Easter 4 Sermon – Tabithia & The Good Shepherd
Sermon Preached by Reverend Tracey Gracey on Sunday, 11 May, 2025
A well-known Shakespearean actor always ended his performances with a dramatic reading of Psalm 23, earning loud applause each night.
One evening, a young man in the audience asked if he could recite the Psalm.
The actor agreed.
The young man spoke the words simply and sincerely.
When he finished, there was no applause – only silence, then quiet weeping.
The actor was puzzled. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“I’ve performed that Psalm for years. I know every word, every inflection. What did you do differently?”
The young man replied simply:
“Sir, you know the Psalm… I know the Shepherd.”
Good Shepherd Sunday is always celebrated on the fourth Sunday after Easter.
Over our three-year lectionary cycle, we hear three different parts of the story from chapter 10 of the Gospel of John. Each of these readings offer a slightly different picture of who Jesus is as the Good Shepherd.
Year A focuses on the Shepherd’s voice – Jesus as the gatekeeper who calls his sheep by name and leads them to safety.
Year B centres on sacrifice — the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep.
Year C offers assurance — no one can snatch the sheep from the Shepherd’s hand.
The readings from Year A & B are told in the form of parables but in Year C parable-like images are not used. Instead, we find Jesus walking in the temple, being questioned directly: “Are you the Messiah? Tell us plainly.”
And Jesus responds, not with a title, but with a relationship:
“My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand.”
Shepherd imagery is everywhere in scripture.
- God is described as a shepherd in Psalm 23 and in Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Micah.
- Leaders like Moses and David were literal shepherds before they were called to lead God’s people.
- The prophets often challenged false shepherds — leaders who looked after themselves but not the people.
- And throughout many of these accounts there is a deeper promise that God would come and be our Shepherd.
So when Jesus says, “I am the Good Shepherd,” it’s not just a nice metaphor. It’s a declaration of who he is and what he’s come to do — to be with us, to protect us, to call us by name, and to lead us into life that cannot be taken away.
And if we know the Shepherd, we are also called to take part in his work.
That doesn’t mean we have to be perfect. But it does mean we are invited to listen for his voice and follow his way — and to live with that same love and care for others.
And this is exactly what we see in the miracle story of Tabitha.
Miracle stories in the New Testament are more than accounts of extraordinary events; they are signs pointing to a greater reality.
For they invite us to glimpse something deeper about God, and what they mean for us today.
Tabitha, or Dorcas, was not a preacher or a leader in the way we might expect. But she was called a disciple — the only woman in the New Testament given that title in the feminine form — and her ministry was practical, generous, and full of love.
She made clothes. She cared for widows. She was remembered not just with words, but with the work of her hands. And when she died, her community didn’t simply accept the loss. They gathered. They wept. They showed Peter the tunics she had made — signs of her love and care. Their grief became a kind of prayer. They believed she mattered enough to be remembered.
This is where the power behind the miracle begins — not with spectacle or performance, but with memory, relationship, and a community that refused to forget someone who mattered.
Their love for Tabitha became a kind of prayer, and Peter responds to this communities grief with humility. He sends them out, kneels, and prays. And Tabitha rises.
If this story sounds familiar, it should. We hear echoes of Jesus raising Jairus’s daughter — the crowd sent out, the kneeling in prayer, the quiet invitation to rise.
Peter is not performing a new miracle, but continuing the work of Christ. The early church, through him, becomes the hands and voice of Jesus. What Jesus began — healing, restoring, lifting people out of despair — now continues through his followers.
The story of Tabitha is a story for our Easter season because it reminds us that resurrection isn’t always dramatic — sometimes it looks like restoration. It shows us that resurrection can be found in remembering, in honouring, in the quiet work of lifting each other up.
Resurrection stories are not only about what happened back then — they’re also about what is possible now. Tabitha’s story calls us not just to believe in resurrection, but to live it. To become people through whom life is restored, dignity is affirmed, and no one is forgotten.
In the short time I’ve been at St Andrew’s, I’ve heard stories of many people who, like Tabitha in her community, have shaped this community with quiet generosity. Some are sitting in the pews today, and some have been spoken about and remembered fondly.
These are the people who, like Tabitha in her community, have shaped the life of this community through simple, generous acts — by cooking, stitching, listening, driving, gardening, giving, visiting.
People who have quietly made space for others to thrive. They have helped build this church — not with miraculous events, but with faithfulness.
They remind us what it means to live as Easter people — people who are generous, grounded, full of quiet hope, and always looking for where new life might be possible again.
As the people of Joppa honoured and gave thanks for the ministry of Tabitha, may we honour the lives of those who have upheld this parish.
And like Peter and the early church, may the presence of the resurrected Christ be experienced through the practical care, support, encouragement, and love we offer one another. And may the Good Shepherd lead us in small, faithful steps of care and compassion.