Power, Helping & Resurrection

Today’s first lesson is about the raising of Dorcas.

The story of Dorcas is an important one and I think there are three significant points we should take away from the story.

The first is about the power of women.

Because women are underrepresented in Scripture, there has been a tendency to downplay their contributions.

Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Susanna were three women who financially supported Jesus’ ministry.

Luke says there were “many others” but Mary, Joanna, and Susanna are specifically mentioned.

Mary Magdalene is also known as the apostle to the apostles because she was the first witness to the risen Christ.

At that point in time, the Body of Christ—the entirety of the church—was one woman: Mary Magdalene.

In today’s lesson from Acts, Luke identifies Dorcas with the Greek word “mathetria”.

Now you know I’m not usually one to break out the Greek, but I think this is an instance when it is important.

Mathetria is the feminine form of the Greek word for disciple.

Dorcas is the only woman explicitly identified as a disciple in Acts.

In fact, Dorcas is the only woman in the entire New Testament that is referred to as a disciple.

Undoubtedly, there were others.

Jesus had women followers, and some had to be qualified as disciples.

If Mary Magdalene was mentioned in Acts or one of the Epistles, I think it’s safe to assume that she would warrant the title.

But as it is, Dorcas stands alone.

And Dorcas was not just a disciple.

She was a pastor.

She had a flock that she tended.

Dorcas is an example of what a shepherd of God’s flock looks and acts like.

She went out to the margins and cared for one of the most vulnerable groups in her community—widows.

Her compassion was hands-on.

She not only ministered to them spiritually, she made them clothes.

Luke says, she “never tired of doing kind things or giving to charity”.

Her followers—her sisters—showed Peter examples of her compassion—the clothing Dorcas had made for them.

The emphasis in the story is her discipleship among them.

She is their pastor.

But she doesn’t just preach and teach.

She ministers to them by making them clothes.

Women are powerful.

Anyone who believes otherwise just isn’t paying attention.

Whether they received proper acknowledgment or not, we know Jesus had women followers.

And in churches across the globe, it is women who do most of the heavy lifting.

They come to church.

They participate on Church Councils—in many cases, they run the Church Council.

They do the behind-the-scenes work of preparing churches for worship.

They run hospitality programs and visitation programs.

They are deacons and pastors.

The bishop of our Synod is a woman—as is the bishop of our entire denomination.

Women are powerful.

Their faith is strong—and all those powerful women put that faith into practice.

By doing—they feed the sheep.

They tend the sheep.

The second thing that I think is critical to raise up is the importance of helping.

Dorcas made a difference in the lives of the widows in her community.

She gave them things that they needed.

We know that they appreciated her service to them.

They cared for her when she was sick.

They sent for Peter in the hope that he might be able to heal her.

When she died, they washed her and tenderly laid her out.

They wept for her.

And when Peter finally came, they told stories about her.

About the clothes that she made for them.

About how she had cared for them.

Mister Rogers famously said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.”

Look for the helpers.

I think it could be easy to forget that there are ripples when you help someone.

The impact is not only on the person you help.

You also give hope to others that need help.

You show them that there are good people in the world.

You set an example for others to be helpers.

Sometimes, it is just a reminder of what our Christian duty is.

But other times, being a helper can give hope to the community.

Like to a young Fred Rogers who was afraid that the situation was hopeless.

Every act of kindness—no matter how small—has the potential to change someone’s life.

And when you change someone’s life, you can change the world.

Dorcas’ work touched everyone in the community, not just the widows.

She was a helper, and her ministry had ripples throughout the community.

Lastly, I believe that Dorcas has something to tell us about resurrection.

Even before Peter brought Dorcas back to life, the widows made her rise through their story telling and their display of the clothes she had made.

Whenever someone dies, that is what we do.

We gather.

We grieve.

We speak the name of the departed.

We tell stories about their lives.

We insist that they matter—not in the past, but in the present.

And in so doing, we call them to rise—just as Peter called Dorcas to rise.

I say this not to minimize the miracle of Dorcas’ resurrection.

My point is that we NOT minimize the ways in which we call our deceased loved ones to rise.

I had a special relationship with my grandmother—my mother’s mom.

Until I was 15, we lived in a duplex—our house was attached to my grandparents’ house.

We even had a tunnel that connected the two so we could go next door without going outside.

So, I grew up kind of having two moms—my mother and my grandmother.

This is an afghan that my grandmother crocheted for me.

Even though she gave it to me 50 years ago—even though she has been gone for over 20 years—I still remember how happy she was that she found blue yarn that looked like denim.

Preparing for this sermon makes me look at it with new eyes.

I always knew it was a labor of love.

Now when I look at it, I think of the clothes that Dorcas made for the widows.

Forevermore, when I look at this afghan, I will think of it as a call for my grandmother to rise.

On Friday, I went to see three members of my seminary cohort graduate.

We call ourselves the “Ride or Dies”—because we have pledged to always be there for each other.

Through classes and candidacy.

Through successes and setbacks.

Through whatever life and this crazy ride called ministry throws at us.

But as I was sitting in the seminary chapel in Gettysburg, I was overwhelmed by the thought of how much my mom would have appreciated it.

And how much my mom would have loved to have seen me as a pastor.

She would have hated the Anglican Lord’s Prayer that I love so much—you know the one that goes “Eternal Spirit, Earth-maker, Pain-Bearer, Life-giver, Source of all that is and that shall be, Father and Mother of us all”.

But she would have loved seeing me as a pastor.

Of that, I have no doubt.

And in that moment, in that chapel, surrounded by two centuries of Lutheran history, my mom rose.

As surely as Dorcas rose in the widows’ story telling.

So, when you have one of these experiences, don’t be so quick to dismiss it as just a memory.

Be present.

Be open.

Recognize their rising and experience their presence.

Now, I would be remiss if I did not point out that God’s work always supersedes ours.

What we are able to do—as impressive as it may be—is no match for God’s work.

God gives life.

God creates and re-creates.

God declares that death has no hold on us and calls us to rise.

But there are times when God allows us to collaborate in that work.

When God gives us the power.

The power to do God’s work.

The power to make a difference in our communities.

The power to be helpers and watch how—in helping—we touch multiple lives in ripples that we might not intend or expect.

The power to make the people we love rise so they exist for us—we experience them—in the present.

And what a blessing that is.

Thanks be to God!

May this meditation on God’s word keep our hearts and minds on Christ Jesus. Amen.