Scripture: Acts 1: 6-14
(6) So when they had come together, they asked him, "Lord, is this the time
when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" (7) He replied, "It is not for you
to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. (8) But you
will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in
Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."
(9) When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud
took him out of their sight. (10) While he was going and they were gazing up toward
heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. (11) They said, "Men of
Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from
you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven."
(12) Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near
Jerusalem, a sabbath day's journey away. (13) When they had entered the city, they went to
the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip
and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and
Judas son of James. (14) All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together
with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.
Acts 1: 6-14
Text from "God is Gone Up" by Gerald Finzi,
today's Kirk Choir anthem:
God is gone up with a triumphant shout! The Lord with sounding trumpets melodies:
sing praise, sing praises out unto our King, sing praise seraphic-wise! Lift up your
heads, ye lasting doors, they sing, and let the King of Glory enter in.
Methinks I see Heaven's sparkling courtiers fly in flakes of glory down him to
attend, and hear heart-cramping notes of melody surrounding his chariot as it did ascend;
mixing their music and making ev'ry string more to enravish as they this tune sing.
God is gone up with a triumphant shout! . . .
- Text by Edward Taylor (1647-1729)
from "Sacramental Meditations"
Whenever I hear this story that we call The Ascension of Christ, I can't help but
remember my childhood images of how it might have happened. I imagine Jesus standing on a
hill with his disciples. Then, as if he has booster rockets under his robe, he floats
straight up in the air and disappears into the clouds. I imagine the disciples standing
with their mouths hanging open, looking up into the sky. I would have too, if I'd been
there.
As a child of the church, I spent hours looking up and trying to figure out where
heaven is, how God's throne stays up in the sky and how all those dead people who've gone
to heaven walk around in the sky on days when there aren't any clouds to step on?
We don't believe in a three-tiered universe anymore, with hell below us and heaven up
there where the sky turns blue. We have learned that the world is round. We've plumbed
below its surface and not found Dante's Inferno, we've walked on the Moon, sent probes to
Mars, and we've discovered other galaxies and black holes without crashing into the throne
of God. Our first inclination is to ignore the story of Jesus' ascension as a relic from a
primitive worldview that we've left far behind.
Yet, instead of throwing it away or skipping over it to that equally fantastic story of
Pentecost, which comes next Sunday, I want us to pause and see if we can discover why, for
2000 years, the church has said that this story points to a truth we need to hear.
I imagine that after Jesus died and was raised, and the disciples experienced his
presence with them, the last thing in the world they wanted was for him to go away again.
I imagine they wanted to keep him all for themselves.
When I was a child and my father returned home from business trips, I clung to him as
much as possible and didn't want him out of my sight. When I feel sad or upset, afraid or
lonely, I want someone with me and I want them to focus on me, not on all the other
aspects of their life. It's a little like the truth that when we're sick, no matter how
old we are, we still want a mommy to bring us chicken soup and ask, "Can I get you
anything else, dear?"
I imagine the disciples felt a lot like that when they, surprisingly, got Jesus back.
Focus on us, Jesus. Answer our questions, Jesus. Take care of my needs, Jesus. Keep me
company, Jesus. "Come and live in my heart, Jesus," we pray and sing. Walk with
me. Talk with me. Tell me I am your own. Jesus and me - it's so comforting, so peaceful,
so happy . . . so limiting.
The story of the Ascension stands in direct opposition to such a stifling piety and
relationship with Jesus. Surely the disciples wanted Jesus to stay with them and focus on
them, for they knew they were special. We want the same. But after Jesus said, "I
love you. God will send the Advocate, the Comforter, the Holy Spirit to be with you. Go
and make disciples," he departed from them.
They stood, looking up for him to float back down again. But he didn't. You see, he was
not their own private corner on God, their own personal deity, their own feel-good God. He
was the Christ, the Sovereign of the whole world, the God of the Universe. Christ left the
disciples, but not completely, for now Christ belongs to the whole world, or should I say,
the whole world belongs to Christ.
"Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?" asked the angel. This Jesus, who
was known by a small group to be the Messiah, is no longer limited by time or place, but
is the eternal Christ who cares equally about the intricacies of our personal life and the
wider dimensions of the world.
I've worn glasses or contacts since junior high school. Every five years or so, I
notice that I can't read the freeway signs as soon as I'd like to, and I'm apt to make a
wrong turn because I didn't see the sign in time. Gradually even close reading becomes
tiresome.
I finally admit my fuzzy vision and go back to the eye doctor who changes my
prescription and, miraculously, I see 20/20 again. I'm stunned each time this happens,
amazed at how long I'm willing to put up with a fuzzy, unclear vision of the world, and
amazed how different my world looks when I can see clearly how the world looks sharp,
clear and distinct. I see leaves and flowers at a distance, I see where I'm supposed to go
more often, and I see the expressions on others' faces more clearly. With 20/20 vision, I
see the world as it is, both close-up and far away.
As John Calvin said, the ascension is a story "not about a place but a
function." The ascension of Christ reminds us that God has 20/20 vision, where the
far away is just as important as that which is up close, the big picture as important as
the minute details. Christ is not our own private deity. The eye of God sees us, looks
beyond us to the rest of creation, and calls us to do the same. What a word of hope and
power this is, of comfort and courage, and a call to action.
Because Christ has gone up and is Lord of all, the family keeping vigil in the hospital
is not alone. Because Christ has gone up and is Lord of all, the woman with painful
arthritis, the man with cancer, the people fighting depression, the ones whose hearts are
getting weaker, all of these can know that their persistence, their courage and their
determination to keep living are important to God and in fact, come from God.
Because Christ has gone up and is Lord of all, we have the courage to speak the truth
in the face of destructive lies, to cut down the weeds of injustice that would choke out
life, to work for peace when the noise of rattling sabers seems deafening.
Because Christ has gone up and is Lord of all, all of life matters to God, from
classroom to courtroom, from bedroom to boardroom, from cornfield to battlefield, from
kitchen table to communion table.
Because Christ has gone up and is Lord of all, our vision is cleared and we reach out
our hands and hearts both to those who are near and to those are far off.
The one who came and stood beside us, who suffered because of us and for us, who felt
the oppression of Caesar, the fickleness of the mob, and the cowardice of disciples, this
one has gone up and is God, not just for the church, not just within my cozy little heart,
but for the whole world. Therefore nothing, no matter how close to us it may be, nor how
far from our daily life, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant nor large and
genuinely earth shaking, nothing in this world is beyond the sovereignty and providence of
God.
As we celebrate Christ's ascension, we stand on the line between Easter and Pentecost.
We look up to the heavens knowing that Christ has been raised. We look horizontally to the
world, knowing that God's Spirit will be poured out upon the church that we might proclaim
in word and deed, the power and love of God for this world.
Christ has gone up, and is seated at the right hand of God Almighty, whose power for
good and life and justice and mercy is eternal, and shall one day be both fully vindicated
and fully victorious. Amen.
