He Gave Her His Hand

Psalm 23, Revelation 7:9-17, Acts 9:36-43

April 29, 2007

Rochelle A. Stackhouse

 

We begin with Tabitha, a seamstress, but more than that, a disciple of Jesus who formed her own little faith-based initiative and took care of the widow of Joppa. Tabitha became ill and died, a sad occasion all on its own for her and for her family. You and I have all known people like Tabitha who have died and we have felt the pain of that as family or friends.

 

            But something else happened the day Tabitha died. In this case, the pain of her death created ripples, like a stone dropped into a pond. The widows, you see. With Tabitha gone, who would see to it that they were fed and clothed? Who would lead the church in Joppa in caring for those who had no one else to care for them? Would they now get sick and die as well since the one who loved them, who made sure that even though they were alone in the world, they were not alone?

 

            You and I know the widows, too, those in the world who have the least economic security, the least power. Some of them are actual widows, whose husbands died without pensions and who are trying to live on Social Security, which was never meant to be enough to live on. Some of them are people without medical insurance, or with inadequate insurance, praying fervently that they do not get sick because they can’t begin to pay the doctor bills or buy prescription medicine, or like the elderly couple I knew who went to the soup kitchen for dinner every day so they could afford to buy their medicine.

 

            There are other widows, too. The widows and widowers of American soldiers who died in Iraq or Afghanistan, or those whose partners are still alive but wounded for the rest of their lives. There are the widows of Iraqi soldiers and Iraqi civilians who have been kidnapped by insurgents or taken away in the night by soldiers. I met a few of the widows of Palestine and of Israel who watch their sons and daughters headed down the same roads of hate that killed their husbands and fathers. There are the widows in Darfur and the refugee camps in Chad who have access to no health care system for themselves or their children, but are the victims of a very efficient system of ethnic cleansing in their country.

 

            The Tabithas of this world are just the first ripple in a tsunami of pain and suffering that confronts us from the media, from our neighborhoods, from our friends and families every day. It is a tsunami that can overwhelm us with despair, for there is just so much pain, so much need in this world.

 

            In the midst of this need, we read the promise of the vision of Revelation: those who have suffered so much will come to a time when there is no more hunger or thirst, no more medical bills that cannot be paid, no more senseless hate, and where every tear shall be wiped from their eyes. And we wonder; do we all simply have to suffer in this life and wait for relief at the end of the world?

 

            Then we remember: Tabitha sewed for the widows and Peter came to Joppa. The good news is that even though the promise that all suffering will go away isn’t until the end of the world, we are told that God sets a table for us in the presence of our enemies: illness, death, pain, poverty, war. The good news is that this ultimate future when every tear is dry breaks in to our world, like stars illuminating the deepest night. Tabitha sewed for the widows. And when Tabitha died, Peter did something he had not done before nor would he do again; he gave her his hand and brought her back to life. And the widows and church members of Joppa rejoiced, for they knew that God had not abandoned them.

 

            It doesn’t happen every day now any more than it did then. Others died, many others, including Peter himself, and they were not raised. But the power that Peter tapped into that day in Joppa still exists, the power of the Holy Spirit in our hands, given by Jesus after his hands no longer touched the blind, the lame, the mentally ill, the dying. After Tabitha’s hands could no longer hold a needle and Peter’s hands had, like Jesus’, been nailed to a cross, other hands moved by the power of the Holy Spirit and other widows were cared for and women, men and children healed. If we added all the stories of the early church together, we would find that there were more stories about healing than anything else. The disciples of Jesus and their disciples spent more energy on ministries of healing and compassion than on anything else.

 

            Now the generations have passed and here we sit, descendants of Tabitha and Peter, disciples like they were, no less gifted with the Spirit at our baptisms than they were at theirs. Sometimes we are the ones who need a hand reached out to us in healing, and we are here for each other as Tabitha was for those in her church who needed her. Sometimes we have the hands that can reach out to lift up those who have fallen: hands that can hold one who weeps, that can sew like Tabitha and our prayer shawl makers, hands that can tend the sick of body or mind or spirit. Sometimes our hands need to be doing other things to show the world that the Spirit of wholeness breaks into this world and shows that God is not waiting for the end of time to call us all to wholeness. Sometimes our hands need to write checks, or letters, or build houses or foster a parentless child. Sometimes our hands, like God’s hands, need to prepare a table for those who are in the midst of all kinds of enemies to their wholeness. We might be amazed at what our hands can do!

 

            A couple of weeks ago we heard the story of how Thomas was invited to use his hands. The risen Jesus told him to put his hands into Jesus’ wounds, the nail holes in Jesus’ hands and feet, the sword gash in his side. Jesus calls us today to do the same, to use our hands to touch the wounds of Jesus in other people, not so that we can believe, but so that they know that God has not abandoned them, any more than the widows of Joppa. The great modern-day martyr, who died as his hands held the bread and the wine of Holy Communion, Oscar Romero, once said, “No one can do it all, but everyone can do something.” Can you feel God’s hands reaching out to you in healing and hope? Can you hear God calling your hands? Amen.