A homily for the Feast of the Ascension of the Lord, May 24, 2020
Acts 1:1-11, Eph 1:17-23, Mt 28:16-20
As they were looking on,
he was lifted up, and a cloud took him from their sight.
While they were looking intently at the sky as he was going,
suddenly two men dressed in white garments stood beside them.
They said, “Men of Galilee,
why are you standing there looking at the sky?
This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven
will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.”
Let’s join the friends of Jesus as they stood together that day in the First Century A.D., and for a moment let’s assume we have the same knowledge of science and other academic disciplines that they did.
Their worldview is mostly Genesis-based, terra-centric and very simplistic: The flat Earth is the focus of God’s Creation, made from nothing by the sheer will of God for humanity’s use and subjugation. Heaven, with the sun, the moon and all the stars, is above, and there’s a dome of water behind it. Heaven is where God lives. Hell is far below.
Up is good. Down is bad.
Jesus is good, so he goes up.
Our faith teaches us that Jesus ascended of his own infinite power. To say “Awesome!” right here is legit.
There’s not much in Scripture to suggest the disciples had an immediate warning that Jesus was heading out and up. No inkling at all, really. Jesus finished talking about the relationship with the Spirit that the disciples were about to forge, and whoosh!
So as Jesus ascended, the disciples’ jaws dropped. It’s easy to see them in mind’s eye, amazed and puzzled and perhaps a little afraid — “What just happened??” — despite the zillions of times Jesus greeted them with some variation of “Fear not.”
So, with their mouths agape, Jesus’s friends got a nudge from the heavenly messengers who reminded them that they had their marching orders and their gaze had to turn to the children of God who needed — who still need — the Good News that God loves them and that all Christians do, too.
Preach and teach repentance, preach and teach the love of God through the forgiveness of sins, preach and teach a baptism in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Orders given to them. Orders given to us.
Creation. Salvation. Sustenance through grace. The Holy Trinity.
Our Triune God’s triune embrace of Earth and all of humanity, all of creation, plays out in these three phases.
The Creator was the first to touch Earth, to change it from the formless to the hospitable, to set in motion every natural process and establish every natural law. When the work was done, and it was good, God rested and chose to preside on a heavenly throne.
The Messiah walked the Earth fully human while fully divine, and shone a light into the darkest corners. When his mission was completed, he returned to Heaven likewise.
The Spirit who nourishes us spiritually overspread the Earth and remains today, because the mission of flooding us with grace continues. Next week’s feast of Pentecost is a fuller telling of that promise fulfilled.
Back at the site of the Ascension, the pair in dazzling white who addressed the disciples, and by extension us, got it only half-right.
Yes, Jesus ascended and vanished from their sight and, yes, Jesus will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead. But Jesus also is present when two or more are gathered in his name. Because he said so, many times, and especially in the last line of today’s Gospel: “I am with you always.” So perhaps the disciples then, and we disciples now, may not see Jesus if we look to the sky, but we can see him now nonetheless.
Amid the coronavirus pandemic, Jesus is present in the least among us, those workers who get one more day out of their supposedly disposable masks while they clean the hospitals, the nursing homes and veterans homes, the stores and the coffee bars. Jesus is present in everyone who serves the greater good, and who will be shepherded to their rewards on Judgment Day.
We may not see Jesus if we look to the sky, but we can see him now nonetheless.
Let’s pause here for a quick look-back at today’s readings. Because, when you think about it, today’s readings somewhat relegate the Ascension itself to also-ran status, to an “oh, by the way” event. It’s not even in the Gospel; the details of Jesus’s return home come from the Acts of the Apostles in the first reading.
On a pound-for-pound basis, at least according to how much time in the Liturgy of the Word we deal with any topic, today’s focus actually is on baptism, which the disciples were ordered to get out there and do.
As we all know, baptism is the great Sacrament of Initiation, the welcoming into the Christian community of a newly forgiven adopted child of God. When the Apostles were baptizing, they were sharing water and the Holy Spirit with adults, mostly. These days, baptism is a sacrament of the young, and often of the absolute youngest.
Now, as then, we baptize in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, to show human unity with the united Trinity. Every Christian tradition recognizes baptism as the “born again” moment in people’s lives.
(Parenthetically, it’s deeply saddening that being born again into God’s love has turned into a cultural wedge rather than a unifying force.)
Children are our nearest and dearest sign of God’s love through creation, and a sign that God has called on parents to be agents of continuing creation. Creation of beautiful human bodies. Continuing creation of the Mystical Body of Christ.
The baptism event reaffirms God’s direct connection with each of us individually and communally. Baptism of the young reminds us of God’s ongoing involvement in the world, and that God can be found in the beauty and joy and open hearts of everyone when they follow the light we know as Christ.
In baptism, the newly initiated person — child or adult — receives a candle, symbolizing that light of Christ. Families always seem moved when they get the burning flame. And then … the candle goes back in its box, and in all likelihood is put away someplace safe, maybe along with the savings bonds the family received. That’s reality, and it’s fine. Our lives are hectic and messy.
But that light — the real light, not the symbolic one — never goes out. It can’t be lost in the family junk drawer. God shines it all day, every day, and that light can shine in our souls if we choose to open our eyes to see it. That light can guide us who are baptized on the righteous path if we choose to follow it. If we walk always as children of the light.
And if a sunbeam breaking through the clouds causes us to turn our gaze skyward, it’s OK. We can see Jesus there.
