Pentecost Sermon 2013: Pastor Carrie Smith

Pentecost Sermon: May 19, 2013

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

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

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

This morning we heard the story of the day of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit fell upon a gathering of believers like fire, giving them the ability to speak other languages. We sometimes call this the “birthday of the church”, and not only because it’s a good reason to eat cake! We call this the birthday of the church because it marks the beginning of something new. It was this day when God gifted believers with a new mission and purpose: to share the Good News of Jesus Christ across the boundaries of language, culture, race, gender, orientation, class, economic status, political persuasion or physical ability. On Pentecost, God sent us out beyond every boundary humans have ever created—and through the gift of the Holy Spirit, God gave us the power to do it.

Some of you are wearing your Pentecost red this morning, but even so, you may not be feeling especially powerful, particularly if you have ever tried to cross one of these boundaries and experienced just how hard it can be. We humans are master architects and builders of separation walls. If you’ve ever worked on an interfaith committee or an anti-racism team; if you’ve tried to help a classroom understand your child’s disability; if you’ve ever lived in another country or learned another language, you know the walls that separate us are high and often difficult to climb.

I learned something about boundaries—and how the Holy Spirit transcends them—when I was twenty years old and had the chance to study in Germany for a year.

The first new language I learned to speak that year abroad wasn’t actually German, but rather the language of public transportation. Public transit is something that just didn’t exist in small-town Oklahoma. Your choice for gettin’ around where I came from was essentially a choice of “vehicle”: car or truck.

But in one 24 hour period on my journey to Germany, I experienced my first overseas plane ride, followed by my first train, first street car, and first taxi ride. Then, once my bags were unpacked at my hosts’ home, they asked if I’d like to accompany their daughter at her rowing lesson. Soon, there I was, in my first rowboat, rowing down the Rhine River.

Needless to say, the study abroad experience was overwhelming and disorienting. I looked for comfort and stability in church. I had just recently joined the Roman Catholic Church back home (that story is a sermon for another day!) so I started attending daily mass at the huge cathedral in Mainz, where I was living.

It didn’t take long to realize this church was very different from my small, liberal, university campus parish in Oklahoma. I didn’t understand the language. I didn’t know any of the hymns. There was lots of standing up and sitting down that we didn’t do at home. And at age 20, I was a good 60 years younger than anyone else attending those early morning masses. It was beyond discouraging, but I kept going, praying hard to feel the presence of God in my life that I so dearly missed.

Adding to my sense of being out of place was this one woman at the church who always seemed to be staring at me. She made me nervous, with her long black dress and her little head doily. Her nose-hairs alone were enough to put the fear of God in you! Every day when I arrived, she was already there praying, and let’s just say: her demeanor was less than welcoming.

One morning, as I arrived and quietly found a spot to kneel and pray, nose-hair lady began to shuffle towards me. I did a quick mental check: What had I done wrong? Was my skirt too short? Did I sit in her pew?

When she got to me, I cautiously looked up at her and then nearly fainted, because she was smiling at me! Without saying a word, she reached out and took my hand. She pressed into it something small and hard. Then she just held my hands in hers for a few moments and looked into my eyes before going back to her usual place to pray.

When I opened my hand I saw it was a tiny silver medal, with an image of a baby dressed in royal clothing. I truly had no idea what it was or what I should do with it! Later, I found out it was an image of the Infant Jesus of Prague. At that moment, however, it meant one thing to me: I wasn’t alone. God was with me even in this foreign land. And this woman had been praying for me!  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, God was speaking to me through this woman, across the boundaries of language, culture, and generation. This was a Pentecost moment for me.


There have been other Pentecost moments that stand out in my mind. Once, when I was having pregnancy complications, my Egyptian neighbor brought me the biggest pot of soup I had ever seen, and without saying a word she communicated that God was with me even on bed-rest. Another time, it was I who was given the gift of tongues, when I found myself sitting on an airplane next to a man who spoke no English and was traveling from Germany to, of all places, Oklahoma City. Between us, we managed to have a conversation in something you might call “Jerklish”. But when I was able to understand that he wanted water “mit Gas” or “with bubbles” and arranged for the flight attendant to bring a bottle of Perrier, you could see the tension and fear leave his shoulders and his face.

Now, you might be saying, “Pastor Carrie, I don’t see how this has anything to do with the Holy Spirit! You’re just talking about the power of a smile, the power of food, or the power of kindness and a glass of water. What does this have to do with God?”

To which I might respond: “Oh, how we limit God’s presence and power in our lives!”

In fact, our under-estimation of God’s power is what made the Day of Pentecost so scandalous! There they were, the faithful of the early church of Jesus Christ, all gathered together in one room, and when they experienced that first Holy Spirit smackdown and started speaking in tongues, no one could understand what was happening. The devout religious folk living in Jerusalem said, “Aren’t these all just poor fishermen from Galilee? Where did they learn to speak my mother tongue?” Most assumed they were drunk, even at nine in the morning, which just shows you the kind of reputation and standing Christians enjoyed at the time of the early church. But what other explanation could there be for simple, ordinary people, suddenly gifted with the ability to cross over boundaries of religion, language, race, and culture?

Indeed, what explanation can there be for those moments when a smile, a pot of soup, or an act of kindness communicates God’s love between people who otherwise share nothing in common?

On the Day of Pentecost, it was Peter who stood in the assembly and announced that this was in fact the power of God at work! This strange event was just the beginning of God’s presence and power in the lives of the faithful through the gift of the Holy Spirit.  This is the work of the Advocate, whom Jesus promised, who makes our sons and daughters prophesy; who makes our young men see visions, and our old men dream dreams; and who gives us a peace that passes all understanding.

So sisters and brothers in Christ, if the power of Holy Spirit can be found working through a bunch of poor fishermen from Galilee or a pot of soup from a neighbor, then who are we to limit the Spirit’s power to transcend other boundaries in our lives? How is the Holy Spirit at work through this community?

We say “Surely it can’t make any difference if we try to sing a hymn in Spanish in worship. I might sound ridiculous—I don’t even know what I’m singing.” And yet, for your neighbor, this could be a Pentecost moment, when the Spirit empowers you to sing the Good News in her mother tongue.
We say, “I love to knit. But how can that prayer shawl I knitted really help to spread the Good News?” And yet, this week, in my role as a member of the County Mental Health Board, I heard from a counselor how she picked up two of Bethany’s prayer shawls at the FaithBridge Interfaith Thanksgiving Service, and gave them to a woman and her daughter who were in great need. Today, the little girl still has hers on her bed at home, and the mother finds comfort knowing she is wrapped in the prayers of those she doesn’t even know.

We say, “I’m 80 years old, and you can’t teach an old dog new tricks! How can the Holy Spirit possibly work through me?” And yet today we pray a blessing over Mavis Bagby, age 80, who is traveling to Uganda next week to accompany the people there. I have no doubt Mavis will experience many Pentecost moments, as the Holy Spirit works through her and through the Ugandan people to transcend boundaries of language, race, class and privilege in service to God’s mission.

And today we are blessed to be witnesses to the baptisms of four new brothers and sisters in Christ: Jimmie, Natalie, Myles and James. Through water and the Word, God claims them today as God’s own, forever marked with the cross of Christ and sealed by the Holy Spirit. But my favorite part of the baptism liturgy is after the water, when I have the honor of laying my hands on each of their heads and praying these words:

“Sustain Myles (and Natalie, and Jimmie, and James) with the gift of your Holy Spirit: the Spirit of wisdom and understanding, the Spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, the Spirit of joy in your presence, both now and forever. Amen.”

 

This is my favorite part of the baptism liturgy because, like that Day of Pentecost in the second chapter of Acts, I know it is the beginning of something new. This is the baptismal birthday of Myles, Natalie, James, and Jimmie. This is the day we celebrate that each of them is gifted with God’s Holy Spirit, and from this day forward is sent out into the world in God’s service. Who can say how the Spirit might work through them? Who can say which boundaries they will erase, which walls they will tear down, or whose languages they will speak? Who can say how they will prophesy, dream dreams, or cast visions for the church and for the world? Who can limit how God may use each of them to share the extravagant love of Jesus Christ to those who need to hear it?

Sisters and brothers, through the cross of Christ and his resurrection, every barrier that stood between us and God is gone forever. And now, through the gift of the Holy Spirit, God has empowered believers to remove every barrier that stands between us and our neighbors.

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

7th Sunday of Easter: May 12, 2013

7^th Sunday of Easter, May 12, 2013

Acts 16:16-34

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

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

A pastor-friend recently told me the story of going to church for the first time when she was about sixteen years old. A classmate had invited her to join the bell choir, knowing she was a musician and could easily follow the music. So she went, feeling skeptical and nervous and out of place, but hoping to hear something that would change her generally negative opinion of Christians and church.

The lesson of the day was about Jesus and the feeding of the five thousand. The preacher stepped up to the pulpit, and my friend tuned in with anxious anticipation to her very first sermon. And then the preacher began with: “Let’s get one thing straight. Jesus didn’t really feed all those people.”

The sermon went on to describe all the possible ways this miracle didn’t really happen, and how the story should teach us to share, but let’s not take it too seriously.

Well, the way my friend, the future pastor, tells it, she tuned out immediately after those first sentences. That sermon merely confirmed what she already thought about Christians: that they were all hypocrites; that they didn’t really believe the stuff in the Bible anyway; and all preachers were there to do was tell you how to live your life and make you feel guilty. Done, done, and done.

She didn’t go back to a church for a long while after that.

I’m telling you this story today, because as we consider the story of Paul and Silas and their dramatic escape from prison, I think it’s important that we’re careful not to over-spiritualize or take away the power of their story of imprisonment and freedom.

You saw the basic story played out just minutes ago, but let’s recap: Paul and Silas were thrown into prison for preaching about Jesus and especially for freeing a slave-girl possessed by a spirit. While in prison, they inspired the other inmates by continuing to pray and to praise God even from behind bars. When a huge earthquake shook the foundations of the prison, opening the cell doors and freeing them from their chains, the jailer was poised to kill himself out of fear of what his employers would do when they saw the prisoners had escaped. But Paul called out “Stop!” and announced that he, Silas and all the other prisoners were still there! The jailer, confused and in awe at this turn of events, fell to his knees and asked how he, too, could be saved. Paul and Silas not only answered that question, but followed him home, teaching his entire household about the Good News. That very night, the jailer and his whole house—slave and free—were baptized! And then…they had a party. All good stories should end with a party!

Now this is a story that grabs us, demanding our attention, complete with spirit possession, exorcism, false imprisonment, prison conversions and a mass baptism! Sounds like God’s own summer blockbuster to me! But, imagine for a moment hearing a sermon on this Gospel story that went like this:

“Let’s get one thing straight, folks: Paul and Silas weren’t really freed from prison during an earthquake sent by God! And even if they were, no one believes that all the prisoners would stick around afterwards or that the jailer wouldn’t kill them. This is merely a story about freedom from sins and bad habits. It’s about how if we believe the right things about Jesus we will feel free! But let’s not take it too seriously.”  Amen?

NO! Not amen! If preaching is about proclaiming God’s Good News for our Bad Situations, then exactly who is this good news for? I don’t need to come to sit in a pew for an hour on Sunday to hear how to feel free. I feel free when I have a real day off. I feel free on the last day of school. I feel free when I lose a few pounds or pay off the department store credit card.

But if it’s a beautiful spring morning, and I’ve come to a brick building to sit on wooden pews next to people I don’t even know, I want to hear about real freedom!

I want to hear about three girls, kidnapped and held captive for ten years, who gained freedom this week in Cleveland. I want to hear how one of those girls, Amanda Berry, said to the 911 operator after being rescued by a neighbor: “I've been kidnapped. And I've been missing for 10 years. And I'm here! I'm free now!”

I want to hear about Reshma, the Bangladeshi woman found alive after 17 days in the rubble of that illegally-built garment factory, who called out, “Brother, save me!” and then, when they pulled her free, “I never thought I would see sunlight again.”

I don’t know about you, but these days I desperately need to hear more real stories of freedom and liberation, of prisons broken open and slaves going free! I need to hear about people finding freedom from the prisons of addiction, of abuse, of guilt, and of shame. I need to hear about the poor and the elderly, the unemployed and the uninsured, finding freedom from systems of oppression we silently endorse.

I am standing here today to proclaim to you real freedom for real people, through the love of God in Christ Jesus. I take that seriously, and I hope you do, too.

We don’t come to hear the Word of God to make us feel better or to be entertained. We don’t come to the table because that piece of bread and that sip of wine can take the place of the Mother’s Day brunch we’re going to later today.

No, we come here each Sunday as a community, with all our differences and all our disagreements, from as many backgrounds and viewpoints as there are pews in this room, because we are hungry for freedom, and we know it is here for us in the water and in the Word, in the bread and in the cup we share.

Paul and Silas found freedom when an earthquake shook the very foundations of the prison. In the same way, we come here to be reminded of the day when the cross of Christ shook the very foundations of the world.

That event, when Jesus, fully human and fully divine, went willingly to the cross for the sake of people imprisoned by sin, turned the whole world upside down. The love of God we see when we see Jesus on the cross frees us today from the burden of trying to be perfect. Today we are set free from our past mistakes! Today the cross of Christ is stronger than the bars of injustice! Today God’s love tears down the walls of hate we love to build!

The cross of Christ is the earth-shaking, prison-leveling event which this very day breaks open our hearts and frees us to love extravagantly, just as God loves us through Jesus Christ. The cross breaks open cell after cell after cell, setting free the people of God to live lives that bear witness to the love of Jesus Christ.

This is real freedom for real people!

And…this freedom is not for us to keep to ourselves.

It was Martin Luther who taught the church about the responsibilities that come with freedom in his work “On the Freedom of a Christian”. He wrote:

“A Christian is a perfectly free lord of all, subject to none.


AND


A Christian is a perfectly dutiful servant of all, subject to all.”

In other words, through Christ we are perfectly free and must answer to no one.

But, because we are free in Christ, we are also, at the same time, perfectly bound to our neighbors. Our lives are not our own! We, who were made free through Christ, are now “slaves of the Most High God” as the servant-girl called Paul and Silas. And being slaves of the Most High God means we are forever linked to the lives of others.

Because we are free, we are bound to look past the white picket fences in our communities and to care what’s happening next door, whether we live in Cleveland or in Crystal Lake.

Because we are free, we are bound to consider how the $5.99 shirt we purchase is imprisoning workers in a foreign land.

Because we are free, we are bound, through the cross of Christ, to every prisoner, to every forgotten child, to every sex worker, and to every human being deprived of dignity and liberty.

As Christians made free through the cross of Christ, it is our baptismal call to work for the freedom of all people. It is our duty and our joy to break open screen doors and let free abducted girls from captivity. It is our duty and our joy to use our purchasing power to end slave labor. It is our duty and our joy to speak out against racism, sexism, homophobia, and every wall which separates us from each other.

Sisters and brothers, Jesus prayed that we would be one as he and the Father are one. As we leave this holy place today, I pray that we would indeed be one: of one mind and one heart, living into the freedom we have through Christ. I pray that when we leave this table, strengthened and nourished, forgiven and freed, we will go out boldly speaking God’s words of hope and liberation to all who need to hear them, shaking down walls of injustice, exclusion, and hate wherever they are found.

And now, since we Lutherans can be a quiet bunch, please turn to your neighbor and practice by proclaiming: “Sister (or brother), if the Son makes you free, you are free indeed!”

5th Sunday of Easter; April 28, 2013

5^th Sunday of Easter, April 28, 2013

Psalm 148; John 13:31-35; Revelation 21:1-6

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith 

A few minutes ago you heard the Confirmation students’ updated, “Mad Libs” version of Psalm 148. Now, let’s read together Psalm 148 as it is printed in your Celebrate insert:

¹Hallelujah! Praise the LORD ^| from the heavens;

     praise God ^| in the heights.

²Praise the LORD, ^| all you angels;

     sing praise, all you ^| hosts of heaven.

³Praise the LORD, ^| sun and moon;

     sing praise, all you ^| shining stars.

⁴Praise the LORD, heav- ^| en of heavens,

     and you waters a- ^| bove the heavens.

⁵Let them praise the name ^| of the LORD,

     who commanded, and they ^| were created,

⁶who made them stand fast forev- ^| er and ever,

     giving them a law that shall not ^| pass away.   R

⁷Praise the LORD ^| from the earth,

     you sea monsters ^| and all deeps;

⁸fire and hail, ^| snow and fog,

     tempestuous wind, do- ^| ing God's will;

⁹mountains ^| and all hills,

     fruit trees ^| and all cedars;

¹⁰wild beasts ^| and all cattle,

     creeping things and ^| flying birds;

¹¹sovereigns of the earth ^| and all peoples,

     princes and all rulers ^| of the world;

¹²young ^| men and maidens,

     old and ^| young together.   R

¹³Let them praise the name ^| of the LORD,

     whose name only is exalted, whose splendor is over ^| earth and heaven.

¹⁴The LORD has raised up strength for the people

and praise for all ^| faithful servants,

     the children of Israel, a people who are near the LORD. ^| Hallelujah!   R

I had a few other sermon ideas in the works this week, but yesterday morning, as I walked my puppy Charlie around the neighborhood, all I could say to myself was “Praise the Lord!” Praise the Lord, the sun is out! Praise the Lord, I’m not wearing a wool sweater! Praise the Lord, it’s spring! Praise the Lord, God is finally doing a new thing! Amen!

As I walked, my mind kept going back to the psalm for today, Psalm 148, which invites everything—from humans to sea monsters, from the sun and moon to fire and hail—to praise God. It’s an invitation, not a command: and yet it’s clear that in the psalmist’s opinion, whoever we are, whatever we are doing, we should be about the business of praising God.

Music is probably the first thing we think of when we want to praise God, and whether we consider ourselves musically talented or not, many of us learned to praise God with singing from the time we were little. Let’s test it out a bit. I’ll sing the first phrase, and you finish it:

Praise him, praise him, all ye little children….(God is love, God is love!)

Praise him, Praise him….(praise him in the morning, praise him in the noontime.)

Hallelu, hallelu, hallelu, hallelujah…(praise ye the Lord!)

(I will remind you that the Bethany choir meets on Wednesday nights at 7:30 pm…)

Music is most certainly a wonderful way to praise God, and we can look to the great Lutheran musician Johann Sebastian Bach as an example of putting one’s gifts to work for that purpose. In fact, Bach’s life motto was “Soli Deo Gloria” , which means “to the glory of God alone.” Bach proclaimed that all the music we wrote was written to honor God, not himself.  This is saying a lot, considering he wrote new music nearly every week for his job as church organist! That’s a lot of praise!

On the other hand, Bach also allegedly said, “Bring me a bowl of coffee before I turn into a goat.”

So, apparently, even J.S. Bach didn’t feel much like praising God until he had had his morning cup of coffee, which makes me feel considerably better about myself.

And this gets me to the next point, which may very well be what you are thinking right now:
“Praising God is all well and good, Pastor, but what if I don’t feel like singing praises? Never mind my lack of coffee or the lack of sunshine the last few weeks. What about the bombings in Boston, the explosion in Texas, the building collapse in Bangladesh, and the earthquake in China? What about the loss of our beloved Carol, whose funeral is tomorrow? How can we praise God in the midst of all this?”

If you’re thinking something along these lines this morning, you should at least know you’re not alone. We all struggle some days to praise God, especially when the world seems particularly un-praiseworthy. In fact, I wonder why this psalm was written. It could be that it was an especially beautiful spring day, like the one we had yesterday. It could be that the psalmist was walking in nature, as I was, and was inspired to write these beautiful words.
Or…it could be the psalmist was having an April like we just endured. Maybe these words weren’t written for the days when we have sunshine on our shoulders, but rather for the days when the sun seems a distant memory. Perhaps these words were written for when the rain and the cold, the violence and the loss in the world have taken away our “alleluias”. Maybe these words are both an invitation and a reminder to the creeping things and the flying things, to the trees and sea monsters and everything else, that life itself is a gift. That being part of this incredible creation is a miracle. That whoever you are, and whatever life brings you, you are to be about praising the One who created you. As it is written:

⁵Let them praise the name ^| of the LORD,

     who commanded, and they ^| were created,

⁶who made them stand fast forev- ^| er and ever,

     giving them a law that shall not ^| pass away.

Of course, this is easier for the sea monsters, cattle, fruit trees, and creeping things mentioned in this psalm. They don’t have much choice in praising God! The fire praises by burning. The creeping things praise by creeping. The sea monsters praise by swimming. And the hail…well, I don’t want to think about how hail praises God! But the point is, whether these creatures and elements of creation feel like it or not, they praise God. 

So what does that mean for us, God’s creatures who struggle with the blessing and curse of freedom, and of reason, and of feeling the weight of the world’s sorrows? How are we to praise God?

“Worship” is another way of saying “Praise God”, so I looked to pastor and author Frederick Buechner’s definition of “worship”. He writes:  

“To worship God means to serve him. Basically there are two ways to do it. One way is to do things for him that he needs to have done - run errands for him, fight on his side, feed his lambs, and so on. The other way is to do things for him that you need to do – sing songs for him, create beautiful things for him, give things up for him, tell him what’s on your mind and in your heart, in general rejoice in him and make a fool of yourself for him the way lovers have always made fools of themselves for the one they love.”  (“Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC”, pp.97-98)

Love is the focus of the Gospel text for today, in which we heard again the words Jesus left with the disciples at the last supper: “As I have loved you, so you should love one another. By this they will know you are my disciples: if you have love for one another.” This is Jesus commanding us to be about the business of that first kind of praise—doing something for God that God needs to have done. “Little children, I am with you only a little while longer,” said Jesus. In his absence, God needs us to love the world the way he did.

Therefore, we praise God when we love each other the way Jesus first loved us. We praise God when we welcome sinners and tax collectors and Democrats and Republicans and tree-huggers and former Pentecostals and doubters and all the rest to eat the same bread and drink the same wine. We praise God when we challenge the powers-that-be for the sake of the poor and the oppressed and those with no voice. We praise God when we heal the sick and comfort the dying and wrap our arms around the grieving and the lonely. We praise God by loving each other, even when we happen to not like each other very much.

This kind of love is no easy task. Jesus makes it sound so easy, sitting there at the table with his friends! But when we read it today, we know just how hard it was. We know about the cross. We know about the suffering. We know about the tomb.

But we also know about the empty tomb, and Easter morning, and how Thomas touched the wounded hands and side, and how the disciples came to know Jesus on the walk to Emmaus. We know how hard it is to love someone to the end, because Jesus already did it!  But we also have seen that because he loved us to the end, death is no more. Mourning and crying and pain are no more, for the first things have passed away.

Jesus’ love for us is how it is that we, his disciples, can love one another even when it’s hard.  His love is why we can praise God even when the spring seems far off.

And his love is also why praising God is something we need to do. Like the trees and the birds and the sea monsters, we can’t help but sing songs, make art, dance, plant gardens, solve math problems, balance the books, and teach children. We can’t help but sing at the top of our lungs, like the guy I saw in the middle of the thrift store yesterday, belting out the choruses to every song on the radio, bless his heart! We can’t help but make fools of ourselves, out of love for the One who created springtime, who placed women like Carol in our lives, and who sent Jesus to be love-in-the-flesh.

Therefore, let all things that have breath, praise the Lord! Alleluia, Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia! 

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.