Artists throughout the ages have tried to depict what happened that day. I get a big kick out of the disciples staring at Jesus’ bare feet as he goes, well, up! This one by Dali has always given me delight, I mean, look at those holy “piggies” in view! I don’t mean to make light of the artist and his interpretation. I have NO talent with things of this nature. I am aware, though, that Jesus’ apparent airlift into heaven can present some problems for those of us who believe that where Jesus is, it isn’t “up there”  any more than earth is “down here”, and hell is, well, “down there” (wherever that is).

We do have to deal with the biblical text as it is, though, and this spacial reference business is a puzzle. Every day thinkers, influential holy people,  and scientists of Jesus’ time lived in a world that indeed thought the world was flat. It was taught that stars and other heavenly objects  were “placed” in the solid “firmament” above. It needs to be said, also, that some mathematicians, astronomers, and sea-faring folks did have clues and measurements indicating a much more complex universe than the accepted flat-earth view. That some of them got into big trouble (e.g., Galileo) challenging the world’s supposed flatness and the earth’s centricity is a sad chapter in human history.

Anyway, this story of our Lord’s departure functioned from the beginning as more of a theological statement than some other more concrete concept. It holds up well even in our modern world–really: Jesus told his disciples that he needed to leave and would send another “Advocate,” the Holy Spirit to guide them in the next phase of announcing grace and Good News. Luke (and John’s) Gospel mentions that proposal very well, and Luke’s Acts of the Apostles has them waiting in Jerusalem, as they were told, for a great Something to happen. Indeed, ten days from witnessing his departure, the Holy Spirit arrived at the Jewish harvest festival known as Pentecost.  This caused quite a stir, and has at least as much mystery with its explanation as does the Ascension. It may be a limitation for us, a frustration to describe exactly what took place at either the Ascension or on Pentecost. At least for starters, wonder with me in the power of these events as evidence that God’s purposes took hold for good, and without Jesus physically present to steer and cheer the disciples on.

We have also pondered the idea of the unexpected occurances of life that range from troubling to terrific, all within the viewpoint and realm of the Risen Lord; looking for one thing, and then being surprised when something else pops into view. We also considered how doubt is a component of faith, and not its antithesis: trust in things holy and revealed as Christians claim can often lead us away from despair into affirming with “doubting” Thomas that Jesus is “my Lord and my God.” 

We move into the last part of the “Great Fifty Days” of Easter,  toward Ascension and then Pentecost. Early converts to Christianity who were instructed in the faith and baptized were further instructed these days after Easter in what it meant to follow Jesus’ ways. This type of instruction (called “Mystogogy”) was often a mentoring process, where “old timers” in the faith led people along into the life of a community of fellow believers. Wonder with me about that business of faith development and deepening that can occur in a setting where you are not on  your own in these matters. The tendency in America, for example, is an often rather Stoic individualism that says things are best valuable if we do them on our own. The proverb “if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself” may well be true, in many instances. But faith development in Christianity has always been grounded primarily in the plural, not the singular. No doubt, people can find God (and vice versa) “on their own.” But the Words of Institution at Holy Communion, ”given and shed for you” is the familiar plural: “you all”– yes, “y’all”– that kind of plural. Same deal with The Lord’s Prayer: “when you pray“, that is, “all you disciples…” pray in this way; again, it’s “our Father“, not “my Father in heaven, hallowed be your name….” I’m not “splitting hairs” here. I think that’s important because in our culture’s strong bias toward individualism in so many things, I consistently find that people want to know they belong somewhere, and that they are not alone in their longing for having that spiritual/communal need be met. The church, that is, the “Easter People” of God in Jesus Christ, is a place where that can happen, even when we are not at our best. I know that for a fact, week after week in our own imperfect yet committed community of faith here in Springfield. Wonder how God works with so many throughout the world, who don’t “have it all together” regarding their faith, yet like the early diciples they dare to move forward anyhow into the future God wants them to have.

This week’s lesson about the sheep and the Good Shepherd takes us in a comforting direction. Because of the victory at Easter, the Christian promise is certainly for life eternal, grace unbounded, and specifically the care of The Good Shepherd who cares for us even now. I have had this silly picture of a wolf dashing over sheep for a long time. Obviously there’s no shepherd in view, and the perspective here is that with no one around to guide (or protect), those who are predators will have way too much fun terrorizing easy and helpless prey. With Jesus as The Good Shepherd we have a protector, a Guide, someone who knows us by name. Our perspective about the world from day to day becomes less intimidating, and we can live with more confidence, whatever or whomever comes our way with good or ill intentions.

The other day I was running; my version of runing now as I approach 60 years of age is what I call a “slog”, a word for that is a combination of two words, “slow” and “jog.” Perspective here means at least knowing I won’t be running at a five minute per mile clip (I never could do that, actually). Anyway, I had been in a particularly crummy mood, went jogging to run out of it, and found that it wasn’t the exercise that bumped me out of my “funk”: it was the sight of a person in the park sitting in a wheelchair, cared for by their attendant. I waved as I slogged by them, and my perspective about a number of things changed. I’m still processing a lot of it, but first was simply for me to “get off my own pitty pot” and be thankful I could get moving on my own two feet, unlike the person I just slogged by. I have no idea what the wheelchair person thought, but I got a smile and a wave. I may well have been the recipient of one acknowledging a happiness for me and my mobility, perhaps after a lifetime of being “challenged” by “mobility issues” (I usually cringe when I hear that type of language, unavoidable as it is). Perhaps that person   wasn’t even phased one way or another by me trotting by. I’ll never know, but I do know that perspective at the time, and perspective now, makes me feel foolish for giving so much attention to myself all through this episode. And I can repentantly, hopefully, humbly do a better job with myself next time something like this occurs. Wonder with me this week, won’t you, about allowing a larger perspective of Easter grace to give you a less self-centered assessment of your own life, an openness and compassion about your own circumstances, and eyes to see a gift of grace coming from someone else, unexpectedly, like the wave I received from that kind person on my run. It is worth the effort.

The other night I was enjoying a cool yet finally dry evening, glancing at some close-to-the ground flowers near our family room windows, and there in the almost-dark came a creature that moved from flower to flower: a “hummingbird” moth, like the one in this picture. These neat little guys move like a hummingbird, have a long nose to gather nectar, move slower than a hummingbird, and are an insect, obviously, and not a bird. I’ve only seen one like this many years ago. Unexpected. Inspiring, Delightful.

The post-resurrecton scenes of Jesus with his disciples go this way, too: unexpected, inspiring, delightful. They were not expecting him but he showed up anyway. They were looking for someone/something else, and got him instead. Pretty good deal, ’cause we get him, too, today.

News came out this week about a re-assessment of soil sample experiments from the Viking Lander that arrived on Mars in 1976. I can’t pretend to understand all the math involved, but basically it seems that some previous data was re-entered and analized and the scientists came to the conclusion that microbial life–not fossils, or remnants, but actual living Martian organisms–were detected on the Red Planet. Here were scientists actually looking for evidence of life, conclusions originally thought to be negative, and now close to forty years later we have some strong conclusions of actually having found what we were looking for. Not quite as pretty as the hummingbird moth, but if the tests hold up, what a monumental finding it would be for the scientists and all of us that could expand our imaginations about our universe. The Viking Lander(s) have long been battery dead, but we have current Martian probes on the surface that could at least poke around till the next scheduled probes arrive on Mars in a few years. “Neato!” as we used to say in the 1960′s….

Our Lord is nearby, too; not to down play the scientific research, he offers much more to us than finding Martian microbes, respectively. Wonder with me, like the first witnesses of the resurrection must have pondered somewhere along the line, why our own hearts and spirits were/are unable to see him. God grant us the hunger, the curiosity, or even the courage, to let what might be in front of our noses surprise us and give us new depth to our lives of faith.

No matter: Jesus appears to them after the resurrection. Although the accounts vary, one thing remains constant, and that is simply the experience and transformation of the fearful into the Faithful Tellers and Practitioners of His teachings. Included in the accounts are doubts all along the way, which for me makes a good case to believe that what happened to them was the real deal: Jesus returned alive from the grave (he eats fish with them, asks Thomas to put his hands on the wounds and in his side where the spear had torn through, and so on).   

We practice Easter as a season, fifty days until the Day of Pentecost. I have mentioned that we need at least that much time to sort some of this all out. Before we get to the “birthday of the Church” as Pentecost is often called, we need to sit with our own aspects of faith and doubt in the storm cellars of fear and doubt with the first disciples. To do so connects us with believers, doubters, and skeptics of all ages with the One who Himself knew some strong doubts (remember the Garden of Gethsemane and Jesus’ praying?), yet believed that trusting God would be enough to weather whatever the world could throw at Him; he would come out not only as a survivor but also a Victor. That same promise is for us, too. Wonder with me about that during this stormy season.

I know that for some this is too hard to believe; even the most faithful followers of Jesus admit that from time to time.  Well, they’re in good company: the very first witnesses of the resurrection had a hard time convincing Jesus’ own closest followers about that. Even Jesus himself had a hard tme convincing people (see Matthew 28, “Some still doubted…”).

And what was Jesus about? A “substitutionary atonement ” avatar, if you will, his place on the cross as a substitute for your sin, my sin, and the whole world’s sin? Or an example of what happens to a truly good man who “bucks the system” of his time, challenging both the Jewish authorities and the Romans in control of Judea, and paying the ultimate price for such audacity? Nothing more or less than that?

Or was Jesus altogether so different that he defies explanation in any completely satisfactory way, even after 2,000+ years? How do we explain the tenacity of such belief in people? If it weren’t true about the resurrection,  don’t you think that Christianity would have run out of steam some time ago? Why didn’t the Romans or Jewish authorities simply produce a dead Jesus and have the questions answered then and there?

Over the next several weeks we will wonder about all this. Even though the “details”vary, I believe that Jesus was totally dead and then raised bodily, alive, completely by the Father, as the Scriptures say. Here’s what I propose: what the Church traditionally calls “the Great Fifty Days”, from Easter till Pentecost, can serve as a nice time frame to consider/ponder such great themes.  Our faith encourages such questioning as part of the deepening that can happen, no matter where one begins: as a person of faith, as a convinced skeptic, or, as I think many people find out about themselves, somewhere in between. What amazes me most, though, is how many folks simply have no interest at all about matters of faith. That people can be moral, or philosophically sound without a faith component (that I take for granted) goes without saying, yet it is something I need to learn more about. But for right now, Easter Sunday, this is the Church’s day, or, as I and many others believe, the world’s best day for more than 2,000 years running. And I mean that in the most inclusive, non-fundamentalist,  Way of the Cross/Lutheran affirmation I can muster. Let there be light, and let that Light be Jesus, for all of us.         

Imagining what the shouts were like for Jesus as he entered Jerusalem is not too much of a guess; that those shouts of welcome would be replaced by shouts of “Crucify him! Crucify him!” are part and parcel of what Holy Week captures for us. Scholars point out that as Jesus came into Jerusalem on one end of town, the Romans, in order to keep order during the Jewish festival of Passover, would have their own procession with columns of soldiers marching through the streets, accompanied by chariots, fanfare and all the pomp of the Empire. They were determined to show who was in charge, as this highest of all festivals brought about faithful Jews from many regions of the world. The fervor of this reminder of freedom from Egypt long ago was not lost on those seeking freedom in the first century from their oppression by Rome. The “atmosphere” was tense, to say the least.

So along comes Jesus, the hope of many to help bring about an end to Rome and a return to the glory days embodied by the memories of the Davidic rule. What happens between Palm Sunday and Easter Sunday makes up the drama of high expectations and great disappointments, a class of cultures, and a surprising twist turning away from a way of glory–either Jewish or of the world/Rome–and the Way of Jesus’ Cross: it looks like a dismal failure, but one that Christians claim is God’s victory, on many levels.  During this week, take time to wonder at home with the scriptures (suggestion, start with Mark 14-15) and let the story and drama of these events bring about a deeper appreciation and sensitivity concerning Jesus and His Way of the Cross. But also consider taking part in the variety of worship settings that take the time to bring these things to light. We do our part at Springfield Lutheran, and you are welcome to come by (see our Welcome page for dates and times). Or if you are reading this column far away from Springfield Oregon, it would be worth your time to find a local church that walks through Holy Week with the attention it deserves, as honoring our Lord and the Hope of the resurrection that begins now, and continues through eternity.

A long distance was navigated by the father even before his son could get through the front gate. It is quite a picture that we see: the father initiates the recovery of the relationship well before the son (who had squandered all his inheritance) could begin his well-rehearsed apology for being such a “dope” (not a word used in the text but one that is accurate nonetheless).  This waiting– and running–father serves as a counterpoint to the not-so-forgiving older brother in the story. He gets royally ticked-off because he feels slighted by the father: who is he to show no judgement toward the squandering brat  (“this son of yours”, he says, not “my brother”), and instead shows unconditional joy and mercy towards someone apparently so underserving. It’s not a part of the story, but my hunch is that had this been a real situation and not a parable, the elder brother would have had his way with the situation and spoiled the homecoming.

This season of weeks leading up to Holy Week and Easter is a time of focus for faithful folks who dare to have their picture of God enhanced by stories like the one Jesus told about this dysfunctional first century family. A turning “from” our own ways into a “turning toward” God’s ways is what we see in stories like the parable of the waiting father. This turning describes repentance. Certainly, “forgiveness” is also a main theme here. Notice it’s the father could care less what either of his sons felt about the matter: what was lost is found, what was dead now lives. The goal is reconciliation. That would be enough for us to think about any time of year.

Yet one aspect of parable-like wondering leads me to speculate about possible “what happened next” beginnings and endings; Jesus didn’t give a sequel to this parable. Nonetheless: did the returning son “shape up” and follow his father? Did the older brother turn around and join the party after all, or move out and say “phooey” to everyone? How about the father who still had to live within a broken family system and move ahead anyway–would he still be a boundless reservoir of compassion, or would he finally give up?

I’ll stick with the story as it stands. Wonder with me what kind of picture of God, grace, repentance, and forgiveness you may have that leads to the newness of life, and how gracious God is to run toward us, never tiring, always ready to embrace.

The spiritual/Christian claim regarding our mortality is an honest one. It includes the claims of the limits of our existence, and goes past that with the promise of eternal life because of Jesus’ victory over the grave. Many of us, actively Christian or not, can take the first part about mortality pretty honestly. Over the years, though, I have come to understand the deepening value of the entire Christian claim, both sides of this equation, mortality and eternal life, as equally valid and real. Yet there is one more part of this equation that sometimes gets lost: new life now. 

You see, we move from Ash Wednesday into the Lenten “exhortations”, as they called, to pray, fast, and be concerned with the care of others with acts of charity and benevolence. It can be safely said that we move from an acknowledgement of death into practices of life humbly for ourselves and daringly for the sake of our neighbor. So we “journey” with our Lord these days to Palm Sunday and Holy Week not with a heavy heart but with the full promise that Lent (which means “springtime” in Old English) brings. Yes, the ashes we use on Ash Wednesday are the remains of palms from Palm Sundays past, including last year, as a way to help us remember the continuity/rhythm of the themes over these years. We “remember” we are dust, sure. We also “remember” what we are to be about as followers of Jesus and his compassion for all as we pray, fast, and be especially “charitable” to others in His Name. And we remember the promise of eternal life. Millions of people around the world take part in this kind of remembering. Today, let the remembering in all its richness, begin with us, too.

                   Still, the bigger wonderment of the day was that Jesus came down from the hill to face certain and predictable death. He could have said “no thanks” to that portion of the Christian story, yet he went ahead anyway with his disciples reluctantly in tow.

I have heard this story for decades now. The hearing and telling of it hasn’t diminished its impact. And for the next six weeks we have the chance to once again enter into that story.

I wonder, each year, who is the person I most identify with in the move toward Jerusalem: is it Peter and his wrenching betrayal of Jesus? How do I contemplate that?  Or how about Pilate, and his reluctant yet duty-bound decision to have Jesus crucified? And, I have no idea what it must have been like to have been in Mary’s place, watching her son Jesus do the things he did, a “sword piercing her own heart” as predicted at the time of his Presentation in the Temple some thirty years prior to all this mayhem.

Give yourself the chance to take time and have the drama of Our Lord’s last days on earth play out in your own life. This column will be one place for you to do that, in its own little way, over the next six weeks. It will be work to do so, but well worth the effort. ”Soli Deo Gloria!”