The compelling spirit of the Ascension
Ascension Day  |  Luke 24:44-53

At this point in the Easter season, we are deeply aware of how mixed our thinking has gotten by now. That we celebrate a literal risen Christ and a Christ who transcends all of that materialism.

We’ve spent six weeks dealing, not only with what we can see or what we cannot see, but with even our willingness to obsess about what we can and cannot see! Jesus has pushed us to see beyond the stuff in front of us and into the world budding beyond it. That the expected physical reality we treat as the foundation of truth is but a speck in the wider concept of the cosmos.

In other words, our obsession with what’s real clouds our vision. And we’ve spent the past six weeks talking about this.

And today, we arrive at the Ascension. The day when our rational minds go absolutely bonkers.

Suddenly we’re all Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory trying to explain how a human can ascend into space.

We can’t help it. Americans are addicts for rationality. But, again, it’s a kind of willingly blind rationality. One that chooses what elements of truth are going to count before we’ve even begun. And we’ve once again shielded ourselves from the wealth of truth God is revealing to us.

A Principal Feast

Ascension Day is a principal feast: making it one of the seven feasts the church names as essential. These holy days are at the top of the hierarchy and serve as required festivals of the church.

The list, of course, begins with Easter Day. It is the jewel in the crown; the day of the resurrection and God’s transformation of the world. And with it, The Day of Pentecost and The Epiphany form a trinity of feasts, marking the birth of the new covenant, the resurrection of Jesus, and the consecration of the people.

And with these three are two winter favorites: Christmas Day and All Saints’ Day. The days we celebrate the incarnation of God in Jesus and all of those who are recognized as incarnating the Spirit.

This leaves two more: Trinity Sunday and Ascension Day.

Notably absent, of course, are our Lenten favorites, particularly Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. This draws my mind back to a simple thought I don’t really want to think about.

That Ascension Day is not only more important than Ash Wednesday or Good Friday. It is as important to the church as Easter. Which means it is more important than any given Sunday. It is special. Regardless of what literal ridiculousness our brains obsess over.

It is about Jesus going away on his own terms, not ours. And because he must. It doesn’t really matter how.

Out of the Way

Given the writer’s strike, I’m reminded of one of the essential teachings in screenwriting: Leaving the story.

We all remember from middle school English class that stories have a basic structure. We can mess with elements of the structure, but they all follow a certain linear path. A beginning > rising action > climax > resolution.

The bulk of the time we spend in a movie is in the rising action section. The story builds and builds. Most of the time, when a movie feels long, it’s because the action isn’t rising or there’s too much of it. But every story has rising action until we get to the point where it can’t rise any more (the Climax). When the hero finally confronts the villain.

An  epic battle ensues and we are treated to a hard-fought victory! And then, the happy ending (resolution).

Here’s where that leaving comes in. Once the action is resolved, you’ve got five minutes to get out. Five minutes to resolve all of those feelings and challenges the characters have faced. People don’t actually want a lengthy time of tying up all the loose ends. They want a kiss and drive off into the sunset. Roll the credits.

The most obvious example of this comes with the end of the original Star Wars. It’s a scene that is 100% the John Williams score as they stand there with medals, smiling and looking at each other. That’s it!

We need to get out of there. Which is ultimately what the Ascension does for us. It gets us out and gets us moving.

Continually

What the disciples, evangelists, and early church understood about the Ascension was that the manner of Jesus’s departure mattered far less than that he departed. That, yes, it echoes the ascension of Elijah, placing him in the same line. But they also saw it as part of the greater divine project.

Jesus begins opening their eyes and soon after, the Spirit will finish the job. And that they will inherit the Messianic work from the Christ.

And it is this work which our literalistic obsessions most obscure. Because if we spend time debating about the physicality of the ascension process, we aren’t getting out of the story and onto the real work. We become the ones trying to tie up loose ends, crafting a perfect conclusion, long after the theater has emptied out.

It’s also telling that this is how the evangelist we call Luke finishes his story. Jesus opens the scriptures to his followers, leaves, then Luke writes:

“And they worshipped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy; and they were continually in the temple blessing God.”

The End.

Of course, Luke wrote a sequel: Acts of the Apostles. It picks up here and then tells of all the amazing things the apostles do as part of the divine project.

So here we are. 

On the fortieth day in Easter, celebrating the principal feast of Ascension Day. We’re marking an event included in every creed and eucharistic prayer. Declaring an article of faith our rational minds can hardly consider credible. 

And we celebrate it by hearing in Scripture about revelation of Scripture. Of grace and gratitude, celebration and blessing. We hear about the Holy Spirit coming to guide us and apostles accepting this call with joy.

We’re receiving the same invitation this evening. To be opened by the Spirit’s grace and to celebrate in this chapel, blessing God.

Because the promise was never that we’d stay in the classroom forever. That we’d never get classes of our own.

That this story was never going to end. Or that the ending would tie it all up so neatly we’d never question it.

It was always going to be this.

Us. Gathered. Praising God. Seeing each other. Loving each other. Opening our doors and welcoming everyone in. Sharing from what we have. And then going out into the world. With that same conviction. Love. Share. Give. Full of faith and hope. This was always the plan.

And we know that. We have always known that. So now, may we live it. Here. Together. And soon—everywhere we go.