Ascension

At the ascension they gaped
like chickens looking up at the rain.
As the Lord Rose to the Sky
they watched, the way we follow
the trail of a rocket heading into space.

They might have stood that way
forever, it seems, because two angels
were dispatched to say:
“Why are you looking up?”
“Get it together and get to work!”

So they replaced Judas
(their first act was administrative)
and then the preaching began,
and the martyrdom, too,
and miracles, and then Paul,
and before you knew it
the Gospels were edited, rites approved,
empires overturned, cathedrals built,
music composed and distributed,
popes and cardinals in place, choirs formed,

and then pilgrimages and inquisitions,
guillotines and exiles and New Worlds,
Indians converted and missions built
and then parochial schools and hospitals
and nuns and priests everywhere,
then almost nowhere and Kumbaya
all the way to today —

and none of it looked like waiting
for the Lord to return in the sky.
Still, what the twelve couldn’t pass along
in poetry or prose or preaching
(except maybe here and there a mystic),
was the glory in Christ’s face and body
after the Resurrection, the 50 days of
appearances that made them ask:
“And now are you going to restore Israel?”

The radiance of resurrection revealed when
he spoke Mary Magdalene’s name
and had Thomas probe his side
and broke bread at Emmaus
was such (not to mention the teaching)
that they shouldn’t have been surprised
when he took to the skies,
though they yearned ever after
to launch themselves into space
no matter how cold or dark or far away.