Luke told that story in his previous book, which we call the Gospel of Luke, and he also mentioned the ascension, and so here he’s recapping that Gospel to remind his reader – one Theophilus – of where he left off. His gospel was written to Theophilus too, and all we know about him is his name, and we can’t even be sure of that – it could have been written to those in general who love God, because that’s what it means: Theo (God), philus (lover) – God-lover. And I like to think it was written to you and me – we love God, don’t we?
Anyway, he gives us a summary of what happened in the last book – he says he “wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning until the day when he was taken up to heaven.” Now we know that Luke didn’t write about all that Jesus did and taught, but we can forgive him the hype . . . he was just following a convention of Greek rhetoric that calls for amplification to emphasize the importance of a topic. And Luke knew that Jesus’ actions and teachings were of paramount importance to his followers, and actually the whole world . . . But in addition to his teachings and actions, Jesus gave instructions through the Holy Spirit to his chosen apostles, and this foreshadows the actions of the apostles and later converts, who spread the gospel through the power of the Holy Spirit, which – according to Luke – will be given to them in just a few days.
And further, Luke says, he proved himself alive by “many convincing proofs,” and in Greek that’s a technical term for an argument that can’t be refuted, that leads inevitably to one conclusion, and that’s the resurrection. For Luke, the resurrection has been proven beyond doubt, or he wouldn’t have use that technical term. But when he was ready to go, he told them not to leave town, but to wait there for the promise of God, which is the Holy Spirit. “For John,” he says, “baptized with water but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”
In response, they ask him a question: “Is this the time when you will restore the Kingdom to Israel?” And it’s a natural question – Luke seemed to believe that the Spirit’s coming would signal the Kingdom’s, and it was also believed that the kingdom of Israel would be restored when that happens. And Jesus doesn’t deny Israel’s restoration, or the Kingdom’s coming . . . he just says it’s not for them to know when. It’s not for them to understand when the end times are to be, just as, presumably, it’s not for us to know it either.
Basically, Jesus tells the apostles that it’s none of their business when it’s going to happen, all they need to know is when they get the Spirit, they’ll be his witnesses to the ends of the earth. Never mind that man behind the curtain, he does his job, you do yours. And note that he doesn’t say “if you choose to, you can be witnesses” or “if you feel like it,” or “when you’re not busy doing something else” – he says that the Holy Spirit will come . . . and you’ll be witnesses. Period. End-of-story. Now obviously, this goes against our precious American values – free will and free choice and all that . . . and maybe he is just making a prediction. Maybe he’s just telling them how it’s going to be, what’s going to happen to them. It surely foreshadows the witnessing of the first Christians; after all, that’s what Acts is all about. But I think it also closes off the possibilities . . . what if we have no choice, what if we are witnesses whether we like it or not? What if just receiving the Holy Spirit makes us witnesses? If whenever we’re driving in our car, yelling at the slow diver ahead of us, or telling one of those little white lies that seem to get out of hand, or whenever we snub somebody who asks us for help, what if whenever we do these things, we are witnessing to the Gospel? Makes me shudder to think about it . . . I had a pastor one time who wouldn’t put a Christian bumper sticker on his car because he didn’t want to embarrass Jesus, and that’s stopped me every time I thought about doing the same thing. What Would Jesus Do? Well, he wouldn’t cut some poor slob off coming out of Micky D’s, that’s for sure.
The Holy Spirit cuts both ways, I think . . . it gives us the power to proclaim the Gospel, to do marvelous things in God’s name, but it changes us at the same time . . . we’re no longer the same, we’re different whether we like it or not, whether anyone knows we’re Christian or not, we’re witnesses . . .
And as the disciples look upward, as they watch in awe as he dwindles to the size of a speck in their eyes, they just stare and stare, as if there's something about his dwindling figure that’ll tell them when he’s coming back. They keep looking up, long after he’s disappeared into the morning glare, and that’s why they don’t notice the people standing with them until one of them clears his throat “Ahem!” And they jump, they’re so startled—Peter even drops his bag—and behold! There’s a couple of guys in white robes standing next to them, and they all know what that means. White robes, sudden appearances, miraculous events . . . they’re angels, that’s what they are, and the apostles – and Luke’s reader Theophilus – can’t help but think back on the last time men in dazzling robes had appeared. It was at the tomb, to the women who’d come early on Easter morning, and that time they’d asked a question too . . . why do you seek the living among the dead? Why are you looking for the living God in a graveyard?
Now, here they were again, Jesus was gone again, and they were asking questions, again – “Men of Galilee,” they say, “why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” And it’s the same kind of question they asked the women at the tomb – once again, they were looking for Jesus in the wrong place! We disciples seem to have a habit of doing that . . .
And then the angels continue: “This Jesus, who’s been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go.” And the apostles are reassured that just like that other time when he came back from the grave, he will come again. But they get the rebuke, as well, especially remembering what Jesus had just said . . . Why are you looking up into heaven? It is not for you to know the times and seasons of God’s appointed hour . . . he will return, just like he left, right back here to good old Earth, so get on with it already, get on with the job of being witnesses for God.
And they did – they got on with it. The whole book of Acts tells us about it, about the carrying of the Gospel to the four corners of the earth. We follow Peter as he preaches the good news, we see the Pharisee Saul become evangelist Paul, we see Ananias and Sapphira, and Phillip, and the early church’s struggles to live out Jesus teachings . . . and we see the dark side, too, as Stephen – full of the Holy Ghost – is stoned to death by an angry crowd, and we see the persecution grow, until in the end, as Paul reaches Rome, it’s bittersweet, because we know he’ll be killed there by the Emperor Nero . . . this witnessing business has it’s ups and downs, and it’s no wonder we’ve made an English verb for sacrificial death – martyr – from martyros, the Greek word for witness.
And so the temptation is always there for us to keep our eyes on the prize, to keep them on heaven . . . early Christians looked forward to the next life because their earthly one was so miserable, and the thought of heaven as a reward sustained and comforted generations. When Christianity became the official Roman religion, and persecution stopped, focus on the hereafter was still encouraged, promoted, even, because it kept them under control, down on the farm, snugly at the bottom of the hierarchy . . . with their eyes on the next world, they didn’t worry so much about inequities in this one . . . it was no accident that the Church hierarchy was often from the upper class . . .
And so, over the centuries, Christian thought and preaching, at least at the lay level, became focused sharply on the question of salvation . . . are you or are you not saved? And if you aren’t, how can you be? And if you think you are, then how do you know for sure? If you have to somehow accept Christ, how can you be certain you are sincere when you do it? Were you sincere when you did? Better do it again, just to make sure . . . And on and on and on . . . until pretty soon, proclaiming the Good News becomes synonymous with saving souls, and the number of notches on your belt, the number of souls in your bag, became the sum total of your witness. I can see it now . . . St. Peter at the pearly gates, grading on the stair-step method. He throws your bag o’ souls on the scale – weighing’s faster than counting, you know, souls average 10.3 ounces – and if it’s not heavy enough, back you go . . .
But Jesus defined the Good News by what he did here on earth, what he taught and what he preached and the signs he did. And although he spoke about the kingdom of heaven, it was, after all, going to be realized on earth, and he spent much more time telling us how to live and how to be with one another, how to cooperate with God in bringing that just time to fruition. He redefined community and taught us who are our neighbors and how to depend on God, and not on ourselves. All stuff about our earthly existence, never mind some heavenly one.
And so it’s no accident that here on the border between Jesus’ ministry and ours, after the triumph of Easter, and “Christ the Lord has Risen Today!” and we’re flush with victory and we’ve watched Jesus float upward on that cloud, on the Glory Train into heaven, we get a reality check in this passage. We get some wiseacre angels, standing on good old terra firma, asking some very pointed questions. Why are we gazing up into heaven? Don’t we know that this Jesus who has been taken away will come back here again? Don’t we realize that this Kingdom will be on Earth? Amen
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