Learning to See the Board. Over the last few months, I’ve been learning how to play chess. And to be honest, it often feels like a puzzle. The pieces move in ways that aren’t intuitive, every move has consequences I can’t yet see, and the deeper I go the more I realise how much there is still to learn. Chess, I’ve discovered, is a game of patience, perspective, and long vision.

Ascension Sunday feels a bit like that.
Our reading from Acts Chapter 1 places us with the disciples in a moment of deep uncertainty. Jesus has been raised from the dead. He’s appeared among them. He’s spoken of the Kingdom of God. And so, they ask the most natural question they can: “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?”

From the disciples perspective, it makes perfect sense. They’re looking for the decisive move, the moment when everything finally falls into place. But Jesus gently refuses to play on their terms. “It is not for you to know the times or periods,” he says, “but you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you.” In other words, you don’t see the whole board yet.

Then comes the Ascension itself, Jesus lifted from their sight, and the disciples left staring into the sky. No wonder they’re perplexed. The One they had pinned all their hopes on is suddenly beyond reach. The game seems unfinished. The strategy unclear.
And yet, what happens next is crucial. They don’t stay frozen, gazing upward. They regroup. They return to the upper room. They pray. This moment of mystery becomes a moment of action.

That movement from confusion to prayer is echoed in Jesus’ own prayer in John 17, our gospel reading for today. Jesus prays not only for himself, but for his disciples and for all who will come to believe through them. He doesn’t pray for escape. He doesn’t ask for clarity on timelines. He prays for protection, unity, and faithfulness.
“Holy Father, protect them in your name… so that they may be one, as we are one.” Jesus entrusts the future to God. He releases control. He commits his followers into the Father’s care. He knows the endgame but he also knows the next move is for the disciples to take.

So, what does this mean for us, here in 2026?
We live in a time that craves certainty. We want answers now. We want the Kingdom restored on our schedule, according to our expectations. Yet Ascension Sunday reminds us that faith often means living between moves trusting God while the picture is still incomplete.

Perhaps God is calling us, like the disciples, to stop staring into the sky and return to the work of prayer and presence. Perhaps God is inviting us to be witnesses, not because we have all the answers, but because we trust the One who holds the whole board. The Ascension is not Jesus’ absence, it is his expansion. He is no longer limited to one place, but present wherever his people pray, wait, and act in love.

So today we are called to reflect: Where are we longing for certainty instead of trust? Where are we tempted to rush the game rather than learn its rhythms?

And we are called to act: to pray together, to remain open to the Spirit’s leading, and to bear witness—patiently, humbly, faithfully—until God’s Kingdom is fully revealed.

Ascension Sunday teaches us this: we may not yet see the whole puzzle, but we are still invited to make the next faithful move. Amen.