Why I Will (Probably) Never Become a Roman Catholic
Four reasons why I’d have a hard time crossing the Tiber
Photo credit: me.
(A five-minute read.)
Four weeks ago today, nearly to the minute, my wife and I were touring St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican City. I had been there once before—nearly 25 years ago—and the experience this time was just as sublime and spellbinding as my first visit there.
To say the least, St. Peter’s is grandiose, gaudy, and ostentatious. It’s just so massive in scale—flexing its religious muscles.
And as I stood there in the middle of the basilica, with a priest conducting the Latin mass in the front alcove, and Peter’s tomb allegedly sitting in front of me at the center of the cathedral, a thought came to me that also surfaced for me 25 years ago when I was there: yeah, the Papacy is probably the antichrist.
I know that may sound bigoted and intolerant of me. And I know it probably stems from the very narrow, “low-church” Protestant background from which I come.
Also, I’m not truly sure that the Papacy is in fact the “antichrist.” It may or may not be.
I’m just being transparent about what I viscerally felt in my Protestant bones.
I also want to make it clear that I’m not at all speaking about any individual Roman Catholic persons. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a Roman Catholic I didn’t like and get along with. Indeed, one of my absolute favorite writers and thinkers, Henri Nouwen, was a Roman Catholic.
There’s also plenty to appreciate about Roman Catholicism as a tradition.
My visceral reaction was mostly to the Papacy as a system and institution.
It’s ironic, then, that a few days later, I came across a piece which talks about how Roman Catholicism is making a “comeback” in the Western world. It’s apparently “cool” again, with a 45% increase in adult baptisms in France, and Catholics now outnumbering Anglicans in England for the first time in the Church of England’s nearly-500-year history.
There seems to be a lot of reasons for this—from the sense of transcendence and historical rootedness that Catholicism provides, to its visual and aesthetic appeal which translates surprisingly well to online culture, to its rigorous engagement with the intellect.
There’s a lot I could say about all this—and, in some ways, I’ve indirectly addressed some of these points.
But for me, whether or not the Papacy specifically—and Roman Catholicism in general—is “the antichrist,” there are a number of reasons why I’d struggle to ever cross the Tiber and join Christendom’s oldest tradition.
As I often note about various topics, I’m not an expert in Roman Catholicism at all—but from what I do know about the faith, here are four areas I have major disagreements with Rome about.
And unless and until Rome changes its stance on these matters (or I somehow become convinced that I perceive these issues wrongly—which I’m always open to), I’d have a hard time becoming a Roman Catholic.
1. Theological method. The Council of Trent in the sixteenth century, which was a response to the Protestant Reformation, established that both Scripture and tradition had equal authority when it came to establishing doctrine and practice.
As I understand it, this effectively means that Scripture must be interpreted through the tradition as interpreted by the church. And “the church” here means the Pope and his bishops.
Though I believe we should probably pay more attention to tradition than many “biblicist” Protestants think, I’m definitely not comfortable with going as far as Rome goes—completely outsourcing my understanding of Scripture to others (though, again, I’m eager to pay attention to how others do interpret Scripture without giving them the last word).
So they lose me on this one.
All this is closely connected to the next one.
2. Ecclesiology. I believe in the classic Protestant principle of the “priesthood of all believers,” where every Jesus-follower has equal access to God. No mere mortal—not even the Pope—has the right to maintain that they serve as a mediator between God and humans.
Rome, on the other hand, as I understand it, has a “top-down” model of church governance, with the Pope and his bishops serving as the ultimate ecclesiastical authority, claiming the prerogative to speak on behalf of God.
And that’s something I really, really struggle with, believing it’s borderline blasphemy for a human being—whether the Pope or a bishop—to claim to be the “Vicar of Christ.”
Again, I believe Protestants—especially in America—can and have taken this to an extreme, promoting a sort of hyper-individualistic, anti-intellectualist, anti-education type of Christianity that’s perhaps equally as destructive.
Though we’re not “saved” by the church, neither are we “saved” apart from the church.
Though we’re ultimately accountable to God and not humans, there’s also a proper place to pay respect to humans who’ve demonstrated spiritual maturity and wisdom.
So, again, there’s a balance here.
But Rome takes it too far for me.
3. Doxology. Though there’s definitely a lot that’s attractive about the way Catholicism does worship, and all the “smells and bells” and ancient liturgical practices are a big draw for many people converting to Catholicism these days, I also wouldn’t be able to do it all the time as my regular doxological diet.
There’s also a lot of theology—that is, teaching about God—that sits behind Roman Catholic doxology.
For example, the grandiose architecture, while giving a sense for transcendence, can also leave one feeling God is so transcendent that he’s distant or inaccessible.
Similarly, Roman Catholic teaching maintains that missing mass is a sin that needs to be confessed and repented of (I came upon this idea when a neighbor of mine in Bangor, who was a lay leader in his Roman Catholic parish, gave me a pamphlet that outlined how to prepare for a good “confession,” and it explained that missing mass was a sin).
I’m a big fan of regularly gathering with the people of God—but do I really want to tell people that missing “church” is a sin?
This is also closely connected to the next one—and, in many ways, this last one lies behind all the other ones.
4. Soteriology. Soteriology is the study of “salvation,” or how a person can ultimately be right with God. As I’ve shared before, I do have some concerns about the way many Protestants both misrepresent and over-emphasize certain models of salvation.
Yet, at the end of the day, I have major disagreements with the way Rome presents salvation—or at least the way the average Roman Catholic in the “pew” seems to understand what the church teaches.
Simply put, “Catholic guilt” is a thing.
We need to pray to saints because we can’t access Jesus directly?
We need Mary to speak to God on our behalf?
We must recite endless “Hail Marys” and do numerous “rosaries”?
We must receive absolution from the church and its priests?
With deep respect for my Roman Catholic sisters and brothers, it all seems to be a litany of man-made legalities and superstitions.
To be clear: I believe my own tradition has plenty of issues when it comes to the way we explain “salvation,” or, at the very least, what we give emphasis to. But I’m not sure Rome is any better.
There’s more I can say on these things, and there are other major points of disagreement I have. But these are probably the most salient points, reflecting why it is I’d really have a hard time making a true religious pilgrimage to St. Peter’s someday.
On an unrelated note, I’d highly, highly recommend this piece that my friend, Stephen Allred, wrote last week entitled, “Why Christians Must Be Anti-Racist.” Steve, with whom I went to Andrews University a few decades ago, has degrees both in law and theology. He’s a brilliant, thoughtful, balanced, and justice-loving guy.
So check out the piece—and check out his Substack in general.
Shawn is a pastor and church planter in Portland, Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational and embodied expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) candidate at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.
I'm going to give my best argument each area of disagreement:
To number 1:
No, equal authority given to both scripture and tradition does not mean scripture *must* be interpreted through the tradition of the (Catholic) Church. In all my years being raised Catholic or going to Mass, I have never heard any Catholic priest or teacher say that Catholics shouldn't read the Bible and interpret it on their own. What it really means is that the Church's wealth of research and theology on subjects is invaluable, and at the end of the day you need a unified set of beliefs and interpretations to run a serious, universal, centralized church. If you have a conflict, go ahead and think about it on your own for a while. Look up what the Catechism says or what Church Fathers said. I've never found a subject where it doesn't turn out that the Church's interpretation matches mine once I've fully explored it.
So no, you do not need to outsource your understanding of Scripture to others. You should find that they end up effectively the same if you're being thorough. Maybe Catholics told you otherwise, but they're wrong.
2:
Every person has the same "access to God" in the Catholic Church, no one has more access than others. If you spend more time building a deeper relationship with Him, I would say you're much more likely to know what His Will is. In order to be ordained, you have to go through a long process that hopefully engenders this deeper relationship and proves that you have the ability to lead others with that gift.
No, the bishops and Pope do not "speak on behalf of God." Consider it this way: if we believe that God wants the best for people, and that Christianity is best equipped to bring that about, which isn't hard to accept with Peter and Paul and all that, then the Church aught to be guided in whatever way God deems is best for that goal. The Church hopes that it chooses leaders who take the Gospel seriously and want the best for its continued presence and spreading on Earth. If we believe that our faith is as serious as we do, then we better have unity in messaging and strategy or else we'll be divided and weaker. So if we believe that God wants the best for the Church (God's Will), that its leaders are genuinely committed to doing whatever that is, and that we should have unity to help bring that all about, then why wouldn't we consider a decision made by the Pope and bishops to be the Will of God? Specifically, I mean the "Will of God" to be what leads to human fulfillment/a relationship with God/Heaven.
The Church also doesn't believe that it alone has the power to save. It believes that it passes down the authority of the Apostles to forgive sins as given by Jesus, but it ultimately believes that salvation is Jesus' gift and that we are accountable to him foremost.
3:
I'm not really sure what you mean by "Doxology" based on the first part of that section, but missing Mass being a sin is possibly the most controversial doctrine I can think of for non-Catholics. It's grounded in ritual and tradition, which is hardest to prove has value and should be taken seriously. I can't give you as thorough of an argument as I have before, but grant me an attempt.
Humans are physical, temporal beings. Our souls are tied to our bodies, we exist as both thoughts and muscles simultaneously. If there's a practice that is supposed to be in line with some complete spiritual understanding of human beings, it should thus involve both mind and body. We know this inherently: spiritual practices on the subway are less effective than spiritual practices inside of a cathedral. Spiritual practices done while jumping up and down are less effective than while kneeling. Rituals have that physical component that engage our spirits fully. That's why we take rituals--and being physically present for them--seriously.
Humans are temporal beings, which means our attention to things depends on their proximity, both in space and time. We might feel great and invested in our relationship with God after we go to a religious service, but that connection wanes with time. We forget our responsibilities and go back to a less dedicated life gradually. Maybe a perfect person can sustain a complete ritual practice at home, praying every day or something and continuing to form a deeper bond with God and never forgetting it, but the vast, vast majority of people slip out of practice as soon as we aren't thinking about it actively. You and I probably both pray less than we would like to. Weekly mass is a great way to re-engage spiritually, and without it we fall away to creatures of habit and ignorance. Why 7 days instead of 10 days or 20 days? I can't answer that. Probably just inertia from the Jewish rituals it replicates.
Additionally, we also take Mass seriously. It's not just helpful signs and rituals, we believe that the Eucharist is the real substance of Jesus' Body and Blood. If you believe something like that, you should probably want to receive it as often as you can. But once a week is good enough, it seems.
4:
This is almost all wrong. We don't "need" to pray to saints. We can access Jesus directly. Praying to saints is a helpful addition to what we already do, and may help give some sort of insight that the saint's life can help for our own.
We don't "need" Mary to speak to God on our behalf. Again, we can talk to God ourselves. Mary and the Saints are already in Heaven, and they may help us in ways differently than God.
We don't "need" to recite Hail Marys or rosaries. Rote prayer is an easy way to get us in the spiritual state to speak to God directly, and also contains helpful, spiritual substance in its text.
I've already addressed the Church giving absolution point.
Finally, if you know your own way is flawed, why not give more charity to the most enduring and intellectually rigorous form of it for help and structure? There's probably a reason it's still more effective than personal practice.
At seminary I took a class by a former Catholic, Raoul Dederen. He said that in the past Catholics were known as the people of the church, and Protestants were known as people of the Book.