AfterWords | What Now?
AfterWords is a series of reflections by contributors as they share their personal experience of God in community at The Parish on Sundays.
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A short read
by Joshua Benton
It started as a genuine question. “Lord,” the disciples asked, “are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?”
And a perfectly good question it was! These disciples—or followers—had just gone through the most emotionally turbulent time. For a whole week the entire city of Jerusalem hailed their teacher as the Messiah, only for him to be crucified at the end of it all. After this, this seemingly defunct and dead teacher came back to life! I can imagine, if I was a Jewish man at the time, this was surely a sign from God that the kingdom of God was at hand, to be restored and revealed to the world through Israel.
Yet, in classic paradoxical fashion, Jesus defied their expectations one more time:
He said to them: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”
After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.
They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.” (Acts 1: 7–11)
As someone said on Sunday in response to this Scripture reading, “What now?”
What now were the disciples to do? Why did Jesus come back—from the dead of all things—just to be spirited away to a place they could not see or go? What were they to do?
I loved what Amy Hoyle said this morning to this question. She said, “I am amazed that it was always part of Jesus’ plan to do this. It’s an enormous ask. It is like Him saying, ‘Now you do it.’”
And what are we to do? We are to be the living witnesses of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth. We are to bear this responsibility in Jerusalem, all of Judea and Samaria, in Alpharetta, in all of Georgia, and to the ends of the earth.
I think this is where we ought to take a moment to pause and wonder. It is fair to say that this was always part of God’s plan. This was not a last-minute decision Jesus made on the spur of the moment. This was an intentional choice since the very beginning that was to be revealed at the proper time.
And why? Why would Jesus not establish heaven on earth then and there? Why wait? Why delay? And, further, why would He, conqueror of Sin and Death, hand the reigns to us? We, who are so susceptible to error and anger and sin. Why did He decide to follow this path? Surely, it would be much easier and sensible to bring the old world to a close and start everything over.
I have no clear answer to this perplexing decision. Certainly, if any rational human was in Jesus’ position, they would not give such a crucial task to those that would—in all likelihood—make a mess of it. Yet, He did exactly this.
This says a lot about God’s desire for us. It shows that God is not interested in flipping switches. He wants us to get so involved in the redemption of the world, that He is willing to cooperate with us to get to that desired end. Superficial experience is not enough. He wants the deepest parts of our humanity, even if it means that He will be entangled in our worst traits. It’s too clean a thing to imagine someone pushing through a field of mud and oil to get to the finish line: there would be blood because of this decision.
He is willing to share His power to move the world from death to life, even when we would choose to bring death to the lives He wants to save.
It is a wild decision to me. If we were honest, we would probably call it misguided, reckless, and foolish.
But His ways are not our ways.
Lastly, this pronouncement of Jesus to pass us the metaphorical torch highlights a beautifully daunting part of our Christian nature: we are not just followers anymore, we are now Apostolos: messengers, envoys, delegates, ones commissioned by Him who sits on the heavenly throne as representatives in thought, word, and deed to all who live on the earth.
What are we to do now? We are to be the living, breathing presence of Jesus here on earth, to be light and love to a broken world.
And why did He do this? I don’t know. By all accounts, it just doesn’t make a lot of sense. I have lived a short life, and have already made a mess of it many times over. But it seems there is something in the doing that He wants us to experience. He wants us to change the world, and in changing the world we will be changed. And, in the changing, there is something, I believe, He is most eager for us to find. Even if it takes a long, long time.
In all of this—in this great and confusing mystery—there is an ever-present promise:
“‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.’” (Matthew 28:18–20)
We are not alone in this endeavor. Though the road will be long and tiring, He is there. When tragedy strikes, and sorrow finds itself in every part of your day, He is there. Through every victory and failure, through the heartache and tears, He is there. Christ did not choose to avoid suffering, but dove headfirst into it, opting to embrace the wholeness of our humanity instead of remaining beyond it.
I can’t quite comprehend this. It doesn’t make sense. But it must be the nature of Love to do so. And, with great relief and thankfulness, I am so glad He chooses to love me in this way. In the thick of it, in the mess I make, He is there, ready to encourage, to forgive, and urge me forward, hand-in-hand with my neighbor, toward a future that is more than anything I could ever imagined.
Want to contribute to AfterWords? From poems to paintings to a child’s drawing in Parish Kids, we welcome voices from those who call the Parish home. To learn more, email info@parishanglican.org

