The setting was a quiet one, the kind where the weight of a lifetime’s experience hangs heavy in the air. Sitting across from an older gentleman—a veteran who had survived the jungles of Vietnam and weathered the subsequent decades of hard times and good—one could see the toll that poor health and a long march through a fallen world takes on a man. As we spoke, he posed a question that reveals a profound depth the more one ponders it: If God can speak things into existence, and if Jesus said He went to prepare a place for us, why did He have to go up at all? Why did He not simply stay down here to help us navigate the trials of this life in person?
The longing in the question is one every soul feels when the body fails or the world grows dark. We desire the visible King, the tangible hand, and the audible voice of our Savior. Yet, in the economy of God, the departure of Christ was not an exit of abandonment but an entrance into a more powerful form of presence. In the Gospel of John, the Lord Jesus explicitly addresses this necessity, stating, “Nevertheless I tell you the truth; It is expedient for you that I go away: for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come unto you; but if I depart, I will send him unto you” (John 16:7). The word “expedient” carries the weight of being profitable or advantageous. While Christ was on earth in His physical body, He was subject to the limitations of time and space; He could be in one village or one city, but not everywhere at once. By ascending and sending the Holy Spirit, He transitioned from being with His people to being in His people.
For the man who has seen the chaos of war, the idea of a “helper” is a tactical necessity. By withdrawing His physical form, Christ ensured that the presence of God would be accessible to every believer, in every foxhole and every hospital room, at the exact same moment. He provided a helper that “shall abide with you for ever” (John 14:16). This internal presence does a work that an external King could not; He reforms the heart from the inside out, providing a peace that passeth all understanding, even when the outward man is perishing.
Furthermore, His physical absence serves as the ultimate proving ground for a faith that has been refined in the fire. We are told that “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). If the King sat visibly upon a throne in Jerusalem today, obedience would be a matter of sight—perhaps even a matter of logic or compulsion. By withdrawing, He allows for a devotion that springs from a transformed soul—a faith that “is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). This trial of faith is more precious than gold, forging a character in the veteran of the cross that can withstand the final infirmities of life with a steady hand.
Finally, we must remember that the Lord is currently occupied with a specific and glorious task that requires His presence at the right hand of the Father. As He promised, “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2). He is not merely waiting; He is preparing an eternal habitation where the “hard times” of Vietnam and the pains of failing health will be forgotten, and where “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain” (Revelation 21:4). He went up so that He might legally and spiritually pave the way for us to come up and be where He is, forever.
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