A Sermon for the Feast of the Ascension
The Rev. Patricia Gillespie
Ezekiel 1:3-28
Psalm 47
Acts 1:1-11
Luke 24:49-53
"Galileans, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?"
I know how that goes. It happens regularly on Saturday nights .... God and the church seem to have spent a lot of energy making me into a priest only to disappear into the clouds when I am in desperate need of sermon help. I end up feeling abandoned and alone, staring into empty space.
It's been that kind of week lately. My little dog died. Our church lost a much loved long-time member and disagreements about scripture interpretation seem to have swept away some most welcome newer members. And one of my closest friends is moving. It feels really lonely, and sad, and confusing. It seems that I spend a lot of time staring into space these days.
We know how that feels. A parent dies, a friend moves away, the old familiar ways get lost.... And we feel as abandoned as if they'd been snatched up into the sky.
But this week I also got a new perspective on this story of Jesus ascension. I met with a group of total ministry mentors and realized that, while I'm far from "ascending from my disciples," I am building up a team of ministers and then leaving them to do the work. It made me consider the story from Jesus' perspective, asking in a new way the question the kids wear on their bracelets: "What would Jesus do?"
And in today's readings, there is a clear answer. We are told that "While Jesus was blessing his friends, he withdrew from them ..." The blessing and the leaving belong together.
Jesus may be telling us that there is a blessing in separation – it helps us to grow up. Maybe the growth is necessary if we are someday to be clothed with power as the Father promised.
But right now, while we're struggling with the loss of someone or something we loved, and while we're wrestling with the mixed blessing of growing pains, we may appear rather odd and awkward.
The church, too, is losing a lot. Many of the old ways are changing. It feels like abandonment. And the new ways feel so awkward.
It makes me suspect that that odd, almost comic vision of Ezekiel's might be a vision of the church.
How often do we in the church face "every which ways" and have all our wheels spinning at once? And yet somehow we end up going straight ahead, following seemingly odd movements of the Spirit.
Ezekiel's odd vision may also be a picture of our lives when we face a change or loss we don't understand. Then we may live in confusion and chaos, being pulled in all different directions, with growing pains and separation.
Parenting and befriending can be like that: We build up those we love, our children and our friends, so they are able to do whatever it is they need to do. And then we withdraw; we let them go, so they can move ahead wherever the Spirt leads them.
When we are the ones feeling left behind. it can feel as if we are facing all four directions at once. That's the time to remember the Father's promise: God has promised to clothe us with power.
Even in the messes we make of our lives, we do move with the Spirit. Even when those we love have to leave, we are promised a blessing. "While Jesus was blessing his friends, he withdrew from them ..."
Jesus is gone, but the Spirit lives in us. And that can indeed bring great joy.
"People of God, why do you stand looking into empty space?" Are you looking for a spectacular vision of angels or for "the appearance of the likeness of the glory of the Lord"?
The One you are looking for will come to you the same way that you saw him. Jesus came among us as one of us, as an ordinary human being. So that's where we must look to find Christ again. That's still where we, like Ezekiel, are being sent – "to the people."