Ascension - May 29, 2025

The Feast of the Ascension

Church of the Atonement

The Rev’d Charles Everson

May 29, 2025

We just witnessed a liturgical moment that is packed with symbolism: the extinguishing of the Paschal candle. Since the Easter Vigil, that great pillar of fire has stood in our sanctuary as a sign of Christ's risen presence among us. Lit from the new fire in the darkness of Holy Saturday night, it has burned steadily throughout the Easter season. Despite the malfunctions our poor Paschal Candle has experienced this year, it has remained for us a radiant sign of Easter joy—a beacon of the risen Christ, guiding us through the season in hope and light.

But today—on this fortieth day of Easter—we extinguish that flame. Not because Christ’s light has gone out, not because his triumph has faded, but because something in the nature of his presence has changed. The Ascension is not about absence, but about transformation. Christ, in his risen and glorified body, has returned to the Father, and in doing so, has entrusted his presence to be carried by us, his Body, the Church.

This extinguishing of the Paschal candle is therefore not an ending, but a handing on. The flame is now entrusted to us.

In the first chapter of the Acts of the Apostles, Jesus tells his disciples, “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.” This is the mission he leaves them—and us—with as he ascends into heaven.

But what does it mean to be a witness?

A witness is someone who has seen something, who has experienced it, and is now compelled to speak about it. The Greek word is martys—the root of our word "martyr." It implies not only testimony, but vulnerability, a willingness to risk everything for the sake of what one has seen.

The apostles were witnesses of the resurrection. They saw him alive. They ate with him. They touched his wounds. But they weren’t called to keep that experience to themselves. They were sent. Sent to proclaim, to embody, even to suffer for the sake of the good news they had received.

And so are we. Everyone who has passed through the waters of baptism has been joined to Christ in his death and resurrection. We have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever. And that means we, too, are witnesses. It’s tempting to imagine that being a witness to the good news is something best left to missionaries in far-off places, or to the members of the clergy and other “professional ministers” like me. But Jesus does not limit this commission to the ordained or the extraordinary. He speaks to the whole gathered Body of believers. He tells them to begin in Jerusalem—not in some abstract “ends of the earth,” but right where they are. In the neighborhood they know. Among the people they live with. That’s where witness begins.

So what does that look like for us?

It looks like letting the light of Christ shine in our daily lives—in our speech, our behavior, our choices. It means testifying to the love of God not only in church, but in the public sphere, in the voting booth, at the dinner table. It means showing up for those who are pushed to the margins—those without homes, without documentation, without protection. It means speaking the truth in love when lies are easier or more profitable. It means practicing forgiveness when bitterness is more satisfying. It means living resurrection lives in a world that still seems so often ruled by death.

And yes, it means naming the name of Jesus. The Episcopal Church is not the Rotary Club in drag. We actually believe things, and not just in comparison with what other churches believe and teach. We believe in Jesus Christ – bodily risen, ascended, and glorified – and proclaim his name to the ends of the earth, not with arrogance or triumphalism, but with quiet confidence and hope—hope that the same Jesus who ascended in glory still moves among us through the Spirit, still calls us friends, still welcomes us to his table, and still calls us to go out into the world in peace, to love and serve him in all that we say and do.

Some of you may be hesitant to share our faith in Christ with others because we don’t want to come off like “those Christians” do over there, perhaps because you’ve been traumatized by manipulative evangelism – “accept Christ or burn in hell”.  Or you may prefer to stick to preaching with your deeds rather than your words. And I get it—so much of what passes for Christian speech in public is embarrassing, even harmful. But silence isn’t the solution. The world doesn’t just need good behavior—it needs good news. And that good news has a name. Jesus. We are his witnesses, in both word and deed.

The Ascension also reminds us that Christ now reigns. Right now, he is seated at the right hand of the Father, interceding for us. This is not a departure into absence, but an enthronement into presence—a presence not limited to Galilee or Jerusalem or even a single celebration of the Mass, but a presence poured out into the world through the Spirit. He is both beyond us and within us, hidden in heaven and manifest in the faces of those who gather in his name.

The extinguished candle tells us something else as well: it signals that the time of watching is over, and the time of acting has begun. At the Ascension, the disciples stare up into the sky, dazed and confused. But two angels break their gaze: “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” The implication is clear. The time for waiting is done. Now is the time to go, to move, to witness.

We might ask ourselves today: where is our “Jerusalem”? Who in our lives needs to see and hear and feel the love of God? Where is God calling us to speak out? Where is God calling us to listen more deeply? Where is God sending us to bear witness to the kingdom—not only in word, but in deed?

Friends, the Paschal candle may no longer be lit, but its flame is not gone. It has been entrusted to you and to me. We are now the bearers of that light, the stewards of that fire.

As we move from Ascension to Pentecost, let us wait in prayer, expectant for the coming of the Spirit, but let us also begin to live as if the Spirit is already at work—because She is. God has gone up with a shout! The Lord ascends not in silence, but with triumph, with joy, with the thunder of heaven welcoming its King. And now the world waits for the Church to rise and walk in his name. We are the ones left to echo that shout—in ordinary places, among ordinary people, with extraordinary grace. In both word and deed, may our lives be the loud proclamation that Jesus Christ reigns, that his love has conquered sin and death, that mercy and forgiveness have the final word.