Now We Are Beginning — Silvio José Báez, ocd
Now we are beginning, and let them strive to advance always from good to better.
Saint Teresa of Avila
On this Sunday, the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, we celebrate what the Letter to the Ephesians proclaims: God “put this power to work in Christ when he raised him from the dead and seated him at his right hand in the heavenly places” (Eph 1:20). Human history isn’t moving toward nothingness, death, or destruction. The risen Jesus has gone before us into glory, and from heaven he lovingly draws us to himself. We’re filled with hope by the certainty that, together with all creation, we’re journeying toward the final goal of all things: the day when we’ll see God face to face and share with Jesus in his own glorious life.
Today’s Gospel tells us that, after the Lord’s resurrection and before his ascension, “the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them” (Mt 28:16). The disciples were in Jerusalem and had to return to Galilee, where Jesus had begun his ministry, had called them, and where they had first begun to follow him.
To return to Galilee was to recover their memory and rekindle their love. They had to remember the roads they’d traveled together, the lake and the places around it where they’d experienced unforgettable moments with Jesus, the homes they had entered, so many faces, so many bodies healed, so many smiles filled with hope. In Galilee, they would remember how Jesus had sent them out with nothing but a staff and a single pair of sandals, without money or power, trusting completely in the Father in heaven. They had to return to Galilee because they needed to begin again.
To go to Galilee is to hear the voice of Jesus again as if for the first time, to see his face, to feel his presence, and to begin following him with renewed fidelity. After the betrayal of Judas, Peter’s denial, and the fear that led them all to abandon him, they now prepare to return to the place where everything began. With the risen Jesus, it’s always possible to begin again.
To return to Galilee means to keep in our hearts the living memory of Jesus’ call: the moment when he crossed our path, looked at us with mercy, and invited us to follow him. And when it’s no longer possible to return physically to our own Galilee, the place where we were born, because others prevent us from doing so, that memory becomes an interior homeland no one can take away. In the face of our failures and sins, our unfulfilled dreams, and the weariness of life, we too must return, again and again, to Galilee. Let’s experience the love of Jesus once more, welcome his forgiveness, and allow him to transform us, renew our strength, and give us new hope.
We mustn’t stay there, brooding over our mistakes, bogged down in our weaknesses, or blaming one another. We can’t live on nostalgia alone for what we thought would happen and didn’t; it isn’t healthy to keep lamenting or blaming ourselves. We have to take up the journey again. Saint Teresa of Avila wrote, “Now we are beginning, and let them strive to advance always from good to better” (The Foundations, 29.32). We have to return to Galilee, return to the beginning of everything, and begin again and again. Whenever we set out on the road with trust in Jesus, he’ll be waiting for us, giving us the grace to begin again.
Before ascending to heaven, Jesus leaves behind only a small group. They are no longer the Twelve, as they were at the beginning; one is missing now. Only eleven remain, all of them fearful and confused. They haven’t understood him very well, but they have loved Jesus deeply. That is the only guarantee they need. Now Jesus can return to the Father. He knows that none of them will forget him; they carry him in their hearts, and within them he will live forever.
When they reached the mountain to which the Lord had directed them, they saw him and “worshiped him” in a gesture of loving adoration. Yet, as the Gospel says, “some doubted” (Mt 28:17). What were they doubting? Not his divinity, since they worshiped him. They doubted themselves: they knew they had abandoned, denied, and betrayed him. We too carry our limits and our doubts: fear of the future, the pain of displacement, and the unanswered question of when and how things will change.
Nevertheless, Jesus doesn’t choose another group. He still trusts them; to them he gives the task of carrying on his mission in the world: “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you” (Mt 28:19–20). Jesus entrusts his Gospel to those who doubt, invites the fearful to set out on the journey, and turns those who do not understand into teachers for the world. It’s as if he were saying to them: “I know you’re afraid and that you don’t understand very much, but I’m sending you.” That group of eleven weak and imperfect men is us.
Before returning to the Father, Jesus entrusted to us the treasure of the Gospel and the mission of setting out on the journey, bearing witness and teaching what he taught us. We’re not called to wait for better times before we live and proclaim the Gospel. The mission is now, right where life has placed us. It isn’t a matter of doing heroic deeds or solving every problem, but of helping to build the future by proclaiming Christ, God-with-us, the fullness of humanity, and the merciful face of God.
We must, then, always live as people on the journey, without letting faith grow dim or allowing mediocrity to take hold of us, without becoming indifferent to the suffering of others or the problems of the world. This is how Jesus envisioned us: drawing near to everyone without distinction, so that we might spread the joy of believing and the beauty of living the Gospel and following the Master. In this mission, the Church cannot remain silent about the truth of God or allow herself to be constrained by fear or worldly interests. That is why, without fear of the consequences, the Church denounces injustice and disrespect for human dignity, unmasking those who use power to imprison, banish, and silence their own people.
Jesus sends us forth, assuring us of his abiding presence among us: “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Mt 28:20). These are his final words in Matthew’s Gospel. Let’s not doubt it: we’ll never be alone. By his presence, Jesus accompanies the life and mission of the Church. In the dark hours of the mission, he shines as a gentle light that illumines and consoles; in weakness and persecution, he strengthens the Church with his love so that she won’t lose heart.
By his ascension, Jesus has not gone far away from us; he lives forever in the Church, guiding and protecting her with the light of his word and the strength of his Spirit. Jesus blesses our bleak days, our fragile hands, and our broken hearts. Because he is present with us, our humble efforts to love will not be lost; our struggle for truth and justice will bear fruit; our daily weariness will not be in vain. “And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Mt 28:20).
Bishop Silvio José Báez, o.c.d.
Auxiliary Bishop of Managua
Homily, 17 May 2026
Teresa of Avila, St 1985, The Collected Works of St. Teresa of Avila, Kavanaugh, K & Rodriguez, O (trans.), ICS Publications, Washington DC.
Translation from the Spanish text is the blogger’s own work product and may not be reproduced without permission.
Featured image: Duccio di Buoninsegna (Italian, c. 1255–c. 1319), Appearance on the Mountain in Galilee, tempera on wood, 1308–1311. The panel comes from the Maestà and is held by the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo, Siena. Image credit: Wikimedia Commons (Public domain).
#Ascension #beginning #BishopSilvioJoséBáez #JesusChrist #mission