Nancy E. Petty

Pullen Memorial Baptist Church

June 10, 2007 – Second Sunday after Pentecost

Text: Luke 7:11-17

Restoring Life: The Story of the Sisters of Saint Nino

“Just because it didn’t happen, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” This line attributed to the contemporary novelist Tim O’Brien reminds us that the determining question in addressing a story is not so much if or how it happened, but whether it might be true. “In ancient past and latter Jesus times, biblical writers had little interest…in accumulating facts and collecting data. They were not so much intent upon literal reportage and factual biography, rather they told stories true to their experience born of an important relationship or revelation, reflecting meaning rather than making objective observations.” (Bill Dols)

When I read the stories of Jesus restoring life or raising people from the dead, biblical stories which have amazed and confounded me for years, I am reminded of O’Brien’s line, “Just because it didn’t happen, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” Like most of Jesus’ teaching and actions, these stories of restoring life—of raising people from the dead—are stories that are intended, I believe, to teach us a deeper truth about life rather than a factual happening of life. It doesn’t seem important to me to try and figure out whether or not Jesus physically raised people from the dead. In fact, if I did take these stories as literal or historical fact then I have a far greater dilemma to deal with—that of the randomness of such actions by the very One who preached and taught of a God who values all lives equally. But if I read these stories of restoring life, of resurrection as something that happens to all of us—those times when we move from darkness to light; from numbness to feeling; from simply existing to fully living—then I have an opportunity to think about whether this story might be true for me and where I see such divine activity happening in our world. And I have the opportunity to reflect on what it might mean for me, for the church and for the world.

In the story that Jim has read to us this morning Luke relates the experience of Jesus restoring life to a widow’s son. I’m struck by the fact that the details Luke does give are not information focused—like names and dates or what the weather was—specific detailed information that we might think to give—but rather information that helps the reader understand the feelings and emotions surrounding the experience. First, Luke tells us that the man who had died was this woman’s only son. Not only had she endured the grief of losing her husband, leaving her a widow, but now she is facing the death of her only child. With that, he also notes that she is not alone; that with her was a large crowd from the town. I wonder if, in that statement, Luke is trying to tell us is that this woman and her son were loved and cared for by the community—that the loss was felt beyond the mother. Luke also tells us that when Jesus saw the woman, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” I picture this mother as one who had not only grieved for her own losses but also for the losses of the other mothers who were now surrounding her in that large crowd. Maybe she was a woman of great compassion who had offered comfort to others throughout her life and when Jesus saw her he responded in the same manner in which she had responded to so many others in their time of grief—with kindness and compassion. I am also struck by what Luke notes after Jesus restored the man’s life. He says, “The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.” I can picture giving a child back to his or her mother after such an event, but to say that Jesus gave the man to his mother, as if placing an awakened baby in his mother’s arms, seems odd. So I wonder, “What did Jesus give back to the mother?” Hope? Companionship? Trust? Faith? I wonder. Finally, Luke wants us to know the mood of the crowd gathered. He says, “Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God…” I can only imagine that Luke is describing “awe” or “amazement” when he speaks of fear. Who would not be amazed or in awe of witnessing the dead being restored to life?

And it is with that question that we are invited to think about the meaning of this story in our own lives and in the world. Where are we witnessing our dead selves being restored to life? How, like Jesus, are we participating in being restorers of life to those among us who are experiencing death—death of hope, death of soul, death of the spirit, death of love, death of compassion, death of faith?

One of the most powerful witnesses of life being restored to the dead is the story of the Sisters of Saint Nino in the Republic of Georgia. While visiting the Republic of Georgia, Jack and I had the opportunity to see how powerful the call to be restorers of life can actually be.

Saint Nino was a woman who preached and introduced Christianity in Georgia. According to the most traditional accounts, Saint Nino was from Cappadocia, was a relative of Saint George, and came to Georgia from Constantinople. There are varying accounts of how she got to Georgia. Some accounts say that she may have been brought there by her master when he emigrated, she may have been the spoils of war, or she may have fled her own war-racked homeland and become enslaved after her move to the more peaceful Georgia. Regardless, once there she preached throughout the land and shared her faith in God with others. At some point, it became news that she had cured a dying child by placing her hair cloak on him and praying over him. When the news of this miracle reached the Queen of Georgia, who suffered from a severe illness, she sent for Nino. Nino replied to the Queen, “I am a slave. My place is not in a palace.” Eventually, the Queen went to Nino, who cured her, like she had cured the child, by placing her hair cloak on the Queen and praying. In response, the Queen officially converted to Christianity and was baptized by Nino herself.

King Mirian, aware of his wife’s religious conversion, was tolerant of her new faith; however, he secluded himself from Nino and the growing Christian community in his kingdom. His isolation to Christianity did not last for long. According to the legend, while on a hunting trip, the King was suddenly struck blind. In a desperate state, King Mirian uttered a prayer to the God of Saint Nino:

If indeed that Christ whom the Captive preached to my wife is God, then let this God now deliver me from this darkness, that I too might forsake all other gods.

As soon as he finished his prayer, the light appeared and the King hastily returned to his palace. Upon his return, the King renounced all idolatry under the teaching of Saint Nino and was baptized as the first Christian King of Georgia.

Today, in the Republic of Georgia, women continue the powerful witness of Saint Nino as they restore life to the isolated, sick, disabled, forgotten, and elderly people of their country. Their work is amazing and Jack and I had the privilege to witness first-hand how daily they are restoring life to dying people by taking medicine to the sick, by touching the untouchable, by offering companionship to the forgotten, love to the outcast, and hope to the hopeless. Last week I told you about two families we visited with the Sisters of Saint Nino—the home where the woman had lost her son, whose husband was blind and who cared for her mentally ill daughter; and the family who had the two children that were physically and mentally disabled. In that home I watched as one of the sisters wrapped her arms around one of the disabled children, and I witnessed how that child’s eyes sparkled as she was wrapped in love—how she came to life, and I listened as the mother spoke of how the sister was like a mother to her disfigured child. In those moments, I knew that life was being restored—if only for a few moments—and it was a holy and sacred moment. This story repeated itself in every home that we visited with the Sisters of Saint Nino. Like Jesus and like the Sisters of Saint Nino, we are called to be restorers of life—to help raise people out of their isolation, darkness, and hopelessness and into community, light, and hope. We are called to be restorers of life—to reach out and touch death in its many forms with compassion and kindness.

The message I give to you today is the same message that Elizabeth Edwards gave the 2007 graduating class of Meredith College. She ended her commencement address with these words: “…you don’t have to lead a great movement to make an impact. In fact, most of us won’t. You don’t have to cure a disease to change a life. You don’t have to start a foundation to lift someone up. You don’t have to lead a protest to stop injustice. In small ways, every day, you can make a difference, you can change someone’s life. And at the same time you can enrich your own. Today, I am asking you to make a difference. To take a moment each day to shower the people around you—friends and strangers—with kindness. And to allow yourself to accept the kindness of others, allow them into your life…Not just for them. Do it for yourself. For the peace you will find when you close the story you have written.”

Like in all the stories of the bible, we are not just one of the characters in a story. We are the Good Samaritan and we are the one lying wounded in the ditch. We are the one caught in adultery and we are the one throwing the stones. We are the dutiful son, the prodigal daughter and the grateful parent. We are the dead and we are the one whose life is being restored. And we are the ones called by God, in Christ, to be restorers of life. I wonder where this story is happening in your life. How are you being restored to life? And where are you restoring life?

In her poem, Why I Wake Early, Mary Oliver concludes: “Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness.” Here’s how I would re-write that last line: “Watch, now, how I start the day in happiness, in kindness, in restoring life where there is death.” Just because you think it might not happen, doesn’t mean it isn’t true.