Making Space for the Spirit

“Men of Galilee, why are you standing there looking at the sky? This Jesus who has been taken up from you into heaven will return in the same way as you have seen him going into heaven.” (Acts 1:11)

We too are left staring into the sky, after the one who, having returned victorious from the shadow of death, has now mysteriously withdrawn from our sight.  Are the angels telling us that we should cease and desist, that we should jack up our faith in the Second Coming and get on with something useful?  Should we be getting busy with proclaiming the gospel, curing the sick, driving out demons, picking up serpents?  And yet how can we when our hearts are still stretched out achingly between heaven and earth?

The Ascension is too mysterious a feast to be dismissed in this way.  The “I am going now – I will come back to you” dynamic never stops being a challenge to our understanding.  John’s Gospel plays on this at length, with no fewer than four chapters dedicated to putting words on why the risen Christ is no longer visible.  “I go to prepare a place for you… If I do not go, the Spirit will not come to you… A little while, and you will no longer see me, and again a little while, and you will see me.”  It seems that the disciples are hard to convince that this is a good thing.  Are we convinced?  The Church’s liturgy refuses to let us avoid the tension, spinning it out for nine full days between Ascension and Pentecost.

I would like to borrow two thoughts from St Bernard’s third sermon for the Ascension.  In it, he compares the situation of the disciples with that of Elisha as his master Elijah is taken from him.  Remember how Elijah knows the day on which he will be taken up and tries three times to get Elisha to stay behind.  Elisha, however, smells a rat and refuses to be jettisoned.  On top of this, well-meaning bystanders keep hinting to Elisha that this is the last day his master will be on earth.  Twice he responds to them: Got it, thanks.  It is as if everyone knows what is happening to Elijah, but he himself just wishes to slip away quietly.  Or perhaps he is waiting for what happens next – at last, Elisha confronts Elijah with his request:
“I pray you, let me inherit a double share of your spirit.”  And he said, “You have asked a hard thing; yet, if you see me as I am being taken from you, it shall be so for you; but if you do not see me, it shall not be so.” (2 Kings 2:9-10)
When the moment of rapture comes:
“Elisha kept watching and crying out, ‘Father, father! The chariots of Israel and its horsemen!’ But when he could no longer see him, he grasped his own clothes and tore them in two pieces.” (2 Kings 2:12)

What Elisha is given is the abiding, internalized presence of his master, which allows him to become a prophet.  Jesus’ disciples stare into the sky in expectation of no less than a double portion of his Spirit.  John puts it this way: “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father.” (Jn 14:17)
Jesus withdraws from sight, only to take up residence in all things in a deeper and more interior way.  The letter to the Ephesians lays this out:
“The one who descended is also the one who ascended far above all the heavens,
that he might fill all things.” (Eph 4:10)
It is the disciples themselves who are to become the locus of Christ’s presence and power, on whom his Spirit rests.  The letter continues to spell out how:
“And he gave some as apostles, others as prophets,
others as evangelists, others as pastors and teachers,
to equip the holy ones for the work of ministry,
for building up the body of Christ,
until we all attain to the unity of faith
and knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood,
to the extent of the full stature of Christ.” (Eph 4:11-13)

Later in his sermon, St Bernard returns to Elisha’s prophetic ministry with the miracle of the jug of oil, which is poured out to fill a multitude of empty vessels.  Once the last vessel has been filled, the oil stops flowing.  Bernard compares this to a certain interior emptiness that is necessary to receive Christ’s coming:
“Now a soul subject to … distractions cannot be satisfied with the Lord’s visitations.  The more it is emptied of the distractions, the more fully it will be satisfied by the visitations.  If it is greatly emptied it will be greatly satisfied; if it is barely emptied, it will be barely satisfied. … When the oil did not meet with an empty vessel, it had to stop flowing.” (Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermon 3 on the Lord’s Ascension)

When the oil did not meet with an empty vessel, it had to stop flowing.  This statement is worth pondering in depth.  It seems to speak of our readiness to receive the Spirit which we are awaiting.  It hints at why we stand for nine full days staring up into the sky and crying out “My father, my father…send forth a double portion of your Spirit upon your faithful!”  An empty vessel is ready to receive.  A full vessel is incapable of receiving.

What does it mean to be empty?  Dr Michon touched upon the question when she asked whether the Christ who comes to us in the Eucharist then promptly departs.  Having come to us, does he go away?  Her answer was: of course not.  The Christ who comes does not leave us, but is spent through our lives as his disciples, and so his coming is ever new, ever deeper.  Might we not ask the same question about the Spirit we call out for the Father to send us on Pentecost.  Is the Spirit absent, that we should ask for him again and again?  Of course not.  The Spirit that descended upon the apostles on Pentecost, and on each of us at our baptism, confirmation and throughout our lives does not depart to leave us orphans.  He flows into us and through us into the world, and he comes to us ever more.

So, what is it we are waiting for?  We are waiting to be filled.  Like empty vessels we continually present ourselves to be filled with the oil of gladness, the presence of the Spirit of God.  There will be no end to his coming and his filling of us so long as we have room in ourselves for him.  In John’s Gospel, Jesus says to the people: “there is no place in you for my word” (Jn 8:37).  We may ask ourselves: is there a place in me for the Spirit of God to renew and enliven my witness to Jesus?  There is place in me so long as I am not filled with my own self-sufficiency.  So long as I have not dulled my deepest desire by seeking to quench every one of my paltry desires.  So long as I have not filled up every inch of space in my life with things that are supposed to satisfy but do not.  So long as I know my need, my poverty, my emptiness, and the way in which I am continually to be filled.  So long as I allow my vessel to overflow onto those around me, not hoarding the Spirit, but letting it flow out of me so that they, too may be filled.

St John of the Cross speaks of the aching caverns of desire.  During this novena to the Holy Spirit, let us consent to feel the ache of the empty vessel, on our own behalf and on behalf of our aching world.  And may we who have received and continue to receive the double portion of the Spirit, live out our mission by continually pouring forth what we have received to fill yet more vessels, that Christ may fill all things.