June 15, 2025: The Ascension & The Second Coming Acts 1:6-11 Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins

So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority.  But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”  When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

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Today is Father’s Day, so I want to give a special “shout out” to the Dad in my house . . . my husband Terry. Terry is a great dad . . . he loves the boys and me . . . to some degree. But you know who he loves more? Our cats. If you’ve spent any time with Terry, you’ve probably been forced to look at pictures of our cats. He’ll scroll through pictures of the rest of us on his phone, and when he lands on a cat pic, his eyes will grow wide with sheer adoration. I guess he’s a “cat person.”

How many of you are “cat people?” “Dog people?” You can’t be both. You’ll be shunned. Dare I say I like both? What I love about dogs is how excited they get when their humans finally home. Tails wagging, cuddles and nuzzles. They’ve been anxiously awaiting your arrival all day and can’t wait to show you they love you the moment you walk through the door. Cats on the other hand, look at their watches, give you a “it’s about time you got home” sideways glance, and remind you it’s time for you to serve them dinner.

What does this have to do with the last window in our “Windows of Faith” series you ask? In the final window we’ll explore together, we see Jesus being raised upward into the sky, or perhaps descending from the sky. We can view this window as depicting both The Ascension and The Second Coming. The Ascension: that moment after he issued the great commission when Jesus was lifted upward into the clouds. The Second Coming: the anticipated return of Christ to earth.

And us? We live in that liminal time between Christ’s ascension and the second coming. As we await the return of Christ, are we more like cats, ambivalent about his return? Or are we more like dogs, eagerly anticipating the return of our beloved?

My favorite line in the scripture text we read together from the book of Acts was about the disciples’ reaction to watching the risen Christ ascend heavenward: “While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven . . .” Can you picture the scene? The disciples all staring up into the sky, their mouths agape in astonishment?

I think it’s safe to say the disciples were more “dog-like” in their response to the ascended Christ, don’t you think? No ambivalence. No coy behavior. They were all in to what they had just witnessed.

Suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

What comforting words the angels left with the astounded disciples: “Jesus will come in the same way as you saw him go.” Our stained-glass window, therefore, might depict the Ascension or the Second Coming. It’s up to the viewer’s interpretation.

Something else that invites interpretation from us as Christ followers is this: what does it mean that Christ will come again?

The simplest, most elementary interpretation of the second coming is a literal interpretation. Libraries are filled with books about the second coming . . . the “Eschaton.” Entire systematic theological systems are built around this one facet of the faith. There are the premillenialists, who believe that Christ will return at the beginning of his thousand-year reign. There are the postmillenialists, who believe that Christ will return after a period of blessing and transformation on earth. There are the amillennialists who view the millennium as symbolic—the return of Christ marks the final judgment. Me? I’m a panmillenialist. I believe it will all pan out in the end.

To be honest, I don’t get the fascination with this. Jesus himself said this about the end of days:

“But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. —Matthew 24:36

It's an exercise in futility, in my estimation, to become obsessed with the end times or the second coming of Christ. And don’t even get me started about all the fear-mongering that some preachers as well as some fiction writers and movie makers have done . . . getting people worked up about the rapture (a word that’s never once mentioned in all of scripture, by the way). Ok. Soap box over.

Beyond a literal reading of scripture, there’s a deeper, perhaps even more profound way to understand our sacred writ. With that, what if the second coming isn’t just some future event we’re waiting for, but a present reality we can experience? What if Christ doesn’t just come back to us, but comes alive within us?

The apostle Paul understood this mystery. In his letter to the Colossians, he wrote this: “Christ in you, the hope of glory.” Not Christ for you, or Christ with you, but Christ in you. This isn’t just theological language—it’s describing a lived experience that transforms how we see everything.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus makes an incredible promise to his disciples: “Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them.” (John 14:23) Did you catch that? Jesus says “we will come” and “make our home.” This does not sound like some distant future event; this sounds like a continuous indwelling. “Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

This is the mystical understanding of Christ’s coming—not waiting for some far-off return, but awakening to the presence of Christ that’s already here.

Our dog-like anticipation might be pointing us in the right direction, but maybe we’re looking up at the sky when we should be looking within our hearts. Maybe Christ’s “coming” happens every time we choose love over fear, justice over indifference, hope over despair.

The disciples stood gazing upward, and the angels basically said, “Why are you looking up there? Get to work!” Perhaps the angels were telling them—and us—that Christ’s presence isn’t found by staring at the clouds, but by living as if the Kingdom of Heaven is already here, because (spoiler alert!) it already is. Too many Christians are so heavenly focused that they’re no earthly good. Let that not be said of us, Chapel by the Sea!

To me, a more profound understanding of the second coming of Christ isn’t about something that happens to the world—it’s something that happens within us, one heart at a time, one choice at a time, one moment of divine recognition at a time.

A couple of weeks ago in my sermon about Jesus praying at Gethsemane, I mentioned the Brother Lawrence book—a classic work entitled The Practice of the Presence of God. Brother Lawrence discovered that he could commune with God not just in moments set aside for prayer or while worshipping alongside his brothers in the monastery, but while peeling potatoes or washing dishes in the kitchen. What if the second coming of Christ happens whenever we attune our hearts to the presence of Christ in the here and now? What kind of power might we be able to tap into with our hearts tuned in to Christ’s presence within?

Several years ago I had a very simple but profound experience while cleaning my house. My oldest was little, I don’t think my youngest had been born yet. I was in the middle of writing my doctoral thesis about the effects of the practice of gratitude on wellbeing, and I had set an intention earlier in the morning to try to practice gratitude throughout the day. So I was cleaning house, and picking up the toys my young son had left strewn about on the floor. This was a mundane task, which often left me frustrated, thinking, “How many times have I told him to pick up his toys?!?” But because I had set an intention to practice gratitude, I didn’t feel frustrated. And I found myself picking up a tiny green ninja toy—a toy I had picked up countless times before. And as I picked it up, I found myself overcome with a sense of gratitude. Not your average feeling of thankfulness—this was an overwhelming gratefulness for this beautiful, precious child and for the honor of being his mother. Suddenly, I didn’t have to pick up this toy for the umpteenth time, I GOT to pick up this toy yet again.

When we set our intention to become more aware of Christ’s presence in our lives, and for the good things God has given us every single day, ordinary moments can be transformed into extraordinary experiences of beauty and joy and gratitude. I believe this because I’ve lived it. This is second coming living! Not with our eyes pointed upward for some distant wonder, but our eyes opened inward to recognize Christ’s presence etched into every moment we live.

Think back to the dog awaiting his person’s arrival. This is what he lives for! What if we began every day thinking to ourselves, “I can’t wait to see when and how Christ shows up in my life today!” What if we set our daily intention to notice the “God winks” all around us? How much more joy might we experience in life? How much more delight? How might our moods improve? How much less worry might we experience?

But living with this kind of Christ-awareness isn’t just for our own personal gain. This Christ-awareness will inevitably prompt us to get beyond ourselves—to serve God’s people—not because we must, but because we can—not because we should, but because we want to. Because we have grown in our awareness of Christ’s presence within, we recognize so clearly that we are indeed the hands and feet of Christ in this world. So we find ourselves caring for the broken, lifting up the marginalized, fighting for justice for those who have no voice.

So as we conclude our “Windows of Faith” sermon series, reflecting on the final stained-glass window, we understand that this window is not just a beautiful piece art—it’s a mirror into our own calling.

This window shows us Christ ascending, Christ descending, Christ coming again. And all of it is true. But the most revolutionary truth is this: Christ is coming again within you, within me, within each person hearing me today.

When we live with this Christ-awareness, we become like stained glass ourselves. The light of Christ shines through us, creating something beautiful for the world to see. Not perfect—stained glass has cracks and imperfections too. But when divine light passes through, even our broken places become part of the beauty.

Whether you’re a cat person or a dog person, whether you’re a premillennialist or a postmillennialist or a panmillennialist, whether you’re having a great Father’s Day or this day brings complicated feelings—Christ is present with you right now. Not waiting in the clouds, but dwelling in your heart.

This week, I challenge you to live like that green ninja toy moment. Set your intention each morning to notice Christ’s presence in the ordinary moments. Pick up the toys with gratitude. Wait in traffic with patience. Listen to your neighbor with compassion. Serve your community with joy. This is second coming living.

The window will remain here long after we’re gone, continuing to tell its story of ascension and second coming. But you—you get to be living stained glass, walking out of this place as windows of divine light.

Christ has ascended. Christ will come again. And Christ is here now, within you, ready to transform your ordinary tomorrows into something extraordinary.

I close with a poem adapted from a prayer of St. Patrick:

Christ is beside me, Christ is before me,

Christ is behind me, King of my heart;

Christ is within me, Christ is below me,

Christ is above me, never to part.

Christ on my right hand, Christ on my left hand,

Christ all around me, shield in the strife;

Christ in my sleeping, Christ in my sitting,

Christ in my rising, light of my life.

Christ is beside me, Christ is before me,

Christ is behind me, King of my heart;

Christ is within me, Christ is below me,

Christ is above me, never to part.