Most are unaware how seditious Christianity was in the earliest centuries of the Church, unaware how threatening Christianity was to the world of late antiquity.

In addition to being thought incestuous cannibals (because, of course, Christians called each other “brother” and “sister” while exchanging the kiss of peace before eating the body and blood of some person named Jesus), Christians were considered a threat to the family, to good religion (they were called “atheists”), and certainly to the political religion of the Roman Empire. For instance, when early Christians like Paul called Jesus “Lord,” they were making an intolerably radical claim.[1] For you see, in the world of Roman power Caesar was lord, not some peasant Nazorean. Also, to the Jewish ear, calling Jesus Lord was particularly blasphemous, for, of course, Adonai was Lord—no man, no crucified criminal.[2] We don’t remember, really, just how objectionable Christianity was to so many. Used to enjoying the privileges of culture, we’ve forgotten (or rather never knew) how despised the Gospel once was. But, of course, all that may be changing now, in this new allegedly more tolerant age.

Yet for many, especially in these early years, faith in Jesus was liberation, freedom from the political, cultural, and spiritual powers that were. We see this most clearly in the martyrs, many of whom in the eyes of the world were of no account whatsoever—poor, non-citizens, many of them young women without rights or protections of any sort. For some reason these early Christians found strength enough to stand up against political and paternal authority, suffering and dying because of it, yet with joy. The great martyr, the young mother, Saint Perpetua, when angrily confronted by her father to give up her Christian protest—said rather calmly, but with a new sort of power, “I cannot be called anything other than what I am, a Christian.”[3] When the young Saint Agnes was martyred, as her soul ascended to heaven, it’s said she laughed at the world below, at all the “vanities that the inconstant world seizes on, kings, despots, power and rank, the pomp of dignitaries swollen with foolish pride.”[4] Godly arrogance, divine disobedience: this is why Nietzsche called Christianity a “slave morality,” because so many of low account, or no account at all, had suddenly found a voice and had turned the world upside down.[5]

Now people have wondered about this divine disobedience and godly arrogance for millennia—about why and how Christians waged war on the world and won. That’s all mostly academic, however. Whatever reasons there are, at the bottom of it is a theological cause—and it’s the mystery we celebrate today.

Jesus, as Luke tells us, was “lifted up,” “taken up to heaven” he says in his gospel.[6] And although today we may with modern sophistication downplay the more spectacular features of this episode (although I think we should think twice about that), we shouldn’t neglect the deeper, ethically motivating power of this mystery. That is, we shouldn’t forget that it was this feast—the ascension of Jesus—which inspired Christians to stand up against the powers of the world. You see, the resurrection taught Christians they needn’t fear death—that it has no “sting,” Paul said.[7] The ascension, though, taught Christians something else: that Jesus is Lord—truly Lord, “far above every principality, authority, power, and dominion,” which is to say above every Caesar, every soldier, every petty official, even above family authority.[8] That is, the ascension teaches Christians that Jesus is their immediate and ultimate master, the object of their first and last loyalty. The ascension teaches also that Jesus is the Lord of all history, that no matter the machinations of governments or movements, he is Lord, and he will win in the end.

And it is this truth, that we have life in the genuine Lord of all, which has emboldened Christians since the beginning, making us fearless agitators against those who would dare claim too much authority over us. Christ now sits at the right hand of the Father, and so he is our true Lord, our true authority. And nothing on this earth—no man, no woman, no power—can unsettle our allegiance to our eternal Lord. Perhaps now you can see why so many marginalized peasants were drawn to the good news of Jesus Christ, a Gospel which has for centuries “lifted up the lowly.”[9] And perhaps you can see what you should do about this Gospel, enthroning him in your hearts once again—with something more than just words.

So, what are we to make of it, the ascension of Jesus? What difference does it make for us today? Well, for starters, today’s feast should make us think about our loyalties. What are they? If Jesus is truly Lord for you, then your ethics will reflect that. If your ethics doesn’t reflect the teachings of Jesus, then you’re claim to be a follower of his is either nonsense or disingenuous. If Jesus is Lord, then we should follow his teaching, no matter the peer pressure, career pressure, cultural pressure, political pressure. Why? Because Jesus is Lord; and so, what Jesus says is more important than anything else. It’s as simple and blunt as that. Of course, we’re to be good citizens, working always for the common good, but as Dr. King said, we Christians should never forget that we possess a “duel citizenry.” “Your highest loyalty is to God,” he said. “If any earthly institution or custom conflicts with God’s will, it is your Christian duty to oppose it. You must never allow the transitory…demands of man-made institutions to take precedence over the eternal demands of the Almighty God,” he said.[10] What are our loyalties? That’s a good question and a good prayer for this feast day of the Lord’s ascension.

After Hitler had come to power in 1933, Christians in Germany had to do some soul searching. There were, of course, noble Catholics as well as noble Protestants, but for the most part Christians failed the test, going along with all the horror and banality of that wicked regime. Some though, like I said, stood up, some died, some gave witness. In May 1934 the great theologian Karl Barth wrote the famous Barmen Declaration, inspiring the “Confessing Church,” the church opposed to Hitler and to the mass of Christians too blind and too weak to stand up against the ruling evil of the day. “Jesus Christ,” he wrote is the one leader Christians should trust and obey in “life and death.” There is no area of life at all, he said, wherein Jesus is not Lord.[11] He rules all things at all times. Christians in Germany had forgotten that, and because of that found themselves aligned with a mighty wicked power. Now, of course, be careful about making comparisons with the present age that are too easy and too facile, but don’t be ignorant of history either. Don’t take what I’m saying as fodder for your own political rant, but do remember that whenever Christians fail to believe that Jesus is Lord, and fail to act on that belief, the world becomes a darker place, a more sinister, more violent place. To say that Jesus is Lord, risen and ascended, is the liberating truth of history, the truth which sets us free. Jesus has ascended, and it is him we worship, him we follow—and nothing else, ever. Amen.

[1] Philippians 2:11 passim

[2] John Howard Yoder, Preface to Theology, 72

[3] The Martyrdom of Saints Perpetua and Felicitas 3.2

[4] Prudentius, Crowns of Martyrdom 14

[5] Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil §260

[6] Acts 1:9; Luke 24:51

[7] 1 Corinthians 15:55

[8] Ephesians 1:21

[9] Luke 1:52

[10] Martin Luther King, Jr., The Strength to Love, 139

[11] William Werpehowski, “Karl Barth and Politics,” The Cambridge Companion to Karl Barth, 230

© 2023 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield