The text of a sermon preached at St Paul's on Ascension Day.
The texts were Acts 1:1-11 and Luke 24:44-end
Line of Duty: BBC
Ten days ago, after six seasons, we reached the finale of BBC’s crime drama, Line of Duty.
For years, we’ve been drawn into the quest to find out who “H” is; and the mission to catch bent coppers.
Within minutes of the ending, Twitter was awash with disappointment: was that it?
There were no dramatic escapes; no last minute heroism; no uncovering of a criminal mastermind; no final and glorious triumph for Ted Hastings and AC-12.
Instead we discover something far more discomforting: we discover the corrosive impact of human greed and incompetence; we see the very human flaws from ambition to collusion, the small incremental actions, or inactions, that creep into any institution. The things we call, in shorthand, sin.
Not everyone found this ending unsatisfactory.
Why? Well, because perhaps this ending demands something of us: the work of justice and the pursuit of truth, the labour towards what is good is left in the hands of fallible human beings.
Those who work patiently at the detail; those who don’t seek the limelight; those who seek to shine light on every situation and uncover abuses of power; those who persevere despite the setbacks and who are determined to take a second chance; those who nurture friendships with trust, challenge and integrity. There's glimpse of grace and redemption in that.
We see that in the lives of some of the characters: those who find a safe space where they can build a new life; those who seek support in order to find the courage to carry on; those, like Ted, who both speaks boldly of truth and also confesses his own shortcomings - as he hopes to pass on the baton of honesty.
Perhaps rather than being an ending, the Line of Duty’s finale is inviting us into a new space. A space where effort is required on our part.
The Ascension: Frederick J Brown
In a way, the words we hear from Luke this evening do the same. In the Gospel bearing his name and in his continued witness in the Acts of the Apostles, he invites us not to dwell on an ending, but to step into a new space.
A space where we tell the stories of Jesus; where we worship with joy; where we ask questions about God’s Kingdom. A space where we dare to imagine a new future; where we’re honest about the dangers of worldly power; where we seek to build one another up.
A space where we stop gazing upwards and instead open ourselves to the power of the Spirit.
Jesus has been clear in his teaching and his parting conversations, in his prayers and resurrection encounters that he must depart - in order that the disciples might be open to the action of the Spirit. We are invited into that same space that we might be led to new life.
This life is a labour of seeking and witnessing to God’s Kingdom: inhabiting and nurturing values and practices that are Spirit led; to ways of life that subvert misuse of power and instead enable a labour of love.
The writer Willie Jennings calls this a ‘revolution’. He calls it a ‘beginning without an end insight’; he describes this as a story of ‘stunning newness’ told by Luke. It is a newness that ‘begins with Jesus. Not an idea, not a principles, not even a memory, but an impossible reality, flesh and blood on the other side of death standing in front of the disciples, alive and well’.
The good news is that this word of life is something we are called to perform, through the power of the Spirit.
This Ascension Day, speaks of the reign of God - a reign begun in Jesus’ risen and ascended body. He has made possible a new way of speaking about God and about what it is to be human. This new way of faith and hope of love is birthed in us, in our bodies. Bodies that are one in Christ’s body.
Just as Jesus gave himself in flesh of our flesh, so we, are to give of ourselves.
We are entering a season, post lockdown and restrictions, were we are beginning again to imagine what it is to be in proximity to others; to draw near to others.
We know that touch can be a blessing of healing and love and comfort; we also know all too well the ways in which touch can be exploited, distorted and abused.
And yet, we as the church, are invited to embrace and reach out with a new order of things: it begins in the space - the space where we touch and taste the holy fragility of Christ’s body in broken bread.
Jesus took break and promised to be with us; we take Jesus in to our hands, and are invited to embrace this new life.
Ascension Day is not an ending.
We are not left gazing upwards - with disappointment saying, ‘was that it?’
Instead we are invited to wait in a new space: a sort of holding place, waiting for the Spirit.
Waiting in the assurance that we will be changed, strengthen and emboldened.
We wait in joy and in prayerfulness - attending to God and to the cries of God’s world.
We wait acknowledging our wounds and vulnerabilities, our power and our privilege; we name our hopes and let go our our fantasies.
Today we wait, expectantly.
We pray, hopefully.
Today we make space, in trust.
We recommit to this labour of love.
Patiently: embracing second chances.
Honestly: creating safe spaces.
This is the hope of the revolution, the newness and the beginning: the Spirit’s work of healing. Amen.
© Julie Gittoes 2021
