From childhood most of us have been used to images of Jesus ascending to heaven amid clouds, based on the scene depicted in the Acts of the Apostles:
“…he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight. They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. “Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven” (Acts 1:9-11).
This description of Jesus’ departure in Acts is understandable, given that clouds and sky belong to the realm of symbols that engage humans from many religions about cosmic realities and the presence of God beyond us. Such images occur frequently in both Christian and Jewish scriptures and are also used in relation to Jesus’ second coming, which describe him coming in glory, surrounded by clouds, sitting on a throne and with angels in service.
So when we read of the two men in white saying that Jesus will come back in the same way as he was seen to go to heaven, it is understandable to assume that it would be in the context of sky and clouds. And of course, religious art has for centuries used this symbolism to illustrate these scenes in beautiful and captivating panoramas.
But what if other understandings of this scriptural passage can challenge us and enrich us? We may stay with cloud images if we must, but will we miss something essential if we do?
As the disciples gaze into the sky, Luke says that their gazing is questioned: “…why do you stand here looking up to the sky?” The reason given is that “…he will come back in the same way you have seen him go”. But if that means that he will come back on the clouds, then why should they not spend their time gazing upwards? Why is their behaviour questioned?
The depiction of Jesus’ departure in Acts is an effort to describe the indescribable. Perhaps the account of his prior, and very different, departure from this life given to us in the Gospels can explain why the disciples are challenged about gazing into the sky. Perhaps the statement that his return would be the same as his going away refers not to the event described with clouds, but with his departure forty days beforehand.
Jesus’ leaving this earth was by means of his death. And how did he die? He was tortured to death. He went from this world through a widespread and appallingly vicious mode of political control employed by the major power of the time: crucifixion. But how is it that he could return in that way?
Jesus describes himself as the one who identifies with human beings who are hungry, thirsty, estranged, naked, sick or in prison (Matthew 25:31-46). Astoundingly, human need and distress is embraced by Jesus to the extent of his identifying himself with every oppressed person, saying that whatever is done to them is done to him.
Luke’s ascension scene builds on this identification of Jesus with people made poor or outcast, by telling us that he will come in the same way that he was seen to go. His going through death, and therefore his coming into our midst today as a result of the resurrection, is as deeply confronting for us as for the disciples. Where should we be looking for him when it is rivetingly obvious that the way he was taken, and therefore the way he returns, is through the cross?
The crucified Christ embraces all suffering people in our very violent world, which is so controlled by greed for money, land and power. Abused children, people undergoing domestic violence, those killed recently at Bondi, the untold number of Palestinian victims of genocide, the world’s indigenous peoples oppressed in so many ways, the starving people of Sudan and elsewhere, the Ukrainians being bombed daily, the West Papuans in their hidden, murderous oppression, victims of any repressive system and all those suffering in any way through sickness, ageing, loneliness and neglect are those with whom Jesus identifies. His words apply to us in every time and place: “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me” (Matt. 25:40).
Looking into the sky can be comforting, but are we able to accept that the timeless and resurrected Jesus Christ identifies with all suffering people, and that therefore our response to them must be judged to be our response to him?
Susan Connelly is a Sister of St Joseph who has had extensive experience with the people of Timor-Leste. She is greatly concerned about the people of West Papua.
This article was originally published in the 2026 Lent & Easter | Autumn edition of the Catholic Outlook Magazine. You can read the digital version here or pick up a copy in your local parish.
