POST-ASCENSION TRAVEL PLANS

Prior to our wedding in May of 1987, I worked with a travel agent in Princeton, New Jersey.  I told her that we wanted to go to the Bahamas for our Honeymoon.  I told her that we didn’t want to be around lots of tourists in touristy places.  And this comment led us to an obscure, bug-infested hotel on the beach of one of the most out-of-the-way, little, remote islands in the Caribbean.  And before I go any further with this story, I should confess that I had no idea what I was doing, and that the travel agent didn’t really temper my romantic idealism.  Why should she?  That wasn’t her job.  In fact that efficient woman in the cubicle with posters of exotic, far-off places did everything that I asked her to do.  She arranged our flights from Chicago to West Palm Beach to Nassau to whatever the name of that God-forsaken place was.   And yet, what she didn’t explain was the waiting.  The transition time.  The hours watching others fly away.   

I am not a big fan of waiting.  But it was during one of these lay-overs, while waiting for all the romance to begin,  that I first heard an unusual word.  The word was Postmodern, and from the very first time that I read it aloud, I became suspicious.  Think about it.  Nearly everything that follows the prefix, Post, is anti-climatic.  Postponed.  Postscript.  Postmortem.  Postpartum.  Post-tramatic.  Postnasal.  You see, the feeling I get from that single syllable is that it’s all over.  The credits are rolling.  And nothing special will ever happen again.  Literally, post means after—and who wants to venture anything new when the glory days have passed us by?

POSTMODERN MEANS ESSENTIALLY THE TIME AFTER WE HAD IMAGINED THAT TECHNOLOGY AND INFORMATION WOULD SAVE US…  THE TIME AFTER… WE HAD HOPED THAT IF WE JUST PROVIDED PEOPLE WITH MORE INFORMATION THEY WOULD MAKE BETTER DECISIONS…  THE TIME AFTER… WE HAD HOPED THAT IF WE JUST HAD BETTER TECHNOLOGY EVERYTHING WOULD WORK OUT…

 

 

Well, without postulating too much about the postmodern world, I’d like to suggest this morning that newness is still possible.  Newness is still possible in terms of our personal lives, in terms of the ministry of the church and even in terms of world history.   For example, once upon a time, the teacher of Ecclesiastes lamented, “there is nothing new under the sun” (1:9).   He made that remark, however, centuries AFTER the prophet Isaiah, speaks for God, saying, “I am about to do a new thing” (43:19).  And so, it stands to reason that God works this way quite often.  Each time we assume things to be over—only then—do we discover the seeds of a new event.  By the same token, each time we presume to know God’s new thing, we spend lots of time waiting, waiting and waiting for it.  This is the pattern in the first chapter of ACTS.     

“In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning until the day when he was taken up to heaven, AFTER giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen.  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.  WHILE staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father.” 

So, here’s the fascinating dynamic with the ascending Jesus.  He’s going to heaven.  As the Apostles Creed says, he’s going to sit at the right hand of the God the Father, from whence he shall come…  But, you see, his itinerary for the disciples, and for you and I, involves the transitions of waiting : 

 “It is not for you to know the times or the periods that the Father has set by his own authority.  But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all of Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” 

In his book, More Ready Than You Realize, Brian McLaren describes a talented musician named Alice.  McLaren says that she was young, in her mid-twenties and very intelligent.  She played the harp professionally and had been hired to perform in the background during a book-signing event.  At the time, McLaren had just published Finding Faith, and during the evening
Alice paged through the text curiously.  She finished reading it the next morning.  But listen to what she had to say to the author AFTER:

 

“Do you mean all the stuff that you say in the book, or are you just trying to make Christianity sound good?” (p. 20). 

McLaren goes on to develop a friendship with
Alice, and his premise is that she and others like her are more ready than we realize.  But ready for what?  McLaren claims that the emerging generations are more eager for conversation and dialogue than they are for easy slogans and lectures.   The Four Spiritual Laws won’t cut it anymore.  The Five Steps to Peace with God won’t go anywhere without a willingness to wait for the Holy Spirit with a person in a place. 

• You will be my witnesses after the book is published.
• You will be my witnesses after you’ve signed your name a thousand times.
• You will be my witnesses after the argument is over.
• You will be my witnesses after the music fades away.
• You will be my witnesses after janitor comes by to clean up the tables.
• You will be my witnesses after you’ve been insulted for the last time.
• You will be my witnesses after you’ve spent the night in the hospital.
• You will be my witnesses after your friend commits suicide.
• You will be my witnesses after the last Session Meeting blows up in your face. 

You will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth…  That’s what verse eight says.  But I’d like to point out that “the ends of the earth” are a matter of perspective.  If you start off in Jerusalem, for example, Shadle Park may be the ends of the earth (and with all the roads closed around here, it seems that way).  Of course, to those who reside along High Drive in the South Hill, Latah Valley may be the ends of the earth.  You might even go to the edge of that cliff and shudder.  Who lives down there?  Well, go and find out.  God is about to do a new thing.   And if you don’t believe me—if you imagine there’s no new church under the sun—wait and see.   Wait here in Shadle Park and see if you’re not changed by what happens there.  The point is, no one can control these post-ascension travel plans.  No one can, no one should try. 

Since returning to Spokane after sixteen years, I’ve had several folks ask me about family.  The question usually comes up when they hear that we’ve moved from Pennsylvania, where we started Crossroads Presbyterian Church, and it goes like this:  Do you have any family here?   I tell them, No… that my mother and all of my siblings live back east, and that Sheryl’s family is scattered from North Carolina to Indiana to Canada, to Germany.  And then I try to explain how we don’t really have any control. We miss everybody of course.  But as far as family is concerned, Mark 10:29—30 makes sense:

 

“Jesus said, ‘Truly I tell you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake…who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields with persecutions…’”

And I would embellish this verse to include these words:  NO ONE WHO HAS LEFT THE COMFORT OF AN ALREADY ESTABLISHED CONGREGATION WILL NOT ALSO RECEIVE NOW IN THIS AGE NEW CONGREGATIONS…

 

In a movie called The Apostle, Robert Duvall plays a minister of a highfalutin suburban church, in which his wife, played by Farra Fawcett, is the leader of the praise band.  Duvall’s character makes a terrible mistake and has to run away.  He gets in his car and drives to a small town in Louisiana, where he preaches on the radio.  A community of faith develops around his loud, charismatic preaching—a church in which there are lots of poor, African American people.  Everything’s going well.  With a few dollars they buy an old, abandoned building and fix it up.   They refurbish a bus and pick people up in the outlying neighborhoods.  They host picnics and eat chicken casserole.  But watching the film we know that the apostle has personal problems that he’s going to have to face.  And so, when the police detectives come with handcuffs and an arrest warrant, it’s no surprise.  The apostle is hauled away, and that’s the end.  Or is it?  The final scene depicts him in orange overalls, working in a chain gang with other prison inmates.  As the sun goes down, he’s leading them in a rhythmic chant.“Who died for my sins that I might live?” “Jesus!” they chant.“Who was raised again in glory and ascended into heaven?”“Jesus!”  

This morning, I’d like to suggest to you the importance of the ascension of Jesus.   When Jesus goes away, the Honeymoon is over.   But the travel plans are just beginning.  Amen.