Ascension Day
Why celebrate Ascension Day? Jesus has left. It feels like an annual send-off for someone we love who's far away. How is that good news?
It's a question I've heard, and one I've wrestled with. Christmas and Easter are clear joys; Pentecost brings palpable power. But Ascension? It can feel like a holy disappearance, a lingering question mark.
I understand that ache. Having moved cities several times, I know those heavy goodbyes. Meaningful, yes, but tinged with sorrow. I wouldn't ask far-away friends to commemorate my departure every year. So why mark Jesus' leaving with joy?
Because the Ascension isn't a departure at all—it's the fulfillment of the Incarnation. In Jesus, God became human. In the Ascension, humanity is taken up into God.
That very human body—born in a manger, familiar with dusty roads, laid in a tomb—now enters heaven. He doesn't shed his flesh; he glorifies it, takes it with him. In doing so, he draws us into the very life of God. What looked like a departure is actually the climax of God's upside-down work: the very flesh he took up is now exalted.
Our lingering image of Ascension as a send-off often stems from imagining heaven as far away. But the early Christians didn't think of Christ as somewhere beyond the clouds, inaccessible to us. To them, heaven is at hand—just beyond a veil. It interlocks with earth like breath and lungs, soul and body. Distinct, yes, but not distant.
So when Jesus ascends, he may vanish from our sight, but he is not absent. In fact, he's more available than ever before. Having moved into God's space—a realm that intersects with our own—he hasn't receded from us but gone ahead for us. His is a reality that can now wholly inhabit ours, making him universally present.
And that's why the disciples watched him go with joy, not sorrow. Because they saw not a departure, but an enthronement. Seated at the Father's right hand—still human, yet fully divine—the crucified Nazarene is now the exalted Lord of all. And even in glory, he remains who he has always been: the One who loves, who suffers with us, who will never let us go.
One day the veil between heaven and earth will lift, and we will see him face to face. Until then, his presence is no less real—not vanished, but veiled. Like the ocean just beyond the dunes.
I’m reminded of The Nurturing Place, a Catholic day care in Jersey City for children from families without homes. One day the sisters took the toddlers—many of whom had never seen the ocean—to the beach. They climbed the dunes, wide-eyed, and at the sight of the endless water, they laughed and chased the waves. After lunch, they begged to return. One little boy, Freddie, ran ahead, scrambled up the dunes, and, seeing it again, shouted, "It's still there!"1
So much had vanished from Freddie's short life—homes, people, places. For him, even the ocean might’ve vanished while he wasn't looking. But it hadn't. It was still there.
We're older now; we know the ocean remains even when unseen. In the wake of loss and absence, we're still learning to trust that the ascended Lord is not far off or indifferent, but reigning just behind the veil—closer to us than our own breath.
And so we celebrate Ascension—not a send-off party, but a coronation feast. Not because Jesus is gone, but because he is more present than ever.
When he takes us with him into God, there will be no more farewells. Even now, he holds the universe together. And he holds you. That is why, when uncertainty looms—when we feel adrift or forgotten—we know he remains on the throne.
If we ever forget, if the loneliness becomes too much, if we doubt Christ remains with us—may we hear Freddie's voice echoing from that eternal shore: “It's still there!”
Yes, he is still there. And by his Spirit, he is still here.
These midweek reflections are a preview of my upcoming sermon—but not the sermon itself.
You can find the full sermon here after it’s preached.
Quindlen, Anna. “Public & Private; Social Conscience.” New York Times: April 4, 1991. Hat tip to Barbara Lundblad who made me aware of this story in her reflection on Luke 24:44-53 on workingpreacher.org.
Well done Ben! I have never heard the Ascension described like this . You made it come alive for me.
I agree with the ladies here: Well said, Ben!