Looking to Heaven

The space shuttle Atlantis arrives back to earth today – weather permitting -- after its 12-day trip to repair the aging Hubble Telescope. These missions have become so commonplace and routine in the 28 year history of the program that many in the public may not even know when a shuttle is in orbit around the earth – except of course when there is a problem. We as a nation mourned the devastating Challenger accident upon liftoff in 1986 – with the first teacher in space Sharon McAuliffe from New Hampshire – and the breakup of Columbia upon reentry over Texas in 2003. These flights are engineering marvels and we should never take them for granted.

I followed this launch and mission with special interest when I discovered that I attended Elementary school, Middle School and High School with one of the astronauts. Mike Good is a colonel in the Air Force and from the town I grew up in outside of Cleveland. He was one year ahead of me and a good friend of my sister. Many of Mike’s friends from school made their way down to Florida for the launch, and I’m told, the group of grown men cried like little boys as they saw the shuttle and their friend roar into the sky.

Knowing someone from childhood who had made it through the rigorous selection process of the astronaut program and the years of waiting caused me this past week to pay a little bit more attention to what they were doing. For in truth, I don’t normally follow the various shuttle launches very closely. Science was never my particular interest or strength in school, and beyond being able to point out the big and little dipper in a night sky, my astronomy skills are sorely lacking. What I know of the Hubble – the orbiting telescope the size of a school bus – I know from the images sent back of distant stars and galaxies published in newspapers and on the news over the years. The pictures are truly amazing and seem truly otherworldly -- much more colorful than the latest Hollywood special effects space movie productions.

Hubble’s discoveries have caused many astronomy textbooks to be revised; for example scientists have learned that the universe is expanding at an accelerating rate. It has recorded images of the birth and death of stars and has helped to unlock the mysterious force called dark energy and the existence of black holes. Amazing stuff.

So, as a person in a church tradition that respects the pursuit of knowledge and does not see a fundamental contraction between science and faith, I can admire how both physicists and theologians look into the heavens to ask and ponder essentially the same big questions: How did the universe begin? What are the essential ingredients of life? What will the end look like?

It is true that looking into the heavens fits into an instinctive way of locating God. From the commonplace pointing to the “Man upstairs” to the homerun slugger pointing to the sky upon reaching home plate: up is good; down is not so good.

God, this mystery and presence and spirit and source of our being, is beyond our understanding, has long captivated ancient people who looked into the heavens for answers.
The sun was worshipped by Native Americans – the Maya were gifted astronomers, as were the ancient Babylonians, Persians, and Egyptians. The Greeks had their sun gods Helios and Apollo and Romans had been worshipping the birth of the sun – s-u-n -- on December 25 long before Christians started celebrating Christmas on that day: the birth of the Son of God.

Liturgically speaking we are in that period between the returning and ascending of the risen Christ and the coming of the Holy Spirit to give power and birth to the church at Pentecost.

In Acts the scene is portrayed as one where Jesus is lifted up and cloud takes him out of sight – all the while the disciples gaze up toward heaven. Two angels tell them that this Jesus who has gone into heaven will come back the same way.

Dr. Mickey Anders, a Disciples of Christ pastor in Lexington, Kentucky, points to the cloudy special effects of the ascension account as part of the problem: “A cloud took him out of their sight” he writes, “And that has been the problem for people ever since. Jesus has been out of sight and, for some, out of mind.”

This “in-between time” – between a life fully lived, a leave-taking and the birth of something new – is a stage or period of time not unfamiliar to us. In this annual season of graduations, I think of the many changes in the lives of students now moving on to realize their dreams and put into practice the work and fruit of their studies – especially during these tough economic times. I think of the departure of young adults from their childhood homes and the consequent empty nest their leaving creates; or the retirement of the strong and constant leader in a school or company who touched all aspects of the organization and whose exit poses major questions about the viability of the future; and the more concrete and painful departure from this life of a beloved spouse, life companion or friend. How can a future be lived or imagined without our rock, our anchor, a soul-mate, our other-half or the apple of our eye?

Living in the in between can be hard and lonely. Yet God has promised not to leave us without comfort and hope, and that is the message of today’s lessons.

I’ve often wondered how our faith would be different if the risen Christ continued to make appearances over the centuries to the gathered followers – the church. We would, I imagine, turn to him to make every decision for us instead of using our gifts and imaginations and rolling up our sleeves to do the work we have been given to heal a broken world and to share the story of the Good News.

This is a good moment to ask ourselves where we are in this timeline between life in its fullest, saying goodbye to what we’ve known and beginning something new. Aspects of all three many happen all at once – which is often the case. May we learn to see signs of God, and experience this complete joy that Jesus refers to in the gospel, in all stages. And when we look into a star-filled night sky, may we never cease to marvel and wonder – and take the sight for granted. For what we see above is our past – galaxies and suns that have long ago died off- their light only reaching us millions of years later. We see our present: we are one amidst many yet fully loved and known by the creator of the heavens. And our future? An expanding universe and horizon of the birth of new stars – with no limits in sight.