The narrative in Luke's gospel, in its very brevity, does yet
distinctly suggest that retrospective and valedictory tone. Note
how, for instance, we are told the locality--'He led them out as far
as Bethany.' The name at once strikes a chord of remembrance. What
memories clustered round it, and how natural it was that the parting
should take place there, not merely because the crest of the Mount
of Olives hid the place from the gaze of the crowded city; but
because it was within earshot almost of the home where so much of
the sweet earthly fellowship, that was now to end, had passed. The
same note of regarding the scene as being the termination of those
blessed years of dear and familiar intercourse is struck in the
fact, so human, so natural, so utterly inartificial, that He lifted
His hands to bless them, moved by the same impulse with which so
often we have wrung a hand at parting, and stammered, 'God bless
you!' And the same valedictory hue is further deepened by the fact
that what Luke puts first is not the Ascension, but the parting. 'He
was parted from them,' that is the main fact; 'and He was carried up
into heaven,' comes almost as a subordinate one. At all events it is
regarded mainly as being the medium by which the parting was
effected.
So the aspect of the Ascension thus presented is that of a tender
farewell; the pathetic conclusion of three long, blessed years. And
yet that is not all, for the Evangelist adds a very enigmatic word:
'They returned to Jerusalem with great joy.' Glad because He had
gone? No. Glad merely because He had gone up? No. The saying is a
riddle, left at the end of the book, for readers to ponder, and is a
subtle link of connection with what is to be written in the next
volume, when the aspect of the Ascension as an end is subordinate,
and its aspect as a beginning is prominent. So regarded, it filled
the disciples with joy. Thus you see, I think, that without any
illegitimate straining of the expressions of the text, we do come to
the point of view from which, to begin with, this great event must
be looked at. We have to take the same view, and to regard that
Ascension not only as the end of an epoch of sweet friendship, but
as the solemn close and culmination of the whole earthly life. I
have no time to dwell upon the thoughts that come crowding into
one's mind when we take that point of view. But let me suggest, in
the briefest way, one or two of them.
Here is an end which circles round to, and is of a piece with, the
beginning. 'I came forth from the Father, and am come into the
world; again, I leave the world, and go unto the Father.' The
Ascension corresponds with, and meets the miracle of, the
Incarnation. And as the Word who became flesh, came by the natural
path of human birth, and entered in through the gate by which we all
enter, and yet came as none else has come, by His own will, in the
miracle of His Incarnation, so at the end, He passed out from life
through the gate by which we all pass, and 'was obedient unto death,
even the death of the Cross,' and yet He passed likewise on a path
which none but Himself has trod, and ascended up to heaven, whence
He had descended to earth. He came into the world, not as leaving
the Father, for He is 'the Son of Man which is in heaven,' and He
ascended up on high, not as leaving us, for He is 'with us alway,
even to the end of the world.' Thus the Incarnation and the
Ascension support each other.
But let me remind you how, in this connection, we have the very same
combination of lowliness and gentleness with majesty and power which
runs through the whole of the story of the earthly life of Jesus
Christ. Born in a stable, and waited on by angels, the subject of
all the humiliations of humanity, and flashing forth through them
all the power of divinity, He ascends on high at last, and yet with
no pomp nor visible splendour to the world, but only in the presence
of a handful of loving hearts, choosing some dimple of the hill
where its folds hid them from the city. As He came quietly and
silently into the world, so quietly and silently He passed thence.
In this connection there is more than the picturesque contrast
between the rapture of Elijah, with its whirlwind, and chariot of
fire and horses of fire, and the calm, slow rising, by no external
medium raised, of the Christ. It was fit that the mortal should be
swept up into the unfamiliar heaven by the pomp of angels and the
chariot of fire. It was fit that when Jesus ascended to His 'own
calm home, His habitation from eternity,' there should be nothing
visible but His own slowly rising form, with the hands uplifted, to
shed benediction on the heads of the gazers beneath.
In like manner, regarding the Ascension as an end, may we not say
that it is the seal of heaven impressed on the sacrifice of the
Cross? 'Wherefore God also hath highly exalted Him, and given Him a
Name, which is above every name; that at the Name of Jesus every
knee should bow.' We find in that intimate connection between the
Cross and the Ascension, the key to the deep saying which carries
references to both in itself, when the Lord spoke of Himself as
being lifted up and drawing all men unto Him. The original primary
reference no doubt was to His elevation on the Cross, 'as Moses
lifted up the serpent.' But the final, and at the time of its being
spoken, the mysterious, reference was to the fact that in descending
to the depth of humiliation He was rising to the height of glory.
The zenith of the Ascension is the rebound from the nadir of the
Cross. The lowliness of the stoop measures the loftiness of the
elevation, and the Son of Man was glorified at the moment when the
Son of Man was most profoundly abased. The Cross and the Ascension,
if I might use so violent a figure, are like the twin stars, of
which the heavens present some examples, one dark and lustreless,
one flashing with radiancy of light, but knit together by an
invisible vinculum, and revolving round a common centre. When He
'parted from them, and was carried up into heaven,' He ended the
humiliation which caused the elevation.
And then, again, I might suggest that, regarded in its aspect as an
end, this Ascension is also the culmination and the natural
conclusion of the Resurrection. As I have said, the Scripture point
of view with reference to these two is not that they are two, but
that the one is the starting point of the line of which the other is
the goal. The process which began when He rose from the dead,
whatever view we may take of the condition of His earthly life
during the forty days of parenthesis, could have no rational and
intelligible ending, except the Ascension. Thus we should think of
it not only as the end of a sweet friendship, but as the end of the
gracious manifestation of the earthly life, the counterpart of the
Incarnation and descent to earth, the end of the Cross and the
culmination of the Resurrection. The Son of Man, the same that also
descended into the lowest parts of the earth, ascended up where He
was before.
Now let us turn to the other aspect which the Evangelist gives, when
He ceases to be an Evangelist, and becomes a Church Historian.
_Then_ he considers