A homily for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, May 14, 2023
Acts 8:5-8, 14-17, 1 Pt 3:15-18, Jn 14:15-21
I’d like to start with a story about what not to do.
Right after my college graduation, my then-girlfriend and I went to a concert in New York’s Central Park and, after it was over, we headed on foot to her apartment. We were waiting at a street corner for the light to change when she grabbed my arm, leaned closer to me, and shook her head in the direction of a man who was sort of shuffling his way toward us while trying not to make eye contact.
“Bill, that guy looks like a mugger,” she said, and for some bizarre reason I barked back, “Stay here.”
I grabbed the program from the show out of my coat pocket and walked briskly toward the man, waving the paper and saying, “Do you know Jesus? Jesus is your personal Lord and Savior. I have a tract right here that…”
He took off like a shot.
I had never weaponized Jesus before and I’ve never done it since. Kids, don’t try this at home or anywhere else.
But here’s some context. This happened in the mid-to-late 1970s, when the so-called Jesus Freak movement was still going pretty strong. People pointed their index fingers toward the sky to say that Jesus is the One Way to Heaven. The Doobie Brothers had a massive hit in that era with “Jesus is Just Alright.”
At a time just 10 years after Time magazine asked “Is God Dead?” it seemed as if all anybody could talk about was getting high on Jesus.
Yes, Jesus was their doobie.
Now, none of us can truly know what is in somebody else’s heart or soul or mind, and it was difficult to tell if these supercharged displays of love for the Source of All Love were truly deep relationships or passing fads. Were they the fires that burn long and steady … or flashes in the pan?
A mixed bag, as I recall. A lot of each.
Some people back then did indeed make justice and peace their mission, weaving them into the fiber of their being and continuing on that path a half-century later. As Mom always said, their actions continue to speak louder than words.
(Happy Mother’s Day in Heaven, Mom.)
And as our passages from Scripture today remind us, actions that promote the earthly good and the eternal reward of all our sisters and brothers have spoken loudly for 2,000 years.
But we do need words.
We don’t all wear uniforms the way Scouts used to when they helped people across the street. Why we act with loving kindness isn’t always obvious to the recipient.
Sometimes we need to flat-out tell someone that God loves them and we do too, in God’s name.
How we say it matters.
What I did that summer night decades ago weaponized proselytizing. And, no, I’m not going to say that three times fast.
What I did not do was evangelize.
Webster’s Dictionary doesn’t define these two 10-dollar words much differently, but we Catholic Christians do. It’s even likely that we’ve been on the receiving end of each at one time or another, and it’s highly likely we’ve had polar-opposite reactions.
Proselytizing is forceful, it’s arm-twisting. It’s shouting, even if spoken in a whisper. It’s my way or the highway, “my way” being my or my group’s interpretation of God’s divine plan for us.
When proselytizing has walloped us, how many of us took off like a shot?
Evangelizing, though … evangelizing really is different.
Evangelizing is an invitation. It’s a gentle explanation of why we’re doing what we do, shared with anyone who benefits from our acts of justice and charity and who might just want to know what gives. When we evangelize, we offer; we don’t ram anything down anybody’s throat.
Let’s listen again to St. Peter, whose guidance is timeless:
Always be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope, but do it with gentleness and reverence.
Our explanation — our evangelizing invitation — is simple: It’s what Jesus would do.
