Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
As Father AJ reminded us last Sunday, we are still celebrating Easter – we celebrate it for 50 days, more than a week longer than we journey through Lent. Jesus left the tomb on Easter Day, and the tomb is still empty.
Where have you seen resurrection, reminders of new life, this week?
I’ve seen it probably in the same places you have – in the blossoming of dogwoods and lilacs and irises. In the return of the full moon’s bright light in the evenings. In the warm sun drawing all of us out of doors to walk and see neighbors and go to the park and play on the playground. Every time we’ve said Alleluia after 40 days of silence. The sun coming up earlier and setting later. The sunrises and the sunsets filling the world with golden light.
I saw resurrections last week when several of our choir members and I spent a morning offering music and blessing animals at the SPCA – resurrection in the eyes of every dog who was waiting for adoption, who blessed us in return with wagging tails and wet tongues, in the eyes of the dogs rescued from abusive situations, in the memories of pets who have crossed over the rainbow bridge.
This morning’s readings remind us, over and over, that death is not the final word, beginning with the story of Dorcas or Tabitha, a woman so beloved and so grieved in death, her story told in the ninth chapter of Acts.
We know some things about Tabitha. We know that in that time, she was a disciple, a follower of Jesus, perhaps one of the ones who gathered in the Upper Room with him, who prayed with him and the twelve men whose names history knows better. We know that Tabitha supported widows – women who had lost husbands, women who, in that time, had therefore lost protection and social status and the anchor of family. In that time, women’s lives were defined by the lives, and deaths, of men. When Peter arrives, the widows, we are told, show him the clothing that Tabitha made for them – fabrics she crafted into garments to keep them warm, to give them dignity. We know that Tabitha was wealthy, with more status than most women had in that time, and she used that wealth and status to help those who were considered the least important, in that time.
We know that in that time, Tabitha was loved, and Tabitha was mourned in death by her community.
Dr. Willie James Jennings, a theologian and professor at Yale Divinity School, writes: “Here glory joins strong grief because to lose someone who cares for the weak and the vulnerable, whose life is turned toward making a difference in the world and who is making a difference, is a bitter loss.”
Peter shows up, and the people ask him, please, come quickly. We don’t know what they hoped for, if they thought he might heal her, bring her back to them, or if they just sought comfort and leadership in the wake of such a loss. So Peter goes to Tabitha’s home, to the room where her body was laid out.
“Peter’s presence,” says Jennings, “declares an unmistakable truth: women matter. This woman matters, and the work she does for widows matters to God.”
Peter tells her, “Tabitha, get up!”
“It is no accident,” Jennings writes, “that the first disciple to have this little taste of the resurrection is a woman, because it was a woman who gave birth to the resurrection.”
Tabitha is resurrected, like Lazarus, like the daughter of the leader of the synagogue, like Jesus himself, she comes back from the finality of death. Her resurrection meant the continued resurrection of the widows, and it brought even more people to Christ.
And Peter doesn’t stop there. That one sentence at the end of the reading, a sentence that seems almost like an afterthought, is important: “Meanwhile he stayed in Joppa for some time with a certain Simon, a tanner.”
Simon, a tanner. Luke might just as well have said Simon, a merchant, or Simon, a teacher, or Simon, a winemaker… but Simon was a tanner. And in that time, a tanner was not someone you sought to be with. Tanners worked with the skins of dead animals, and they and their work were considered – theologically and literally – unclean. Tanning was an unpleasant, smelly business, and it dealt with the aftereffects of death.
Peter disregarded all of that. He accepted the hospitality of a person who worked in death. He did not turn him away in disgust or self-importance, but accepted the generosity of this man who did work that in that time, others looked down on. He accepted Simon’s hospitality, giving back to him the gifts of dignity and friendship.
Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
Jesus, in today’s Gospel, recalls the comfort of the 23rd Psalm, in trying to explain what and who he is – and what it is to be Messiah.
My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand.
Where will they see resurrection? After the cross, in the empty tomb, yes, and for all time to follow – not just 50 days, but in all the time to come. A rebirth, new life, new hope, the joy of resurrection, not only for the important and the powerful, but for those who in that time were considered unimportant – the Simons, the Tabithas, the widows, the lost sheep, the beloved children of the Father.
We see resurrection in the love of Christ. We practice resurrection in our love for each other, and especially our love for the least of these. In a time when we are so divided, when our leadership seeks to diminish those who are vulnerable, in a time when our culture elevates the wealthy and protects the powerful, we need these 50 days to remind us that Easter is not a single day of celebration – we need this Good Shepherd Sunday to remind us that death is conquered for all, that God’s love is given to all.
for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd,
and he will guide them to springs of the water of life,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.
Amen.
