I have a vivid recollection of a pilgrimage I made to the Holy
Land years ago that relates to the feast we are celebrating today. We
visited the Church of the Ascension that overlooks Jerusalem from the
Mount of Olives, the traditional site of the Ascension. An elderly monk
showed us around the church with its beautiful mosaics and icons, but he
saved what I’m sure he thought the was the best for last. Gathering our
little group into a circle, he waited till he had our attention, and
then pointed to the stone floor in which, even in the dim light, we
could see, worn but unmistakable, traces of footprints which, he gave us
to believe, were the very footprints of Jesus, wondrously burned into
that spot as he took leave of his followers to ascend into heaven.
Now,
scholars and students of archaeology would raise an eyebrow, and a
question or two, at the old monk's claim because the footprints are
almost certainly the work of a pious believer in the Middle Ages who
wanted to make the holiness of the place even more tangible than it
already was.
Even
so, more than fifty years since my visit to that church, I still
remember it clearly – remember looking down at those footprints made
holy by the faith of countless believers down through the ages, watching
people bend low to touch them reverently. I did so myself, but not
without this slightly irreverent thought crossing my mind: if the
message of the angels to Jesus' followers after he left them to ascend
into heaven - the one we heard in today's reading from Acts - was, "Men
of Galilee, why do you stand there looking up toward heaven?" – would
their message to us have been, "Why do you stand there looking down?
I don’t mean to be
irreverent, and I’m not playing with words here. Looking up and looking
down are not just words: they are highly symbolic words worth reflecting
on this day.
First,
looking up. The apostles stood there on the Mount of Olives looking up
toward heaven because they wanted to hold onto Jesus. They were
frightened at the thought of going on without him, so they stood there
frozen. And our little group of pilgrims in the church that day –
looking down at those footprints in the stone - we weren't all that
different. We wanted to hold onto Jesus, too. In that holy place, with
the old monk standing by, Jesus seemed very near: close enough to touch.
Who could blame us for wanting, in this way, to hold onto Jesus like the
apostles of old? But they didn't get to, nor do we. That’s not
what faith in the Risen Lord is about.
So may
I give you another way of looking at what this feast of the Ascension is
all about? Forget for a minute the apostles of Jesus anxiously staring
at the heavens; forget, too, my little group of pilgrims, eyes intently
fixed on the ground, and listen instead to St. Paul in today's second
reading, and listen also to Jesus in the passage we just heard in the
gospel.
In the
reading from Ephesians, St. Paul gave us an entirely new direction in
which to look – not up or down, but in. “Look inward,” he says. Look
with "the eyes of the heart" which are able to see so much more than
these eyes. The eyes of the heart are able to see the hidden things of
God. Listen again: "I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ may
give you a spirit of wisdom...so that with the eyes of the heart...you
may know what is the hope to which you are called, and what is the
immeasurable greatness of God's power in us who believe."
Now
that may sound a bit abstract and theoretical to you, but I assure you
it is not. Paul is telling us that there is absolutely no limit to what
the “eyes of the heart”, the eyes of faith can see. They are able to
look inward with `x-ray vision' and see the wondrous workings of God's
grace. The eyes of the heart are able, in times of pain and darkness and
grief - as well as in times of abundant blessing - to see the hand of a
mysterious but loving God at work. Only the eyes of the heart can make
sense out of life's deepest and most perplexing mysteries because the
eyes of the heart are really God's eyes: God's "great and immeasurable
power working in us."
So, my
friends, you can see why I suggest on this feat that looking up or down
aren't half as important as looking inward, looking with the eyes of the
heart. Long ago, St. Augustine, in a homily for this feast of the
Ascension, put it this way: “Christ ascended before the apostles’ eyes,
and they turned back grieving, only to find Him in their hearts!”
And
then, we are to look in yet one more direction: outward. That’s what
Jesus told his followers to do before he ascended into heaven. "Go,
therefore, and make disciples of all nations," he told them, and that,
too, is what the feast is about.
The
Ascension reminds us that we who follow Christ are called to look
outwards and to go outwards. We are to leave our comfort zone and plant
the seeds of the Gospel in the sometimes quite messy soil of this world:
soil that can be hostile to the Gospel, or at least painfully
indifferent to it. We are called to proclaim good news that doesn’t
always sound very good.
My
friends, the Ascension is about more than looking up or down. It is
about internalizing the gospel to the point that it takes root in us and
totally transforms us. And it is also about taking that gospel to the
streets: preaching it by the love we give, the mercy we offer, the poor
we serve, the justice we promote. Some words attributed to St. Francis
of Assisi come to mind: “Preach the gospel at all times, using words if
necessary.” Sometimes words are necessary. But, my friends, actions
always speak louder. Always!
Father Michael G. Ryan
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