Sermons

April 29th, 2007
The Door is Open

Christine Smaller

Now, I didn’t grow up in the church. And several years ago I decided that I wanted to be a church goer. I wanted to be a part of a church community. So, one Sunday morning my then future husband, Mike, and I wandered into our local United Church. It was a crisp and bright morning – the sun was shining brilliantly as we walked through the big wooden doors to the gothic style church a couple of blocks from our home. When we first gazed through that open door, we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into!

I will always remember that moment when I crossed the threshold and I peeked inside the church. Because when we walked through the open door of this old church we looked in on a scene of indescribable beauty: Music from a large choir filled the sanctuary and seemed to mingle with the intoxicating scent wafting from the lilies blooming everywhere. The pews were filled with all sorts of people and seemed to be overflowing with young happy children.

But, to my horror, half way through the service it became clear that communion was about to be served. Here we go again, I thought. Can I leave now? I knew that I was not allowed to participate in the Lord’s Supper, because I had never experienced the Sacrament of Baptism. I had been told this again and again.

As the minister prepared to break the bread and pour the cup she said loudly and clearly: “You are all welcome to Christ’s table. It does not matter who you are or where you have been – it does not matter if you believe the right things or know the right people, it doesn’t even matter if you have been baptized – Christ is waiting here for you.” It was shocking and wonderful to hear, I began to think that maybe this place was special. I felt as though a door had opened for me.
As I looked around, I could feel the excitement rippling through the sanctuary – that almost tangible movement that swirls in the spaces between people. I could feel, what I would now, ten years and many prayers later, call the Holy Spirit.

I believe that it was this same Holy Spirit moving amongst the widows and the saints in Joppa the day Tabatha was resurrected. Here we have a group of women – widows they are called whether they are married or not. They have lost a beloved sister, a woman who perhaps took some leadership in their community. Tabatha has died – but instead of burying her body – the widows take her through the door in the upper room and lay her on the bed. And then they send for Peter. They send for Peter - these women, despite being relegated to the sides of society – despite being poor and without much power of any kind, send for Peter – whom they have heard is hanging out in Lydda a few miles away. And he comes – Christ’s rock, the apostle who is out evangelizing the world, comes to see what has happened in the community of widows in Joppa. And Tabatha is raised from the dead. She is brought back to life by the power of Jesus Christ through the prayers of Peter.

The story of Tabatha and the widows is an important story in the New Testament – a story that is often relegated to the dustiest file folders – a story we are often told is a moral lesson about taking care of the elderly in need specifically and about good works in general or perhaps a more contemporary exegetical explanation: a chronicle showing that good things happen to people who work hard.

I certainly do not need to stand here and tell you, in this church, that we should take care of those in need or that love for God without action is lacking something critical. Also I would suggest (possibly a little sheepishly) that it is not unreasonable to expect that hard work is rewarded in some way (although unfortunately for us not usually ever in a linear, materialistic way).

But Tabatha’s story is not really about these things – it is about community. It is about faith and love. It is about church, really. It’s about how Christ’s transformational love nurtures God’s church – despite what we humans do to that church to twist it and turn it into something else.
The Acts of the Apostles, a portion of which we heard this morning, bears witness to the beginnings of the Christian church – this is a record describing the spread of the church from Jerusalem to all of Palestine, and as far as Greece.

Just before we meet Tabatha, for example, we hear about Phillip baptizing the Ethiopian eunuch, about Paul’s transformation from persecutor to preacher and about the healing of the paralytic Aeneas. But really, none of these stories prepare us fully for what we are to encounter in Joppa. Joppa was a sea port – in fact this was the town from which Jonah boarded a ship headed toward Tarshish in order to avoid God’s command to go to Niniveh. It is where the city of Yafo now stands – close to Tel Aviv in present day Israel. Joppa in the first century may seem like a long way from us – thousands of kilometers away in distance, perhaps millions of miles away from us in terms of culture. But I imagine that there are a lot of similarities.
There were rich and poor, the powerful and the powerless, those who enjoyed the status of living in the centre of society and those who were “forgotten”, pushed to the side, ignored.
We know from various biblical texts that there was a lot of talk about ‘the problem’ of the widows – who was going to pay what to make sure they had a least a little bit to live on. But we do not hear of any talk about bringing them into the larger society. About including them in the fullness of society. About opening the door and inviting them into community. For many, living faithfully permitted the separating of oneself from others.

And this, I am troubled to say, is one of the profound similarities we share with Joppa circa 1st century AD. We find ourselves in a world, a society, a city where separations between correct faith expression and incorrect faith expression abound.

Last week I was at a funeral service for a long-time friend with whom I had many theological debates. These “talks” weren’t always as peaceful as they could have been – and they often resulted in one or the other of us walking away in frustration. But he and I lived in community for 10 years, despite our religious and other differences.

Anyway – during the service we were explicitly told that communion was not open to all who hungered for it. It was explained that we could still represent and feel ourselves to be in oneness with God, despite the closed door to inclusion as equals – all worthy of God’s grace. I had been there before many times.

The one good – or bad thing – about being locked out of a portion of a religious service is that you have a couple of minutes to think. That afternoon, as the few lucky souls walked up the aisle to take communion with Christ, I thought about Tabatha – about how her community had been excluded. And then the names and faces of all the beautiful people I have met who have told me their own stories of being left out, of having the door closed in their face, came tumbling down.

I began to shake with the knowledge of the fear and hate for church that stems from these types of experiences where some are allowed up to the Christ’s table and some are not. The profound lack of self-worth and dignity that is a function of being kept away from a community professing to nurture God’s church. Of being worthy of charity – but not community – of being acted upon by the church, rather than welcomed into the church community. Of being objects to be dealt with rather than subjects with whom to interact lovingly, passionately and faithfully.

That first Sunday that Mike and I came here to our local church was a wondrous day for me. The following week seemed endless because I was so eager to return for Sunday Worship. So the day finally came. I walked up the steps of the church in great anticipation and pushed open that old wooden door and looked in. But there was something wrong… something terribly wrong. I looked at Mike, confused – is this the right church? No music could be heard – and really no other sounds either. The sanctuary seemed gloomy, a little dank – there were no flowers to be seen. It was only two minutes to the start of the service and there weren’t more than 20 people in the pews.

What happened, I asked Mike. Where is the music, the flowers – where are all the joyful people. He patiently and gently explained to me that the previous week had been Easter Sunday.
Well, of course I knew that it had been Easter – I just didn’t realize that some churches (not this one any more, of course) are only full at Christmas and Easter. Easter was over. The resurrection was done. Christ rising from the dead was so “last week”. But it isn’t done. It isn’t so last week. The resurrection is not over. And the story of Tabatha and the widows shows us that.

The widows…. They were called widows whether they had been married or not – these were women who had no place, no protectors, no status and no money. Widows were women who were not attached to any man – either through blood or by marriage. Women who were told by word and action that they were “other” they were “unwelcome”. But it seems that Tabatha and her sisters did not acquiesce to these strictures.

Imagine these women – nurturing a faithful community together… could they see themselves in scripture? Could they find love, acceptance dignity and self-worth from the larger faith community? Did they tell each other the stories of the women in bible – about Ruth and Naomi? Did they remind themselves that they could be strong – that they were loved by God, even if that love did not shine through their society? I think of them sharing what they had, taking care of one another, - sewing and sewing – for themselves, for those even worse off, sometimes for a little money..

Now we know that this community of women was Christian before Peter visited – because scripture tells us that in Joppa there was a disciple named Tabatha. This is by the way, the only time that a woman is called a disciple in the New Testament. I imagine the difference in their lives one they heard the gospel of Jesus Christ – did they go to hear the rabbi’s speak near the port? Did they hear that Jesus had told his followers that we each have value and dignity in God’s eyes, that he said that even the hairs on our heads are numbered – that each of us is known and loved by God.

That must have sounded as good to them as it does to us today – and what about when they heard about what Jesus said about widows, that he told his followers that a widow who gave all she had – no matter how little – “put more in the treasury than all the others” (Mark 12:43) they knew that it was not a prescription for the poor to empty their pockets – but the opposite – that we are all valued, dignified, loved – and that we all have much to give, we all have the autonomy to decide for ourselves how we live our lives.

And then one day Tabatha got sick. Her sisters put her in the upper room and took care of her – I imagine they were so good to her, such wonderful women they must have been. Maybe they even brought a doctor in to see her – they must have used a week’s worth of bread money! But she couldn’t do anything – nor could the sister who excelled in the healing arts. And so Tabatha died.

What do you think she remembered about that time? I bet people pestered her endlessly about what it was like to be dead (is there really a white light Tabatha?) I bet she didn’t rememember anything except Peter’s voice: Tabatha Stand Up! Tabatha Stand Up! Repeated over and over until it was ringing in her bones. And then she did stand up – and saw Peter, who took her hand and led her downstairs Peter simply said: “Behold your sister Tabatha, the Lord has made her well…” Oh my, who would have thought?

People fell down and prayed and thanked the Lord – it was truly a glorious day. As Tabatha was brought back from death, we were all reborn in Christ. Peter likely left shortly after, saying only: Tabatha, you are a disciple of Christ – know that you are loved just as you are and that our Lord asks that you spread the good news of this love to all you meet….

And I’m sure that they did their best to do that – because they were all Disciples of Christ. When the Lord saved one lowly widow from death he sent a message to the world that each and every one of us is loved and valued in the eyes of the Lord. That each and every person is special and worthy of God’s grace. And so as they testified to the resurrected Christ, they too were resurrected…

Mike and I have walked through this old door at this old church hundreds of times since those first two visits. I was baptized the following Easter Sunday, and one morning we walked in that door betrothed and walked out married. Our three children have spent a total of more than twenty years of Sunday school here. Tabby learned that Jesus loves her in this building. And we’re so proud that Nick was confirmed a couple of years ago and Rich acted brilliantly in the church pageant this year. This is our church. This is our community – a community that welcomed us in as we were, that continues to welcome us in no matter who we are at any given time.

Through the grace of Jesus Christ we have all been invited to feel the joy and love that God has for us. Even though it is sometimes hard – even though we sometimes stay on this side of that invitation. Even though we are sometimes told that the invitation is not for us. Still, the door is always open.

This morning as we go out the door of this beautiful church let us remember that we are invited to live in the resurrection. We are invited to live in community. We are invited to hear the gospel as it is, to look at life as transformed into something new – to live in love with one another in God’s good creation.

Every time we open a door this week let us remember the widows of Joppa, let us remember their faithfulness and that we have been left an example of what a true faith community can look like. This is good news for you and me. Really the best news anyone can hear.
And we are all invited to listen.

AMEN