Farewells are for the future
Commentary
What do we include with our good-byes? Almost always, we include the future.
This is, I think, a very wholesome and positive phenomenon within our human relationships -- perhaps within our very nature. Even though a good-bye represents some kind of an end, more or less, still our good-byes almost always anticipate the future.
At a minimum, we are inclined to add a "see you when" onto our good-byes. Unwilling to leave the relationship indefinitely interrupted, we try to identify when we will see one another next. That may be as simple as "see you tonight," or it may be a more extended time frame: next week, next holiday, next year, and the like.
The other way in which our good-byes anticipate the future comes in the form of our instructions or wishes for the interim. That is to say, between now and the next time we see each other, here is what I wish, or hope, or expect. "Sleep tight." "Be good." "Drive carefully." "Take care." These are all simple idioms, sometimes said without much thought, but they all reflect the same heart and the same pattern. Until we see each other again, here's what I wish.
And so it is with Jesus' farewell. It is for the future.
Acts 1:1-11
A good dramatic series on television will begin each episode with scenes and clips from previous episodes. That sort of context-setting is necessary for the audience to be up-to-speed when the new action begins. And that is essentially what Luke offers to Theophilus, and to us, here at the beginning of Acts. In the Gospel Reading for this week, the final scene from Luke's Gospel, Luke reports Jesus' final words to his disciples, his ascension, and a brief characterization of what the disciples did following the ascension. Then, here in the Acts passage, the first scene from the book of Acts, Luke begins with a scene from the previous episode. He reports Jesus' final words to his disciples, his ascension, and a brief glimpse of the disciples following that ascension.
The accounts are not identical. Luke does not cut-and-paste the end of Luke 24 into Acts 1. But he brings us up-to-speed for the new action of the book of Acts by reprising the end of the Gospel of Luke.
Luke begins the book of Acts just as he does his gospel, by addressing himself to his recipient, Theophilus. We know nothing beyond speculation about this man, for he is only mentioned on these two occasions (Luke 1:3; Acts 1:1) in the entire New Testament, and some have suggested that there was not even an actual person named Theophilus to whom Luke wrote. His name, in Greek, means "friend of God" or "lover of God," and so it seems an appropriate appellation for whomever receives and reads Luke's work.
I once preached a sermon series that I called "Dear Theophilus." I felt that, as preacher to congregation, my desire was like Luke's: to share the good news about Jesus with folks who loved God. Your congregation, too, may take some ownership of the name Theophilus -- Luke is writing to them.
In this particular account from Acts, it is worth noting how terribly human the disciples remain. Being witnesses to the risen Christ has not made them into perfect stained glass figures. They are still very much the same blemished bunch that we see throughout the gospel stories. Jesus has been speaking to them "about the kingdom of God" (v. 3), and yet the foremost question on their minds is whether "this [is] the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel" (v. 6).
They say that old habits die hard, and so, too, do old understandings. The disciples' question seems to reflect a lingering old understanding of the Messiah's mission: an earthly and political paradigm that Jesus never encouraged, and which surely seems to have been undermined by the events of Holy Week. And yet, with God's kingdom as the primary focus of Jesus' teaching from beginning (see Matthew 4:17; Luke 4:43) to end (see Acts 1:6), still the disciples persist in thinking in terms of the earthly kingdom of Israel.
Nothing is so likely to retard our devotion to God's agenda as our devotion to our own agenda. That is not necessarily a sinister thing on our part, but it has a diabolical effect, nonetheless. My hunch is that the disciples were still asking the wrong question, still preoccupied with the wrong kingdom, in this early episode in Acts. And their example makes me wonder what parallels exist in my life. What persistent preoccupation within me keeps me from focusing on God's real purpose and goal?
The notable promise of this episode -- and surely one of the crucial themes for Luke as he begins this volume -- is the promise of the Holy Spirit. The third person of the Trinity is mentioned three times in this brief passage: once by Luke and twice by Jesus. And that emphasis signals what is ahead -- both for the disciples in their immediate context, and for the book of Acts in its larger themes.
Two particulars accompany this promise of the Holy Spirit.
First, there is the association with baptism. "John baptized with water," Jesus said, "but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit." Jesus' comparative reference to the two baptisms recalls John the Baptist's own words in all three synoptic gospels (see Matthew 3:11; Mark 1:8; and Luke 3:16). And the juxtaposition of water and Spirit is also reminiscent of Jesus' words to Nicodemus (see John 3:5-6).
Because the association of baptism with the Spirit is not a onetime reference but something of a recurring theme, it deserves further exploration. If it appeared just once, we might regard it merely as a picturesque metaphor. Because it is so prominently stated by both John and Jesus, however, we ought to consider what the relationship is between baptism and the coming of the Holy Spirit.
Second, there is the promise of power -- "you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you." The Greek word used here for power, dunamis, is the source of our English word dynamite. There's a dramatic promise: You will receive dynamite! Our church members are accustomed to receiving things at church like study guides, appeal letters, and minutes of meetings. They would be surprised to walk away with a stick of dynamite -- or the kingdom's equivalent.
When Peter and John were solicited by the crippled beggar outside the temple, Peter said to him, "I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk" (Acts 3:6). I fear that most of our folks going in and out of church would have plenty of silver and gold, but no power to do any more for the man.
Our scene from Acts 1 concludes with the appearance of "two men in white robes." We commonly presume these to be angels, although there is no apparent explanation why Luke would hesitate to use the term "angels" here since he uses it over forty times in his gospel and in Acts. This particular reference to two men is reminiscent of the women's experience at the empty tomb when they are met by "two men in dazzling clothes" (Luke 24:4). The descriptive words are not exactly the same as in this passage in Acts, but the sense is the same, and since those two men were clearly understood by Jesus' followers to be angels (see Luke 24:23), we may be safe in assuming that these two men in Acts were angels, as well.
No sooner had Jesus been taken off into the sky when these angels came and interrupted the disciples' gawking, asking, "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." And, in that moment it seems, Jesus' followers changed their orientation: still keeping our eyes on the skies, though no longer mourning his departure, but awaiting his return.
Ephesians 1:15-23
We might use this passage to explore what we might learn about several different people. The early verses tell us something about the Christians in Ephesus. Paul's words to them reveal something about Paul. In the end, however, the passage is really about Jesus.
The Ephesians are noted for their "faith in the Lord" and their "love toward all the saints." Faith and love. These represent two-thirds of the great triumvirate noted by Paul in several places (the most familiar reference is found in 1 Corinthians 13:13, though faith, hope, and love are also linked together by Paul in 1 Thessalonians 1:3 and 5:8). The third central issue, hope, appears in Paul's prayers for the Ephesians (1:18).
That the Ephesians are notable for faith and love is exemplary. One wonders what Paul might write to our churches. What is noteworthy about us? And, for that matter, in what areas do we strive to be noteworthy? So often, I expect, our congregations aim for lesser things and flashier things, but we would do well to follow the Ephesians in these fundamental matters of faith and love.
I find myself also struck in this passage by another difference between what Paul writes here and many pastors and congregations practice in our day. As in so many of his epistles, Paul shares with the Ephesians the content of his prayers for them. "A spirit of wisdom and revelation." "The eyes of your heart enlightened." "You may know what is the hope to which he has called you ... the riches of his glorious inheritance ... the immeasurable greatness of his power."
Such petitions! Do we pray like this for our people? Do our people covet prayers like this? In our preoccupation with material matters -- whether material needs for the church, or material and physical needs of individuals -- I fear that we may neglect praying for the truly weighty and eternal matters.
The climax of this passage, of course, is not about the Ephesians' faith or Paul's prayers. Rather, the real issue is Christ.
The focus of Paul's proclamation here is neither Jesus' exemplary life nor his atoning death. This is all post-resurrection: arguably the aspect of Christ that we most neglect in many church traditions. And while there is great mystery accompanying these matters, Paul uses spatial imagery to assist us in picturing it.
First, Christ is "raised," and he is "seated at (the Father's) right hand." Second, he is "far above" every other form and version of power. Paul is emphatic on this point, incidentally, employing three different terms of potency (authority, power, dominion), citing also the superiority of Christ's name (see also Philippians 2:9-11), and spanning all of cosmic history ("this age" and "the age to come"). And third, with great symmetry and symbolism, Paul notes that all things have been "put under (Christ's) feet" as that he is made "the head over all things."
Not all lections are created equal. A preacher finds that a story that takes two chapters can be preached in one sermon, while a few dense verses of teaching can be expanded into an entire series. I have that suspicion about these latter verses of this passage: Paul has packed them dense with profound affirmations about Christ, and they could be explored in great depth. At the very least, I might borrow from Paul Harvey and title a sermon, "And Now, The Rest of The Story," preaching on Christ after his ascension.
Luke 24:44-53
This closing episode from the Gospel of Luke recalls an event from earlier in the chapter, when Jesus walked with two disciples on the road to Emmaus and "beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures" (Luke 24:27). And now here, with the larger congregation of disciples and just before his ascension, Jesus again references "everything written about (him) in the Law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms" and "opened their minds to understand the scriptures."
We typically associate an emphasis on fulfilling the scriptures with Matthew's Gospel. That is a deliberate theme of his as he writes for his Jewish audience. But two times in short order here, Luke reports Jesus' sweeping reference to the whole of Old Testament scripture. So many Christians, who have a manifest preference for the New Testament, might be surprised to discover that the writings of Moses, the prophets, and the Psalms are evidently all about Jesus, too!
As in the Acts account of Jesus' ascension, Luke reports here the disciples' responsibility to be "witnesses." On the surface, it is a strictly legal term, and one that continues to have resonance in our world. A person who has seen a certain event firsthand may have a responsibility to report the truth about what he saw. The disciples have that responsibility.
According to Jesus, it is a global responsibility. That fact is familiar to us, for we are well acquainted with the mandate that includes all the world, all nations, and such. Indeed, we are all the beneficiaries of that mandate! For as familiar as that Great Commission may be to us, though, we can only imagine how foreign a prospect it must have been to this group of Jews from Galilee. Hadn't they cut their teeth on an understanding of obedience to God as deliberate and careful separation from the Gentile world, from "the nations"? And had they themselves ever ventured beyond the relatively narrow confines of Palestine and the trans-Jordan?
The term "witnesses" has an additional wrinkle to it. Beyond the primary legal meaning, there is a surprising secondary meaning. The Greek word, martus, lies behind our English "martyr." Is that a part of the deal? You will be my martyrs? No witness protection program here. There is assumed risk built into the task itself, so much so that there is no separate word in the New Testament to distinguish a "witness" from a "martyr."
In our consideration of the Acts passage, we noted the importance of the power that would accompany the coming of the Holy Spirit. That connection is implicit here, too: "stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high." The same Greek word for power (dunamis) is employed, but the attendant verb used here is a more colorful one. Both the KJV and the NKJV take the Greek enduo and offer the straightforward translation "endued with power." The NEB opts for "armed with power." And the NRSV follows the RSV, NIV, and Amplified Bible with the more picturesque "clothed with power."
In a day when Roman soldiers, complete with armor and armaments, were routinely seen on the streets, "clothed with power" may have suggested a very definite image. And so it was that God was going to send out his kingdom's soldiers equipped for victory in the world.
Finally, Luke's ending description of the apostles -- "they were continually in the temple blessing God" -- recalls a character from earlier in his gospel. Luke wrote that Anna "never left the temple" (Luke 2:37). And just as her worshipful vigil was rewarded with beholding the Messiah, so the vigilant apostles would soon receive the Holy Spirit.
Application
The ascension of Jesus, which Luke records both at the end of his gospel and at the beginning of Acts, represents a kind of farewell scene. It is Jesus' farewell to his disciples. And, like our more common good-byes, this unique good-bye anticipates the future.
The first farewell phenomenon is the issue of seeing one another again. Jesus had spoken of that earlier (see, for example, Matthew 24:29-31; John 14:2-3), and the angels reiterate and reassure on that point in the Acts passage.
The second farewell phenomenon is the expressed wishes and instructions. Here is what I want you to do in the meantime, until we see each other again. That is plainly stated by Jesus in both Luke and Acts.
Jesus' followers are assured of his return, and they are clear about what they should do in the meantime. Now we are his followers; and we are living in that meantime.
An Alternative Application
Luke 24:44-53; Acts 1:1-11. "Should I stay or should I go?" In both the Luke and Acts selections, Jesus' final words to his disciples include an instruction to stay and an instruction to go. In Luke, Jesus says that "repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning in Jerusalem," but first "stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high." Likewise, in Acts, "he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father," and then "you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."
We know the rest of the story following those parting instructions. Luke reports the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost, followed by the disciples' fulfillment of their commission as witnesses all the way "to the ends of the earth" -- or, in the case of the plot and flow of Acts, all the way to Rome.
At this point, we might stop to consider just what we believe about that Pentecost event.
There are some stories in scripture that we reasonably regard as onetime events that have no direct impact on our lives today (such as the conversation between Balaam and his donkey). There are other onetime events, however, which we understand to have significant impact on our lives, most importantly the death and resurrection of Christ. And then, finally, there are those events in scripture that we do not regard as onetime events, but which we understand to be representative of the continuing work of God (for example, the healing stories in the gospels).
The question is how we classify the Pentecost event. Do we believe that it was a onetime event that has nothing to do with us? No. Barring that, however, do we regard it as a onetime event that has an ongoing impact, like Christ's death and resurrection, or is it a recurring work of God, like healings and other miracles? Does the coming of the Spirit in Acts 2 suffice for our congregations, or do we assume that God has done or will do among us what he did among those believers gathered in first-century Jerusalem?
Different Christians would answer that question differently. Your people will need to know your answer in order to know, "Should I stay or should I go?"
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 93
This day affords three options, when it comes to psalms: the Seventh Sunday of Easter psalm, which is excerpts from Psalm 68; or one of two psalms especially chosen for Ascension Sunday: 47 or 93.
The brief Psalm 93 is probably the least frequently chosen of the three. Its context seems archaic, from the standpoint of our culture. The Lord is enthroned, here, as a cosmic king. The accoutrements of royalty are front and center: the robe of majesty, the girding-on of strength (suggesting a royal broadsword), the throne, the royal decree. Its message, loudly declared from the first verse onward, is simplicity itself: The Lord reigns!
Yet this one who reigns is like no ordinary king. The Lord rules over not only human affairs, but even the surging sea: the primeval waters, source of so many terrors for the Hebrew mind. The turbulent waters of chaos bring no fear to the psalmist's heart -- not this time. For God has tamed them, and God's providence continues to hold the floods at bay.
What does it mean to confess that the Lord reigns? Answering that question is hard, for in our secular democracy, we have little experience of kings. They are an expensive luxury, long since discarded in favor of more utilitarian forms of government. (Some of us follow the latest tabloid scandals of the British royal family with salacious interest, but that's about as far as it goes.) We resist even using that word "reign": our elected officials "serve" or "hold office."
Yet the Lord does reign, demanding our allegiance. Ancient Israel celebrated God's reign with an enthronement festival (which was in turn reminiscent of the vanquished gods of Mesopotamia, whom their worshipers ceremonially enthroned through cultic ritual). This psalm likely has its roots in such festivals, imported from foreign cultures.
Jerry Schmalenberger tells a story dating back to the time of the Nazi terror in Germany. In Wittenberg-Lutherstadt, a large statue of Christ stands in front of the Castle Church. Today, it is patched and repaired: for one Sunday afternoon long ago, a group of Nazi youth beat the statue to pieces with clubs. They painted the following words on a nearby fence: "The reign of Christ is over."
Later, a Christian youth group saw what had been done. They repaired the broken statue. Then, taking the same paintbrush and paint can the Hitler youth had used, they added three letters to the Nazi graffito: "a-l-l." It now read, "The reign of Christ is over all." (Jerry Schmalenberger, Lectionary Preaching Workbook, Series VII, Cycle C [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing, 2003], p. 114.)
From time to time, the world may defiantly declare that the reign of God is ended. We know better.
This is, I think, a very wholesome and positive phenomenon within our human relationships -- perhaps within our very nature. Even though a good-bye represents some kind of an end, more or less, still our good-byes almost always anticipate the future.
At a minimum, we are inclined to add a "see you when" onto our good-byes. Unwilling to leave the relationship indefinitely interrupted, we try to identify when we will see one another next. That may be as simple as "see you tonight," or it may be a more extended time frame: next week, next holiday, next year, and the like.
The other way in which our good-byes anticipate the future comes in the form of our instructions or wishes for the interim. That is to say, between now and the next time we see each other, here is what I wish, or hope, or expect. "Sleep tight." "Be good." "Drive carefully." "Take care." These are all simple idioms, sometimes said without much thought, but they all reflect the same heart and the same pattern. Until we see each other again, here's what I wish.
And so it is with Jesus' farewell. It is for the future.
Acts 1:1-11
A good dramatic series on television will begin each episode with scenes and clips from previous episodes. That sort of context-setting is necessary for the audience to be up-to-speed when the new action begins. And that is essentially what Luke offers to Theophilus, and to us, here at the beginning of Acts. In the Gospel Reading for this week, the final scene from Luke's Gospel, Luke reports Jesus' final words to his disciples, his ascension, and a brief characterization of what the disciples did following the ascension. Then, here in the Acts passage, the first scene from the book of Acts, Luke begins with a scene from the previous episode. He reports Jesus' final words to his disciples, his ascension, and a brief glimpse of the disciples following that ascension.
The accounts are not identical. Luke does not cut-and-paste the end of Luke 24 into Acts 1. But he brings us up-to-speed for the new action of the book of Acts by reprising the end of the Gospel of Luke.
Luke begins the book of Acts just as he does his gospel, by addressing himself to his recipient, Theophilus. We know nothing beyond speculation about this man, for he is only mentioned on these two occasions (Luke 1:3; Acts 1:1) in the entire New Testament, and some have suggested that there was not even an actual person named Theophilus to whom Luke wrote. His name, in Greek, means "friend of God" or "lover of God," and so it seems an appropriate appellation for whomever receives and reads Luke's work.
I once preached a sermon series that I called "Dear Theophilus." I felt that, as preacher to congregation, my desire was like Luke's: to share the good news about Jesus with folks who loved God. Your congregation, too, may take some ownership of the name Theophilus -- Luke is writing to them.
In this particular account from Acts, it is worth noting how terribly human the disciples remain. Being witnesses to the risen Christ has not made them into perfect stained glass figures. They are still very much the same blemished bunch that we see throughout the gospel stories. Jesus has been speaking to them "about the kingdom of God" (v. 3), and yet the foremost question on their minds is whether "this [is] the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel" (v. 6).
They say that old habits die hard, and so, too, do old understandings. The disciples' question seems to reflect a lingering old understanding of the Messiah's mission: an earthly and political paradigm that Jesus never encouraged, and which surely seems to have been undermined by the events of Holy Week. And yet, with God's kingdom as the primary focus of Jesus' teaching from beginning (see Matthew 4:17; Luke 4:43) to end (see Acts 1:6), still the disciples persist in thinking in terms of the earthly kingdom of Israel.
Nothing is so likely to retard our devotion to God's agenda as our devotion to our own agenda. That is not necessarily a sinister thing on our part, but it has a diabolical effect, nonetheless. My hunch is that the disciples were still asking the wrong question, still preoccupied with the wrong kingdom, in this early episode in Acts. And their example makes me wonder what parallels exist in my life. What persistent preoccupation within me keeps me from focusing on God's real purpose and goal?
The notable promise of this episode -- and surely one of the crucial themes for Luke as he begins this volume -- is the promise of the Holy Spirit. The third person of the Trinity is mentioned three times in this brief passage: once by Luke and twice by Jesus. And that emphasis signals what is ahead -- both for the disciples in their immediate context, and for the book of Acts in its larger themes.
Two particulars accompany this promise of the Holy Spirit.
First, there is the association with baptism. "John baptized with water," Jesus said, "but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit." Jesus' comparative reference to the two baptisms recalls John the Baptist's own words in all three synoptic gospels (see Matthew 3:11; Mark 1:8; and Luke 3:16). And the juxtaposition of water and Spirit is also reminiscent of Jesus' words to Nicodemus (see John 3:5-6).
Because the association of baptism with the Spirit is not a onetime reference but something of a recurring theme, it deserves further exploration. If it appeared just once, we might regard it merely as a picturesque metaphor. Because it is so prominently stated by both John and Jesus, however, we ought to consider what the relationship is between baptism and the coming of the Holy Spirit.
Second, there is the promise of power -- "you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you." The Greek word used here for power, dunamis, is the source of our English word dynamite. There's a dramatic promise: You will receive dynamite! Our church members are accustomed to receiving things at church like study guides, appeal letters, and minutes of meetings. They would be surprised to walk away with a stick of dynamite -- or the kingdom's equivalent.
When Peter and John were solicited by the crippled beggar outside the temple, Peter said to him, "I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk" (Acts 3:6). I fear that most of our folks going in and out of church would have plenty of silver and gold, but no power to do any more for the man.
Our scene from Acts 1 concludes with the appearance of "two men in white robes." We commonly presume these to be angels, although there is no apparent explanation why Luke would hesitate to use the term "angels" here since he uses it over forty times in his gospel and in Acts. This particular reference to two men is reminiscent of the women's experience at the empty tomb when they are met by "two men in dazzling clothes" (Luke 24:4). The descriptive words are not exactly the same as in this passage in Acts, but the sense is the same, and since those two men were clearly understood by Jesus' followers to be angels (see Luke 24:23), we may be safe in assuming that these two men in Acts were angels, as well.
No sooner had Jesus been taken off into the sky when these angels came and interrupted the disciples' gawking, asking, "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." And, in that moment it seems, Jesus' followers changed their orientation: still keeping our eyes on the skies, though no longer mourning his departure, but awaiting his return.
Ephesians 1:15-23
We might use this passage to explore what we might learn about several different people. The early verses tell us something about the Christians in Ephesus. Paul's words to them reveal something about Paul. In the end, however, the passage is really about Jesus.
The Ephesians are noted for their "faith in the Lord" and their "love toward all the saints." Faith and love. These represent two-thirds of the great triumvirate noted by Paul in several places (the most familiar reference is found in 1 Corinthians 13:13, though faith, hope, and love are also linked together by Paul in 1 Thessalonians 1:3 and 5:8). The third central issue, hope, appears in Paul's prayers for the Ephesians (1:18).
That the Ephesians are notable for faith and love is exemplary. One wonders what Paul might write to our churches. What is noteworthy about us? And, for that matter, in what areas do we strive to be noteworthy? So often, I expect, our congregations aim for lesser things and flashier things, but we would do well to follow the Ephesians in these fundamental matters of faith and love.
I find myself also struck in this passage by another difference between what Paul writes here and many pastors and congregations practice in our day. As in so many of his epistles, Paul shares with the Ephesians the content of his prayers for them. "A spirit of wisdom and revelation." "The eyes of your heart enlightened." "You may know what is the hope to which he has called you ... the riches of his glorious inheritance ... the immeasurable greatness of his power."
Such petitions! Do we pray like this for our people? Do our people covet prayers like this? In our preoccupation with material matters -- whether material needs for the church, or material and physical needs of individuals -- I fear that we may neglect praying for the truly weighty and eternal matters.
The climax of this passage, of course, is not about the Ephesians' faith or Paul's prayers. Rather, the real issue is Christ.
The focus of Paul's proclamation here is neither Jesus' exemplary life nor his atoning death. This is all post-resurrection: arguably the aspect of Christ that we most neglect in many church traditions. And while there is great mystery accompanying these matters, Paul uses spatial imagery to assist us in picturing it.
First, Christ is "raised," and he is "seated at (the Father's) right hand." Second, he is "far above" every other form and version of power. Paul is emphatic on this point, incidentally, employing three different terms of potency (authority, power, dominion), citing also the superiority of Christ's name (see also Philippians 2:9-11), and spanning all of cosmic history ("this age" and "the age to come"). And third, with great symmetry and symbolism, Paul notes that all things have been "put under (Christ's) feet" as that he is made "the head over all things."
Not all lections are created equal. A preacher finds that a story that takes two chapters can be preached in one sermon, while a few dense verses of teaching can be expanded into an entire series. I have that suspicion about these latter verses of this passage: Paul has packed them dense with profound affirmations about Christ, and they could be explored in great depth. At the very least, I might borrow from Paul Harvey and title a sermon, "And Now, The Rest of The Story," preaching on Christ after his ascension.
Luke 24:44-53
This closing episode from the Gospel of Luke recalls an event from earlier in the chapter, when Jesus walked with two disciples on the road to Emmaus and "beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures" (Luke 24:27). And now here, with the larger congregation of disciples and just before his ascension, Jesus again references "everything written about (him) in the Law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms" and "opened their minds to understand the scriptures."
We typically associate an emphasis on fulfilling the scriptures with Matthew's Gospel. That is a deliberate theme of his as he writes for his Jewish audience. But two times in short order here, Luke reports Jesus' sweeping reference to the whole of Old Testament scripture. So many Christians, who have a manifest preference for the New Testament, might be surprised to discover that the writings of Moses, the prophets, and the Psalms are evidently all about Jesus, too!
As in the Acts account of Jesus' ascension, Luke reports here the disciples' responsibility to be "witnesses." On the surface, it is a strictly legal term, and one that continues to have resonance in our world. A person who has seen a certain event firsthand may have a responsibility to report the truth about what he saw. The disciples have that responsibility.
According to Jesus, it is a global responsibility. That fact is familiar to us, for we are well acquainted with the mandate that includes all the world, all nations, and such. Indeed, we are all the beneficiaries of that mandate! For as familiar as that Great Commission may be to us, though, we can only imagine how foreign a prospect it must have been to this group of Jews from Galilee. Hadn't they cut their teeth on an understanding of obedience to God as deliberate and careful separation from the Gentile world, from "the nations"? And had they themselves ever ventured beyond the relatively narrow confines of Palestine and the trans-Jordan?
The term "witnesses" has an additional wrinkle to it. Beyond the primary legal meaning, there is a surprising secondary meaning. The Greek word, martus, lies behind our English "martyr." Is that a part of the deal? You will be my martyrs? No witness protection program here. There is assumed risk built into the task itself, so much so that there is no separate word in the New Testament to distinguish a "witness" from a "martyr."
In our consideration of the Acts passage, we noted the importance of the power that would accompany the coming of the Holy Spirit. That connection is implicit here, too: "stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high." The same Greek word for power (dunamis) is employed, but the attendant verb used here is a more colorful one. Both the KJV and the NKJV take the Greek enduo and offer the straightforward translation "endued with power." The NEB opts for "armed with power." And the NRSV follows the RSV, NIV, and Amplified Bible with the more picturesque "clothed with power."
In a day when Roman soldiers, complete with armor and armaments, were routinely seen on the streets, "clothed with power" may have suggested a very definite image. And so it was that God was going to send out his kingdom's soldiers equipped for victory in the world.
Finally, Luke's ending description of the apostles -- "they were continually in the temple blessing God" -- recalls a character from earlier in his gospel. Luke wrote that Anna "never left the temple" (Luke 2:37). And just as her worshipful vigil was rewarded with beholding the Messiah, so the vigilant apostles would soon receive the Holy Spirit.
Application
The ascension of Jesus, which Luke records both at the end of his gospel and at the beginning of Acts, represents a kind of farewell scene. It is Jesus' farewell to his disciples. And, like our more common good-byes, this unique good-bye anticipates the future.
The first farewell phenomenon is the issue of seeing one another again. Jesus had spoken of that earlier (see, for example, Matthew 24:29-31; John 14:2-3), and the angels reiterate and reassure on that point in the Acts passage.
The second farewell phenomenon is the expressed wishes and instructions. Here is what I want you to do in the meantime, until we see each other again. That is plainly stated by Jesus in both Luke and Acts.
Jesus' followers are assured of his return, and they are clear about what they should do in the meantime. Now we are his followers; and we are living in that meantime.
An Alternative Application
Luke 24:44-53; Acts 1:1-11. "Should I stay or should I go?" In both the Luke and Acts selections, Jesus' final words to his disciples include an instruction to stay and an instruction to go. In Luke, Jesus says that "repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning in Jerusalem," but first "stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high." Likewise, in Acts, "he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father," and then "you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."
We know the rest of the story following those parting instructions. Luke reports the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost, followed by the disciples' fulfillment of their commission as witnesses all the way "to the ends of the earth" -- or, in the case of the plot and flow of Acts, all the way to Rome.
At this point, we might stop to consider just what we believe about that Pentecost event.
There are some stories in scripture that we reasonably regard as onetime events that have no direct impact on our lives today (such as the conversation between Balaam and his donkey). There are other onetime events, however, which we understand to have significant impact on our lives, most importantly the death and resurrection of Christ. And then, finally, there are those events in scripture that we do not regard as onetime events, but which we understand to be representative of the continuing work of God (for example, the healing stories in the gospels).
The question is how we classify the Pentecost event. Do we believe that it was a onetime event that has nothing to do with us? No. Barring that, however, do we regard it as a onetime event that has an ongoing impact, like Christ's death and resurrection, or is it a recurring work of God, like healings and other miracles? Does the coming of the Spirit in Acts 2 suffice for our congregations, or do we assume that God has done or will do among us what he did among those believers gathered in first-century Jerusalem?
Different Christians would answer that question differently. Your people will need to know your answer in order to know, "Should I stay or should I go?"
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 93
This day affords three options, when it comes to psalms: the Seventh Sunday of Easter psalm, which is excerpts from Psalm 68; or one of two psalms especially chosen for Ascension Sunday: 47 or 93.
The brief Psalm 93 is probably the least frequently chosen of the three. Its context seems archaic, from the standpoint of our culture. The Lord is enthroned, here, as a cosmic king. The accoutrements of royalty are front and center: the robe of majesty, the girding-on of strength (suggesting a royal broadsword), the throne, the royal decree. Its message, loudly declared from the first verse onward, is simplicity itself: The Lord reigns!
Yet this one who reigns is like no ordinary king. The Lord rules over not only human affairs, but even the surging sea: the primeval waters, source of so many terrors for the Hebrew mind. The turbulent waters of chaos bring no fear to the psalmist's heart -- not this time. For God has tamed them, and God's providence continues to hold the floods at bay.
What does it mean to confess that the Lord reigns? Answering that question is hard, for in our secular democracy, we have little experience of kings. They are an expensive luxury, long since discarded in favor of more utilitarian forms of government. (Some of us follow the latest tabloid scandals of the British royal family with salacious interest, but that's about as far as it goes.) We resist even using that word "reign": our elected officials "serve" or "hold office."
Yet the Lord does reign, demanding our allegiance. Ancient Israel celebrated God's reign with an enthronement festival (which was in turn reminiscent of the vanquished gods of Mesopotamia, whom their worshipers ceremonially enthroned through cultic ritual). This psalm likely has its roots in such festivals, imported from foreign cultures.
Jerry Schmalenberger tells a story dating back to the time of the Nazi terror in Germany. In Wittenberg-Lutherstadt, a large statue of Christ stands in front of the Castle Church. Today, it is patched and repaired: for one Sunday afternoon long ago, a group of Nazi youth beat the statue to pieces with clubs. They painted the following words on a nearby fence: "The reign of Christ is over."
Later, a Christian youth group saw what had been done. They repaired the broken statue. Then, taking the same paintbrush and paint can the Hitler youth had used, they added three letters to the Nazi graffito: "a-l-l." It now read, "The reign of Christ is over all." (Jerry Schmalenberger, Lectionary Preaching Workbook, Series VII, Cycle C [Lima, Ohio: CSS Publishing, 2003], p. 114.)
From time to time, the world may defiantly declare that the reign of God is ended. We know better.
