On Sunday, May 29, many dioceses in the United States celebrate the Solemnity of the Ascension. Others keep to the original tradition of celebrating the Solemnity of the Ascension on the Thursday prior to the Sixth Sunday of Easter, which would have been last week. The Archdiocese of Denver, where the Abbey is located, follows the custom of celebrating the Ascension on Sunday.
The Ascension always seems to me to carry a small note of
sadness among all the alleluia’s. Jesus’
disciples have spent a long, intense time with him since they were first called. At his invitation, they have been in his
company almost constantly. Even after
his death and resurrection, he has spent time with them personally, although we
have no real count of how much. Now they
are gathered with him for the last time on the Mount of Olives near Bethany for
a final farewell as he is taken from their sight by a cloud. The cloud calls up memories of the cloud that
led the Israelites out of Egypt and through their long desert years to the
Promised Land. It is a powerful biblical
image of the Presence of God. In Matthew’s
gospel, Jesus’ final words to the disciples is this promise: “And behold, I am
with you always, until the end of the age” (Matt 28:20).
During the time between Jesus’ resurrection and his
ascension, he has in fact taught them how to see and hear him differently even
when he is no longer visibly present among them. He warned a weeping Mary Magdalen when she
wanted to cling to him in the garden that she will have to let him go now. But, “apostle to the apostles,” as she is now
known, she would also be included in his promise to be always present, even
though not in his familiar bodily form.
He didn’t explain, but when he met the two disciples on the road to
Emmaus, he gave them two ways in which he would be with them in the
future: in the Word of God—which he
taught them to hear differently now, as assurances of his presence and love—and
in the breaking of the bread—which the Church from the time of the Book of Acts
has celebrated faithfully. To St. Paul
he broke open in a new way the command to watch how we treat people because “Amen,
I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did
for me” (Matt 25:40). To St. Paul the risen Christ explained, “I am Jesus, whom
you are persecuting” (Acts 9:5) St. Paul
himself broadened this into his vivid (and, to be, honest, humorous) description
of all of us actually (and really) baptized into the Body of Christ ( 1 Cor
12:12=36; Gal 3:28).
The scene of the Ascension gives us to imagine that Christ
has left, but in fact he never has. True
to his promise, he has always been with us and always will be. But the New Testament passages quoted above
set out our post-Easter agenda: to look
for him and listen for his voice (RB Prologue 1!) not in long-ago Palestine but
in our own household, our own workplaces, our own streets, our own Churches now—and
also, painfully, in the all those places torn apart by disease, violence and
war. Ukraine remains a continuing vivid example, but, as I write,
so does the devastated community of Uvalde, Texas, the scene of the most recent
school shooting.
Whatever the scene, whatever the joys and sorrows, whatever
the welcome peace of humdrum realities, Christ has died, Christ is risen,
Christ is with us always! It is in the
context of this faith that we are called to live the wisdom of St. Benedict and
share it with one another. Alleluia!
Copyright 2022, Abbey of St. Walburga
