Hitting Reset Preached on May 13th, 2018 At Wollaston Congregational Church Scripture: Acts 1:1-11 This past week I spent time on a study retreat with some fellow students. We enjoyed a few glorious days in a renovated historic farmhouse over looking a vista of New Hampshire beauty. My fellow student, Barbara, and I had rooms in a second farmhouse, up a steep, rutted track. Most evenings we retired to read and rest while there was still light in the sky. But on the last evening, we celebrated the last of our four retreats together in the main farmhouse until after dark. When we were finally ready for bed, Barbara and I stepped out and chuckled at our own clumsiness in the darkness. Then Barbara stopped and said “Liz, look up … the stars!” In this place, 2 hours west and north of Boston, we took in the intensity of the starlit sky unadulterated by city light. There is something universal about looking up at the starry night sky in awe. I felt awe at the beauty of the deep blue sky filled with bright stars. And I felt awe at the knowledge that these bright lights are really suns, light years away from our solar system. It is this kind of awe, that leads us to use the name “heavens” long after we have stopped thinking of the sky as the physical home of God. Thoughts of stars beyond stars, the more than 100 billion galaxies in the universe, and our planet, and Earth a speck in this vast cosmos, must surely inspire awe in just about everyone. And for those of us who are inclined, we attribute that awe and wonder to work of our creator God. Our story today involves awe and wonder, as the disciples look up. In this instance it is a daytime sky. We heard the same story twice, coming from the end of the gospel of Luke and the beginning of the book of Acts, both written by the same author. The gospel tells of the life and teachings of Jesus, whereas Acts tells of the activities of the apostles and the very early church after Jesus has ascended. The event of the Ascension of Jesus links these two books. The telling, in the gospel, and the retelling in Acts, is rather like motif and reprise in musical theater. In the version we heard from Acts, the ascension takes place some forty days after the resurrection. Jesus takes the disciples up onto a mountain outside Jerusalem. He gives them a commission: when they receive power from the Holy Spirit they are to be his witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth. Then he begins to ascend and a cloud covers him so that he is taken “up” out of their sight. The disciples are still gazing up at the space in the sky where they last saw him, when two men in white robes appear beside them. The men ask the disciples, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” The two men ask the disciples why they are standing gazing up. Yet we know that their beloved Jesus has just disappeared from their view. Why would they notgaze up? Why would they notfix their gaze on Jesus? And, at the same time, the explanation given by the men in white is confusing. If Jesus is going to return the same way that he went, why not keep their gaze fixed on the spot where he was last seen? Isn’t this the place the exact spot he will return in due course? It seems that this is not what the men in white are getting at. Rather they are giving reassurance. The disciples have been on a roller coaster ride of emotions these past few weeks. First they thought that Jesus would take power and reign in Jerusalem, as they entered for the Passover feast on the day we know as Palm Sunday. Next, as Holy Week proceeded, it seemed that their hopes were dashed and that Jesus had taken from them by the violence of the crucifixion. Their community was in collapse, they believed that the mission had failed and he was gone forever. But then, three days later, they were overjoyed to meet the resurrected Jesus, wounds and all. He was alive and death was overcome. Now these forty days later, he speaks words of commission and blesses them before he disappears in a cloud. No wonder they are stuck in a trance. The men in white remind the disciples that Jesus will return, and they are to turn their gaze back to the world. They are enforcing Jesus’ instructions and teachings. There is no need to keep their eyes fixed on that one spot, because he is not there. Jesus will return, but as he has already said, it is not for them to know the times that God has in mind for the completion of God’s reign. Rather they are to wait to receive the power of the Holy Spirit, so that they might bring the good news of Jesus, for every poor and anxious soul, to the very ends of the earth. The experience of the Ascension appears to be a kind of reset. And the time of waiting, praising and praying is like a recovering mode. The disciples, now apostles, will get back to ministry soon enough, following this essential time of waiting. Over the past weeks, the needs of the wider world and the immediate needs of friends, family and neighbors have seemed overwhelming to me. The reading of “Waking Up White” in our Sunday book group tuned my eyes and ears to the many injustices for people of color in our community. My news channels showed horrendously racist events: a young black man, wearing a tuxedo after attending his prom, slammed to the ground by police at a Waffle House in North Carolina. And two police officers being called on a black student at Yale University, because she fell asleep while working on a paper in her dorm common room. Just two of many instances of systemic racism. When I turned to news of the wider world I read of air strikes in Iran, Syria and Israeli occupied Palestine. Then a friend updated me on the elderly residents of villages in Puerto Rico still without power and supplies following Hurricane Maria. Among my family members, friends, neighbors and community there are those who are grappling with grief and loss; those who are struggling with addictions and other diseases; those who are been hurt and re-traumatized by the rhetoric of our time. You might think that in a world with this much need and hurt, the general attitude would be one of kindness, generosity and caring. But, sadly it is not. Each day, as I am out and about, I see the way people are retreating defensively into separate groups. Fear of one another is being cultivated by an angry public discourse. In the midst of all this, I hear Jesus’ commission to witness to good news for the poor, healing for the sick and suffering, and peace in the midst of conflict. And then I am inclined to think it all depends on me. As these needs mount up my overwhelming sense of responsibility paralyzes me. And I know I’m not the only one. So many of you, here in this congregation, care for others, both professionally and in your daily lives. You care for your families: your children navigating the demands of academics, sports and their social scene. You care for your elders: soothing their anxieties over their losses of independence and their declining health. You care for your communities, advocating for those who cannot speak for themselves. You care for this church and its aging building, showing up to address all too frequent emergencies and to provide hospitality for the groups and guests who use this space. There are times when we all seem to think it depends only on us. And this can been overwhelming and paralyzing. Looking up on Thursday night, to gaze at the night sky, reset my soul. That evening, I found deep peace in gazing at those faraway, but brightly shining stars. I remembered that our earth is just a speck in the universe. The verse from Robert Browning’s poem, Pippa’s Song comes to mind: “God’s in His heaven. All’s right with the world.” Perhaps an Ascension Day version might say that since Jesus has ascended to heaven, ultimately all will be well. In our moments of reset we are not supposed to forget the world and all its needs. But we are intended to pause and breathe for the work that is to be done. If a beautiful view of the night sky is what you need, I pray it will be what you receive. Perhaps your reset means an afternoon of singing and dancing, calling an old friend, settling into a well-loved book, or taking a later afternoon walk in the park. The vision of Jesus taken up into the clouds was a reset for the disciples’ souls. Their response, like ours, when we have a glimpse of heaven, is to sing joyful praises to God. That is what we do, here, in worship each week. The new apostles wait for a short while, doing what they need to do in order to prepare. Soon the Spirit will be with them and then there will be no time to waste. Their reset and their healing will be finished. There is a vast world out there, hungry and thirsty to know the love of God made known in Jesus. They will need put on their sandals and get to work. And, of course, in our world there is work to be done. There are wounds to bind, and bellies to fill. There are borders to cross and bridges to be built. There is housing to construct and walls to be torn down. And still, we are to pause, to wait, to be clothed by God’s power. And so, may all God’s people take a deep reset breath, and then say Amen.
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