“Passing the Baton

Seventh Sunday in Easter/Ascension Sunday

May 21, 2023

Acts 1:6-14

Matthew 9:2-8

Children’s Message:

Who’s excited for the last day of school? What are you going to do that day? Are you going to say goodbye to your friends? To your teachers? But you’ll probably see your friends next year in school, right? Or maybe even this summer. Will you see your teacher again? Maybe.

I wonder what it’s like as a teacher to say goodbye to your class. Do we have any teachers in here today? What do you hope for your students after your year of teaching them every day?

Maybe that they will continue to learn and remember the important lessons you taught them. That’s what Jesus hoped for his disciples. After his resurrection, he knew he couldn’t continue living with them and teaching them and ministering with them forever. He had to leave and let them grow up and begin to teach others. As long as he was there, they would depend on him for everything. But teaching doesn’t work that way. Parenting doesn’t work that way.

For them to learn to be leaders, he had to go away. So, he went into heaven. But you know what? He didn’t leave his students completely alone. When he left, the Holy Spirit came to guide them. Just like you students, no matter where you go or what you do, you know that your teacher’s hearts go with you. Their voices stay in your head, reminding you of important things. And they will always be with you, guiding you.

Let’s pray. Dear God, thank you for leading us and teaching us and sending the Spirit to guide us. Help us listen for your voice and follow your ways and become teachers of your grace. Amen.

Message:

Who has run in a track relay? What is the most crucial part of the relay race? The handoff. Races are won and lost at the handoff. Teams practice the handoff at least as much as they train for speed.

In a relay, there are typically four runners. Each runner takes a leg of the race. But to ensure that the race is done fairly, there is a baton that is passed from the previous runner to the next one. To do it well, the upcoming runner must anticipate the arrival of the one coming up behind them. They must start off strong, but not so strong that the one handing off cannot catch up. And not so slow that they lose time. The process of handing off, itself, must be timed precisely to ensure the quickest transition. If all runners are equal, the handoff is everything.

What we get in the telling of Jesus’ Ascension is essentially a perfect handoff—from one runner to the next. Jesus had spent 3 years teaching the disciples. Showing them his ways, teaching them about grace and God, giving them an example of humility and patience, meekness and self-control—all the fruits of the Spirit. He gave them a new way to live and worship and love and serve. He taught them of sacrifice and God’s love for all of humanity—of God’s design for Israel to be a light to the nations.

But they didn’t understand. When he was murdered, they fled. When he rose from the dead, they didn’t believe—not at first. He spent another 40 days teaching them about living as resurrection people. He showed them that fear does not serve, but love conquers all. He revealed God’s ways of mercy and forgiveness over many meals and conversations. And then he sent them.

That is what the term ‘apostle’ means: ‘one who is sent.’ These newly minted apostles gathered around Jesus, still not understanding. Who can blame them? They wanted to know if, now, after the resurrection, he would restore Israel to its rightful place and force Rome out. And Jesus, true to form, gives them a new riddle.

“YOU will have the power to begin building God’s kingdom. When the Spirit comes over you, you will understand. You will tell everyone—not just those in Israel but those across the world—everything that I have done and taught. You will witness to God’s love and grace to the ends of the earth.” Well, that’s not quite the answer they were looking for. And while they were formulating their next question, they watched Jesus disappear.

Now, again, the scientific understanding of humanity has come a long way—sort of—since first Century Christianity. Luke says that Jesus went ‘up into heaven.’ Heaven is not ‘up’ in the directional sense of the word. You can’t get there by blasting off in a rocket. The term ‘up’ used here is similar to the saying ‘taking the high road.’ There isn’t a road, and it isn’t located above the ‘low road.’ He rises in the same way that he is resurrected—he experiences a change in status. A shift in presence. Instead of being located in one place at one time, he expands into all places at all times. God’s self-limiting presence has just broken loose.

Yet, the apostles still stare at where he once was, mouths agape. After everything, how can they still be surprised? And if it weren’t for the messengers sent to restart their imaginations, they would be standing there, still. They told the apostles, “Close your mouths and stop gaping. He’s got work for you to do before he comes back.” So, they return to Jerusalem and devote themselves to prayer. They wait for their next instructions—for the Holy Spirit to come among them.

Now, you might be thinking that the great handoff is between Jesus and the apostles—that maybe they had a bit of a rocky start and it wasn’t the best handoff in the world. But that’s not it. The handoff happens between Jesus and the Holy Spirit. Christ sends the Spirit to take the next leg of the race—to guide and inspire. The apostles are the third leg in this race—which we will hear about next week on Pentecost Sunday. Can you guess who is the fourth leg of the race—the ones who get to carry the baton to the finish line?

Yes, all of us. Those that have come before and those that will come after. And we keep running with that baton, teaching the world about grace and love, mercy and forgiveness, humility and sacrifice. We keep running the race before us.

As I was studying for this sermon, I came across the story about Giacomo Puccini’s challenge in composing the opera, Turandot. He wrote it during his battle with terminal cancer in 1922. Considered his best work, he wrote night and day despite his friends’ advice to rest and save his energy. When his illness got worse, he begged his students to finish the opera if he died before it was done. Puccini died in 1924, leaving the opera unfinished.

His students studied what he had written in great detail and completed the opera. The world premier was performed in La Scala Opera House in Milan in 1926, and Arturo Toscanini, Puccini’s favorite student, conducted it. The opera went beautifully, until Toscanini came to the end of the part written by Puccini. He stopped the music, put down the baton, turned to the audience, and said, “Thus far the master wrote, but he died.” There was a long pause; no one moved. Then Toscanini picked up the baton, turned to the audience and, with tears in his eyes, announced, “But his disciples finished his work.” The opera closed to thunderous applause.

What you’re about to hear is an aria from the final act of Giacomo Puccini’s opera Turandot, performed by Andrea Bocelli.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2SZsxTBCzoA

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE