On Pentecost, the Holy Spirit — whom Jesus Christ promised to send at his Ascension — burst into the upper room “like a strong driving wind” where his Apostles and disciples were gathered. Appearing as tongues of fire, the Paraclete rested on their heads and empowered them to “speak in different tongues” and proclaim the Good News: that their friend, the Son of God, had been resurrected three days after being crucified.
The event was seismic; so much so, a curious crowd convened due to the sound it produced. All were “confused because each one heard [the Apostles] speaking in his own language.” Some were “astounded and bewildered,” questioning the miracle’s meaning. However, among the witnesses, “others” — as Scripture identifies them — scoffed, dismissing the marvel and calling the Apostles drunkards, saying, “They have had too much new wine.”
Scripture does not deny that the “others” also heard the Apostles that day. They too were told of the “mighty acts of God,” but failed to heed them.
How often do we hear the Word but not listen? And how often are we convicted and/or called but we cynically turn away? Like Saint Paul preached, why do we ignore what is in our own self-interest, a life of fulfillment and meaning with God, and instead pursue a misconception of self-interest (i.e., sin).
Still, the “others’” scoffing identified a truth: the Apostles had been filled with a new wine, that being a new emboldening spirit.
Like the Romans adorning Christ with a crown of thorns and royal garb during His passion, the detractors’ mockery and apprehension still serves God’s end, revealing the Son’s kingly identity. The same proves true at Pentecost. The scoffing reinforces the Apostles’ role — and those who receive the Holy Spirit — as conduits of grace. They are the Word on fire. And this “new wine” makes one more aware of the “visible and invisible” aspects of Creation, as proclaimed in the Nicene Creed, not less. To some, it can appear as lunacy, madness, or even drunkenness, of which even Christ was accused. (Coincidentally, even hard alcohols are referred to as ‘spirits.’)
Indeed, the “others’” specificity — of labeling the Apostles’ exuberance as “new wine” — bears its own reflection, for it unintentionally affirms Christ’s ministry. From the wedding feast at Cana to the Last Supper, Jesus Christ exemplified his glory through wine and has continued to do so in the centuries since. Today at every Mass, the faithful can share in the Pentecostal phenomenon for “Christ offers his body and blood as food under the signs of bread and wine, and testifies ‘to the end’ his love for humanity, for whose salvation he will offer himself in sacrifice,” as Saint Pope John Paul II explains in Rosarium Virginis Mariae (2002).
In this way, Christ himself is the new wine. Nevertheless, Pentecost was not the first instance a crowd criticized the Eucharist. Instead of scoffing, many disciples “murmured” and “drew back and no longer walked” with Christ after he proclaimed:
“...unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. …For my flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed. He who eats my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him.”
Then, like at Pentecost, a large crowd turned away, disregarding the seriousness of what Christ and the Apostles preached. But two thousand years later, the ramifications of Christendom is nothing to scoff at. As historian Tom Holland explains in his book, Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World:
“To live in a Western country is to live in a society still utterly saturated by Christians concepts and assumptions. …Whether it be the conviction that the workings of conscience are the surest determinants of good law, or that Church and state exist as distinct entities, or that polygamy is unacceptable, its trace elements are to be found everywhere in the West.”
Pentecost is not a tale — but a real historical event. At the same time, it is a present experience. In fact, every baptized Christian can (and should) inject themselves into the scene, as one gathered in the crowd outside the upper room, hearing the Apostles speak to them. We should also marvel and question their message’s meaning.
But do we believe the Good News the Apostles are proclaiming — because, once we hear and listen to the Word, we cannot be the same. As Christ tells us, “Neither is new wine put into old wineskins; if it is, the skins burst, and the wine is spilled, and the skins are destroyed; but new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and so both are preserved.”
While the “others” identified the Apostles as filled with a new spirit, they failed to transform their souls into “new wineskins.” Sadly, many have done so since and will continue to do so — perhaps, for this reason: The Christian life is not one of luxury and comfort (or drunkenness), but the cross. Christ emphasizes this reality when he says, “[W]hoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” Yet, in him, lies true freedom and peace. The road to Calvary is also the road to Heaven.
This Pentecost is an invitation to renew and/or partake in a higher calling: an opportunity to shed our old selves and imbibe in this “new wine.” Will we partake?
Andrew Fowler is the editor of RealClearReligion and Communications Specialist at Yankee Institute. He also is the author of "The Condemned," a novella about a Catholic priest fighting off the cartel to save the residents of a small desert town (which you can find here).
