Matthew 28:18-20
Jesus gave them this charge: “God authorized me to commission you, so go out and train everyone you meet, far and near, in this way of life, marking them by baptism in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Then instruct them in the practice of all I have commanded you. I’ll be with you as you do this, day after day after day, right up to the end of the age.”
The Feast of the Ascension was celebrated this past Thursday. It’s the last big event in our journey in the life of Jesus — from Christmas through the weeks immediately after Easter, and it all culminates, with his followers standing around, and with Jesus being carried up into heaven – usually depicted as floating upward on a cloud, and – this is the key phrase – disappearing from their sight. At least this is the image most of us have been given most of our lives.
The ascension is a “problem” for most modern Christians – those of us who are not literalists, at least. We have so much trouble accepting that one day Jesus just floated up into heaven and “poofed” away, never to be seen on earth again in his human form.
We think of Jesus’ “last words” as a Good Friday thing – his last words as he is dying on the cross. The reading we just read, from Matthew’s gospel, is Matthew’s version of Jesus’ last words to his disciples. His gospel ends here. Matthew never actually says Jesus ascended — he just leaves us there and we assume the rest.
Mark, in his gospel, simply says that “Jesus returned to heaven.” Luke says that Jesus blessed his disciples “and while blessing them, made his exit, being carried up to heaven.” That’s the closest to the ascension story suggested above. John’s gospel says nothing at all about an ascension. What we can gain from the writings left for us is that in some manner, from this point onward, Jesus was seen no more among them.
Most of us non-literalists have known for a very long time now that heaven is not actually “up there.” If we weren’t sure before, NASA’s journeys into space pretty well proved that to us. Jesus told us repeatedly that the reign of God is here, right here where we are. So why are we so determined to place it somewhere else?
We happily believe a great many very odd things throughout our Christian journey, so why do we get so hung up on this one, when we can believe it as figurative truth or metaphor. We don’t struggle like this at the idea that Jesus rose from the dead, or that God impregnated a young woman by way of the Holy Spirit, or that massive choirs of angels filled the sky at the holy birth.
We accept that we can believe literally or not, and that both ways of telling the story are true. The point that matters is that when Jesus’ direct work here among us was over, he returned to God, to his home, to “heaven,” which is wherever the love of God reigns. It’s a story that tells us that Jesus’ direct work on earth is over and now will be done in a different manner, in a different form.
Next Sunday will be Pentecost Sunday, which will mark a major shift in our focus from the life of Jesus to the life of the newly emerging church. From here on we stop centering directly on the human life of Jesus and start paying attention to what the new church does with the story of that life.
After all, not a one of us here today was around during Jesus’ earthly life. All we know of it is what his early followers have left behind to tell us. What we have is their interpretation of Jesus’ message, and there was a lot of disagreement in just how that message should be heard and passed on.
Whether they knew it at the time, or not, those early followers were organizing a new religion, and a new church — which is interesting (but so very human) because Jesus never said a word about “go out and start a church.” What it appears he did say was that they (and by extension, we) should change the way they lived their lives. He said nothing about making up a bunch of new rules. Nothing about buildings with gate-keepers. He certainly said nothing about locking certain people out if their ways were different from our chosen rules.
One thing he did say, to them, and again by extension, to us – and he said it quite emphatically -- is that we are not to judge each other. Period. Not our job. And so, of course, many of the new church builders started straight in with the judging and setting rules to govern the judging.
He was, however, equally emphatic, and equally clear on the things we are to do. We are to care for each other — to care for the widows and orphans, not just toss them to the curb to fend for themselves. We are to feed the hungry. There is no ambiguity at all in that command. Feed. The. Hungry. Three words – that’s it. Clothe the naked; give water to those parched with thirst; seek justice; practice mercy; be kind with each other. He tells us nothing about building institutions.
The more time we spend with Jesus, either in the stories left for us in scripture or in our personal prayers; the more we come to recognize the true voice of Jesus and the more we can recognize when something truly comes from him — and these then, are the things we cling to. The things we do to follow him. The new church had a lot of work ahead of them – and we today are still part of that workforce – still struggling to build the reign of God right here, right now. Still struggling to follow him as he asked to be followed.
Amen
The ascension is a “problem” for most modern Christians – those of us who are not literalists, at least. We have so much trouble accepting that one day Jesus just floated up into heaven and “poofed” away, never to be seen on earth again in his human form.
We think of Jesus’ “last words” as a Good Friday thing – his last words as he is dying on the cross. The reading we just read, from Matthew’s gospel, is Matthew’s version of Jesus’ last words to his disciples. His gospel ends here. Matthew never actually says Jesus ascended — he just leaves us there and we assume the rest.
Mark, in his gospel, simply says that “Jesus returned to heaven.” Luke says that Jesus blessed his disciples “and while blessing them, made his exit, being carried up to heaven.” That’s the closest to the ascension story suggested above. John’s gospel says nothing at all about an ascension. What we can gain from the writings left for us is that in some manner, from this point onward, Jesus was seen no more among them.
Most of us non-literalists have known for a very long time now that heaven is not actually “up there.” If we weren’t sure before, NASA’s journeys into space pretty well proved that to us. Jesus told us repeatedly that the reign of God is here, right here where we are. So why are we so determined to place it somewhere else?
We happily believe a great many very odd things throughout our Christian journey, so why do we get so hung up on this one, when we can believe it as figurative truth or metaphor. We don’t struggle like this at the idea that Jesus rose from the dead, or that God impregnated a young woman by way of the Holy Spirit, or that massive choirs of angels filled the sky at the holy birth.
We accept that we can believe literally or not, and that both ways of telling the story are true. The point that matters is that when Jesus’ direct work here among us was over, he returned to God, to his home, to “heaven,” which is wherever the love of God reigns. It’s a story that tells us that Jesus’ direct work on earth is over and now will be done in a different manner, in a different form.
Next Sunday will be Pentecost Sunday, which will mark a major shift in our focus from the life of Jesus to the life of the newly emerging church. From here on we stop centering directly on the human life of Jesus and start paying attention to what the new church does with the story of that life.
After all, not a one of us here today was around during Jesus’ earthly life. All we know of it is what his early followers have left behind to tell us. What we have is their interpretation of Jesus’ message, and there was a lot of disagreement in just how that message should be heard and passed on.
Whether they knew it at the time, or not, those early followers were organizing a new religion, and a new church — which is interesting (but so very human) because Jesus never said a word about “go out and start a church.” What it appears he did say was that they (and by extension, we) should change the way they lived their lives. He said nothing about making up a bunch of new rules. Nothing about buildings with gate-keepers. He certainly said nothing about locking certain people out if their ways were different from our chosen rules.
One thing he did say, to them, and again by extension, to us – and he said it quite emphatically -- is that we are not to judge each other. Period. Not our job. And so, of course, many of the new church builders started straight in with the judging and setting rules to govern the judging.
He was, however, equally emphatic, and equally clear on the things we are to do. We are to care for each other — to care for the widows and orphans, not just toss them to the curb to fend for themselves. We are to feed the hungry. There is no ambiguity at all in that command. Feed. The. Hungry. Three words – that’s it. Clothe the naked; give water to those parched with thirst; seek justice; practice mercy; be kind with each other. He tells us nothing about building institutions.
The more time we spend with Jesus, either in the stories left for us in scripture or in our personal prayers; the more we come to recognize the true voice of Jesus and the more we can recognize when something truly comes from him — and these then, are the things we cling to. The things we do to follow him. The new church had a lot of work ahead of them – and we today are still part of that workforce – still struggling to build the reign of God right here, right now. Still struggling to follow him as he asked to be followed.
Amen
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