To watch the sermon click here.
Last year, a close family member had major surgery. I knew to expect several hours of stressful waiting and had worked myself into a dither worrying about it. A couple of weeks before the surgery, a good friend offered to come and sit with me to talk or not talk or whatever I needed. That thoughtful friend also offered to not come and simply be available as needed. I ended up wanting to do the waiting quietly and exchanged messages with my friend throughout the day.
Looking back on it, I didn’t even realize how anxious I was before, during, and after. I was afraid of what could happen or go wrong and I hated the waiting. I hated the weeks of waiting for the surgery date. I hated the uncertainty while sitting outside the OR. And I was impatient as I cared for my loved one in the recovery process.
It felt like months of waiting and waiting feels unproductive, uncomfortable, and vulnerable. Yet, most of our lives are spent in this in-between. We wait for buses and planes. We wait for healing and for strength to return. We wait for grief to soften. We wait for children to tie their shoes and for water to boil. We wait for the dog to stop sniffing every single blade of grass on the evening walk. We spend a lot of time waiting.
But even Jesus had to wait. Remember the Garden of Gethsemane the night before the crucifixion? As Jesus was waiting for dawn and what he knew was about to happen, he found the disciples sleeping and asked them, “Could you not stay awake with me one hour?” Please, wait with me.
Liturgically, we are waiting this Sunday too. The Feast of the Ascension occurred a few days ago and we acknowledge it today in the reading from Acts. On Ascension, Jesus commissioned the disciples and then, as they were watching, Jesus was lifted up and a cloud took him out of their sight.
But just before he disappears from their sight, the disciples asked him, “Is this the time? Is this when you will restore the kingdom?” Jesus replied saying, you don’t get certainty. You get presence and eventually, you will get power through the Holy Spirit. They want a timeline. Jesus gives them a promise. They want clarity. Jesus gives them companionship. This is the last thing he says and then he is gone from their sight.
The disciples are left standing there staring upward into absence. Ascension is strange because it feels like both loss and promise at the same time. And then, the angels interrupt, saying, “Why are you standing there staring into the sky?” Right here, in scripture, you get the first post-Ascension sermon from the angels, when they say, “Hey guys, stop standing around looking at the sky. Do something.”
So, here we are. Jesus has vanished from their sight and Pentecost has not yet arrived. And so, we wait.
But what did the disciples do? They returned to the Upper Room. The same room where they had the Last Supper. They didn’t have any answers, they only had each other. The text tells us they devoted themselves to prayer.
As you listened to the lesson, did you notice the women? “All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.”
Certain women… who were they? What did they bring with them into that room? I imagine it included Mary Magdalene and Mary, Jesus’ mother. These were the women who stayed at the cross, the women who waited at the tomb. Maybe that is why they are still here in the Upper Room. They already know the bad thing is never the last thing and resurrection rarely arrives on our timetable.
These were the women who already knew how to remain faithful in uncertainty. Maybe these women already knew something about God that the others were still learning: God often shows up in the waiting.
Both of today’s readings happen in thresholds. In Acts, Jesus’ followers are waiting for what comes next. In John, Jesus is praying on the edge of suffering and departure.
Stay with me here. This is a little bit of a time warp. In the first reading, it is after the resurrection and just before Pentecost. In the gospel, we travel back in time to the night before the crucifixion.
This is his final prayer before he is arrested and crucified. He prays for himself, for his disciples, and for us – future believers. To put this prayer in context, Jesus knows he is about to be betrayed, abandoned, and crucified. The prayer is not casual. It is intimate, urgent, and deeply relational. In a moment when Jesus’ followers are looking for guidance, a strategic plan, something to hold onto, he gives them prayer. Jesus responds to uncertainty with relationship and prayer and love. It is about presence over certainty or belonging before believing.
A friend asked me the other day, “Why does God test me so much? Does God think I can handle it? Because some days it feels like too much.” I told her that when it feels like too much, we need companionship, like we were doing as went hiking together. We need relationship. We need prayer.
Sometimes it does feel like too much. It feels like God is testing us when really, life is hard and God is present with us in the hard places.
Waiting often feels like failure or at least, a waste of time, especially when it all feels like “too much.” If something is broken, we want to fix it. If something is uncertain, we want it solved. If grief lingers too long, our culture says to move on. When faced with uncertainty, God meets us with relationship and prayer and love.
If you take one thing from this sermon, I hope it is this. God is present in unresolved spaces.
We see this over and over in scripture. Waiting is not wasted time! In fact, it is often where transformation begins.
Abraham and Sarah waited like 100 years to have a baby. The Israelites waited 40 years in the desert. Mary waited to give birth to Jesus. And in this Upper Room, Jesus’ followers wait for what comes next. The church itself was born out of faithful waiting, not certainty.
And we are waiting today too. Waiting for: healing, peace, justice, stability… Many people wait alone, but here, we can be a community that waits together. The church has always been a people who know how to keep vigil together. When we pray together, it is about companionship and presence.
It is so tempting to distract ourselves, to spiral, or crash out. But what if we focus on staying present instead. What if we turn to prayer and companionship, trusting that God is still at work before clarity arrives.
Consider those who are waiting around you and who needs companionship. Who has been quietly faithful all along? When I think back to the stress of last year when my loved one had surgery, I don’t think about the anxiety. I remember the way my friend was there for me, the way she offered companionship and support. Who has done that for you?
In closing, let us return to the Upper Room with the disciples and those “certain women.” It’s not yet Pentecost. There are no flames, no rushing wind, just people gathered together in prayer, holding one another through uncertainty.
And maybe, that is how the Spirit so often begins: not in certainty, but in companionship. Not in answers, but in faithful presence.