Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord 

In the Ascension: Eternity Opens and Mission Unfolds 

Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord 
(Seventh Sunday of Easter, Mathew 28:16-20, 17 May 2026) 

Today, the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord is being celebrated. After descending into our humanity and redeeming it, now Jesus ascends to heaven, taking our flesh with Him. Jesus is the first human being to enter Heaven, precisely because He is both true God and true man. “Our flesh is in heaven,” “and this gives us joy!” This Solemnity embraces two elements. On the one hand it directs our gaze toward heaven, where the glorified Jesus is seated at the right hand of God (Mathew 28: 16-20; Mark 16:19). On the other, it reminds us of the mission of the Church: why? Because Jesus, Risen and Ascended into heaven, sends his disciples to spread the Gospel throughout the world. Therefore, the Ascension exhorts us to lift our gaze toward heaven, in order to return it immediately to the earth, to implement the tasks that the Risen Lord entrusts to us. (Pope Francis, Angelus, 2018) 

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Jesus, Ascensus Domini: When Human Flesh Enters the Eternal Horizon-The Solemnity of the Ascension confronts us with a mystery that is at once metaphysical and deeply personal: in Christ, our humanity is not abandoned to finitude but is drawn into eternity. The One who descended into the depths of our condition—Verbum caro factum est—now ascends, not by shedding His humanity, but by glorifying it. This is no mere spatial departure; it is an ontological elevation. Humanity, in Christ, crosses the threshold from status viatoris to status gloriae. 

“Our flesh is in heaven,” and this is not poetic exaggeration but theological precision. In the Ascension, the human condition is irrevocably dignified. Christ, Pontifex maximus, carries our nature across the abyss that sin had carved. Thus, the Ascension is not absence but a new mode of presence—non localiter sed sacramentaliter. For a parish that feels the weight of aging members, empty pews, and the quiet erosion of community life, this truth becomes a luminous anchor: our destiny is not decline but participation in divine life. The elderly are not forgotten remnants; they are already closer to that horizon where Christ has gone. Their fragility becomes, in faith, a proximity to glory. 

Pastoral Anecdote-One evening, I went to visit an elderly parishioner who had not been seen in church for months. She lived alone in a small, quiet house not far from the parish. The curtains were half drawn, and the silence inside was heavy. As I sat beside her, she said softly, “Father, I feel like everyone has gone… even God feels far away.” I brought her Holy Communion. When she received the Eucharist, her eyes filled with tears—not of sorrow, but of recognition. After a moment of silence, she whispered, “He hasn’t gone… He has come closer.” As I prepared to leave, she held my hand and said something I will never forget: “I cannot come to church anymore… but the Church came to me today.” That evening, as I walked back, I realized that the Ascension had unfolded before my eyes. Christ, who has ascended into heaven, had not abandoned her. Instead, He reached her through the fragile ministry of the Church. The distance between heaven and that small room had collapsed. Eternity had touched time. And in that quiet encounter, mission was fulfilled—not in grand gestures, but in a simple visit, a shared presence, a piece of consecrated bread. This anecdote beautifully expresses the heart of your theme: Christ ascends, yet remains; eternity opens, and mission unfolds precisely in the hidden, pastoral moments of love. 

The Paradox of Presence in Absence-At first glance, the Ascension appears as a departure—a leaving behind. The disciples stand gazing upward, suspended between wonder and loss. Yet this apparent absence conceals a deeper presence. Christ ascends so that He may be universally present: no longer confined to one place, but accessible in every place, especially in the sacramental life of the Church. Here lies a profound philosophical paradox: presence is intensified through absence. As St. Augustine intuited, Christ withdrew His visible presence to deepen the invisible communion. The Ascension inaugurates the age of faith, where seeing yields to believing, and believing opens into a more intimate union. In our parish reality—where many feel abandoned, where loneliness echoes in homes once filled with family—this mystery speaks powerfully. Christ has not withdrawn from the elderly widow, the isolated sick, or the discouraged parishioner. Rather, He has drawn nearer in a hidden mode. He is present in the Eucharist, in the Word, and in the face of the neighbor. To rediscover this presence requires a conversion of perception: from empirical certainty to sacramental vision. The Church becomes the locus of this encounter—communion sanctorum, where Christ’s ascended presence is mediated through fragile human relationships. 

From Contemplation to Commission-The Ascension is not merely about where Christ is; it is about what the Church must become. The Gospel of Matthew concludes not with a farewell, but with a mandate: “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations.” The upward gaze must become an outward movement. This is the dynamic tension at the heart of Christian existence: contemplation and action are not opposed but interwoven. The one who looks toward heaven is immediately sent back to earth. The Ascension transforms passive spectators into active witnesses. 

For a parish experiencing dwindling participation and shifting demographics, this mission is not abstract. It calls for a reawakening of identity. We are not merely custodians of a fading structure; we are bearers of a living Gospel. The Church is not a museum of memory but a field of mission—ecclesia semper in missione. This mission begins not in distant lands but in the immediate neighborhood: visiting the sick, reaching out to those who have drifted away, accompanying the lonely. The Ascension reminds us that Christ entrusts His work to us—not because we are sufficient, but because His grace is. Non ego autem, sed gratia Dei mecum (1 Cor 15:10). 

The Priest and the People as Bridge-Bearers-The Ascension reveals Christ as the eternal bridge—Pontifex—uniting heaven and earth. Yet this bridging is not His alone; it is extended to the Church, and in a particular way, to the priest. The priest stands in persona Christi Capitis, mediating between divine grace and human need. But this mediation is not limited to ordained ministry. Every baptized person participates in this bridging vocation. The mother caring for her sick child, the volunteer visiting the homebound, the parishioner who offers a word of encouragement—all become living bridges where heaven touches earth. In a community marked by fragmentation and isolation, this call to be “bridge-bearers” is urgent. The parish must move from being a place people attend to a communion people inhabit. Structures alone cannot heal; relationships can. The Ascension invites us to become a network of grace, where each member carries the presence of Christ into the life of another 

Hope Against the Horizon of Decline-There is a quiet temptation in many parishes today: the temptation to interpret decline as destiny. Fewer attendees, aging congregations, and social shifts can create a narrative of inevitable diminishment. The Ascension decisively challenges this narrative. If Christ has ascended, then history is not closed; it is open. The horizon is not collapse but fulfillment. Christian hope is not optimism based on trends; it is a theological virtue grounded in the risen and ascended Lord. In Tenebris Lucet Spes—in the darkness, hope shines. This hope does not deny the reality of suffering or decline; rather, it reinterprets it. The Cross precedes the Ascension. Thus, the struggles of the parish—loneliness, illness, emptiness—are not signs of abandonment but potential sites of transformation. Hope becomes concrete when it takes flesh in small acts: a phone call to someone who has not been seen in months, a visit to the sick, a renewed effort to welcome newcomers. These are not insignificant gestures; they are participations in the mission of the Ascended Christ. 

The Hidden Continuation of Presence-The Ascension does not remove Christ from the world; it transforms His presence into a sacramental mode. Nowhere is this more evident than in the Eucharist. The One who is seated at the right hand of the Father becomes present on the altar—vere, realiter, substantialiter. Here, heaven and earth converge. The Eucharist is the locus where the Ascension becomes tangible. The parish, gathered around the altar, is drawn into that same movement: lifted up into communion with God and sent forth into mission. For those who feel disconnected or distant, the Eucharist remains the privileged place of encounter. Even when the pews are fewer, the mystery remains infinite. Each Mass is a participation in the heavenly liturgy, a foretaste of the communion toward which the Ascension points. 

Cumulative Summary-The Ascension reveals that in Christ our humanity is lifted into the very life of God, opening eternity as our true destiny. What appears as Christ’s departure is in fact a deeper, universal presence—He is no longer bound by place but dwells sacramentally among us. This mystery calls the Church to move from passive looking to active mission: contemplation becomes mission. In a parish marked by aging, loneliness, and empty pews, the Ascension reawakens hope, reminding us that decline is not our final horizon. Christ entrusts His mission to us, making every believer a bearer of His presence in the world. The priest and the faithful together become bridges—pontifices—between heaven and earth. The Eucharist stands as the privileged place where the Ascended Lord remains truly present, drawing us into communion and sending us forth. 

The struggles of the community are not signs of abandonment but invitations to deeper charity and outreach. Small acts of love—visiting the sick, welcoming the absent, accompanying the lonely—become the concrete unfolding of Christ’s mission. 

The Ascension teaches that heaven is not distant but already opened, touching our lives through grace. Thus, the Church lives between lifted eyes and sent feet, rooted in hope and active in love. Eternity has opened, and in every act of charity, mission continues. 

Conclusion: Lifted Eyes, Sent Feet-The Ascension leaves us with a dual movement: eyes lifted toward heaven and feet planted firmly on earth. We are a people suspended between promise and mission, between contemplation and action. To gaze at Christ is to be transformed; to be transformed is to be sent. The parish, therefore, must rediscover itself not as a place of passive gathering but as a community of sent disciples. The challenges we face—aging, isolation, empty spaces—are not obstacles to mission; they are the very fields in which mission unfolds. 

Christ has ascended, but He has not left us orphans. He remains with us—Ecce ego vobiscum sum omnibus diebus—in every moment, in every struggle, in every act of love. And so, the Ascension becomes not an ending, but a beginning: Eternity has opened, and mission has begun. 

Fraternally, 
Fr. John Peter Lazaar SAC, Pastor