17 th May: The Ascension

God has gone up with a shout!

The pomp and pageantry of the State Opening of the United Kingdom Parliament is a wondrous thing to behold. The crowns and robes, the gold gilt and carriages, Black Rod and the Queen’s Speech carried in an embroidered purse, the playing of the National Anthem and the call, “Hats off, strangers”. It is a magnificent piece of constitutional theatricality, the kind of ceremonial at which we, in the United Kingdom, excel.

Of course, the point of the State Opening of Parliament is not the crowns and processions and traditions and ermine. It is the normal means by which the Government of the day sets out its programme for legislation for the next session of Parliament. The point of the State Opening is the short speech and the Acts that it contains, and the Acts that it says will come at a later stage in the life of the Parliament.

Psalm 47 is probably taken from part of the great liturgical tradition of the Jerusalem Temple. After the Ark of the Covenant had been paraded around, the specially crafted box that contained the stone tablets with the Ten Commandments and Aaron’s rod, and a little jar of manna, it was processed back to the Holy of Holies. There would be trumpets, there would be choirs singing; there would be this image of God going up into His holy temple. It was a wonderful and dramatic moment. At each Jewish New Year it became the tradition that this psalm was to be sung seven times in the Temple, then there was a trumpet blast inaugurating the New Year. God was not contained in the box. God was not contained even within the Temple. But the image of the presence of God, the promise of the presence of God, encouraged and strengthened the people. They knew that they were not alone. They knew that in His Name, they had work to do.

That same kind of thinking is also important when we come to think about Ascension. In Morningside Parish Church in Edinburgh, there is a glorious window depicting this. There are angels and choirs and music and light. At the centre is the ascending figure of Christ in Majesty, at the bottom the disciples: praising, weeping, wondering, doubting, believing. It is a highly dramatic moment. It portrays that wonderful moment, ‘God has gone up!’

It is an act of coronation and enthronement. It is a visual image of that part of the Apostles’ Creed that says, “He ascended in to heaven.” But the real drama, the real excitement, is not the presenting problem about what happened to the body of Jesus after Easter, which Christian and Atheist fundamentalists worry about. The acute issue is how will the Early Church continue after Jesus is no longer present? The focus of the Ascension is not Jesus miraculously disappearing, it is of the Church continuing. It is a Church question, not a Jesus question. “Ascension Day is not so much about the physical act of ascension, or even about the reuniting of the incarnate Word with the unbegotten Source. Rather, it is concerned with the divine act of making space so that the mission of the church can begin.” ¹

The Early Church was a fearful, anxious, bewildered, waiting community. It had no power of its own. Yet within weeks this fragile community of disparate people found the power and energy and the imagination and the resource, completely disproportionate to its size, to begin to spread the good news.

The story of the Ascension is not about getting the body of Jesus off the earth. It is an equally dramatic story where the inspiration of Jesus begins to fire His Church to make a difference in the world. It is a waiting time, a bit like Advent. The faithful are stilled for a moment, perhaps to draw breath, perhaps to remember that the real strength, the real impetus for what we do with our faith and our lives, comes from God.

It is perfectly caught in that dialogue between the disciples and the two heavenly messengers immediately after the metaphor of the Ascension has been described. Like the slack-jawed yokels they were, the disciples gaze in to heaven. But they are rebuked. “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven?” Why are you hanging about? Don’t you believe that Jesus who has gone will come back? Don’t you believe that He will give you strength, just as He promised? Get back to Jerusalem, just as He told you to do, and wait for the strength to come.

After the time of drama and theatre and ceremonial, there is waiting. There is work to be done, but there needs to be preparation, and there needs to be power given and received. There are times in life when we have to pause, wait, regroup. There are times when we need to draw breath and rethink our strategy.

The young person in the last years of school or university, not quite sure what to do next. The person at a time in life, or a situation at work, where you are between one thing and the next. Maybe you are at a dead-end. Maybe you know change is coming but you don’t know what it will bring. Maybe you are in transition from work to retirement. Maybe there is some other situation in life, and you feel stuck in the middle. Something to do with health, or finances. Maybe your views are changing over matters relating to politics or ethics, or your worldview is shifting. The ground feels uncertain, the topography around you is changing and you are not sure what to do or think. The message of Ascension remains true: be patient, work steadily, strength will come. God is still with you.

The imagery and word-pictures used around the story of Ascension are of God going up, of departure. But beyond this lies the reality that this passage marks a time of transition. Where once the followers of Jesus could depend on Jesus being around, physically, to deal with things for them. Now they are being challenged to deal with things for themselves, inspired by Him, His teaching, His example, His love.

No longer are we, the Church today, expected to be looking wistfully up to heaven, waiting for a lost leader to return and lamenting His absence. The Church is not a memorial society for a dead Jesus. Rather, if our faith means anything to us, we take it, we take the tools of love and grace and mercy and joy that have been given to us. And we use them, we work with them, we apply them, and so we make a difference.

The American writer Henry David Thoreau wrote, “Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” There are times when we need pageantry and mystery and drama in the panoply of faith. It lifts us up; it transforms and transfigures us for a moment. And then we come down to earth, and with the tunes of glory still ringing in our ears, we set our feet to walk the earth, we set our minds to work out the dreams, we set our hands to do the work, here on the ground, where God’s children are found, where things are to be done.

A prayer attributed to Teresa of Avila says:

God of love, help us to remember

That Christ has no body now on earth but ours,

No hands but ours, no feet but ours.

Ours are the eyes to see the needs of the world.

Ours are the hands with which to bless everyone now.

Ours are the feet with which He is going to go about doing good. ²

After the brilliance of the images of Easter, and the marvel of Ascension, the Spirit of God will blow through the Church to strengthen us for the work we have still to do in Christ’s Name. Then we too, like our God, will go up with a shout of joy!