Peculiar People: Dorcas
June 17, 2007
Ralph DiBiasio-Snyder

We know that the Gospel that we call Luke, and the New Testament book that we call Acts, were both written by the same person - perhaps Luke who is mentioned elsewhere in the NT as one of the early Christians - who happened to be a physician.

The Gospel of Luke tells one version of the birth and life, death and resurrection of Jesus. The book of Acts picks up the story from there, telling about the birth of the church at Pentecost, and the phenomenal growth of that church throughout Palestine, and eventually through Asia Minor, Greece, and even to the great city of Rome.

Acts begins about the year 35 of the Common Era, and concludes we think around 65 - thirty years of amazing growth of the fledgling faith.

The incident we are about to hear took place in the city of Joppa - a city along the Mediterranean coast of Palestine - modern day Joffa.

The main character of the story is a disciple of Jesus - a woman - this is the only place in the NT that the word for "disciple" is in the feminine case - named Tabitha in Aramaic - Dorcas is the Greek version. They both mean "gazelle."

One wonders just how this Dorcas came to her faith. Jesus had spent time in the northern part of Palestine, and along the coast. Perhaps she had seen him, heard his message for herself, and began to follow his teachings. She might have been an eyewitness to the Christ.

Or perhaps she had come to faith after Jesus' death, when the word of his resurrection started to spread through the area, from Jerusalem reaching even to the coast.

However she came to faith, it's not at all clear what that faith might have been. There was no "church" established, just a handful of years after Jesus had gone. There was no structure, no Presbytery to oversee right doctrine; Scripture was a couple hundred years away from being defined. There were Christian stories being told - remembrances of Jesus, especially his sayings, his parables - circulated by word of mouth; Luke would not write his gospel for another 40 years, maybe more.

But we know from the book of Acts itself that there were little pockets of believers who practiced the faith variously. In Acts 19 Paul runs across some "believers" in Ephesus who had never heard of anything call the "Holy Spirit." They had been baptized in the name of John the Baptist, but not in the name of Christ. The Christian faith as we know it today - in all its many bewildering forms and expressions - took centuries to develop. And we are learning in recent years about other Gospels reflecting various Christian faith movements in those early years and decades of the new Christian faith. So it is not clear at all just what this Dorcas may have believed about Jesus. But it is very clear what she understood how Jesus had taught people to live. And that may be all that matters.

Listen now to this story of Dorcas; listen for the sort of woman she was.

How many of you have heard of the name "Tabitha?" How about on TV? Tabitha - the daughter of Darrin and Samantha in Bewitched, of course! And there was a spin-off of the show - called Tabitha - in 1977 which only lasted 13 episodes - I doubt if it would have done any better with the alternate name, Dorcas! That's the only Tabitha I have ever heard of - besides the one in our story.

I have known a Dorcas - but just one. In fact in seminary I dated a Dorcas - Dorcas Peer, as I recall. I was but 23 at the time and it was a shock to my young system when I discovered one day that this Dorcas I was seeing was 28 years old! How could it be possible that I had grown so old as to be dating a 28 year old woman?! Well, the relationship did not last, and I ended up marrying a MUCH YOUNGER woman, and the rest, as they say, history. Ms Peer was the only Dorcas I have ever known.

I have heard of a number of women's church groups who liked the name. Our previous church had a "Dorcas Circle" - and they, like Dorcas, were "devoted to good works and acts of charity."

The Congregationalists among us know that Carol and I will often send out the text of an upcoming sermon by email to a group of 20 or so people, asking them the question, "If you were preaching on this text, what would you say?" We receive wonderful responses - great insights and observations, and not a few excellent questions as well. This text seemed to especially elicit a lot of questions.

First there were questions about the miracle itself: a resurrection from the dead, really? Had Dorcas really been raised from the dead, or merely resuscitated from a coma? They thought she was dead, alright, but she wasn't quite.

If it was resurrection, why was Dorcas chosen to be brought back from the dead? Jesus raised only Lazarus . . . Had Dorcas been that much better a person than anyone else? Why her?

And if God can do this sort of thing, why doesn't it happen more often? If this happened in the early church, why doesn't it happen today? If many people believed in Jesus because of this miracle - that's what the text says - then wouldn't a few resurrections in our churches considerably increase our membership roles? But beyond that, isn't it odd that these followers of Jesus - Jesus who himself refused to perform miracles on demand, who told people he did heal not to tell anyone about it, lest people follow him just to see the show, the signs, the miracles - isn't it odd that this Jesus' disciples now are building the church through raising someone from the dead - the mother of all miracles, so to speak?

And if the world was full then as now of really great needs - hunger, war, disease, poverty - why should God be so concerned about just a single soul, "wasting" a miracle, so to speak, on a very minor problem compared to the really major sorrows in a needy world? If God can raise someone from the dead, why not end a war or two, or stop a famine?

And some wondered what Dorcas thought of the whole affair. Was she was glad to be resurrected - or was she a little disappointed when she woke up and saw Peter, and realized that she would have to do her dying again? She did die later, we presume; we wonder how much longer did she live? And what became of this woman who had come back from the dead? We just don't know.

And then there were questions about the methodology of Peter's miracle. The room is full of mourners - weeping, telling stories about Dorcas, showing all the clothing she had made - and Peter sends them all away. Did he need a quiet room for prayer, for healing? Did he administer some secret potiant,- a healing herb, some medicinal therapy - that accomplished the miracle? What went on in that room of sorrow that turned into a room of miracle? The text says he knelt down and prayed before doing anything else; did he discern by prayer that in this case for reasons known only to God Dorcas was to be raised? What sort of conviction, trust, faith, boldness came upon Peter that made him look at a dead body and command it, "Tabitha, get up?"

This little passage raises a lot of questions for us, 20 centuries after the fact, living in our world very different from the world of the first century. We modern folk armed with our science and medicine, our knowledge of how bodies live and die, doubt stories about dead people raised to life. Stories of modern day resurrections circulate in certain segments of the church, usually in far off lands, too far to verify, but they evoke great excitement if nothing else in Pentecostal churches especially. But I don't hear much talk about resurrections in UCC gatherings, and I dare say that you Presbyterians are impressed by such stories either. We are skeptical folks.

So what are we to say about this story that says an incredible, inexplicable event took place in that upper room?

We can say, first, that we really don't know for sure what happened that day. None of us were there, of course. You can take it on face value by faith, or not.

But we can say too, quoting Jesus himself, [Matthew19:26] "With God all things are possible." God can do whatever God wants to do, and we limit God to say that this alleged miracle could not have really happened. That would be to say more than we know, and in religion especially we should say only what we do know, or at least are pretty sure of. And let the mysterious things of faith - and there are a lot of those! - remain mysteries. Dorcas just may well have risen from the dead. God can do that sort of thing, you know.

Surely the writer of the book of Acts wants us to think so. And he includes it in his story to make the point that the power of the presence of the Christ - shown in the man Jesus during his earthly ministry, shown in his own resurrection - is still powerfully operating in the church, the body of Christ. Those first believers were sure that Jesus the Christ though no longer with them physically was yet among them. The resurrection of Jesus from the dead meant for them that he lived among them again, now and forever. The signs and wonders in that church told them that.

I liked what one of our congregation wrote about this miracle story, on why Peter had everyone leave the room. He said,

The sacred mysteries defy explanation. I don't know anyone who has been raised from the dead. But I have known many who have been healed by medical means or otherwise who attest to having been healed by the hand of God. Some of you here today would make that same profession, by faith. One of you wrote this about her father's amazing return of strength and joy during his battle with cancer:

But it was not the obvious miracle of this passage that caught my attention in the first place, and why I wanted to lift up this biblical character, Dorcas. What caught my attention was the sort of person she seemed to be, and the sort of faith she seemed to live out.

We have all been to the sort of gathering described in the passage. A much-loved, much loving woman has died. She was probably a widow, and her friends it seems were other widows. And as widows, in those day, it almost always meant they were poor. Dorcas' loss to the community is felt very deeply. We can see them as they learn of Dorcas' illness. They can't believe it; she has been so active, so busy in the community. She has great talent as a seamstress - look here: see the beautiful clothing she has designed and crafted! She has been a great help - she is devoted to good works (she's not doing good just when she can find time for it); she is devoted to acts of charity (that's how Dorcas finds her happiness, her meaning, by acts of kindness, of mercy, of love).

We've all known that kind of person. And so her friends can't believe that someone so healthy, so good, could suddenly be ill, and even die. When the news of her death comes, they sadly set about the preparations for her funeral. They gather the clothing she has made, and place it on display as if to say, "See what she has done for us! See what skill, what love; do not forget Dorcas. Celebrate her life, and grieve her loss!" Such a loss she is, this talented, kind Dorcas.

Oh, she was not a leader of the church. As I said earlier, we cannot be very sure even about what she believed about Jesus in her mind. Her doctrine was probably not very sound if judged by the theologians of the church that followed her in time. But her practice - Oh, her practice of the faith! - that was exactly right.

For Dorcas went about doing good works, practicing acts of charity. She not only felt badly for the poor; she ministered to the poor. She used the gifts she had been given to make her world more just, more caring, more the way things ought to be in the world. We've known people like this Dorcas. A person responded to this text this way:

And that is the point, isn't it? Isn't that the point of the whole thing, this vast and various, flawed and bewildering enterprise we call Christianity, that we call religion? That we love one another; that we be devoted to acts of kindness and mercy, love and grace? That when we are gone, and they gather to mark the end of our earthly life, we are remembered not for our wealth or talents, our fame or even our devoted service to our churches, but for what we have done to ease the suffering of a few, to share beauty, to care not just for our families and our churches, but for our community, for our world?

When Dorcas finally died, and stayed that way, I don't think whoever met her at the Pearly Gates said, "Oh you're the Dorcas who was raised from the dead!" But rather, "You're Dorcas, who made your world better, who made such beautiful clothing. You're Dorcas who served God's children." Amen.