Ac 1:1-11

27 May 2001

Sunday after Ascension

(7th Sunday of Easter)

 

“He Ascended into Heaven”

 

Have you ever said goodbye to your best friend for what you both believed, or knew, was the last time?  In our lives, we say goodbye to a lot of people that we know we probably won’t ever see again, and it doesn’t really bother us.  Sometimes we play games and say things like, “see you later,” when we know very well there will be no “later.”

It’s an awkward moment.  If we don’t flee from it, we’re forced to evaluate all that has gone on between us, everything we’ve shared—good, bad, and indifferent.  With the large majority of people, we know these times must occur.  Life is, after all, a series of hellos and goodbyes.

But with our best friend, it’s more than awkward—it’s painful.  If there’s been any honesty in the relationship, silly games like “see you later” just won’t work, and we both know it.

I’ve had this kind of experience once in my life, when I was preparing to graduate from Bible college—Southeastern College in Lakeland, Florida.  In December 1988, I had completed my coursework and was about to join the small number of students who also were finishing up at the end of the fall semester.  My roommate still had over two years to go.  He was about to go home for the Christmas break.

There were times when he truly angered me and I wanted to strangle the guy.  However, the fact that he could beat me up without any problem kept me from acting on that particular impulse!  At the time, we seemed to have little in common.  With just a few exceptions, we definitely did not like the same music.  He didn't like to read, and he didn’t like movies—two more things out the window.  He didn’t care for sports.  It seems like our faith was the only thing we really had in common, but as it turned out, that was more than enough.

Whatever the reason, I can say that he became my best friend.  Even though he still irritated and embarrassed me at times with some of his antics in public, I came to love him.  And so it happened on the day that a fellow student pulled up in the parking lot to take him to Tampa International Airport, we each found ourselves at that terrible moment of saying goodbye to our best friend.

I just wanted him to get in the car and leave quickly.  I could feel the pain increasing.  As soon as the car left the parking lot, I turned and hurried back into the dorm.  I didn’t want anyone to see me with my eyes watering up.  Besides, I could barely see where I was going.  Even then, in that moment, I was imagining myself tripping on the stairs and rolling back to the bottom.  But I did make it to my room, where I put my head on my desk, and for about ten minutes, I just cried.

Our scripture reading gives us another case of saying goodbye to a best friend.  Of course, in this case, the best friend is Jesus.  And he’s not on his way to the airport.  His mode of transport, the text tells us, is a cloud, not a plane!

The mood of this farewell is not sad.  Luke, the one who almost certainly wrote the book of Acts as a sequel to his gospel, tells us (in today's gospel reading) that it was an occasion of joy (24:52).  In Acts, the apostles put questions to Jesus about the restoration of the Davidic kingdom, a curiosity he doesn’t satisfy.  In neither description do we get the sense that this is a moment of grief.  On the contrary, it’s a time of wonder and gladness.

Several ideas have been offered about why this is so.^[1]  Jesus has promised the gift of the Holy Spirit; he has also taught and blessed them just as the moment arrives.  The fact of his return to the Father validates his message and guarantees their victory.

These would, I think, be enough to ensure a happy response by the apostles.  But I find something else mentioned in our reading from Acts to be just as powerful:  the two angels who appear to the apostles and ask them why they’re gazing into the sky.  They promise them that this same Jesus “who has been taken up from you” will return in the same way (v.11).  Translation:  you have not lost your best friend.  He'll be back!

This is the story that launches the book of Acts.  This amazing collection of events in the life of the early church is kicked off by this incident of a glorious disappearance, which is to be followed by an equally majestic reappearance.

This past Thursday was the fortieth day of the Easter season and the day on which we mark the Ascension of the Lord.  Ten days after that (next Sunday), we complete what has historically been known as the Great Fifty Days, with the coming of the day of Pentecost.

Ascension is often overlooked in many churches; maybe this reflects a failure to see the Easter season, which begins with the resurrection and continues until the outpouring of the Spirit at Pentecost, as a unity.  It ‘s been said that Ascension “marks the rightful assumption of glory and power by the Crucified One.”^[2]  Also, it’s been noted that by ascending from the earth, Jesus has given us “hope of rising to true selfhood.”^[3]  It is God, not we, who defines what it means to be a person.

Jesus, who enabled God to enter the world in physical form as the infant of Bethlehem, has done something unprecedented.  By ascending in bodily form, he has enabled God to forever be joined with human flesh.  The creation has been joined with the Creator.  For these and other reasons, the Christian church has recognized the importance of the ascension as a vital part of our Lord’s ministry.  It’s not for nothing that we affirm, “he ascended into heaven,” every time we recite the Apostles’ Creed.

I think there’s another reason the ascension is often overlooked.  It seems to require quite a stretch of the imagination.  Many people who readily affirm their belief in the resurrection of Christ have trouble accepting that he flew up into the sky.  We might be tempted to ask:  What happened to Jesus when he got above the earth’s atmosphere?  Did he escape our planet’s gravitational pull?  What star or galaxy did he head toward?  These are the kind of questions that arise when we try to combine first and twenty first century understandings of the universe.

If the ascension were to occur today, we might use language that sounds borrowed from Star Trek.  We might speak of Jesus as “beaming up” to heaven.  Or perhaps as shifting into another dimension.  As long as we’re trying to explain the ascension in terms that fit our conception of time and space, we’ll end up sounding ridiculous.  And we won’t get a very good handle on what the ascension means for us.

If you would, look ahead in the program to the affirmation of faith.  There’s a question and answer from the Heidelberg Catechism that gives us a trinitarian response as to what the ascension means.  First, we recognize that Jesus intercedes for us to the Father.  Then come two things that have been briefly mentioned already.  By entering heaven bodily, and not just spiritually, Jesus guarantees our own ability to do the same.  In its sixteenth century language, "we have our flesh in heaven."  And by sending the Holy Spirit, he enables us to be, as noted in verse 8 of our text, his witnesses throughout the earth.

When Jesus left the apostles, it was not the end of the story.  They knew they would see him again.  And in the meantime, the story was taking a different turn—the story of the church.

I began by telling you a story from my own life.  I felt that I had lost my best friend.  Of course, we did keep in contact through letters and phone calls, but that just isn’t the same as being there.  Well, it wasn’t the end of that story, either.  As it turned out almost three years later when I went to seminary, I found myself just three commuter train rides from his home town.  My fear that day in the parking lot that we would never see each other again was proven false.  And even though he's now in Costa Rica and I'm here in Jamestown, I know the story continues.

Many of you have experienced this kind of loss.  You have had to say goodbye to a best friend, to a family member, to a loved one.  Perhaps this has happened through the circumstances of life, as I felt I had done, or perhaps this has happened through the ultimate circumstance, of death.  And with tomorrow being Memorial Day, we're especially reminded of those we've lost during military service.