
The Ascension has always struck me as a moment that could easily feel like a goodbye. The disciples stand there, eyes fixed on the sky, watching Jesus disappear from their sight. It is quiet, confusing, even a little painful. Anyone who has ever lost someone they love knows that instinct – to keep looking, to hold onto the last glimpse, to wish for one more moment.
I felt that deeply when my father died recently. There are still mornings when I wake up and, for a brief second, forget. In that fragile space between sleep and reality, everything feels normal – as if I will walk into the living room and find him there, ready to talk, ready to laugh, ready to ask where we’re going that day. Then the truth settles in again. He is gone, at least from my sight.
That is why the Ascension speaks so personally to the heart. Because at first, it looks like loss. But the angels interrupt the disciples’ grief-filled gaze with a question: “Why are you standing there looking at the sky?” It is not a rebuke, but a gentle redirection. This is not the end of the story. This is not Jesus going away.
This is Jesus lifting everything up.
Jesus does not ascend to distance Himself from us, but to draw our humanity into the very life of God. He takes with Him our wounds, our stories, our relationships – even our grief. He carries it all into heaven. Which means that those we love are not lost somewhere beyond reach. In Christ, they are held in God.
What disappears from our eyes does not disappear from His hands.

That realization has reshaped the way I carry my father’s absence. The ache is still real. The longing has not gone away. But now it is anchored in something deeper: the conviction that he is not gone into emptiness, but lifted into fullness. The Ascension reminds us that love is not buried; it is raised.
And yet, the Ascension does not leave us standing still.
In the Gospel, Jesus does not tell His disciples to remain where they are and remember Him fondly. He tells them, “Go … make disciples … teach … baptize.” It is a sending, a mission. The moment that seems like an ending is actually a beginning.
That is hard when you are grieving. Grief can make you want to pause your life, to linger in what was, to hold everything in place – because moving forward feels like leaving someone behind.
But the Ascension teaches something different. We do not honor those we love by staying in the past. We honor them by living what they have given us.
Since my father’s passing, I have found myself reflecting on who he was – his faith, his strength, his humor, his quiet love. Little by little, I am beginning to see that the best way to keep him close is not by looking back, but by carrying those gifts forward. In the choices I make, in the way I love, in the way I serve – he is there.
The same is true for our relationship with Christ. We receive His life not to hold onto it tightly, but to give it away.
Still, there is that lingering question: Where is He now? Where are they now?
Jesus answers it with a promise that meets us right in that space of absence: “I am with you always.”
Those words are not sentimental. They are deeply tested in moments of loss. Because absence feels so definitive. It feels like the opposite of presence.
However, the Ascension reveals something more mysterious and more consoling: In Christ, absence is not the end of presence – it is the beginning of a deeper one.
The disciples no longer saw Jesus, yet He was closer to them than ever. So it is with those we love. Though we cannot see them, they are not far. They are held where Christ is – in the heart of God.
The One who ascended is the One who remains – and so the Ascension is not a story about Jesus leaving us behind. It is about Him lifting us up, sending us forward and holding us close. It calls us to stop staring at the sky and begin walking in hope – trusting that Christ carries our loved ones, walks beside us each day, and is preparing a reunion greater than anything we can imagine.
Father Michael A. de Leon, AM, is pastor of Saint Simon Stock Parish, Berlin.












