I once overheard a conversation between two park rangers at one of the national parks out west that is known for its wildlife sightings. I can’t remember exactly which national park it was, I think Yellowstone, but that’s not particularly important to the story. Anyway, one of the park rangers was complaining about their frustration in driving back to the park from a weekend off and getting caught in traffic caused by people slowing down to stare at wildlife. The other ranger replied that they’d begun to make a game of it. They would drive around the park looking for random places where there was absolutely no wildlife present. Then they would pull over to the side of the road, get out of their vehicle and stare intently into a completely empty field. The game being to see how many other people they could get to stop and stare at nothing with them.
Of course, they weren’t really staring at nothing. The meadows themselves are beautiful, full of lush grasses and sunlight dancing off the clouds. If anyone asked the park rangers what they were looking at, they would respond, “just admiring this meadow.” But what they noticed was no one ever asked what they were looking at. People would just step up beside them and stand for long periods, looking at absolutely nothing. Sometimes people would even begin to see things that weren’t there. The ranger would overhear conversations about the bear or the buffalo in the field that was actually a tree or a rock, or the shadow of a cloud. They would become so focused on looking for animals, that they would miss the striking beauty of the meadow itself.
The park rangers’ game kind of reminds me of our first reading from Acts. That is the image in my mind when I think about the first reading for this morning. Luke/Acts is actually a two-volume set, written, according to the dedication at the beginning of Luke, for the “most excellent Theophilus” so that he “may know the truth concerning these things.” So Acts starts out with a quick summary of the end of Luke, how after Jesus’ death, he showed himself alive to many of his followers, and told them not to leave Jerusalem, but instead to wait for him, “for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”
This was kind of what they’d been expecting. Remember, when Jesus was alive, they fully expected him to be the one who was going to save them from the Romans and usher in a new political reign. His death was devastating because it seemed like that promise was crushed. So when he showed up alive again, their thoughts instantly went back to that same promise, that Jesus was going to come in power to overthrow the Roman empire.
So, following directions, they stayed in Jerusalem and all came together with Jesus. And the first question showed exactly where their minds were, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” Is this the time, Jesus, when you’re finally going to get around to being a king? Is this the point where you come roaring in guns blazing and kick those annoying Romans to the curb and take over as ruler? Their attention is totally focused on this one aspect of Jesus, this one image of what it means to be in power.
Jesus responded to them, “It is not for you to know the times.” And then something admittedly pretty weird happened. After he finished talking, suddenly he was lifted up, one can only assume in a way similar to the pictures, and a cloud took him out of their sight. So, there they are, standing there, staring up intently at the totally empty sky where Jesus had been. And really, who can blame them. It was a pretty strange thing that just happened. If you were talking to someone, and then all of a sudden they floated away in a cloud, you would probably be staring dumbfounded into the sky as well.
Here’s where it gets funny to me. So the disciples are staring into heaven, when all of a sudden they realize they aren’t standing alone. There are two men in white robes standing next to them. In my mind, it’s like a comedy act, where the disciples are all staring in the same direction, and the two men sidle like creepily close to the disciples, and begin to look in the same direction the disciples are looking.
At some point in the midst of this determined staring at nothing, the disciples realize that these two strangers have joined them. I imagine the shock, as one of them out of the corner of their eyes realizes, wait a second, who the heck are you? Then the strangers—totally nonchalantly, as if it’s the most common thing in the world to sidle up to a group and just stare aimlessly at nothing—inquire, “Men of Galilee, why are you looking up toward heaven?” Basically like, “hey guys, um, what are you looking at? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but, there’s nothing there…”
But there had been something there! Jesus had been there. Jesus, their Lord and teacher, who they have traveled with, served under, learned from. Who they had seen heal the sick, feed the hungry, comfort the afflicted, who had been put to death on the cross, but whom had been raised from the dead after three days, and had then appeared before them, in the flesh to break bread with them and show them that even death could not stop his love for them, that Jesus had just ascended into heaven right before their very eyes, and that certainly was a thing worth staring at! Jesus, who had already been taken from them once was gone again, this time in a way more magical but no less definite than death, and the disciples were reeling from yet another loss.
But the strange men inquired, “Men of Galilee, why do you want looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way that you saw him go to heaven.” And maybe, in the question, the disciples realized that just as death had not been the end, neither was the ascension the end. Because while they were staring up at Jesus’ ascension, the Holy Spirit, in the form of two strangers, appeared to point them to the new future which Christ’s ascension had made space for. A new future in which God was no longer bound by human form, but through the power of the Trinity, God was now in the world in the form of the Holy Spirit, just as Jesus had promised the disciples, and now they were being invited on a journey that was even more incredible than the one they had just taken with Jesus, because now that journey was being created by their own lives. Jesus was now present in them, and their feet would do the journeying, their hands would do the healing, their voices doing the proclaiming, not alone, but through the power of the advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom Jesus promised would come in his place to lead the disciples into a future that was bigger than they had ever imagined.
What I take from this reading on this seventh Sunday of Easter, on this day of the Ascension, is that the Holy Spirit, the advocate that Jesus promised us, is wonderfully and powerfully and playfully sneaky. Like wind, like breath, the Holy Spirit dances through our lives, calling us into a new future that is more than we saw for ourselves. While we are staring at the last beautiful thing, the Holy Spirit is already coming up beside us to enquire, “what are you looking at,” and draw us into the next great and beautiful thing that God has prepared for us.
So stare in awe and wonder and amazement at the glorious things that God has done. But as you are staring, don’t be surprised when the Holy Spirit sidles up next to you, asks, “what are you looking at?” and then takes you on a journey that was more than you ever expected. Thanks be to God. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment