The Ascension

 

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!

 

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