Backwards to Pentecost
Sermon by Rev. Andrew W. Walter
Acts 1:1-11 , Luke 24:44-53
When I was growing up, I spent many summers at a boys’ camp on a small lake just outside Hanover, New Hampshire. I always feel a bit nostalgic as I think back on those days of swimming and sailing, tennis and hiking in the White Mountains. The culmination of every camp season was always the final week during which there were special activities and competitions. The highlight of that final week, and really the most highly anticipated day of the whole summer, was always “Backwards Day.” Backwards Day got its name because, quite simply, we did everything backwards. We awoke to the bugler playing taps. We showered and brushed our teeth before heading off to dinner where the counselors rather than campers served as waiters in the mess hall. From there the day continued on with the entire schedule in reverse until finally we had breakfast and returned to our cabins falling asleep as the sound of reveille echoed across the lake.
Many of you might not have noticed, but this past Thursday was also a kind of backward day. Most of us followed our usual routines on Thursday – we went to work, we went to school, we ran errands around town - but Thursday was Ascension Day, one of the principal feasts of our church year. While Ascension Day always comes toward the end of the Easter season, I tend to think of it in relation to Christmas. At Christmas time we celebrate the Incarnation, God coming down from heaven to live among us. We rejoice at the arrival of our Emmanuel. On Ascension Day, what we celebrate is the reverse of that. We celebrate a human being, Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, being lifted up to heaven to dwell forever with God.
Ascension Day marks the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry. For forty days after the Resurrection Jesus appeared to the disciples, presenting himself, as the book of Acts tells us, by many convincing proofs. Over the last several Sundays we have followed along in this story: the appearance to Thomas who wanted so desperately to believe, but needed to see the marks in Christ’s hands and feet first; the appearance along the road to Emmaus where Jesus revealed himself in the breaking of the bread. We’ve followed along knowing where this story was heading because Jesus himself told us - we’ve been heading towards Ascension Day. Jesus led the disciples out as far as Bethany, and then lifting up his hands, he blessed them. As he did so, he himself was lifted up until he disappeared in the clouds leaving the disciples gazing from below.
The Gospel of Luke tells us that afterwards, the disciples returned to Jerusalem with great joy, but I’m not so sure. Of course, I believe they experienced great joy. They had just witnessed Christ being raised to the heavens where he would reign for all eternity, but at some point, reality must have set in for the disciples. At some point, they must have realized that Jesus was no longer physically with them. Maybe it was when they arrived back in Jerusalem, when they returned to their room and they closed the door. They looked around and realized they were all alone. Jesus was gone. How painful that must have been for them.
Saying goodbye to those we love is difficult whether they are leaving for a long time or they are leaving for just one day. Knowing we will see someone again doesn’t make the letting go any easier. Many of you know that our two oldest boys are away at boarding school right now. This is their first year away from home, and I have to tell you, drop off day back in September was tough. Susan didn’t want to cry in front of the boys and I didn’t want to cry in front of the boys and they didn’t want to cry in front of us. We all did a pretty good job holding it together until it was time to say goodbye to James. Susan hugged him first and quickly headed off to the car. I could see tears welling up in James’ eyes as I hugged him. I didn’t want to let go. I got back to the car and Susan was crying like a baby. So was I. I think we cried for an hour.
The disciples must have felt some of those same feelings. And on top of that, at some point they must have started thinking about the future. What would happen now that Jesus was gone? I imagine they were nervous and apprehensive, their minds a jumble of questions: who would continue the work? Who would do the preaching, the teaching, the healing? Who would care for the outcast and oppressed? When they came to the realization that the answer to these questions was them, they must have been overcome with fear and trepidation. They must have wondered if they were up to the task. These disciples after all were not the most talented and gifted individuals. They were not A-type personalities; they were not lawyers; they did not work on Wall Street. As my cousin would say, “they weren’t the swiftest boat in the water.” They were a motley crew of fisherman, and they were not even good at that.
But Jesus didn’t leave the disciples empty-handed. He left them with a promise. “You will receive power,” he said. Not the power of this world. Not the power of kings or rulers. Not the power of position or wealth. No, what Jesus promised was the power of the Holy Spirit. Transformative power. The power of enlightenment and understanding. The power to see things not as they are, but as God intends them to be. That is the power Christ promised. It is the power written about in the Old Testament, the power that filled people like Gideon and Samson and David. It is the power that descended upon Jesus at his baptism. It is the power to bear witness to a greater power. That is the power Jesus promised, and that is the power that turned a rag tag bunch of Galilean fishermen into outspoken and brazen apostles. That is the power that doesn’t just change individuals, it changes the world.
Not long ago I read a book called The Rise of Christianity written by a sociologist named Robert Stark. From the time of Christ’s death, resurrection and ascension until the year 300 Christianity swept across the Roman Empire until ultimately it became the religion sanctioned by the Emperor Constantine. In his book, Stark tried to figure how this happened, how a movement that began with just 12 people could spread so quickly and so far. What he determined was that the early Christians ran a social revolution – they were selfless, they cared for each other, they gave women and children more respect than they had ever received, and in the face of constant persecution, those early Christians resisted violence. Now that is a revolution. That is a revolution based not on the powers of this world, but on the power of the Holy Spirit, based on the power Christ promised.
Yet for all this, we do not hear much about that kind of power these days. We focus so much on worldly power especially during this election year. It is all we talk about. We do not talk much about the Holy Spirit at all. I’m not a sociologist, but I think that is because we rely so much on our own power. We are smart and capable people. We’re successful. We can do it all ourselves. But, we have it all backwards. The truth is we can’t do it all ourselves. We cannot control everything. We need each other, and we need the power of the Holy Spirit. We need the Holy Spirit to lead us and guide us. We need to cling to Christ’s promise holding on with everything that we have and never letting go.
And so we look forward to Pentecost, when our hearts and souls might once again be set afire.
I’d like to close with a poem written by the Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann. It’s my prayer for all of us:
We name you wind, power, force, and then,
Imaginatively, “Third Person.”
We name you and you blow…
blow hard,
blow cold,
blow hot,
blow strong,
blow gentle,
blow new…
Blowing the world out of nothing to abundance,
blowing the church out of despair to new life,
blowing little David from shepherd boy to messiah,
blowing to make things new that never were.
So blow this day, wind,
blow here and there, power,
blow even us, force,
Rush us beyond ourselves,
Rush us beyond our hopes,
Rush us beyond our fears, until we enact your newness in the world.
Come, come spirit.
Amen.
Walter Brueggemann’s poem/prayer “To make things new that never were” may be found in his book Awed to Heaven, Rooted to Earth. Though I only quoted an excerpt in my sermon, I have included the entire text here.
