Our special “holy day” that we refer to as “the Ascension” is not an event that took place, literally, 40 days after Easter. It is, rather, part of the Resurrection narrative itself—the Resurrection and Ascension being 2 aspects of the Easter event. It takes place sometime between the moment a resurrected Jesus tells Mary Magdalene NOT to touch him and when he tells doubting Thomas TO touch him.
Sometime within this context, the Ascension took place. Theologically, we separate the 2 events—which are really one—so as to contemplate each reality. What is resurrection for me? Don’t think just in terms of a historical event in the life of Jesus but in terms of your own life. What is the meaning of Ascension—the departure of Jesus from the earthly realm? And what is it for YOUR eventual departure, or that of others? What does “resurrection of the body” mean?
In his account of the Ascension of Jesus, Matthew wrote that “the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had ordered them.” Recall that when mountains are sites of an event, an appearance of God (called a “theophany”) is probably going to take place. Sure enough! The disciples see the risen Lord, and heard his grand “commission” of them to go and baptize all people—instructing all people to live as he taught them to live.
And just as Matthew referred to the baby Jesus of Bethlehem as “Emmanuel”—a name meaning “God is with us,” so the evangelist concludes his Gospel saying that Jesus told his followers “I am with you always, until the end of time.” He would always live up to his namesake, “God with us,” in good times and bad, in sickness and health, for better or worse, until death and beyond!
Matthew’s portrayal of the Ascension is a powerful message for us. He’s reminding you and me that when we face small or major challenges, we are not alone. We have Jesus by our side (and Holy Spirit) to help us navigate.
But wait! Luke presents the Ascension differently from Matthew. Luke’s Gospel says that Jesus “led [his disciples] out as far as Bethany [NOT in Galilee as reported by Matthew]. He says that Jesus blessed them [and] parted from them (“taken up to heaven”). He reported no great “commission” given by Jesus to baptize anyone.
HOWEVER, look at how Luke described the Ascension in his other New Testament book (Acts of the Apostles). In that work, he says that Jesus told his followers that they would be “witnesses . . . to the ends of the earth” (a shortened form of Matthew’s account?). His disappearance consisted of being “lifted up, and a cloud took him from their sight.”
Not only that, but Luke then adds “Suddenly two men dressed in white garments stood beside them.” Presumably angels? They asked the disciples, “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.”
This peculiar addition to Luke’s account is a powerful statement about Christian ministry. It is a first-century form of saying “Don’t just stand there! DO something.” Instead of looking at the sky and pondering where Jesus went, they are being told to “Get out there, and make a difference on behalf of the Gospel—by showing that God has visited you in the person of the risen Lord.” The Mass itself replicates this scene when you and I attend. WE are the disciples looking up to heaven at Mass, and we are the ones being told upon departure that it’s now time to leave this sacred space where we’ve looked up to heaven. It’s time to go about our Father’s business—out the church door and into everyday life as an apostle of the Word. Remember, “You might be the only bible someone ever reads!”.
John’s Gospel has no farewell remarks of Jesus, but does have him say toward the end: “As the Father has sent me, I am sending you.” Moreover, chapters leading up to the conclusion report Jesus telling his disciples that he is with the Father, and the Father is in Him, and that we are in Him. We no longer need to wonder who the Creator is because the Creator has been revealed in Jesus. God is love, and we who abide in love abide in God, and God in us.
Leaving John the 23rd
For me, it is Providential that my last weekend with you is on the Feast of the departure of Jesus from being among his people. And so it is with me. When I read of Jesus leaving, I’m reminded of author Ernest Hemingway’s novel For Whom The Bell Tolls. The novel (and film) long ago touched my mind and heart because it presented the Gospel via the written word of a novel. Generations of Christians have done their best to understand the Gospel, and author Hemingway communicated its meaning to me in the form of a love story.
The characters are “Roberto” Jordan and Maria—he a reporter from America and she is a young woman with whom he falls in love as they fight government soldiers in Spain’s civil war of the 1930s. As the freedom fighters escape, Jordan is injured such that he can’t continue, so he tells his compatriots that he’ll hold off the soldiers as long as he can. He also tells them to take Maria with them even when she resists.
When I heard the dialogue of this scene, I knew right away that Hemingway was drawing a parallel between Jordan and Jesus (even the name “Jordan” reminds us of the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan, baptism signaling one’s commitment to a greater good). So Jordan is a “Christ figure” and he gives his message to “Maria” (the name “Mary” associated with the follower of Jesus, Magdalene, or even his mother Mary—with whom Jesus spoke when he was on the cross).
So Jordan is saying goodbye to Maria—and this scenario can be a literary way of presenting the message of Jesus to his disciples as he departs (Mary representing the disciples and us). And in a way, this Jordan character represents me speaking to you as I depart—having tried my best to communicate the Gospel in my parish role. Follow these Gospel thoughts (and my farewell message to you) in the script that follows:
Jordan: I want to talk to Maria alone. When I tell you to take her, take her! She’ll want to stay, but take her. [A sense of God wanting to speak with a person in prayer & us not wanting to let go of God speaking to us] Maria, don’t, don’t say anything. We won’t be going to America this time. But always I go with you, wherever you go, understand? You go now, Maria.
Maria: No, no, I stay with you Roberto.
Jordan: No, Maria, what I do now, I do alone. I couldn’t do it if you were here. If you go, then I go too. Don’t you see how it is? Whichever one there is, is both of us.
Maria: No, there’d be only . . . [One’s sense of helplessness on their own without God]
Jordan: No, each of us must do his thing alone, and though we be alone, we do it for each other. But if you go, then I go with you, that way I go too. I know you’ll go now Maria, for both of us, because we love each other always. [As Christians incarnate Jesus and become his presence to others—and echoing his farewell in Matthew Jordan says he will be with her “always”]
Maria: It’s easier for me to stay with you, Roberto. [With Jesus we feel stronger than when alone]
Jordan: I know it’s harder for you, but now I am you also. If you go, I go too. That’s the only way I can go. [Through baptism, Eucharist, faith life] You’re me now, surely you must feel that, Maria. Remember last night? Our time is now, and it will never end. You’re me now, and I’m you. Now you understand. Now you’re going, and you’re going well, and fast, and far, and we’ll go to America another time, Maria. Stand up now and go, and we both go. Stand up Maria, remember you’re me too. You’re all there will ever be of me now. Stand up. No, stand up. There’s no good-bye, Maria, because we’re not apart. [That’s my farewell word to you—as I carry your memory with me, wherever I go—since you go with me in my mind and heart and spirit—so there’s no need to say goodbye] No, don’t turn around, go now, be strong, take care of our life.
Jordan or Jesus on the cross realizing his sacrifice was worth it—
because he loves us:
God, that was lucky I could make her go. I don’t mind this at all now. They’re away. Think of how it would be if they got Maria instead of you. Don’t pass out, Jordan! Think about America! I can’t. Think about Madrid! I can’t. Think about, Maria! I can do that alright! No, you fool, you weren’t kidding Maria about that. Now they can’t stop us ever! She’s going on with me, yes, Maria [As a love story, Jesus can face the cross because you and I are the “Maria” for whom he gives his all]
Looking back and forward and a blessing to the people of John the 23rd
With time seeming to pass so quickly, it seems I recently arrived here instead of 5.5 years ago. My 26-year role at Wheeling Jesuit University ended with the Jesuit withdrawal from West Virginia. I returned to the womb of parish work–which had been my first assignment as a priest (St. Isaac Jogues Parish in the Soo). It was a sad day for the Church and West Virginia when the Jesuits left West Virginia, and it was unfortunate that John the 23rd was having struggles of its own (of which I was unaware).
I appreciated the scene and understood why there was no “meet & greet” welcome wagon upon my arrival. I apologize for being gun-shy and uneasy when passing people. I feared being the target of their legitimate and heartfelt concerns. St. Paul was able to be “all things to all people” and I kicked myself for not being able to follow his example.
As I tried to “fit in,” Covid made its appearance just a few months after my arrival, and we all had to keep one another at a distance. We were all faced with having to change our routines. How to interact with people? How do we conduct parish life, weekly Masses, funerals, and any parish event? Over time, the faith community endured, and people resumed doing wonderful forms of service within parish life and regional outreaches. So good were people in restoring normalcy, I asked God to inspire me NOT to interfere with the initiatives taken by individuals and committees. As I’ve said a number of times, when I visited people at homes to provide sacraments, it was I who left their premises feeling blest by THEM. Hearing that my successor is a nice guy, I envy his being the recipient of your goodness. The diocesan announcement of my departure said that I and 2 other “senior priests” were retiring, and many of you kindly wished me “happy retirement.” However, Jesuits tend to stay in the saddle and not retire until forced to do so. Consequently, I’m back to where I was in 2019 and looking for a placement. So please keep me in prayer as I will you.
May God the Father bless you with discomfort. Discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that your efforts may all be grounded in the heart of God.
My sincere thanks for the farewell cards presented to me after Sunday’s Mass. Please know that I deeply appreciate your expression of warm tidings. Blending the Hemingway quote above with a Lakota Sioux greeting: There’s no good-bye because we’re not apart. My heart shakes hands with yours.
May God the Son bless you with anger. Anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.
May God the Holy Spirit bless you with tears. Tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain into joy.
May the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit bless you with foolishness. Enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world; so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.
May the blessing of our Creator, who has called you to be a disciple of Jesus—inspire you to go from here and be a blessing for everyone you meet—as you represent the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit—alive in the world through you.
May the blessings of God rest upon you, may God’s peace abide with you, may God’s presence illuminate your heart.