Need-to-know basis
Acts 1: 6 -14
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
May 17, 2026
Today is Ascension Sunday: the day that Jesus started working from home. Which would make Christmas the beginning of the longest commute ever, Good Friday taking job cuts and severance to a whole other level, and Easter the day you got your job back because management was restructuring. And to this day, people still argue about all of it at the water cooler too.
Of all the events in the life of Jesus that the Church observes, Ascension Day has got to be the one we least relate to. Or do much about. It’s so strange to our post-modern world and minds. It’s right “up there” with the Rapture and the Second Coming, this pre-scientific Bronze Age hierarchical ordering of the universe in Genesis: a flat earth, the heavens, surrounded by cosmic waters, the sky holding back the waters above.
The author of the book of Acts is turning the political propaganda of his time on its head to elevate Jesus from an unhoused prophet executed by the state to divine status. God’s new world order versus empire. Jesus as ruler versus Caesar. Greek and Roman historians would use the same trope to illustrate that imperial rulers were divinely chosen. Before ascending into heaven, these high ranking individuals would be gathered with some of their inner circle, and asked to explain their purpose and mission one last time. Not unlike the Wizard of Oz.
It’s pretty wild considering Jesus promised that he’d be with us, even until the close of the age. A comic strip expresses exactly where Jesus left us and how we handled it.
Benediction
In the midst of grief,
in the midst of pain and uncertainty and wondering
I don’t know that it does us good
To pray to be stronger people
And for power equal to our tasks
But instead to begin our prayer with
What now? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.
That Love might prepare a room within us,
That power greater than ourselves
That calls us and goes with us.
New Ark United Church of Christ, Newark, DE
May 17, 2026
|
Today is Ascension Sunday: the day that Jesus started working from home. Which would make Christmas the beginning of the longest commute ever, Good Friday taking job cuts and severance to a whole other level, and Easter the day you got your job back because management was restructuring. And to this day, people still argue about all of it at the water cooler too.
Of all the events in the life of Jesus that the Church observes, Ascension Day has got to be the one we least relate to. Or do much about. It’s so strange to our post-modern world and minds. It’s right “up there” with the Rapture and the Second Coming, this pre-scientific Bronze Age hierarchical ordering of the universe in Genesis: a flat earth, the heavens, surrounded by cosmic waters, the sky holding back the waters above.
The author of the book of Acts is turning the political propaganda of his time on its head to elevate Jesus from an unhoused prophet executed by the state to divine status. God’s new world order versus empire. Jesus as ruler versus Caesar. Greek and Roman historians would use the same trope to illustrate that imperial rulers were divinely chosen. Before ascending into heaven, these high ranking individuals would be gathered with some of their inner circle, and asked to explain their purpose and mission one last time. Not unlike the Wizard of Oz.
 |
| "I think Ascension is my favourite feast day just for the pure hilarity of it. Jesus: Behold, I will be with you, even to the end of the age. K...bye." |
It’s pretty wild considering Jesus promised that he’d be with us, even until the close of the age. A comic strip expresses exactly where Jesus left us and how we handled it.
 |
| Cartoon by Man Martin. Description is in the text of the sermon. https://onfaithcanada.blogspot.com/2019/03/religious-humour-goes-overboard-with.html |
He’s got to go, tells us to remember what he taught us, the disciples do a quick review. It’s pretty much “love God, love your neighbor”. They think it’s pretty simple, not much they can do to mess that up. Then the theologians show up, and we know it’s all downhill from there.
All we do know is that we have this collection of books written over a span of 1,500 years or so and a theological tradition that has changed tremendously through the centuries and yet not so much at the same time. Plus a history of the exact opposite of what Jesus taught: empire, violence, colonization, and nationalism that keeps repeating itself.
Jesus left the disciples with everything they needed, except him. They want answers—when are you coming back, when will God accomplish promises made—but Jesus responds on a need-to-know-basis with them. For now, they are to wait until they receive power from the Holy Spirit, to witness God’s new world order begun with the ministry of Jesus, continued through the work of the apostles.
Even so, there’s this feeling of “What now?”, a feeling of “I don’t know what to do”, which is a grief response. A colleague of mine that I follow on Facebook has days where he is still deep in the weeds of his grief over the death of his husband almost 2 years ago. He writes about his experiences of not knowing what to do because for him, there are days that’s all he knows what to do. He’s raising their three sons, each of whom have their own unique struggles with how to live in a world that struggles to accept people who are neurodivergent. Sons who are also grieving. Parenting that used to be shared.
He writes, “I don’t know what to do to lessen our son’s frustration.
I don’t know what to do to keep myself from getting overwhelmed.
I don’t know what to do to ensure that I won’t be screaming once again.
I don’t know what to do to regain my ability to focus and organize my time.
I don’t know what to do.”
That “need-to-know basis” can be frustrating because it can leave us with more questions than answers. “I don’t know” holds hands with “I don’t know what to do”, because for many of us, doing something, anything, is what makes us feel better about living with the questions.
And yet “What now?”, “I don’t know”, and “I don’t know what to do” are the beginning of wisdom. Have you ever heard the phrase “the cloud of unknowing”? It’s the title of a 14th-century work of Christian mysticism to prepare monks for the contemplative life. It basically teaches that if you want to encounter God, you need to forget everything you’ve ever learned about God. God cannot be understood by reason or intellect but only through love.
We try to solve many of our problems not just with reason or intellect but with all manner of fits and starts, sometimes with violence, sometimes with numbing, sometimes with action. Much of it because we are frustrated that we don’t know what to do. Much of it because we want our pain to end.
Earlier this week I met a 34-year-old man named Joshua. He was standing on the corner of E. Main and Chapel, in front of St. John the Baptist Church, holding a sign that reads “Flock camera. Deflock.me Your rights are being violated!” I stopped and introduced myself and asked what this was all about. He pointed above me to a camera system mounted on the light pole. He said these cameras are owned by Palantir. “You know what Palantir is?” I answered, “Enough to make me mad.” Palantir is the cloud of invasive knowing. Among other things, Palantir AI is used to facilitate more accurate targeting in Gaza.
He said to me, “I’m sick of it all. I’m sick of aiding genocide. I quit my job 8 days ago. I’ve been doing this ever since.” He’s been going from site to site where these cameras are located, standing with his sign for 14 hours a day sometimes. He still works a few hours a week for Amazon. He lives with manic depression. He self-medicates with marijuana and alcohol. He’s sunburned, he’s tired, but he’s also open, full of love, and passionate. I grieve for this generation and the world we are leaving them.
What now? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. That power from on high, the Holy Spirit is not an answer to our questions. It’s power and that power is love, love that draws us closer to one another. Philosopher and political activist Cornel West says that justice is what love looks like in public. Jesus may not have been there in the flesh but he shows up throughout the rest of the book of Acts. In the communities these early Jesus groups create. In the ways they feed each other, support each other, keep each other safe. In the healing miracles. In the conversion of one who persecuted people of the Way to becoming one of their most vocal champions. In the expansive love that no longer restricted Gentiles.
But this isn’t the first thing these Jesus people do. The first thing they do is pray. They sit in that cloud of unknowing, already forgetting the sound of his voice, his laughter, his impatience, his calm, his sadness. They seek to find the will. They don’t have to remember anything except the commandment that he gave them: love God, love your neighbor, love yourselves.
What if we the Church began all our of process with “What now? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” Then seek to find the will to do the good, to sit in that cloud of unknowing, forgetting what we think we know, until all that is left is love, which looks like justice, which is the only real power we possess.
Ascension Day really is the day Jesus started working from home. This home, right here in our hearts, our hands, our brains, right here in community. Amen.
All we do know is that we have this collection of books written over a span of 1,500 years or so and a theological tradition that has changed tremendously through the centuries and yet not so much at the same time. Plus a history of the exact opposite of what Jesus taught: empire, violence, colonization, and nationalism that keeps repeating itself.
Jesus left the disciples with everything they needed, except him. They want answers—when are you coming back, when will God accomplish promises made—but Jesus responds on a need-to-know-basis with them. For now, they are to wait until they receive power from the Holy Spirit, to witness God’s new world order begun with the ministry of Jesus, continued through the work of the apostles.
Even so, there’s this feeling of “What now?”, a feeling of “I don’t know what to do”, which is a grief response. A colleague of mine that I follow on Facebook has days where he is still deep in the weeds of his grief over the death of his husband almost 2 years ago. He writes about his experiences of not knowing what to do because for him, there are days that’s all he knows what to do. He’s raising their three sons, each of whom have their own unique struggles with how to live in a world that struggles to accept people who are neurodivergent. Sons who are also grieving. Parenting that used to be shared.
He writes, “I don’t know what to do to lessen our son’s frustration.
I don’t know what to do to keep myself from getting overwhelmed.
I don’t know what to do to ensure that I won’t be screaming once again.
I don’t know what to do to regain my ability to focus and organize my time.
I don’t know what to do.”
That “need-to-know basis” can be frustrating because it can leave us with more questions than answers. “I don’t know” holds hands with “I don’t know what to do”, because for many of us, doing something, anything, is what makes us feel better about living with the questions.
And yet “What now?”, “I don’t know”, and “I don’t know what to do” are the beginning of wisdom. Have you ever heard the phrase “the cloud of unknowing”? It’s the title of a 14th-century work of Christian mysticism to prepare monks for the contemplative life. It basically teaches that if you want to encounter God, you need to forget everything you’ve ever learned about God. God cannot be understood by reason or intellect but only through love.
We try to solve many of our problems not just with reason or intellect but with all manner of fits and starts, sometimes with violence, sometimes with numbing, sometimes with action. Much of it because we are frustrated that we don’t know what to do. Much of it because we want our pain to end.
Earlier this week I met a 34-year-old man named Joshua. He was standing on the corner of E. Main and Chapel, in front of St. John the Baptist Church, holding a sign that reads “Flock camera. Deflock.me Your rights are being violated!” I stopped and introduced myself and asked what this was all about. He pointed above me to a camera system mounted on the light pole. He said these cameras are owned by Palantir. “You know what Palantir is?” I answered, “Enough to make me mad.” Palantir is the cloud of invasive knowing. Among other things, Palantir AI is used to facilitate more accurate targeting in Gaza.
He said to me, “I’m sick of it all. I’m sick of aiding genocide. I quit my job 8 days ago. I’ve been doing this ever since.” He’s been going from site to site where these cameras are located, standing with his sign for 14 hours a day sometimes. He still works a few hours a week for Amazon. He lives with manic depression. He self-medicates with marijuana and alcohol. He’s sunburned, he’s tired, but he’s also open, full of love, and passionate. I grieve for this generation and the world we are leaving them.
What now? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. That power from on high, the Holy Spirit is not an answer to our questions. It’s power and that power is love, love that draws us closer to one another. Philosopher and political activist Cornel West says that justice is what love looks like in public. Jesus may not have been there in the flesh but he shows up throughout the rest of the book of Acts. In the communities these early Jesus groups create. In the ways they feed each other, support each other, keep each other safe. In the healing miracles. In the conversion of one who persecuted people of the Way to becoming one of their most vocal champions. In the expansive love that no longer restricted Gentiles.
But this isn’t the first thing these Jesus people do. The first thing they do is pray. They sit in that cloud of unknowing, already forgetting the sound of his voice, his laughter, his impatience, his calm, his sadness. They seek to find the will. They don’t have to remember anything except the commandment that he gave them: love God, love your neighbor, love yourselves.
What if we the Church began all our of process with “What now? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” Then seek to find the will to do the good, to sit in that cloud of unknowing, forgetting what we think we know, until all that is left is love, which looks like justice, which is the only real power we possess.
Ascension Day really is the day Jesus started working from home. This home, right here in our hearts, our hands, our brains, right here in community. Amen.
Benediction
In the midst of grief,
in the midst of pain and uncertainty and wondering
I don’t know that it does us good
To pray to be stronger people
And for power equal to our tasks
But instead to begin our prayer with
What now? I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.
That Love might prepare a room within us,
That power greater than ourselves
That calls us and goes with us.
Amen.
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