Midweek Musing- May 7, 2025

Acts 9:36-43

“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.” —Acts 9:36

In Christian theology, a saint has a variety of definitions. But it is generally agreed it is a person who is recognized as having an exceptional degree of holiness, likeness, or closeness to God.

Often those we call saints are those who do something in a very public way. They are well known for their works and among some groups of believers become formally canonized.

However sometimes the saints among us are those who move so quietly, so gracefully, that we might miss them—until they’re gone.

In Acts 9, we meet such a woman. Her name is Tabitha in Aramaic, Dorcas in Greek. I think it is important to note both the language of the Hebrews and Gentiles is used to tell us who she was. This woman it seems was kind and caring to all Greek, Jew, rich, poor, old, young – everyone.

It's also interesting that both Tabitha and Dorcas have the meaning “gazelle.”

Now and this may surprise you I happen to know a bit about gazelles. While no expert, I have discovered from my visits to the Kilimanjaro Safari in the Animal Kingdom at Disney World, gazelles are elegant creatures—swift and light on their feet, graceful while also unassuming.

During one visit I once had the opportunity to watch a small herd of gazelles leap across the faux Serengeti like ballerinas performing jetés across the Radio City Music Hall Stage.

That image of Tabitha tells us more about her than we might first realize. You see Tabitha was not remembered for public sermons, for her writings, or bold theological declarations. Her legacy wasn’t etched into creeds or church constitutions, nor was it marked by miraculous deeds that defied explanation. Instead, Luke (the writer of Acts) tells us she was “devoted to good works and acts of charity”—and later, we learn specifically what one of those particular acts were: she sewed clothes for widows. She sewed.

Let that settle in.

A disciple of Jesus—and it is important to note that, Luke uses the rare feminine form of the Greek word mathētria, making her the only woman directly called a disciple in the entire New Testament—not because she taught or preached or miraculously healed, but because she loved and served quietly through her hands.

When she died, the community was devastated. The widows she had clothed—both literally and metaphorically—stood around Peter, showing him the garments she had made. Not just holding memories of her but wearing them. Her life was sewn into theirs.

What strikes me most is that Tabitha didn’t seek attention. She didn’t post about her charity. There’s no sense that she looked for applause. She simply did the good that was hers to do. As the writer Frederick Buechner once said, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.” Tabitha found that intersection with a needle and thread.

There’s something deeply countercultural about this. In a world where we’re encouraged to measure our worth by likes, retweets, and accolades, Tabitha’s story reminds us that the kingdom of God grows through humble, unnoticed acts of love.

She reminds us that sewing matters. Not just literal sewing—though that, clearly, is sacred—but all those simple, small acts we often underestimate can mend hearts and repair broken communities. Perhaps it is making a meal or sending a handwritten card. Maybe it is just sitting in silence beside someone who is grieving. Or tending to a garden. Or fixing something broken.

Indeed, it is as simple as welcoming a neighbor and holding a hand.

Friends, these are not little things. These are acts of the kingdom of God.

Amazingly Tabitha’s story doesn’t end with her death. In a remarkable and holy echo of Jesus’ own raising of Jairus’s daughter (Mark 5), Peter enters the room, sends everyone out, and prays. Then, turning to the body, he says, “Tabitha, get up.” In Greek: Tabitha, anastēthi. The same root word for resurrection.

And she does. She rises. She is restored to her community. A woman whose life was defined not by greatness but by grace is raised up, not just for her sake but for all those whose lives were stitched together by her compassion.

And the result? “Many believed in the Lord.” Not because of a flashy miracle worker or a powerful sermon, but because a beloved seamstress lived and loved so well that God said, “We’re not done with her yet.”

Friends, there is a gazelle-like holiness in those who serve quietly. There is sacred beauty in lives that ask not for recognition but simply find purpose in goodness. The good that is yours to do may not come with a stage or spotlight. But it matters. It matters so much that God weaves it into the eternal story.

At LaFayette Presbyterian, I see this every day. I see you writing cards, bringing meals, printing bulletins, praying quietly for others, giving handshakes and hugs, showing up for people in crisis, putting food in the Bird Box, serving on a committee even when no one says thank you. You are all Tabitha’s.

And to you each I say: Do not underestimate the power of your work. You are stitching the fabric of the kingdom of God, one loving act at a time.

And if ever you doubt whether it matters, remember this: Tabitha’s story was so important that Luke, writing the Acts of the Apostles, stopped everything to tell us about a woman who simply did good and was kind.

Let’s go and do likewise.

In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Alleluia Amen.