What Are You Looking At? Redirecting Our Gaze in a Distracted World

In the hustle of modern life—where notifications ping like enemy fire and headlines scream doom—it's easy to lose sight of what truly matters. As conservative Christians, we fight hard for biblical values: the sanctity of life, the definition of marriage, the pursuit of justice in a fallen world. But amid the battles, are we staring at the wrong horizon? Drawing from Acts 1:3-11, this post explores the Ascension of Jesus and a piercing angelic question: *What are you looking at?* It's a call to refocus on the mission that outlasts elections and cultures.

If you're weary from scrolling through culture-war casualties or praying for revival that feels delayed, pull up a chair. Let's unpack this ancient scene and apply it to our Indiana winters and beyond. (Shoutout to my fellow Hoosiers—yes, even in Indianapolis, the Gospel calls us outward.)

The Proofs and the Promise: Forty Days of Resurrection Reality

Picture the disciples: battle-scarred from betrayal, crucifixion, and burial. They've buried hope in a borrowed tomb. Then, Jesus shows up. Not as a ghost or a hallucination, but in flesh-and-bone proof. Acts 1:3 tells us He "presented himself to them and gave many convincing proofs that he was alive." Over forty days, He eats broiled fish by the fire, unpacks the kingdom of God, and commissions them for what's next.

This isn't fluffy spirituality; it's historical bedrock. Eyewitness accounts from men who touched the scars, shared meals, and later died for this truth. No wonder the early church exploded—from a handful in Jerusalem to the catacombs of Rome. As conservatives, we cling to facts over feelings. The resurrection isn't a metaphor; it's the meteor that shattered death's grip. And in our evidence-starved age, where skeptics demand "proof," we have it: He lives.

But Jesus doesn't linger in nostalgia. While breaking bread, He pivots: "Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father promised... you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit." John’s water baptism was a sign; the Spirit's fire is the power source. This is the Comforter who equips the weak, convicts the lost, and empowers the ordinary to do the extraordinary. Pentecost's tongues of fire? That's the preview. For us, it's the daily filling that turns prayer meetings into power surges.

The Misguided Question: When Will the Kingdom Come?

Here's where it gets relatable. The disciples, buzzing with resurrection adrenaline, fire off their big ask: "Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?" (Acts 1:6). They've read Isaiah's prophecies of a Messiah smashing oppressors, rebuilding the temple, and exalting Zion. Rome's taxes choke the land; the Sanhedrin twists the Law. *Now's the time,* they think. *Restore it all—political power, national pride, the whole package.*

Sound familiar? We conservative believers echo this. We grieve the erosion of Judeo-Christian roots: drag queen story hours in schools, unborn lives discarded like trash, leaders who mock the Ten Commandments. We vote red, rally at statehouses, and dream of a return to "the good old days." Praise God for that fire—it's stewardship of the culture God entrusted us. But Jesus' response is a gentle gut-punch: "It is not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by his own authority" (v. 7).

The timeline is divine, not ours. Our role? Receive power and *witness*. Jerusalem first (local church), then Judea and Samaria (hostile neighbors), to the ends of the earth (global unreached). It's a centrifugal force: from sacred center to savage frontiers. No room for spectator Christianity. The kingdom advances through proclamation, not just policy. In 2026, as AI ethics clash with eternal truths and borders blur, we're tempted to bunker down. But Jesus says: *Go. Speak. Live the Gospel that subverts every throne.*

The Ascension and the Angels' Wake-Up Call

Then, the climax. Jesus blesses them and rises—taken up before their eyes, swallowed by a cloud of glory (v. 9). It's Elijah-level drama, but better: no chariot, just sovereign departure. The disciples? They gawk. Necks craned, jaws dropped, staring at empty sky like kids watching a rocket launch.

Enter the angels: two men in white, echoing the empty tomb's messengers. "Men of Galilee, why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus... will come back in the same way you have seen him go" (vv. 10-11). *What are you looking at?* Not accusation, but activation. He's not gone for good; He's preparing a place (John 14:2). Return is certain—visible, victorious, with clouds and trumpets (1 Thess. 4:16). No vague "spiritual presence"; a literal King reclaiming His creation.

This rebuke lands heavy today. We're sky-gazers too: fixated on Supreme Court rulings, midterm maps, or doomsday preps. Social media amplifies it—endless loops of "what if" and "when will God." But the angels redirect: *He's coming back. So get moving.* The early church didn't conquer Caesar with swords; they did it with sermons in homes, letters in prisons, lives laid down. By AD 100, Christianity spanned the empire. Power wasn't in numbers or nets; it was in the Spirit-empowered word.

Applying the Gaze: From Distraction to Disciple-Making

So, what *should* we be looking at? The harvest fields, white and waiting (John 4:35). Your cubicle coworker nursing quiet doubts. The foster kid in your pew needing a forever family. The immigrant family down the street, hungry for hope amid headlines. As conservative Christians, our politics flow from the pulpit of the cross—but they don't eclipse it. Witness first: preach Christ crucified for sinners like us. Then engage the culture as salt, not silos.

Practical steps? 

- **Wait actively**: Carve out silence for the Spirit. Fast from feeds one day a week; feast on Scripture instead.

- **Witness boldly**: Share your story over coffee. Host a Bible study in your cul-de-sac. Support missionaries who go where ballots don't reach.

- **Work faithfully**: Vote, yes—but vote *as* witnesses. Let your "yes" to Jesus flavor every "no" to compromise.

In Indiana or anywhere, the mission is the same. The cloud has lifted; the fields beckon. What are *you* looking at?

Final Thoughts: Eyes Up, Feet Forward

Brothers and sisters, the Ascension isn't goodbye—it's "see you soon." Jesus reigns now, interceding (Heb. 7:25), and His Spirit fuels us till glory. Let's trade sky-staring for soul-winning. The world doesn't need more commentators; it needs compassionate conquerors.

What horizon are you scanning today? Drop a comment below—let's encourage one another. And if this stirred you, share it with that one person who's been waiting for the invite.

*In His grip,  

DMMC

2-7-26