More than one tale can tell
Commentary
Ascension Day is perhaps one of the least celebrated of the major Christian feasts. For one thing, it always falls on a Thursday, and who goes to church on Thursday? The Revised Common Lectionary does allow the use of Ascension Day readings on the Seventh Sunday of Easter, but I imagine that some of you opened up Emphasis this week expecting to find commentary on a different set of readings. Perhaps even hoping -- for Ascension is a tough assignment for the preacher.
Face it, the Ascension is a pre-scientific idea. It presupposes that what goes up, goes where God is. The sun, moon, and stars were thought to be fixed in an arch called "the firmament," and beyond that were layers inhabited by another order of beings, a heavenly realm that could be reached only by those who could fly (or in a certain biblical story, those who built a tower tall enough). We now know better. As the Russian cosmonaut put it, there's no sign of God up there.
We can, of course, overestimate the scientific naiveté of ancient peoples. Certainly Greek astronomers knew better. The Ptolemaic system held sway for many centuries in part because it explained so well the observable data about the heavens. Even though we now have better explanations of that data, it is not so clear that we are any smarter about what goes on in the cosmos. There is a suspicion among philosophers of science that even the scientific stories we tell each other about the heavens are little more than that -- stories into which we fit the data, in order to make sense of the world we live in.
The Ascension of Jesus is a story that tries to make sense of an experiential truth in the Christian community: Jesus is alive and with us even today. His resurrection was not merely the resuscitation of a corpse, nor were his appearances those of a ghost. He is still alive, and he comes to us with great power and authority. To say that he is ascended to heaven is to say that that power and authority come from the Maker and Sustainer of the whole universe.
Acts 1:1-11
Imagine you are attending a musical. You've checked your coat, gotten your program, found your seat. There's been some polite chitchat with your neighbors, perhaps bits of an ongoing conversation with your companions, when the lights go low, and a hush descends. The show is about to begin; but are you really ready for it? Fortunately for you, there is an overture. The overture introduces the highlights of the songs you are about to hear, and puts you in the proper mood to watch the show.
Luke's second volume begins with an overture. The prologue of Acts follows the conventions of ancient multi-volume works. There is a nod to the patron or sponsor (the aptly-named "Theophilus"), and a brief summary of the first volume. Luke characterizes his Gospel as the story of "all that Jesus began to do and teach" (Acts 1:1, author's translation), because this second volume will be about what Jesus continues to do and teach. This he will do through the apostles he has chosen, through his Spirit at work among them, and on occasion, through direct personal appearances from heaven (cf. 2:33; 7:56; 9:3-6; 18:9-10).
Luke summarizes, reworks, and elaborates the part of the story he has already told in the last chapter of his Gospel, in order to move the narrative ahead. Jesus' suffering is briefly mentioned, but the emphasis is on his resurrection, and the teaching that guided his disciples' understanding of the kingdom of God in this new situation. His physical resurrection was given "many convincing proofs," "hard evidence" to convince the most skeptical among them (1:3, author's translation). This evidence was presented over the course of "forty days"; as we will see, there is no smooth way to harmonize this timetable with that found in Luke's Gospel, and many scholars believe that Luke has filled out the chronology to cover the time from Easter to Pentecost, perhaps in light of the long biblical tradition of "forty days" as a period of preparation (cf. Exodus 24:12-18; 34:28; 1 Kings 19:8; Luke 4:1-13). In Acts, Luke has obviously sought to emphasize the extent of those convincing resurrection appearances, and the thoroughness of the instruction the disciples received through the Holy Spirit concerning the kingdom of God.
Luke's prologue to Volume Two departs from convention in that rather than summarizing the story to come, it puts the preview in the mouth of its central character, as part of the instructions to the disciples (1:4-8). Jesus' final instructions underline a number of Lukan themes: the centrality of Jerusalem and the mission to the people of Israel; the work of the Holy Spirit to empower the witness to the risen Messiah; the function of these chosen apostles as witnesses to his resurrection; the worldwide extent of the mission; and the overarching significance of the whole venture. In the process, Jesus shifts the disciples' perceptions of his teaching to date; rather than emphasizing the time of the coming of the kingdom to Israel, Jesus reframes their question in terms of territory and mission (vv. 6-8). The kingdom will not be like any earthly political utopia, but a new people of God defined by the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, the universal mission of witness, and the formation of a spiritual community.
The universal mission is hinted at in what is often taken as an informal outline of the book of Acts: "You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (1:8). The disciples are to be "my witnesses," both witnesses who belong to Jesus, and witnesses to Jesus and his teaching. Their geographical horizons have been extended beyond Jerusalem, beyond Israel, to "the ends of the earth." Luke is speaking of more than just Rome (cf. Acts 28), more than even Ethiopia (often referred to as the "end of the earth," cf. Acts 8:26-40), but a mission that will reach beyond the end of his book and into our own backyards.
Acts concludes the prologue with the story of the Ascension itself (1:9-11). While unique to Luke, it nods to traditions such as the Shekinah glory (Exodus 24:15-18; Luke 9:34; 21:27), the succession of the prophets (2 Kings 2:11), and the two witnesses at the empty tomb (Luke 24:4-7). The disciples, like Elisha of old, will receive a double share of Jesus' Spirit as they gaze at his departure. The two men in white remind them, however, that their gazes should be directed forward, not toward the past. These two may represent Moses and Elijah, or the two witnesses required by the Law of Moses (cf. Luke 9:30-31; Deuteronomy 19:15), but at any rate they push the disciples forward toward their new roles in the book of Acts, as prophets responsible for reforming the people of God.
Ephesians 1:15-23
Ephesians, like all the Pauline epistles, begins with an overture. Our lection picks up the second part of the overture, one long sentence in Greek that serves as a "thanksgiving period." It is a poetic prayer designed both to form a bond between the sender and recipients of the letter and to point forward to the body of the letter. The thanksgiving in Ephesians shows what the book of Acts promised: the formation and ongoing life of a community of the people of God.
The authorship of Ephesians is disputed (I know one pastor who instructed his lay readers to introduce it as "A reading from the letter attributed to Paul, to the Ephesians"). Those who deny Pauline authorship point to expressions such as "he has made him the head over all things for the church, which is his body" (1:22-23); while Paul speaks of the church as a "body" elsewhere (cf. 1 Corinthians 12:27), he never otherwise refers to Christ as the "head" of the body, nor does he refer to "church" except as a local community. Supporters of Pauline authorship contend that there is nothing here that cannot be accounted for by the special circumstances and purposes of the letter, understood as a circular meant not for one congregation, but for a variety of communities. The thanksgiving period in Ephesians can be read on either supposition.
Above all, the thanksgiving is a prayerful meditation, reflecting the language and rhythms of liturgical prayer. Prayer and theology intertwine as they reach poetic heights, the language befitting the exalted subject. What begins earthbound, with the prayer and faith of the saints, ends ascending to heaven, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. The thanksgiving appeals to a common tradition of prayer which witnesses to the community's identity both in action and content.
The author uses this common tradition to establish rapport with an unfamiliar congregation. That he is personally unacquainted with the recipients of the letter is indicated by his opening words, "I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints" (1:15). The rumor of their faith and love has led to constant prayers of thanksgiving. Indeed, the mission to create a new people of God would hardly be considered a success without such faith and love.
But the author has hopes for more: "I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him" (v. 17). Clearly Ephesians sees the Christian faith as an intellectual experience. Faith is an intellectual journey, a head-trip. It involves "wisdom and revelation," as well as "knowledge of him" (v. 17, author's translation). It leads to having "the eyes of your heart enlightened" (v. 18). In Christianity, your brain counts; faith is to some extent a continuing education project. In particular, Ephesians lists three items the Christian should know: "the hope of your calling" (v. 18, author's translation); "the riches of the glorious inheritance among the saints"; and "the immeasurable greatness of his power" (v. 19). This last item piles on the verbiage to emphasize the full extent of God's gift; there are no less than four synonyms for divine "power," along with the word "greatness." The content of faith in Ephesians is God's greatness, extended to a community called in hope.
The power and glory are shown in God's work in raising and exalting Christ (1:20-23). Ephesians moves directly from resurrection to ascension -- no sooner is Jesus raised than he is given a throne in the heavenly places (v. 20; cf. Psalm 110:1). His exaltation puts him above every other power, mundane and cosmic; he is "far above all rule and authority and power and dominion" (v. 21). The power of his name exceeds any magical formula ("above every name that is named"), for it transcends time ("not only in this age but also in the age to come"). Christ's enthronement puts the entire cosmos at his feet and makes him the head of the community that embodies his power on earth (vv. 22-23). The church universal is "his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all" (v. 23). This is a poetic way of describing the church as the expression of Christ's resurrection power on earth.
Luke 24:44-53
The resurrection appearances in Luke's gospel differ from the other gospels in that they center on Jerusalem (there are no Galilean appearances in Luke). Luke goes full circle, ending where he began, in the temple in Jerusalem (cf. Luke 1:8). Luke's geographical center is Jerusalem because his theological center is Israel. He is telling the story of how the people of God were brought back together by a Messiah who distributed power to those who witnessed his life, death, resurrection, and ascension.
Luke's circular writing also works on a smaller scale. Careful readers will note the parallel structure between the Emmaus episode (24:13-35) and Jesus' final appearance in Luke (24:36-53). In both cases, there is an appearance of Jesus that is not quite comprehended, followed by instruction based on scripture, which leads to the proper revelation of the Risen Lord. A meal taken by Jesus himself serves as proof of his presence, which is ended almost as suddenly as it began. This final story adds one feature not found in the Emmaus story: the commissioning of the disciples as witnesses. This narrative circularity will repeat itself in Acts; Luke continually redraws his picture to show the fullness of God's grace among the people.
Jesus thus initiates the adult education program that is continued in Acts (and which we also glimpsed in Ephesians). Jesus teaches his disciples who they are, by opening their minds to who he is. The teaching is part and parcel of what he has been saying all along; "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you" (v. 44). For Luke, there is no tension between the earthly Jesus and the Risen Lord, since the message is that found in the law, prophets, and psalms. Jesus now teaches these disciples to read Torah properly -- it must be understood to be "written about me," i.e., interpreted in light of the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus (v. 46). For Luke, scripture is not self-evident, but requires the Messiah as teacher (v. 45).
Jesus' instruction also points towards Luke's next volume. He prophecies that "repentance and forgiveness of sins are to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem" (v. 47), and as we have already seen, his prophecy is immediately to be fulfilled in the book of Acts. Here the overlap with the prologue to Acts is evident, as Jesus notes the centrality of Jerusalem in the formation of the new people of God, the role of these disciples chosen to be witnesses, and the promised Holy Spirit of the Father which would clothe them with power from on high.
But there are some small bumps for the reader on the road between the end of Luke and the beginning of Acts. As we have already seen, Acts details a period of 40 days of appearances, while the Gospel seems to imply that Jesus ascended to heaven on Easter Day (vv. 50-51). The Gospel says nothing about two men dressed in white, while Acts does not include the priestly blessing of the ascending Jesus. Explanations of these discrepancies are legion. Some will point to faulty editing in the Lukan corpus. Others will note that the differences serve two disparate literary purposes -- while the Gospel is winding a story down, Acts is winding it back up again. Though we will never know exactly why Luke's second volume begins so differently from the first, Luke-Acts fits well into a canon of writings that presents a diverse picture of Jesus and the early church. Nowhere are the various Gospels so independent and distinct as at the very ends of their narratives, the resurrection stories. For those of us who are committed to reading the Bible for what it actually is, rather than what we would like it to be, the diversity of these witnesses can only enhance their spiritual value. They allow us to appreciate the diverse gifts that God has let loose on the church through the Spirit. If we were all saying and doing exactly the same thing in God's name, where would be the challenge, and where the growth?
Application
Having read the lections, Ascension Day looks tougher than ever. Not only does it reek of a pre-scientific worldview, but the Bible can't even get the story straight. Luke himself tells two different tales of Ascension. This is a stumbling block for the meticulous, and a scandal for those who can take their religion only with a spoonful of literal exactitude.
But for those who can tolerate the dose, the biblical witness to the Ascension is powerful medicine indeed. What the Bible agrees on is stronger than the details that differ. Both Luke and the Pauline writings assert that Jesus has ascended to the heavens. The royal Messiah has been exalted to his true throne. Not only is the Crucified One now alive, but he reigns with ultimate power. Furthermore, his absence from earth ironically allows for his greater presence. The Ascension is a precondition for the disciples' reception of the Spirit; he must leave, so that many can experience what would be available only to the few in bodily form. Jesus' Ascension makes way for his power and presence to be made known to an ever-multiplying people of God.
It is this ever-growing, ever-changing people that require the Ascension to be many stories rather than just one. There is more here than one tale can tell -- certainly more than can be conveyed by scientific or experimental observation. The Spirit of the Risen Lord brings diverse gifts to a diverse people, all with the same purpose: the expansion of the ministry to the ends of the earth. Just as Jesus could not reach all the people by hiking physically from one village to the next, neither could the message be told in every language and tongue without a variety of voices, all speaking in their own special way. The Bible in its diversity models the form of the revelation that is still taking place, everywhere people gather to tell their own stories of the power of the Risen Lord.
The Ascension story is more than one story, because it is an ongoing story. The story isn't through yet. It isn't through with us yet.
Alternative Applications
1. Acts 1:1-11. Witness is a swear word, right up there with "evangelism." It's not just that most of us would be more comfortable keeping our religion to ourselves. What we have to keep to ourselves is how genuine we are about it. The vast majority of people claim some sort of faith, but can be pretty hostile to those who take their faith seriously. "You give how much to your church?" "Why can't you take the kids to soccer practice on Sunday morning?" "Come on, you're not going to let a few ethical scruples get in the way of the deal, are you?" There is a strange disconnect between public approval of religious faith and the consequences of actual lived faith. Profession of faith is in proportion to the actual practice of it. In such a time and place, actions speak louder than words; evangelism must be more than a Bible kept on the office desk, a cross hanging from the rearview mirror. We must live as exiles in a land that grasps our faith while waving it away backhandedly. The reason "witness" is a swear word is that we Christians are sworn to live by it.
2. Ephesians 1:15-23. A life lived in thanksgiving and prayer is a life well lived. Paul was known for his prayer ministry (cf. 1 Thessalonians 1:2-3; Philippians 1:3; Romans 1:9; Colossians 1:3), and the Letter to the Ephesians picks up the theme of prayer as a constant companion. "I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers" (1:16). The unceasing prayer need not be practiced on one's knees, because every waking breath can be a prayer, and every thought can be offered to God.
Note that in this case, the prayer is totally unselfish: it is entirely for the benefit and spiritual maturity of the letter's recipients. So much of what passes for prayer in the Christian community is no more than wishful thinking, along the lines of a Christmas list. The never-ending prayer of thanksgiving is a quite different model, because it lines itself up with the work of the Holy Spirit in the community of faith, asking God to do what God wants to do: make every Christian a mature and thoughtful believer. How would our churches be different, if even one member would devote every breath to this sort of spiritual intercession? Perhaps God would indeed be gracious to grant such a persistent request, but no doubt the greatest benefit would come to the petitioner so engaged.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 93
This psalm celebrates God's regal bearing, "The Lord he is king, he is robed in majesty" (v. 1). But it is the powerful imagery of God's throne "established from of old," (v. 2) that draws this psalm into use on Ascension Sunday. Early Christian confessions asserted that Jesus ascended to the "right hand of God." This imagery presumes a throne room with a right and left hand of power. Among ancient Easter monarchs, the place at the right hand of the king was regarded as the most privileged place, second only to the throne itself. It was reserved for that one person who most pleased the king.
Living in the modern world, and especially in the United States, does not offer us many parallels for understanding the significance of all this royal imagery. Even the American president, with the awesome power at his command, still does not touch the sovereign character of ancient kings.
The psalmist, however, offers within the poem, images that are helpful in making appropriate connections. The psalmist celebrates God's kingship in terms of creator. The reference to the "floods" and the roaring waters most certainly refer to the primeval waters upon which God moved and brought the earth into existence (Genesis 1). The power of God is no where more potently demonstrated than in the administration of the universe.
This is where our view of the modern world helps us. What we know about the scope of the universe makes the confession of God as creator truly astounding. The sheer depth and breadth of our universe reveals a God of immense power and creativity. If that is what the Bible means when it declares that God is king, then God is a king is truly glorious and worthy of praise and devotion (v. 1).
The universe, as we understand it, is an immense and complex order. Imagining a living force which stands outside this universe, or acts upon this universe -- not to mention bringing it into existence -- certainly implies a higher order of administrator. While we may not have a frame of reference for the meaning of king, anyone who can build and sustain such an organization is a creative force worthy of awe and respect. And if Jesus is seated at the right hand of this amazing creative force, then his role as King of kings certainly takes on a universal significance.
The psalmist responds to his own recognition and understanding of God as king by singing a song of praise for the "majesty" of God. How can we do less?
Face it, the Ascension is a pre-scientific idea. It presupposes that what goes up, goes where God is. The sun, moon, and stars were thought to be fixed in an arch called "the firmament," and beyond that were layers inhabited by another order of beings, a heavenly realm that could be reached only by those who could fly (or in a certain biblical story, those who built a tower tall enough). We now know better. As the Russian cosmonaut put it, there's no sign of God up there.
We can, of course, overestimate the scientific naiveté of ancient peoples. Certainly Greek astronomers knew better. The Ptolemaic system held sway for many centuries in part because it explained so well the observable data about the heavens. Even though we now have better explanations of that data, it is not so clear that we are any smarter about what goes on in the cosmos. There is a suspicion among philosophers of science that even the scientific stories we tell each other about the heavens are little more than that -- stories into which we fit the data, in order to make sense of the world we live in.
The Ascension of Jesus is a story that tries to make sense of an experiential truth in the Christian community: Jesus is alive and with us even today. His resurrection was not merely the resuscitation of a corpse, nor were his appearances those of a ghost. He is still alive, and he comes to us with great power and authority. To say that he is ascended to heaven is to say that that power and authority come from the Maker and Sustainer of the whole universe.
Acts 1:1-11
Imagine you are attending a musical. You've checked your coat, gotten your program, found your seat. There's been some polite chitchat with your neighbors, perhaps bits of an ongoing conversation with your companions, when the lights go low, and a hush descends. The show is about to begin; but are you really ready for it? Fortunately for you, there is an overture. The overture introduces the highlights of the songs you are about to hear, and puts you in the proper mood to watch the show.
Luke's second volume begins with an overture. The prologue of Acts follows the conventions of ancient multi-volume works. There is a nod to the patron or sponsor (the aptly-named "Theophilus"), and a brief summary of the first volume. Luke characterizes his Gospel as the story of "all that Jesus began to do and teach" (Acts 1:1, author's translation), because this second volume will be about what Jesus continues to do and teach. This he will do through the apostles he has chosen, through his Spirit at work among them, and on occasion, through direct personal appearances from heaven (cf. 2:33; 7:56; 9:3-6; 18:9-10).
Luke summarizes, reworks, and elaborates the part of the story he has already told in the last chapter of his Gospel, in order to move the narrative ahead. Jesus' suffering is briefly mentioned, but the emphasis is on his resurrection, and the teaching that guided his disciples' understanding of the kingdom of God in this new situation. His physical resurrection was given "many convincing proofs," "hard evidence" to convince the most skeptical among them (1:3, author's translation). This evidence was presented over the course of "forty days"; as we will see, there is no smooth way to harmonize this timetable with that found in Luke's Gospel, and many scholars believe that Luke has filled out the chronology to cover the time from Easter to Pentecost, perhaps in light of the long biblical tradition of "forty days" as a period of preparation (cf. Exodus 24:12-18; 34:28; 1 Kings 19:8; Luke 4:1-13). In Acts, Luke has obviously sought to emphasize the extent of those convincing resurrection appearances, and the thoroughness of the instruction the disciples received through the Holy Spirit concerning the kingdom of God.
Luke's prologue to Volume Two departs from convention in that rather than summarizing the story to come, it puts the preview in the mouth of its central character, as part of the instructions to the disciples (1:4-8). Jesus' final instructions underline a number of Lukan themes: the centrality of Jerusalem and the mission to the people of Israel; the work of the Holy Spirit to empower the witness to the risen Messiah; the function of these chosen apostles as witnesses to his resurrection; the worldwide extent of the mission; and the overarching significance of the whole venture. In the process, Jesus shifts the disciples' perceptions of his teaching to date; rather than emphasizing the time of the coming of the kingdom to Israel, Jesus reframes their question in terms of territory and mission (vv. 6-8). The kingdom will not be like any earthly political utopia, but a new people of God defined by the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, the universal mission of witness, and the formation of a spiritual community.
The universal mission is hinted at in what is often taken as an informal outline of the book of Acts: "You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth" (1:8). The disciples are to be "my witnesses," both witnesses who belong to Jesus, and witnesses to Jesus and his teaching. Their geographical horizons have been extended beyond Jerusalem, beyond Israel, to "the ends of the earth." Luke is speaking of more than just Rome (cf. Acts 28), more than even Ethiopia (often referred to as the "end of the earth," cf. Acts 8:26-40), but a mission that will reach beyond the end of his book and into our own backyards.
Acts concludes the prologue with the story of the Ascension itself (1:9-11). While unique to Luke, it nods to traditions such as the Shekinah glory (Exodus 24:15-18; Luke 9:34; 21:27), the succession of the prophets (2 Kings 2:11), and the two witnesses at the empty tomb (Luke 24:4-7). The disciples, like Elisha of old, will receive a double share of Jesus' Spirit as they gaze at his departure. The two men in white remind them, however, that their gazes should be directed forward, not toward the past. These two may represent Moses and Elijah, or the two witnesses required by the Law of Moses (cf. Luke 9:30-31; Deuteronomy 19:15), but at any rate they push the disciples forward toward their new roles in the book of Acts, as prophets responsible for reforming the people of God.
Ephesians 1:15-23
Ephesians, like all the Pauline epistles, begins with an overture. Our lection picks up the second part of the overture, one long sentence in Greek that serves as a "thanksgiving period." It is a poetic prayer designed both to form a bond between the sender and recipients of the letter and to point forward to the body of the letter. The thanksgiving in Ephesians shows what the book of Acts promised: the formation and ongoing life of a community of the people of God.
The authorship of Ephesians is disputed (I know one pastor who instructed his lay readers to introduce it as "A reading from the letter attributed to Paul, to the Ephesians"). Those who deny Pauline authorship point to expressions such as "he has made him the head over all things for the church, which is his body" (1:22-23); while Paul speaks of the church as a "body" elsewhere (cf. 1 Corinthians 12:27), he never otherwise refers to Christ as the "head" of the body, nor does he refer to "church" except as a local community. Supporters of Pauline authorship contend that there is nothing here that cannot be accounted for by the special circumstances and purposes of the letter, understood as a circular meant not for one congregation, but for a variety of communities. The thanksgiving period in Ephesians can be read on either supposition.
Above all, the thanksgiving is a prayerful meditation, reflecting the language and rhythms of liturgical prayer. Prayer and theology intertwine as they reach poetic heights, the language befitting the exalted subject. What begins earthbound, with the prayer and faith of the saints, ends ascending to heaven, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. The thanksgiving appeals to a common tradition of prayer which witnesses to the community's identity both in action and content.
The author uses this common tradition to establish rapport with an unfamiliar congregation. That he is personally unacquainted with the recipients of the letter is indicated by his opening words, "I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints" (1:15). The rumor of their faith and love has led to constant prayers of thanksgiving. Indeed, the mission to create a new people of God would hardly be considered a success without such faith and love.
But the author has hopes for more: "I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him" (v. 17). Clearly Ephesians sees the Christian faith as an intellectual experience. Faith is an intellectual journey, a head-trip. It involves "wisdom and revelation," as well as "knowledge of him" (v. 17, author's translation). It leads to having "the eyes of your heart enlightened" (v. 18). In Christianity, your brain counts; faith is to some extent a continuing education project. In particular, Ephesians lists three items the Christian should know: "the hope of your calling" (v. 18, author's translation); "the riches of the glorious inheritance among the saints"; and "the immeasurable greatness of his power" (v. 19). This last item piles on the verbiage to emphasize the full extent of God's gift; there are no less than four synonyms for divine "power," along with the word "greatness." The content of faith in Ephesians is God's greatness, extended to a community called in hope.
The power and glory are shown in God's work in raising and exalting Christ (1:20-23). Ephesians moves directly from resurrection to ascension -- no sooner is Jesus raised than he is given a throne in the heavenly places (v. 20; cf. Psalm 110:1). His exaltation puts him above every other power, mundane and cosmic; he is "far above all rule and authority and power and dominion" (v. 21). The power of his name exceeds any magical formula ("above every name that is named"), for it transcends time ("not only in this age but also in the age to come"). Christ's enthronement puts the entire cosmos at his feet and makes him the head of the community that embodies his power on earth (vv. 22-23). The church universal is "his body, the fullness of him who fills all in all" (v. 23). This is a poetic way of describing the church as the expression of Christ's resurrection power on earth.
Luke 24:44-53
The resurrection appearances in Luke's gospel differ from the other gospels in that they center on Jerusalem (there are no Galilean appearances in Luke). Luke goes full circle, ending where he began, in the temple in Jerusalem (cf. Luke 1:8). Luke's geographical center is Jerusalem because his theological center is Israel. He is telling the story of how the people of God were brought back together by a Messiah who distributed power to those who witnessed his life, death, resurrection, and ascension.
Luke's circular writing also works on a smaller scale. Careful readers will note the parallel structure between the Emmaus episode (24:13-35) and Jesus' final appearance in Luke (24:36-53). In both cases, there is an appearance of Jesus that is not quite comprehended, followed by instruction based on scripture, which leads to the proper revelation of the Risen Lord. A meal taken by Jesus himself serves as proof of his presence, which is ended almost as suddenly as it began. This final story adds one feature not found in the Emmaus story: the commissioning of the disciples as witnesses. This narrative circularity will repeat itself in Acts; Luke continually redraws his picture to show the fullness of God's grace among the people.
Jesus thus initiates the adult education program that is continued in Acts (and which we also glimpsed in Ephesians). Jesus teaches his disciples who they are, by opening their minds to who he is. The teaching is part and parcel of what he has been saying all along; "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you" (v. 44). For Luke, there is no tension between the earthly Jesus and the Risen Lord, since the message is that found in the law, prophets, and psalms. Jesus now teaches these disciples to read Torah properly -- it must be understood to be "written about me," i.e., interpreted in light of the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus (v. 46). For Luke, scripture is not self-evident, but requires the Messiah as teacher (v. 45).
Jesus' instruction also points towards Luke's next volume. He prophecies that "repentance and forgiveness of sins are to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem" (v. 47), and as we have already seen, his prophecy is immediately to be fulfilled in the book of Acts. Here the overlap with the prologue to Acts is evident, as Jesus notes the centrality of Jerusalem in the formation of the new people of God, the role of these disciples chosen to be witnesses, and the promised Holy Spirit of the Father which would clothe them with power from on high.
But there are some small bumps for the reader on the road between the end of Luke and the beginning of Acts. As we have already seen, Acts details a period of 40 days of appearances, while the Gospel seems to imply that Jesus ascended to heaven on Easter Day (vv. 50-51). The Gospel says nothing about two men dressed in white, while Acts does not include the priestly blessing of the ascending Jesus. Explanations of these discrepancies are legion. Some will point to faulty editing in the Lukan corpus. Others will note that the differences serve two disparate literary purposes -- while the Gospel is winding a story down, Acts is winding it back up again. Though we will never know exactly why Luke's second volume begins so differently from the first, Luke-Acts fits well into a canon of writings that presents a diverse picture of Jesus and the early church. Nowhere are the various Gospels so independent and distinct as at the very ends of their narratives, the resurrection stories. For those of us who are committed to reading the Bible for what it actually is, rather than what we would like it to be, the diversity of these witnesses can only enhance their spiritual value. They allow us to appreciate the diverse gifts that God has let loose on the church through the Spirit. If we were all saying and doing exactly the same thing in God's name, where would be the challenge, and where the growth?
Application
Having read the lections, Ascension Day looks tougher than ever. Not only does it reek of a pre-scientific worldview, but the Bible can't even get the story straight. Luke himself tells two different tales of Ascension. This is a stumbling block for the meticulous, and a scandal for those who can take their religion only with a spoonful of literal exactitude.
But for those who can tolerate the dose, the biblical witness to the Ascension is powerful medicine indeed. What the Bible agrees on is stronger than the details that differ. Both Luke and the Pauline writings assert that Jesus has ascended to the heavens. The royal Messiah has been exalted to his true throne. Not only is the Crucified One now alive, but he reigns with ultimate power. Furthermore, his absence from earth ironically allows for his greater presence. The Ascension is a precondition for the disciples' reception of the Spirit; he must leave, so that many can experience what would be available only to the few in bodily form. Jesus' Ascension makes way for his power and presence to be made known to an ever-multiplying people of God.
It is this ever-growing, ever-changing people that require the Ascension to be many stories rather than just one. There is more here than one tale can tell -- certainly more than can be conveyed by scientific or experimental observation. The Spirit of the Risen Lord brings diverse gifts to a diverse people, all with the same purpose: the expansion of the ministry to the ends of the earth. Just as Jesus could not reach all the people by hiking physically from one village to the next, neither could the message be told in every language and tongue without a variety of voices, all speaking in their own special way. The Bible in its diversity models the form of the revelation that is still taking place, everywhere people gather to tell their own stories of the power of the Risen Lord.
The Ascension story is more than one story, because it is an ongoing story. The story isn't through yet. It isn't through with us yet.
Alternative Applications
1. Acts 1:1-11. Witness is a swear word, right up there with "evangelism." It's not just that most of us would be more comfortable keeping our religion to ourselves. What we have to keep to ourselves is how genuine we are about it. The vast majority of people claim some sort of faith, but can be pretty hostile to those who take their faith seriously. "You give how much to your church?" "Why can't you take the kids to soccer practice on Sunday morning?" "Come on, you're not going to let a few ethical scruples get in the way of the deal, are you?" There is a strange disconnect between public approval of religious faith and the consequences of actual lived faith. Profession of faith is in proportion to the actual practice of it. In such a time and place, actions speak louder than words; evangelism must be more than a Bible kept on the office desk, a cross hanging from the rearview mirror. We must live as exiles in a land that grasps our faith while waving it away backhandedly. The reason "witness" is a swear word is that we Christians are sworn to live by it.
2. Ephesians 1:15-23. A life lived in thanksgiving and prayer is a life well lived. Paul was known for his prayer ministry (cf. 1 Thessalonians 1:2-3; Philippians 1:3; Romans 1:9; Colossians 1:3), and the Letter to the Ephesians picks up the theme of prayer as a constant companion. "I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers" (1:16). The unceasing prayer need not be practiced on one's knees, because every waking breath can be a prayer, and every thought can be offered to God.
Note that in this case, the prayer is totally unselfish: it is entirely for the benefit and spiritual maturity of the letter's recipients. So much of what passes for prayer in the Christian community is no more than wishful thinking, along the lines of a Christmas list. The never-ending prayer of thanksgiving is a quite different model, because it lines itself up with the work of the Holy Spirit in the community of faith, asking God to do what God wants to do: make every Christian a mature and thoughtful believer. How would our churches be different, if even one member would devote every breath to this sort of spiritual intercession? Perhaps God would indeed be gracious to grant such a persistent request, but no doubt the greatest benefit would come to the petitioner so engaged.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 93
This psalm celebrates God's regal bearing, "The Lord he is king, he is robed in majesty" (v. 1). But it is the powerful imagery of God's throne "established from of old," (v. 2) that draws this psalm into use on Ascension Sunday. Early Christian confessions asserted that Jesus ascended to the "right hand of God." This imagery presumes a throne room with a right and left hand of power. Among ancient Easter monarchs, the place at the right hand of the king was regarded as the most privileged place, second only to the throne itself. It was reserved for that one person who most pleased the king.
Living in the modern world, and especially in the United States, does not offer us many parallels for understanding the significance of all this royal imagery. Even the American president, with the awesome power at his command, still does not touch the sovereign character of ancient kings.
The psalmist, however, offers within the poem, images that are helpful in making appropriate connections. The psalmist celebrates God's kingship in terms of creator. The reference to the "floods" and the roaring waters most certainly refer to the primeval waters upon which God moved and brought the earth into existence (Genesis 1). The power of God is no where more potently demonstrated than in the administration of the universe.
This is where our view of the modern world helps us. What we know about the scope of the universe makes the confession of God as creator truly astounding. The sheer depth and breadth of our universe reveals a God of immense power and creativity. If that is what the Bible means when it declares that God is king, then God is a king is truly glorious and worthy of praise and devotion (v. 1).
The universe, as we understand it, is an immense and complex order. Imagining a living force which stands outside this universe, or acts upon this universe -- not to mention bringing it into existence -- certainly implies a higher order of administrator. While we may not have a frame of reference for the meaning of king, anyone who can build and sustain such an organization is a creative force worthy of awe and respect. And if Jesus is seated at the right hand of this amazing creative force, then his role as King of kings certainly takes on a universal significance.
The psalmist responds to his own recognition and understanding of God as king by singing a song of praise for the "majesty" of God. How can we do less?
