I always struggle a little bit with the Feast of the Ascension. It feels like a goodbye, and this year especially I’ve been thinking about it through the lens of loss. There’s just so much loss these days, and it’s hard for me not to project it onto this feast. Or, maybe there’s a call here to allow God to speak to me through this feast. So, that’s what I’ll try to do.

The other day, I listened to an NPR podcast about loss and ways to cope with it, and while I listened to it, I was driving to a funeral for a former student who had just died of cancer. Dana was only 30. She was married to a beautiful man who loved her, and they have a beautiful five-year-old daughter. Hers is a heartbreaking loss for them and for all who know her. It stirs up questions about life and death and suffering and the why of it all.

This week we all watched the horrific news unfold from Uvalde, Texas. Knowing that children were gunned down and harmed while other children were traumatized is too much to take in. Witnessing the anguish of their parents and loved ones is so deeply heartbreaking. There are no words to explain or fix it or, God forbid, cheer us up, but just lots and lots of intense feelings. This, too, invites the why questions – why did this happen? Why would someone do something so awful? Why does this keep happening?

There’s so much loss. And trauma. Layer upon layer upon layer of trauma.

I don’t have any answers to why. I only have questions and a lot of tears and a kind of clutching sensation in my chest. Where is God in all of this? Here we are on Ascension Sunday watching Jesus wave good bye.

In the Gospel, we get a little more by way of conversation from Jesus. He reminds his disciples that it was written that he would suffer and die, and also that he would rise from the dead. And his message would continue. He reminds them that they have been “witnesses of these things.”

They have been witnesses to all of it – the suffering and the glory. They witnessed betrayal, violence, confusion, and the execution of an innocent life. They witnessed the impossibility of Christ rising from the dead. They witnessed the risen Christ popping up all over the place – into locked rooms, on the seashore, along the road. He shows up with his wounds. He breathes peace upon them. He asks for something to eat. He breaks bread.

They are witnesses of these things, and they are bearers of these things. They perceive it all, take it in, and begin to proclaim the message of Christ. They become the presence of Christ. Maybe that’s why Christ must ascend. He needs to get out of the way so that his followers can be his presence in the world, and so that they can grow into leaders. And they do. They receive the Holy Spirit, and – bam. They’re on fire. They ignite and light a fire under others too, and the community grows and the mission grows.

I almost always overlook the Second Reading from Ephesians on this feast – there’s a lot happening in the First Reading and the Gospel, what with Jesus ascending and all. This year, though, it caught my attention, probably because I need it so much. It’s a kind of blessing for the followers of Jesus, including us. “May the God of Jesus Christ . . . give you a Spirit of wisdom and revelation resulting in knowledge of Christ. May the eyes of your hearts be enlightened, that you may know what is the hope that belongs to God’s call.”

More than ever, I need to know, to know, the hope that belongs to this call. It’s very hard to find hope anywhere else these days. I have to find it in God’s call.

Part of what this feast shows us is that revelation of Christ in the world, even amidst all of this sorrow, is up to us. That may seem like a humanistic approach, but I think it’s really incarnational. The reality is that the presence of Christ crucified and risen is within each one of us. That’s where God is in all of this. Not waving good bye from above, but generating hope from within us. What do we do with that? And what even is hope? We know it’s a Christian virtue, a gift from God. It’s also something that can be learned and cultivated and practiced. I learned that in Brené Brown’s latest book, Atlas of the Heart. She also writes, “Hope is a function of struggle – we develop hope not during the easy times but through adversity and discomfort” (100). Just reading that gives me hope. The hard things in life could break me, or they could actually build hope within me. I think the first disciples would concur. In all that they went through, even though it was awful, they remained hopeful, especially in light of the resurrection. They were emboldened and uplifted and enlivened by the Holy Spirit too. As are we.

Also, the disciples did not keep that hope and call to mission to themselves. They allowed the all that they witnessed, the power of the Gospel, the movement of the Spirit, to spur them into action. I hear an invitation in that. There are some things in life that I can’t control, but sometimes there are actions I can take. I can pray for families in their grief and suffering, and I can also work to make schools safer. Another thing that Brené Brown says about hope is that to experience it, we must have three things: realistic goals, ways to achieve those goals, and agency, actions we can take (97). There are some things we can do to affect change, and I suspect that if we do them, we’ll feel more hopeful and empowered.

Of course, there are times when we don’t have any agency. There are situations when we are, in fact, powerless. I’m thinking again of Dana, such a faithful young woman. I wish I could do more than just pray for her family and cry my own tears. There are some hard things that we just can’t change. That’s life. However, in honoring her and remembering how many people knew and loved her, I am bearing witness to her life – a short life but one well-lived. Knowing her helps me to feel like I’ve born witness to both joy and suffering, like the disciples of Jesus. Dana taught me a lot about how to do that. She had struggled with health issues for most of her life, and even as an undergraduate student had a depth and maturity about herself, probably because of her struggles. She showed me that you can hold both pain and joy at the same time. She showed me that there’s a lot in life to be grateful for, even when things are very hard. Hers was a genuine gratitude too, not a pithy kind of spiritual bypassing. She was genuinely grateful, particularly for the people in her life. I think that is wisdom for our time as well. Life can be astonishingly unfair sometimes and excruciatingly painful, but it can also be full of joy and wonder. We bear witness to it all, both suffering and joy. Like Dana did. Like Jesus did. Like the first disciples did too.

We are witnesses of these things. We know the hope that belongs to God’s call, God’s call to not only proclaim the Gospel but to take action as well. Together may we be empowered to bring hope to the world.

For reflection

• Have you ever held both joy and suffering at the same time? What was that like?

• How do you find hope in God’s call?

• How do you witness both joy and suffering?

• How is God calling you to respond to what’s happening in the world and in your own life right now?

You can also listen to this reflection by clicking below.