As a pastor, I spend an inordinate amount of time in cemeteries. It is not that I want to, mind you. It is simply part of what I’m called to do.

Yet despite all those visits to cemeteries, I’ve never spent much time reading tombstones. But maybe I should. They can be interesting. Recently I ran across some epitaphs found on the graves of famous people. For example, do you know what Mel Blanc, the man of a thousand voices, the man who gave life to such cartoon characters as Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, has engraved on his tombstone? "That’s all folks."

In Richmond, Virginia, there is another curious epitaph. It reads:

At Rest

An American Soldier

And Defender of the Constitution.

Do you know to whom the plot belongs? Jefferson Davis, the president of the Confederacy.

Or consider the epitaph of Marshall Field, the founder of a chain of department stores bearing his name. The words are simple. The marker reads: "Equality—Integrity." Not bad for a man worth more than $100 million when he died in 1906.

What’s interesting about epitaphs is that they are—for most folks—the last word written about them. That which we have engraved in granite out at Seaside may well be all that people 10, 20, 50, 100 years from now will ever know about us. That makes it important, but what will it be?

As you consider your own epitaph, consider Luke’s summary of Dorcas’ life. In a paragraph—really in just a handful of words—Luke sums up a life well lived. He gives us a clue as to what as followers of Jesus we might desire on our own marker.

So what would be written on Dorcas’ tombstone?

The first word would be "disciple."

Luke says that in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which is in Greek Dorcas. At first glance being called a disciple may not seem all that significant. It simply means, "to be a student or follower of a particular teacher." In our day, particularly in our tradition as Disciples of Christ, the term could be used for anyone from Billy Graham to a person who has not been in a church since they were baptized as an infant.

But that is not the case with Dorcas. Her discipleship was substantive, meaningful. So complete is her devotion to Christ that she is the only women in all the New Testament for which the feminine word for "disciple" is used. It is not used for Mary or Martha, Phoebe or Priscilla. Dorcas is the only one. She is the epitome of discipleship—the standard to which all others are to aspire. So completely committed was she to Jesus as her Lord and Savior that they would have said: "Now Dorcas, there is a real disciple." That single word conveyed a lot about who she was.

Of course, you have known folks like Dorcas, haven’t you? I know I have.

Dick was a gentleman farmer, ex-teacher and basketball coach and former school superintendent. Ask virtually anyone in Pendleton County, Kentucky, to name his or her leading citizens and Dick would be on the list. Such was his reputation.

Yet anyone with more than a passing knowledge of Dick would identify him for

his faith. He is a man who doesn’t just study the New Testament, who doesn’t just know a lot about Jesus. He is a disciple, disciplining his life so that he offers the same kind of love, grace and service as people see in his Lord. To some day find written on his tombstone the word "disciple" would be most appropriate.

Of course, that raises a question for us, doesn’t it? Do people see us as disciples? Do our children and grandchildren know from our words and deeds that the fundamental commitment of our lives is the learning from and living like Jesus? Will they think "disciple" when it comes time to write our epitaph?

Still, as important as the word "disciple" was to summarize Dorcas’ life, it was not complete in and of itself. Luke goes on to offer another phrase to describe this woman. He says that she was devoted to or full of good works.

When Peter arrived at Dorcas’ home shortly after her death, he found "the widows" of that community surrounding her. By definition, widows in that day and age were among the least of society. Without a husband or other male benefactor they were often reduced to scrounging for food in the town dump or even offering themselves on the street.

But that hadn’t happened to these widows—and the reason was Dorcas. She had tended to them. She was their caregiver and supporter. The very clothes they wore testified to the good works she performed for their behalf.

Being "full of good works" is not a bad addition to her epitaph. It fact, it is high praise. It is at the heart of the faithful life and always has been.

Last week Newsweek ran an interesting article on the neurology of spiritual experiences. Scientists have discovered that during spiritual experiences certain parts of the brain are particularly active. All of which is quite interesting. But in a response to the article’s emphasis on spiritual experience, Kenneth Woodward notes that such experiences are not ultimately the measure of one’s devotion to God. He points out that even saints and mystics were ultimately judged by their compassion, by the good works they did in the name of Jesus. What mattered most was that they expressed their faith in the care of others.

Isn’t that still true of our experiences?

Ann was not a great scholar. She was not one who recounted great spiritual experiences. She was by her own definition nothing but a tar heel from North Carolina. But she was a saint. There wasn’t a member of the congregation or neighborhood that had a need that Ann wasn’t willing to try and meet. A mom was sick? Ann took the kids for the day. An elderly couple couldn’t get to the store? No problem. Ann was going by there anyway. A widower lonely? Here comes Ann with a casserole and conversation. She’s Dorcas-like, full of good works. And like Dorcas, she will be remembered that way.

Is that how you will be remembered? Will "full of good works" adorn your tombstone or mine? Will any of us be remembered for the way we cared for the least of these in our community? We can hope.

Still, there is another phrase Luke uses to sum up the remarkable life of Dorcas. She was not just a disciple. She was not just full of good works. Luke says she was also devoted to acts of charity. Or, as one translation put it, she was generous in giving alms.

In Judaism, giving alms, giving food, clothing or money to the poor, was a highly honored practiced. With no government programs and no organized charitable institutions, giving from one’s own hand directly to those in need was the best way to provide food and clothing as well as opportunity and justice. Those who did so were applauded. Jesus reflected the importance of the practice when, as he sat at the temple, pointed out for honor the widow who gave not out of her abundance but out of her poverty. Like Dorcas, she was generous in her alms giving.

Generosity remains an important attribute of the faith. I’ll never forget the example of Gilbert Davis. The auditorium in Indianapolis was packed that night for worship. It was the General Assembly of the Christian Church and Gilbert had been invited to preach. At the time he was the Director of Church Relations for TCU. Before that, he had pastored Kings Highway Christian Church in Shreveport, Louisiana. His topic for the night was the importance of loving the Lord with one’s wealth. And in the midst of the sermon, he said: "When my children sit down to read my Last Will and Testament, they are going to see just how much I love the Lord."

I know without a doubt that Gilbert will be generous at his death because he has been generous in life. That’s who he is. He knows that such acts of charity--such almsgiving--befit those who follow Jesus as Lord.

Have we reached that place yet? Can we freely give of what we possess for the sake of others? Will the final words written about us reflect the fact that we, in the name of Christ, were devoted to acts of charity, that we gave generously of that which God gave us?

Chances are most of us will not write our own epitaph. We won’t put in our wills the words to be engraved above us. But then again, we are always writing our epitaph—always expressing to the world who we are, always conveying how we will be remembered. As followers of Jesus, we could do a lot worse than striving to be remembered as:

A Disciple

Full of Good Works