Footprints on the Earth
Acts 1:1-11
May 29, 2022
Emmanuel Baptist Church; Rev. Kathy Donley
Image: St. Vitale Church, Ravenna, Italy. Apse, mosaic. Early sixth century. Jesus Pantocrator. Photo by Richard Mortel, creative commons license, https://flic.kr/p/2hm8zrX
Last weekend, we buried my mother’s ashes. Most of you know that she died in January 2021. That’s a delay of 16 months between her funeral and burial. My aunt died in August 2021. We interred her ashes last weekend as well in the same cemetery. Actually, they are in neighboring gravesites. Each of these women had a funeral, a celebration of life, which was conducted in person and on-line. Most family members had attended one way or another, but those of us who attended remotely couldn’t hug each other, couldn’t cry together, couldn’t have the one-on-one conversations that are so important. We got to do some of that this time.
We waited this long to inter my Mom’s ashes because of Covid and supply chain delays. I had hoped that by this time, the tombstone, which was ordered a year ago, would be in place, but the granite is still on back-order. Many other people are also still waiting.
Sometime last winter, we realized that there were going to be two family trips to the cemetery in the near future, one for my mom and one for my aunt. I am not sure who suggested that we combine it into one event, but my father and my uncle accepted the suggestion, so we gathered, about 30 of us, with representatives from my mother’s family of origin and my aunt’s family of origin and the Donley family into which they each married. I offered scripture and prayers at the cemetery. It felt right and good, an important and necessary stage of saying good-bye. It also felt strange and awkward, to be doing this more than a year after the funeral and to be attending to the grief for two wonderful women at the same time.
Grief -- saying good-bye for the last time, sharing that with others who knew and loved the one you saying good-bye to, remembering the highs and lows of their life, trying to hold on to the best memories – all of that swirls around us at times like this. All of that swirls around the scene that Luke describes as Jesus leaves his disciples for the last time.
Some of them don’t seem to understand what is happening. They watched Jesus die. They have come to terms, as much as a person can, with the reality of his resurrection, and now, they think – now is the time when Jesus is going to really make things right. “Is this the time when you’re going to make Israel sovereign again, Jesus? Now, now, are you going to throw off Roman control and set us free?” That’s the question they’re asking as Jesus disappears from their sight. He was leading a liberation movement, after all, and I guess it seems only logical that having defeated death, Jesus’s next task would be to overcome Rome. They are ready for next steps. Maybe they are anticipating what they see as the real fulfillment of his mission, and . . . then, suddenly, Jesus is gone.
There are rituals for mourning, expectations for what to do at a funeral and at a cemetery, and even though Covid may forced us to adapt, we still understand the basic protocol. But there is no established protocol for an Ascension. It’s hard to blame the disciples for standing there looking up with their mouths hanging open. Jesus has left and returned before. Maybe he’ll be back again in just a minute.
That’s when the two men in white, presumably angels, ask why they’re just standing there. Only a few verses earlier Jesus had told them, not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait. Those might feel like contradictory messages – Jesus said “Just wait. Don’t leave Jerusalem.” The angels say “Why are you just standing there?”
Perhaps we can identify. As we inhabit the space between full covid lockdown and life as we knew it before March 2020. As we attend to the messengers who say “wait, be vigilant, it isn’t over yet” and those who say “don’t just stand there, get on with life, go do something.”
Watching Jesus fade from sight, the disciples may feel abandoned, left to carry on without him. They aren’t ready. They need more time, more answers. They want more of his stories and his laughter and his reassuring presence. What comes next? Who will they be without Jesus in their midst?
As we hear the anguish of people who are suffering, as we watch evil appear to win in Ukraine and Buffalo and Uvalde, as we feel overwhelmed by the task of caring for so much need and the enormity of making any kind of difference, we may also feel that God has abandoned us.
The disciples want to know when and where. They ask “is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” Jesus’ answer has two parts. The first part is that timing is known only to God. It’s not your business. Humans don’t know everything. Get used to it.
The second part is that it’s not only about Israel. Jesus says “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” This is an outline for the entire book of Acts. The disciple’s next steps will be to begin their ministry where they last saw Jesus, in Jerusalem, but it will keep expanding to places they never went when Jesus was on earth. They will keep discovering that the reign of God is much wider than they ever expected.
Many artists have tried to capture the Ascension. Paintings and stained glass from across the centuries portray Jesus among the clouds. I appreciate this black and white woodcut by Albrecht Durer. In it, Jesus is barely visible. We see the hem of his robes and the bottom of his feet at the top of the frame. The center of the woodcut is a hill. And if you look closely, you can see two footprints. They are the marks left by the feet of Jesus.
Barbara Brown Taylor suggests that this is Durer’s response to the question “why do you stand looking up into heaven? Look at these footprints here on the earth.” [1]
Why are you looking up to heaven? The focus is here. My best work was here. You will be my witnesses here, on the earth, all over it.
Several years ago, a young woman – I’ll call her Susan – had an opportunity to spend a summer in Calcutta, India, where she worked in the homes of Mother Teresa. Susan had prepared for months, with so much leading up to this moment when she would work alongside Mother Teresa, one of her idols, maybe holding the hands of those who were nearing the end or running programs for children that would help them to know that they were the beloved of God.
Only when she arrived, Mother Teresa wasn't there. Susan learned that her idol would be spending those months on an international tour. And then when she reported for work her first day, she was placed in the kitchen, washing pots. And then the next day in the laundry, washing sheets. This went on for weeks and she was frustrated. So, she asked one of her supervisors, "Hey, I've been spending all of my time washing pots and cleaning sheets and folding bandages. I came here to work with Mother Teresa. What does Mother Teresa do when she's here?" And the supervisor said, "Well, when she's here, Mother Teresa cleans sheets, she folds bandages, and she washes pots."[2]
I feel Susan’s frustration. To continue with daily work, even the daily work of caring for the needs of others, doesn’t seem enough, not nearly enough. And yet, it is important.
And I want to note that sometimes, it is appropriate to disrupt that daily work. Mother Teresa left it at times to go out on tour. The disciples allowed Jesus to disrupt their ordinary lives and re-order them in profound ways. Please don’t hear me saying that we should stick to our safe routines. What I do want to say is that doing what we are called to do, over and over again, with love and good humor – that is faithful and good work. And it is the way that the good news of Jesus has always been spread – with one courageous encounter here and another act of loving kindness there.
We remember that Jesus talked about inconspicuous beginnings like leaven hidden in the dough or the tiny mustard seed. On the day when he left the earth, he told his disciples, “This is bigger than you realize. Start here where you are and keep going to Judea, Samaria and the ends of the earth.”
The following words were written by Father Ken Untener in 1979. They were written in appreciation for the work of priests like Oscar Romero who had been faithful in big and small ways and who died without knowing the impact they had had.
Father Untener wrote
It helps, now and then, to step back and take the long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is beyond our vision. . . .
This is what we are about: We plant seeds that one day will grow. We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development. We provide yeast that produces effects beyond our capabilities.
We cannot do everything and there is a sense of liberation in realizing that.
This enables us to do something, and to do it well. It may be incomplete, but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for God's grace to enter and to do the rest. We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.
We are workers, not master builders, ministers, not messiahs.
We are prophets of a future not our own.[3]
Why are you looking up? The focus is down here; our life is down here; our most authentic life is here in the midst of all the messiness and frailty and sin and violence and need and unselfishness and kindness and joy. May God grant us wisdom and courage and hope for the living of these days.
[1] The Rev. Dr. Barbara K. Lundblad “Footprints on the Earth” Ascension Sunday May 08, 2005, as posted on http://www.day1.com
[2] This story comes from the Rev. Alan Sherouse, as relayed in his sermon Walking Downhill
https://day1.org/weekly-broadcast/5d9b820ef71918cdf2003e8b/view