May 17, 2026, Ascension Sunday

In the opening chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, the risen Jesus gathers once more with those who love him most. The disciples are there. The friends who stayed. The ones who ran away and came back again. The ones who doubted and the ones who believed. The family who had watched him die and then witnessed the impossible joy of resurrection are al gathered once again. After forty days of appearances, teaching, meals, reassurance, promises, and love, Jesus leads them out toward Bethany.

And there, he says goodbye.

Again.

Ascension Sunday can feel like an interruption. Throughout the Easter season we have heard story after story of the risen Christ appearing to his followers. Over these weeks, we have watched the disciples slowly come alive again. Fear becomes courage. Grief becomes hope. Despair becomes joy.

And now, just when it seems everything is finally returning to normal, Jesus leaves.

Luke tells us in today’s Gospel that Jesus “withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.” In Acts, we hear that “as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.”

We can imagine what that must have felt like.

How many goodbyes can one heart endure?

These disciples had already lost him once before. They had watched him arrested, condemned, crucified, and buried. And now, after the miracle of resurrection restored him to them, they must face another parting.

Ascension is not only triumphant. It is also tender. Painful. Human.

The Church sometimes rushes too quickly past that emotional reality. We jump immediately to theology: Christ reigns in glory. Christ ascends to the Father. Christ is enthroned at the right hand of God. All of that is true.

But before the glory, there is grief. There are disciples staring upward, hearts aching, wondering what comes next.

And yet—and this is the mystery at the center of Ascension—that departure was necessary.

Not because Jesus abandoned them. But because Jesus was making room.

Throughout the Gospel of John during these Easter weeks, Jesus has been preparing them for exactly this moment. Again and again, he tells them that his leaving is not the end of his presence but the beginning of something new.

“If I do not go away, the Advocate will not come to you.”

“It is to your advantage that I go away.”

“I will not leave you orphaned.”

The Ascension is not about Jesus disappearing. It is about Jesus becoming present in a new and deeper way.

As long as Jesus remained physically among them, the disciples could continue depending on him exactly as they always had. But the time had come for the life of Christ to take root within them.

The time had come for the Church to be born.

The Ascension creates space. Space for the Holy Spirit. Space for disciples to become apostles. Space for frightened followers to become courageous witnesses. Space for ordinary people to discover that the risen Christ could dwell within them.

Jesus ascends not to distance himself from humanity, but to fill humanity with his presence.

This is why the disciples eventually stop staring at the sky.

In Acts, two messengers appear and ask them, “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”

In other words: do not remain frozen in this moment of loss. Do not keep searching for Jesus only somewhere far above you.

Because now the work begins.

Now the Spirit will come. The Church will grow. The Gospel will move beyond Galilee and Jerusalem and Judea and Samaria to the ends of the earth.

And that movement required room for others.

Room for Peter to preach, for Mary Magdalene to proclaim resurrection, for Paul to travel, for saints and martyrs and missionaries, for generations of believers.

That is the astonishing thing about Ascension: Jesus steps aside so that the Body of Christ can expand into the world.

He makes room for humanity to participate in divine life. He makes room for the Church. He makes room for you.

And perhaps that is important for us to hear, because many people secretly wonder whether there is really room for them in the life of God.

You might feel too broken, too uncertain, too burdened by mistakes or grief or doubt.

But the story of Ascension says otherwise.

Jesus does not ascend because humanity failed. He ascends because humanity is now invited deeper in.

Luke tells us that after Jesus ascends, the disciples return to Jerusalem “with great joy.”

Joy.

How is that possible? Because by now they finally understand.

They understand that resurrection was never about going backward. Jesus did not rise simply to restore the old life they once knew. He rose to create something entirely new.

And now, at the Ascension, the disciples begin to understand their own place within that new creation.

The mission no longer belongs only to Jesus standing before them. Now it belongs to all of them together.

Soon the Spirit will descend upon them at Pentecost. Soon fearful disciples will preach boldly in crowded streets. Soon communities of prayer, generosity, and mercy will spread throughout the world.

Before long the Church will become the living presence of Christ on earth.

Not perfect. Not without failure. But filled with the Spirit, nonetheless.

And that remains our calling now.

Ascension reminds us that the Church is not merely an institution preserving memories of Jesus. We are called to become his living body in the world.

When we feed the hungry, forgive, welcome the lonely, comfort the grieving, and bear one another’s burdens, Christ is present.

The ascended Christ is not absent. He is present wherever his Spirit breathes life into his people.

Sometimes love requires making room. Parents know this as children grow older and step into lives of their own. Healthy love does not cling possessively. It blesses, releases, and creates space for others to grow.

That is what Jesus does here. He blesses them. He entrusts them. He releases them into the life they were created for.

So the Ascension is not the story of Christ leaving the world behind. It is the story of Christ trusting the world enough to place his mission into human hands.

Into our hands.

And that is both terrifying and beautiful.

Because now we are the ones called to embody his compassion, proclaim forgiveness and hope, bear witness to resurrection, and make room for others too.

For strangers, seekers, the wounded, the forgotten. For those who wonder whether God could possibly love them.

Ascension declares that there is room.

Christ has made room for humanity in the heart of God. And now the Church must make room for humanity here on earth.

So today we stand with the disciples between absence and promise, between goodbye and new beginning. And like them, we do not stand alone.

For the risen and ascended Christ continues to bless his people, send his Spirit, dwell within us, and lead the Church forward into the world he loves.

Amen.