“Coming Down the Mountain”
Ascension of our Lord
May 12, 2024
Acts 1:1-11
Luke 24:44-53
Children’s Message:
When I was in school, I ran in track events. One of the things we did was run in relays. It’s where four runners take turns running a portion of the race. When one finishes their part, they hand the baton off to the next person. Passing the baton seems pretty easy right? But passing the baton is where races are won or lost—people drop them, the two people aren’t in sync, one running faster than the other. A lot can happen.
Today we heard two stories—both about Jesus entering into heaven and leaving the disciples to complete what he started. In a way, he was passing the baton to them. He had shown them how to live and how to love. He helped them learn what to teach and what to preach. And he was going to send the Spirit to help guide them. But now, it was their turn to do the healing and the teaching and the growing and the loving.
And as each generation passes by, the baton keeps getting passed—from your grandparents to your parents to you. So, let’s practice passing the baton, shall we? Everyone will line up, front to back. I’m going to pass the baton to the person in front of me and say, “Love one another.” And then that person will do the same thing. And it just keeps going and going and going…until every one of God’s people knows they are loved.
Let’s pray. Dear God, sometimes the race is hard and we drop the baton. Give us strength to pick it up and keep going, loving one another until you return. Amen.
Message:
My senior year of college, I took a class trip to the Holy Land for a month. One of the side trips we took was to the fortress of Masada. It was an encampment at the top of a large hill—or small mountain. It contained remnants of a palace and a small city built by Herod the Great around 30 BCE. It was where Jewish rebels, called Sicarii, fled after the Temple was destroyed in 70 CE.
They held out for several months under Roman assault, due to the geological nature of the plateau. The Romans had to build a giant ramp in order to access the city. According to the historian Josephus, when the Romans reached the top, the rebels had set fire to all the structures and committed mass suicide—960 men, women, and children. Only 2 women and 5 children were found alive.
There is a winding trail along the backside of the plateau that we used to reach the top. Some of our more athletic friends ran the whole way up—including our professor. I walked. It was an effort. But what I didn’t anticipate was how much worse coming down would be. You’d think going down would be easy. You know—gravity. But, a sandy, rocky trail is filled with opportunities to twist ankles, lose footing, and having your knees go out. As tired as I was getting to the top, getting to the bottom left me sore. All over.
There are lots of reasons why someone wants to get to the tops of places like mountains. Aside from the amazing view and the sheer accomplishment of doing so, many cultures view mountaintops as ‘thin places’—places where earth and heaven meet. Places where one feels more in touch with the divine. Holy places. Moses received the Ten Commandments at the top of a mountain; Elijah encountered God on the top of a mountain; Jesus was transfigured at the top of a mountain. Not to mention the very practical fact of places like Masada—when in battle, you always want the high ground.
But we never get to stay at the top, do we? At the transfiguration, Jesus leads the disciples back down the mountain, though Peter offered to build dwellings so that they could stay there forever. Moses brought the commandments down the mountain because that’s where the people were. They needed that guidance. And after Jesus took his disciples up to Bethany, and after he ascended into heaven, the disciples stood there, mouths agape, staring at the clouds.
Two messengers came to them, asking, “Why are you just standing here looking up?” Perhaps they were the same messengers found at the empty tomb, asking, “Why are you seeking the living among the dead? He’s not here. He is risen.” Always looking to the past—always looking to where God WAS. It’s time to look forward—to where God IS. And, if we’re paying attention to Scripture, God never stays on the mountaintop.
If we are to follow God’s lead, we will make our way back down the mountain—stepping gingerly, watching our footing, and feeling quite sore upon reaching the bottom. And there, at the bottom, is where we’ll find our mission.
Hopefully you noticed that both readings today told the same story—only slightly different. And that’s not because of different writers. In fact, because we believe that the same person wrote Luke’s gospel account and the book of Acts, we might wonder why he retold the story. What’s the point?
In one way, the story in Acts is a recap. In fact, that’s exactly what it is. Luke say, “In case you missed it, I covered the life and ministry of Jesus in my first account. From the beginning with his birth all the way to his death and resurrection, including his teachings and his post-resurrection sightings.” But there’s more to this duplication.
At the end of the gospel, Luke makes a special effort to point out that Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection all came about in line with the authoritative proclamations of Jewish Scripture—the Law, the Prophets, and the Teachings. He was God’s plan from the beginning. The ascension is the cap—the final piece—to affirming Jesus’ credibility. And what began at the Temple with Zechariah’s loss of voice comes to an end at the Temple with the disciples praising God.
In Luke’s second book, he shifts focus. This time, he focuses on the apostles’ authority, given by Jesus and inspired by the Spirit, to go and proclaim the good news. The story is no longer about Jesus as much as it is about the Church—the gathering and sending of the faithful. What was an ending has become a new beginning. Where the disciples had been looking behind them at all that God had done, they are now apostles—literally ‘sent ones’—preparing to follow the Spirit into a new way of being. And to do so, they must make their way down—down into the chaos, down into the despair, down into the people crying for help. Because that’s where God is. God never stays on the mountaintop.
Which means, we don’t get to stay at the top, either. Because that’s not where the ministry is. We are always moving forward. This has become most apparent for us on this side of COVID. We’ve spent years longing for the mountaintop of history—where the Sunday School was filled with kids, the pews were filled with people for 3 services, and we were hustling and bustling around more events than we knew how to handle. A time when we had 2 pastors and 12 FT and PT staff, where our FEAST program brought in up to 50 individuals and, at least on paper, everything was full, including the offering plate.
But friends, that was unsustainable. And the world was shifting beneath our feet. Today, our ministries look very different on paper. Numbers are fewer on every scale. But I don’t think it means failure. It means that we continue to follow God down the mountain and into the world. The reach of the gospel from this place is wider and deeper than ever. The life and welcome found here keeps people who otherwise would have never walked in these doors coming back to be refilled with the gospel message—not necessarily the one preached from this spot but the one shared out there around coffee and among friends.
And the thing about mountaintop experiences is that our memory of them becomes clouded with images of perfection that grow rosier over time. But here, on the ground, we don’t expect perfection. It’s not about achievements or successes. It’s about living the gospel, getting messy trying to keep up with God’s love for God’s people. Because God doesn’t stay on the mountaintop—and neither do we.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
