Why are You Staring at the Sky?
Preached at Blue Ocean Faith Columbus on Sunday, May 17, 2026
Reminder: I never stick completely to my written sermon. This isn’t a transcript, but the written sermon I was using when I preached.
Friends, listen for a word from God in the Acts of the Apostles, the 1st chapter, verses 1 to 11.
1 In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus began to do and teach 2 until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. 3 After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. 4 While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem but to wait there for the promise of the Father. “This,” he said, “is what you have heard from me; 5 for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”
6 So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” 7 He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. 8 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.” 9 When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. 10 While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. 11 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.”
This is the word of God for the people of God.
Movement One: After the Earthquake
We always live in resurrection time. Even on Good Friday when we mark Jesus’ death and his descent to the dead, we still live in resurrection time. But, friends, for the last several weeks we’ve been living in a time when the resurrection seemed the most palatable.
We’ve sat with the stories that begin on and follow Easter morning. The women at the tomb. The road to Emmaus, where two disciples walked with a stranger they didn’t recognize until the bread was broken. The upper room, locked tight, and Jesus appearing anyway saying, “Peace be with you.” Thomas with his hands in the wounds and a meal of broiled fish which Jesus ate in the midst of his disciples.
The gospel writers pile these stories up like they can’t quite believe them either. As if they’re saying: “No, really, something happened here. Something that broke the world open and put it back together differently.”
And then we get to the Acts of the Apostles, Luke’s second volume, a continuation of the same story, a new chapter. Remember, Luke directs this book to Theophilus whose name literally means “man of God” and reveals that this book is written not to one friend, but to all people. Inasmuch as Acts can be viewed as a kind of fifth Gospel, this gospel is about us, the people of God, acting in the world and what we will do with and too each other in the name of Jesus.
Jesus gathers the disciples one last time on a hillside outside Jerusalem. He gives them a promise and a commission. You’ll receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you, he says. And you’ll be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.
And then he’s gone. Lifted up, the text says, until a cloud takes him out of their sight.
The disciples do the most human thing imaginable.
They stand there. Staring at the sky.
Movement Two: Two Men in White
Luke tells us that while they were gazing up toward heaven, two men in white robes suddenly stood beside them. Angels, presumably. Messengers. And the messengers ask what is, honestly, one of the best questions in all of scripture:
“Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”
It’s not a cruel question. It’s not a scolding. There’s almost a gentleness to it, like someone laying a hand on your shoulder and saying, “Hey! Hey! Come back.”
Because here’s what the disciples are doing on that hillside: they’re waiting for something that’s already happened. They’re looking up for a Jesus who just told them to look out toward Jerusalem, out toward Samaria, out toward the ends of the earth. They’re oriented toward heaven when they’ve been commissioned toward the world.
But we need to be careful with this passage, because it’s sometimes used as a way to beat down any longing for transcendence, any hope that reaches beyond this world. That’s not what I’m after. The resurrection is real. The promise of new creation is real. The hope we carry isn’t just wishful thinking, it’s the ground on which we stand.
But there’s a version of Christian faith that gets so caught up in what’s coming that it forgets what it’s been called to do right now. A faith that’s so focused on heaven that it becomes, as the old saying goes, too heavenly minded to be any earthly good. A faith that watches the sky and waits, and in the waiting, opts out of the suffering, struggle, and gorgeous, difficult work of the world.
The angels won’t have it. And frankly, neither will the text.
Movement Three: They Waited Once
Now, there is waiting in this story. Jesus tells the disciples to go back to Jerusalem and wait for the promise of the Father. Wait for the Spirit. Don’t try to do this on your own. And they do. They go back. They pray together. They wait.
And the Spirit comes. Pentecost comes. Power comes. And then they go.
That waiting was real and necessary. It was the difference between burned-out human effort and Spirit-empowered witness. It mattered.
But here’s the thing: we’re not standing on that hillside anymore. We’re not waiting for the first Pentecost. That already happened. The Spirit has already been poured out on all flesh, as the prophet Joel promised, on all people, young and old, enslaved and free, the prepared and the unprepared. The Spirit isn’t something for which we’re still waiting. The Spirit is what we’ve already received.
Which means the commission is already in effect. The power is already available. The witness has already begun.
We’re not the disciples on the hillside. We’re their descendants, the ones who came after, who received what they waited for, who now carry forward what they started. We don’t need to wait for permission to go. We already have it.
Movement Four: To the Ends of the Earth
So, what does it mean to be a witness? What does it mean to be commissioned? What does it mean to be sent out?
I don’t think it means what a lot of people assume. It’s not primarily about knocking on doors or loading up a tract. The word witness in Greek is martys, which is the same root from which we get martyr. A witness is someone whose life testifies. Someone whose whole existence says: this is true. I know it’s true and because I have this conviction, I’ve staked my life on it.
To be a witness to the resurrection is to live as if death doesn’t get the final word. As if the powers that crush, exclude, and diminish don’t win in the end. As if love is stronger than every force arrayed against it.
That’s not a passive posture. That’s one of the most disruptive things a person can do.
The world runs on a different set of assumptions. The world says: protect yourself. Hoard what you have. The strong survive and while everyone else is crushed. Certain people matter more than others. Some doors are open to you and some aren’t, and that’s just the way it is.
Resurrection says: no. Resurrection says: if even death isn’t the final word, then nothing else can say what’s final apart from God. Resurrection says: we’ve seen what God does with sealed tombs and foregone conclusions. Resurrection says: we’ve seen what happens when the Spirit shows up in locked rooms. Resurrection says: we’ve seen what happens when small, committed groups of people try to change the world. Resurrection says: we will be sent to the ends of the earth.
The ends of the earth, in Luke’s day, meant the farthest imaginable reaches of the known world, the places you’d never go, the people you’d never encounter, the communities outside your circle of concern.
For us, the ends of the earth might be closer than we think. It might be across town. It might be the people our faith communities have historically excluded, the ones who’ve been told there’s no place for them here, only to find that resurrection has a way of opening doors that religion likes to keep shut.
It might mean showing up in places where hope is scarce and saying with your presence, your resources, your time, your voice: we believe something different. We believe you matter. We believe the kin-dom of God is wide enough for you.
Movement Five: Stop Looking at the Sky
Easter’s over. The resurrection appearances are winding down. Jesus is gone, not absent, not uninvolved, but no longer walking around in a body you can touch.
And the question the angels ask is still hanging in the air.
Why are you standing here looking at the sky?
It’s not a question about whether the resurrection happened. It’s not a question about whether heaven is real or whether hope is worth holding. Of course it happened. Of course, heaven’s real. Of course, hope is worth holding.
It’s a question about what you’re going to do with all of it.
The hope we’ve been given isn’t meant to be stored. It isn’t meant to lift us out of the world while the world burns. It’s meant to be poured out, given away, lived into the streets and neighborhoods and relationships and struggles that make up actual human life.
You’ve received the Spirit. You’ve been commissioned. You know what the tomb looks like when it’s empty.
The ends of the earth are waiting. Come back down from the hillside.
Amen.