Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

All Sermons are © Copyrighted and may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author.

The same “Luke” who wrote the Gospel of Luke also wrote Acts. Although the two books are separated in the Bible, they should be read in sequence; because Luke’s Gospel tells the story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, and his Book of Acts, picks up with Jesus’ ascension into heaven and continues with the wonderful story of what happened to his followers in the very earliest years of the Christian Church. We have no record of these events outside the New Testament. Because, frankly, nobody else was watching, Nobody cared. The Roman Empire continued on its merry way, commanding and decreeing. Local governors continued to make life miserable for the people whenever they could. Most ordinary men and woman worked days, slept nights, ate, had babies, worshipped a few pagan gods and goddesses, paid the mortgages and the taxes, and tried to make ends meet. They had no idea that a tiny fire had been ignited which would soon engulf the world.
We usually refer to Luke’s second book simply as “Acts,” but its full title is “The Acts of the Apostles.” Many, over the years, however, have suggested that it might better be titled, “The Acts of the Holy Spirit.” For the Holy Spirit was the fire.

“Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” That’s what those two men in white asked the dumbfounded disciples as they stood there on the Mount of Olives, watching their friend Jesus disappear into a cloud. “Why do you stand there staring at the sky?” (It’s a question we all should hear from time to time.) Did you not hear what the Master said? He gave you a promise and a challenge. Now there’s work to be done. We mustn’t linger too long in our thoughts. Speculation about God (staring into heaven) is interesting, sometimes even helpful, but it’s not the job at hand.
Listen again to the order of what happened that day: Jesus has led them to the top of the hill (near the very place he had begun his famous donkey ride a few weeks earlier). They sense something important is about to happen, but it’s not clear. And, because they don’t know what to say, they ask that same asinine question they’ve already asked him too often: “Is now the time you’re going to pull the rabbit out of the hat?” “Is this the moment when you’re going make everything right – when you’re going to make Israel a great kingdom again, as it was under King David (a thousand years ago!)?” “If not, Lord, when?” And once again, now for the last time, he answers them gently, “It’s not for you to know.” But then he does two things. He promises them and he commissions them. It probably sailed right over their heads at the time, but they certainly would have remembered his words, with many tears, in the coming years. First: “you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you,” and, second, “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea, and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” (These were country boys, not citizens of the world. They couldn’t imagine where “the ends of the earth” might be. But that would soon have to change.)

Both the past and the future can be spiritual traps. In God’s timeless realm, there is only the present. Jesus couldn’t get his disciples to see that. Still can’t! We’re all like the March Hare, looking nervously at our watches, or our calendars. “I’m late! I’m late for a very important date.” But dates are only “very important” to us mortals. When will the Kingdom be restored? The question makes no sense. God’s Kingdom is forever! “My life is evidence,” Jesus might have said, “of the presence of the Kingdom, don’t you see? Don’t ask about dates and times. Just live as I commanded you, NOW! Just be ready.

I had a crusty old Latin teacher who said that the whole purpose of an education was the break the grip that the present holds on our minds. I like that. And I would expand it by suggesting that the purpose of a spiritual education (learning of and growing in God and Christ) – the purpose of a spiritual education is to break the grip of time itself, to introduce us to the eternal. There is amazing freedom in that, although it is hard to achieve and most of us experience it only in glimpses.

We all know that the past can make cowards of us, can actually enslave us. Some people are held in real bondage by the past, by memories of bad experiences, perhaps, or by guilt feelings about something they have done. The past can also enslave us by enchanting us: We can become what Clarence Darrow called, “clock stoppers.” “If only we could return to the good old days! When churches and grocery stores were little, and everyone in town knew everyone else. And Sundays were for church and family. And kids never sassed. And adults never lied. And everybody honored the flag.” That kind of thinking can catch us, too. Living too much in the past, the good past or the bad past, can paralyze us. The present is a “world without end,” it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be.

Living too much in the future can catch us, too. On the one hand, the future can make us afraid. We can worry day and night about it, about “what we shall eat or what we shall wear” (as Jesus said), or about what calamities will befall us, or about when the next terrorist will come over the wall. And that anxiety will rob us of faith…and of life itself. Or, or the other hand (and just as debilitating) we can become lost in dreams of the future: “Someday my prince will come….” Most saints, over the years, have not spent much time dreaming of the future or taking refuge in the past. Not staring off into heaven. They’ve lived in the present, seeking to do God’s will. Now.

Maybe that’s what we love about mothers. Mothers, of course, have fond memories of their children (and some not so fond). Mothers have high hopes and dreams for their children, too. But most of a mother’s love, by necessity, is focused on present things. There’s a bottle to fix; there’s a diaper to change; there’s a shoe to tie; there’s ball game to see or a school play to attend, there’s a scraped knee, or some hurt feelings, or some unexplainable tears. And, whatever it is, it has to be dealt with in the present. Mothers love us as God loves us, right now just as we are.

As I contemplate retirement, the angels’ warning in this passage, about not spending too much time staring off in space, seems addressed to me. I can imagine it must be a temptation for retired people to take refuge in memories, or to become lost in cheap dreams and visions, instead of asking what God would have them do now. Had the disciples quit right then, as Jesus disappeared into the clouds, they would have had plenty of memories, wonderful and horrible, to revel in. And they would have had plenty to dream about: “He said he’s coming back some day. Let’s just sit down right here, and stare at the sky, and wait for him to appear.” But that’s a luxury we are not offered. There is always a promise and always a commission. He will give us power (unbelievable power, as it turns out) and he will expect us to witnesses for him, in a myriad of ways, always and everywhere, right now. God’s Word, God’s love is always present. It used to be, and it will be – but that’s not relevant. For us it simply is!