I wonder if you’ve ever come across the phrase “Succession planning”? It’s a business term, although I’m sure it could be applied to all sorts of organisations including music groups, schools, charities, political parties, even churches. What it is is a strategy for passing on leadership roles, or even a company’s ownership, to other people when its most important staff move, retire or – let’s be honest – die. Succession planning is particularly important for family businesses, partly because their founders often find it hard to let go of day-to-day management and partly because their death or retirement can provoke unseemly family squabbles – which is, I’m sure, the stuff of many a television drama!

This kind of planning needs to look at the skills of each current leader, identify potential replacements from both within and outside the organisation and, in the case of internal ones, train them so that they’re ready to take over. Making the plan isn’t a one-off event, either, as it needs to be reviewed and updated as circumstances dictate. And, alongside the long-term succession plan, it’s good to create an emergency one, in the event that a key leader needs to be replaced unexpectedly: nobody (one hopes) wants the Managing Director to fall under a bus but these things can happen! It seems that Covid forced many companies to “imagine the unimaginable”, realise that no-one is immortal and – chilling as it sounds – plan for the worst.

One mistake that’s often made in this kind of planning is to assume that the new man or woman at the top will be a carbon-copy of the one who is no longer around. That’s a bad idea, as the skills needed to set up a business or organisation are often quite different to those required to take it forward: there’s a time for bold entrepreneurs but also a time for careful managers. I can think of churches with ministers who had done a wonderful job and which tried to appoint someone similar when they retired. That has rarely worked, not least because each of us is different and it’s unfair to expect someone to be the same as their predecessor.

There are several leadership transitions in the Bible. In each case, the new leader is quite a bit different to the old one. There is Moses, handing the reins over to Joshua: they are different people with different tasks, as Moses was the visionary pioneer who had to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, while Joshua had the job of settling them into normal life in Canaan. Then we have David and Solomon: David had to bring the nation into some kind of cohesion and balance after Saul’s disastrous reign, while Solomon built on that foundation, constructing the Temple as a symbol of national identity and bringing Israel to its highest peak. In the New Testament we see Peter, the great church leader of those early, rough-and-ready, Jerusalem days being replaced by Paul, the cosmopolitan missionary pioneer with a broader vision – although, in this case, Peter does not fade out of the scene entirely. Years later, in his final and poignant letter, we read of Paul exhorting Timothy to hold fast to his teaching and keep Christ’s light burning brightly. Yet, even as he penned his words, Paul must have realised that the world had changed since his youth, and that Timothy – a man, I am sure, with many talents – was a very different character to himself. How well would he manage?

Particularly relevant today is the story of Elijah passing on his cloak or mantle to Elisha, before ascending to heaven in his fiery chariot (well, that’s what Elisha saw, anyway). In fact this succession did not take place overnight as Elisha effectively became a prophetic “apprentice” to Elijah – indeed, it’s possible that the giving of a cloak was a common symbol of such a relationship, almost akin to the signing of a contract which set out the duties and responsibilities of both master and learner. Once again, the two men are very different; once again, the older man has to be confident that his successor would merit the trust placed in him while the younger one must believe that he has the skills – and, of course, the faith – for his task. It’s no surprise that, after Elijah has been taken up to heaven, Elisha picks up the mantle which had fallen on the ground, goes to the riverbank, and strikes the water, crying, “Where is the Lord, the God of Elijah?” When the water parts before him, Elisha knows that God is with him, too.

Today we are looking at a different ascension story: the story of Jesus. I don’t know what you make of it or if you find it easy to accept; but the account we are given is straightforward and, in fact, notably undramatic if perhaps rather bizarre. For Jesus takes his disciples to a spot outside Jerusalem (Luke is slightly contradictory about the exact location), blesses them, rises up from the earth and finally vanishes into a cloud. Unlike the story of Elijah, there is no whirlwind or fiery chariot: but what we do have are two men in white, presumably angels, who appear and scold the bemused disciples: “Don’t just stand there, looking up and hoping he’ll come back!” – you can imagine them adding, “There’s work to be done, so go back to the city and wait, just as he told you to”.

It was at this point that the disciples realised that they’d never done any Succession Planning (although I very much doubt that they called it that!). For they had two gaps to fill: the lesser one of finding a disciple to replace Judas Iscariot, and the enormous one of not knowing what to do now that Jesus himself had left them. They didn’t allow the problem of Judas to puzzle them for long: as we heard a couple of weeks ago, they agreed on a shortlist of two candidates (possibly after a lot of discussion!), they prayed to God, drew lots and got Matthias. And if you think that sounds a bit “chancy”, then don’t forget that, in last week’s election for Barnsley Council, a tied vote between the Liberal Democrats and the Conservatives had to be resolved by tossing a coin (the LibDem got in, by the way).

But how could the disciples replace Jesus? They’d been in total denial throughout the last weeks of his life. They’d refused to believe that he’d be so daft to go to Jerusalem and get killed – but he did. They’d refused to believe that, once he was dead, he’d return to life – but he did. And, once he was among them again, they’d refused to believe that he’d ever leave them – but he did. They had collectively buried their heads in the sand: but how could they ever have found someone else like Jesus? He was truly unique, a “one-off”; he could never have a successor.

Jesus, of course, had not failed in his planning: it was just that the disciples hadn’t picked it up. For, although leaders such as Peter, Philip, Paul and Barnabas would emerge in the developing Church, Jesus’ successors were in fact to be all Christians believers. We get the clue to this in John’s Gospel when, on Easter evening, he wishes peace on his disciples and says, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you”; and he’d even hinted at this before his death when he said, “the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father”. At the end of Luke’s Gospel Jesus declares that “repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed … to all nations” by his witnesses, who must “stay in the city until they have been clothed with power from on high”. And, of course, we have similar words in Matthew’s Gospel, where Jesus tells the disciples to “make disciples of all nations” with his divine authority behind them and his spiritual presence constantly accompanying them.

So the succession has taken place (to be strictly accurate, it will not be complete until Pentecost). The mantle is being passed on, but not to any one person, for a radical restructuring is taking place. Although, as I’ve said, the Church will, like any organisation, have its leaders, it is not they alone who are Christ’s successors. For he retains remote leadership, as Head of the Church; and the task of moving forward falls upon every believer, as his representatives or – to use Paul’s word – ambassadors here on earth. And, just as the transfer of prophetic ministry from Elijah to Elisha was preceded by apprenticeship and accompanied by the gift of divine power, so the Church has been given both the Bible’s teaching and the Holy Spirit so that it can carry out the work that Jesus has entrusted to it.

But I must be honest and say that we face a big problem. Elisha cried, “Where is the God of Elijah?” and immediately saw dramatic proof of his presence. The disciples at Pentecost experienced the Spirit’s power and said, “This is what Jesus promised!” However we may tentatively cry, “Where is the God of Peter, Paul and Jesus?” but doubt if we’ll even receive an answer. For the sizzling, active and even dangerous power of God seems to have seeped away from today’s Church. Although we stand in the tradition begun by Jesus and continued by Peter, Paul and the others, that pulsating life of God is something we experience faintly, if at all – and I don’t know why. I could say that we have lost the fervent faith of the first Christians, I could say that we have replaced committed discipleship with mere church-going, I could say that we are frightened of opening ourselves up to the Holy Spirit, I could say that our loyalty to Christ is not being honed by vigorous opposition – and I’m sure there is truth in all of those things. But they’re not the full answer.

Last week on “Songs of Praise” a Pentecostal pastor from Swansea voiced his hope of another Welsh revival like the one of 1904. He spoke of his belief that, one day, the chapels would once again be filled to capacity and the nation turn to God. I’m sorry to say that, although I admired his enthusiasm, I was sceptical of his claim. I hope I’m wrong; but I’ve been around for a long time and I’ve heard many statements like his, yet the Church in Britain continues its relentless decline. We can of course hope that things will change, we can and should pray for God’s Spirit to be poured out again, we must cling to our faith in God. And, knowing the task which we have been given, being aware of the tradition in which we lie, accepting the responsibility which is ours, we continue to live out the Christian life on a day-to-day basis, serving God as best we can. I’m sure that’s what the ascended Jesus wants of us: we can do no more.