http://christchurchlr.orgChrist Church Little Rock

One of the best ways to trace a person’s chronological maturation is to look at the type of item he or she collects or takes pride in. As we get older, our lego-hoarding two year old selves don’t really change, we just shift our attention to new objects. And for many of us, what fills us with pride, excitement, and an overly possessive sense of ownership is our books. Although there was a time when owning even one book was considered a privilege, now a new work of fiction is published every thirty minutes in the United States, and over 170,000 new book titles are published every year. At least in the excess of middle and upper class America, books are everywhere. They’ve taken over our desks, our kitchen tables, our bookcases, and our cars. With books in every direction, many of us struggle with an ever-increasing number of books in our “to be read” stack, while the “already read” stack lags woefully behind. And this challenge has prompted a new set of guidelines for what it means to “read” a book in the first place. For example…

If a book you read cites, critiques, or is remarkably similar to another book in your collection, it is acceptable to count both books as “read.” If you lend an unread book to a friend who then gives you their opinion on said book, you may move that book to the “already read” stack. If a book remains on your coffee table for a three month period, not impenetrably buried under other items but close enough to the top that it is picked up at least ten times during that three month period, you may count the book as “read.” If you begin reading a book, but through no fault of your own are compelled to switch reading materials due to a conflicting demand from your job or the need to contend with a home emergency (be that a parenting dilemma, an appliance malfunction, or the purchase of a new electronic item), then grace is granted and you may boast of having read the book you originally started. When the due date rolls around without your ever having gotten your library book out of the car, if the car has traveled a minimum of five hundred miles and at least three friends have commented on the book as they climbed in or out of your car, then the book in question may be considered to have been “read.”

Now while I do believe that the overwhelming number of books that exist in many of our homes calls for a gracious and liberal interpretation of what it means to “read” a book, there are inherent dangers in such a system. Because when we move on to something else before reaching the last chapter of a book, we risk leaving with an incomplete picture. There’s always the possibility that what comes at the end will cast a new light on all that’s come before, that in missing what happens at the end of the story we also underestimate the richness of all the events leading up to it. And I think that’s what sometimes happens with the ascension.

As we find ourselves in the latter days of Easter, it’s tempting to look straight ahead to Pentecost, to go right from the glory of the resurrection to the outpouring of the Holy Spirit without skipping a beat. But glossing over the ascension would be like closing the book prematurely. Because the ascension isn’t just an epilogue tacked onto the life of Christ; without the chapter on the ascension, the whole narrative of Jesus’ life is incomplete. From the moment Jesus is born in Bethlehem to the time he is taken up into the heavens, the incarnation speaks to us of God’s desire for us, of God’s longing for fellowship with humankind. And the fulfillment of that desire, when played out in the shape of a human life, is the ascension. The ascension reveals to us the incredible truth that, through Christ, God has brought humankind into the very heart of God’s life. We see that the incarnation wasn’t just some thirty-three year experiment; instead, in the person of Christ, God and humanity are bound together forever.

But if the ascension is so central to our faith, why do we so often stop at the resurrection? Perhaps we tend to overlook the ascension because it makes us uncomfortable, in several ways. For one thing, in this day when scientific knowledge reigns supreme, it’s hard to escape the obvious question: Where did Jesus of Nazareth actually go? Since the farthest star in our galaxy is approximately 95,000 light-years away, if Jesus were to travel at the speed of light, he would still have about 93,000 years to go before he left the Milky Way. Now I realize the argument can be made that God (even in the person of Jesus of Nazareth) is not subject to the same speed barrier that we are. But the point remains: Our scientific mapping of the universe can make it difficult for us to conceive of an event such as the ascension.

There may be another reason, though, that we shy away from talking about the Ascension of Christ—and that’s the departure of Jesus of Nazareth. Coming face to face with the ascension means we also have to acknowledge that Jesus left his disciples just standing there gazing up at the heavens—that their paths take a different course right at that moment in history. At first glance, the ascension then seems to speak a confused and difficult message to us—is Jesus taken up into the life of God while the earth and all those in it are left to continue as best they can? But this parting of the ways doesn’t signal desertion or failure, because just sixteen verses later in Acts the Holy Spirit is poured out onto a whole assembly of men and women. The world isn’t left behind as Christ ascends but, through the work of the Spirit, will be taken up and perfected in the fullness of time. So if this departure of Jesus of Nazareth doesn’t mean that the world is left behind, what does it say about how the salvation of the world will play out?

When I was a pediatrician, I spent a lot of time giving advice—even before I had children of my own. Biting, ear infections, night terrors, and nutrition—I had ideal scenarios for how each of these should be handled. And I wondered how my advice I would change once I became a mother. Well, when my daughter was born, what I said to parents didn’t really change at all, except for the addition of this one concession at the end of most conversations—“and sometimes you just do the best you can.” Wise advice for parenting maybe, but not necessarily words to live by or have engraved on your tombstone. Too often we accept the status quo or the options we see in front of us as the only or best way forward. We look at all the possibilities the world seems to give us, and we forget that any other way might exist—we just do the best we can.

But the ascension creates a space to see things differently. The parting of the ways that takes place at the ascension serves as a reminder that to follow Jesus presupposes a very different final destination than that of world history, because to follow Jesus is to bear witness to our hope and belief that, in the end, all things are taken up in Christ. The Holy Spirit won’t be constrained by the systems of the world or limited by the options we see in front of us. Instead, God’s power and love break into the world—altering its trajectory, opening up new possibilities, and leaving it forever changed. And that alone lets us imagine that things can truly be different from the way they are now.

For example, instead of seeing capitalism and communism as our only economic options, we can imagine a world where we live according to the abundant generosity of God’s kingdom—where there’s enough for everyone, the only issue is whether or not we live as if there is. Instead of seeing human rights as a way to protect us from one another, maybe we can imagine a world where we speak of each other as a gift from God to be treasured. When we find ourselves ensconced in conflict and unable to agree on any of the options that lie in front of us, we can dare to keep coming to the table, because we imagine that a new path will open up allowing us to move forward together. Instead of trying to protect ourselves from the dangers of the world at any cost, we imagine a life lived in the freedom of knowing that our ultimate security rests in something absolutely beyond our control—in the love and goodness of God. Whenever the world seems to have closed the book without offering us any new way forward, God’s saving love breaks into the world again and again, making all things new, transforming the world and changing it forever.

Tonight we celebrate the ascension and, like the disciples, we stand gazing up at the heavens. But we won’t stand here for long. Because the words of the angels will turn our gaze back to the world, and our vision will never be the same. For we’ve seen firsthand the hope to which we are called. We know the end for which we were created. We have seen humanity taken up into the very life of God. And with the eyes of our heart enlightened, we are free to really imagine a world where all things are being gathered up and perfected in the fullness of time. The ascension doesn’t so much close the final chapter as it does open up volumes and volumes of new beginnings.