There was a time when the only creatures who soared above the earth were birds—in legend and myth of human dreams there flew the figures of Icarus and various lesser gods disguised behind the names of cherubs, angels and darker demons. The realm of heaven always lay above the clouds and night time stars—above and beyond the great dome of the firmament that arched above the earth in the ancient cosmos. And when God descended in this three tiered universe to earth it was believed, retold and ultimately confessed that God incarnate must also ultimately ascend—a rising not only from death but to heavenly power—With powers absolute it was believed that God rules not just the earth but the whole universe seated like any monarch of this world, yet grander still, upon a heavenly throne—and there beside the great monarch of all things—upon the right hand side reserved only for the royal equal—is the place reserved for Christ the King—God’s only Son.
This was the vision revealed of old—recorded in scripture—confessed in creeds both Nicene and Apostle’s—“On the third day he rose again… He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again…” Today is the Sunday in between—Jesus ascends to heaven 40 days after the resurrection—or so the ancient church established—Always the Thursday after the 6th Sunday in Easter—a day that passes now almost unnoticed in the lives of the faithful. A day that the traditions of the church picture again and again in the form of a figure rising above the heads of the disciples—hovering mystically—magically caught between earth and heaven. God departs—and we are left with what? So many questions—the disciples asked at that final moment—Is this the time when you will restore the kingdom..? In the times between—between Christ’s leaving and the Pentecost birthday of the church to be celebrated next week The time between when there are the questions—the yearning hopes for not just answers but solutions. The times in between—where we too often live.
Most of us can still remember what others are now living and a few anticipate—the awkward moments in adolescence when we knew we were no longer children but not yet adults—standing in between—aware that we had to take responsibility for some decisions yet lacking the complete authority to fully direct our lives We find that we dwell in between—filled with desire for the perfect partner with whom we would live our lives yet full aware that we are too human and must reconcile our visions of perfection with the realities of our actual relationships. As Joretta Marshall has observed, “we live our lives in the in-between-ness of birth and death. Around us is a broken and hurting physical world. Here persons exist in-between the sickness of a heart that does not work and the healing of surgeries, or between the brokenness of a family caught in despair and the healing of an addiction that can make life meaningful. We know the in-between chaos in which we live as we seek to recover from disasters such as floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes, school shootings, neighborhood violence, or national crises. Living in community pulls us into the in-between times. We find ourselves caught between our ideal vision of the church as we think it should be and the very real human institution that disappoints us.” In these moments in-between we make decisions about whether we will simply give up on any notion of the beloved community for whom Christ prayed or live with the given realities of our institutions and find the energy to work on reforming, restoring and renewing the faith.
Living in the in-between can be frustrating and perplexing—We find ourselves anxious to move to new visions yet eager to hold on to what has been familiar and important to us in the past. The various committees of our congregation working on the fund appeal and building process feel deeply the in-between-ness of our ministry. Do we really need to move on—build on?—Surely this is the moment God has called us to—Is not this the moment of God’s kingdom fulfilled at least for this small community of gathered saints in Lake County called Holy Spirit? But Christ ascended—we remember even if we do not celebrate or observe it—and we are left cloud gazing—wondering what next. We affirm the triumph of Jesus—His royal positioning by God—but we are still here—but not alone. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” Angels are God’s messengers who bring us back to earth—In this moment there comes the promise that God is waiting on the other side—Thomas Troeger describes it this way—“Jesus is gone. The Spirit has not come. The church is left between memory and promise. The disciples have lost the intense presence of Christ that had been theirs, and they have not yet received the new power that is to come upon them… This time between remembrance and promise is one of the most important times in the history of the church. It is time for coming to terms with the truth of our human situation: we are not in control. We do not command the Spirit. We cannot tell the Wind to blow and the Fire to burn. We cannot order God to give us timetables for the working out of the divine purpose or foolproof programs for successful ministry. All we can do is live between remembrance and promise. It is waiting time, praying time. It is a time to which the church needs to return again and again. For without this time, the church falls for an illusion that has enticed the human imagination in every age, and is especially magnified in a technological culture.
The illusion is that we can concoct a solution to the hunger in the human heart for the reality that lies beyond our efforts, the Wind-Fire-Spirit that is available only when poured out upon us as a gift. This is the in-between Sunday. The power of death had taken Jesus from his disciples but the resurrection joy had brought him back—for 40 days they continued to enjoy his miraculous presence and all must have seemed so good—then came the ascension and he was gone once more—A new reality of his absence struck hard upon the community of disciples—waiting now for the promised return or at least the visitation of the advocate—God’s Holy Spirit sent to birth the church. Waiting in the time in-between. Sometimes it is so frustrating and filled with anxiety—but it holds within it the promise of something more.
I love to fly model rockets—There is a definite satisfaction in building and then launching the small rockets into the sky—watching for the puff of smoke that signals the deployment of the recovery streamers or parachutes. I never tire of positioning the rocket on the launch pad and then backing off to a safe distance with the launch control. There is for me always a special moment of anticipation—when the launch ignition button is pressed and then a brief moment of delay as the electrical signal must ignite the rocket fuel—a pause after the button is pressed before the wonderful whoosh of rocket launch. In that moment is compressed the vision of flight and the possibility of failure—the rocket does not always take flight. The disciples looked to the heavens—but the voices of angels spoke in their midst. What happens here on earth is what creates the true shape of the heavenly vision. Caught in-between—Waiting for what?
This past Thursday I finished the 7 a.m. Bible study and was just settling into my office when Chris called asking me to cover her 10 a.m Bible study because she was heading for the hospital with Kim R. who was in labor.—Kim’s husband, she told me, was going to have to stay home with their twin boys until the sitter could arrive—She said she would call me from the hospital. Four hours passed—almost five before she called. And in that time I was reminded of the meaning of waiting—the promise that every Mother and Father have known and feared—feared for each other and a child yet unborn.—With the greatest of hopes and dreams—the best of intentions—the most sincere and genuine love—there still is no guarantee of how or even if the child will mature to adulthood. There will only be moments requiring that one step out in faith—requiring acts of grace, forgiveness, discipline and love. The disciples looked to the heavens—but the voices of the angels came from their midst. To see the kingdom coming—that was all they sought for comfort—they looked to the heavens but the angel voices caused them to look to each other—To discover the Christ present in their midst—within them—in their words and deeds—in their faith and the miracles of grace they could bring to the world. We are waiting in a time in-between.
Today is commitment Sunday for the capital fund appeal—the building committee—the finance committee—the church council—the Sunday school children—group upon group within the congregation is waiting for an answer to their anticipation and hopes for the future of our ministry. The answer to our waiting will come not from the heavens but from our midst—the answer to prayer undoubtedly in forms no one has yet anticipated. Plan as we might—dream as we are able—realities will call forth different understandings of God’s will for our ministry. The time in-between is for us a time when we are set free from the limits of this world—The risen Christ rises above the world—free of all that would hold him captive—including even the most mundane forces of nature—like gravity. Freedom is the triumphant declaration of the ascension—a soaring freedom.
This past week I saw Shakespeare’s play The Tempest at the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre on Navy Pier. As the play draws to a conclusion—the aging magician Prospero sets free the spirits that have aided and assisted him during his exile on the ocean island—Using creative stage craft the spirit-actors are freed to rise above the audience—somersaulting in the air—soaring to the theatre ceiling and floating seemingly free from all earthly bonds.—This is the vision of the ascension and the hope of the disciples—When Jesus prayed in his final prayer before his death, he prayed for the unity of those who followed him—He prayed for us. We continue in that prayer—striving to discover the true meaning of our unity that calls us to be united in His Word—a Word made real to us in the forms of bread and wine—his body and blood—Word made real in our midst as we give of our lives to each other in service, prayer and stewardship.
I have always wanted to fly—I suspect that I am not alone. To be able to rise above my limited world bound perspective—during this time in-between we are invited to remember and to hope—to be set free of our earthly anxieties and be lifted up by the promise that Christ prays for us—prayers that would lift us into unity with Him even as He is one with the Father—prayers that would let my spirit soar that I might fly to God’s holy heaven.
Amen.