Love Lives Again

On this Mother’s Day, we gather with a mix of feelings—some joyful, some tender, some painful. Today, we give thanks for mothers, yes—but not only for those who gave birth to us. In Great Britain, I just learned, they celebrate “Mothering Sunday,” to honor all of those who have mothered us.  All who mother are blessed on this day. What a great idea.

So today, we also honor all those who have mothered us: nurturers of faith, our Sunday School and Confirmation teachers, teachers of kindness, teachers of art and music, those who comfort us in our sorrow, and those who teach us by example.

Today, our sermon comes from a Scripture passage in Acts, and while it doesn’t seem like a typical Mother’s Day sermon, it reinforces the British Holiday that celebrates all kinds of mothers.  There are no flowers and cards or brunch. It is a story of death, of grief, and—astonishingly—of resurrection, of a miracle.

In our God-inspired scripture, miracles have a purpose. Lutheran preacher, Jennifer T. Kaalund reminds us that

They are signs and demonstrations of the power of God. Miracles are intended to serve as fuel for our faith; they compel witnesses to believe—to believe in a powerful God who is able and willing to intervene on their behalf.[1]

Tabitha, also known as Dorcas, was a disciple. The only woman explicitly called a disciple in the New Testament and in this gospel attributed to Luke. So, it is a bit different that today, on Mother’s Day, not only do we have a story about a woman who was not a mother, but a disciple of Christ.  We are disciples of Christ, the new Pope Leo XIV said, “Siamo discepoli di Cristo.”  The most important vocation there is, I’m thinking.

Here at the bedside of Dorcas, we do not find a distraught and grieving husband. There are no children weeping for a lost mother. There are no parents to mourn their daughter. There are only the widows of the church, gathered at her side. We do not know if she was a widow herself, or what circumstances brought her here.  We don’t know her financial status.

We only know that without a traditional family, Tabitha was still loving and giving to others.  She is known not for preaching or teaching, or parenting. Surprise, she is known for her gift of sewing—for creating garments for widows, for embodying her discipleship in compassion and cloth. She didn’t hold a pulpit; she held a needle.  I’m thinking now of our Millie here, who told me how much she liked to sew.  Tabitha’s ministry wasn’t in public discourse; it was in quiet acts of love.

Tabitha reminds me of people in our congregation who act, not in the spotlight, but for us all.  Bringing drinks, so that we are not thirsty, baking goods, so that we are not hungry, organizing fundraisers so that our church can continue to shine a beacon into our community, singing in the choir so that we can praise God with music, paying for the Orwigsburg Happening ad, maintaining our website, creating our bulletins, preaching the word when pastor is absent, giving children’s sermons to nurture our children in the ways of God and his son Jesus.  Quiet and some not so quiet acts of love.

We lift up Tabitha today—because she nurtured life around her. She cared for those who had been forgotten. She dressed the vulnerable, the widows, and gave them dignity.

We meet her, at her death.

The community’s grief is palpable. The widows weep. They bring the clothes she made to Peter, as if to say, “She mattered. This is what love looks like.”  This scene may touch us, bringing up the losses we carry today.

We watch Peter as he enters that space of grief. He kneels. He prays. He takes this time to pray to show the community that God, not Peter is the agent of hope here.  He does not rush to fix. He first listens to God.  An example to us, who in our desire to make things better, might leap headfirst before praying, before listening.

Peter does not ask or beg Tabitha to please get up. She is not given a choice. She is told to arise.  “Tabitha, arise."   And she does.  This is not only a story of one woman rising. It is a resurrection of community.

For Peter and the community this miracle was a demonstration of the power of God, the power of life over death. Does this power still exist today?   I believe it does, giving us Christians the hope that we are to live again. But perhaps even more importantly, this resurrecting power should bring to life our desire to create a more loving and just world.[2]   Like Tabitha, we can be charitable and do good things for others. We need to proclaim to all that there is a loving God who is still speaking, still acting.

So today, let us honor the ones who mothered us— with birth, by choice, and by spirit. Let us remember those we miss. Let us bless the ones who are still bringing grace into the world. And help us, all of us, to wake up and rise to become people of compassion.

We thank God that love does not end in death. In Christ, love always rises.

Amen.