Upon returning from an outing when I was twenty-three and living in London, I was greeted by a young military messenger. In the moment I saw him I knew my twenty-four year old brother, Michael, was dead. It was surreal as he read his notes to me. I dissolved in a moment and almost as quickly pulled myself into compete politeness and thanked him for his care. I released him, went out for a walk, felt insane yet sane, went to the church and prayed. I knew he was now in God's full care. What could I now do? I saw the candle stand I had never approached and knelt there to light a candle with the hope my simple prayers might linger before God, whatever that meant. I could not cry again. My priest told me I needed to go home for the funeral after I had decided not to. It was months before I finally cried, months of frozen shock. I had no category for my grief. Yet every time I pass a candle stand to this day, I light one for Michael as prayer.
You see, I believed in the resurrection and the mercy of God rather completely. If one so believes and is tender in years, death is an odd thing. Michael had passed from this reality to the next. Viet Nam had taken him away emotionally. Two years later this death took him away physically, but to me he had passed from one life to the next. Little did I comprehend that what waited for me was the years of missing him, realizing I would never have the kind friendship we shared for the rest of my days. Later when this finally came home, I grieved.
It is from this place that I understand the Ascension. The disciples had gone from the immediate death of Jesus and fear for their safety into the experience of Resurrection. They had gone from full loss to reencounter with the Risen One. Their grief was interrupted by hope and a sense of God's strange but constant care and love. In some ways it must have healed their grieving before it was complete, before the missing had taken full effect and meaning. And then that is over, the Ascension happened, the ending of the resurrected presence. Now what?
Jesus tells them in Matthew;
"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age." Matthew 28:19-20
The task is clear. They are to take what has been taught them, what they have seen and experienced and share it such that people follow Christ and invigorate a faith in God. Baptism is the entrance, teaching is the road to depth and moral pattern. Remembrance and presence will give strength.
And yet there must have been time to finish grief. Is that part of the task ahead in the ten days before Pentecost? As they gathered to pray and find center and tell stories, gather them in, did they not also miss the nearer presence?
The reading from Hebrews today speaks to this other task.
Since, then, we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast to our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. Hebrews 4:14-16
Grief is healed not because we deny it. It is healed for believers in part because in Jesus we have this high priest. We have One who has enveloped our way. Who has occupied our weakness and transformed it not simply by some clear God power, but by entering our weaker selves and living in full faith and comprehension of us. In this way our very substance has been loved, handled with divine tenderness, forgiven weakness, and our substance lingers in the heart of God and God in all. "And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age."
In some mystical way we enter the Godhead with Christ. I picture our heart strings tethered to His. Our struggles and weakness are understood with intimacy which is fed as we partake of Eucharist, communion. The Presence can be found in our presence and forgives what we do not yet understand. The Ascension is not just an ending, but a new beginning as well.
Still when I pass by a candle stand, I light one. Now at this age as I pray for Michael's continuing journey into God, he is joined by many others I remember by name. All of whom rise, ascend into the presence of God. One day you and I will too. The lighting of candles will not be necessary, but it may be done just the same to honor how we are all so connected in the Ascended Christ.
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