Shine Like Stars | Run Hard for Home (Acts 1:1-11)

When you’re on your way home from travelling, and have been gone a while, there’s nothing like getting close to home. You can see the familiar sights, hear familiar sounds, even smell familiar things. It keeps you going, and encourages you to finish the journey and get home! Life on earth is like that. We’re on a journey here, but our real home is with God. He’s put that home in our hearts, and the closer we come, the more we will long for it. Keeping our real home as our focus helps us through life’s journey, with all its highs and lows. It’s easy to be sidetracked along the way. This scripture passage helps us keep our home in view!

Transcript

Not very long ago, I listened as a young man teared up over the phone, voice quivering, with a pointedness not in anger,  but in hunger. He was thoughtful, intelligent, curious. And feeling so lost. “I just wish,” he said, “I could know the real Jesus. Why couldn’t he just appear to me? I would ask him everything. All my questions. And he’d have the answers, right? Then I’d know. Then I’d believe.” Have you ever felt like that? You might not say it out loud, but somewhere in the foggy valleys of your soul, when the Bible feels hard to understand, when prayer feels like silence, when suffering doesn't come with an explanation—you think it. Why did Jesus have to ascend into heaven? Wouldn’t it have been so much easier if he just stayed here? I know I’m dating myself with this reference, but do you remember “Ask Jeeves”? That search engine where you could type in your question like a proper sentence, and Jeeves the butler would serve up the answer? Now it’s more like “Ask ChatGPT.” But imagine—what if there were a website called “Ask Jesus”? Not a chatbot. Not a theological opinion poll. The real Jesus. Live-streaming from Jerusalem, maybe, or answering prayers like tech support: “This is Jesus, how may I help you today?” No more debates about what this verse means or that one. No more wondering why life turned out the way it did. No more doubting whether God loves you. You could just… ask. So again, why did Jesus leave? Today, we’re going to pull back the curtain on that question, and as we do, we’ll see what’s behind it—a root sin that touches us all. But we’ll also see a grace so powerful, so undeserved, it will amaze you to no end.

The disciples were asking the same question you and I ask. Acts 1. Jesus had risen from the dead. He had appeared to them for forty days. He had explained everything, speaking of the radical nature of the kingdom of God. And yet, look at their question in verse 6: “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?” Translation: “Okay, Jesus, are you finally going to make things right? Kick out Rome? Make Israel great again? Put us in charge?” They still didn’t get it. They wanted a Jesus who stayed here to fix the world on their terms. They wanted a kingdom they could see, thrones they could sit on, glory they could feel. And maybe, if I’m being honest, I’d like that too, and so would you. So our sin spins the narrative. But Jesus says something stunning in verse 7: “It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority.” And then he says: “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be my witnesses…” And just like that… he leaves. Ascends into heaven. Hands open wide. Speaking “The LORD bless you and keep you…”  Disappears in a cloud, as the disciples’ eyes squint through the sun’s light? Why? Because his throne is not of this world. Because his plan is better than our plan. Because the kingdom he’s building isn’t run by political power or visible proof—but by Spirit-filled witnesses who carry the Word of life. And because—don’t miss this—Jesus knows our hearts better than we do.

We say, “If only I could see him, then I would believe.” But Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”  We think miracles will prove the Savior. But look at the parable Jesus told of the rich man and Lazarus. Remember how the rich man in hell begged Abraham to send Lazarus back from the dead to warn his family? Abraham replies: “They have Moses and the Prophets; let them listen to them.” The Word remains enough. And when the man says, “No, but if someone rises from the dead, they will repent!” Abraham says: “If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.”  And that’s exactly what happened. The Pharisees saw Lazarus walk out of the tomb. Jesus had risen from the dead. Unconvinced.  Maybe—just maybe—Jesus knows what actually captures a heart. Not spectacles. Not proofs. But grace. Grace wrapped in words. Grace splashing in water. Grace broken in bread and poured in wine. Jesus didn’t ascend to get away from us. He ascended to fill all things. He is with us—truly, really—with us. But he comes in ways that require trust, not sight.

You see, the real Jesus didn’t leave us behind. He told us exactly where to find him. In his Word. “Whoever listens to you listens to me,” he said. In his Sacrament. “This is my body… this is my blood.” In his Church. “Where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” And yet… we struggle. We gaze into the sky like the disciples, longing for answers, longing for a shortcut to certainty. We want Jesus to fix everything right now. We want him to explain the pain. We want him to make our loved ones believe. And so often, we just stare. But the angels said to the disciples—and to us—“Why do you stand here looking into the sky?” He’s given you the mission. He’s given you the message. He’s given you the power. The time for staring is over. It’s time to witness.

Here’s the twist—Jesus could have stayed. He could have been the one to preach in every nation. But he gave that mission to us. To you. Not because he needs you—but because he wants you. We are royalty in God’s sight, sons and daughters of the King. But this is not a royalty of comfort—it’s a royalty of calling. Our King Jesus went to the cross. We go to the ends of the earth. We speak not as Jesus-salesmen, not as Christian influencers, not as people trying to control the wills of others—but as those who have a story to share. A home to share. A King to introduce. But this gets personal, doesn’t it?

I don’t know about you, but I’ve stared up into heaven plenty of times, asking for the end of a trial, or at least an explanation. And no answers come down. Just silence. But it’s not really silence. Because it’s already been written down. And maybe what I really need in those moments isn’t a reason—it’s a reminder. That as we look up into heaven through our tears, we’re seeing more than just clouds. We’re seeing the deepest longing of our ransomed souls. To be home. And in Jesus… you already are.

That’s what this whole mission is about. Luke 24 says it so beautifully. Jesus opened their minds to understand the Scriptures and said: “You are witnesses of these things… I am going to send you what my Father has promised… stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”  That’s Pentecost power. That’s Spirit-fueled certainty. That’s Jesus—ascended but never absent—filling his people with joy and sending them with purpose. We don’t go to prove a point. We go to invite people home. To find the ones looking up into the sky and wondering, “Is there hope? Is there home for me?” And home—real home—is deeply tied to identity.

Because you see, glory and home go together. And if your sense of home is tied to people’s approval, to being affirmed, to being accepted—then your glory will always feel fragile. But if your home is tied to Jesus… to the One who was rejected, scorned, crucified… and still said, “Father, forgive them”… then even when the world ghosts you, grace doesn’t. Even when the glory feels gone, the gates of home remain open. Because Jesus didn’t ascend into heaven to escape us. He ascended to prepare a place for us—with his own hands. He is the King who builds.

So the next time your heart says, “I just wish I could ask Jesus in person…” Remember: you already can. He’s not gone. He’s reigning. He’s not silent. He’s speaking. He’s not absent. He’s in the Word, on your lips, and in your life. And you? You’re not lost. You’re not waiting. You’re not alone. You are a witness. A beloved child of the King. A citizen of heaven with one foot already home. So don’t just gaze into the sky. Go. Tell the story of the One who left—not to be far from you—but to bring you close forever. Remember what our Jesus said, “My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” And in case we need any more certainty, hear the angels’ words for the disciples and for you, “Why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.” And with the Church of all time we pray, “Come, Lord Jesus!” and you know he will. Because he will never break a promise he’s made to you. Amen.