And while they beheld, He was
taken up, and a cloud received Him out of their sight. —
Acts 1:10.
SOME of the most tragic of all
human experiences have been the moments of farewell, the leavetakings
of great leaders from their followers. We think of Socrates,
philosopher and teacher, drinking the hemlock potion and then vainly
endeavoring to banish the despair of his moaning disciples. We remember
Alaric, the Goth, who sacked the city of Rome and utterly destroyed the
power of that empire, only to be buried at dark midnight beneath a
river-bed, while the screams of slaughtered slaves and the shrieks of
sacrificed horses mingled with the funeral chants of his lamenting
followers. We recall Savonarola, the lone monk who tried to stem the
tide of worldliness in Italy, but who, crushed by the churchmen of his
day, left his helpless ad-herents these last words, uttered on the
gallows as his body broke in a convulsive snap, “Christ has suffered
much for me.” Or, more recently, we are reminded of Lenin, dic-tator of
Red Russia, piteously helpless in his last moments, bereft even of the
power of speech, entangled in a network of intrigue, surrounded by
jesting physicians, dying in a tor-tuous agony, as the reins of the
godless power that he had created slipped from his nerveless grasp. We
think of these and other valedictories to life given by leaders in
human affairs whom men may revere or revile, and we agree that their
farewells, tinged with failure as they all are, have left a numbing and
depressing sorrow in the lives of their followers.
But today is the anniversary of the glorious
ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, and tonight, as we dedicate these
moments to the memory of that marvelous exhibition of His divine power,
we shall behold the most wonderful, the most blessed farewell in the
teeming annals of history, a departure which brought joy instead of
sorrow, hope instead of despair, victory instead of defeat.
It was not quite six weeks after His bodily
resurrection on Easter that Jesus appeared to His disciples for the
last time. Although their risen Lord had made nine distinct appearances
to human eyes and had been touched by human hands; although some of the
disciples had walked with Him and talked with Him, all this had not
cured the Eleven of their doubt and unbelief. So, revealing Himself
once more to strengthen their faith, He leads His wonder-ing followers
out of the city gates along the road to Bethany. Familiar scenes unfold
themselves as they walk together for the last time. Now they are
crossing the Kidron, the stream over which Jesus had passed on that
memorable Thursday at the beginning of His suffering; now they are
opposite Gethsemane, the olive-shaded garden, whose shadowed recesses
beheld that agony too intense for human comprehension; now they are at
the foot of the Mount of Olives, the little hill east of Jerusalem,
im-mortalized in the reverent memories of Christendom by the long
nocturnal vigils that Jesus held on its wooded slopes as He poured out
His heart to His Father; and now they have ascended the slopes of
Olivet, and the journey, the last journey, is ended. Gazing upon the
world in the linger-ing glance of farewell, perhaps riveting His eyes
for a mo-ment in the direction of the Place of Skulls, Jesus utters His
last words to His disciples. He lays upon their con-science the royal
commission to go into all the world and “preach the Gospel to every
creature”; He strengthens their questioning souls with the promise of
everlasting com-panionship; He raises His hand in a last blessing, and
even as He pronounces this benediction, He is taken up, silently, but
gloriously, and a cloud receives Him out of their sight — a divine
climax to a divine life.
Now, no one can thoughtfully read the account of
this majestic departure without realizing that it exerted the most
profound effect upon the life and the faith of the disciples. We read
that these same eleven men, who after the death of their Lord had
concealed themselves behind locked doors, the very men who in this hour
of parting, asked in human ambition when Jesus would establish His
kingdom on earth, were transformed and that ~~they returned to
Jerusa-lem with great joy.” Instead of hiding in dejected sorrow, they
were, as St. Luke assures us, “continually in the Temple, praising and
blessing God”; for the Savior’s departure is the only farewell in
history that has been at-tended by such happiness and that has exerted
such salutary effects.
Tonight, under the enlightening guidance of the Holy
Spirit, I want to tell you that this ascension of Jesus must have the
same effect in our modern lives. Although it oc-curred nineteen long
centuries ago; although it took place in a small and politically
insignificant country, separated by mighty oceans from our shores, that
ascent to heaven and Christ’s sitting at the right hand of the Father
has a most direct and decisive bearing upon every one of us in this
1931st year of grace.
WE MUST SEEK THOSE THINGS
WHICH ARE ABOVE.
We read the words of our text, “And while they
beheld, He was taken up”; and we see that in accordance with the plain
prophecies of the Old Testament and in harmony with the repeated
predictions of Jesus Himself the resurrected Christ did not remain on
earth. The religion that He gave to the world, the grace that was
offered to men by His resurrection, finds its glorious culmination, —
not on earth, not in the temporal affairs of men, not in the
institution of an earthly reign, which would remove sorrow and want and
sickness and all the other ills to which the flesh is heir, — but in
heaven, in the spiritual joy of an everlast-ing life that lives beyond
the grave.
It is this truth, that Jesus is enthroned in the
glories of heaven, that needs frequent and emphatic repetition in our
materialistic age, when men try to despiritualize religion, to remove
it from the realm of the soul, and to make it serve the body. Christ’s
last and sacred commission to His followers is to preach the Gospel, to
tell all men in all lands and in all ages that Jesus died on the cross,
— not to give them social distinction nor to assure them of success in
their business nor to offer culture and cleanliness, — but, thank God,
to take away their sins and to bestow upon them Heaven’s blessings.
But when American churches feature sermons on such
topics as: ttls Mussolini the Man of Destiny?” “The Meaning of
Dimension,” “The London Naval Treaty,” “Psychometric Reading”; when
people go to church to hear addresses on the minimum wage, the adequate
housing of the poor, the regulations of moving pictures and
dance-halls, the benefits or the defects of the Volstead Act; when
Sunday-school children have the few moments of each Sunday which should
be devoted to their spiritual life taken up with lessons that tell them
how to keep the streets clean, how to avoid forest fires, and how to
become junior traffic policemen, — you will agree with me when I say
that the tragedy of modern American church-life is this, that too
frequently it gives the body preference over the soul, that too often
it has permitted the priceless spiritual privilege of saving souls to
be side-tracked and vitiated by political activities, by social
ambitions, by industrial programs.
To counteract all this, Ascension Day comes to
remind us that Christ has been taken up from the earth, that His is a
spiritual kingdom with a spiritual program and a spir-itual blessing.
He who in the days of His flesh refused to accept earthly power has
left temporal dominion and civil authority to no Church and to no
individual or group of individuals within any Church. He who told His
disciple, “Put up thy sword,” teaches us by His victorious ascent that
the weapons for the spreading and the protection of His kingdom are
heavenly — His Word and His Sacra-ments. He who refused to yield to
popular clamor and be crowned as king tells His Church today that “the
kingdom of God cometh not with outward observation,” so that we can
say, “Here it is,” or, “There it is,” as one points to the boundaries
delineated on a map and says, “Here is Canada, and there is Mexico.”
No, He who an-swered Pilate’s cynicism with the uncompromising “My
kingdom is not of this world” tells us, “The kingdom of God is within
you,” in the soul that has been convicted of its sin, that has heard
and believed and trusted the Gospel of God’s boundless grace in Christ.
The message of Ascension Day, then, especially to
you who have permitted your soul life to be dwarfed by care and worry,
is the appeal of the great apostle: “Seek those things which are above,
where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God. Set your affections on
things above, not on things on the earth.” And the remarkable blessing
which ensues is this, that, when men humbly and reverently thus keep
first things first by seeking the kingdom of God and His righteousness,
all else is added to them. All the fine and ennobling forces that
improve the outward aspects of life and make the world a better place
in which to live and to die, all the civilizing and cultural
influences, which are the by-products of Christianity, all these are
offered to men by Christ as they are offered by no human agencies.
WE MUST FIND A PLEDGE OF GOLDEN
PROMISE.
When we ask again, “Why did Jesus ascend to the
Father?” He tells us in His own words, “in My Father’s house are many
mansions,” beautiful, spacious havens of joy and rest and peace, the
unnumbered dwellings of a blessed eternity. Remember, he adds, “I go to
prepare a place for you.” And when in soul-deep yearning for the
unspeakable blessing of that new Jerusalem we venture to ask, “For
whom?” He repeats, “For you”; for “where I am, there shall also my
servant be.” This pledge gives me the privilege tonight to send
broadcast through the confines of this mighty nation that golden,
glorious, supreme promise of the ages, that Christ today ascended to
the highest heavens to prepare a place for you who serve Him in love
and gratitude; for you who believe in Him as the Beauty of God
incarnate, as your Redeemer; for you who trust in Him as the “Friend
that never faileth.” Here is the promise of Heaven’s truth, “I go to
prepare a place for you”; and in these words Jesus speaks to you for
whom life otherwise holds little happiness; to you who feel yourselves
crushed by poverty and loss; to you who linger on in the wearisome
sieges of incurable diseases; to you at whom men point the finger of
scorn; to you who write me that the barriers and obstacles in your
lives are so overpowering that you wonder how much longer you can
really carry on. To every weary and heavy-laden soul in my audience
tonight Christ gives this promise, — and never let any powers of earth
or hell tear it out of your hearts, — “I go to prepare a place for you.”
Think of what this means for your own farewell to
life. Instead of sinking down into the fatalistic delusion of
annihilation after death; instead of accepting the de-structive
theories of modern Spiritism, which paint the hereafter as a place of
dark, depressing surroundings and influences; instead of facing
eternity with the blank question-mark of modem philosophy and modern
skep-ticism, — after nineteen long centuries you can be strength-ened
by the divine assurance that Jesus, victoriously and everlastingly
enthroned in eternity, will vitalize in your life after death His rich
promise of eternity, “Because I live, ye shall live also.” To you who
in faith can under-stand and believe the spiritual meaning of the
visible ascen-sion of Christ which the Church celebrates (or should
thankfully celebrate) throughout the world today, life, instead of
ending in a shriek of unholy despair, will close with the peaceful
anticipation of the immeasurable bless-ings that await you in the happy
reunion with the ascended Christ in paradise.
We are told in our text that a cloud received our
Lord out of the sight of His apostles; and in our lives there may be
many and varied clouds that would interpose themselves between our
Savior and us to obscure the foregleams of the heavenly mansions. There
is the haze of doubt and uncertainty that rises from the unbelief so
rampant in our day; there is the smoke-screen of modernistic delusion
by which the verities of our faith disappear in the black bar-rage of
human speculation. There is the heavy pall of sorrow and personal
misfortune that prevents tearful eyes from directing their gaze upward
to the hills whence cometh their help. There are the storm clouds of
sin, heavy with their rumbling thunders, flashing with the lightning
that stabs our conscience. But the eyes of faith can penetrate all this
enshrouding gloom; and for you who pray, as the blind man on the
Jericho road, “Lord, open thou my eyes, there is the divine promise
that your vision will be strength-ened, that the Sun of resplendent
glory, the everlasting Word of promise, will dissipate these misty
clouds. And with St. Stephen we shall behold the heavens opened by
Christ’s redemption and see Him, the Son of Man and the Son of God,
sitting at the right hand of the Father, en-throned in the immeasurable
majesty of unlimited eternity — our God and Savior.
Did you ever stop to realize that Christ could have
remained on earth, that He could have continued His visible presence
among men to lead the victorious forces of His Church on from triumph
to triumph and to employ the miracles of His divine power to extend the
Kingdom? But what a tremendous challenge there is in the fact that
Christ has ascended and that we have the privilege of perpetuating the
work for the salvation of immortal souls in His name, in His stead, and
with the assurance of His abiding presence! For, though Christ has
ascended, yet — wonder of wonders! — He is with us in His Word and with
His power, not only for three years, as during His ministry on earth,
not only for thirty-three years, as in all the days of His flesh, but,
by His sacred promise given in the hour of His departure, “unto the end
of the world.” Through all the storm and strife below, through all the
pain and anguish on earth, through all the disappointments and
anxieties here in time, Christ is with us. His presence — praise be to
God! — shall abide until He returns to take His children (among whom,
pray God, every sin-born soul listening in tonight may be numbered) to
the realms of that happy homeland of the soul where in a higher and
nobler light we shall see Him face to face. Amen.
[The preceding sermon
first aired in 1931, and is in the book “The Lutheran Hour”.]