The Beloved Dorcas
[Delivered in Joppa, Palestine, December 1st,
‘And all the widows stood by him weeping, and showing the coats and garments which Dorcas made while she was with them.’’
Acts ix, 39,
DORCAS, JUDAS MACCABAEUS AND NAPOLEON.
HRISTIANS of Joppa! Impressed as I am with your mosque, the first I ever saw, and stirred as I am with the fact that your harbor once floated the great rafts of Lebanon cedar from which the temple at Jerusalem was builded, Solomons oxen drawing the logs through this very town on the way to Jerusalem, nothing can make me forget that this Joppa was the birthplace of the sewing society that has blessed the poor of all succeeding ages in all lands. The disasters to talmage’s sermons.
your town when Judas Maccabeus set it on fire and Napoleon had 500 prisoners massacred in your neighborhood can not make me forget that one of the most magnificent charities of the centuries was started in this seaport by Dorcas, a woman with her needle embroidering her name ineffaceably into the beneficence of the world.
DORCAS HAS BEEN HERE — AN ELOQUENT
TRIBUTE.
I see her sitting in yonder home. In the doorway, and around about the building, and in the room where she sits are the pale faces of the poor. She listens to their plaint, she pities their woe, she makes garments for them, she adjusts the manufactured articles to suit the bent form of this invalid woman and to the cripple that comes crawling on his hands and knees. She gives a coat to this one, she gives sandals to that one. With the gifts she mingles prayers and tears and Christian encouragement. Then she goes out to be greeted on the street comers by those whom she blessed and all through the street the cry is heard: “Dorcas is coming!^’ The sick look up gratefully in her face as she puts her hand on the burning brow, and the lost and the abandoned start up with hope as they hear her gentle voice, as though an angel had addressed them; and as she goes out the lane, eyes half put out with sin think they see a halo of light about her brow and a trail of glory in her pathway. That night a half-paid shipwright climbs the hill and reaches home and sees his little boy well clad and says: Where did these clothes come from?’’ And they tell him, Dorcas has been here.” In another place a woman is trimming a lamp; Dorcas bought the oil. In another place a family that had not been at table for many a week are gathered now, for Dorcas has brought bread.
GREAT WEEPING IN JOPPA.
But there is asiidden pause in that woman’s ministry. They say: Where is Dorcas? Why we haven’t seen her for many a day? Where is Dorcas? And one of these poor people goes up and knocks at the door and finds the mystery solved! All through the haunts of wretchedness, the news comes ^’Dorcas is sick!’’ No’ bulletin flashing from the palace gate, telling the stages: of a king’s disease, is more anxiously awaited than the news from this sick benefactress. Alas! for Joppa!: there is wailing, wailing. That voice which has uttered so many cheerful words is hushed; that hand which has made so many garments for the poor is cold and still; the star which has. poured light into the midnight of wretchedness is dimmed by the blinding mists that go up from the river of death. In every God forsaken place in this town; wherever there is a sick child and no balm; wherever there is hunger and no bread; whereever there is guilt and no commiseration; wherever there is a broken heart and no comfort, there are despairing looks and streaming eyes, and frantic gesticulations as they cry: “Dorcas is dead!” They send for the apostle Peter, who happens to be in the suburbs of this place, stopping with a tanner by the name of Simon.
THE APOSTLE PETER APPEARS ON THE SCENE.
Peter urges his way through the crowd around the door and stands in the presence of the dead. What expostulation and grief all about him! Here stand some of the poor people, who show the garments which this poor woman had made for them. Their grief can not be appeased. The apostle Peter wants to perform talmage’s sermons.
a miracle. He will not do it amid the excited crowd, so he kindly orders that the whole room be cleared. The door is shut against the populace. The apostle stands now with the dead. Oh, it is a serious moment, you know, when you are alone with a lifeless body! The apostle gets down on his knees and prys, and then he comes to the lifeless form of this one all ready for the sepulcher and in the strength of him who is the resurrection he exclaims: Tabitha, arise! There is a stir in the fountains of life; the heart flutters; the nerves thrill; the cheek flushes; the ee opens; she sits up!
We see in this subject Dorcas the disciple, Dorcas the benefactress, Dorcas the lamented, Dorcas the resurrected.
DORCAS, THE DISCIPLE.
Ifl had seen that word disciple in my text I would have known this woman was a Christian. Such music as that never came from a heart which is not chorded and strung by divine grace. Before I show you the needlework of this worpan I want to show you her regenerated heart, the source of a pure life and of all christian charities. I wish that the wives and mothers and daughters and sisters of all the earth would imitate Dorcas in her discipleship. Before you cross the threshold of the hospital,, before you enter upon the temptations and trials of tomorrow, I charge you, in the name of God and by the turmoil and tumult of the judgment day, O women! that you attend to the first, last, and greatest duty of your life — the seeking for God and being at peace with him.
When the trumpet shall sound there will be an uproar, and a wreck of mountain and continent, and no human arm can help you. Amid the rising of the dead, tat.mage’s sermons.
and amid the boiling of yonder sea, and amid the live, leaping thunders of the flying heavens, calm and placid will be every woman’s heart who hath put her trust in Christ; calm, notwithstanding all the tumult, as though the fire in the heavens were only the harmony of an orchestra, as though the awful voices of the sky were but a group of friends bursting through a gateway at eventime with laughter and shouting; ‘Dorcas, the disciple! Would God that every Mary and every Martha would this day sit down at the feet of Jesus.
DORCAS, THE BENEFACTRESS.
Further, we see Dorcas the benefactress. History has told the story of the crowm; the epic poet has sung of the sword; the pastoral poet, with his verses full of redolence of clover tops, and a-rustle with the silk of the corn, has sung the praises of the plow. I tell you the praises of the needle. From the fig leaf robe prepared in the garden of Eden to the last stitch taken on the garment for the poor, the needle has wrought wonders of kindness, generosity, and benefaction. It adorned the girdle of the high priest; it fashioned the curtains of the ancient tabernacle; it cushioned the chariots of King Solomon; it provided the robes of Queen Elizabeth; and in the high places and in the low places, by the fire of the pioneer’s back log and under the flash of the chandelier, everywhere, it has clothed nakedness, it has preached the gospel, it has overcome hosts of penury and want with the war-cry of ‘’Stitch, stitch, stitch!’’ The operatives have found a livelihood by it, and through it the mansions of the employer have been constructed. Amid the greatest triumphs of all ages and lands I set down the conquests of the needle. I admit its crimes; I admit its cruelties. It has had more martyrs than the fire, it has punctured the eye, it has pierced the side, it has stuck weakness in the lungs, it has sent madness into the brain, it has filled potter’s field, it has pitched whole armies of the suffering into crime and wretchedness and woe. But now that I am talking of Dorcas and her ministries to the poor, I shall speak only of the charities of the needie.
This woman was a representative of all those women who make garments for the destitute, who knit socks for the barefooted, who prepare bandages for the lacerated, who fix up boxes of clothing for missionaries, who go into the asylums of the suffering and destitute bearing that gospel which is sight for the blind and hearing for the deaf, and which makes the lame man leap like a hart and brings the dead to life, immortal health bounding in their pulses. What a contrast between the practical benevolence of this woman and a great deal of the charity of this day! This woman did not spend her time idly planning how the poor of your city of Joppa were to be relieved; she took her needle and relieved them. She was not like those persons who sympathize with imaginary sorrows and go out in the street and laugh at the boy who has upset his basket of cold vituals, or like that charity which makes a rousing speech on the benevolent platform, and goes out to kick the beggar from the step, crying: ‘Hush your miserable howling!’*
The sufferers of the world want not so much theory as practice; not so much kind wishes as loaves of bread; not so much smiles as shoes; not so much ^’God bless yous!” as jackets and frocks. I will put one earnest Christian man, hard working, against 5,000 mere theorists on the subject of charity. There are a great many who have fine ideas about church architecture who never talmage’s sermons.
in their life helped to build a church. There are men who can give you the history ofBuddhism and Mohammedanism who never sent a farthing for their evangelization. There are women who talk beautifully about the suffering of the world who never had the courage, like Dorcas, to take the needle and assault it.
QUEEN BLANCHE, QUEEN MAUD AND OTHER
BENEFACTRESSES.
I am glad that there is not a page of the world’s history which is not a record of female benevolence. God says to all lands and people, Come now and hear the widow’s mite rattle down into the poor box. The princess of Counti sold all her jewels that she might help the famine-stricken. Queen Blanche, the wife of Louis YIII. of France, hearing that there were some persons unjustly incarcerated in the prisons, went out amidst the rabble and took a stick and struck the door as a signal that they might all strike it, and down went the prison door, and out came the prisoners. Queen Maud the wife of Henry I., went down amidst the poor and washed their sores and administered to them cordials. Mrs. Retson, at Matagorda, appeared on the battle-field while the missiles of death were flying around, and cared for the wounded. Is there a man or woman who has ever heard of the civil war in America who has not heard of the women of the sanitary and Christian commissions, or the fact that before the smoke had gone up from Gettysburg and South Mountain the women of the north met the women of south on the battle-field, forgetting all their animosities while they bound up the wounded and closed the eyes of the slain? Do reas the benefactress.
I come now to speak of Dorcas the lamented. When
TALMAGE’S SERMONS.
death struck down that good woman, oh, how much sorrow there was in this town of Joppa! I suppose there were women here with larger fortunes; women, perhaps, with handsomer faces; but there was no grief at their departure like this at the death of Dorcas. There was not more turmoil and upturning in the Mediterranean sea, dashing against the wharves of this seaport, then there were surgingsto and fro of grief because Dorcas was dead. There are a great many who go out oflifeandare unmissed. There may be a ver large funeral; there may be a great many carriages and a plumed hearse; there may be high-sounding eulogiums; the bell may toll at the cemetery gate; there may be a very fine marble shaft reared over the resting place; but the whole thing may be a false-hood and a sham. The church of God has lost nothing, the world has lost nothing. It is only a nuisance abated; it is only a grumbler ceasing to find fault; it is only an idler stopped yawning; it is only a dissipated fashionable, parted from his wine cellar; while, on the other hand, no useful Christian leaves this world without being missed. The church of God cries out like the prophet: ‘’Howl, fir tree, for the cedar has fallen.’* Widowhood comes and shows the garments which the departed had made. Orphans are lifted up to look into the calm face of the sleeping benefactress. Reclaimed vagrancy comes and kisses the cold brow of her who charmed it away from sin, and all through the streets of Joppa thre is mourning — mourning because Dorcas is dead.
BURIAL OP JOSEPHINE OF FRANCE.
When Josephine of France was carried out to her grave there were a great many men and women of ])omp and pride and position that went out after her;
I’H^ BELOVED DORCAS.
but I am most affected by the story of history that on that day there were 10,000 of the poor of France who followed her coffin, weeping and wailing until the air rang again, because when they lost Josephine they lost their last earthly friend. Oh, who would not rather have such obsequies than all the tears that were ever poured in the lachrymals that have been exhumed from ancient cities. There may be no mass for the dead; there may be no costly sacrophagus; there may be no elaborate mausoleum; but in the damp cellars of the city and through the lonely huts of the mountain glen there will be mourning, mourning, mourning, because Dorcas is dead. **Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; they rest from their labors and their works do followthem.’^
I speak to you of Dorcas the resurrected. The apostle came to where she was and said: **Arise; and she sat up!’’ In what a short compass the writer put that — She sat up!’’ Oh, what a time there must have been around this town when the apostle brought her out among her old friends! How the tears of joy must have started! What clapping of hands there must have been! What singing! What laughter! Sound it all through that lane! Shout it down that dark alley! Let all Joppa hear it! Dorcas is resurrected!
You and I have seen the same thing many a time; not a dead body resuscitated, but the deceased coming up again after death in the good accomplished. If a man labors up to fifty years of age, serving God, and then dies, we are apt to think that his earthly work is done. No. Hi-s influence on earth will continue till the world ceases. Services rendered for Christ never stops. A Christian woman toils for the upbuilding of a church through many anxieties, through many self denials, with prayers and tears, and then she dies. It is fiftccTi ‘cars since she went away. Now the spirit of God descends upon the church; hundreds of souls stand up and confess the faith in Christ. Has that Christian woman who went away fifteen years ago nothing to do with these things? I see the flowering out of her noble heart. I hear the echo of her footsteps in all the songs over sin forgiven, in all the prosperity of the church. The good that seemed to be buried has come up again. Dorcas is resurrected.
After awhile all these womanly friends of Christ will put down their needles forever. After making garments for others some one will make a garment for them; the last robe we ever wear — the robe for the grave. You will have heard the last cry of pain. You will have witnessed the last orphanage. You will have come in worn out from your last round of mercy. I do not know where you will sleep nor what your epitaph will be; but there will be a lamp burning at that tomb and an angel of God guarding it, and through all the long night no rude foot will disturb the dust. Sleep on, sleep on! Soft bed, pleasant shadows, undisturbed repose! Sleep on!
Asleep in Jesus! Blessed sleep!
From which none ever wakes to weep.
Then one day there will be a sky rending, and a whirl of wheels, and the flash of a pageant; armies marching, chains clanking, banners waving, thunders booming, and that Christian woman will arise from the dust, and she will be suddenly surrounded — surrounded by the wanderers of the street whom she reclaimed, surrounded by the wounded souls to whom she had administered! Daughter of God, so strangely surrounded, what means this! It means that reward has come, that the victory is won, that the crown is ready, that the banquet is spread. Shout it through all the crumbling earth.
rnz r>:i:LovK:) dorcas.
Sijag it through all the flyrig heavens.* Dorcas is resurrected.
A STORY OP THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND. In 1885, when some of the soldiers came back from the Crimean war to London, the Queen of England distributed among them beautiful medals, called Crimean medals. Galleries were erected for the two houses of parliament and the royal family to sit in. There was a great audience to witness the distribution of the medals. A colonel who had lost both feet in the battle of Inkerman was pulled in on a wheel-chair; others came in limping on their crutches. Then the queen of England arose before them in the name of the government and uttered words of commendation to the officers and men and distributed these medals, inscribed with the four great battlefields — Alma, Balaklava, Inkerman, and Sebastopol. As the queen gave these to the wounded men and the wo tmded officers the bands of muvsic struck up the national air and the people with streaming eyes joined in the song:
God save our gracious queen I
Long live our noble queeni
God save the queen!
And then they shouted, “Huzzah! huzzah!” Oh, it was a proud day for those returned warriors!
But a brighter, better, and gladder day will come when Christ shall gather those who have toiled in his service, good soldiers of Jesus Christ. He shall rise before them, and in the presence of all the glorihed of heaven he will say: Well done, good and faithful servant!’’ and then he will distribute the medals of eternal victory, not inscribed with works of righteousness which we have done, but with those four great battle-fields, dear to earth and dear to heaven, Bethlehem! Nazareth! Gethsemane! Calvary!-