TABITHA, GET UP!

A Sermon by Bill McDonald from Acts 9:36-43

April 29, 2007

Acts 9

³⁶Now in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which in Greek is Dorcas. She was devoted to good works and acts of charity. ³⁷At that time she became ill and died. When they had washed her, they laid her in a room upstairs. ³⁸Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, who heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, “Please come to us without delay.” ³⁹So Peter got up and went with them; and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs. All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. ⁴⁰Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, “Tabitha, get up.” Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. ⁴¹He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. ⁴²This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord. ⁴³Meanwhile he stayed in Joppa for some time with a certain Simon, a tanner.

Is there a way that you just hate to be awakened? When I was a child and my mom woke me up, she would tip toe into the room and in soft tones would say, “Honey, Billy, it’s time to get up, sweetie. I’m making you a good breakfast.” Oh, I loved that! But when my dad woke me up, he would throw open the door, stomp across the room, grab me by the big toe and almost pull it off, yanking it and bellowing, “Get up, boy, you’re going to be late!” Because of that, to this day I can’t stand to have anybody else wake me up. I even carry an alarm clock on all trips to keep from having to receive a wake up call from the hotel desk clerk. Today’s text is the story of an awakening.

In Aramaic, which was Peter’s native tongue, she was Tabitha. In Greek, she was Dorcas. Both names mean “deer or gazelle.” She was such a strong church worker, such an example of charity that churches down through the centuries have formed Dorcas Societies, groups of church women devoted to good deeds. But she got sick and died. The famous apostle, Simon Peter, was only 9 miles away from Joppa in a town called Lydda. So they sent and he came immediately. The rest of the story reads just like a repeat of the Gospel of Mark Chapter 5 where Jesus healed Jarius’ 12 year old daughter, a healing at which Peter was present. Just like Jesus had done, Peter sent all the mourners out of the room. Jesus had said, “Talitha, cum” which means “Little girl, get up!” Now Peter says “Tabitha, cum” which means, “Tabitha, get up!” And she opened her eyes and sat up.

Now why is this story important? Traditionally, scholars would say that it is important because it was the first time one of Jesus’ apostles raised anyone from death. Or because it showed the evangelism explosion going on in the young church. Many in Joppa now believed in the Lord according to the text. Bill Clinton once said that being President of the United States is kind of like running a cemetery—there are a lot of people under you but nobody is listening. Well, now the people of Joppa were listening! Or this story is important because it shows the power of God. After all, this wasn’t Simon Peter’s power that raised Tabitha. He had first knelt in prayer. This was God’s power.

But if we stop with these traditional interpretations, good and valid as they are, we may be overlooking something important for us and for our church. I have done many a funeral for an elderly saint. People say, “She served so well, she earned her rest.” I like to think that Dorcas was that way, a hard-working, there-every time-the-door-opened, would-do-anything-for-you, never-met-a-stranger, would-give-you-the-shirt-off-her-back, kind of person. Tabitha/Dorcas had done her part and had now laid down her mantle of responsibility, gone to her rest, claimed her reward. But Peter jogs 9 miles from Lydda to Joppa, tosses out all the admirers at the wake, and shouts, “Tabitha, get up!” There was work to be done; there were people who needed her. She was dead before her time and Peter wasn’t going to allow it. Some see this story as Peter saving Tabitha from death. But perhaps we should see it as Peter calling her back to life-giving duty.

As Christians, we can’t afford to be dead before our time. Peter’s call may be a great awakening to some, but I think most of us would see it as a rude awakening. Sometimes we don’t mind being a little bit dead. You hear it all the time around churches and volunteer agencies: “I have served my time. I was youth leader when my children were young. I’m not going to do it anymore…We need new ideas. I’m getting out of the way to let the young people in. Let them do it…I got into too much and got burned out; I’m taking a year off or two years or ten…I’m tired; all I want to do is to be left alone for a while.” All these statements are understandable to a degree and have some valid points. But then, old Dorcas had done her part too. She had worked hard and deserved rest but she was called back into service by God. We accept the responsibilities of being Christ’s people for a while. But when we get tired, or find other pursuits more attractive, we crawl onto our ecclesiastical “death-beds” and say “that’s all I’m gonna do.” But then, through this ancient important story, old Peter stomps into our chambers, grabs us by the big toe, yanks it and shouts, “Get up, Christian, there is work to be done!” And we are the ones who are supposed to do it.

This passage in Acts is the only time in the Bible that the Greek word for “disciple” was written in its feminine form. Dorcas was a disciple, right there on a par with Peter and James and Thomas--a full-fledged follower of Jesus, a minister of the first order. Her ministry had been to the widows of Joppa. Widows were the bottom rung of society in those days. They were totally helpless. They had no one to represent them, no one to protect them, no one to provide for them. Sometimes widows acted as nurses or professional mourners in order to earn a little money. At first glance, it would appear that’s what they were doing in Dorcas’ room – taking care of her in illness and mourning her after death to pick up a little spending money. But look closer, the widows are showing Peter the tunics and other clothing that the generous Dorcas had made and had given to them in their desperate times. Now their beloved Tabitha, Dorcas the deer, was dead. And their tears flowed from gratitude, but also from fear –how would they survive without her? Without Dorcas they too would soon be dead.

But Peter showed them that in this new Christ-designed society, in this new kingdom of God, in their Christian community, widows were no longer outcasts. They were cared for by God himself. So, calling on God, Peter restored to them their minister, their caretaker. God had come to the people of earth through Jesus; God had come to the widows of Joppa through Dorcas, God has come to Lexington through you. Even though we would rather lie there with our eyes closed, God rouses us from lethargy, from indifferent slumber, from soul-death and puts us back to work – in God’s name.

I saw a cartoon with two people talking. One said, “Sometimes I would like to ask God why he allows poverty, famine and injustice when HE could do something about it.” The other replied, “Well – why don’t you ask him?” The first man sighed and said, “Because I’m afraid God might ask me the same question.”

In these days, mainline denominations like ours have taken a beating. Statistics show that mainline denominations are losing members in clumps. Morale is low, defenses are up. So our denominations sit around and pout or roll over and die because we aren’t the center of popularity anymore. If there is a special Bible verse for us, aimed at mainline denomination churches, it is this one, “Tabitha, get up!” Crestwood, get up! Disciples of Christ, get up! Christians, get up! It doesn’t matter what glories we had in the past, it doesn’t matter how many years or centuries we have labored, get up! There is God’s work to be done.

Not too many years ago a woman from Harlem was honored by the City of New York for her amazing record of taking children into her home, sometimes on referral from social agencies and sometimes literally taking them off the streets. Many of them had been abandoned by parents on drugs; many had been orphaned by domestic violence. A reporter who was present described the award ceremony writing: ‘Tall, huge-framed, gaunt; yet queenly, rugged dark beauty, elderly, her bearing like a Mother of all Africa, she held the little brass and wooden plaque and us in her huge hands, leaned on a crutch, and said, ‘I’ve had over 500 children in my little shack, and they tell me that they are different because of it – and as long as I can get to my door, I will answer any knock.’”

Do you hear it? That knocking on your door? That’s a world in need, a city in need, a neighbor in need. Those are the knuckles of widows and children and the poor. Of the abandoned and the frightened and the helpless. Of the seeker, the searcher, the doubter. Do you hear the knocking?

And through the cloudy haze of our mind’s death-sleep, through the impenetrable clutter of our endless schedules, do you hear that other sound? It seems to be a voice, faint but determined: “Tabitha, get up!”