It is an event that is baffling to many, even the most devout. Christians call it the ascension, Christ’s return to the Creator, as is asserted in the Apostles’ Creed: “the third day he rose from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God the Father Almighty.” In Germany the day is called “Christi Himmelfarht”, literally translated as “Christ’s sky ride” or “Christ’s heaven going.” (I like the way the Germans roll the words together.)

Ascension: it raises curious questions about being earth bound or heaven directed. Even in Acts there is a sense of ambivalence. Luke, the writer of the Acts of the Apostles, records the miracle, then notes the chiding of the disciples: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”

Staring to heaven or planted on earth? Not a bad question for people of faith. The entire gospel story is of God coming to us, earthbound. The prayer we use every Sunday includes the petition “thy will be done on earth.” Yet, at the same time, we also speak of the eternal reality of God, well beyond the dimensions of human time and physical restraints of flesh and blood. Heaven and earth: it is a complex relationship made even more difficult by the unfortunate history of power brokers using the promise of heaven as a means to ignore or even perpetuate abuses on earth. While it is not true of all religion, Marx was correct that some forms of religion are used as an opiate for the people. The promise of heaven and the threat of hell, we are told, are what, in part, holds women and children in the polygamist cult headlining our news these days. The promise of heaven has been used as the means to shore up soldiers of all kinds of faith, Christian as well as Muslim.

Heaven and earth. The images of ascension and the chiding of the disciples for standing around with their heads in a cloud, leads me to the conclusion that the faithful life is one of having eyes up and feet planted. We need lofty visions and big goals as we are planted in the day-to-day... of giving rides to the friend in chemotherapy, changing diapers or grinding out the commute for the 7:00 am start in the office cubicle. Eyes up and feet planted: it’s a faithful way to choreograph the good race.

While many of the books of the bible are clouded in mystery relative to authorship, date and audience, the author of Luke and Acts clearly identified himself and his audience in the introduction. The two books are also laid out as two parts of the story of God’s work in creation: first with Jesus, then with the Spirit of Jesus among the church. And, just in case you are tempted to place the account of the ascension in the realm of literal reporting, Luke removes that option by the fact that he tells the story twice and the two accounts are quite a bit different. Luke is an artist, not a reporter; the text is poetic theology, not a literal description of an event. Relative to the ascension, Luke concludes his gospel on the grand note of Jesus’ day of resurrection. Jesus appeared to the disciples then was taken away to heaven as they met in Bethany. In Acts, the ascension serves not as the grand conclusion, but as an introduction. In this telling, Jesus and the disciples are 40 days away from Easter and Jesus launches the church with a blessing and the promise of the Holy Spirit. In the gospel the story is about the glory of the Lord; in Acts it is about the gift of the Spirit. Same author; two stories; wonderful theology.

Tom Stewart, a mentor and a Presbyterian who had a lifetime of Jewish Christian dialogue, offered a line that I’ve never forgotten. “Christians have the ascension; Jews have Israel.” With the ascension our Lord steps out of particular time and space; Jews are bound to a particular place. It is helpful to keep this in mind as we seek to live together. Heaven and earth: as the story is told, Jesus is in heaven and the disciples are sent back to earth. “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” So, they go back to Jerusalem for prayer and, believe it or not, a church meeting; the nominating committee needed to replace Judas. (You’ll recall that Judas had a rather abrupt ending to his term of service.)

Back to the work of the church. Back to the day-to-day of raising children, leading worship, advocating for justice, supporting the weak, caring for the sick, serving as a voice for the voiceless. Back to work. But, it is so easy to slog along, isn’t it? The lunches are made, the music practice is met on time, the bills are paid and we just march along... to another set of bills and appointments. It is so respectable to be good and responsible but just go with the flow, short of any big goals and grand vision. Yet, after the rent is paid and food is on the table most of us long for something bigger and better. We long for abiding purpose and deep meaning.

In an intriguing book on the spirit and emotions of war, Chris Hedges writes that war is not just a tragic necessity, for it has a seductive kind of calling. “The enduring attraction of war,” he writes, “is this: Even with its destruction and carnage it can give us what we long for in life. It can give us purpose, meaning, a reason for living.” (War is the Force that Gives Us Meaning, p. 3) Hedges was a war correspondent spending time first in various conflicts in Central America, then to the West Bank, Romania, Turkey, Bosnia and Kosovo. He has seen crooks and thugs rally their neighbors with the rhetoric of ethnic pride to engage in slaughter. He has witnessed grand manipulation by violent leaders of the people’s longings for meaning and purpose beyond their day-to-day.

Let me be frank and direct: we need our eyes in the heavens focused on Jesus in order not to be swept along in causes and purposes that are destructive or shallow. We need the vision and lofty goals of the kingdom of God so that we won’t fall into step behind the little gods of our own making. We need our heads in the cloud of the kingdom of God so that even those things that are good--education, love of family & nation, support of church--do not get twisted into something small or self-serving.

The other day I was plodding along one of Annapolis’ broken sidewalks. I was thinking through something I was writing and had my head down both in thought and in deep negotiations with the uneven sidewalk. I almost ran over a little ol’ lady. It is amazing how such a narrow focus results in so much trouble. It is possible to successfully negotiate school or a career and lose track of the bigger purposes, even the reasons that got us going in the first place. We need our heads up, eyes open, focused on the lofty goals of the kingdom of God if we ever are to soar and not just plod.

Martin Palmer, a minister in England, was interviewed by NPR this past week about his work with issues of climate change. He’s been approached by the United Nations, for the UN staff have discovered that mounds of scientific data won’t necessarily move people to action. “What we want to bring,” they explain, “is the passion, the commitment... and the interrelation of meaning that religion brings to the data.” It was a fascinating interview. Commenting on the relation of heaven and earth, Palmer said: “It is not about, if we pray hard enough to God, he will end climate change. Yes, we should pray to God. We should also get off our backsides, get out there, and do something about it.” (National Public Radio, “All Things Considered,” April 28, 2008)

Eyes on heaven and feet planted on the earth. Eyes on Jesus, hands reaching out to neighbor. Friends, we know something that the world desperately needs. Deep within the spirit of the Christian faith is a link of the day-to-day with the eternal, the work of this world with the goals of the kingdom of God. This is what it means to be spiritual: eyes on heaven and feet planted on the earth. It is a choreography that gives purpose and makes sense of the race called life.

By the way, Martin Palmer, that fine minister in Bath, England, said that he had come though a very tough childhood, even running away from home at the age of 10. He wandered a bit and found his way into the Cathedral in Wells. It was evensong and he was drawn in. This man, now a strong and engaged activist, went to the church because, he said, “I needed a place of beauty.”