The Widow, the Crowd, and Christ: Learning to Surrender When Routines Unravel

What happens when we no longer feel in control?

Nov 06, 2025

As you know, much of what I explore here at The Call to Holiness centers around one core theme: surrender. It’s a word I return to often. Believe me, its not because I’ve mastered it, but because I haven’t. Writing about surrender is really a way of preaching to myself. Dying to self, daily, is no small task. And yet, this is exactly what Jesus calls us to in the Christian life.

Surrender.

To give up our grip and live for Him.

I won’t sugarcoat it—this is hard. Sometimes it feels impossible. But the beauty of grace, and the sustaining power of the sacramental life, make what seems impossible… possible.

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind.

My daughter Catherine, her husband, and their newborn son just moved to South Carolina. Pam and I have been helping them settle into their new home. Of course, this has completely derailed the usual rhythm of my days—my study time, daily Mass, my desk, my routines. Everything familiar is in flux.

There’s been a kind of spiritual disorientation with all of this. Its like wandering through a thick wood, unsure of which way is out. Without my normal structure, I’ve noticed how tightly I cling to it. It’s revealing. I’ve been wrestling with how hard it is to pray or think clearly when the scaffolding of routine is removed. I’m simultaneously craving familiarity and trying to build some new version of it so I can keep talking to God.

But I sense the Lord gently asking—maybe at times, even shouting:

“Do you trust Me when everything is out of place? Will you still let Me speak when you’re not in control?”

Meeting Christ at the Gate

This question has stayed with me. It’s the very space in which I’ve been reflecting on Luke 7:11–17, the raising of the widow’s son at Nain. Through Lectio Divina, this passage has become more than just a story. Its a mirror.

Jesus is approaching the city of Nain. A great crowd is with Him—disciples, followers, seekers. But coming out of the city is another crowd: mourners, neighbors, walking with a devastated widow, carrying the body of her only son.

Two crowds. One moving with Jesus, one moving with grief. They meet at the gate.

Jesus sees the widow. He is moved with compassion. He says, “Do not weep.” He touches the bier and says, “Young man, I say to you, arise.”

The man sits up. He speaks. Jesus gives him back to his mother. The people are seized with awe. They glorify God, saying: “God has visited His people!”

He Sees the Grief

I find it striking how Luke draws attention to the two crowds. One is following the Word made flesh. The other is surrounding a woman overwhelmed by loss. In the middle of all that movement, Jesus stops. He is not carried along by the excitement or the sorrow. He stands still.

He sees her.

And when He sees her, He is moved not just emotionally, but deeply. The Greek word used—splagchnizomai—literally means to be moved in one’s bowels, the deepest place of feeling. It’s the same word used when the father runs to meet the prodigal son (Luke 15:20).

This widow is invisible to the world. Without a husband or a son, she is cut off socially and economically. Her life is defined by grief and powerlessness. She has nothing left to hold on to. This is not a voluntary surrender. No, this is a forced surrender.

All she can do is weep.

And that is where Christ meets her.

She does not cry out to Him. She doesn’t even know who He is. She doesn’t ask for a miracle. All she does is weep, and Christ sees her.

Lord, how often I think I need to have it all together before I come to You. I want to be collected, prayerful, focused. I want my house in order and my day planned. But the truth is, I am the widow. I am stripped of what gives me security. I’m overwhelmed by things I cannot control. I overthink and obsess about details that were never mine to control.

Help me to remember this widow. Help me to remember that it’s not strength or composure You look for but surrender. She didn’t know what to do. All she could do was weep. That was enough for You. And so I trust: that is enough for me.

Today, in this moment, I will trust that You are near.

Becoming the Crowd that Carries

Another thing that struck me about this passage: the crowd carried the bier. Remind me Lord. Help me carry the broken to You. Teach me what it means to live the beatitude of mercy. Remind me that Your gaze isn’t fixed on my accomplishments but on my compassion. On my mercy towards others.

This is the call of the Gospel:

Be the one who carries.

Be the one who sees the widow.

Be the one who lets go of control and waits for the Lord at the gate.

We live among many who cannot walk on their own. Grief has paralyzed them. Fear has worn them down. And we are called not to fix, not to advise, but to carry. To lift them up and walk alongside them until Christ meets them.

A Marian Echo

In this widow, I see a glimpse of Our Lady. Our Blessed Mother was a widow too, watching her only Son die. At the Cross, Jesus sees her, just as He saw the woman at Nain. And from that place of agony, He gives her to John: “Behold, your mother” (John 19:27).

She too was carried.

And now, she carries us.

Letting Go of Control

This week, the Lord is reminding me to let go.

It’s easy to cling to good things. Whether its our prayer routines, our study or prayers space. These are gifts. But they are not the source of grace. He is.

Sometimes our rhythm has to break so that He can lead us into a new one: a rhythm more in step with Him than with ourselves.

The widow didn’t orchestrate her encounter with Christ. She didn’t even see it coming.

It is always Christ who comes to us. He sees. He speaks. He raises what is dead.

All we are asked to do is weep, carry, and wait at the gate.

Let us consider:

Is there any place in your life where you are being invited into surrender? Not by choice, but by necessity?
Who in your life may need to be “carried” this week, gently and without judgment?
What rhythms or routines might the Lord be asking you to hold loosely, so He can shape something new?