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You Can’t Keep a Good Man Down
A sermon by Dr. Jim
Somerville
Pastor, Richmond’s First Baptist Church
Richmond, Virginia
May 24, 2009
Ascension Sunday
Luke 24:44-53
When I was
interviewing at my last church the search committee took me on a tour of the
building that ended at the sanctuary door. “We’re not really supposed to go in
there,” they said. “They’re doing some renovations.” And sure enough, when I
peeked through the windows I saw the pews covered in plastic sheeting and a
machine called a “cherry picker” parked right there at the head of the aisle.
But even with all that to distract me I could see that it was a beautiful room
with tall stone columns and arches rising to a vaulted ceiling some sixty feed
overhead. There was a divided chancel, and a high altar, and steps that led up
to a carved wooden pulpit ten feet above the floor. I could understand why some
people, visiting for the first time, thought they had gotten into an Episcopal
church by mistake. And then there were the stained-glass windows from the
Willett Studio in Philadelphia, some of the most beautiful I have ever seen.
After I came to that church I stopped by the sanctuary again and again—often on
weekday afternoons—just to look at the windows and be inspired by them.
In the Middle
Ages, when many people were illiterate and most couldn’t understand the chanted
Latin mass, they would come to the cathedrals and look at the windows where they
would “see” the gospel through the images in the glass. The pastor who presided
over the construction of that sanctuary in DC wanted it to be the same kind of
place, a place where the gospel could be seen as well as heard, and in those
windows it was. My favorite was the Redemption Window, high up in the back of
the church. At the bottom were Abraham and Isaac, headed up the mountain of
sacrifice where the ram was waiting, caught in the thicket; and then Moses
coming down from Mount Sinai with the Ten Commandments in his arms, having led
God’s people out of their bondage and through the Red Sea; and finally Jesus,
the Good Shepherd, holding a lamb in his arms even as he brought in the final
judgment, crushing the grapes of wrath with his feet. It was a sermon in
stained glass about a God who loves his people and buys them back from their
slavery to sin. And the people who were pictured in it are some of the ones he
loves most—there to the left of Moses was old Job, covered with sores, Noah,
holding a tiny blue ark, and on the right the Gerasene demoniac, with his broken
chains hanging from wrists and ankles, and the repentant thief on the cross, the
one who said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your glory.” There he was,
in that window, remembered, not only by Jesus but by the church of Jesus,
forever.
My next favorite
window in that church was the one of the “Average Baptist.” That’s right—along
with a whole host of well-known Christians and Baptists who were pictured all
around the room there was this unnamed Baptist layman in a nice brown suit with
a look of steadfast resolve on his face and a Bible the size of a suitcase under
his left arm. To one side of the Average Baptist was a picture of his baptism,
and to the other side was the Bible again, this time open. And finally I loved
the window that represented today’s theme: the Ascension Window. All around on
the balcony level were windows depicting the life of Christ, just as they do in
this church, and this was the last window in the series. All you could see of
Jesus were his pierced feet, near the top of the frame. Around his ankles was
the hem of his robe all swirling and bright like the smoky halo you see when a
rocket lifts off. Under his feet were strong, vertical rays of light like the
blinding white column of propulsion that pushes the space shuttle into the sky.
And then there were the disciples, standing in a circle, watching the liftoff of
their Lord with open mouths.
Ascension. It’s
not something the average Baptist thinks about very often. But if he would open
that big Bible under his arm and read it, he might think about it more. While
Luke is the only New Testament writer who tells the story of the Ascension, all
of them seem to accept it as a given. 1 Peter 3:22 tells us that Jesus “has
gone into Heaven.” Ephesians 4:10 says, “He who descended is he who also
ascended.” Colossians 3:1 encourages us to “seek the things that are above,
where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.” 1 Timothy 3:16 claims that
Jesus was “taken up in glory.” Hebrews 4:14 says, “We have a great high priest
who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the son of God,” and Hebrews 9:24
affirms that, “Christ has entered . . . heaven itself.” It is the kind of
biblical witness that led the formulators of the early creeds to include it as
an article of faith. The Apostle’s Creed says, bluntly, “He ascended into
heaven.” The Nicene Creed speaks of Jesus who, “ascended into the heavens.”
And although it is not a creed, The Baptist Faith and Message also
testifies that Jesus “…ascended into heaven and is now exalted at the right hand
of God.”
It should be
obvious to you by now that the Ascension is not just a footnote in biblical
theology, but an important part of any full attempt to understand the life of
Jesus. We should think about it more than we do, certainly more than once a
year. I found myself thinking about it not long ago as I was preparing for a
funeral service. I was reading through I Corinthians 15, that great
resurrection chapter, when I stumbled across these words in verse 47 of Eugene
Peterson’s paraphrase, The Message: “The first man, Adam, was made from
earth, the second man, Christ, was made from Heaven.” “Made from Heaven,” I
wondered out loud. “What would it mean to be made from heaven?” And no sooner
had I said it than I was visited by an old memory.
I remembered a
time at summer camp when I had picked up a large iron weight, the kind you might
put on the end of a barbell, and waded into the shallow end of the swimming
pool. I found that when I held that weight at waist level I was able to walk
easily on the bottom of the pool, even when the water came up to my neck. And
then I took a deep breath and walked down the slope of the pool to the deep end,
across the bottom to the far wall. As long as I held the weight I could do it,
even though it was awkward and slow: I could walk on the bottom of the pool.
When I got to the far wall I put the weight down and rose slowly toward the
surface.
With that memory
in mind and that text in hand I wondered if that’s how it was for Jesus, the man
from Heaven. As long as he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders was
he able to walk around on earth like anyone else? And once he dropped that
weight in the hour of his death did he begin to rise toward heaven? Do you
remember what he said to Mary in the garden on the morning of his resurrection?
“Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended.” I picture her holding
on to his feet as he was rising, keeping him from breaking the surface of heaven
and taking what would be for him his first full breath in a long time.
Now you can push
any analogy too far, but is this what we do to Jesus? Do we “hold on” to him?
Do we keep him down here on the bottom of the pool where we are rather than
letting him ascend? I think about the times we have sung, “What a friend we
have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear.” Do we keep heaping our sins
and griefs upon him? Do we keep weighing him down? If he is saying nothing
else to us by his ascension he seems to be saying that his work here on earth is
finished, that it’s time to move on, and the Ascension itself is a clue to what
that work was. Jesus didn’t ascend after he healed the sick. He didn’t ascend
after he taught his disciples. He didn’t ascend after he preached the Kingdom
of God. He ascended only after his death and resurrection, only after he had
dropped the heavy weight of our sin. That was the work he came to do. He
came to die for us so we would perish never. He came to rise for us so we would
live forever. He came to do the work of redemption. And when that work
was done he ascended.
You can’t keep a good man
down.
One of the
meanings of the Ascension, then, is that Jesus’ work on earth is over and our
work has begun. This is what he says to his disciples, after he has risen and
convinced them of his resurrection. He says, “Now that my work has ended yours
has begun: Now it is time for you to go and make disciples of all nations,
baptizing them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and teaching
them to obey all that I have commanded you (as he says at the end of Matthew).
Now it is time for you to go into all the world and proclaim the good news to
the whole creation (as he says in the longer ending of Mark). Now it is time
for you to preach repentance and the forgiveness of sins to all nations (as he
says at the end of Luke). Now, as the Father has sent me, so send I you (as he
says at the end of John). Now, you will be my witnesses, in Jerusalem, in all
Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth (as he says at the beginning of
Acts). Now.”
I can picture
the founder of some successful company, with his sons all gathered around his
deathbed as he tells them, “Boys, I started all this from nothing. I’ve built
it up to where it is today. But now I’m handing it over to you. Take care of
it boys.” And they all nod their heads even as they wipe tears from their
eyes. “We will, Daddy. We will.” Can you see Jesus, out there on the Mount of
Olives, giving his disciples the same kind of charge before he lifts his hands
and leaves them forever? “Boys, I’ve already done the hard part: I’ve done the
work of redemption by dying on the cross. But now I want you to do the work of
reconciliation by telling people everywhere they don’t have to be strangers to
God anymore. Think you can do that?” And the disciples nod their heads even as
they wipe tears from their eyes. “We’ll do it Jesus. We will.”
“Good,” he
says. “I was hoping you would. But before you go tearing off into the world
and tearing up most of the good work I have done, wait. Wait until you receive
the power from on high. Only then will you be able to do the work I have given
you. Only then will you be the kind of witnesses I need.” And when he says it
you get the idea that even though Jesus is asking us to do an enormous job, he
isn’t asking us to do it alone. It won’t be him working with us, though; it
will be the Holy Spirit. This is even clearer in John's writings than it is in
Luke’s. “I will ask the Father,” Jesus says in John 14, “and he will give you
another helper to be with you forever. In chapter 16 he says, “It is to your
advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to
you.” The implication is clear: Jesus has some work to do, but once his work
is finished ours will begin. His is the work of redemption but ours is the
ministry of reconciliation. It will be in our hands, but it won’t be in our
hands alone. The Holy Spirit will help us. The promised Power will make it
possible. All we have to do is tell people everything we know about Jesus and
live like people who have been redeemed. That’s something even the Average
Baptist can do.
In that church in
Washington I would stand in the pulpit and look toward the Redemption window in
the back, up above the balcony. I would always see Jesus up there, looking down
at us as if he had done his work and was waiting now to see if we would do
ours. Some days I thought he must have been very proud of us. Other days? Not
so much. But even on those days when we didn’t seem to be making much headway I
think he could have been encouraged by what he saw. Because high up near the
ceiling in that church was a row of windows that included John Chrysostom,
Francis of Assisi, Martin Luther, John Calvin, John Wesley, George Fox, and
more—faithful Christians who had done more than their part to fulfill the
mission of Jesus. And down at eye level, all around the room, were images of
well-known Baptists who had done the same: there was John Bunyan, Lottie Moon,
Harry Emerson Fosdick, Fanny Crosby, Walter Rauschenbusch, and George W. Truett,
just to name a few. And then, if he kept looking, he would have seen all those
people sitting in the pews, all those better-than-average Baptists, just as he
does when he looks around this room on a Sunday morning. And even on those days
when it doesn’t seem like we are making much headway I think he would say to us,
“Listen! Don’t give up. You will receive power from on high. And you will be
my witnesses . . . right here in the Fan, in the city of Richmond, in the state
of Virginia, and to the ends of the earth. You want to know why? I’ll tell you
why.”
You can’t keep a good
church down.
—Jim Somerville © 2009
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