Message: "It's Not Too Late to Get Back Up" - Acts 9:36-43; Luke 10:22-30

 

It's Not Too Late to Get Back Up

Acts 9:36-43; John 10:22-30
In the series “Rise Up”

The kitchen clock read 12:17 AM. I wanted to be asleep, but there I sat—staring at bills, ministry projects, school assignments, and a to-do list that seemed to grow by the hour.

Many years ago, I hit a season in ministry and life where everything crashed at once. The church had needs. My family had needs. And somewhere in trying to meet everyone else's needs, I'd lost myself. That night, in the glow of my computer monitor, I pushed back from the desk and whispered words I never thought I'd say as a pastor: "God, I think I'm finished. I don't know how to get back up from this."

The silence that followed felt deafening. No thunderclap response. No sudden clarity. Just the crushing weight of feeling knocked completely flat.

What I didn't know then was that God specializes in people who've been knocked down. That's where resurrection begins.

Maybe you’ve been there, too. You might wonder if your best contributions are behind you. If anyone still notices what you've given. If your life still has purpose when the career is over or the house is empty.

Maybe you're asking if it's too late to start over—with God, with family, with dreams you once had.

And today, on Mother's Day, I want to speak directly to the mothers and mother figures among us. This holiday can stir up such complicated feelings, can't it? Some of you have poured decades into raising children—driving to endless activities, preparing countless meals, bandaging wounds both physical and emotional—and now you wonder: Did it matter? Was it enough? Some of you are in the thick of mothering right now—sleep-deprived, stretched thin between work and home, scrolling through social media wondering how other moms make it look so effortless when you're barely hanging on. Some feel the ache of children grown and gone, or the deeper pain of children estranged. Others carry the silent grief of motherhood denied through infertility or loss.

And then there are those special women—aunts, teachers, mentors, neighbors—who mother without the title, whose nurturing presence has shaped lives profoundly, often without recognition.

Whether it's grief that knocked you down, disappointment, failure, or just plain exhaustion—the question becomes: Can I get back up again? Or is it too late for me?

In both of today's scriptures, we meet Jesus not only as a compassionate presence, but as the one who holds authority over life and death. Let's take a deeper look.

First, Tabitha. Acts 9 tells us about a disciple named Tabitha—also called Dorcas in Greek—whose name means "gazelle." That detail is more than ornamental. Gazelles were symbolic in Jewish literature of beauty, grace, and swiftness. Her name reflects the vitality and goodness she brought to her community. Luke, the author of Acts, is careful to point out that she was full of good works and acts of charity. In a time when women were often unnamed or undervalued, Tabitha is not only named—she is called a disciple  She is the only woman explicitly given that title. That tells us something about how the early church valued her leadership and witness.

She dies, and her death is met with deep grief. The widows she clothed, likely among the poorest in Joppa, weep as they show Peter the garments she had made for them. In biblical culture, widows were some of the most vulnerable people in society. Tabitha wasn’t famous or wealthy, but her hands were busy with love. She wasn’t just a kind friend – she was a lifeline to the women of her community.

And then Peter arrives. He sends everyone out of the room, as he had seen Jesus do during his earthly ministry. He said, "Tabitha, get up." Tabitha opens her eyes and sits up. And just like that, the church in Joppa learns what we all need to hear: it's not too late to get back up.

Second, Jesus in John 10. This moment in Jesus’ ministry takes place during the Festival of Dedication, what you might know as Hanukkah. It’s a time when Jesus remembered how God delivered them from a tyrant who desecrated the Temple and tried to snuff out their identity. As Jesus walks in the Temple, the people demand to know if he is the Messiah who will lead them to freedom from oppression.

Jesus responds not with political promises but with relational assurance. He says, "My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. … I and the Father are one." This is radical. He's not just a healer. Not just a prophet. He is claiming the authority of God Himself—to know, to give life, to preserve from death.

Jesus doesn't offer eternal life as a reward for religious performance, but as a gift given to those who trust Him. It is rooted in the intimate relationship between the Shepherd and His sheep.

Now bring that back to Tabitha. She was a sheep who heard His voice. She followed Him with good works and mercy. And in that moment when death seemed to have won, the Good Shepherd called her name again—through Peter—and she got back up.

Jesus knows your name. Jesus knows your pain. Jesus knows what knocked you down. And Jesus is still saying, "Get up."

Tabitha's resurrection wasn't just for her benefit. It was for everyone her life would touch going forward. Her rising meant others would rise too.

That's the power of women like Tabitha throughout history—they lift as they rise.

Like Clara Hale, known as "Mother Hale." After losing her husband, this African American woman in Harlem began taking in foster children. Eventually, she opened Hale House in 1969, providing love and care for babies born addicted to drugs or abandoned. Over her lifetime, she nurtured more than 1,000 children back to health and hope.

She once said: "We are all God's children. No matter what color or creed, we all need the same things—love and hope and somebody to believe in us."

Mother Hale showed what resurrection looks like—helping others rise from despair to dignity.

Or consider Dr. Tererai  [tarry-I] Trent from rural Zimbabwe. As a young girl living during wars in her country, she was forbidden education, forced into marriage, and a mother of 4 by age 18. But she had a dream of education that wouldn't die. She wrote her dreams on paper, sealed them in a tin can, and buried them under a rock. In her culture, burying is the same as planting.

Despite unimaginable obstacles, she persisted. Today, Dr. Trent holds multiple degrees, including a PhD. She now builds schools in Zimbabwe so other girls can rise too. Her motto? "The dreams of one woman can become the seeds of change for many."

And resurrection stories continue today:

In Maine, Tabitha's Closet at Winthrop United Methodist Church provides clothing for children and teens, understanding that dignity matters.

Tabitha's Closet at Afton UMC in upper New York ensures families don't have to choose between groceries and school clothes.

For over 50 years, Dorcas Ministries in Cary, NC, has been a shared effort by 40 local congregations, including United Methodist churches. It operates clothing and household items through a thrift store that generated $3.2 million in 2022 and gave over $2.2 million in grants to people and families needing food, rent, utility, and other assistance. They offer mobile health clinics, financial counseling, mental health care, career assistance, and Bible study. Clients are treated with respect and dignity, loved as a child of God. Their mission is to be the premier social service agency in their county.

These women and each of these ministries echo Tabitha's story: These women heard Jesus say, “Get up”—and they did, bringing others with them. They are ordinary people doing extraordinary things because they believe in resurrection—in the power to get back up and help others do the same.

So let me ask: Where do you need to hear Jesus say, "Get up" today?

• Is it in your faith that's grown quiet?
• In your purpose that seems unclear?
• In relationships that need healing?
• In dreams you've buried because they seemed impossible?

Remember, It's not too late. It's not too late to begin again. It's not too late to serve with the gifts you have. It's not too late to make a difference. It's not too late to rise and help others rise too.

Here are some practical ways to respond this week:

1.     Reach out to someone who's down. Send a note. Make a call. Deliver a meal. Be the voice that says, "You're not forgotten."

2.     Use your hands to serve. Like Tabitha's sewing, what simple skill do you have that could bring dignity to someone else? Cooking? Writing? Building? Listening?

3.     Invite someone to join our community. Who needs to hear that it's not too late for them? Bring them with you next Sunday.

4.     Take one step forward. What's the thing you've been telling yourself is too late to try? Take one small step this week. That step might even be saying, “yes” in response to hearing Jesus’ voice calling you to “get up.”

Church, let's be like the community in Joppa—a place where no one falls without others coming alongside to help them rise again.

Let's be a church that celebrates the Tabithas among us—women whose quiet, faithful service changes lives.

Let's be people who believe in resurrection—not just as a past event but as a present reality that says: "With Jesus, it's never too late to get back up."

Because the same Jesus who called Tabitha's name is calling yours.

The same hands that lifted her are reaching for you.

And the same voice that said "Get up" is still speaking today.

Will you listen? Will you rise?

Amen.