40 days after Christ’s resurrection, He met His followers one last time.

So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them, “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.” And when he had said these things, as they were looking on, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight.

(Acts 1:6-9)

Jesus’ ascension must have been confounding. After all His disciples had seen Him do, surely restoring Israel to her former glory and freedom would have been easy and swift. Instead, He left them with the promise of His presence and the massive undertaking of what we call the Great Commission. Like them, we are told to be faithful and ready… and to wait in the incompletion, in the middle of the story. While Christ’s work on the cross is finished, not everything is yet renewed or whole. 

I have this image in my mind of sitting on a cozy sofa under a blanket, against a window, holding a cup of hot drink, reading a book. To me, this seems like The Best Activity. But when I try to recreate it for myself, it’s always more complicated than that; the way I initially sat down isn’t optimally comfy, my leg itches, I spill on myself, the blanket isn’t over my feet, I suddenly need a tissue, my drink cools quickly. But my mind remembers how it’s supposed to be because it’s clinging to the picture. I end up longing for my ideal rather than engaging contentedly with my present experience.

You’ve seen photos of people at the tops of mountains – glorious views behind them, wide smiles, triumphant postures, satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment. We see these and forget that they’re only halfway done – they will need to descend. And when I hike, I remember acutely the cost of the climb – sweat, effort, stumbles, hard breaths, pain. And often, the descent is trickier, depending on conditions. There’s of course beauty along the way, but the mountaintop photo op doesn’t show the process.

I tend to experience many of these dissonant moments, wherein the tension between the real and the ideal pains me, and my disappointment distracts me from gratitude. And I see this being the case for the Church as well. Dietrich Bonhoeffer notes that if we love our ideal of community, we will kill the real thing.¹ Scripture provides us an ideal, but also acknowledges that we will encounter much that falls short of that, including ourselves; and it gives us guidance for moving forward in that reality, knowing that we are being sanctified all the time.

Bonhoeffer also provides insight to reframe our experiences, to redirect our attention. Rather than harping on someone’s sin, remember that you, like her/him, are in need of Christ’s saving grace, and He died for both of you. What a thing to have in common with your brother or sister! So disappointment and frustration can turn to gratitude for the other and for God’s kindness to both of you. And the experience is transformed.

Friend, even on the mountaintop, do we feel really finished? When I’m up there, I still find myself longing for more, wishing I could fully take in the beauty that lies before me. But it feels too big. Every sweet and beautiful moment feels simultaneously like too much goodness tangled with a yearning. And if I listen to the yearning, it’s drawing me toward God. In Whom there is so much more of the beauty, the fullness, the shalom.

Why does some beauty hurt so much? Is any beauty in this world separate from pain? Some beauty emerges from or in spite of pain. But some causes it. It’s like the pain of stretching a little more than you’re used to, like you’re trying to hold what is before you with what is to come. There’s that tension; we’re tearfully grateful and indignantly angry. We think we know how things should be, but it cannot be achieved just yet.

So here’s some stuff I know now.

• Nothing will be perfect or perfectly just.
• I cannot ultimately meet anyone’s needs.
• I will not always succeed.
• I won’t be quite complete, a finished product, nor will I be as special as I wish.
• I won’t always understand or know what I want to know.
• Not everything will be awesome.
• People will let me down and hurt me.
• There will not always be peace.

Because this isn’t it. This isn’t the end. This is barely the beginning.

Jesus is in the business of transformation, and one day, the ideal – the fullness of His glory, the perfection of creation – will be the real, and what a wonder that will be. For now, we are in-between. We are redeemed, and we are being renewed. Until then, He has given us to pursue the ideal, but to love the real.

We will never achieve the ideal until Christ Himself does it by making all things new once and for all.

And beloved, He will do it.

Let’s long for Him. Only Him.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Posterity shall serve him;
    it shall be told of the Lord to the coming generation;
they shall come and proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn,
    that he has done it.   (Psalm 22:30-31 ESV)

“Do not look sad. We shall meet soon again.”

“Please, Aslan,” said Lucy, “what do you call soon?”

“I call all times soon,” said Aslan; and instantly he was vanished away.

– C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

“And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.”

(John 14:3)

¹ Life Together