On Tuesday I was meant to lead worship at college, but Covid stranded me at home. On Sunday, one way or another, I will leading worship for church. Both draw on some of the same resources to think about the Ascension, and mostly, what's the 'so what' of it.
I've used the Dali image (above) along with this poem, which I stumbled across whilst looking for the image:
When he levitated toward the sunflower sun
Christ’s toes were perfect. Not a hint of hallux
varus or valgus, not a speck of fungus. His soles
were filthy, of course, like ours. He’d been out
strolling for miles. And we stood stupid. Waved
like he was going on safari or an Aegean cruise.
Still wearing the little loincloth. Nothing else
to weigh him down. No ballast. Hands clutching
everyone, everything, invisible zero G baggage.
Later, when burning seeds rained down and pigeon
feathers bleated fugues, we remembered. All of it.
You can find the original post of the poem here
The one significant 'beef' I have with the Dali is that Jesus doesn't have wounded feet. They are dusty, but they are unblemished... where are the crucifixion marks? I won't be majoring on this on Sunday, that's not why I'm showing the image or using the poem, but it matters to me that the resurrected Christ is scarred, wounded, permanently marked by the experience. Matters because it fits the scriptural record, and matters because we are all wounded, all injured, marked, hurt and vulnerable - and we need a saviour who actually 'gets it'.
