The Feast of the Ascension penetrated my mind in a new-feeling way today. God was gracing me to take things in. I can actually share with you the homily I heard, how about that:
The Kingdom of God is Jesus reigning in heaven, through the Church, the continuation of his ministry throughout time and space, the fullness of Him who fills everything in every way. We live now in the kingdom, because Jesus has ascended into heaven in his human body, opening it to us, going there ahead of us, promising us all we need for Him to pull the rest of his mystical body through. When we say yes to Him, yes to his church, we are agreeing to all of the purgation and purification necessary. We basically have no idea what we are really saying yes to (gee, kinda like marriage...) but we say yes, and we keep saying yes, and he brings us through. That's the promise of the Ascension for the believer. When we pray "Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as in heaven," we say yes again to the whole mess. Yes, Lord, come and rearrange anything you want; you are the Lord; I will adjust.
It makes me think of all the brokenness we have and continue to live in, even while we also have the power of the Holy Spirit resident in us, but it might not look like it, hardly ever. Or maybe it does. We still have the brokenness, and this is what Jesus continually heals and refines (gee, kinda like marriage).
But then there was this beautiful moment at the end of Mass (not pictured in the video). We did our May Crowning right before the end of Mass. The little children brought their flowers, tried to stuff them into a vase, while the music ministry, perhaps not knowing this was going to happen, did an early rendition of the closing hymn (which then got repeated moments later). What caught my attention was the last two little girls. The younger of the two sisters went first, directed by her slightly older sister. She shoved her flower in, but then went running in little tittering steps back to her seat. The slightly older girl (I'm guessing maybe 5 or 6) suddenly became aware that she was the last child in line, and was now all alone. She shoved the flower in and ran back to her parents also.
What struck me was what it takes to be one little person, alone, publicly rendering honor or publicly giving testimony. I thought of my tiny little mystical self, apart from Carmel. When you are the only one, and you do not consciously know yourself as part of something bigger, caught up in something that is not about you, when you suddenly lose your nerve. You feel your lack of your people. You feel away from where you belong. You run for cover. And I realized that being part of Carmel is, for me, and has been, this knowledge not only that I'm not alone, and that there are other people called just as I am, but that my life truly is not about me. My life is part of something bigger, and that is to bear witness, sometimes in a very solitary and odd-feeling way, to the experience of God. And that if I do "walk alone," I am only alone in one perspective. Personally, I know I am walking with Teresa. I know I am walking with Elijah. But seeing that little girl scamper off also made me realize this isn't just a psychological reality, it is a spiritual reality.
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