Scripture can be found here…
Well, here it is, at last. The last resurrection appearance of Jesus: the day when he ascends into heaven.
I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this story this week. What was that like? To be in the middle of an important conversation with Jesus, and to see him lifted out of your sight—never to be seen again, at least, not in this world.
I’ll reiterate what I shared with our young people, just a few minutes ago. When those we love go away forever, even if we know they are somewhere they want to be, even if we imagine—we believe they’re in the place of the greatest possible happiness—we still miss them. We still feel a loss. We still grieve.
Jesus does the ultimate social distancing with his friends and followers, and of course they grieve. Of course they will miss him. And of course they have to figure out how to go on, what to do, with this new normal—or, as I’ve heard it described recently, the “now normal.” Because, as we know well, even the new normal keeps changing.
But before he goes, Jesus gives them some important information.
They want to know what God’s plan is. They want a blueprint, or a strategy for battle. A timeline for God’s glorious reign of justice, love, and peace.
Jesus does not offer them a timeline, not for God’s ultimate plans, anyway. This is what a friend of mine long ago called, “a time of not knowing.” Sometimes, that is our timeline. We just don’t know.
But Jesus also makes a promise to them: God will give them power. And the English word, “power,” is a translation of a Greek word that sounds a lot like dynamite. Jesus promises huge, explosive power will be coming to them, in just a few days.
He is talking about the Holy Spirit.
And that power? It has a purpose. Its purpose is not about kingdoms or regimes or political parties or guarantees of any of the things Jesus’ friends seem to be focused on.
It is about witness.
You will be my witnesses, he says. As one of my favorite pastor-poets wrote this week:
… You can bear witness
to the power of love.
It is not for you to know the future,
or to be ascendant or in power,
or to control things.
It is for you to be a witness to love
even when things are not restored.
This is not second best: it is true power,
whose waves ripple through the world.
The center of the universe is not on the throne.
It is in your heart… [i]
(Steve Garnaas-Holmes, unfoldinglight.net)
And then he’s gone.
And his friends, followers, even his family do not know what the future holds. Something has come to an end. And the new thing hasn’t yet begun, and it’s hard to see what that could possibly look like.
But there are hints.
For instance: there are two men in white. Now where have we seen them before? Ah. Yes. So, this is still a resurrection story.
This is still a story about new life coming out of death, because God still, always has the last word.
Scottish philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre wrote, “I cannot answer the question ‘What ought I to do?’ unless I first answer the question “Of which story am I a part?’”
And Jesus’ friends and followers are reminded: I am part of a story about the power of life over death. About the power of love over hate or disdain. About the power of giving witness to these things.
And then, perhaps, they begin to get a sense of what kind of power is coming their way.
The next move Jesus’ people make is no move at all.
They gather together in an upstairs room somewhere in Jerusalem, for what sounds like a long session of prayer and reflection.
And our author takes the opportunity to mention an interesting detail—maybe something we assumed all along, maybe something that surprises us: The women are there. Mary, the mother of Jesus, and “the other women,” which is to say, Mary Magdalene, witness to the resurrection; and Joanna, the wife of Herod’s steward Chuza; and Susanna; and Mary, the mother of James; and many others, because, despite the fact that the gospels sometimes feel like a traveling bachelor’s party, the women are there. All along.
And it is only right that they should be there now, because they are a part of this community, and they are a part of this story.
And together, these siblings in Christ begin to pray about the future. They know what story they are a part of.
In order to know what to do, in order to know which path to choose, any community needs to know: What is our story? What story are we a part of? Not just the, “Patricia Raube” story that began on such and such a date, and will end on such and such a date, but the big story, the one that has had millions of participants over thousands of years.
Of what story are we a part?
In her poem “Pandemic,” Rev. Lynn Ungar offers a story for this ongoing time of mutual care by social distancing.
Why not, she asks, think of it as Jews consider the Sabbath—the most sacred of times? She locates the pandemic in the heart of a great story, a story spanning thousands and thousands of years, but which has a great and loving heart as its creator and its source of comfort and wisdom.
And our Creator invites us, as always on the Sabbath, to prayer and reflection.
Why not treat this time as an unexpected extended Sabbath?
Of course, as soon as I wrote those words, I thought of those for whom a Sabbath is nearly impossible in the best of times, and for whom these days are an endless commitment to keeping our world safe and our hospitals functioning and the sickest people comfortable and the terrified people calm. I thought of those for whom these days are a commitment to our groceries and our water and our electricity and the gas for our cars that we hardly drive anymore.
And if for nothing and no–one else, it seems to me that those of us who are praying people ought to be on our knees on their behalf. And then we should be on our phones to our congresspersons and senators to ensure that all these people are made as safe as humanly possible, and are fairly paid, and, when this is all over, get long paid vacations and medals and a million $ each in Bitcoin.
We know what story we are a part of. And even those of us who are flat out making sure all essential services continue for the good of our communities can take a moment… a breath… in prayer.
All of us, no matter what our situation, can embrace this time as a great and holy Sabbath.
And just as in those days after Jesus was lifted out of their sight and into heaven, we will pray.
And just as in that holy, liminal space—that blessed in between time—God will be about the business of reminding us:
The creator of all things is not seated on somewhere faraway, on a throne, but here, present, in each home and heart.
God is with us.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[i] Steve Garnaas-Holmes, “Witness,” Unfolding Light May 22, 2020, unfoldinglight.net.