The Promise in Absence

Acts 1: 1-14

There is a fascinating woodcut of the picture of Jesus’ ascension according to Acts.  The woodcut was made by Albrecht Durer in 1510.  The picture can actually be rather amusing to our modern or post-modern eyes.  In it, you have the group of disciples all crowded around, heads looking upward.  Then, in the middle of their circle, you see this cloud made of dirt or lingering smoke—like the plumes you see when the space shuttle takes off or at Black Mountain Primary School’s rocket launch.  And then, at the top of the picture, you see Jesus’ toes, partially hidden by a robe, and you get a glimpse of the bottom of his feet.  By looking at the picture you can make the conclusion that either Jesus shot off into heaven like a rocket, leaving a plume of smoke in his wake; or, that the cloud just reached down, plucked Jesus up and took him away, like what Ryan does when he picks up his Star Wars action figures.  Either way, it is kind of funny. 

 It is kind of funny because it is odd.  And I am not only talking about the picture.  I am talking about this whole story of Ascension.  It is an odd, odd story.  One thing that makes it odd is that we have two different versions written by the same author.  Luke, the probable writer of both the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts, gives us two different accounts as to how the risen Jesus returned “to be seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty,” as stated in the traditional language of the Apostles’ Creed. 

 At the end of the Gospel of Luke, Luke reports that Jesus was soon taken up right after a few resurrection appearances to the disciples and on the Emmaus road.  But then, here in Acts, Luke tells the story again, this time reporting that Jesus spent 40 days instructing the disciples about the kingdom of God before he left their sight.  So we are left to ask: Was it sooner or was it later?  And why tell the story twice anyway?  Those kinds of questions are enough to make a preacher want to move from the 7^th Sunday of Easter right on to Pentecost, skipping the whole Ascension piece altogether.

 But another reason a preacher might want to skip over the Ascension story is because in addition to it being rather odd, it is also kind of sad.  Professor Barbara Brown Taylor states this sadness is exactly why the church usually does a poor job of celebrating the feast of the Ascension.  She writes, “Ascension Day is the day the present Lord became absent, which may be why it is the most forgotten feast day of the church year…Who wants to mark the day that Jesus went out of this world, never to be seen again?  Hungry as we are for the presence of God, the one thing we do not need is a day to remind us of God’s absence.[i]” 

 True.  I don’t know about you, but I think it takes little effort to look around our world and mark places or events that seem to be full of more divine absence than divine presence.  Take this past week, for example:  From even more stories about teenage girls ending their lives after being excessively bullied, to the report of the fifth enraged man in China entering another kindergarten classroom and unleashing terror… reminders of the present Lord becoming physically absent seem to be plentiful.  So perhaps one reason we do not focus on Ascension is due to its embedded grief. 

I think the artist Durer picked up on the embedded grief of the ascension.  For he called his famous woodcut “The Small Passion,” linking it back to Jesus’ suffering and death on the cross.  For once again, Jesus was being taken from the presence of the disciples.  And that grief might be one reason the disciples just stood around on that day, after he left, looking up.  That is what I would have done.  Wouldn’t you? 

 They had probably just gotten comfortable with having him around again.  They had probably just started to sleep again, trusting that he would still be there in the morning when they woke up.  Finding reassurance in his presence again.  Glad that they were not having to figure it out on their own just yet.  Glad to have someone else in charge instead of having to take charge themselves.  Thankful that Jesus’ power was once again there to sustain them and hold them up. 

 But then, next thing they knew, the time of teaching was over; the risen Jesus was telling them goodbye and giving them instructions for what was next.  And then – whoosh.  Whether it was like a rocket, or like a fading away, or like a physical leave-taking—Jesus was gone.  They no longer had his physical presence in their midst.  So of course they were just standing there, looking up, trying to get one last look before...  That is exactly what I would be doing.  Wouldn’t you?

 But as the disciples stood there, staring off into the sky, suddenly two visitors appeared.  Two men in white robes walk up to them, join their circle, and look up into the sky.  In my mind’s eye they look at the disciples looking up, look up for themselves, and then look at each other, shaking their heads.  “Hey, men of Galilee,” they interrupt the expectant silence, “why do you stand here looking up into heaven?”  (Sounds a bit like the question at the empty tomb, doesn’t it…why do you look for the living among the dead?)  The disciples are shaken out of their stupor by the interruption.  “Jesus will be back just as he left,” the angels continued, “but not right now.  Get back to work.  Go practice what you preach.”

 Now, our passage from Acts does not tell us if the disciples responded to the strangers in any kind of way.  It simply states that they left that place and went back to the upper room in Jerusalem to pray and to wait.  And maybe that is exactly what happened.  Maybe they did not say a word in response to those robed strangers but turned around and left.  Maybe.  But that is not what I would have done.  If I were standing with those disciples, I would have argued with the white-robed visitors.  “What do you mean get to work?  How are we supposed to do that without him?  We don’t know what we are doing.  We cannot do ministry without looking into his face.”  I would have resisted leaving that holy space and going back to Jerusalem.

 After all, it is one thing to be in ministry with Jesus physically present, guiding, teaching, ministering, and showing his disciples what to do.  But it is quite another thing to only have each other with whom to figure it out, left only with a promise of the power of the Spirit and a call to be witnesses.  That sounds much messier and more complicated to me.  I am sure it did to the disciples, too.  Nothing personal, but who wants to be left only with a group of fellow disciples, people as broken and sinful as I am.  We’d much rather stand there and just look up and wait.

 But the reality is that we can’t.  We cannot just stand and look up and just wait for Jesus to get back and finish the work of Easter.  For to do so would be to ignore the whole promise of this ascension narrative.  As odd as the story is, and as tinged with sadness as it might be, this story of ascension is also full of promise.  For Jesus did not leave them empty handed.  Jesus did not just say “Well, it’s been fun.  See ya’ later and good luck!”  That is not how our God works.  Immediately before leaving, Jesus gave the disciples a promise.  “Y’all will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and y’all will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” 

Jesus promised those disciples, indeed, promises us that though he might not physically be present with them any longer, the Spirit would be.  The divine presence was not leaving them alone.  He was not asking them to figure out on their own how to be his body in the world.  He was not telling them that it was all up to them now.  That he was done and that the salvation of the world and the bringing in of the kingdom rested completely on their shoulders.  Quite the contrary. 

 Jesus promised them, indeed promises us that their little community was going to receive divine power through the coming of God’s Spirit.  Through their worship and through their prayers, they would discover an indwelling of divine presence that would fill them with Gospel good news.  And through the power of God’s Spirit, they – broken, sinful, regular old church people-- would be able to do far more as Christ’s witnesses than they could have ever asked for or imagined.  Not because they were that good or powerful or worthy of the task.  But because God was and is. 

 With the gift of the Spirit’s power, that rag-tag group of the baptized community would find the courage to be God’s good news witnesses in the world.  They would find the courage to speak in both word and in deed of God’s love and God’s claim on all creation.  With the gift of the Spirit’s power, they—broken, sinful, regular old church people-- would find that all of their small acts of faithful witness—acts like hosting Room at the Inn, or pulling together bags of food for SVCM, or taking the time to talk with a teenager who was having a bad day, or driving the van for the 85+ lunch—all of those small acts of faithful witness were piling up one upon another, and being used by God to feed the hungry, to set the captive free, to heal the sick, and to proclaim the Lord’s favor.   That was Jesus’ promise to them right before he was received back into Holy Mystery.  And we are heirs of that promise.  And if there is one thing about our God that we know it is that God always keeps God’s promises. 

 But that is not the only promise given in this story.  Did you notice how I said “y’all” when quoting Jesus speaking with the disciples?  It is because Jesus used the plural form of you.  Jesus promised the coming of the Spirit’s power to the community of faith, not just to individual people.  And I think that is the other promise of the story.  The promise that not only would disciples receive the power of the Spirit, BUT, they would receive it TOGETHER.  The other promise of this story is the impending birth of the church. 

 Yes—Jesus was going back to the one from whom he came, but he was not leaving us alone.  We would have the presence of the Spirit, but we would also have the presence of one another.  And as messy or as dysfunctional as the community of faith can be from time to time—after all we are a bunch of rag-tag, broken, regular old church people-- we are a gift to one another, too. 

 I personally cannot imagine trying to be a faithful witness to Christ without the gift of you.  We have been given this gift of one another with whom we are to pray, to feast, to worship, to share joys and burdens, to argue, and to bear witness to the coming of God’s reign.  All while being wrapped up in the power of God’s Spirit.  What a gift it is to be the church.  What an amazing gift we have been given – the gift of being a part of a body—a community of faith.  We are not being asked to be faithful by ourselves.  We are called to be faithful together.      

 So I have to wonder if these promises are why Luke wanted to tell us this odd story two different times, in two different ways.  What if Luke was trying to put big exclamation marks in our imaginations:  “Hey – you people—look and listen—this is important!!!  This promise of God’s Spirit is important to remember.  This promise of being God’s people together is important to remember!!  Y’all are not doing this disciple stuff alone!!!  Pay attention!” 

So perhaps this is a year to really celebrate the Ascension of our Lord.  Perhaps this is a year when we can notice the oddity of the story, tell the truth of the embedded grief found in its midst, but also raise our voices in thanksgiving and praise for the promises.  The promises of Spirit-power and the gift of each other.  For our reality is that we are not alone.  That is the promise.  And God always keeps God’s promises.  Amen.