God’s promised justice, mercy, and peace will surely come to pass, and today it is you and I who are sent to be a part of it.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 11 A
Texts: Genesis 18:1-15, 21:1-7; Matthew 9:35 – 10:8

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Sarah laughed.

She wasn’t supposed to be listening, but what she heard was so ridiculous she couldn’t hold it in. She, ninety years old, would become pregnant by hundred-year-old Abraham?

But was her laughter amused? Or was it bitter? The promise God made to them decades before was so ancient now, her body bent and dry, her bones aching, this was laughable even to talk about. But not very funny. If God had meant to give her a baby with Abraham, God would have done it.

God heard her laughter, and understood. But God said, “yet surely I will do this.” Laugh if you must. Disbelieve. Say, now it’s too late. But I will be back to visit you, and at that time you will have a son.

Sarah laughed, but we don’t.

This earth has waited so long for God’s promised justice and mercy and peace, it’s not funny. The idea of a ninety year old woman having a baby is more realistic to us some days than the thought that what we see in our city and in our country could change, could be transformed.

So instead of laughing, we lament at the pain and suffering we see and hear in our city, the systems of oppression that crush people of color in our society, systems that seem unassailable. And those of us in our Mount Olive community who are white also lament our sinful part in this suffering of others, that we have not always heard this pain, pain caused by systems that benefit those of us who are white.

God hears the cries of God’s children as certainly as God heard Sarah’s laughter, and understands. But God says, “yet surely I will do this.” Say it’s been too long, and it’s too late. Disbelieve that I can do this if you must. But my justice and mercy and peace will come to this earth.

God’s promise has a long timeline, true. But at each step, hope is found.

Baby Isaac does arrive, and is given the name “laughter.” Now Sarah’s laughter is joyful, because God did the unbelievable. It took her whole life to see God’s promise, but see it she did.

But Isaac is more than a baby for a longing mother. Isaac is another step in God’s long plan leading directly to today. Without Isaac, there is no Israel, no Jesus, no Incarnation in our human flesh as we know it. This baby is the start of God coming to be with us.

Jesus’ coming is also just a step in the plan. An enormous, God-sized step, as Jesus is the face of the Triune God for the world. But not to instantly create a world of justice and mercy and peace for all. In the wisdom of the Trinity, the only path to God’s promise is to grow it in the hearts of each of God’s children, one by one, until all live in God’s way. And each time one steps into this way, hope is found.

Today, right now, it’s our turn to take that one step of hope toward God’s promise.

What we do in our city, in our world, today, and tomorrow, from our perspective might seem very small. But like Isaac’s birth, what we do as Christ is advance God’s promised justice and mercy and peace a step further into God’s world.

There’s a huge shift between verses 1 and 2 of Matthew 10 today. In verse one, Matthew says Jesus called out twelve of his disciples and gave them authority to cast out demons and heal the sick. In verse two, Matthew says, “these are the names of the twelve apostles.” In a few words, the disciples – followers – are changed into apostles – ones who are sent.

That’s the move Christ needs in you. To move from following Christ to going out as Christ. To do, as these initial twelve did, the work of Christ in the world. That’s how God’s justice and mercy and peace will eventually reign in this world.

Like the twelve, you and I are sent, Jesus says, “to proclaim the good news, that the reign of heaven has come near.”

The reign of heaven, God’s promised justice and mercy and peace, has come near. Is here. Is happening. Even if it’s hard to see.

And right now, in these days, being Christ, proclaiming that the reign of heaven has come near means walking with our siblings in pain. For those of us who are white, it means listening to how we’re a part of the problem. Offering our love and our ears, and our commitment to be a part of the solution. That’s living the reign of God on earth as in heaven. And in our compassionate listening as a whole community together, honoring all suffering, honestly searching our own hearts for where God needs us to change, we are signs of God’s reign coming near. And another step toward God’s promise.

“When Jesus saw the crowds,” Matthew says, “he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”

As you might know, the word translated “compassion” is literally, “torn up in your guts.” Jesus’ guts are torn up over his flock, over their harassment and helplessness, their lack of a shepherd.

And that gut-wrenching compassion of the Triune God now laments over the suffering of God’s children in our city and in our world.

But it is that gut-wrenching compassion of God that is the hope of the world. It drives God’s plan for justice and mercy and peace. It leads God to inhabit all God’s children, to make the promise a reality.

You are no longer just a follower. You are an apostle. A sent one. The Triune God’s life in you fills you with the same gut-wrenching compassion God has, and gives you the courage and strength to walk with all who are in pain and, as signs of God’s reign coming near, partner with all to bring about today’s step toward God’s promised justice and mercy and peace.

But know this: God surely will do this. And then all creatures will be able to laugh with joy.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Trinity reveals to us the God who is relationship. We are created in the image of relationship, baptized in the name of relationship, and sent out to invite others into relationship.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Holy Trinity, year A
Texts: Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Matthew 28:16-20

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

It’s been a week since we celebrated Pentecost, with its wind and fire and tongues. This week has felt incredibly long, but the flame of the Holy Spirit is still igniting in our hearts, still spurring us to let Spirit speak through us. Across the world, in all languages, voices are being raised to cry out for justice, to name the human siblings whose lives have been ended by the violence of systemic racism.

It’s been a week since we celebrated Pentecost, and really, it’s been a week. Although the fires burning in our local communities have been extinguished, the anger at repeated instances of police violence still burns. People are still in the streets, demanding real, lasting change.

But anger isn’t the only force that’s still burning this week. There is a tremendous amount of compassion, generosity, and courage that is blazing through our communities. It is, as they say, spreading like wildfire.

People are protecting their neighborhoods, donating supplies and money, and calling their elected officials. People are helping to house and feed those who have been displaced by unrest. Along Lake Street, there have been hundreds of people out with brooms and dustpans helping clean. In the Longfellow and Powderhorn neighborhoods, street art is covering buildings and sidewalks, and food distribution sites are popping up on corners – even in our own parking lot at Mount Olive.

Down on Chicago Avenue, at the site where George Floyd was killed, there are people handing out free chips, popsicles, and hotdogs. They’re making sure that those who come there to witness, to grieve, to pray are sustained for the long haul. It’s not just the food that sustains, but the community, the being together. Even in the midst of a pandemic, when we can’t get as close as we’d like, we’re still getting as close as we can.

It’s been a week since we celebrated Pentecost, since we told the story of the wild and holy spirit of God coming into the world like a noisy wind, kindling divine power within each person like a flame, and bursting into beautiful expression like a diversity of tongues. And because– even in this time when a week feels like a year and a moment all at once – our liturgical rhythm still accompanies us, this week has brought us to Trinity Sunday. Today, we proclaim that the one holy God is three – Father, Son, and Spirit.

When we declare that God is Trinity, we declare that God is relational. Like parent and child, like a body and breath. More than declaring that God is relational, we declare that God is relationship. God is communal and connected, interdependent and interactive. God is a dynamic dance.

And, as the Genesis creation story makes clear, every person that lives is created in the image of that God, created in the image of that relationship. To be human is to be made in relationship. And that is, as God says, very good.

That’s why we call George Floyd our brother, because he was human, created in God’s image. That’s why we lament the breaking of relationship that results from systemic racism. To deny another’s dignity and rights, to fail to see the divine image in another human being, is sin. God grieves such sin, and so do we. In this season, the grief of that sin feels so great that it is almost overwhelming.

But don’t let that grief stop you from living into the relationship for which you were created. Don’t turn your eyes away from seeing the realities of racism in our society. Don’t turn your ears away from hearing the cries for justice. Don’t turn your back on your human siblings who need you to show up for them, in whatever way you can.

If you’re feeling doubtful – doubtful that you can make a difference, doubtful that you know the right words or actions to take, doubtful that anything will ever really change – if you’re feeling doubtful, then scripture has a word for you today.

Our Gospel reading is from the end of the book of Matthew, when the risen Jesus appears to the disciples. They recently watched Jesus, their teacher, friend, and savior, be crucified. They’ve witnessed and experienced violence. They’re beleaguered, terrified, grieving, and exhausted. And the text tells us that when they saw the risen Christ, they fell down in worship, “but some doubted.”

It’s not hard to imagine why they might have been feeling doubtful – doubtful of the reality of the resurrection, doubtful of their own commitment to Jesus, doubtful of their ability to carry on the ministry in his absence.

But no matter why they’re feeling doubtful, Jesus still calls them into mission. “Go out into the world,” he says, “and invite others into the relationship that is God. Teach people about the life-giving way you have learned from me. Walk with people as fellow disciples. And when you mark their transformation with the practice of baptism, seal them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; seal them in relationship.” This is what Jesus tells the disciples.

Despite their fear, despite their grief, despite their exhaustion, despite their doubt, they’re called into mission. They’re sent out to bear the good news that has changed their lives.

And despite their doubt, or maybe even because of their doubt, Jesus still gives them a promise: “I am with you always.” Jesus keeps that promise, always – to those disciples, and to you.

You are the inheritors of this mission and this promise. Take seriously your calling to be the bear the good news of Christ into the world, even when you’re worn down and scared and filled with doubt. And take seriously the real presence of the Triune God that is with you, always. God is present in the world, even during a week like this. God is here.

It is especially hard to remember this when you’re separated from your sacred space and normal liturgical practices, when you can’t worship together in person or receive the sacraments, those signs of God’s gracious presence.

Some of the volunteers who came to help distribute food from Mount Olive’s parking lot on Thursday told me that this was the closest they’d been to the church in months. I know others are grieving that they aren’t able to safely come even that close to the sanctuary and neighborhood they love so much.

But the Lutheran tradition emphasizes that church is not a place but an event; it is something that happens. Martin Luther understood church more as a verb than a noun. Church happens because God is active in the world, in you.

And often, when and where and how God acts is a surprise! Church shows up in ways you least expect. You can see signs of it, but you can’t summon it or own it or control it. You can’t pin church down for a photo opp. The church isn’t a building, even when that building is full of people and certainly not when that building is empty.

There will be a time when you can gather again in the beautiful nave to worship together. And in the meantime, God is still acting so church is still happening. Where do you see signs of it? Where do you see evidence of the grace of Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit? In your homes? On the streets? In shared food and colorful art? Keep watching for it and participating in it.

The God who is relationship is up to something in the world, and in you, always. The God who is relationship connects, heals, uplifts, transforms because that’s what healthy, loving relationship does. You were created in the image of that relationship, you were baptized in the name of that relationship, and you are sent out to invite others into that relationship. And that is, as God says, very good.

Amen.

God’s Spirit is poured out on all flesh, all people. That is our challenge to embrace and to end where this truth is denied. It is also the only hope for our world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Day of Pentecost, year A
Texts: Numbers 11:24-30; Acts 2:1-21; Psalm 104: 24-34, 35b

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

God spoke through the prophet Joel, saying, “I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh.”

That’s what’s happening here, Peter proclaimed at Pentecost. The psalmist sings today, “the eyes of all look to you, O God, . . . you send forth your Spirit, and they are created, and so you renew the face of the earth.”

Meanwhile, when God desires to help Moses bear the burden of leadership, sending the Spirit upon seventy elders, something goes wrong. 68 do as they’re told, and gather at the Tabernacle. Two remain in the camp. God’s Spirit pours out on all 70, and the two in the camp prophesy there, instead of at the Tabernacle with the others. Joshua urges Moses to shut them down. Moses speaks well before Joel, before the Psalmist, before Simon Peter, and longs for what they all claim: “Would that all God’s people were prophets,” Moses says, “and that God would put the Spirit on all of them!”

Moses longs for it; Joel declares it; the Psalmist celebrates it; Peter witnesses to it: the Holy Spirit of the one, true God is poured out on all people, all flesh, all God’s children. Without exception. Every single person breathes in and out with the Spirit of God.

So the horror we have seen this week asks this: how can one who breathes the Holy Spirit choke the breath out of another who breathes the Holy Spirit?

How did Derek not see a brother in George? How did he not recognize the God-given breath they both shared, and how could he, minute after terrifying minute, squeeze it from his brother? Cain stopped seeing Abel as his brother, and so was able to kill him.

When I wrote to you Wednesday about George’s murder, the email came in the form we use when one of our community has died. I called George our brother, without qualification or explanation. Some of you were confused by this, because you’ve reached out to me, asking “was he a member of Mount Olive?”

But that’s our problem. If I call him our brother, but say, “he wasn’t a member,” I separate him from me, from you. I don’t know what his faith was. But the identity that matters to Moses, to Joel, to the Psalmist, to Peter, and to the loving and Triune God, is that George and I are are filled with God’s Holy Spirit. God breathed life into George’s body and into mine. Into yours. He is our brother in the only way that matters.

But the society we’ve built, the structures we’ve created, systematically exclude many of God’s Spirit-filled children from breathing freely and justly.

Our society kills people of color with impunity and all are not equal. Our city is burning outside these very windows as proof of this, led by agitators, including white supremacy groups, many from outside our state, who seek to stop any reform or change that will allow all to live and breathe with justice in our city. Every group protesting George’s murder has decried the violence and destruction (which has harmed our most marginalized neighbors more than any) and pled for peaceful, non-violent protests to bring about change. But the resistance to true justice is deep and hateful. Denying Spirit-filled children of God the right to live and breathe freely with justice is embedded in our structures and systems.

Pentecost’s grace and the Scripture’s witness give us only one option: to see God’s Spirit in everyone.

This is not saying, “God doesn’t see color,” or “all lives matter,” hoping to make this not about the racism that it is. This is all about color, and all lives don’t matter in our society.

God sees color. God loves color – look at the rich diversity of skin tones among God’s human creatures! Then look at the rest of the resplendent, kaleidoscopic creation. Diversity isn’t God’s problem, it is God’s joy.

Diversity is our problem. We live in a culture and a society that systematically work to kill God’s delightful diversity. George’s murder was no accident, nor was it isolated. For four hundred years people of color in our country have been tortured, maimed, lynched, often with the participation and support of law enforcement.

And this is only the beginning of the list. We have so many Spirit-filled siblings who also are systematically denied the ability to breathe freely as God’s children: women – all our sisters, and those whose gender isn’t either male or female, those who have immigrated here for a better life and look and speak differently from white people, those who are poor and work their lives to the bone and can’t earn enough to feed their family or keep a roof over their heads, and so many more. The identity that matters in all of these to God and to all God’s witnesses today is that the Spirit of God is in all of our siblings.

Will you see this? Not reluctantly, like Joshua, but longingly, like Moses? And seek to live as you see?

Joshua was concerned about controlling who was authorized to be Spirit-filled. Moses listened. He heard Eldad and Medad prophesying in the camp. He recognized God’s Spirit in them, and sighed deeply his hope that all would receive this gift.

Those of us who are white cannot imagine we know what our siblings of color experience or need changed. We need to ask, listen, and then act as they invite, not believe we have answers.

And if in our siblings we encounter anger, impatience with delay, frustration, grief, we must find the empathy of Christ to love our Spirit-filled siblings in their pain.

God said: “I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh.”

This is the great hope of Pentecost for the world, that the Spirit breathes in every single child of God on this earth. Because if God’s Spirit is indeed in all of God’s children, then the Spirit is with us in our dialogue, and we also know what our prayer needs to be:

“Holy Spirit, stir in us, in all of your children, every person on this planet, and change what needs to be changed so all your children breathe freely and justly. Be in our dialogue. Give us ears to listen and humble hearts to receive. Give birth in each of us to the longing and courage to be a part of God’s life and justice and hope for all.”

Amen

Jesus prays within the life of God that we all be one – even our own community here at Mount Olive – and in that prayer we find hope in this time apart.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventh Sunday of Easter, year A
Texts: Acts 1:6-14; John 17:1-11

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

Jesus prayed that “they” all be one, even as he and the Father are one.

Think of that. Jesus, the Incarnate God-with-us, God’s Word in our flesh, the eternal Son of God, prays within the life of the Trinity that we (if we’re part of Jesus’ “they”), that we be one even as God is One within that life of the Trinity.

But who is the “they” Jesus prays about? The Scriptures declare, as we learned last week, that all things, all people, will be drawn up into the life of God in Jesus’ death and resurrection. This is God’s will, and it will be done.

But in this particular prayer, Jesus prays specifically for his followers, those who trust him as God’s Anointed. Here, Jesus prays within God’s life for all Christians to be one, a important and needed prayer.

But in this time we’re apart, we could also take the “they” one step closer to home. Our community of Mount Olive is also dear to the heart of the Triune God, and in this prayer, the Son is also praying that we, the people of God who come together as Mount Olive, might be one, even as the Father, the Son, and the Spirit are One.

But how can we be one when we can’t even be together? That weighs heavily on my heart. In a hymn we love to sing, we pray: “Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days.” That is our deep need, right now.

There’s a joy in the community of believers we hear of today that is hard to see.

In these days between Christ’s Ascension and the coming of the Spirit at Pentecost, the believers gather together. The closest inner group – the remaining eleven, some of the women (Jesus’ mother is named, and we can be sure Mary Magdalene was there), and even Jesus’ brothers – this inner group of leaders gathered in the Upper Room. They devoted themselves to prayer together, Luke says.

Just that simple. They wanted to be together, so they were. They wanted to pray together, so they did.

We can’t even imagine that right now. We worship in our homes, and God blesses that, but we deeply long to be together. Our ministry with our neighbors is sharply limited. We do church business by meeting remotely, but the simplicity and ease of understanding that comes from meeting face to face is kept from us.

This is right and good. Opening ourselves to being a hot spot where the virus can rapidly spread and kill would be irresponsible and sinful. But the oneness of these believers, the ease with which they gather and live in community, is painful to see right now.

We’ve taken for granted how easily we were able to find each other in community.

Around 225 of us gather together on any normal Sunday. There are people you see every week in the pews you always sit in, your regular neighbors. You come, knowing you will likely see them. There are others you see in the greeting of Christ’s peace, others you know you will likely see at coffee hour. Think of how many of this community you might see on any given normal Sunday. And we used to need to do nothing for this except get dressed on a Sunday morning and come to church.

What those in our community who are homebound already knew, we all know now. To come to church whenever you want is an astonishing grace. It means sharing life with whoever is there, whether for worship or community meal or meetings or Bible study or shared ministry. You don’t have to look at a directory and decide who you’ll meet. It just happens. Until you can’t come.

Now our challenge is to learn how to be one, together, while we are apart. When it’s not easy. “Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days.”

The wisdom and courage we need from God is to be intentional and creative in how we can stay together while apart.

Since you can’t just see people randomly, you’ll need to think. Who are your pew neighbors? Have you spoken recently? Whom do you see in the hallway on the way to coffee that you love to catch up with? Could you send them a note? I rejoice to hear of those in the congregation who are calling and writing to each other, just to stay connected. We all need to find that joyful intentionality.

There are other creative things you can do. A group of members who live near each other shared in a recent Olive Branch that they have a virtual dinner regularly. They all eat a shared meal, but all in their own homes, while on a video call. Are there Mount Olive neighbors near you that would want to do this? Are there other “virtual groups” you can start? Some are doing remote cocktail parties or coffee times.

Your leaders at Mount Olive are working on this, too. We already have a group of intentional callers, and could always use more. Now we’re dreaming of other ways we can maintain our community as these months apart stretch on. Perhaps a virtual coffee hour at a certain time on Sunday mornings, or helping organize remote neighborhood gatherings. I’m hoping to get another Bible study written so we can see each other remotely and listen to God’s Word together. There are many things we can do.

We pray, “grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days,” because our lives depend on this community.

We meet and know the Triune God when we are with each other. And to know God is eternal life, Jesus prays today.

Eternal life – something we for centuries have reduced to only life after death – also means knowing the Triune God who comes to us in Christ in this life! Since God is embodied in us, when we’re together as a community, we know God better. We find eternal, abundant life. You and I see the face of God in each other, know the hands and voice of God from each other. This community of faith is a sure sign of God in our lives.

It’s vital that we creatively and intentionally work together to maintain our community in this time apart, lest we lose the abundant life of knowing God now, in each other, that is one of God’s greatest gifts.

We can’t risk each other’s lives, or plan events that risk our safety. We can’t see each other face to face, or hug each other. So, we need to find out how we can be God for each other, in those creative, yet safe ways. “Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, for the living of these days,” we pray.

And that’s the Good News for today, too. Because we’re not the only ones praying that.

Jesus prayed that “they” all be one, even as he and the Father are one.

The unity of all God’s children is on God’s heart and mind, and part of the Triune God’s inner prayer and love and discussion.

And so is the unity of those who are called together as Mount Olive in this time and place. Our life together matters to God as much as the life of all God’s children matters. The wideness in God’s mercy, as we also love to sing, has room for thousands of worlds such as this. And the love of God can even devote prayer time for our little band of siblings in Christ as we seek to remain one while apart.

And God promises to make this oneness happen, too, that’s what Jesus’ prayer really means. God’s inner prayer is our hope and our life, because the courage and wisdom we need to do this together will be granted, for the living of these days. This is most certainly true.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

The disciples’ joy at Jesus’ ascension comes from a foundation of trust in who Christ is and who they are in Christ. The light of Christ is not extinguished; it’s changed. Now, the disciples are tasked with carrying it out into the world.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Ascension of Our Lord
Texts: Acts 1:1-11; Luke 24:44-53

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

When Jesus ascends into heaven, right before their very eyes, the disciples are overjoyed!

I have to admit, this reaction surprises me. Joy? Confusion and fear seem to be more their style. Even if we consider only the weeks since Palm Sunday, when the disciples arrived in Jerusalem with Jesus, they have rarely reacted to events with joy. What they have done is misunderstand Jesus’ teachings, get into arguments about who’s the greatest, fall asleep while praying, and deny even knowing Jesus. Not to mention doubting the resurrection, locking themselves away in fear, and failing to recognize the risen Christ. The disciples aren’t especially known for their celebratory responses.

Even at the start of the last conversation before the ascension, the disciples “startled and terrified” when Jesus shows up. They think he’s a ghost! (Luke 24:37) How do they get from startled and terrified at the beginning of the conversation, to overjoyed by the end, especially considering this is their last conversation with Jesus? What does he tell them that causes such a change of heart?

Before his ascension, Jesus shares four things with the disciples: a teaching, a mission, a promise, and a blessing.

Jesus begins, as he did on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:27), with teaching. He teaches the disciples about the law and the prophets. He “opens their minds to understand the scripture.” (Luke 24:44) Jesus wants them to be able to understand his life, death, and resurrection within the wider narrative of God’s relationship with people of faith. And he wants them to understand their own role within that narrative as well.

So he gives them a mission. “You are witnesses,” he tells them. They are being sent out in the world to tell the story of God’s love in Christ. The early church will come back to this mission again and again. Although the word “witness” is only used a handful of times in the Gospels, in the book of Acts, which describes the life of the early church, it’s used more than a dozen times. The leaders of the early church reminded themselves of this vocational calling many times. We are witnesses. We are the ones who tell the story of God’s grace. We are the ones who testify to the power of the Gospel.

To be a witness was not an easy task, and in truth, many of the early Christians suffered because of their witness. Many were killed because of it. The same word that means ‘witness’ becomes synonymous for one who is killed because of their faith: a martyr. To be a witness requires commitment, courage, even self-sacrifice.
So Jesus gives them a promise: the Holy Spirit will empower you for this work. Although this is Jesus’ farewell to his disciples, the on-going presence of God will stay with them. Divine power will be poured out on them, Jesus says, it will clothe them. They will be surrounded, enfolded, covered by the mysterious and transformative power of God’s spirit.

And if those three gifts weren’t enough– the scriptural teaching, the call to be witnesses, the promise of the Holy Spirit– Jesus leaves them with a final blessing. The text says that while he is still speaking this blessing over them, that Jesus is drawn away into heaven (Luke 24:51). The very final words they heard him speak are ones of blessing and sending. There’s no more conversation; Jesus is gone, right before their very eyes.

And the disciples are overjoyed!

They leave eager to worship, committed to one another and to the Gospel. Perhaps Jesus’ parting gifts– teaching, calling, promise, and blessing– perhaps these helped the disciples bear the pain of this separation. It seems likely they still had questions, doubts, fears. They were still shocked and grieving. Likely they got into more arguments, made more mistakes, continued to be the same people who were masterful at missing the point. And yet, these disciples step into the next chapter of their lives with confidence and joy because they trust who Christ is and who Christ has called them to be.

They trust who Christ is. When Jesus told them that he would not leave them orphaned, they believed him. When Jesus told them that his body was given for them, they took him seriously. When Jesus told them that the gift of the Holy Spirit would be poured out on them, they knew it would be so.

And they trust who they are in Christ. Their identities are rooted in the truth and freedom of the Gospel. Jesus has made them witnesses, and they know that being called and sent by Christ changes everything. Their role is to go out and proclaim forgiveness in Chris’s name. Who wouldn’t be joyful at the task of inviting others into the life-giving, heart-opening, grace-filled way of Christ!

It’s not as powerful as having Jesus speak it to you, but I want you to know that this is your vocation as well.

And the gifts that Jesus gave the disciples are also yours: the teaching of scripture, that speaks the Word of God to you; the mission to witness to the redemptive love of God for the world; the promise that God’s powerful spirit is poured out on you; and the everlasting blessing of the holy and Triune God. These are also for you.

The Ascension story isn’t about Jesus absence it’s about Christ’s presence – in you!

It’s a story we tell our children every week in Godly Play. Every Godly Play classroom has a Christ candle that gets lit as children gather, a reminder that the light of Christ is with us. When it’s time to leave and put the candle out, we say, “Watch carefully, the light is going to change.” The light was all in one place, but it can be in many places at once. Like the smoke rising from the wick, God’s presence fills the room in a different way. We tell the children the Christ light still shines in each of you, and you will carry it out into the world. That’s what the story of Ascension is about, and that’s why it’s a story of joy.

After Jesus ascended to heaven, just in case the disciples missed that point (like I said, they did have a track record) some mysterious robed messengers show up to remind them (Acts 1:9-10). “Why do you stand looking up to heaven?” they ask the disciples. In other words: What are you looking at? The light isn’t up there. The light has changed. You’re carrying it. You know who you are. You’re witnesses. So you’d better get going out into the world and shine that light.

Amen.