beg; His presence is not in vain.” She, wiping her eyes, straightening her clothes, covering her chest, fell at the feet of the Lord and in response to the Lord said: “Give me your son, and I will take your advice; I admit that I am in natural old age, (but) I see Sarah, and I reap her hopes.” And falling at the feet of Jesus, she said: “Forgive the thoughtlessness of Your servant, Master, and the words watered with my sadness. You know the suffering of a mother when she grieves for her children; This is your command. I raised him with hope. I lost my husband; although give me a son; support my old age; I'm already weak. I do not say, like Martha: “If You had been here, my brother would not have died” (John. 11:21); and during your presence You carry his soul, and when you apparently leave, you leave nothing behind. Concede in small things, O Lord, to Thy servant! You wept for Lazarus, whom You raised from the dead by Your power; and shouldn’t I cry for my son?” And Jesus came and “touched the bed; the carriers stopped; and He said: young man! I tell you, get up” (Luke 7:14), take on the mind of a young man again and destroy death. “I say to you, arise,” do not tarry in the resurrection, because “I am the life and the resurrection” (John 11:25). “I called Lazarus from the tomb, and he immediately came out, although on the fourth day he was putrefied, and his insides were greatly destroyed by worms. But the voice of life, bringing the dead to life, turned the destroyed body into incense, and the coffin became a mother’s womb for the one lying. And you were recently taken away by death; I say to you: do not delay in the resurrection, because “I am the resurrection.” He was the dead one whom they saw; and to the dead man, as one listening, the Lord spoke. When does a dead man listen? And what does the Lord say? “I say to you, arise.” And immediately “the dead man rose up and sat down” (Luke 7:15). The contemplating crowd became as if dead, first of all due to unbelief, then as a result of the truth. Why didn't he jump off, but sat down? So that the entire resurrection would be seen undisguised, and what had happened would not be recognized as a vision. He almost says to them: “I will satisfy your rumor that he is the one who recently died.” And Jesus stretched out His hand, took the dead man and gave him alive to his mother. She, having received her son, was in joy and disbelief: she rejoices at the resurrection of her son, does not believe at the thought of the matter. The wife carefully examined her son, felt her with her hands, examining the eyes, nose, lips, forehead, the image of the whole face, then the arms and legs and, in a word, the whole body, and reasoned with herself: “Am I really not deceived? Am I holding someone else? Wasn’t it to console me, to curb sadness and to increase grief, that He arranged a trick with the death of my son - and Jesus gave someone else as his own, out of a desire to alleviate my suffering? I do not have a single witness about what happened: I have never seen this, nor has anyone else who is with me seen it; we have never seen a dead person awakened on his bed.” She said to her son himself: “Tell me, don’t be afraid, are you my son? Tell me, do you recognize me? Do you know me, who I am? Do you know that I am your parent? I recognize the traits, but I don’t believe the cause; The eyes, pupils, eyelashes, lips, age speak for themselves. Say something, honey! Show me signs of life. Joy aroused my decrepitude; I look at you and hold back; I carried you in my arms; I fed you little one with my breast; tell me, my child, are you my son, and do not be afraid of me!” And when she received complete confidence in all this, sadness changed into joy, crying into glorifying God, then, holding her son with her right hand and walking through the city, she cried out to everyone with a great voice: “Magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together” (“Magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together”) (Ps. 33:4), since He raised my dead, fenced the aged vine, He who ceased to be a mother became a mother again and dried up the fountains of tears - and glorify His name forever, as glory is due to Him forever and ever.” Creations attributed to St. John Chrysostom and in the Patrology of Min, classified as Spuria.