Among the Widows

sermon by Carrie Eikler
April 25, 2010 (Easter 4)
Acts 9:36-43, Psalm 23

(For my sermon this Sunday I prepared a dramatic monologue as one of the widows mourning Tabitha's death. As when reading anything that is meant to be spoken, or acted, you have to image the dramatic inflection and rhythm involved, so it was probably better heard than it is read! I started with a paraphraze of the following children's story:)

Children's Story - What’s my name? Carrie, right. That was easy. But Sebastian will tell you that my full name is Carrie Abigail Eikler. I really like the name Abigail. In fact, the name Abigail is in the Bible, and today, for the sermon, I am going to turn into a woman in the bible. Now we don’t have her name, but for now, I’m going to call her Abigail. I’m going to turn into this Abigail right now.

I’m going to put this dark cloth over my head because I, Abigail, am a widow. Do you know what a widow is? A widow, to us today, is a woman whose husband has died. And Abigail is a widow. Do you know any women whose husbands have died? Do you have a grandma, or a great grandma is still living, but your grandpa, or great grandpa is not alive? Well, I bet you love your that woman a whole bunch. Well in my time, back in biblical time, when women became widows, people didn’t love them as much. They weren’t taken care of…they kind of became invisible.

Well, today, the grown ups are going to hear me talk about a woman named Tabitha. Tabitha loved the widows in her town, including me, Abigail. She helped take care of us and made things for us and even taught us how to make things themselves. But Tabitha died. And we were so sad. We were so sad that we have sent off for the followers of Jesus to come here and maybe bring her back to LIFE!

We loved Tabitha so much because she had compassion. Do you know what compassion is? It means being kind to people. It means helping people. It means, and this sounds strange, hurting when other people hurt. That sounds strange doesn’t it. But I know that you all have compassion. I’ve seen it in the way you help each other, and last week we prayed for some of those friends who couldn’t be here because they were sick, and that’s compassion. So today, I would like to give you a green dove, because I want us to be reminded of new life that comes when we are filled with compassion. Let’s pray.

God help us be filled with compassion for each other. Help us show your love to others. AMEN

I also have something. In this basket are all sorts of things that Tabitha has made for us and I want everyone to see them, so could you please help me by taking some of these things, and laying them in the aisles, and up the stairs?

(children lay out "vestments" and return to their seats. "Abigail" takes a seat on the chancel steps, surrounded by the vestments)

I have no idea what is going to happen. I don’t want to get my hopes up because, let’s face it…she’s dead. I know, I know. I shouldn’t be so shocked…shouldn’t be so sad. She was pretty old. It’s a lucky woman who lives to be 48. It’s not like we expected her to live forever. But…it seemed like she would live forever, you know? Tabitha…oh, Tabitha. You’d probably laugh at what her name means…what her name meant. Tabitha. It means gazelle. And even with her body slowing down a bit, her spirit…it was a gazelle: bounding, graceful, aware. It was a good name for a good woman.

So here I sit, with the others. All of us, widows. We know what death means. That smell of emptiness. The familiar face of this person who you’ve looked upon day in and day out for years, life drained away, somehow turning them into a stranger. The hand that clapped in joy, and held bread, and cupped flesh…now rigid.

And we widows know what to do, and we did it for Tabitha. We laid her down, lit the candles, prayed, and began to wash her skin. It’s a beautiful, holy thing to wash the dead, you know? And to wash Tabitha, this woman who did so much for everyone, so much for me, that I could be one of the last ones to serve her. Well, it was a real honor. And she can never, will never repay me that. That’s what makes me truly humbled.

But everything has been put on hold. No sooner than I dried the tips of Tabitha’s fingers, two of the hot-blooded men in our community barged in. Not much respect in their entrance. They must had just heard about Tabitha. They just stared at her for a few moments, and then they got this look between them. It was like…a look of conspiracy. They were up to something and I knew these men as boys and when they are up to something…whew hoo you better watch out. They ran out as roughly as they ran in.

So we sat around her, in that space where those two guys came banging and barging around. We sat in the aftermath of that loud interruption, in a space that was so empty, yet so full at the same time. We watched her. We prayed over her. It all felt so familiar, yet so new.

When you’re a widow, death takes on a new perspective. I’ve endured it… as if one could endure their own death. In fact, I feared his death more than my own, my husband’s death I mean. In death I’ve been abandoned by him. At least I felt abandoned. And in a way, I died. Without my husband, I am a nobody. I really didn’t even know who I was apart from him. I was always his wife, his child-bearer. It really is the same with all of us here, all of us widows. If we weren’t crowding the steps in front of Tabitha’s house, no one would notice us.

But she did. Tabitha did. And true to her gazelle nature, she just ran forward, bringing us with her, back into life. Reminding us that we have blood running through our veins, energy in our hands, thoughts in our heads. I mean, I can’t escape these feelings entirely, this reality that “I am widow.” But she did show me how I can be loved. She just sat with me as I wondered who I was, no longer a wife.

Really, all of us sitting here are widows, at least considered widows. I mean I lost my husband, but her—over there—she’s a widow because she never married and doesn’t have any male support. And her—down there—she’s a widow even thought she’s still married…her husband just abandoned her. We’re a happy band of widows, I’ll tell you. We’re the only support we have, no matter how we became widows.

But that didn’t stop Tabitha. She was bold. While we felt invisible, these men recognized her and what she was doing. How she supported us, taught us, inspired us. And the amazing things she was saying. She’s said new things that made me rethink things about this God that is most awesome and powerful , and she told me he sent the messiah…. Well, we’ve been buzzing about it for a while now. This man called Jesus.

She kept referring to it as “the way.” That sounds so appealing to me. A way. A path. Something to walk on with someone else…like these sisters here. Like Tabitha. When one stops and needs to rest, there’s someone else to keep them company. When one needs water along the path, someone is there to help. When someone dies…(sigh)…there are others who won’t let them go by themselves. With Tabitha it was never “do this” and “do that.” She showed you what this new way was about. It was her life…her living. She showed us “the way.”

So here we sit, here on the steps, looking at Tabitha’s door. We brought out the things she made for us, all her tunics and sheets and blankets. And I’m just sitting here looking at all that color…on the steps…up to where she lay… dead.

I never expected the valley of death could be so beautiful.

There are plenty more women in there. There are so many to keep watch. I needed some fresh air. At least watching her door feels like something. (laugh) Now I can’t blame those men for running to those guys who were part of Jesus’ chummy little club. I’m sure it’s exactly what Tabitha would have done. I can just picture her, walking miles, barely stopping for rest before she dusts off her skirt and starts walking again with that attitude of her. She’d walk straight up to…well, whoever they’re going to…and say “Hey, we’ve got a situation. You better get to Joppa and quick.” She’d probably even out walk them on the way back.

(craning next) Speaking of which…it looks like they’re coming right now, over there turning around the corner. You know, they say this guy might do something, big. He might even be able to bring her back to life. Wouldn’t that be amazing? Do you think…? I mean could it really happen?

God in his infinite wisdom works miracles. I know it has happened. Our ancestors did it. Elijah raised a widow’s son. Elisha raised the son of a Shunammite woman. Now this man, this Peter I think they are calling him, is coming to us widows. And Jesus, the one who talked about the way, it happened to him too.

But I wonder what Tabitha would want. I mean, if given the choice, if you can have a choice in the matter after you’re dead, would she choose to come back? She was never afraid of death, she lived so passionately, so confidently, and she died that way. Huh…I wonder if that’s what she would want, this thing they say could happen. Would she think they wasted a resurrection? Would she send them over to the house where that young girl died, just the day before her? Would she choose to bring back one of our husbands?

OK, here he comes…there he goes into the house (sharp intake of breath). I guess we’ll wait and see what happens. What? Oh, he’s sending everyone out. That’s not going to make them very happy, but maybe he needs room to work.

Don’t get me wrong, I would love to have Tabitha back. I mean, we’re mourning here. It’s what we do…we mourn, that’s part of widows’ work. But with Tabitha, it’s real. It’s not just routine. I feel lost inside. But I have to admit something. I don’t know if this real feeling is mourning for Tabitha, or mourning for myself. Mourning for all of us.

She started something, you know? She helped us, all of us. Without her…I don’t know if we can keep it up. This energy we have about our new lives, this hope she has given us. This way she talked about…is it wide enough to hold us if we are wandering, and lost, and confused? I don’t think I could do it. What she did. How could I? (pause)

(deep breath, thoughtful) But I guess we’re here. Together. Something happened when we washed her, because we didn’t just wash her: we bathed her with our tears. But it was different this time, different than all the other times before. Because before we just did it and it did mean something... But now, for Tabitha, we did it, and it changed something.

So when those men, as irritating as they were, when those men ran out to talk to Jesus’ apostles…we knew that her compassion would be resurrected…in someway. Her compassion will live on

She’s dead, but she’s here. It’s almost as if there is something stirring among us. We’re mourning, but we’re hopeful! Look at her…and her. It’s like we’re ready for something, all together, all us invisible widows, perched here among all these colorful garments. Maybe we can walk this “way,” this way that Tabitha spoke of…maybe we’ve started to already.

(Rubbing eyes and sighing) Oh, I don’t know. It’s all so overwhelming. (look ahead). Wait a minute. Is that? Oh my.. It can’t be. It is. (stand up) We did it. He did it we did it! Praise God! Oh, they are all running over to her,--they’re going to knock her down--and to that Peter. The gazelle is alive! (pauses) It’s amazing…but I need to sit. (pause)

Now what?

(silence in Waiting Worship)

Affirmation of Faith
Christ walks with us today,
through the shadow of death
through the beauty of life
Christ is the source of our compassion.
From him we have learned
how to suffer with others
how to love the outcast
how to pray without ceasing
While darkness covers the earth
Compassion still abounds in this world.
Christ calls us to shepherd it into our hearts,
no matter our state of faith, ability, or confidence
Bringing compassion to this world, Christ is resurrected again, and again.
This is our faith
This is our hope.

Benediction – Resurrect the compassion of Tabitha, today and tomorrow and the next day. And so, resurrect Christ today and tomorrow and the next day. Rise again into the world, new creatures of compassion. Go in peace.