It was just another ordinary day. Nothing different than the day before. I met with other church staff members in the morning; enjoyed a lunchtime conversation with some catching up; and made some pastoral visits in the afternoon. It was an unremarkable Ascension Day.
That was not the case on the first Ascension Day, as Luke tells the story (Luke 24:50-55 and Acts 1:6-11). Then, it was a big day. The Risen Christ disappeared into the clouds and left his disciples alone again. It was a mysterious moment. There had to be feelings of uncertainty and a abandonment. There may well have been a return of those difficult feelings from Good Friday. As their ears received the parting promise, "This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven," their hearts surely ached with confusion and sadness. This was a big change. This was another loss.
Arriving forty days after Easter, Ascension Day always falls on a Thursday. Who has time to do anything different on Ascension Day? It used to be that Ascension Day was the Mission Festival in the church of my youth. There would be preaching in the morning and afternoon by someone who had experienced the foreign mission field firsthand. Missionaries would come to enlarge our understanding and appreciation for the church's work in places like India and Honduras. There would be an abundant lunch and visiting together in the shade under the towering maple trees. It was a full day. Farmers and business folk would take the day off to spend it at church on Ascension Day. That was a long time ago, before the church became preoccupied with its own maintenance and survival. We knew the world was large, and so was the purpose and mission of the church in those days.
In nearly forty years of ordained ministry, I cannot remember a time that I led or attended an Ascension Day worship service. Now it is just another ordinary day--a very busy day. I didn't have time to gaze up into heaven and wonder where Jesus had gone or whether he might be coming back soon. (I am writing this in the morning hours following Ascension Day because I did not take the time to write during the day itself.)
Perhaps the reason that Ascension Day has slipped from our liturgical life is not so much that it happens during a work day, but that we do not want to face the fact that the Risen Christ is absent from us. Waiting is difficult. While he is away, we stay busy to avoid the feeling of grief that would quickly appear if we stopped. So, we do something familiar to fill the time. There is comfort in the routine of an ordinary day. But, I wonder whether such busyness is really faithfulness. Is it the best way to trust the promise that power will come when we wait?
And so, on this day after the Ascension, I confess my need to work and not wait. I confess my resistance to change and loss. I confess that I do not like the reality of an exalted, but absent Jesus. Maybe next year, we will have a special Ascension Day service. Or maybe we will, at least, remember that it is Ascension Day. Maybe.
That was not the case on the first Ascension Day, as Luke tells the story (Luke 24:50-55 and Acts 1:6-11). Then, it was a big day. The Risen Christ disappeared into the clouds and left his disciples alone again. It was a mysterious moment. There had to be feelings of uncertainty and a abandonment. There may well have been a return of those difficult feelings from Good Friday. As their ears received the parting promise, "This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven," their hearts surely ached with confusion and sadness. This was a big change. This was another loss.
Arriving forty days after Easter, Ascension Day always falls on a Thursday. Who has time to do anything different on Ascension Day? It used to be that Ascension Day was the Mission Festival in the church of my youth. There would be preaching in the morning and afternoon by someone who had experienced the foreign mission field firsthand. Missionaries would come to enlarge our understanding and appreciation for the church's work in places like India and Honduras. There would be an abundant lunch and visiting together in the shade under the towering maple trees. It was a full day. Farmers and business folk would take the day off to spend it at church on Ascension Day. That was a long time ago, before the church became preoccupied with its own maintenance and survival. We knew the world was large, and so was the purpose and mission of the church in those days.
In nearly forty years of ordained ministry, I cannot remember a time that I led or attended an Ascension Day worship service. Now it is just another ordinary day--a very busy day. I didn't have time to gaze up into heaven and wonder where Jesus had gone or whether he might be coming back soon. (I am writing this in the morning hours following Ascension Day because I did not take the time to write during the day itself.)
Perhaps the reason that Ascension Day has slipped from our liturgical life is not so much that it happens during a work day, but that we do not want to face the fact that the Risen Christ is absent from us. Waiting is difficult. While he is away, we stay busy to avoid the feeling of grief that would quickly appear if we stopped. So, we do something familiar to fill the time. There is comfort in the routine of an ordinary day. But, I wonder whether such busyness is really faithfulness. Is it the best way to trust the promise that power will come when we wait?
And so, on this day after the Ascension, I confess my need to work and not wait. I confess my resistance to change and loss. I confess that I do not like the reality of an exalted, but absent Jesus. Maybe next year, we will have a special Ascension Day service. Or maybe we will, at least, remember that it is Ascension Day. Maybe.
No comments:
Post a Comment