Terms of Endearment
Fourth of Easter
Acts 9.36-43; John 10.22-30
This is a tale about an unprejudiced heart, and how it changed our valley forever. There was a time not so long ago when pigs were afforded no respect, except by other pigs; they lived their whole lives in a cruel and sunless world. In those days pigs believed that the sooner they grew large and fat, the sooner they’d be taken into Pig Paradise, a place so wonderful that no pig had ever thought to come back ….
So begins the feature film Babe (Universal Pictures 1995) about the tiny but very bright pig who not only escapes the truck to the abattoir but becomes a super-effective herder of sheep – a prize-winning sheepdog - well pig!
How does he manage it? Well it’s simple actually. He’s really good at languages. He knows what the sheep are saying, so he can join in and persuade them from their unthinking recklessness. And he is good at languages, because this is a little pig with a great heart. He really cares for the sheep. With Babe, its compassion, love, tender affection, and
understanding. Tabitha lives! Tabitha koum.
With Tabitha, it was compassion, love, tender affection, understanding. We’re told she was devoted to good works and acts of love. Like the little pig, she spoke in actions. Isn’t that why the widows showed Peter the things she had made for them? Her love encapsulated in these garments for their care. Nothing more natural than to hold them, talk about them, take pride in them, as they cried for their dear friend. How many times have I gone to a house of mourning and been shown something the deceased made, or did, or achieved. I remember a buzzard carved out of one piece of wood, darts trophies, an intricate quilt, holiday snaps – he was always treating the grandchildren. And on one occasion a personal letter from Winston Churchill congratulating a soldier who had been mentioned in despatches. Look at the achievements of our dear dead one. Look at what she achieved. In what she did, Tabitha lives! Tabitha koum.
What’s a widow to do in world controlled by men? No social security in the first-century Roman Empire. If your man was dead, how were you to live? Access to economic activity depended on gender. Women without men were the most vulnerable of people. In scripture charitable concern for widows comes up again and again. That’s revealing of their inferior status and the poor treatment they generally expected. As we know the care of widows was an issue of argument in the Jerusalem Church. The office of deacon was created specifically to deal with the conflict. It wasn’t any less of
a problem in Joppa, but there they had Tabitha! Tabitha koum.
With Tabitha, the widow’s despair is overturned, the fear of starvation challenged, the curse of isolation crushed. She cared for the widows, apparently out of her own resources, and in the most practical of ways. She made clothes. Don’t
hear the story as Tabitha an object of Peter’s generous ministry. No, hear it as Tabitha the agent of ministry. Hers is the
organisation that freed destitute women from a life on the streets; hers is the skill that clothed the naked; hers the friendship that incorporated and gave worth to people others thought nothing but a nuisance. She is the minister of
all that. She is a disciple of Jesus – the only woman in the whole of Christian scripture to be called a disciple. We dare not read her story as the story of Peter’s magnanimous action. The one he calls back to life is every bit as much a disciple as he is.
Death is never the final word on discipleship. Discipleship isn’t bound by the dead weight of the way things are. What is, is what will be. No, discipleship makes real eternity. Discipleship reframes life as resurrection life. Discipleship lives the Jesus life, now! Discipleship expands experience into God’s promise that all things are made new. Tabitha lives! Tabitha
koum.
Discipleship living is resurrection living. We need pointers. We need models. Jesus, show us how. Show us how to be disciples. Show us how to live your resurrection life. And he does. In Peter. In Philip. In Stephen. In Paul. But I didn’t feel the earth quake that Easter morning. I haven’t seen the folded grave clothes. Mine isn’t the lot of a refugee fleeing persecution and turning my flight into evangelism. I haven’t been called before authorities to give an account of Jesus. Damascusis not the place of life shattering change for me. Who is throwing stones at me? And anyway I doubt my courage to face them. These heroes of the faith are just that – heroes, and I’m no hero. They are lions of the faith, and I know I’m only a pussy cat. If they are the only pointers to resurrection living, where does that leave me? But Tabitha lives! Tabitha the disciple. Tabitha koum.
I’ve never much liked the picture of Christians as sheep. I don’t want to be a sheep. One of the reasons I don’t want to be a sheep is Peter – not the apostle, but the ram. He was an enormous beast who lived with us when I was an early teenager. He used to spend most of his time tethered on the grass in our lane. Occasionally, well actually quite often, he would get himself tangled up in the rope. Whenever I went to his aid, I would get vigorously bunted for my trouble. The number of times I ended up sprawled on my face across the lane remains a painfully embarrassing memory. I don’t want to be thought of as anyone’s sheep – a great brute of a beast that does violence to those who help him. Peter came to us as an orphaned lamb – now that was different! He was incredibly engaging, scampering around the kitchen, singeing himself on the stove, eating anything that came his way, and always eager for company. Naughty but nice. Totally endearing. So you can call me a lamb, if you like!
And then I went back to last week’s gospel, the conversation between the risen Jesus and Peter on the lakeside, and that is precisely what Jesus does call me, and you. He calls those who will follow his way, those for whom Peter is to take responsibility, his lambs, his little sheep. This is a diminutive expression of love and affection that doesn’t come across in the blank word ‘sheep.’ We are his little lambs. And Tabitha is his little deer. Luke the writer of Acts helpfully tells us that the Aramaic name Tabitha translates exactly to the Greek Dorcas, which means gazelle, a lovely, little graceful deer. Tabitha is a deary, a person whose warmth of character, depth of compassion, humble loveliness, commends the gospel. That is resurrection living. That’s why she is called a disciple. Tabitha lives. Tabitha koum.
Jairus (Mark 5.21f cf Luke 8.40f) was a big man in the synagogue and his dear little daughter was gravely ill. Imagine it, the dread of every parent. So Jairus went to get Jesus as a last resort. But on his way back Jesus let himself get diverted by the needs of some old woman outcast. When they finally arrive the little girl is already dead. But Jesus, despite the protestation of the mourners, has other ideas and raises her to new life with the Aramaic words, Talitha koum, which literally means, My lambkin, arise. And if you transliterate it into the same language, Peter says to the dead helper of widows, Tabitha koum, My little deer, arise. There’s a resurrection sign – that quality of life that delights in other lives, that holds people dear, that is the warmth of affection, the ground in which all other loves flourish. Tabitha koum.
On the screen you have a detail from a website of a modern Jewish painting. I hope you can make out its subject from the fog of light and distance. It shows a young boy kneeling by a sleeping lamb. It’s part of a much bigger canvass by the Hassidic artist Zalman Kleinman from Brooklyn, New York. In the original there are no other sheep or people to be seen. The lamb is an orphan; the boy its carer. After playing, the lamb falls into the trusting sleep of very young creatures. The boy looks on at the tiny sleeping form, and presses his hand against the fleecy chest. Can you feel it? The racing flutter of the lamb’s heart. The warm greasiness of new wool. The gentle heaving of tiny ribs lifting your palm. Can you feel it? The living wonder of a tiny creature beneath your hand. Its absolute aliveness, and its trusting stillness. Look at it, let it remind you –
Remind you of your baby sleeping sound in the cot.
Remind you of that slobbering tongue across your face as you held the quivering puppy in your hands.
Remind you of your lover's sleeping face on the pillow.
Remind you of the radiant glow of your child’s face with that first swimming badge.
Remind you of hands held when a soul dear to your soul was in the shades of pain and illness.
Remind you … of life as gift, of wonder beyond words, of endearments that speak eternity, of affections tender and true.
Remind you of a little gazelle, gentle and caring. Remind you of Tabitha. Remind you to be Tabitha. Tabitha koum.
So begins the feature film Babe (Universal Pictures 1995) about the tiny but very bright pig who not only escapes the truck to the abattoir but becomes a super-effective herder of sheep – a prize-winning sheepdog - well pig!
How does he manage it? Well it’s simple actually. He’s really good at languages. He knows what the sheep are saying, so he can join in and persuade them from their unthinking recklessness. And he is good at languages, because this is a little pig with a great heart. He really cares for the sheep. With Babe, its compassion, love, tender affection, and
understanding. Tabitha lives! Tabitha koum.
With Tabitha, it was compassion, love, tender affection, understanding. We’re told she was devoted to good works and acts of love. Like the little pig, she spoke in actions. Isn’t that why the widows showed Peter the things she had made for them? Her love encapsulated in these garments for their care. Nothing more natural than to hold them, talk about them, take pride in them, as they cried for their dear friend. How many times have I gone to a house of mourning and been shown something the deceased made, or did, or achieved. I remember a buzzard carved out of one piece of wood, darts trophies, an intricate quilt, holiday snaps – he was always treating the grandchildren. And on one occasion a personal letter from Winston Churchill congratulating a soldier who had been mentioned in despatches. Look at the achievements of our dear dead one. Look at what she achieved. In what she did, Tabitha lives! Tabitha koum.
What’s a widow to do in world controlled by men? No social security in the first-century Roman Empire. If your man was dead, how were you to live? Access to economic activity depended on gender. Women without men were the most vulnerable of people. In scripture charitable concern for widows comes up again and again. That’s revealing of their inferior status and the poor treatment they generally expected. As we know the care of widows was an issue of argument in the Jerusalem Church. The office of deacon was created specifically to deal with the conflict. It wasn’t any less of
a problem in Joppa, but there they had Tabitha! Tabitha koum.
With Tabitha, the widow’s despair is overturned, the fear of starvation challenged, the curse of isolation crushed. She cared for the widows, apparently out of her own resources, and in the most practical of ways. She made clothes. Don’t
hear the story as Tabitha an object of Peter’s generous ministry. No, hear it as Tabitha the agent of ministry. Hers is the
organisation that freed destitute women from a life on the streets; hers is the skill that clothed the naked; hers the friendship that incorporated and gave worth to people others thought nothing but a nuisance. She is the minister of
all that. She is a disciple of Jesus – the only woman in the whole of Christian scripture to be called a disciple. We dare not read her story as the story of Peter’s magnanimous action. The one he calls back to life is every bit as much a disciple as he is.
Death is never the final word on discipleship. Discipleship isn’t bound by the dead weight of the way things are. What is, is what will be. No, discipleship makes real eternity. Discipleship reframes life as resurrection life. Discipleship lives the Jesus life, now! Discipleship expands experience into God’s promise that all things are made new. Tabitha lives! Tabitha
koum.
Discipleship living is resurrection living. We need pointers. We need models. Jesus, show us how. Show us how to be disciples. Show us how to live your resurrection life. And he does. In Peter. In Philip. In Stephen. In Paul. But I didn’t feel the earth quake that Easter morning. I haven’t seen the folded grave clothes. Mine isn’t the lot of a refugee fleeing persecution and turning my flight into evangelism. I haven’t been called before authorities to give an account of Jesus. Damascusis not the place of life shattering change for me. Who is throwing stones at me? And anyway I doubt my courage to face them. These heroes of the faith are just that – heroes, and I’m no hero. They are lions of the faith, and I know I’m only a pussy cat. If they are the only pointers to resurrection living, where does that leave me? But Tabitha lives! Tabitha the disciple. Tabitha koum.
I’ve never much liked the picture of Christians as sheep. I don’t want to be a sheep. One of the reasons I don’t want to be a sheep is Peter – not the apostle, but the ram. He was an enormous beast who lived with us when I was an early teenager. He used to spend most of his time tethered on the grass in our lane. Occasionally, well actually quite often, he would get himself tangled up in the rope. Whenever I went to his aid, I would get vigorously bunted for my trouble. The number of times I ended up sprawled on my face across the lane remains a painfully embarrassing memory. I don’t want to be thought of as anyone’s sheep – a great brute of a beast that does violence to those who help him. Peter came to us as an orphaned lamb – now that was different! He was incredibly engaging, scampering around the kitchen, singeing himself on the stove, eating anything that came his way, and always eager for company. Naughty but nice. Totally endearing. So you can call me a lamb, if you like!
And then I went back to last week’s gospel, the conversation between the risen Jesus and Peter on the lakeside, and that is precisely what Jesus does call me, and you. He calls those who will follow his way, those for whom Peter is to take responsibility, his lambs, his little sheep. This is a diminutive expression of love and affection that doesn’t come across in the blank word ‘sheep.’ We are his little lambs. And Tabitha is his little deer. Luke the writer of Acts helpfully tells us that the Aramaic name Tabitha translates exactly to the Greek Dorcas, which means gazelle, a lovely, little graceful deer. Tabitha is a deary, a person whose warmth of character, depth of compassion, humble loveliness, commends the gospel. That is resurrection living. That’s why she is called a disciple. Tabitha lives. Tabitha koum.
Jairus (Mark 5.21f cf Luke 8.40f) was a big man in the synagogue and his dear little daughter was gravely ill. Imagine it, the dread of every parent. So Jairus went to get Jesus as a last resort. But on his way back Jesus let himself get diverted by the needs of some old woman outcast. When they finally arrive the little girl is already dead. But Jesus, despite the protestation of the mourners, has other ideas and raises her to new life with the Aramaic words, Talitha koum, which literally means, My lambkin, arise. And if you transliterate it into the same language, Peter says to the dead helper of widows, Tabitha koum, My little deer, arise. There’s a resurrection sign – that quality of life that delights in other lives, that holds people dear, that is the warmth of affection, the ground in which all other loves flourish. Tabitha koum.
On the screen you have a detail from a website of a modern Jewish painting. I hope you can make out its subject from the fog of light and distance. It shows a young boy kneeling by a sleeping lamb. It’s part of a much bigger canvass by the Hassidic artist Zalman Kleinman from Brooklyn, New York. In the original there are no other sheep or people to be seen. The lamb is an orphan; the boy its carer. After playing, the lamb falls into the trusting sleep of very young creatures. The boy looks on at the tiny sleeping form, and presses his hand against the fleecy chest. Can you feel it? The racing flutter of the lamb’s heart. The warm greasiness of new wool. The gentle heaving of tiny ribs lifting your palm. Can you feel it? The living wonder of a tiny creature beneath your hand. Its absolute aliveness, and its trusting stillness. Look at it, let it remind you –
Remind you of your baby sleeping sound in the cot.
Remind you of that slobbering tongue across your face as you held the quivering puppy in your hands.
Remind you of your lover's sleeping face on the pillow.
Remind you of the radiant glow of your child’s face with that first swimming badge.
Remind you of hands held when a soul dear to your soul was in the shades of pain and illness.
Remind you … of life as gift, of wonder beyond words, of endearments that speak eternity, of affections tender and true.
Remind you of a little gazelle, gentle and caring. Remind you of Tabitha. Remind you to be Tabitha. Tabitha koum.
