The Case of the Vanishing Christ: Ascension Day, Disappearing Acts, and the Sky-Bound Gospel
By: The Rev. Dr. Rian Adams
Chapter One: The Disappearance
Jerusalem. Circa 33 A.D. A small band of followers gather near the Mount of Olives. Their Rabbi, whom they watched crucified and then—impossibly—watched rise again, is speaking strangely.
“You will be my witnesses,” He says. “To the ends of the earth.”
And then it happens. He vanishes.
No body. No tomb. No charade. Just sky.
They stare up until two mysterious figures in white (no names, no credentials) appear and ask, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up into heaven?”
The early Church never quite recovered from this moment. Nor should we.
Chapter Two: The Feast They Tried to Forget (But Couldn’t)
You’d think a story this wild would be center stage in every church. But Ascension Day has always been a bit... overlooked. Like a cousin who shows up at every family gathering but never makes it into the photos.
It’s older than Christmas—third and fourth century Christians were already celebrating it—but it rarely got the pageantry of Easter or Pentecost. Why? Perhaps because it’s awkward.
No baby in a manger. No tongues of fire. Just a vanishing act.
But the Church Fathers insisted it mattered. Athanasius of Alexandria (detective of heresies and lover of mystery) said that Christ’s ascension “fulfilled the mystery of our humanity being brought into heaven.” What began in a womb ends on a throne.
Chapter Three: Lore, Legends, and Ascension Oddities
Now for the juicy bits. The parts you don’t hear in Sunday school:
• In some medieval villages, people used to launch clay pots filled with burning herbs into the sky to represent Christ’s fiery ascent. The clergy strongly discouraged it. People did it anyway.
• In parts of England, they used to climb the church tower and drop feathers or rose petals from the top to dramatize the descending Holy Spirit—even though Pentecost was still ten days away.
• In Bavaria, there’s a legend of a golden ladder that appeared over a cathedral on Ascension Day. No photos, of course. But the story stuck.
• And in the French countryside? They used to bless beans on Ascension Day. Why? No one knows. But old monks claimed the “sky-rising vines” reminded them of Christ. (You can’t make this up.)
Chapter Four: The Forgotten Coast Connection
What does all this mean for Port St. Joe, Florida?
Well, friend, we’re coastal people. We know how to watch the sky.
At St. James Episcopal Church, we celebrate Ascension not because it’s quaint, but because it’s cosmic. We belong to a Church that insists mystery is real—and that the man who walked out of the tomb also walked into the clouds.
And left His Spirit behind.
So we bless the altar. We watch the birds soar. We pray prayers as ancient as the desert monks. We proclaim that the Church isn’t dead—it’s ascending.
And we do it all under this big Florida sky, which somehow still echoes with angel voices.
Epilogue: The Open Case File
What happened on Ascension Day?
Was it divine theater? Was it cosmic coronation? Was it the opening of heaven?
Yes.
And it still is.
This Thursday—or Sunday, if you catch the transferred feast—join us. Bring your doubts, your curiosity, your love of mystery. Ascension is a case worth reopening. Every year. Every soul.
You might just find what the disciples found on that hill outside Jerusalem:
Not absence. Presence. Not an ending. A throne. Not goodbye. A commission.