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I don’t expect you to remember it, but last Sunday’s gospel was the gospel writer John’s version of the Last Supper. However, in John’s gospel there is no Last Supper per se but, instead there is the story of Jesus washing his disciples’ feet and giving them a long farewell speech. In that long speech, he says something that sounds like double talk. He says, “I am going away, and I am coming to you” all in the one sentence. It sounds like Jesus doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going. The reason Jesus speaks like this is to prepare his disciples for his great departure, which we call Ascension—today’s feast–and he is preparing them for his great return, which we call Pentecost—next Sunday’s feast. He really is both leaving us, physically, and coming back to us, spiritually. It’s not double talk. He really is leaving in order to prepare us for his returning.

We get a double whammy of Luke, today. We are in the year of Luke, which means that almost every gospel passage we hear, this liturgical year, comes from the Gospel of Luke. Luke is also the author of a later-written book called the Acts of the Apostles, which is always the basis of the first reading during the 50 days of Easter.

Luke, in that first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, describes Ascension for us. The disciples are looking skyward, in hopes to catch a final glimpse of Jesus as he ascends into heaven. Luke tells us that, out of nowhere, two men in white robes are standing next to the disciples and ask them, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” At this year’s Easter Vigil, Luke gave us his version of what happened on that first Easter Sunday morning. Luke’s version of that first Easter has women at the empty tomb completely puzzled. He then tells us that two men in dazzling clothes suddenly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and stood beside the women. These two mystery men ask the women, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” I think the two mystery men, who encounter the women at the tomb looking down a hole hoping to find Jesus, are the same two mystery men, who encounter the men looking up in the sky hoping to find Jesus there. The women look down, the men look up, and the angels tell them that both are looking in the wrong place. Both the women and the men are in a place of loss and grief. If you have ever lost anyone through death, it’s very hard to stay in the present moment, in fact, it’s the hardest place to be. We either want to look to the past and be comforted with good, nostalgic memories, or we want to look way into the future to a time when the pain of separation will not be so raw. 

My mind, these days are with the two families whose loved ones I buried this week. My mind is also with the 21 suffering families in Uvalde, Texas, victims of yet another senseless shooting. It must be so hard for them to stay in the moment. They must want to go back to wonderful memories or wish that they could jump ahead, may 10 years from now, to a time where the pain won’t be so raw. 

One of the Prefaces, the part that comes before the Eucharistic Prayer, that we often hear at funerals goes like this, “Life is changed, not ended.” We really need to hear that at funerals. With our loved one no longer physically present, we know life has changed. No doubt about it. But, what we really need to know is that life is not ended. Jesus’ relationship with his disciples certainly changed at the Ascension, but it did not end.

Just before Jesus ascended, they asked, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom of Israel?” Maybe the Apostles feared a future without Jesus. If Jesus was leaving maybe this would be a convenient time for them to “leave” as well, especially since the prospect of carrying on without him, being physically present, was not a happy prospect. Ascension for them probably felt like a kind of end—which it was—but, for Jesus it was a new beginning. I’m sure the disciples wondered, at least initially, “how are we going to cope in Jesus’ absence?” Jesus, though, is not giving them a coping mechanism. He is giving them a mission to proclaim his presence, a presence no longer restricted by any physical limitations, a presence that cannot be held back by death or sealed tombs. Jesus’ spirit will race ahead to Jewish Judea, to half-Jewish Samaria, and to the Gentiles at the ends of the earth. They are to go to the ends of the earth and tell people about Jesus who stood next to the women at the empty tomb. They are to go to the ends of the earth and tell people about Jesus who stood next to the men looking up into the sky. Their descendants, you and I, the modern-day disciples of the Risen One are to go to the ends of the earth and tell the people of Uvalde, Texas and those fleeing for the lives in the Ukraine, about Jesus who stands with them. 

Jesus’ spirit runs faster than human legs. Wherever you go, you will find Jesus, the Body of Christ, already there. Jesus’ ascension is not “farewell, have a good trip, we’ll miss you.” It’s a mission now, every bit as much as it was a mission then, to embody the spirit of the Risen Lord especially where healing and hope are lacking. 

Fr. Richard Rohr, in one of his books, says, “God comes to us disguised as our life.” He goes on to say, “Right after Jesus’ “ascension into heaven,” almost as an immediate corrective, two men in white said to the first disciples, “Why are you standing here looking into the sky?” (Acts 1:11). But we have been looking into the sky ever since and have largely missed the primary point and momentum of God in Christ. We don’t really like or trust “incarnation” that much. It puts everything too close to home, and we have to take ourselves, our bodies, and this earth more seriously than we care to.”

The world, with all it’s beauty and violence, is real. The Spirit is real. And because life is changed, not ended, our mission is equally real. 

Fr. Phil Mulligan