The understanding of Christian dogmas and symbols of faith change as we change. As the goal of life is to mature into a living union with God, as we grow into this faith-union, our understanding of our faith and practice must necessarily change. In my early years, I simply accepted the events of Christ’s Ascension and the descent of the Holy Spirit in a literal way, so that I believed that these events occurred as described in St. Luke’s Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles. But if someone had asked me, “What difference does the Ascension make in your life?” or “What does Pentecost mean to you?” I would have been confused and befuddled, and not known how to answer.
Later on, as a Benedictine monk and then as a Catholic priest serving in parishes, I began to emphasize various themes on these two feasts in order to communicate to fellow Christians something of the meaning of the events celebrated. For the Ascension, I emphasized the physical absence of Jesus Christ from the world, and connected that to the necessity to have a faith and love for the God we cannot see, who is ever beyond our understanding. Then for Pentecost, I would speak about the closeness of God, to God dwelling in the depths of the believer’s heart or mind, whether experienced as present, or known only through simple trust. During these years I surely accepted the dogma of the Trinity, and I experienced a degree of peace and joy in faith that connected me to God. Faith union was growing.
As I have aged and had more years to experience the reality of God, and move further a creedal belief, I have sought to connect our liturgical celebrations with our faith and love for God, the One who loves each and all beyond our understanding, and who alone is truly wise and just. On the feast of the Ascension, I may still use the account of Jesus’ return to the Father as the basis for the proclamation, but I keep asking myself questions in order to help make our celebrations more real and personal for those who attend. Whether or not I share the questions in a homily, I must listen to the questions and wonder: In what ways is Christ present to you, to me, here and now? In what sense did Jesus leave his disciples in the world, and in what ways is He ever with us? What is meant in the Church when we declare that “Jesus has ascended to the Father, and is Lord?” In what ways does Christ rule over human beings—some, or all—and in what ways is his ruling less than complete, not yet fully established? How does Jesus Christ connect us to the God who says, “I AM WHO AM,” to the God who is the Beginning, who brings forth everything that exists out of nothing—“the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,” the God of Moses and the prophets, the God of Jesus Christ, the God who “enlightens every soul coming into the world”? Who is this God, and how can we experience His presence, and love Him more truly, obeying “every word that comes forth from the mouth of God”? What is meant by “the Holy Spirit who has been poured into our hearts?” I often wonder: Can one discern in one’s soul the difference between the spiritual presence of Christ, and the Holy Spirit? And so on. How can I share in God reaching out through word and sacrament into the heart and mind of the faithful?
Later on, as a Benedictine monk and then as a Catholic priest serving in parishes, I began to emphasize various themes on these two feasts in order to communicate to fellow Christians something of the meaning of the events celebrated. For the Ascension, I emphasized the physical absence of Jesus Christ from the world, and connected that to the necessity to have a faith and love for the God we cannot see, who is ever beyond our understanding. Then for Pentecost, I would speak about the closeness of God, to God dwelling in the depths of the believer’s heart or mind, whether experienced as present, or known only through simple trust. During these years I surely accepted the dogma of the Trinity, and I experienced a degree of peace and joy in faith that connected me to God. Faith union was growing.
As I have aged and had more years to experience the reality of God, and move further a creedal belief, I have sought to connect our liturgical celebrations with our faith and love for God, the One who loves each and all beyond our understanding, and who alone is truly wise and just. On the feast of the Ascension, I may still use the account of Jesus’ return to the Father as the basis for the proclamation, but I keep asking myself questions in order to help make our celebrations more real and personal for those who attend. Whether or not I share the questions in a homily, I must listen to the questions and wonder: In what ways is Christ present to you, to me, here and now? In what sense did Jesus leave his disciples in the world, and in what ways is He ever with us? What is meant in the Church when we declare that “Jesus has ascended to the Father, and is Lord?” In what ways does Christ rule over human beings—some, or all—and in what ways is his ruling less than complete, not yet fully established? How does Jesus Christ connect us to the God who says, “I AM WHO AM,” to the God who is the Beginning, who brings forth everything that exists out of nothing—“the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob,” the God of Moses and the prophets, the God of Jesus Christ, the God who “enlightens every soul coming into the world”? Who is this God, and how can we experience His presence, and love Him more truly, obeying “every word that comes forth from the mouth of God”? What is meant by “the Holy Spirit who has been poured into our hearts?” I often wonder: Can one discern in one’s soul the difference between the spiritual presence of Christ, and the Holy Spirit? And so on. How can I share in God reaching out through word and sacrament into the heart and mind of the faithful?
