05/30/2025
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I know how rending a leave-taking can be. In the thick of it, when someone or something is going away from us, it can feel impossible to imagine that we could ever move or breathe again, or that a path might open to us, or that we would have the energy or desire to set out on that path. So on this Ascension Day, I am struck all over again by how, in Luke’s account of the Ascension, Jesus does not tell his disciples to buck up, cheer up, and promptly get on with things once he leaves. What he tells them is this: Stay. For now, until the Spirit comes, stay in this place with each other.
Before he is gone from the physical presence of his beloved followers and friends—precisely while he is leaving them, in fact—Jesus offers them a blessing. It’s this moment that really knocks me out. Jesus is not trying to put a silver lining on his leaving. He is not giving them a blessing as a consolation prize for having come through these wild years with him, only to see him leave—though consolation is surely part of his intent. Instead, with the blessing that he gives them in the very moment of his leaving, Jesus is acknowledging that the substance of grief is also the substance of love. They are made of the same stuff, and if we can be present to this—if we can stay with both the grief and the love that lives at the heart of it, the love will become more and more clear, and more clarifying, and it will, in time, show us the way to go.
STAY
I know how your mind
rushes ahead,
trying to fathom
what could follow this.
What will you do,
where will you go,
how will you live?
You will want
to outrun the grief.
You will want
to keep turning toward
the horizon,
watching for what was lost
to come back,
to return to you
and never leave again.
For now,
hear me when I say
all you need to do
is to still yourself,
is to turn toward one another,
is to stay.
Wait
and see what comes
to fill
the gaping hole
in your chest.
Wait with your hands open
to receive what could never come
except to what is empty
and hollow.
You cannot know it now,
cannot even imagine
what lies ahead,
but I tell you
the day is coming
when breath will
fill your lungs
as it never has before,
and with your own ears
you will hear words
coming to you new
and startling.
You will dream dreams
and you will see the world
ablaze with blessing.
Wait for it.
Still yourself.
Stay.
—Jan Richardson
from The Cure for Sorrow: A Book of Blessings for Times of Grief
janrichardson.com/books
Image: “While He Was Blessing Them”
© Jan Richardson
Blessing and art inspired by Luke 24:44-53.