Lifted Up, Loving Now

Today, forty days into the Easter season, the Church marks “The Ascension of Our Lord.” I have noticed some Facebook friends have commemorated this day by posting images such as these:

 

Ascension of Christ by Garofalo, between 1510 and 1520.

 

Jesus is ascending as we stand by, gazing upward. In the case of the second picture, it looks like we have photoshop to thank for the chuckle and the challenge.

Then there this next image that I couldn’t help but notice every time I worshipped at Calvary Lutheran Church, Winger, Minnesota, the church where my sons were baptized. 

I find it fascinating that many churches prominently display artistic renderings of the ascension yet aren't quite sure what to make of it. Some hold worship services on this day, others move the celebration to the nearest Sunday, still others avoid it all together.  

Laurence Hull Stookey in Calendar: Christ's Time for the Church notes that “current understandings of the universe, buttressed by the reign of reason in Western thought, have caused the ascension to become a large question mark for most Christians. It used to be supposed that heaven was a few thousand feet up in the air; now that we know something of the scope of the universe, this is manifest nonsense.”  One reason the ascension is such a question mark is our proclivity to separate faith and science. (For a hot-off–the-press treatment of this, see The Collapse of the Three Story Universe by Daniel Wolpert). If we no longer believe that heaven is “up there” and hell is “down there,” how can we wrap our minds around Jesus ascending into heaven?

Stookey continues: “That contemporary people should ask such questions is unavoidable. That the contemporary church has dealt with them only by silence is unforgiveable.” He goes on to commend the ascension not for its scientific actuality or what it means to be in Bible times with Jesus, but for its rich meanings for faith here and now.

In the spirit of not avoiding the ascension, I offer two experiences that when juxtaposed with ascension day, might yield another angle on what it all means.

Experience #1: We are lifted up

I was doing some work for a worship planning resource this morning when I read from the prophet Isaiah, a passage chosen for the first Sunday after Christmas, Year A.

I will recount the gracious deeds of the Lord…..

Surely, they are my people, children who will not deal falsely;

And he became their savior in all their distress.

It was no messenger or angel but his presence that saved them; in his love and in his pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.

(Isa: 63:7-9)

The Lord lifts us up; we are carried. It is not that Jesus ascends and leaves us orphaned to watch the rocket launch. I think more often it is us who are being lifted with him, like the children Jesus took in his arms, lifting them and claiming they are welcomed. We are not lifted to escape the depths nor heights of human experience, but to experience them more fully. God’s presence through Christ’s Spirit carries us more completely than we can comprehend.

Experience #2:  And so we lift others up

Also this morning I commented on a Facebook message thread questioning the “cry it out” method of sleep training for infants. It's a thorny topic with strong views on either side. One can make a scientific claim against it as the American Psychological Association has done. But my reasoning for not endorsing it is theological.  God comes to us, overflowing in mercy, promising to lift us up and hold us, to wipe every tear from our eyes. Although this is contrary to some belief, infants are not sitting in the crib figuring out how to trick mom or dad into coming and picking them up. “Ha, ha… got em’ again.” Hogwash. They are babies. They cry. And they cry to be soothed and held, they need to be lifted up and carried, to be assured that they are secure and loved. Perhaps as parents and caregivers we are lifting them up to reveal the presence of the Spirit, here and now.

The ascension affirms the boundless presence of Christ, breaking into our limiting, controlling ways. The words of Brian Wren challenge us when we are led to believe God is “up there” looking on us “down here.” Wren continually revised his hymns. The following stanza is not found in the most recent hymnal of my denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America.

Not throned afar, remotely high, untouched, unmoved by human pains,

But daily, in the midst of life, our Savior with the Father reigns.

(Christ is Alive, Stanza 2, Lutheran Book of Worship, 1978))

Would God keep lifting us up by grounding us more firmly in the here and now and by giving us the strength to lift up one another. That is my prayer this Ascension Day.