Recently a new expression has made its way into our theological and ecclesial vocabulary. There’s a lot of talk today about the New Evangelization. Indeed the Pope has called for a Synod to meet this year for a month in Rome to try to articulate a vision and strategy for such an endeavour.

What is meant by New Evangelization? In simple terms: Millions of people, particularly in the Western world, are Christian in name, come from Christian backgrounds, are familiar with Christianity, believe that they know and understand Christianity, but no longer practise that faith in a meaningful way. They’ve heard of Christ and the Gospel, even though they may be overrating themselves in their belief that they know and understand what these mean. No matter. Whatever their shortcomings in understanding a faith they no longer practise, they believe that they’ve already been evangelized and that their non-practise is an examined decision. Their attitude toward Christianity, in essence, is: I know what it is. I’ve tried it. And it’s not for me!

Pentecost Sunday (Year B)  May 27 (Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 104; 1 Corinthians 12:3-7, 12-13; John 20:19-23)

The spectacular and amazing nature of an event often distracts us from its deeper and more subtle meaning. Mystical experiences, apparitions and miracles are not given to dazzle or entertain us but to enlighten and empower. Luke portrayed the descent of the Spirit as something visible and palpable. Tongues of fire and the violent sound of a rushing wind alert the reader to the imminent manifestation of the divine presence. We should notice that those habitually gathered in that upper room were more than the 12 — they included a number of women and Mary the mother of Jesus. The tongues of fire settled on each one present, not on one more than another. Finally, the various languages that the assembled crowd heard were treated by Luke as a fulfilment of the prophecy of Joel (2:28-32) in the Old Testament. God had promised that in the latter days the Spirit would be poured out on all flesh — slave and free, young and old, male and female. Spiritual empowerment would be offered to all of humanity.

There are different kinds of power and different kinds of authority. There is military power, muscle power, political power, economic power, moral power, charismatic power and psychological power, among other things. There are different kinds of authority too: We can be bitterly forced into acquiescing to certain demands or we can be gently persuaded into accepting them. Power and authority are not all of a kind.

Ascension of the Lord (Year B) May 20 (Acts 1:1-11; Psalm 47; Ephesians 1:17-23; Mark 16:15-20)

We can only imagine the thoughts and emotions of those who watched Jesus ascend to heaven. Joy, to be sure, that He was risen from the dead — but also bewilderment and anxiety. Where was He going? When was He going to return? Was He going to restore the kingdom of Israel or not?

In his autobiography, Nikos Kazantzakis tells the story behind his famous book, Zorba the Greek. Zorba is partly fiction, partly history.

After trying unsuccessfully to write a book on Nietzsche, Kazantzakis experienced a certain emotional breakdown and returned to his native Crete for some convalescence. While there he met a man of incredible energy and vitality. The Zorba-character in the book is based on this man’s life; never before in his life had Kazantzakis been so taken by the life and energy of another human being.

Sixth Sunday of Easter (Year B) May 13 (Acts 10:25-26, 34-35, 44-48; Psalm 98; 1 John 4:7-10; John 15:9-17)

There is never a dull moment when the Holy Spirit is involved. The Spirit was probably the most exhilarating and disconcerting experience of the first generation of Christians. It has a mind of its own and cares little for our prejudices, opinions, preferences or theologies. That is probably why we try to keep it under lock and key. The Spirit had already shocked Peter and his companions by commanding them to eat foods without distinction — nothing that God created was to be called unclean.

Her hands covered her face. She was weeping inside herself, her body shaking. “I know I need to let go,” she cried, “but I don’t know how. I can’t.”

Before she was 14, Marie already experienced tragedy, not once but several times: violence, betrayal. It’s buried deep within her. She carries it like an interior mountain without realizing the weight. No wonder she can’t stop clinging to the person who’s been for her a little life raft in the middle of the Pacific, but who is pulling her under the roaring waters. How can she let go of him, even though he’s harming her?

Several years ago, I was approached by a man who asked me to be his spiritual director. He was in his mid-40s and almost everything about him radiated a certain health. As we sat down to talk, I mentioned that he seemed to be in a very good space. He smiled and replied that, yes, this was so, but it hadn’t always been so. His happiness had its own history ... and its own pre-history. Here’s how he told his story:

Fifth Sunday of Easter (Year B) May 6 (Acts 9:26-31; Psalm 22; 1 John 3:18-24; John 15:1-8)

It was no wonder that Saul frightened the Christian community in Jerusalem. He had done nothing to inspire trust or openness; in fact, he had been their tormentor-in-chief for a number of years. He was responsible for the blood and the misfortune of many. His arrival in Jerusalem and his claim to be a follower of Jesus only aroused suspicion and anxiety.

Sometimes the simple act of naming something can be immensely helpful. Before we can put a name on something we stand more helpless before its effects, not really knowing what’s happening to us.  

Many of us, for example, are familiar with the book The Future Church: How Ten Trends are Revolutionizing the Catholic Church, by John Allen. The things he names in this book, even when they don’t affect us directly, still help shape us for the better. As a journalist who travels the world as the Vatican analyst for both CNN and the National Catholic Reporter, Allen is able to provide us with a wider, global perspective on Church issues than is generally afforded to those of us whose vision is more emotionally mired in our own local and national issues. Heartaches at home can make us blind to the wider concerns of the planet, just as seeing the concerns and pains of others first-hand can put our own concerns and pain into a healthier perspective. Allen’s global frame of reference, as outlined in the mega-trends he names in his book, helps us keep our own ecclesial concerns in a healthier perspective.