Restoring The Future
Sermon
RESTORING THE FUTURE
First Lesson Sermons For Lent/Easter
Do you know what Ascension Day is? In many Christian traditions, that day is a festival as important as Good Friday or Thanksgiving. It is a day which comes exactly forty days after Easter. It is the commemoration of Jesus' assumption into heaven which was the subject of our reading from Acts today. It marks the conclusion of his resurrection appearances and the opening of the ministry of the Holy Spirit through the work of the church.
While Ascension Day isn't a big holiday in the U.S.A., I know of a pastor in South Africa who says it is a significant cultural celebration there, as it is in many other countries. All the schools are let out for the day, many people go for a picnic or a family outing, much as happens on our Memorial Day. I just hope as many go to church to hear what the word Ascension refers to!
Still, some faith communities here in the U.S.A. do make a bit of a fuss over Ascension Day. There is a Lutheran church in Missouri where a handful of people show up at the church a couple of hours before their Thursday evening Ascension Day service each year and begin filling up helium balloons.1 Hundreds of balloons are filled into a large white bag made up of several bed sheets, sewn together. The man--made "cloud" is then pinned at the end and released to float about over the heads of the worshipers like a prize blimp at a professional basketball arena.
The pastor of the church says the sight is glorious in its own way, but also befuddling to visitors. The "cloud" has been known to dive bomb the candelabra, and so it sometimes has to be tethered with fish line. He says the "net effect of this soaring cloud routine is the 'crooked neck syndrome.'... Preaching in this setting is a challenge because worshipers rarely bother to look at the pulpit. But that upwards obsession is what Ascension Day is all about."2
One of the oldest tricks in the book for mischief--minded big--city kids is to stand on a street corner craning necks back to look at some non--existent phenomenon in the sky, just to see how many people you can influence to follow your gaze upwards. The temptation is almost irresistible to those of us who are suggestible anyway. I recall a Baptist preacher who once preached a Sunday evening service, eyes fixed on the back of the church ceiling, shouting, "Can you see Jesus coming now, in his GLO--ry?" It was all the worshipers could do to resist turning in their seats to see if the bricks on the back wall were about to give way to the returning Savior.
I have a friend who remembers being dropped off by his parents for his freshman year at college. Just days before he had gotten himself all packed up, ready to head for school, and asked his older brother if he thought he looked like a college man. "No," he said, "you look like a freshman." A couple of days later, he knew his brother was right. He was standing there in his ridiculous freshman beanie - shows you how old this friend is - on the driveway into his new school, in a new city, in a new state, where he knew hardly anyone. He waved at his parents as they drove away, waving back at him. He continued watching as they disappeared into the distance, over the hill, off into a cloud of mystery as it were, their day--to--day lives now officially separated from his. An old chapter of his life was now behind him, a new one was opening. Bright as his future was going to be, it didn't feel all that bright at that moment. And all the previous conversations about his future, about the school work that lay ahead of him, all the dinner table speculations about the universe of possibilities that waited over the horizon seemed pretty small compensation just then for the certainties and securities of the life of a child and teenager in a loving home that he had known up to that moment.
I imagine that in a much more significant way, the disciples had similar feelings as they watched Jesus being swallowed up in the heavenly cloud, removed from them so that he had officially become, now, a memory, not a presence anymore. Oh sure, he had promised them a new sense of his presence through the Holy Spirit, but they had some in--the--meantime to get through before the Spirit came to them, and in the meantime their future without Jesus' physical presence didn't look anywhere nearly as promising as their past had been when they used to join him by the lakeside.
They stood there, eyes straining to see the last glimpse of him, realizing that they were now a people of the past, who must plod through the present without much of a future. How could their future be restored when their whole attention could only focus on the past and the One now absent?
Many of the rising generations go through such periods of hopelessness. The certainties of childhood give way to the confusion and dislocation of adolescence and young adulthood. The unquestioned love of parents is replaced by the fickle, inconstant affections of peers, the material and philosophical securities of trusting children turn easily into the futureless cynicisms of those who discover they can take nothing in their adult world for granted. How to restore a future when only the past seems secure and what lies ahead looms with threatening uncertainties?
The disciples, while not adolescent, nonetheless had similar feelings of dislocation. They asked one of the oldest and most deeply religious questions in the world: "What now?" It is a two--word question that is not only curious about the future, but wonders if there will even be a future. What now? Now that we are all grown up, what now? Think of the times in life when this is one of the most appropriate questions to be asked: I've graduated from high school or college; what now? I'm married; what now? I'm baptized; what now? I'm hired; what now? I've built my dream home; what now? I've retired; what now? I've joined the church; what now?
When we rebel, when we are angry, when we are depressed - perhaps especially when we are depressed - it is so often because we see no future, because we ask the age--old question, "What now?" and we cannot find our way to an answer.
Naturally enough, the disciples' question of Jesus before he went off into orbit had to do with restoration. "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" Lord, can't we go back? Lord, we miss the good old days, will you bring them back? Politicians have won elections for centuries by promising to do just that, but it is a mirage, a trick done with mirrors, for what was can never be again. Life moves forward even when we look backward - or upward. They wanted what we often want when we undertake painstaking restoration of old buildings or automobiles: a piece of the past. When finished, though, the past does not reemerge. We still live in the present, awaiting a word to move us into a hope--filled future.
Even more difficult than restoring pieces of the past would be the building of a twenty--second century car or building. How would we know if we'd gotten it right? "Ahead of his time" is a phrase invariably preceded by a past--tense verb: "He was ahead of his time." We only see it in retrospect, looking back. The future remains a mystery. The past seems at least safe, while the future appears to be impossibly distant, unknowable. Lord, won't you just restore the kingdom? That we could understand. We know what the old kingdom looked like. But Jesus just made this promise: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes ... You will become my witnesses."
So there they stood, gazing off into the cloud, wondering, "What now?" Then along came two men in white to ask them a question which Will Rogers may well have been paraphrasing when he once said, "Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there." Jesus' prayer in John 17 entrusted the disciples' future to God. Now the disciples must move toward that future. But how?
Well, they began in the order that Jesus had told them, one step at a time. First, back to Jerusalem; then they would be called into the rest of the nation, even to Samaria, even to the whole world. That's where their work stands today. Imagine! There they stood in their freshman beanies, being told the future was promise--filled, the world would be their pulpit. All that was needed to grasp it was to take one step at a time, place one foot in front of the other in the way he told them to go. They returned to Jerusalem, and there we see the little church beginning to take shape, with the disciples, some unnamed women, Jesus' mother, Mary, and Jesus' brothers. Followers, friends, family, just like the make--up of most churches today. They took the first step toward the future, and soon they would receive the power which Jesus had promised.
The same is true for us. Take one step toward Christ in faith, and he will run toward us the rest of the way. Our future in him is bright. Just go there. Just trust him.
____________
1. Peter W. Marty, "Up, Up, And Away," in Christian Century, May 15, 1996, p. 543.
2. Ibid.
While Ascension Day isn't a big holiday in the U.S.A., I know of a pastor in South Africa who says it is a significant cultural celebration there, as it is in many other countries. All the schools are let out for the day, many people go for a picnic or a family outing, much as happens on our Memorial Day. I just hope as many go to church to hear what the word Ascension refers to!
Still, some faith communities here in the U.S.A. do make a bit of a fuss over Ascension Day. There is a Lutheran church in Missouri where a handful of people show up at the church a couple of hours before their Thursday evening Ascension Day service each year and begin filling up helium balloons.1 Hundreds of balloons are filled into a large white bag made up of several bed sheets, sewn together. The man--made "cloud" is then pinned at the end and released to float about over the heads of the worshipers like a prize blimp at a professional basketball arena.
The pastor of the church says the sight is glorious in its own way, but also befuddling to visitors. The "cloud" has been known to dive bomb the candelabra, and so it sometimes has to be tethered with fish line. He says the "net effect of this soaring cloud routine is the 'crooked neck syndrome.'... Preaching in this setting is a challenge because worshipers rarely bother to look at the pulpit. But that upwards obsession is what Ascension Day is all about."2
One of the oldest tricks in the book for mischief--minded big--city kids is to stand on a street corner craning necks back to look at some non--existent phenomenon in the sky, just to see how many people you can influence to follow your gaze upwards. The temptation is almost irresistible to those of us who are suggestible anyway. I recall a Baptist preacher who once preached a Sunday evening service, eyes fixed on the back of the church ceiling, shouting, "Can you see Jesus coming now, in his GLO--ry?" It was all the worshipers could do to resist turning in their seats to see if the bricks on the back wall were about to give way to the returning Savior.
I have a friend who remembers being dropped off by his parents for his freshman year at college. Just days before he had gotten himself all packed up, ready to head for school, and asked his older brother if he thought he looked like a college man. "No," he said, "you look like a freshman." A couple of days later, he knew his brother was right. He was standing there in his ridiculous freshman beanie - shows you how old this friend is - on the driveway into his new school, in a new city, in a new state, where he knew hardly anyone. He waved at his parents as they drove away, waving back at him. He continued watching as they disappeared into the distance, over the hill, off into a cloud of mystery as it were, their day--to--day lives now officially separated from his. An old chapter of his life was now behind him, a new one was opening. Bright as his future was going to be, it didn't feel all that bright at that moment. And all the previous conversations about his future, about the school work that lay ahead of him, all the dinner table speculations about the universe of possibilities that waited over the horizon seemed pretty small compensation just then for the certainties and securities of the life of a child and teenager in a loving home that he had known up to that moment.
I imagine that in a much more significant way, the disciples had similar feelings as they watched Jesus being swallowed up in the heavenly cloud, removed from them so that he had officially become, now, a memory, not a presence anymore. Oh sure, he had promised them a new sense of his presence through the Holy Spirit, but they had some in--the--meantime to get through before the Spirit came to them, and in the meantime their future without Jesus' physical presence didn't look anywhere nearly as promising as their past had been when they used to join him by the lakeside.
They stood there, eyes straining to see the last glimpse of him, realizing that they were now a people of the past, who must plod through the present without much of a future. How could their future be restored when their whole attention could only focus on the past and the One now absent?
Many of the rising generations go through such periods of hopelessness. The certainties of childhood give way to the confusion and dislocation of adolescence and young adulthood. The unquestioned love of parents is replaced by the fickle, inconstant affections of peers, the material and philosophical securities of trusting children turn easily into the futureless cynicisms of those who discover they can take nothing in their adult world for granted. How to restore a future when only the past seems secure and what lies ahead looms with threatening uncertainties?
The disciples, while not adolescent, nonetheless had similar feelings of dislocation. They asked one of the oldest and most deeply religious questions in the world: "What now?" It is a two--word question that is not only curious about the future, but wonders if there will even be a future. What now? Now that we are all grown up, what now? Think of the times in life when this is one of the most appropriate questions to be asked: I've graduated from high school or college; what now? I'm married; what now? I'm baptized; what now? I'm hired; what now? I've built my dream home; what now? I've retired; what now? I've joined the church; what now?
When we rebel, when we are angry, when we are depressed - perhaps especially when we are depressed - it is so often because we see no future, because we ask the age--old question, "What now?" and we cannot find our way to an answer.
Naturally enough, the disciples' question of Jesus before he went off into orbit had to do with restoration. "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" Lord, can't we go back? Lord, we miss the good old days, will you bring them back? Politicians have won elections for centuries by promising to do just that, but it is a mirage, a trick done with mirrors, for what was can never be again. Life moves forward even when we look backward - or upward. They wanted what we often want when we undertake painstaking restoration of old buildings or automobiles: a piece of the past. When finished, though, the past does not reemerge. We still live in the present, awaiting a word to move us into a hope--filled future.
Even more difficult than restoring pieces of the past would be the building of a twenty--second century car or building. How would we know if we'd gotten it right? "Ahead of his time" is a phrase invariably preceded by a past--tense verb: "He was ahead of his time." We only see it in retrospect, looking back. The future remains a mystery. The past seems at least safe, while the future appears to be impossibly distant, unknowable. Lord, won't you just restore the kingdom? That we could understand. We know what the old kingdom looked like. But Jesus just made this promise: "You will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes ... You will become my witnesses."
So there they stood, gazing off into the cloud, wondering, "What now?" Then along came two men in white to ask them a question which Will Rogers may well have been paraphrasing when he once said, "Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there." Jesus' prayer in John 17 entrusted the disciples' future to God. Now the disciples must move toward that future. But how?
Well, they began in the order that Jesus had told them, one step at a time. First, back to Jerusalem; then they would be called into the rest of the nation, even to Samaria, even to the whole world. That's where their work stands today. Imagine! There they stood in their freshman beanies, being told the future was promise--filled, the world would be their pulpit. All that was needed to grasp it was to take one step at a time, place one foot in front of the other in the way he told them to go. They returned to Jerusalem, and there we see the little church beginning to take shape, with the disciples, some unnamed women, Jesus' mother, Mary, and Jesus' brothers. Followers, friends, family, just like the make--up of most churches today. They took the first step toward the future, and soon they would receive the power which Jesus had promised.
The same is true for us. Take one step toward Christ in faith, and he will run toward us the rest of the way. Our future in him is bright. Just go there. Just trust him.
____________
1. Peter W. Marty, "Up, Up, And Away," in Christian Century, May 15, 1996, p. 543.
2. Ibid.
