Absence inhabited by the promise: the Ascension as Christ’s new presence

The commentary on the Gospel for the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, written by Friar Luciano Audisio, OAR, invites us to contemplate the Ascension not as a final farewell, but as the beginning of a new way in which Christ is present. Drawing on the Gospel of Saint Matthew, this reflection delves into the experience of absence, the fragility of faith, and the promise of the Risen One, who continues to walk with His Church amid doubts, wounds, and hope.

The Church of the “eleven”: a community marked by fragility

Absence inhabited by the promise. Today we celebrate the Ascension of the Lord, and at first glance it might seem like a feast of farewell. Jesus ascends to heaven and disappears from the sight of His disciples. Yet the liturgy invites us to discover something far deeper: the Ascension is not simply Jesus’ absence, but the beginning of a new way of being present.

Perhaps the first experience we have of God is precisely this: experiencing His absence. Many times we would like to see Him clearly, touch Him, feel Him unmistakably in our lives. But faith often begins in a space of searching, silence, and waiting. How, then, can we live that absence without extinguishing our desire for God?

The Gospel offers us a very beautiful key. The disciples live like those who have been given an appointment. Jesus has promised them that they will see Him again. And when one waits for someone beloved, waiting ceases to be emptiness and becomes another way of being united. This is how the Church lives: waiting, walking, and holding fast to a promise.

That is why the Gospel begins by saying: “the eleven” (Οἱ δὲ ἕνδεκα). That number contains a wound. They are not twelve: one is missing. The community appears marked by absence, fragility, and the betrayal it has suffered. And that image closely resembles our own lives. We too live with the feeling that something is missing. There is always some absence in our families, in our communities, and in our hearts. Sometimes it is the absence of someone who has died; other times, that of a broken relationship, a guilt, or a lost dream.

The Gospel teaches us that Christian life does not consist in pretending to be perfect. The Church begins as “eleven,” that is, incomplete. And perhaps holiness does not consist in presenting ourselves as perfect, but in never ceasing to seek the “twelfth brother”—the one who is missing, the one who was lost, the one who was wounded along the way.

Galilee, doubts, and the encounter with the Risen One

Then the text says: “they went to Galilee” (ἐπορεύθησαν εἰς τὴν Γαλιλαίαν). Galilee was a mixed land, an ambiguous region, full of diverse peoples and of cultural and religious tensions. And it is precisely there that Jesus summons His disciples.

This is also very important for us. Many times we think we will find God only when our lives are completely in order, when doubts disappear, or when we achieve a certain spiritual perfection. But Jesus does not wait for His disciples in an idealized place. He waits for them in Galilee, amid the mixture and fragility. We too live in a “spiritual Galilee”: a life in which we do not always understand everything, in which we live with contradictions, wounds, and questions. And yet it is there that the Risen One comes to meet us.

The Gospel then says: “when they saw Him” (ἰδόντες αὐτὸν). Jesus allows Himself to be seen again. The whole story of Christ can be summed up like this: He is the God who chose to make Himself visible, the God who was not afraid to expose Himself to rejection, suffering, and the cross out of love for us. He never tires of giving Himself.

But immediately the text adds something surprising: “they worshiped, but some doubted” (προσεκύνησαν, οἱ δὲ ἐδίστασαν). How consoling it is to hear this. Even before the Risen One there are disciples who doubt. Doubt does not appear as the opposite of faith, but as part of the journey of faith.

Many times we think that believing means never having uncertainties. Yet doubt can become a profound place of encounter with God. For when we doubt, we discover our fragility, we stop feeling self-sufficient, and we learn to trust. Perhaps one of the most sincere prayers is precisely to present to the Lord our questions and our insecurities.

And the most beautiful thing is Jesus’ response. He does not reproach them for anything. He does not first require them to resolve all their doubts. On the contrary: He sends them. “Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations” (πορευθέντες οὖν μαθητεύσατε πάντα τὰ ἔθνη).

“I am with you”: the promise that sustains faith

This means that mission is born not of perfection, but of the experience of encounter. Jesus sends fragile, incomplete, and doubting men. For the Gospel is not proclaimed by perfect people, but by people reached by mercy.

As Carlo Maria Martini said: “In every believer there is a non-believer.” And perhaps it is precisely that fragile part of us that enables us to understand others better, draw near to their wounds, and accompany their searching.

Finally, Jesus utters one of the most beautiful phrases in the whole Gospel: “I am with you always, to the end of the world” (ἰδοὺ ἐγὼ μεθ’ ὑμῶν εἰμι πάσας τὰς ἡμέρας ἕως τῆς συντελείας τοῦ αἰῶνος).

The Ascension does not mean that Jesus has gone away. It means that He is no longer limited to a place or a time. Now He can be with everyone, everywhere, and forever.

Therefore, although we often experience absence, we are never alone. The Risen One continues to walk with us in our everyday Galilee, in our doubts, in our searching, and in our wounds. And as we move forward, we discover that faith is not clinging to a cold certainty, but living sustained by a promise: He is with us. Every day. To the end of the world.