Jesus isn’t localized in one place. This seems to be the message of the ascension in nutshell. Jesus ascended to heaven so that he can be present everywhere. This feels like a good message for our current moment. You don’t have to go to any particular building to be near to Jesus. There are other ways to experience true communion. Nadia Bolz Weber recently expressed this when she writes:
I do not know when we can gather together again in worship, Lord.
So, for now I just ask that:
When I sing along in my kitchen to each song on Stevie Wonder’s Songs in The Key of Life Album, that it be counted as praise. (Happy 70th Birthday, SW!)
And that when I read the news and my heart tightens in my chest, may it be counted as a Kyrie.
And that when my eyes brighten in a smile behind my mask as I thank the cashier may it be counted as passing the peace.
And that when I water my plants and wash my dishes and take a shower may it be counted as remembering my baptism.
And that when the tears come and my shoulders shake and my breathing falters, may it be counted as prayer.
And that when I stumble upon a Tabitha Brown video and hear her grace and love of you may it be counted as a hearing a homily.
And that as I sit at that table in my apartment, and eat one more homemade meal, slowly, joyfully, with nothing else demanding my time or attention, may it be counted as communion.
Amen.
That said: the ascension also seems to be about absence and hiddenness. If I were one of Jesus’ early followers I would not want to trade his earthy presence for the same type of ephemeral and spiritual presence that I experience now in the 21st century. My longing for my friend would be palpable: to touch, to hear, to walk with in companionable silence. Indeed, it feels like for as long as I can remember I have been seeking out intimacy with a living Lord. I can’t say that I haven’t found it, but I would say that I cannot hold on to this feeling.
This is the longest that I have been away from church in my whole adult life. When I was in Jr High I had an extended time of not attending, but, if anything, I was even more God-haunted. It was a powerful time in my life because I gave up on a vision of faith that was killing me. I grew up attending church alone and absorbing by osmosis a holiness theology that left me feeling like I could lose my salvation at any moment. The fear was tearing me apart and I needed to get away from it for awhile. At summer camp and on the Christian radio station I started to find other ways to think about the nature of salvation and God grace. I am wondering this morning—if little by little, imperceptibly, I haven’t slunk back towards this hyper-Arminianism of my childhood. In any event, I am feeling the same burden—the same existential dread about every decision—maybe I am going to mess this up, maybe I am doing this wrong. Perhaps, it is time—once again—to re-assess some things.
The church embodies Jesus, but complexly.
I know it is tearing many of us up to be away from our communal assembling, but perhaps there can be spiritual benefit from this time spent away. The Church is Christ’s body on earth, but not in a simple way – this is a complicated piece of theological sociology. We are the hands that serve, but we can also be the hands that hurt. We can be the voice the comforts, but we can also be the voice that castigates. We can be the eyes that look on the world with compassion, but we can also be the eyes that look at the world with scorn.
It was within Christ’s absent presence that the church arose on Pentecost. In that mystery. In the blank space left by the embodied Lord ascended and snatched up to heaven....It was into a space of tangible longing and lack that the Spirit moved into -- like a rush of wind, like a mighty fire.
May this also be true for us.
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