In the reading from Acts, the disciples stand there, looking up. Jesus has just ascended — lifted from their sight — and they’re left between what was and what will be. Between promise and fulfillment. Between presence and Spirit.
I’ve been living in that in-between space for many months now.
Last July, the parish I had pastored in Kansas City was returned to the diocese. It was a hard decision — made by our provincial as we faced diminishing numbers and the need to discern between competing goods. I understood the challenges we face, but it was still a loss. A goodbye. My mother passed away in September after months in hospice care. My father died in December. I was with them both when they died — sacred moments I carry with me. Then, just after Christmas, I moved to Omaha in the heart of winter to begin a new role at Creighton.
Everything was new. Everything was unfamiliar.
I wasn’t staring up at the sky like the disciples — I just didn’t know where to look.
It strikes me that Scripture doesn’t quite agree on what the disciples did next. In Acts, they return to Jerusalem rejoicing, unified in prayer. But in the Gospels, they’re still bewildered — hiding behind locked doors, unsure what resurrection even means, even after Jesus breathes the Spirit upon them. That tension feels familiar. Sometimes we’re bold, sometimes we’re broken. Sometimes we’re ready to proclaim, and sometimes we’re just trying to hold it together.
The good news is: grace comes either way.
As winter gave way to spring, I began to feel something shift. The trees didn’t rush to bud, but they did. Life began to bloom again. I’m finding my footing. Relationships are beginning to grow. I’m starting to feel at home in myself once more.
And through it all — the grief, the confusion, the starting over — Jesus has not left. I’ve missed him so much. At times I have felt so alone. But the truth is, I wasn’t. Friends — Jesuit and lay — have walked with me, prayed with me, helped me carry what I could not carry alone. And I believe — I know — Jesus walked with me too, even when I didn’t know where he was. He’s been there in silence and in friendship, in memory and in grace. His promise has held, even when I couldn’t yet see its fulfillment.
The Ascension isn’t about Jesus abandoning us. It’s about trusting that God is still at work in the in-between. That even in the ache of absence, something holy is unfolding.
And the Spirit is on the way.
Rev. Jim Caime, SJ
I have lived and worked in thirteen states, as well as in Europe, Latin America, and East Asia, traveling around the world for work. At 63 years of age, I tend to approach life with a global perspective—yet always with a keen awareness of the local and the individual.
One of the most powerful meditations for me in the Spiritual Exercises is the meditation on the Incarnation, where the Trinity looks upon the world and sees the need to “be made flesh” in our lives. This deeply shapes my understanding of faith and presence.
Math, science, and hard data help us understand our lives and circumstances, but without the arts—poetry, music, and beauty—we would lack the language to express the inexpressible. I am drawn to Ignatian spirituality because it affirms that God is present in all things, always seeking to communicate with us, personally and profoundly.
I am a dreamer, deeply desiring to see the world as God does—with all its possibilities—while never turning away from its pain. And, thankfully, I also have a wicked sense of humor, which helps me (and hopefully others) navigate the world’s darkness with a bit more light.
At the same time, I hold close the wisdom of the prayer attributed to St. Oscar Romero, which reminds us that “we are merely laborers and not the Master Builder.” We are never the be-all and end-all—that is God’s place. This truth keeps me both humble and hopeful. Also, I am a sinner, always in need of God’s love, mercy and grace.
It is a privilege to contribute to this ministry. God’s Word is alive and active, and I hope my reflections offer you meaningful thoughts for your own prayer.
