Take and go - Redeemer Episcopal Church

John 5 

Jesus Heals on the Sabbath

After this there was a festival of the Jews, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool, called in Hebrew Beth-zatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many ill, blind, lame, and paralyzed people. One man was there who had been ill for thirty-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” 

The ill man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am making my way someone else steps down ahead of me.” Jesus said to him, “Stand up, take your mat and walk.” At once the man was made well, and he took up his mat and began to walk.

Now that day was a Sabbath.

If it feels like the gospel reading this morning started and ended in a weird place, that’s because it did. This story happens kind of in the midst of many of Jesus’ healing stories. He has spoken to the Samaritan woman, he has visited Cana in Galilee and turned water into wine, and then Jesus is approached by a royal official whose child is about to die. John tells us that through these miracles many people came to believe and word started getting around that Jesus was able to heal people and do miracles. 

That’s where our story from this morning starts. Jesus went up to Jerusalem for a Jewish festival and went to a place where many ill people were laying around a pool of water. We know from later writings that the reason people laid around this pool is because it was thought that an angel or spirit would stir up the waters and the first person to go into the waters would be healed. We aren’t told if that worked, but it seemed like enough people were gathered around that at least many of the most ill people believed that it did. 

So when Jesus approaches this pool and sees the man who has been ill for 38 years, he asks him, “do you want to be made well?” 

You would think that the man would exclaim YES and beg Jesus to heal him. 38 years is a long time to be ill and who knows how long he had stayed next to that pool day after day waiting to be healed by the waters. 

But unlike many of the other people Jesus has encountered so far— this man gives Jesus an excuse as to why he can’t be healed: “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am making my way someone else steps down ahead of me.”

I actually love this story because it is so different from the other healing stories. 

Usually we see that people approach Jesus to be healed or have their loved-one healed— there is an element of faith and desperation for Jesus in these people. They go after him, sometimes risking quite a bit to make sure that Jesus notices them…

The women who pushes through the crowd just to touch the hem of his coat. 

The man who seeks him out to heal his daughter. 

Mary and Martha who send word to him that their brother has died and then admonish him that he didn’t come sooner. 

The man whose friends open up the roof of a house to send him down to be healed by Jesus. 

Even Jesus’ mother presses him to perform the miracle of turning water into wine at a wedding. 

But this man looks at Jesus and, instead of saying, “yes, please! I’d like to be healed!” Gives an excuse as to why he can’t. Perhaps it because this man didn’t know much about Jesus or hadn’t heard about the healing and miracles that had already happened across the land. Or perhaps the man didn’t bother to glance up at Jesus because he didn’t think he was worth of being healed. 38 years is a long time to be ill. Perhaps by then, he had been told by everyone around him, the systems and powers and even religious leaders that he was not worthy of healing. And maybe even believed this lie himself, that he would never be healed, that he wasn’t worth it. And he wasn’t necessarily wrong— he knew that the way things worked— that you had to be the first person down into the pool when the water was stirred up by the spirit… he would never be able to be healed by the systems of this world. It doesn’t matter if I want to be healed, the man says— it’s not an option for me. 

But Jesus, undeterred by this man’s attitude, heals him immediately and tells him to get up and go, leave this place that his been lying to you for all these years about your worthiness. And the man picks up his mat and walks. 

What is missing from this story is that this is not the end of the story. Our lectionary ends by saying that all of this happened on the sabbath, which implies that there are going to be some problems for Jesus. 

And there were. The healed man is approached by some officials who fuss at him for carrying his mat on the sabbath and immediately he says, “well, the man who healed me told me to!” But he doesn’t know who Jesus is and Jesus had slipped off into the crowd. Later Jesus sees the man again and tells the man to stop sinning and the man immediately leaves to tell the religious officials about Jesus. 

In so many other healing stories, we hear about how the person goes into town and tells everyone what Jesus has done for them and many come to believe in him. But in this story, Jesus heals this man, and then he goes and immediately tattle-tales on him to the religious officials!

That’s exactly why I really like this story. 

Because it doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man is ungrateful. It doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man cannot heal himself by dipping into the waters. It doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man doesn’t beg him for healing. It doesn’t matter to Jesus that the man doesn’t leave the portico believing in the goodness of God and proclaiming the good news of Jesus to the rest of his community. 

In this story, Jesus is concerned with healing for this man. Jesus is concerned with wholeness for this man. Not just in his body, but in his soul. 

That is the God incarnate I can believe in. That is the God incarnate I can be in relationship with and love to the depths of my bones— not one who expects much of anything from me, because I know I will fail over and over again— but a God who is concerned with my healing and wholeness and the healing and wholeness of the world. Simply because we are a part of God’s creation. 

That’s what I hear as the good news of this story— that God desires for us to be whole— regardless of whether or not our response is faithfulness or not. God desires for us to be whole because God desires for us goodness and abundance— not so that God might get something back from it, but simply because. 

Every time we come to this place, and we lay ourselves by the waters, waiting for the spirit to stir something up, Jesus approaches us and says, “do you want to be healed?”

And despite the world telling us that we are not worthy of healing and wholeness. Despite, perhaps, our own minds and hearts telling us that we are not worthy to come and be a part of the community. After such a long time, it is easy to believe the lie that we are just never going to be whole and healed again. But every time we dip our fingers into that font, every time we come to this table, Jesus says, “take and eat and go.” 

Thanks be to God. Amen. 

Tabitha - Redeemer Episcopal Church

 Acts 9:36-43

Peter in Lydda and Joppa

36 Now in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which in Greek is Dorcas. She was devoted to good works and acts of charity. 37 At that time she became ill and died. When they had washed her, they laid her in a room upstairs. 38 Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, who heard that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, “Please come to us without delay.” 39 So Peter got up and went with them, and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs. All the widows stood beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. 40 Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, “Tabitha, get up.” Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. 41 He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. 42 This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord. 43 Meanwhile, he stayed in Joppa for some time with a certain Simon, a tanner.

John 10:22-30 

22 At that time the Festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, 23 and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. 24 So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” 25 Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me, 26 but you do not believe because you do not belong to my sheep. 27 My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. 28 I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. 29 My Father, in regard to what he has given me, is greater than all, and no one can snatch them out of the Father’s hand. 30 The Father and I are one.”

Let us pray. Lord, may the words of my mouth and the mediation of each heart here this morning be good and acceptable in your sight. Amen. 

When I was in high school, we were a part of a Lutheran Church that was in a very historic and very poor neighborhood. It had been a victim of what they called “white flight” and the businesses were run down, and most people were economically disadvantaged.

It was in this neighborhood that we met Miss Martha. She was a tiny tiny woman who lived in a very small house, filled to the brim with food. In her back yard was a two car garage with deep freezers and shelves and shelves of pantry food. When we first met her, she was too busy to talk to us. She thanked us for our grocery bags full of frozen chickens and got back to work. 

She was giving out food to her entire neighborhood. 

After a while, we asked more questions and got to know Miss Martha a little more. She wasn’t running any sort of charity, she insisted. She was simply being a good neighbor, doing what Jesus called her to do, doing what the church (yes, even our church) had failed to do. 

If you’re hungry, I’ll feed you. If you’re sick, I’ll find you medicine. If they turn off your heat, we’ll scrape the money together to get it turned back on before the next freeze. 

Miss Martha understood that when people outside of your community don’t notice or don’t care about your wellbeing, you’re going to have to figure out how to take care of one another. And that’s exactly what she did. 

It is what women have always done in their own communities. 

We hear in this story from Acts this morning that Tabitha was devoted to acts of charity and good works in her own community. She took care of people and loved them. She clothed them and made tunics for them. 

In the very first sentence she is called a disciple. But she was called by the Spirit, not to travel and preach like many of the other disciples, but to be present in her own community. She understood her gifts and was ready and willing to use them to help the people around her in Joppa. 

I have no doubt that if Tabitha were alive today, the Episcopal Church would raise her up to service within the church. We would recognize her gifts, encourage her in the Spirit, and perhaps even encourage her to go to seminary. But I have to imagine that Tabitha would insist on staying in her community. I imagine she would thank everyone for their encouragement, and say, “you know, I’d rather just be here and do what I’ve been doing.” I’d rather stay here because I know what my people need and I know how God can provide those things through my own gifts here. 

We aren’t given a lot of details about Tabitha’s life or even about how she died, but if you’ll indulge me for a minute or two, I’d like to honor her by using our imagination to fill in some of the details. Because, you know, it doesn’t take a lot of imagination to look around and recognize the Tabitha in many of the women in our communities. 

I can see Tabitha sitting in a circle with other women and probably young girls, teaching them stitches and weaving techniques that her mother and mother’s mother taught her. I can see Tabitha gathering herbs and flowers to make dyes for fabric and maybe even some to make tea or a balm for scraped knees. I can see Tabitha bringing clean soft cloth to the births of new babies, being the first one to hold the crying children in the moonlight. 

We aren’t told if Tabitha has any children or a husband, which probably means she didn’t. But she teaches us something spectacular about the community of people who followed Jesus— it didn’t matter if they were kin. They all provided for one another. They all belonged to one another. They were each one another’s keeper because of their love for God.  

And if that is not an incredible faith— a faith like Jesus’. A faith that embodies who Jesus was and is… A faith that we are called to embody as baptized members of the Body of Christ. Every time we remember our baptism and every time we witness another baptism, we are reminded that it doesn’t matter if we don’t have children or grandchildren. We are the keepers of those who are baptized among us. We are family because of the promises we have made and the promises God has made in our adoption into this family. 

….

As much as we need priests and preachers and traveling evangelists, we need disciples like Tabitha. The ones who are willing to stay, the ones who are willing to do the good and hard work of loving their communities right there where they are. 

There is a lot that can be said today about the way this is done in communities around the world because it is Mother’s Day. But regardless of whether someone is a mother, we know that women are the ones who have been doing this work of building community and keeping watch over one another. 

We know this from national statistics about unpaid labor, we know this from stories of our neighbors and aunties and grandmothers. We know this from our own experiences as women and from watching the women here in this parish. By and large, women are the ones who are getting here early to open things up and staying late to clean up and close up. And they deserve to be honored. 

Not just today, but always. Because they— in unique and incredible ways— demonstrate the love of Christ. The love of a God who not only came to be among us in the person of Jesus, but God who stays. God who clothes us and catches us in clean cloth as we are born and calls us by name… and is present with us through all of eternity. 

That is the God we worship. The God who died on the cross when love was too much for this world, and was resurrected from the dead when love was too much for hell. Our God who lives among us in the Holy Spirit, and our God who continues to raise up new saints among us— saints like Tabitha and and our deacons and our altar guild, and so many other women who are doing the good and incredible work of the kingdom but those who may never be remembered by name by us, but who are intimately known by God. 

That is the God we worship. God who knows us, as a shepherd, as a friend, as a caregiver, as a mother. 

If you will indulge me for just a few more minutes, I want to share this book with you. I share it every chance I get because it is so beautiful and it fits so well with the love we see demonstrated by God through Tabitha this morning. 

That is the God we worship. God who knows us, as a shepherd, as a friend, as a caregiver, as a mother. Amen.