As we gaze upon the painting and read this passage from the Acts of the Apostles:
“Those who had gathered asked him, ‘Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?’ He replied, ‘It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’ When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said, ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.’”
The Ascension begins a new way of the Lord’s presence—not static, but deeply dynamic. We recall this solemnity every time we recite the Creed: “He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.”
We cannot remain simply looking up to heaven. Looking can be good, if it means contemplating, observing, being moved, and giving thanks. But in the Acts of the Apostles, “standing still” denotes inactivity—a stark contrast to the Ascension, and to the Incarnation.
To remain still is utterly opposed to the life of Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God. To contemplate his life is to behold the dynamism of the Incarnation. Are not his wounds and scars signs of his love, given to the very end? Is not the way of the Cross, and his appearances to his friends after the Resurrection, filled with life and steps toward eternal Life?
Historically, the liturgical solemnity of the Ascension is more recent than that of Pentecost. The first documented mention is by Saint Eusebius in the year 325, who refers to it as a “solemn day” in a letter about Easter.
This solemn day is an opportunity to give thanks for the promise of the Holy Spirit—the breath of God, which strengthens our own breath as disciples. As the Gospel of Luke says, it clothes us with power so we may walk forward.
The Ascension is a feast of trust: the Father and the Son entrust each of us with the mission to be witnesses to Christ’s salvation for all humankind. We are called to bring the Good News to the ends of the earth. His blessing is a source of joy.
So then, with a promise, the dynamic strength of the Holy Spirit, his blessing, and the certainty that he is with us until the end of time… can we not hold on to hope in our hearts?
As we contemplate the image, it is right and necessary to recall Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene: “I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God” (Jn 20:17). The Son fulfills God’s Word. Does this image not echo the statement of Saint Athanasius of Alexandria: “The Son of God became man so that we might become God”? (Catechism, n. 460).
And for us—those who are and belong to the Assumption—what does the Ascension mean? It is the feast in which we actively respond, in the plural, to the Lord’s mandate: go, make disciples, baptize, proclaim... It is within the Church that we continue to build a world where the earth may also be a place of glory for God.
We contemplate and celebrate the life of Jesus Christ on earth as a profound descent and a glorious ascent. “The heavens belong to the Lord, but the earth he has given to humankind” (Ps 115:16). It is here and now, in our history, that we give thanks for believing in a God who became close to humanity, and who entrusted us with the gift of creation—to praise him, glorify him, and labor with our whole lives for the coming of his Kingdom.
You, who are reading these lines—can you find in the Feast of the Ascension a reason to fix your gaze on Jesus Christ and exclaim, with the Assumption throughout the ages: “In the Assumption, everything is for Jesus Christ, everything belongs to Jesus Christ, everything must be for Jesus Christ” (Instruction, 02.05.1884)?
Ana Alonso, ra