The Author Steps Off the Page: Rethinking the Ascension

We often picture the Ascension of Jesus as if it were a kind of divine launch sequence: Jesus slowly levitating into the sky, vanishing behind a cloud, and traveling up to some far-off place called “Heaven.” But the more I reflect on what Scripture says—and doesn’t say—the more I wonder if we’ve misunderstood the point. What if the Ascension isn’t about Jesus flying away, but about the Author stepping off the stage?

Let me explain.

Imagine if J.K. Rowling were to write herself into the Harry Potter universe—not just as a cameo, but as a real character. Suppose she taught Harry and his friends, walked with them, showed them how their story fits into something larger. And then, one day, she says, “My time here is finished. I’m returning to the Abode of Rowling.” She climbs on a broom, disappears behind a cloud—and just like that, she’s no longer visible in the narrative. Why? Because the Author doesn’t belong to the story world in the same way the characters do. She can enter it, interact with it, and even be affected by it—but she also transcends it.

That’s what I think the Ascension is showing us.

A Real Departure

In Acts 1:9, we’re told that Jesus was “lifted up while they were looking on, and a cloud received Him out of their sight.” The detail about the cloud isn’t the main point. It may have been just an ordinary cloud passing by. What matters is that Jesus ascended visibly—and then, just as visibly, disappeared from view. He left the stage in front of their eyes.

He departed. And not just to somewhere else within the physical cosmos, but beyond it—to the reality that transcends this one. The Ascension marks the moment when Jesus no longer limits Himself to the unfolding plot of this world.

The Author Reclaims the Pen

Jesus entered the world He authored. He took on real humanity. He was born, lived, suffered, died, and rose again. But after the Resurrection, we see Him doing things that defy the ordinary rules of space and time: appearing in locked rooms, vanishing from meals, walking unrecognized with His disciples until the right moment. These aren’t violations of nature—they’re signs that something new is already beginning. Jesus is still fully human, but His human life has now been fully glorified. He no longer confines Himself to the rules that govern this present world.

When He ascends, He’s not flying off to a distant location. He’s stepping out of the narrative layer we inhabit and returning to the Author’s vantage point. He remains who He is—Jesus, the God-Man—but He’s no longer playing His role within the story in the same way. The Ascension isn’t a change in identity—it’s a change in position.

Why This Matters

The Ascension isn’t a postscript. It’s not just how Jesus left. It’s how He took His place as Lord of all. He didn’t vanish or become a ghost. He returned to the place from which He rules all creation—not as a distant deity, but as the same Christ who walked among us.

And just like Rowling could, if she chose, write herself back into the story, Jesus has promised to return. Until then, we’re not abandoned characters. We’re disciples with a mission, called to live in light of the One who walked our path, conquered death, and stepped beyond the horizon to take His throne.

The Author has not left the story. He’s preparing the final chapter.