Parting Sorrows

Success is a wonderful thing, but it tends not to be the sort of experience that we learn from. We enjoy it; perhaps we even deserve it. But we don't acquire wisdom from it. – Timothy Noah

The disciples looked up into the sky, shielding their eyes against the bright rays of the mid-day sun. John, whose young eyes were the sharpest, was least able of the lot to see Jesus disappear from view. You see, while his eyesight was keen, his vision was greatly impaired by his tears.

Yes, tears. Barely forty days earlier Jesus had been taken from them, tried by the religious leaders and Roman authorities, flogged, sentenced to death, nailed to a tree, and buried in a tomb not even his own. Two days later (three as some count the days), Jesus had apparently been evicted from the borrowed tomb, for neither he nor his body were to be found there.

What happened next was as big a mystery as any of the good folks at CSI-Jerusalem would ever face, and no ancient sleuth or detective type would ever really figure out what happened to the body of the man they had executed. All they could say for sure is that the body had gone missing. They had at least twelve persons they could suspect of being grave robbers, and yet it seemed highly unlikely that those who fled into the darkness when Jesus was arrested would have had the guts or skills to spirit away a body lying in a tomb, guarded by heavily armed soldiers and police, and further secured by a heavy stone. But gone he was, and the locals were abuzz with rumors too bizarre to be considered seriously.

For forty days Jesus had become a now-you-see-him and now-you-don’t phenomenon. Sometimes you would find him popping up in a locked room; other times you might find him walking with friends along a dusty road, eating fish, breaking bread, and continuing to teach as was his custom; and at yet other times he might fix you breakfast on the beach after helping to turn around what had been a horrible night of coming up empty fishing to netting an unbelievable catch.

But now … now he was gone.

We are told that Jesus “ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father …” We, especially we of a more rational or scientific bent, may have trouble understanding some of the physics behind the ascension, perhaps even to the point of calling it a myth or a metaphor; but what seems clear to me is the depth of sorrow one feels when another – especially one who is loved – is taken from us.

We grieve death; we grieve loss; we grieve those we love and see no more. And yet …

And yet the story we hear, and the story we read, and the story we tell is this: God did not allow his holy one to see corruption (that is, did not allow the body time to decay and feed the worms). “He is not here,” says the angel at the tomb. “He has risen, just as he told you.” He did not descend to the depths to stay, but has gone directly to be with God in heaven.

We do not seek Jesus among those who have died; rather, we seek those who have died among the One who lives – Jesus. Jesus has gone to be with his father. So do those we love and see no more. The body is sown corruptible, but is raised incorruptible.

In the pain of separation we feel like we’re stumbling around in the dark. It doesn’t matter if the darkness and despair are connected to a literal form of death, or in the loss of a job, or the death of a marriage, or in the loss of one’s health, or in the death of one’s dream; it doesn’t matter if the loss has been anticipated, contemplated, planned and prepared for, or if it comes to hit us like a bolt of lightning from out of the blue. Death is devastating, and its horrifying, and it is hell on earth.

But in the ascension, we see in picture-form God’s promise that we’ll not be left in the lurch; we’ll not be abandoned or dismissed with wishes for “better luck next time”. Instead, God who dwelt with us in human form will come to us again in the power of his spirit to embrace us, to strengthen us, and to carry us forward.

The ascension of our Lord tells us, in the end, two things: First, that where Jesus goes we will follow (we have his word on that); and secondly, that Jesus leaves the world in good hands. Those hands have wounds, to be sure. They are, after all, hands that were nailed to the tree, and we have been every bit as wounded in life as Jesus. But if we listen to the Spirit, we will know that we do not have to lash out in pain, but hold on in love. Hold on to God; and hold on to one another.

It will never get any better than that in this, our valley. Peace!

Note: Photo Credit embedded in Photo Name