Looking Up, Looking Out
Sermon
RESTORING THE FUTURE
First Lesson Sermons For Lent/Easter
Alan Paton was a courageous South African author whose courage was manifest in his novels, written during the vicious apartheid era in his country. He wrote historical novels about his homeland, courageous novels which spoke more of truth than of fiction. In his book, Ah, But Your Land Is Beautiful (Scribners, 1981), he described a meeting between the white headmaster of a school, Mr. Mansfield, and a black man, Mr. Nene, who was a government civil servant. Mr. Nene's job was to deliver messages from the South African courts to the unlucky black people who had managed to cross up the numerous and punitive South African apartheid laws.
Mr. Mansfield decided to resign his position because the government would not allow him to continue sports matches between his white school and a neighboring black school. He resigned because his personal limit had finally been reached, and he had determined that the government was asking too much of him, making demands upon the black population that he could no longer tolerate or overlook. As the black messenger of the court, Mr. Nene came to Mr. Mansfield's office, Mansfield was worried. Had he come to deliver a summons that Mansfield was to appear in court?
His fears were soon relieved. Mr. Nene, it turns out, only wanted to see him. He had never seen a white man willing to give up a prestigious position on behalf of black Africans before. He simply wanted to see him, to speak with him briefly, because, as it turns out, Mr. Nene had decided to resign his position too, and with much more to lose than Mansfield. He wanted to resign, he said, because if a white man can show his courage in such a way, how could a black man continue as a servant of such an evil system? Nene had determined that he, too, must resign.
Nene added, "I am going to get wounded ... not only by the government, but by my own people as well ... Some will say, 'Why don't you stay with your own people? ... Why get mixed up with white people, who are rich while you are poor?' ... I don't worry about the wounds. When I go up there, which is my intention, the Big Judge will say to me, 'Where are your wounds?' And if I say I haven't any, he will say, 'Was there nothing to fight for?' I couldn't stand that question."
Mr. Nene, whether he knew it or not, had a very biblical understanding of the meaning of the Ascension. He had seen not only the promise of his faith for the future, but the fact that the promise, if really to be believed, must shape the present, must make us into different people than we have ever been before.
The Ascension scene, as it was described in the reading from Acts, is particularly mystifying in our scientific age, an age which prides itself on asking factual questions and expecting factual answers. The picture of a man, once dead, now appearing to his disciples, now disappearing, and ultimately disappearing into the clouds - this is almost more than we can take in. Some solve the problem by saying that God did it and that is that. But that is to accept a solution that is too small, robbing us of a richer, fuller understanding of what Luke meant by describing the scene just the way he did.
Our closest parallel to the image of Christ disappearing behind a cloud is probably the televised pictures of the space shuttles, as they are thrown into orbit on the backs of tremendous, roaring rocket engines. But this scene from Acts is nothing like that. Are we to believe the picture that one literalist painted, that the last view the disciples had of Jesus was of the bottoms of his feet as he rose in the air above their heads?
In truth, the scene of the Ascension is a materially inadequate way of describing a spiritual reality. The favored kings of Israel all ascended the throne with great fanfare. Much to--do was made over such ascensions; some of our psalms have been created for just such occasions. There grew up in Israel the belief that anyone chosen of God would ascend to him. The traditions in the Bible tell us that Moses was taken up this way, as were Elijah, Ezra, and Abraham. The ascension was seen by Bible writers as further indication that Jesus was the chosen one of God. It in no way seemed as fantastic to them as it does to us.
Luke says that "a cloud took him out of their sight." This was not a simple cumulonimbus. Recall that the Israelites in the desert followed a "pillar of cloud" during their exodus sojourn, that Peter and the other two saw Jesus in a cloud during his transfiguration, that in the Bible, a cloud represented in this way suggests the presence of God. Jesus was received into God's presence right before their eyes. How would you have put that into words? It seems to me that the account in Acts is not so fantastic when we see it that way. It is a way of describing the great affirmation that Jesus was received by the God who loved him, that when our children ask us "Where is Jesus now?" we can answer with the disciples that he lives smack in the center of God's love. Right in the very center.
In the old Latin Mass for Ascension day, the choir sang "Deus Ascendit": "God has gone up." Does this mean that God in Christ has gone up, away from the secular world, abandoned us to our own sorry devices? No, William Willimon once observed that the choir does not sing "Deus abscondit" - "God has absconded, deserted." They sing "Deus ascendit," "God has ascended," has begun in heaven what is yet to be accomplished on earth. Christ is gone up, not to forsake us, but to continue to redeem us.
As the shadow of Nazism darkened Europe, Karl Barth, the great modern Reformed theologian, said he rediscovered the necessity of the Ascension. When lights go out, it's always good to remember who is in charge.
This is the physical reminder that no matter how things may look, Jesus has taken up authority over the world of which he is Lord. As Mr. Nene would have said, the "Big Judge is on his throne," the world doesn't really belong to the violent, the power grabbers, the ones who quote scripture in order to justifying stealing what belongs to others. The disciples, for whatever reason, were convinced that Jesus was at the very center of things, and this sent them back into Jerusalem with shouts of joy and celebration.
The angels that sent them on their way stopped them from doing what we so often want to do, stopped them from looking up when they really needed to look out. It was time to stop gazing into heaven and start looking for evidence of his rule on earth. Because no matter who is in the White House or what the newspapers say, human authorities are not in charge. Christ is ascended to rule.
Anyone can see that God's reign is not fully established, that we are not living under God's rule in the world as we know it. To think so is tantamount to keeping our heads in the clouds, looking skyward in hopes of one more view of Jesus, stopping our ears to the admonitions of the angel to get about the work ahead of us in Jerusalem and the world. Looking up in order not to have to see suffering humanity around us, war and threat of war, this is a heresy that our passage from Acts would have us reject.
The disciples, in danger of getting cricks in their necks from their cloud--gazing, were reminded by the angelic visitation that their task was not to scan the skies for signs of Jesus. Their task was to get off that mountain and be about the work that Jesus had only begun. In the old Revised Standard Version translation of the opening of this passage, following the 24 chapters of his Gospel account, Luke declares, "In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus had begun to do and to teach ..." The work of Jesus was only just begun when he was taken up into that cloud, his kingdom just under way. His work was to continue in the lives and work of these people he left standing on the mountaintop. It is a work which remains to be completed. We are the next generation of cloud--gazers in the line of the disciples.
More than a few commentators have suggested that this book's common name should be changed from the "Acts of the Apostles" to the "Acts of the Holy Spirit," since the book recounts the continuing work of Jesus through his Spirit--empowered church.
The task for these followers was no longer to look up for Jesus, but to look outward for him. It is the continuing task of those who follow Jesus to look out for the dispossessed, the hungry, the wounded, the spiritually dead and dying, all in a world with material plenty but a poverty of compassion. It is the task of the outward--looking church to utter the difficult word of judgment upon a world so fond of short--term advantage, so lacking in long--term life.
Looking out among the faces of those around us, we begin to see his face again. When Jesus said, "You shall be my witnesses," it was not a command, but a promise to be trusted. Where Jesus' disciples go, his witness lives in them. That is his promise. Where there is something, as Mr. Nene said, worth fighting for, we have his promise that we will not be abandoned. It is a promise that comes another step toward us at Pentecost, when the Spirit was unleashed on those who were willing to look outward.
Even in these lazy late--spring afternoons, as we move between graduation and work, in what is left of the spring, looking forward to the days of summer when life can drift a bit more slowly, even in these days when the driving purpose behind work or school or vacuuming the carpet for the one thousandth time seems obscure, even now it is important to remember who rules, who it is that sends us out with the promise that we will be his witnesses.
Mr. Mansfield decided to resign his position because the government would not allow him to continue sports matches between his white school and a neighboring black school. He resigned because his personal limit had finally been reached, and he had determined that the government was asking too much of him, making demands upon the black population that he could no longer tolerate or overlook. As the black messenger of the court, Mr. Nene came to Mr. Mansfield's office, Mansfield was worried. Had he come to deliver a summons that Mansfield was to appear in court?
His fears were soon relieved. Mr. Nene, it turns out, only wanted to see him. He had never seen a white man willing to give up a prestigious position on behalf of black Africans before. He simply wanted to see him, to speak with him briefly, because, as it turns out, Mr. Nene had decided to resign his position too, and with much more to lose than Mansfield. He wanted to resign, he said, because if a white man can show his courage in such a way, how could a black man continue as a servant of such an evil system? Nene had determined that he, too, must resign.
Nene added, "I am going to get wounded ... not only by the government, but by my own people as well ... Some will say, 'Why don't you stay with your own people? ... Why get mixed up with white people, who are rich while you are poor?' ... I don't worry about the wounds. When I go up there, which is my intention, the Big Judge will say to me, 'Where are your wounds?' And if I say I haven't any, he will say, 'Was there nothing to fight for?' I couldn't stand that question."
Mr. Nene, whether he knew it or not, had a very biblical understanding of the meaning of the Ascension. He had seen not only the promise of his faith for the future, but the fact that the promise, if really to be believed, must shape the present, must make us into different people than we have ever been before.
The Ascension scene, as it was described in the reading from Acts, is particularly mystifying in our scientific age, an age which prides itself on asking factual questions and expecting factual answers. The picture of a man, once dead, now appearing to his disciples, now disappearing, and ultimately disappearing into the clouds - this is almost more than we can take in. Some solve the problem by saying that God did it and that is that. But that is to accept a solution that is too small, robbing us of a richer, fuller understanding of what Luke meant by describing the scene just the way he did.
Our closest parallel to the image of Christ disappearing behind a cloud is probably the televised pictures of the space shuttles, as they are thrown into orbit on the backs of tremendous, roaring rocket engines. But this scene from Acts is nothing like that. Are we to believe the picture that one literalist painted, that the last view the disciples had of Jesus was of the bottoms of his feet as he rose in the air above their heads?
In truth, the scene of the Ascension is a materially inadequate way of describing a spiritual reality. The favored kings of Israel all ascended the throne with great fanfare. Much to--do was made over such ascensions; some of our psalms have been created for just such occasions. There grew up in Israel the belief that anyone chosen of God would ascend to him. The traditions in the Bible tell us that Moses was taken up this way, as were Elijah, Ezra, and Abraham. The ascension was seen by Bible writers as further indication that Jesus was the chosen one of God. It in no way seemed as fantastic to them as it does to us.
Luke says that "a cloud took him out of their sight." This was not a simple cumulonimbus. Recall that the Israelites in the desert followed a "pillar of cloud" during their exodus sojourn, that Peter and the other two saw Jesus in a cloud during his transfiguration, that in the Bible, a cloud represented in this way suggests the presence of God. Jesus was received into God's presence right before their eyes. How would you have put that into words? It seems to me that the account in Acts is not so fantastic when we see it that way. It is a way of describing the great affirmation that Jesus was received by the God who loved him, that when our children ask us "Where is Jesus now?" we can answer with the disciples that he lives smack in the center of God's love. Right in the very center.
In the old Latin Mass for Ascension day, the choir sang "Deus Ascendit": "God has gone up." Does this mean that God in Christ has gone up, away from the secular world, abandoned us to our own sorry devices? No, William Willimon once observed that the choir does not sing "Deus abscondit" - "God has absconded, deserted." They sing "Deus ascendit," "God has ascended," has begun in heaven what is yet to be accomplished on earth. Christ is gone up, not to forsake us, but to continue to redeem us.
As the shadow of Nazism darkened Europe, Karl Barth, the great modern Reformed theologian, said he rediscovered the necessity of the Ascension. When lights go out, it's always good to remember who is in charge.
This is the physical reminder that no matter how things may look, Jesus has taken up authority over the world of which he is Lord. As Mr. Nene would have said, the "Big Judge is on his throne," the world doesn't really belong to the violent, the power grabbers, the ones who quote scripture in order to justifying stealing what belongs to others. The disciples, for whatever reason, were convinced that Jesus was at the very center of things, and this sent them back into Jerusalem with shouts of joy and celebration.
The angels that sent them on their way stopped them from doing what we so often want to do, stopped them from looking up when they really needed to look out. It was time to stop gazing into heaven and start looking for evidence of his rule on earth. Because no matter who is in the White House or what the newspapers say, human authorities are not in charge. Christ is ascended to rule.
Anyone can see that God's reign is not fully established, that we are not living under God's rule in the world as we know it. To think so is tantamount to keeping our heads in the clouds, looking skyward in hopes of one more view of Jesus, stopping our ears to the admonitions of the angel to get about the work ahead of us in Jerusalem and the world. Looking up in order not to have to see suffering humanity around us, war and threat of war, this is a heresy that our passage from Acts would have us reject.
The disciples, in danger of getting cricks in their necks from their cloud--gazing, were reminded by the angelic visitation that their task was not to scan the skies for signs of Jesus. Their task was to get off that mountain and be about the work that Jesus had only begun. In the old Revised Standard Version translation of the opening of this passage, following the 24 chapters of his Gospel account, Luke declares, "In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus had begun to do and to teach ..." The work of Jesus was only just begun when he was taken up into that cloud, his kingdom just under way. His work was to continue in the lives and work of these people he left standing on the mountaintop. It is a work which remains to be completed. We are the next generation of cloud--gazers in the line of the disciples.
More than a few commentators have suggested that this book's common name should be changed from the "Acts of the Apostles" to the "Acts of the Holy Spirit," since the book recounts the continuing work of Jesus through his Spirit--empowered church.
The task for these followers was no longer to look up for Jesus, but to look outward for him. It is the continuing task of those who follow Jesus to look out for the dispossessed, the hungry, the wounded, the spiritually dead and dying, all in a world with material plenty but a poverty of compassion. It is the task of the outward--looking church to utter the difficult word of judgment upon a world so fond of short--term advantage, so lacking in long--term life.
Looking out among the faces of those around us, we begin to see his face again. When Jesus said, "You shall be my witnesses," it was not a command, but a promise to be trusted. Where Jesus' disciples go, his witness lives in them. That is his promise. Where there is something, as Mr. Nene said, worth fighting for, we have his promise that we will not be abandoned. It is a promise that comes another step toward us at Pentecost, when the Spirit was unleashed on those who were willing to look outward.
Even in these lazy late--spring afternoons, as we move between graduation and work, in what is left of the spring, looking forward to the days of summer when life can drift a bit more slowly, even in these days when the driving purpose behind work or school or vacuuming the carpet for the one thousandth time seems obscure, even now it is important to remember who rules, who it is that sends us out with the promise that we will be his witnesses.
