Adonis Vidu
The current pandemic has generated some very contradictory reactions.
There are those that, for a variety of reasons, almost celebrate this state. Some are cherishing the time of rest and being at home with their families. Others see it as an opportunity to renew their spiritual vitality. These are certainly understandable feelings. There is nothing wrong with seeing the silver lining. Others have tried to leverage the pandemic in order to speed up a process of change that, in their opinion, was taking too long. This forced isolation is finally making us abandon tired old prejudices about the use of the internet in a number of different spheres—whether ecclesial, educational, professional, or relational.
There is an opposite reaction as well, from anxiety to depression to despair. Where is God in the midst of this?, they ask. Is God trying to tell us something? Are we missing a call to repent? Are we being punished for something? All is doom and gloom, no silver lining at all.
These reactions can become pathological. That is, one can refuse to face reality, focus exclusively on the upside. Alternatively, one may be frozen into inaction, overcome by dread.
On this day of the feast of the Ascension 2020, the departure of Jesus into the clouds (Acts 1:9) bears some striking similarities to our situation, and it contains some fresh lessons for the church.
In this brief reflection, I suggest that we need to work through a dialectic of absence and presence. I will explore two movements of this dialectic. These movements are in no particular order, but they are mutually correcting. Each one contains three lessons for the church.
First Movement: Looking for the Silver Lining
A first movement takes us from the physical absence of Christ to his spiritual presence. The ascension is about a physical departure, a physical distancing between Jesus and his disciples, his church. But it turns out not everything about this distancing is bad.
The Spirit gives life to the Church. First, the physical departure of Christ is good news because he will send the Spirit. Jesus tells his disciples, whose hearts are full of sorrow upon hearing the news of Christ’s departure, “It is to your advantage that I go away, for if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send him to you” (John 16:7). So physical proximity is not everything! There is a bond of the Spirit that unites us. When our bodies are distanced, we are nevertheless united into the same body by the Spirit. Moreover, the Spirit will teach us about sin, righteousness, and judgment (John 16:8).
Christ is even more intimately present. Second, Christ departs, but he doesn’t really leave. As Paul explains in Ephesians, he has ascended in order to fill everything (Eph 4:10). This is, perhaps, the clearest of lessons for us. His physical absence is not a real absence. He remains really present. In fact, if you think about it, he is even more intimately present. Instead of being in some physical place, accessible to only a few, Christ now indwells all believers through the Spirit. His promise that he will be with his disciples forever is literally, though not physically, true.
Christ is not idle, but still at work. Third, Jesus goes to prepare us a place (John 14:3). The mystery here is great. Why would God need time to prepare us a place? Surely, he doesn’t have to plan it, build it, finish it, as human builders do. Still, whatever this means, the physical absence of Christ is for our benefit in this way as well. Christ is now at the right hand of the Father, interceding and continuing to serve as our high priest.
From Absence to Presence: Lessons for the Church
I believe there are some beautiful takeaways for the church as we try to make sense of our situation.
Bodies are not everything. First, the church is still the church because its life is still the Spirit. Bodily proximity is not everything—even though it remains important. Being bodily absent does not mean that we cannot be personally present. Personally, some of the most uplifting moments during this pandemic have been to see worship teams zooming their praise together. There is something appealing in the simplicity, the lack of unnecessary décor, lighting, smoke. Many folks have said that they are praying a lot more for their family and loved ones, whom they can only see on a screen. In many ways we have grown closer to each other—in very weird and awkward ways, to be sure.
Training for real presence. Second, Jesus’ physical departure leads to his more intimate presence. Isn’t it true that sometimes you can be bodily present, but completely lacking intimacy? Mentally absent. Physical distance helps us appreciate many things we have often overlooked, including ourselves. Jesus was with his disciples, but they didn’t know him. He went to his own, but they did not recognize him or receive him (John 1:11; Isa 53:3). We can often glamorize physical presence, but it sometimes conceals a real absence. We throw a tantrum when we cannot be with each other, but we get lost in our phones when we are. The physical absence of Jesus can lead to greater mindfulness of his hidden presence, especially in the Eucharist.
Put it in perspective! Third, the church should now recognize that she is the church militant and not yet the church triumphant. Even though Christ appears to be absent, he remains at work. He continues to intercede with the Father. Christ says to us, “Do not let your hearts be troubled (John 14:1). It is beyond our capacities to understand in what manner the God-man intercedes with the Father and in what way a place is being prepared for us. But we now have a perspective, even if not a complete understanding. We now learn not to absolutize our world, our condition, our situation. What we will be has not yet been shown. We are wayfarers, not comprehensors. In a time such as this one, we would do well to remember that. We cannot comprehend the “Why?” behind the pandemic. Why did God permit it? No one knows. But we know that all things work for the good of those who love him.
Second Movement: Embracing Lament
We must also make a second movement, which is the movement of lament.
Now we have to take an additional step: we must put the silver lining itself into perspective. Why? Because a real loss must be followed by grief! We must take stock of the loss, admit it, lament it!
While Christ’s ascension is glorious and invites praise, it is not the last word, nor an end in itself! There is one more act in the history of redemption. It is the final resurrection, when physical presence will eventually be restored. It is right to lament Christ’s bodily absence because we know he has promised to come again. Christ is now physically absent from the Eucharistic table, but we will rejoice with him again at the banquet (Matt 26:29).
The fact is that we have been created to be physical beings, not disembodied spirits. While our bodies are not our most ultimate reality, without them we cannot reach complete beatitude. That is why we rightly lament over this pandemic. This is why we rightly grieve over the passing of a loved one—even if we know that spiritually we remain united, even though we believe in the resurrection. We know that as long as our bodies are not hugging, touching, kissing, we are not whole.
For this reason, this pandemic and the physical distancing it creates should never become a cause for uninhibited celebration. The only reason there is a silver lining is because we anticipate the restoration of our bodies and their communion. We languish, yet we languish in hope, and hopefully we languish wisely, making the most of this, vowing to be present to each other when we can hug again.
From Presence to Absence: Lessons for the Church
Let me return to the silver lining in the ascension, now from the perspective of lament.
“That they may all be one!” First, even though we celebrate the Spirit as the one who baptizes us into the one body of Jesus Christ, we still long for the visible unity of this body, in the presence of the visible Lord. On a local level, we eagerly await the time when the church will meet again in one place, around the sacramental body of Christ. On a universal level, we long for the actual reconciliation of all Christians, even as this may be a purely eschatological reality. We celebrate the presence of the Spirit, and the spiritual presence of Christ, but we look wistfully towards the church triumphant.
“Then I shall know fully.” Second, while Christ does fill everything more intimately even in his bodily absence, we now see only darkly as in a mirror. In other words, this intimacy is not always experienced. His presence does not always feel real. But when he returns we know that we shall see him and become like him. The absence of a loved one can indeed make us long for a more intimate presence. It can make us realize what we have been missing and neglecting. This pandemic is in many ways an opportunity to get back in touch with ourselves, with our loved ones, and with God. But this process can only be completed when we see him again face to face (1 John 3:2)! Only when we have the beatific vision shall we truly be in touch with ourselves, with others, and with God. Seeing face to face, being bodily present, remains the essence of the Christian hope in the resurrection of our bodies.
“Neither shall there be mourning.” Finally, while we may indeed draw strength from the fact that a place is being prepared for us, it is only when we reach that place that our happiness will be complete. Only then will all the tears be wiped away (Rev 21:4) and the pain but faintly remembered.
Living in the Dialectic
In the middle of the pandemic, the dialectic of absence and presence in the ascension of Christ can help us avoid the pathologies of celebration and despair.
Just as there is a silver lining in the clouds of Christ’s ascension, so there is one in the pandemic (keeping the proportions, of course) which keeps us from despondence. Just as the ascension of Christ is not the last word, and thus physical absence does not have the last word, so physical and social distancing from each other ought not be glorified. While there is some good to be found even in the pandemic, we must never glamorize this trial. While there is real loss to be recognized, we must never succumb to resignation. We learn from Christ’s ascension that this dichotomy is false, and we learn how to escape its clutches. Just as the lifting of Christ to heaven is simultaneously glorious and painful, so the pandemic invites responses of faith that embrace sorrow and strive for joy.
Adonis Vidu is Professor of Theology at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in South Hamilton, MA. He has authored several books, including Atonement, Law, and Justice: The Cross in Historical and Cultural Contexts (Baker Academic, 2014), and The Same God Who Works All Things: Inseparable Operations in Trinitarian Theology (Eerdmans, 2021). His current work focuses on the spiritual experience of the Trinity.
Image: Rembrandt van Rijn, The Ascension