It’s
the last Sunday of Easter – the seventh, actually – but it’s also Ascension
Sunday, when we look at how Christ “ascended into heaven” where he “sitteth on
the right hand of God the Father Almighty,” as we say in the Apostle’s
Creed. But of all the Gospel writers,
only Luke tells us about it, and he does it twice . . . first in his Gospel –
in the passage Tom read – and over here in Acts, which is the second book of
his two-part volume written for Theophilus.
And you might think, great, I’ll bet we know a lot about it, how it
really must have happened, but there’s a slight problem: the two stories don’t
match. They contradict one another –
over in Luke’s gospel, it all happens on Easter evening, after a
resurrection day of appearances, first to the women at the tomb, then on the
Emmaus Road, and finally to the eleven gathered for a meal in Jerusalem. And after eating a piece of broiled fish –
how many ghosts do you know who eat? – after eating a piece of broiled
fish, he gives them final instructions, leads them out to Bethany, and is
carried up into heaven.
But
in Acts, forty days go by between his resurrection and his ascension – it says
so right in verse 3 – “After his
suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs,
appearing to them during forty days . . .” and it doesn’t say anything about
Bethany – it seems to happen on some mountain called “Olivet,” and he is lifted
up on a cloud which, for that matter, isn’t mentioned in the gospel account . .
. and what about those two guys in white?
Where’d they come from, and why weren’t they mentioned over in
the Gospel? You’d think something as
amazing as two visiting angels – or whatever they were, Luke doesn’t really say
– would stick in your mind, and you wouldn’t forget . . . and so what
gives? Was it forty days or one? Was it in Bethany or in Jerusalem? Were the guys in white there or not? And more intriguing, why would the same
author, writing to the same audience – one Theophilus – tell the same story
differently, almost back-to-back?
Wouldn’t he expect Theophilus to notice?
Well
. . . yes, and in fact, he was probably counting on it. And further, Theophilus might have expected
no less. Educated people of first
century Palestine – as Theophilus almost certainly was – did not expect
historical accuracy, even in what appears to us to be an historical
account. They knew that Luke and Acts
were theological documents just as much as historical ones, and expected the
authors to shape the stories, or at least the way they were told, to
communicate larger, theological truths.
Those of us in the West, on the other side of the enlightenment, have
problems with this sort of thing . . . if something is not totally accurate,
totally, factually true, then it’s gotta be false . . . in 21st
Century America we divide literature into two basic categories, fiction and
non-fiction, just look at the book review page of the New York Times if you
don’t believe me. But for the people of
the first century world, things weren’t that simplistic – they often mixed what
we would consider historical fact – Jesus’ crucifixion, for example – with what
we might consider fiction, like the nice round number of forty days . . . or
did it happen on the same night? They
both can’t be true . . . or can they?
In
the opening credits of the movie Adaptation, the screenwriters are listed as Charlie Kaufmann and his twin brother
Donald, and as the movie progresses it becomes clear that the movie’s about
the writing of itself, and in the course of the movie, we meet
both screenwriters, Charlie and his brother Donald, and Donald is killed course
of the film, and in the movie’s closing
credits, it’s dedicated to his memory, and it’s all very touching and weepy and
everything, but there’s just one problem – Donald Kaufmann, the twin brother,
never really existed. He’s a
construct by the screenwriter to make a point, to symbolically represent
something, in this case, his commercial self, the guy that knows how to write
action-filled screenplays that are basically garbage, but sell a lot of
tickets, over and against his identity as an artiste, who doesn’t sell
out to Hollywood. His twin brother
wasn’t factually true, he didn’t really eat, breath and write bad
screenplays, but he demonstrates a certain truth nevertheless.
And
these days, this makes us mad, how dare he
mess with our heads like that, and I don’t want to get cards and letters – how dare
you compare a sleazy Hollywood piece of garbage to Holy Scripture
– but it illustrates a point. Like it or
not, Scripture is full of symbols, and when we take it literally, as in
word-for-word, or as literal history, we obscure the symbols, we flatten the
text right out, we divorce it from some of its greater truths. Take the forty days, for instance . . . we think . . . “How nice. Lots of things happened in forty days – or
years – back then . . .” but a first-century hearer would say “Forty days! Aha! A
symbolic number . . . what am I supposed to take away from this?” And she would think back . . . the Israelites
were in the wilderness for forty years, Jesus was tempted in the wilderness for
forty days . . . and what’s more, forty is one of the nice, round numbers of
Judaism, it signifies completeness, ripeness, the fullness of time . . . and so
whether or not Jesus ascended after forty days, or just before midnight on
Easter, a first-century reader would immediately pick up on the forty part and
try to figure out what it meant.
So,
what does it mean? Luke says
“After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing
proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of
God.” And thus he links this episode to
his suffering, his crucifixion, and to his post-resurrection appearances, which
provided “many convincing proofs,” and to his preaching about the kingdom of
God. And so Luke is saying that for
time, Jesus appeared to them, offering many convincing proofs that he was
indeed alive, and now the hour has come, the fullness of time had arrived . . .
this is the time predicted. And as if we
needed any more convincing that it’s about time, the first words out of Jesus’
mouth are about time – “not many days from now, you will be baptized by the
Holy Spirit.” And so it is now the
fullness of time, when the time is ripe . . . after many convincing proofs that
he is indeed alive, the time has arrived . . . for what? “John baptized with water,” he says,
“But you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from
now.” So that’s part of it, at least . .
. the time has become ripe for the coming of the Holy Spirit . . .
But
the disciples are thinking there may be more, they’re thinking in terms of the
Messiah, they guy who will surely restore Israel to her former glory . . .
could this be the time? Could the time
be ripe for the promised restoration?
And his reply is at once vague and tantalizing, he doesn’t deny that
Israel will be restored, he doesn’t even deny that this is the time . . . he
just says “It’s not for you to know.”
Now, Luke has just got through setting us up to think that a special
time has come, and in almost the next sentence Jesus says it’s not for
us to know them . . . “it’s not for you to know the times or periods,” he says,
“that the father has set by his own authority.”
Has
anybody seen John Hagee on TV? He had a
show on Trinity Broadcast Network, and that’s where I used to catch him from
time to time . . . but he’s written scads of books, and they’re mostly about
the same thing . . . times and
periods. He’s what they call a
“dispensationalist,” which is a big word for someone who thinks that history
can be divided into periods or “dispensations.”
Dispensationalists like Hagee prepare huge charts that show when these
times will be, and what they mean. For
instance, most of them think we’re in the dispensation of grace . . . that
after the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus, we are in a new age whereby
God’s grace is holding sway . . . but it won’t last forever, they think. Sooner or later will come the next
dispensation, and they differ as to what it may be, but all of them believe we
are living toward the end of this period of grace . . .
But Jesus says it’s not for us to know these things, it’s not for us to know
the dispensations, if there even are such things. Ours is not to wonder
why . . . so what’s the deal? What is
it time for, if not the restoration of Israel? The disciples ask if this isn’t the time for
glory, for good things to happen to them,
as Oral Roberts might say, and Jesus says “It’s not for you to know. But . . . you will receive power when
the Holy Spirit comes upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in
all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” And, as if to punctuate these words, he rises
up on a cloud, and they see him no more on this earth. And as everybody who reads history knows,
the last words of an important figure are especially important, especially revered, and his said that we’re gonna receive power, and be his witnesses – not
just in Jerusalem, not just in Judea and Samaria, but to the ends of the
earth. And it’s no wonder the disciples
stand gaping after him as he goes up on that cloud – they ask him about
the restoration of Israel, he tells them about the salvation of the
earth.
In
one fell swoop, the scope of their activities is hugely expanded – to the end
of the earth – and of course, we’re the benefits of that, aren’t we? If the message hadn’t been taken to the ends
of the earth, we wouldn’t have been sitting here in the pews this fine Sunday
morning. If you want “many convincing
proofs” of the Holy Spirit power promised to the disciples, think about
multitudes of converts over the years . . . if you want proof of the
faithfulness of those stunned disciples, look at the worldwide church
today. And to pound the point home even
further, two guys in white show up and direct their eyes back down to earth,
back to the task at hand – “Why do you stare up into heaven?” they say, “This
Jesus will come in the same way as you saw him go.” Don’t stare at the glory, don’t think about
heaven, just keep your eyes on the prize . . . it is not for you to know about
the times or periods, pay attention to the task at hand. And immediately, they go back to Jerusalem,
where they immerse themselves in prayer.
And
the whole scene is a set piece, a bit of holy theater, and it doesn’t really
matter if it happened in Olivet or Bethany, or on Easter night or forty days
later . . . it’s designed to make very specific points: the time has arrived, all right, but not
quite the time we might expect. It’s not
the time for the restoration of Israel, it’s not the time for glory, for
trumpets or golden chandeliers . . . it’s time for hard work, for hoofing it
around to the ends of the earth. But
it’s O.K., ‘cause you have the power, the Holy Ghost power, to uphold
you along the way.
And
of course, that’s where we are today . . . we’re in the time after
Jesus’ ascension, and before his coming again, whatever that’s going to be, and I don’t think
our mandate to reach them is undimmed . . . I don’t think our work is done,
even though there’s probably not an end of the earth left that hasn’t
seen our witness. But the fact is, we’re
living in a sea of unchurched – of once-churched and never-churched – and our
witness is to them, they are our “ends of the earth,” . . . our
mission field is right here in Cincinnati, Ohio. And we have the Holy Ghost power to
support us and uphold us and to power us along the way.
And
that’s the good news . . . we have a job to do, but we’re not alone, we have
the power . . . we have the power of Jesus Christ through the Holy Spirit. Every time we invite a friend to church,
every time we tell someone about our faith, every time we witness to anybody in
our community, Jesus is right there by our side. And he
has the words of eternal life, he is
the way to eternity . . . so it’s not for us to know the times or periods, it’s
fruitless to endlessly speculate and fulminate about how long it’s going to be,
or what this or that event is a sign of, or what this or that thing means. None of that matters, except to the
intellectually curious, perhaps, or the terminally idle. But as for us – like the disciples – we don’t
have that luxury . . . ours is not to wonder why, ours is just to do . . . and
live. Amen.
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