April 21, 2013: Raising the dead

Sermon for Sunday, April 21, 2013

4^th Sunday after Easter

Acts 9:36-43 (Peter raises Tabitha)

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Grace and peace to you from the One who is, who was, and is to come. Amen.

This week brings us the story of Peter raising a woman named Tabitha from the dead. Peter, whom Jesus had called Satan. Peter, who had denied Jesus three times. Peter, who was asked three times by Jesus “do you love me?” (because, apparently, no one could be sure if, when Peter said something, he would actually follow through.)

Peter, a disciple who is described in Acts chapter 4 as being an “uneducated and ordinary man”, knelt down beside Tabitha’s deathbed to pray. He proclaimed, “Tabitha, get up!”--at which point the dead woman sat up, took Peter’s hand, and was presented to her community of friends as very much alive.  

Little ol’ Peter: uneducated, ordinary, and often unreliable, brought a dead woman back to life.

I have to tell you I was drawn to preach on this story from the Acts of the Apostles because I’ve been thinking about raising the dead myself all week long.

I want to raise to life Maureen Mengelt, the 52 year old woman killed when a Lutheran bishop from Wisconsin—a longtime friend of my husband—hit her with his car while driving drunk two Sundays ago.

I want to raise up Martin Richard, Krystle Campbell, Lu Lingzi, and Sean Collier, who died during this week of terror in Boston.  

I want to raise the numerous volunteer firefighters and first responders who perished in West, Texas after racing to put out a fire at the town’s fertilizer plant just before it exploded.

I want to raise to new life a famously ornery member of Bethany, Carol Stupar, who was usually (in her own words) “ jumping around like a fart in a frying pan”, but who is at this very hour journeying from life to death surrounded by her family and friends.

And let’s not stop there! As long as we’re raising the dead this morning, I want to raise Jonylah and Hadiya and all the other children killed by gun violence in Chicago this year. I want to give life and a future back to the children and teachers of Sandy Hook Elementary School. And this Friday, April 19^th,  eighteen years after the event which made “terrorism” part of my vocabulary, I wanted as much as ever to raise up little Baylee Almon, the one year old girl from the iconic photo which showed a firefighter carrying her lifeless body out of the rubble of the Alfred P. Murrah building in Oklahoma City.

I, Carrie Smith, a disciple of Jesus Christ, uneducated, ordinary, and unreliable though I may be, would like to exercise the power of the Risen Christ TODAY and raise the dead! Who’s with me? Amen?

After all, my sisters and brothers, this is why we’re here! We are here on this 4^th Sunday of the Easter season because we confess the mystery that Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again! We gather here as a community after a week of terror and sadness, when we might rather curl up in the safety and comfort of our own homes, because we believe Christ’s resurrection means death does not have the final word. We gather to sing songs of lament and praise, trusting that there is new life in Christ Jesus and that we, his disciples, are sent to raise the dead in his name. Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, alleluia!

Of course, this sort of talk generally makes people uncomfortable, and I can see a few of you squirming in your seats right now. You can be a Christian, just don’t get all up in my face about it. You can do nice things for people, volunteer at the food pantry, serve on the altar guild, maybe even go to Theology on Tap with the new pastor—but if you start talking about raising the dead, you’ve clearly gone over the edge and become a religious wackadoodle.

The author Sara Miles said it well in her book, “Jesus Freak: Feeding, Healing, and Raising the Dead”:

“Most Christians know so much more about the faith than I do. They grew up in Sunday School; they know their church's history and creeds by heart; some have even been to seminary and can read the Gospel in Greek. But when I tell them I met the risen Jesus in actual food, they often pull back a bit, as if I'd declared I saw the Virgin Mary on a tortilla. (Which, by the way, would make me very happy.) And when I tell them that Jesus said we can go ahead and heal the sick, that we don't have to wait for authorization from our bishops to raise the dead, they look worried.”

We recently started a home communion ministry here at Bethany, and those who have been delivering communion to our sick and homebound members will tell you what a blessing it has been for them and for the ones they visit. However, I suspect if we instituted a “raising the dead” ministry you’d be a little skeptical! We don’t like to talk about this particular Act of the Apostles because it just seems too outlandish. Surely, this is an allegory! Surely it doesn’t mean what it really says! Surely we aren’t supposed to believe that Peter simply said, “Tabitha, get up!” and a dead woman sat up and started talking! And even if he did, how can we possibly carry on this ministry today? I predict the volunteer sign-up sheets for this “Door of Opportunity” will be incredibly hard to fill.

And yet, we read that after the resurrection, the apostles were indeed going from village to village, feeding, healing, and raising the dead in Jesus’ name. And in fact, in the very first chapter of the Acts, Jesus leaves the disciples with these words just before they went out to begin their ministry:

“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”

You, my sisters and brothers in Christ, have received power when the Holy Spirit came upon you at your baptisms! You have the power to be Christ’s witnesses to the ends of the earth. You have the power to baptize in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. You have the power to comfort the grieving, to heal the sick, to feed the hungry, and yes, through Christ you have the power to raise the dead to new life.

This may sound hard to believe. It may sound a bit wackadoodle to think we can raise the dead! But then again, maybe we just need to get close enough to folks to find out.

If we’re going to raise the dead, we might need to come close to those who are sick, or dying, or dead. If this sounds too obvious to you, consider how often the work of caring for the sick, the dying, and the dead is given over exclusively to the ordained and the trained. Consider how uncomfortable we get when someone brings up in conversation a medical diagnosis or the recent loss of a loved one or an addiction problem. Consider the comment from a church member who told me that when her spouse was dying, many people said “I’m praying for you” but only one person actually visited their home.

If we want to raise the dead, my friends, we can’t run away from suffering and death. We’re going to have to come close to death in order to banish it. So while this may sound obvious, I suggest we take another look at that story of Peter and Tabitha before we start our own “raising the dead” ministry here at Bethany.

Tabitha became ill and died, and after her friends had cared for her body they sent for Peter to come over to the house. Peter, whom Scripture tells us was “going here and there among all the believers” (Acts 9:32), preaching and healing and basically jumping around like a fart in a frying pan, dropped everything to visit with Tabitha’s grieving friends.  

Now if Peter’s only purpose was to say some magic words, you’d think he would walk in and go to the dead woman and get right down to the business of raising the dead! But that’s not what he did. First he listened to the widows’ stories about Tabitha. He heard how she was devoted to good works and acts of charity. He admired examples of her sewing handiwork. He stayed there at her bedside, surrounded by her weeping friends, honoring the sacred moment. And it was only then, after bringing new life and new hope to Tabitha’s friends, that Peter prayed for Tabitha, proclaiming her to be restored to life and to her community.

If we’re going to be raising the dead, bringing new life into places where death has taken hold, then it seems clear we’re going to have to get over ourselves and our fear of death. If we’re going to raise the dead, we need to be with each other during sacred moments, we need listen to stories of grief and heartache, and we need to truly pray with and for each other. We must remember that ministry to the sick and the dying is a privilege we all share as disciples of Jesus Christ—it’s not just for the seminary trained and synodically authorized. Chiefly, we must remember that being people of the resurrection isn’t about avoiding death and the cross, but rather is about boldly going towards it, trusting that it is never the end of the story.

We saw a powerful example of what this means on Monday, when videos and photos showed people running toward the scene of the bomb blast at the end of the Boston marathon. Spectators, runners, and medical workers ran toward the cross rather than fleeing from it. I imagine they saw things they never wanted to see, and they will carry those burdens with them as long as they live. But by running into the blast that day, they brought new life, restoration and hope to people who, like Tabitha, seemed lost to death. They put aside their fear of death to be with those who were closest to it. And for those of us who were watching from afar, they gave us all new life, new hope, and new confidence in the goodness of humanity. Through the Holy Spirit, strangers have raised us all from the dead.

My sisters and brothers, because Christ has been raised, we have also been raised to new life! That is Good News that’s just too good to keep to ourselves. Through Christ’s resurrection, and with the power of the Holy Spirit, we all have the power to raise the dead to new life. Believe it or not, you’re doing it all the time! You’re raising the dead when you listen to each other’s stories, when you accompany the dying and sit with the grieving. You are raising the dead when you pray with and for each other.

And…we’re about to do it this morning.

As Sara Miles put it:

“And raising the dead? This is what Christians do every Sunday, after all, when we stand around in our boring churches, eating little wafers or pieces of whole wheat pita, saying aloud that Christ is risen. It's what we do whenever we continue in simple, literal acts: breaking bread, praying without hope of perfect outcomes, admitting our weaknesses, and loving people who don't deserve it. It's what we do when we remember that death is not the end.”  

Amen.  

4th Sunday of Advent: Living Together in Peace

4^th Sunday of Advent 2012

“Living Together in Peace” 

Micah 5:2-5a; Luke 1:39-56

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.  

 Hear again the words of the prophet Micah:

And he shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord, in the majesty of the name of the Lord his God. And they shall live secure, for now he shall be great to the ends of the earth; and he shall be the one of peace.

One Sunday morning about ten years ago, just as my family was heading home after worship at Central Lutheran Church in downtown Minneapolis, my cell phone rang. We had just gotten to the parking lot and were still chatting about lunch options with Robert’s parents, Cindy and Ed, who were visiting from Oklahoma, when that familiar ringtone interrupted the conversation. I knew instantly what it meant—a baby was about to be born.

At that time, my pre-pastoral profession was working as a doula, otherwise known as a labor and childbirth assistant. In this role, I had the great privilege of accompanying pregnant women throughout the entire labor and birth process. However, it should be noted that babies do not come on a predictable schedule. Sometimes they come after you’ve had a good night’s sleep and have all your bags packed. Sometimes they come in the middle of the night. And sometimes…they come two weeks earlier than expected. And so it happened that I would not be enjoying Sunday lunch with my family.

Aside from missing lunch, the problem of the moment was that we had brought two vehicles to church that morning: our family-sized sedan with room for the two car seats and the diaper bag and everything else a family of four might need; and my father-in-law Ed’s pickup. Since not everyone was interested in joining me at the hospital for the joys of childbirth, I was given the keys to the truck.

Ed seemed a bit skeptical about entrusting his beloved Ford F-150 to me, and he was sure to give me a quick lesson in how to drive and park it. And then he said, with much seriousness: “In case there’s any trouble, you’ve got a pistol under the driver’s seat. Do you know how to use it?”

His words took my breath away. The idea that I would need a handgun to attend the birth of a baby had never crossed my mind. I was driving off to the hospital to be with a couple for the most sacred event of their lives! Furthermore, they had enlisted me, a doula, to join them, to help ensure the experience was healthy and peaceful. I knew for a fact that guns had no place in their birth plan. 

But it was no use arguing with Ed. After a few more instructions, I drove off in my father-in-law’s truck, armed and ready to welcome a new life into the world.

Robert gave me permission to tell this story about his dad, who died not long after this took place. We both agreed, however, that in the telling, it’s important to acknowledge that Ed was acting out of a sense of duty to protect his family. He wanted to be sure I was safe. He wanted to be sure his whole family lived secure. 

But this story begs to be told today, as we prepare for the birth of another baby—Jesus, the Prince of Peace—and all around us the world is debating whether we should be armed for the occasion.

In the interest of security, some would like us to be armed for every occasion.

The NRA has called for “armed police officers in every school in this nation” before the kids return to class in January. 

Others have suggested we arm the teachers, or at least the principals.

Here in Illinois, a federal appeals court has just overturned the last state law banning citizens from carrying guns concealed on their bodies. 

And in Michigan, the governor has vetoed a law that would allow concealed weapons even in schools, daycare centers, and churches—but only after intense public pressure in the days following the Sandy Hook massacre.

Please understand: my job as pastor is to preach the Gospel, not politics, and I confess that I don’t know any easy policy answers to the problem of our culture of violence. But as a preacher, I most certainly have a responsibility to preach the truth. Micah chapter 3, which comes just before our reading for today, gives a harsh warning to prophets who would stand and preach “peace” to those who are hungry, when they themselves have enough to eat. And the prophet Jeremiah bemoans: “From prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely. They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, ‘Peace, peace’, when there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 8:11, 6:14)

And so I cannot stand here, at the end of an Advent season in which our worship and prayer focus has been “Imagine: Peace”, and preach to you “peace” when there is no peace. I cannot, after the deaths of 20 children and 6 teachers, one mother and one disturbed young man, ignore the fact that we have a problem in our country. We are afraid. We have lots of guns. But we have no peace.  

In this morning’s lesson from Micah chapter 5, we heard that “the one of peace” shall come out of Bethlehem, and with his arrival Jerusalem “shall live secure.” Our reading starts with verse 2, but if we step back just one more verse, we learn more about the situation of those who were hearing those prophetic words:

“Now you are walled around with a wall; siege is laid against us; with a rod they strike the ruler of Israel upon the cheek.” (Micah 5:1)

This is a description of Jerusalem’s situation around 800 B.C.E, but when I hear these words, I think of how we, today, are walled around with a wall. We live behind a wall of weapons, nearly 90 guns for every 100 American citizens. And yet we are not secure, no matter how many guns we acquire, for we are under siege by our own fear. 

The Israelites had no reason to think tomorrow would be a better day, or that the future would bring anything new. Our predicament seems just as hopeless. Just one week after Sandy Hook, with the funerals nearly done and the news crews withdrawing their attention from Connecticut and on to the next top story, we have every reason to think tomorrow won’t be any better, either. More guns will be purchased. More shootings will happen. More children will die! And we will still be afraid.

But then, into our hopelessness, into our fear, and into our sinful idolatry of guns and might and power over others, comes a tiny baby. He is the one we’ve been waiting for. He’s the ruler the prophet Micah prophesied would come out of Bethlehem: a new kind of king, bringing a new kind of peace. His name is Jesus, and he comes carrying a cross, not a conceal carry permit.  

The Prince of Peace, the one the world’s been waiting for, has finally come! But instead of bringing his army with him, we find him in an animal’s feeding trough. Instead of being encircled by guns and guards, we find him surrounded by a ragtag bunch of farm animals, field workers, and foreigners. By coming near to us in Jesus, a defenseless human baby, God thwarts the plans of those who would attempt to bring peace and security through gunpowder and assault rifles and weapons of mass destruction. God has done a new thing! He “has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” (Luke 1:49-53) The day God showed up in a manger, the world was given a new path to peace and security.

No longer do we find our security behind a wall, or in our ever-growing stash of weapons; nor do we find it in power over others. Now, we can beat our “swords into plowshares and our spears into pruning hooks” (Micah 4:3) Micah chapter 4 even says we can “study war no more” because we’re no longer seeking our own defense. Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace, who was born of a virgin and laid in a manger; who ultimately died on a cross only to be raised the third day, brings the peace that passes all understanding: Peace between us and the One who created us. 

My fellow Christians, we know this to be true, but we so easily forget. If you listen carefully, though, it’s there—even in our Christmas carols: "Peace on earth, and mercy mild. God and sinners reconciled." (Hark the Herald Angels sing) 

The Christian witness, especially at Christmas, is one the world desperately needs to hear: Guns do not bring peace. Arming ourselves will never make us live secure. The only chance at peace this world has is to live into the gift of peace given through Jesus Christ. Only when we fully receive the gift of being at peace with God will we be at peace with ourselves—and with each other.

My father-in-law, in his attempts to bring security and peace to his family, instead gave birth to more fear. No matter how many guns he bought, he was always afraid.  And the presence of so many weapons only made his family afraid, too. On the day he died, the last phone call we made before starting on the road to Oklahoma was to Robert’s mom. We had to ask her to remove the guns before we brought our toddlers into the house. “Move them all, Mom,” said Robert. “Yes, the one in the coffee table, and the one behind the recliner, and the one in the nightstand. And all the rest.” 

Today, poised as we are on this last day of Advent, with Christmas just hours away, we rejoice that Mary is in labor. God is about to do something new, and we have been invited to the birth! We have an open invitation to the stable tomorrow, to kneel at the manger where the newborn Jesus is laid. Are we going to welcome this new life with a gun under our seat? Will we approach the manger armed, or with open arms, ready to receive the gift of peace God has sent to the world? 

Come now, O Prince of Peace. In your mercy, forgive us, and show us your Way to live together in peace. Amen.