The woman was walking by the coffin, lost in grief. Her husband, gone years ago. Her only son, her only hope, her only support, now heading to the cemetery in that wooden box.

We have a word for widow. We have a word for orphan. We have no simple word for the parent whose child dies. Other than bereft. And that’s what she was.

For all we know, Jesus already knew her. Nain wasn’t far from Cana, from Nazareth, from Capernaum. The roads intersect. Families intersect. Wedding feasts intersect. Families going up to Jerusalem for the feast travel the same roads.

For all we know, Jesus didn’t know her.

On this particular day, the mass of people around Jesus intersected with the mass of people around the widowed woman. On the very day her son died, she met Jesus.

When the Lord saw her, He felt compassion for her and said to her, “Do not go on weeping.” And He came up and touched the coffin; and the bearers came to a halt.

Because he was present in her grief, and in her culture, he knew that one answer he could give was to restore her means of survival.

A few months later, Jesus wasn’t nearly as timely. Lazarus was already in the tomb for four days when he met with Martha and then with Mary. He spoke at length with Martha about the resurrection and about himself. He spoke briefly with Mary. Though he knew the outcome, he wept.

We read the stories and we think, “doesn’t this mean that Jesus will raise my loved one?” And we cling to desperate hope.

The conversation, and the anger, turn to what Jesus is or isn’t doing for our loved one.

But Jesus was present. And in his presence, he noticed. He noticed the woman’s grief. He heard Martha’s resigned faith. He wept with Mary. He cried over Jerusalem. He wept in the middle of his own anticipation of dying.

Before reversing the dying process temporarily, Jesus was present in the grief. Before we offer solutions or answers, we can notice and acknowledge and be present with the grief.

Luke 7:11-17