Ascension Day

The Ascension of Jesus marks the moment when, after His resurrection, Jesus physically ascended to heaven in the presence of His disciples. This event, which occurred forty days after Easter, is recorded in both the Gospel of Luke (Luke 24:50-53) and the Book of Acts (Acts 1:1-11). It is significant because it signifies the conclusion of Jesus’ earthly ministry and the beginning of a new chapter for His followers.

The world hasn’t stabilised. Wars still rage. Children still go hungry. The planet still warms. Systems still favour the powerful. And change, it seems, often comes too slowly—or not at all. Some days, it feels like the brokenness is just too big to fix.

Ascension doesn’t wrap things up.

It stretches them out.

In this story, Jesus doesn’t stay. He leaves—but not in abandonment. He leaves to hand over something crucial to others: the work of love, healing, justice, and reconciliation. In a way, the Ascension is a kind of handover.

And that feels both terrifying and empowering.
Because so much of life feels like waiting. Like standing still, looking out at a world that feels fractured, uncertain, or even hopeless.

And still—there’s a call.

For the nurse working long hours in a hospital overwhelmed by trauma and loss,

For the single parent juggling multiple jobs, trying to feed and care for children on a tight budget,

For the refugee searching for a place to call home,

For the activist on the front lines of climate justice,

For the teacher pouring their heart into students who don’t have the support they need—

These are the faces of waiting. The ones who are asked to hold on, to trust that something better will come, even when the systems seem rigged against them.

The Ascension is not about endings. It’s about what comes next. It’s about learning to trust that even though we might not have all the answers, even though we don’t see how everything will work out, there is still a movement forward.

“Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” the question comes (Acts 1:11).

Maybe because we’re looking for answers.

Maybe because we want a clear path forward.

Or maybe—if we’re honest—it’s not just the sky we’re staring at.

Maybe we’re also staring inward.

Caught up in doubts.

Replaying past failures.

Second-guessing ourselves.

Wondering if we’re enough, if we’re equipped to meet the challenges ahead.

The Ascension challenges both temptations: the desire to escape the world and the tendency to get stuck in our own fears.

The invitation, then, is to move beyond both.

It’s not about waiting for someone else to fix things or waiting for everything to be perfect. It’s about realising that we are part of the solution. Even when we don’t feel ready, even when we feel weak or unsure, we are still invited into the work of change. This moment of transition isn’t about perfection. It’s about participation.

And so, we wait—not passively, but expectantly. Not in a way that shrinks us or paralyses us, but in a way that opens us up to possibility. We wait for courage. We wait for direction. We wait for empowerment.
This is where we find ourselves today. Staring out at a world in need of repair, unsure of how to step forward. But what if the call isn’t to have all the answers? What if the call is simply to show up, to be present, and to trust that we are part of a larger movement for change?

For Christians, this moment of waiting is not just about finding our own strength. It is about trusting that there is a power beyond ourselves—the Holy Spirit—that gives us the strength to act, even when we feel powerless. The Spirit moves in and through us, empowering us to do the work of love, justice, reconciliation, and healing. It is not by our own power, but by this divine presence, that we are equipped to continue the work.

We wait for the spark, the inspiration, the inner strength—the Spirit.

But waiting doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means preparing. It means being open. And eventually, like the disciples in the story, we go.

We go—not because we have everything figured out, but because we have seen something beautiful, something worth working for. We go because the world needs people to act. To serve. To speak up. To show love. To offer help. To work toward reconciliation. To be part of the healing.

For the nurse in a war zone tending to the wounded while risking their own life,

For the teacher in an underserved neighbourhood fighting for every child’s chance,

For the activist pushing for climate justice in the face of rising corporate power—

These are the ones who show us what it looks like to live out the work of reconciliation and justice.

This period of waiting isn’t about staying stuck. It’s about being ready for whatever comes next. It’s about the trust that something is going to shift, even when we can’t see it yet.

So we stop staring at the sky.

We quiet the voices inside that hold us back.

We look around us, at the world in need.

And we wait, not in idleness, but in expectation.

And then—we move.

Not because we have all the answers, but because the work of love, justice, reconciliation, and healing is bigger than any one person. Because love keeps calling us forward.

We may not know exactly how to fix everything, but we can still participate in the change.