Paula Macleod’s sermon: Sunday after Ascension 17.5.26

Sunday after Ascension – 17th May 2026

I speak in the name of the Living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

How often do we look up to the heavens? Perhaps when the sky is full of dark grey clouds and it is raining! Maybe at the beauty of falling snow, feeling gratitude at a perfect blue sky! Or simply when wanting divine intervention – [As I did last Thursday when I went to change a socket and blew our electrics, the same day as my assignment was due]
I so knew I should have prayed first!
But more seriously, whatever the reason—there are moments when looking upwards can leave us both full of wonder and uncertainty.
And the Ascension has to be one of those moments in the Christian story that is so extraordinary it almost defies our imagination. Just think what it must have been like for the apostles.
We can picture the manger; we can stand, in our imagination, at the foot of the cross; we can rejoice at the empty tomb and the resurrection. But then comes this scene, forty days later, in which the risen Jesus is taken from the sight of his disciples into heaven. It is glorious, mysterious and—if we are honest—just a little bewildering. One can almost forgive the disciples for standing there open-mouthed and let us be honest: most of us would have done exactly the same.
For the disciples, this was a real crossroads. It was only a short time since they had received Jesus back from the dead, and now suddenly he was leaving them again. It would have been natural for them to want to cling to him. After all, he was their friend, their Lord and their Saviour. But he could not stay, and although Jesus had tried to prepare them for this moment, they had not fully understood.
Just like the disciple there are some moments in life that no amount of spiritual maturity prepares us for; and for them seeing their Lord depart on what might be called the original heavenly lift was certainly one of them.
In that amazing moment, we can hardly blame them if their only response is simply to just stand there looking up.
But the Ascension is not only about looking up; It is also about getting on with the mission that Jesus gave them—and us—to do. The two angels practically nudge the disciples and say, “Why are you standing here looking into the sky?” They are not being harsh; it is a loving but firm reminder that there is work to be done.
In truth, this visible moment mattered. Jesus had to be seen ascending so that there would be no doubt that he had returned to the Father, and that his home was in heaven. And the angels’ comment is a reminder that faith is not meant to leave us star-struck forever. We must not rest in our faith where we are comfortable; at some point, we must stop gazing and start going.
And perhaps that is good news for all of us. Because many of us spend our days staring into one sort of sky or another: daydreaming, overthinking, waiting for perfect conditions, or hoping that holiness will somehow arrive without us having to speak to the neighbour, forgive the relative, or volunteer for the rota. The Ascension tells us that Jesus reigns in glory—but it also gently suggests that discipleship may involve putting the kettle on, showing up on time, and loving people who test both our patience and our prayer life.
There is something wonderfully human about the disciples in this moment. Scripture does not present them as polished experts in composure. It presents them, quite often, as a group of faithful but occasionally baffled followers who are doing their best. Which, if we are honest, makes them extremely comforting company. They are the patron saints of people who mean well, love Jesus, and still sometimes look as though they have misplaced both the instructions and the biscuits.
Imagine the scene a little more closely. No doubt Peter has a thought, John has a feeling, Thomas has a question, and someone at the back is wondering whether this counts as the end of the meeting or whether there will be refreshments afterwards.
Then
two angels appear and seem to say, in effect, “Yes, this is remarkable. Yes, you may take a moment. But no, you may not build your entire spiritual life around staring upward and forgetting the assignment.” It is both heavenly and practical, which is very much God’s style.
The Ascension means that Jesus is not absent in the way we sometimes fear. He is not missing, retired, taking a long celestial tea break or extended holiday. He ascends to reign. The risen Christ is enthroned, which means history is not drifting, the Church is not forgotten, and our prayers are not piled in some heavenly in-tray marked “to be reviewed after the holiday.”
Christ reigns now. And this is excellent news; it means that ordinary faithfulness matters more than we think. The disciples were sent out not with a complicated ten-year strategic plan and not with a slogan that said “Vision 33 AD.”
No – they were sent with a promise of the Holy Spirit and a commission to bear witness. We know, the kingdom of God often advances through people who pray, speak truth, share bread, encourage the weary, and turn up even when they feel slightly underqualified.
Another thing to note is that after the Ascension the disciples are told to wait for the Holy Spirit. This is important because Christians can often feel the need to be active in spreading the ‘word’, and not always equally fond of waiting.
We do enjoy a project. If possible, we like a committee, a sign-up sheet, and perhaps a laminated timetable. But Jesus knows that the mission of God cannot be carried out by enthusiasm alone. The Church does not run on caffeine, determination, and someone saying, “I’m sure it will be fine.” We need the power of God.
So perhaps the Ascension speaks directly into our daily routines. It speaks when we are answering emails we do not want to answer, dealing with ironing that appears to multiply like a minor miracle in reverse, or navigating the mysterious politics of the church hall cupboard.
It speaks when we are caring for family, checking on a friend, sitting with grief, or trying again after failure— [but perhaps in my case I should leave the electrics to a professional!]
The ascended Christ is Lord not only of mountaintops and stained-glass reflections, but also of shopping lists, bus stops, and awkward conversations after the service.
And there is another comfort in this. The disciples who stood staring into the sky did not fully understand everything, yet Jesus still entrusted them with the future. That should encourage every Christian who has ever prayed, “Lord, I do believe; help my bewilderment.”
The good news is not that we are always impressive. The good news is that Jesus is faithful. He calls ordinary people, fills them with his Spirit and sends them into the world with joy.
Heaven is not far away in the sense of being irrelevant; heaven has drawn near in Christ, and now Christ reigns over all. So let us rejoice that Christ has ascended, not to abandon the world, but to reign over it with love.
Let us laugh a little at our own tendency to stand about looking bewildered and then let us take heart. The same Jesus who rose from the grave and ascended into heaven still calls us forward.
So, the Ascension teaches us this: do not just stand there looking up. Keep your eyes on heaven, YES—but put your feet on the ground, and your hands to the good work before you.
Amen.