Ascension

feast of the ascension
the gospel of luke 24:44-53
the book of acts 1:1-11
preached for St. Luke’s Lutheran Church of Logan Square
pre-recorded service for May 19, 2020

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Today we are marking the feast of the Ascension, the end of the Easter season. Ascension Day was actually on Thursday, 40 days after Easter. But one reason it was important to me to still use the Ascension texts today, Sunday, is that without them, without marking the Ascension, we miss the end of Jesus’ physical, embodied, earthly ministry. We are left with Jesus resurrected, but not knowing what happens next. Without Ascension, there is a gap in the story. We know that Jesus was born, lived, healed, taught, fed. We know that Jesus was killed by the powers of Empire. Jesus died. And then Jesus was resurrected – living, physical, still teaching, still feeding. Ascension completes the question of: “and then what happens?”

It feels especially important to answer the question, “and then what happens?” as we are living in an environment where we cannot know the answer to that for ourselves. In our lives, right now, we don’t know what will happen next. We can’t know that. But we know the answer in this story – Jesus is lifted up, embodied, and is united with the Holy One. Jesus, who lived and worked and breathed among humanity, among Creation, was raised to be with God. Even with this specific answer to, “and then what happens?”, the Ascension is an image filled with mystery – we don’t know, exactly, where Jesus goes. 

Historically, these texts have been used to further separate the Kingdom of God from the Kingdom of Earth. Jesus goes somewhere else, and the implication is, “that’s where we should want to go too”. Somewhere else. Somewhere Divine. But God is not separate from Creation. God chose to be incarnate in a physical body. Jesus, as he is ascending, blesses those still on the ground, and promises that the Holy Spirit will be sent into Creation. God isn’t done restoring Creation yet. Jesus’ ministry isn’t done, even though he is no longer on Earth in the same way. Ascension marks another shift in how the disciples relate to Jesus. 

Jesus was different, after resurrection. Still scarred, still marked by the wounds of crucifixion, but the disciples didn’t recognize him in the same way. On the road to Emmaus, Jesus wasn’t known until he broke bread, and shared it. In another post-resurrection appearance in Luke, Jesus offers his wounds, his embodiment, as proof of identity. 

And Jesus was different, after Ascension. The disciples still had access to their memories of Jesus, the lessons they learned, but he is not present with them the same way he was before. Their relationship is different. He gives a final blessing, a final memory, a final lesson, opening their minds to the Scriptures, and then he is gone. In the Luke text, the disciples react to this change with joy, worshipping God. But the Ascension texts, this year, do not feel only like a triumphant, joyful, completion to Easter. In the Book of Acts, the disciples react to Jesus’ ascension by continuing to look towards the last spot they saw him, and they needed a reminder to return their attention to the ground, to their physical reality.

I wonder if the disciples experience the Ascension as another trauma. Another thing to mourn. Because these shifts in how they relate to Jesus? From life, through death and resurrection, and now Ascension? These are not easy shifts to make. The disciples witnessed as their teacher was executed by Empire. They watched him die. They carried the guilt that it was one of their own who betrayed him. They carried the guilt of their own betrayals, their own distance. They experienced the confusion, and the tentative hope, of the empty tomb. When Jesus began to show up, resurrected, they experienced the hope of promise, of fulfilled Scriptures. They got to be with Jesus, again, after death. And then he is gone, again. They might need to mourn Jesus, again. 

This year, I experience these texts as being heavy with grief and anger. It doesn’t seem fair, that the disciples got a second chance to say goodbye to Jesus, when so many right now are dying without the chance to say goodbye. I am grieving with, and for, the hundreds of thousands of people who have died without their loved ones, whose names are largely unspoken. I am grieving with, and for, the families and friends who wished they had more time, or any time, with their loved ones before they died. I am angry at the way our government has responded to these deaths, deciding, again, that people are disposable – especially if you are poor, or Black, or Latinx, or disabled, or trans. And today we hear about the disciples, who got a second chance to say goodbye to Jesus. Who got a chance to share meals with him, to learn from him, to touch him, after they thought he was gone forever. Who had their hopes reignited, that maybe, just maybe, the promises of God were real. It’s hard to hold together the trauma the disciples are experiencing with our own, current experiences of trauma – they feel very far apart. 

But I remember that Jesus, ascending, left the disciples with a blessing that extends to us. I imagine the blessing Jesus offers echoes the blessings of the Beatitudes. “Blessed are you who weep now, because you will laugh.” “This is still not the end of the story”. “Even though I will not be with you in the same way, you will not be alone, because God is here, and because the Holy Spirit is coming”.

I’m struck by the role of waiting, and preparation, and anticipation in the Ascension texts. The disciples have been with Jesus through a lot. From Jesus calling them, to teaching them, being with them, dying, rising – this is a story that stretches well beyond their 40 days with the resurrected Christ. Even in the immediacy of the Ascension, the disciples are not asked to begin their work immediately. They are given time to mourn, to celebrate, to process. To wait. To breathe. 

Their waiting is active, as our waiting, our sheltering in place, is active. The disciples are waiting in joy, in hope, in mourning, in blessing, in memory. They are waiting for God to reveal Godself in a different way, and are worshipping in the waiting. They are given space for their bodies and spirits to process the seismic shifts and traumas they have experienced. They are given space to slow down, to not rush immediately into the next thing. I wonder, too, if they are taking this time to move intentionally, to not perpetuate the systems of violence that killed their teacher. To move intentionally, and pay attention to how God is already moving through the world, and where they might work in unison. To be gentle with themselves, slowly allowing hope to come into their mourning. To worship joyfully, noisily, at the wonder of the resurrection. Beginning to imagine what their lives will be like, now, after encountering and breaking bread with the risen Christ.

That is the slow work I imagine when Jesus tells the disciples that there will be “a change of heart and life for the forgiveness of sins” “preached in [Jesus’] name to all”, beginning there, where they are. There is a promise of change, of growth, all made possible through God. This is the slow work we are being called towards, in these pandemic times – the work of transformation, of mourning, of imagining.

There’s an element of mystery in the Ascension that I invite you to savor. We don’t know the exact mechanics of Jesus’ ascent. We don’t know the science of it. But we know Jesus lived, died, and rose again. We know Jesus fed, wept, and taught. We know that Jesus ascended to be with God in a different way. And we know that Jesus blessed. Out of the mystery, we know that God is always finding new ways to be with us, even where we wouldn’t expect to find God. In the waiting. In the mourning. In the joy.

Right now, we can’t answer the question “and then what happens?” God is still revealing Godself, sending the Holy Spirit into our lives and our relationships. Urging us to trust in God’s promises, even when promises of restoration and life abundant might feel very far away. To joyfully worship in our daily lives. To rest. Beloveds, God wants you to have space to rest. To trust that God can hold whatever we’re feeling and experiencing. And to take comfort in the fact that Jesus sends us with a blessing, so that we might be blessings in the world, whatever happens next.