Clothed in Dignity (Acts 9:36-43)

Icon of St. Tabitha of Joppa - 20th c.

This sermon was preached on May 11, 2025 at Gethsemane Lutheran Church, and was based on Acts 9:36-39, the story of the resurrection of the disciple Tabitha, and the Widows. 

Both services may be viewed online. The sermon alone is available below and on YouTube.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about fashion this week. About what we wear, what it means, and what it communicates to others. And this week was chock full of fashion statements from across the world. Which may sound unrelated to scripture, but I promise you it’s not, so stick with me.

Last Monday was the annual MET Gala fundraiser where celebrities dress -- or, more precisely, are dressed by some of the world’s most distinguished designers -- in extravagant, over-the-top suits & gowns, paying homage to the year’s theme. And with five Black men chairing the Gala for the first time ever this year, its theme was, “Superfine: Tailoring Black Style” and the dress code was “Tailored for You.” Inspired by Monica L. Miller's book, Slaves to Fashion: Black Dandyism and the Styling of Black Diasporic Identity, the Gala was an unapologetic, emphatic celebration of Black dandyism, which “is at its core,” Ty Gaskins writes, “a fashion revolution, a movement steeped in history, resistance, and pride. … a cultural statement, an act of protest, and, above all, an enduring celebration of individuality.” And wow, was it ever all that!

Then on Thursday, in a much different but no less extravagant event halfway across the world, white smoke billowed from the chimney of the Sistine chapel, and Cardinal Robert Prevost was named Pope Leo XIV. In the eternity between the release of white smoke and Pope Leo’s presentation on the balcony, I openly wondered to my clergy sisters why it was taking so dang long, while the former catholics among us explained that popes wear really big outfits so it takes a long time to get dressed. And when he finally did step onto the balcony in different robes than Pope Francis had worn, we listened intently to MPR’s discussion of how some popes choose their robes as they do their names, both a reflection and declaration of who they are and intend to be as pontiff. Pope Francis, you may recall, was always robed in the white minimalism of his Jesuit roots which spoke to his intentional kinship with the poor and powerless. The new Pope -- the first born in the US, progeny of Black Haitian and Creole ancestors, whose spiritual roots lay in the Augustinian tradition -- chose to wear more traditional papal garb: a cardinal’s white cassock with attached red pellegrina, under the same ornate red and gold stole donned by Popes Francis, Benedict, and John Paul before him. It was kind of a let down, if I’m honest.

But even prior to the week’s events, I was already on a journey into the significance of fabric and flesh which began as I thought about Peter and Tabitha in our Easter stories. In last week’s Gospel, when he recognized Jesus on the beach, Peter's immediate reaction was to cover his nakedness and jump in the lake. That reminded me of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden where they were unclothed and unashamed until they believed the lie that God was withholding goodness and beauty and fullness from them, and ate the fruit. Then, as Genesis 3 tells it, “Both their eyes were opened, they realized they were naked, and they sewed fig leaves together to make coverings for themselves.” When God called out looking for them, and Adam said they were naked and afraid and so they hid, God’s reply was a simple but telltale question: “Who told you you were naked?” I guess they didn’t know how perfectly clothed they’d always been in God’s love and goodness.

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