Evangelization Columns from Cross Roads

  A rising concept in the business world is “word mapping.” According to management consultant Dave Logan, it’s an analysis of corporate culture based on the idea that “a leader's words, in connection to other words, reveal their worldview and their bias for action.” 
    What if we translated this idea into Catholic culture? Though I have no hard evidence, my guess would be that a word mapping of Catholic leaders.—whether from the Vatican, the U.S. Bishops’ Conference, or parish pastors—would reveal a significant spike in the term “evangelization” over the past five years or so.
    This is a helpful development, and likely reflects the Holy Spirit’s ongoing renewal of the Church, a slow trickle down from Vatican II’s animating vision of the Church as not just an institutional reality but a missional movement oriented toward the evangelization and sanctification of the world. This trickle gained greater volume with Pope Paul VI’s apostolic exhortation, Evangelii Nuntiandi, in which the word evangelization appears 108 times.
    Another possibility, however, is that the word evangelization is just trendy, similar to transient corporate buzzwords like paradigm, proactive, synergy, intentional, incentivize, best practices, lean in, and, of course, “word mapping.” Human nature being what it is, always attracted to the next big thing, we’d be naïve to dismiss this cynical proposition.  
    One antidote to evangelization as mere trend is to understand what the word itself means. A simple, etymological reading of evangelization breaks down the root Greek words as  “eu” (good) and “angellein” (to proclaim). Evangelization, then, is sharing the “good proclamation,” or, as more commonly phrased, the “good news” or “gospel” with others.
    Strictly speaking, the term “good news” is not specifically religious in nature, but refers to any glad tidings disseminated to those it affects; for example, news of a military victory, a king’s coronation, the birth of an heir, or a new law or policy that would be benefit the citizenry. Think of the celebration of Juneteenth among black Americans, commemorating when the news of emancipation finally reaching those in slave-holding regions who hadn’t yet gotten the word.
     Before our age of instant communications, the “good news” was carried forth by messengers, the type of persons referred to in the book of Isaiah: “How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the one bringing good news, announcing peace, bearing good news, announcing salvation, saying to Zion, ‘Your God is King!’” (Isaiahs 52:7)
    The term evangelization, in the Christian sense, refers to the perpetual call of every Christian, through our baptism and confirmation, to carry the good news of Jesus Christ into the world wherever we are, like a batch of yeast that works its powerful influence throughout the dough.
    But what is the good news we are called to share? Ask a Christian--Catholic, Orthodox, or Protestant--what the gospel is and you’ll likely hear something about Christ dying and rising so that sinners can be forgiven and reconciled with God. You may have even seen the catchy graphic in which the cross serves as a bridge over the chasm of sin separating God from humanity, showing how Christ’s death paid sin’s penalty and allows us to be reconciled to God.
   While Christ’s passion, resurrection, ascension are central to any understanding of the gospel, a passage in Luke, chapter 4, raises an important question. It happens early in Jesus’s ministry, when he withdraws to a deserted place, only to be found by a crowd who begs him to stay. Jesus replies, “To the other towns also I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God, because for this purpose I have been sent.”
    Christ’s words prompt the question, “How could Jesus preach the ‘good news’ (i.e. gospel) if had not died and if there was not yet a cross?” Thankfully, it doesn’t take much biblical detective work to walk backwards from this passage and discover the nature of the gospel Jesus preached—it was the news of the Kingdom of God breaking into the world.
    In the next issue, we’ll unpack precisely why this in-breaking Kingdom is the best news of all, why we can’t understand the cross and resurrection without it, and the implications of this Kingdom in the proper and effective practice of evangelization.

Jesus came proclaiming and embodying the in-breaking kingdom of God; not as a theoretical concept but as universe-changing “good news.” Reading the gospels, we see that in encountering the incarnate Lord, sinful people were forgiven, the sick were healed, the demon-possessed were liberated, the poor were blessed, the rejected were embraced, the mourning were comforted, and the dead were raised. The new reality they experienced would be climactically confirmed and established through Christ’s victorious passion, resurrection and ascension.
   As Christ’s living body, the Church has a mission of evangelization that is nothing less than our incarnation of Jesus’s healing, liberating, and saving kingdom. As our Lord said to his apostles, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you” (John 20:21). Reading the The Acts of the Apostles, we see this kingdom at work in the missionary power and message that began transforming an entire culture, leading to the inevitable conversion of the Roman empire.
   Two millennia later, one obstacle that hinders our evangelizing mission is when we reduce the “good news”—either explicitly or implicitly—to something less than the authentic gospel. In these occasions, people are not drawn to Christ through his Church because the good news we embody is simply not compelling. Or perhaps they were raised in the Church and end up in an evangelical congregation because, in their words, as a Catholic they never “heard the gospel.”
   One reduced gospel is Christianity as outward discipline only; exterior practice devoid of interior transformation, lived only as a moral and ritualistic code. Don’t misunderstand—I love the prayers and devotional practices of the Church, handed down for centuries by the faithful. The Liturgy of the Hours, for example, unites us in prayer and teaching us the language of praying. The Rosary offers a profound opportunity to journey with Mary through the mysteries of Christ’s life.  I also love the Church’s moral teaching, with its integrated and dignified vision of the human person that is the true path to flourishing in this life and the next.
     But for the unbeliever, the invitation, spoken or unspoken, to a way of life that involves outward disciplines only—saying certain prayers, fasting and abstaining on particular days, compulsory Mass attendance, and particular moral obligations and prohibitions —seems to offer little as “good news,” but in fact feels burdensome.
    As Pope Emeritus Benedict reminds us, “Being Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction.”  Or as Pope Francis said in his recent interview: “The most important thing is the first proclamation: Jesus Christ has saved you.”
    Consider Christ’s promise in Matthew: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Ironically, Jesus’s offer of rest is also an invitation to “take my yoke upon you.” Why give a weary person an instrument of burden? Because the yoke he offers, in contrast to life apart from him, is “easy and light.” Catholicism has outward practice, but practice made light because of our union with the Lord of love.  It’s like marriage, in which the demands feel like burdens to the degree that our love is not yet perfected. Conversely, when our sacrifices are animated by a lively love, they are light, and are in fact natural expressions of that love.
     Do you know how many people are burdened with life and weary of the aimlessness that drives them from bed to work to home again? Or how many sense a gnawing loneliness, unsatisfied by any other relationship? Without exception, we’re created with an innate hunger for the infinite. As the Catechism puts it, “The desire for God is written in the human heart, because man is created by God and for God; and God never ceases to draw man to himself.”
    The question is, will they experience the Church—which they’ll find in you and me, the laity as leaven in the world—as embodying the good news of the “Someone more” for whom they were made, whose love animates our lives and how we treat them, or will they encounter persons who exhibit outward practices and moral precepts that are only legalistic ends in themselves? In other words, will they see Christ in us?
    In the next column, we’ll examine a few more of these “gospel reductions.”

   As I wrote in the last issue, evangelization suffers when we reduce the “good news” of Jesus to less than the authentic gospel. People around us are aimless, addicted, lonely, empty, sick, despairing, sinful, and lost; in need of the news that Jesus Christ is the answer to their deepest questions and the Church is the home for which they were made. Instead, we sometimes offer less, a gospel that feels more like a code of conduct than a life-changing encounter.
   Another such reduction is the gospel of right knowledge. In this vision, Christianity is truncated to a never-ending quest for information about theology, spirituality, liturgy, etc. We read the latest book or peruse the Catholic blogosphere to gain yet another insight that will bring us to a deeper knowledge of the faith.
   This reduction is a particularly Catholic temptation, I think, because of our rich intellectual tradition and our vigorous affirmation of the complementarity of faith and reason. As G. K. Chesteron said, “To become a Catholic is not to leave off thinking, but to learn how to think.” And a Catholic who is learning how to think can find a virtually endless supply of theologians, philosophers and saints to discover; truth is an ocean in which the mind can forever swim.
   In many ways, the Church’s immense ocean of truth is what led me to full communion. God used my tendencies as an information-junkie to pique my curiosity about Catholicism, and over several years I had numerous epiphanies in which I discovered the rational and biblical reasons behind certain Catholic teachings and practices. Eventually all those “light bulb moments” coalesced into a stunning and compelling vision of Catholicism’s panoramic beauty.
   And yet, the danger is when we forget that truth is not merely an intellectual concept. Truth, rather, is a person, Jesus Christ. Think of it this way. As an avid UK basketball fan, I know a lot about John Calipari; his alma mater (Clarion University), his prior coaching stints (Massachusetts, the New Jersey Nets, and Memphis), his wife’s name (Ellen), and his coaching record at UK (123-26). But if I encountered Coach Cal at the local Dunkin’ Donuts, he wouldn’t recognize me from Adam. Knowledge about him doesn’t equate to knowing him.
  Similarly, it’s possible to be deeply informed about the Catholic faith and not really know Christ at all. Recall Jesus’ words to his Jewish critics in John’s gospes: "You search the scriptures, because you think you have eternal life through them; even they testify on my behalf. But you do not want to come to me to have life” (5:39-40).
   I have to admit—and have said as much in the confessional—that there are times I am more in love with the idea of God than I am God himself. God is much easier to deal with that way—being academically enamored with his attributes but safely detached from his radical claims upon our lives. It’s a vestigial form of Gnosticism, the heresy that won’t die, in which salvation comes via knowledge and not transforming grace.
   Intellectualism about the faith is no more compelling to an unbeliever than the show “Inside Baseball” is to a non-sports-fan. Very rarely does understanding lead to belief. St. Augustine had it right when he said, "Understanding is the reward of faith. Therefore seek not to understand that you may believe, but believe that you may understand." That’s something we should also keep in mind in our parental and parish catechesis, that the aim is not just the transmission of information, but facilitating an encounter with Christ.
  The unbeliever is most impacted by the witness of a person who embodies the life-changing good news of Jesus; the one who has the peace of Christ dwelling within them, who manifests joyful freedom even amid difficulty, and who radiates love in practical ways toward others. That’s doesn’t eliminate the need for sound apologetics, but is a reminder that few persons have been argued into believing. More likely, the arguments gain traction when they are articulated by a person for whom Christ is more than a historical figure, but the living, life-changing Lord.

   I’ve only got one quibble with the New Testament: the name of its fifth book. Rather than “Acts of the Apostles,” we should go with “Acts of the Holy Spirit.”  Old habits die hard, but don’t fret, we could still call it “Acts” for short. Now, for my reasons.
   Recall the day of Pentecost. The earliest believers are cloistered together in prayer, per Jesus’ instructions. Then the Holy Spirit falls upon them, and the resulting multi-lingual clamor draws a curious crowd. Peter’s emboldened sermon then converts three thousand Jerusalem pilgrims.
   Later, the deacon Stephen, moved by the Spirit, preaches to a hostile crowd. His martyrdom sparks a persecution that scatters the other deacons to mission fields they would have otherwise avoided, especially Samaria. An angel then directs Philip to Gaza, where he meets a God-fearing Ethiopian on his way home. Talk about your divine setups—the African is reading Isaiah while driving his chariot. Philip baptizes him, but the Holy Spirit does the heavy lifting.  
    The rapid pace continues. Saul, the Pharisee and tormentor of Christians, meets Jesus in a blinding vision that transforms him from persecutor to believer. Baptized by the reluctant Ananias, he receives the Holy Spirit, though the apostles were understandably wary of him.
   The next chapter has Peter, inspired by a vision, visiting Cornelius, a God-fearing Roman military commander. As Peter preaches to the centurion and his guests, the Holy Spirit fills them, stunning the chief apostle, who was previously reluctant to even enter a Gentile home.
   Reading these accounts, it seems the Holy Spirit had an agenda with which the apostles were trying to keep up. The first Church council, described in Acts 15, is not so much a strategy session but an attempt to figure what the Holy Spirit was up to.
   I am reminded of a truth I learned from a Baptist writer twenty years ago. Whatever I paid for Henry Blackaby’s book, “Experiencing God,” was worth it for this idea: The aim of the Christian life is not to do some great work for God, but to find where God is at work and join him there.
   To make his point, Blackaby alludes to two things. First, the biblical history of God’s persistent initiative. What we see in Acts is nothing new. It starts at the beginning. Amid deep human depravity, the Lord calls Noah. Abram leaves his home for the land of promise, but only at God’s bidding. Moses is tending sheep when God calls from a bush, as is David when God anoints him through Samuel. When God wants something done, God is one who starts it.
    Secondly, Blackaby testifies to his experience of God’s work in his own life. He challenges us to believe that the same God who called the patriarchs, and who through the Holy Spirit spearheaded the apostolic mission, is at work around and in us as well.   
    We can easily become practical deists—living as though God has retired from active duty. To resist this idea, we need three things: faith to believe that God is working, spiritual attentiveness to notice it, and courage to participate in what God is doing.
    God is still drawing people to himself. He drew you and me, didn’t he? Do you think your baptism happened at your own initiative? Think of those persons God brought into your life at just the right moment.
    Similarly, there are people in our lives to whom we’re particularly suited to be instruments of his grace. I’m not talking about Bible-thumping confrontations or manipulative proselyting, but rather the chance to bear witness, in word and deed, to the love of Jesus that has changed our lives and given us hope. But we shouldn’t feel pressure. There is freedom and peace in knowing that God goes before us, and God will be at work after us. The Holy Spirit does the heavy lifting.
     Yet we have to be attentive, Besides putting down our phones a little more, we should pray a dangerous prayer, “Lord, open my eyes to where you are working in the people around me, and help me to respond to your invitation to join you.” Pray that prayer often enough, and we may end up like the apostles in Acts, struggling to keep up.