Catholicism made me Protestant

First Things ^ | 9/11/2019 | Onsi A. Kamel

[Gamecock]

Like all accounts of God’s faithfulness, mine begins with a genealogy. In the late seventeenth century, my mother’s Congregationalist ancestors journeyed to the New World to escape what they saw as England’s deadly compromise with Romanism. Centuries later, ­American Presbyterians converted my father’s great-­grandmother from Coptic ­Orthodoxy to ­Protestantism. Her son became a Presbyterian minister in the Evangelical Coptic Church. By the time my parents were ­living in ­twenty-first-century Illinois, their families’ historic Reformed commitments had been replaced by non-denominational, ­Baptistic ­evangelicalism.

This form of Christianity dominated my Midwestern hometown. My parents taught me to love God, revere the Scriptures, and seek truth through reason. In middle school, my father introduced me to theology, and as a present for my sixteenth birthday he arranged a meeting between me and a Catholic philosopher, Dr. B—. From high school into college, Dr. B— introduced me to Catholic thought and graciously helped me work through my doubts about Christianity. How could a just and loving God not reveal himself equally to everyone? What are we to make of the Bible’s creation stories and flood narrative? Did Calvinism make God the author of evil? My acquaintance with Dr. B— set my intellectual trajectory for several years.

The causes of any conversion (or near conversion) are many and confused. Should I foreground psychological and social factors or my theological reasoning? Certain elements of my attraction to Catholicism were adolescent, like a sixties radical’s attraction to Marx or a contemporary activist’s to intersectionality: I aimed to preserve the core beliefs of my upbringing while fleeing their bourgeois expressions. When I arrived at the University of Chicago, I knew just enough about Calvinism to hold it in ­contempt—which is to say, I knew very little. Reacting against the middle-aged leaders of the inaptly named “Young, Restless, and Reformed Movement,” I sought refuge in that other great ­Western ­theological tradition: ­Roman ­Catholicism.

During my first year of college, I became involved in campus Catholic life. Through the influence of the Catholic student group and the Lumen Christi Institute, which hosts lectures by Catholic intellectuals, my theologically inclined college friends began converting to Catholicism, one after another. These friends were devout, intelligent, and schooled in Christian history. I met faithful and holy Catholic priests—one of whom has valiantly defended the faith for years, drawing punitive opposition from his own religious superiors, as well as the ire of Chicago’s archbishop. This priest was and is to me the very model of a holy, righteous, and courageous man.

I loved Catholicism because Catholics taught me to love the Church. At Lumen Christi events, I heard about saints and mystics, stylites and monastics, desert fathers and late-antique theologians. I was captivated by the holy martyrs, relics, Mary, and the Mass. I found in the Church a spiritual mother and the mother of all the faithful. Through Catholicism, I came into an inheritance: a past of saints and redeemed sinners from all corners of the earth, theologians who illuminated the deep things of God, music and art that summon men to worship God “in the beauty of holiness,” and a tradition to ground me in a world of flux.

Catholicism, which I took to be the Christianity of history, was a world waiting to be discovered. I set about exploring, and I tried to bring others along. I debated tradition with my mother, sola Scriptura with my then fiancée (now wife), and the meaning of the Eucharist with my father. On one occasion, a Reformed professor dispensed with my arguments for transubstantiation in a matter of minutes.

Not long after this, I began to notice discrepancies between Catholic apologists’ map of the tradition and the terrain I encountered in the tradition itself. St. Ambrose’s doctrine of justification sounded a great deal more like Luther’s sola fide than like Trent. St. John Chrysostom’s teaching on repentance and absolution—“Mourn and you annul the sin”—would have been more at home in Geneva than Paris. St. Thomas’s doctrine of predestination, much to my horror, was nearly identical to the Synod of Dordt’s. The Anglican divine Richard Hooker quoted Irenaeus, ­Chrysostom, ­Augustine, and Pope Leo I as he rejected doctrines and practices because they were not grounded in Scripture. He cited Pope Gregory the Great on the “­ungodly” title of universal bishop. The Council of ­Nicaea assumed that Alexandria was on a par with Rome, and Chalcedon declared that the Roman patriarchate was privileged only “because [Rome] was the royal city.” In short, I began to wonder whether the Reformers had a legitimate claim to the Fathers. The Church of Rome could not be straightforwardly identified as catholic.

John Henry Newman became my crucial interlocutor: More than in Ratzinger, Wojtyła, or Congar, in Newman I found a kindred spirit. Here was a man obsessed with the same questions that ate at me, questions of tradition and authority. With Newman, I agonized over conversion. I devoured his Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine and his Apologia pro Vita Sua. Two of his ideas were pivotal for me: his theory of doctrinal development and his articulation of the problem of private judgment. On these two ideas hung all the claims of Rome.

In retrospect, I see that Newman’s need to construct a theory of doctrinal development tells against Rome’s claims of continuity with the ancient Church. And at the time, though I wished to accept Newman’s proposal that “the early condition, and the evidence, of each doctrine . . . ought consistently to be interpreted by means of that development which was ultimately attained,” I could not. One could only justify such assumptions if one were already committed to Roman Catholic doctrine and Rome’s meaningful continuity with what came before. Without either of these commitments, I simply could not find a plausible reason to speak of “development” rather than “disjuncture,” especially because what came before so often contradicted what followed.

The issue of ecclesiastical authority was trickier for me. I recognized the absurdity of a twenty-year-old presuming to adjudicate claims about the Scriptures and two thousand years of history. Newman’s arguments against private judgment therefore had a prima facie plausibility for me. In his Apologia, Newman argues that man’s rebellion against God introduced an “anarchical condition of things,” leading human thought toward “suicidal excesses.” Hence, the fittingness of a divinely established living voice infallibly proclaiming supernatural truths. In his discourse on “Faith and Private Judgment,” Newman castigates Protestants for refusing to “surrender” reason in matters religious. The implication is that reason is unreliable in matters of revelation. Faith is assent to the incontestable, self-evident truth of God’s revelation, and reasoning becomes an excuse to refuse to bend the knee.

The more I internalized ­Newman’s claims about private judgment, however, the more I descended into skepticism. I could not reliably interpret the Scriptures, history, or God’s Word preached and given in the sacraments. But if I could not do these things, if my reason was unfit in matters religious, how was I to assess Newman’s arguments for Roman Catholicism? Newman himself had once recognized this dilemma, writing in a pre-conversion letter, “We have too great a horror of the principle of private judgment to trust it in so immense a matter as that of changing from one communion to another.” Did he expect me to forfeit the faculty by which I adjudicate truth claims, because that faculty is fallible? My ­conversion would have to be rooted in my private ­judgment—but, because of Rome’s claim of infallibility, conversion would forbid me from exercising that faculty ever again on doctrinal questions.

Finally, the infighting among traditionalist, conservative, and liberal Catholics made plain that Catholics did not gain by their magisterium a clear, living voice of divine authority. They received from the past a set of magisterial documents that had to be weighed and interpreted, often over against living prelates. The ­magisterium of prior ages only multiplied the texts one had to interpret for oneself, for living bishops, it turns out, are as bad at reading as the rest of us.

But I did not remain a Protestant merely because I could not become a Catholic. While I was discovering that Roman Catholicism could not be straightforwardly identified with the catholicism of the first six centuries (nor, in certain respects, with that of the seventh century through the twelfth), and as I was wrestling with Newman, I finally began reading the Reformers. What I found shocked me. Catholicism had, by this time, reoriented my theological concerns around the concerns of the Church catholic. My assumptions, and the issues that animated me, were those of the Church of history. My evangelical upbringing had led me to believe that Protestantism entailed the rejection of these concerns. But this notion exploded upon contact with the Protestantism of history.

Martin Luther, John Calvin, Richard Hooker, Herman Bavinck, Karl Barth—they wrestled with the concerns of the Church catholic and provided answers to the questions Catholicism had taught me to pose. Richard Hooker interpreted the Church’s traditions; Calvin followed Luther’s Augustinianism, proclaimed the visible Church the mother of the faithful, and claimed for the Reformation the Church’s exegetical tradition; Barth convinced me that God’s Word could speak, certainly and surely, from beyond all created realities, to me.

Catholicism had taught me to think like a Protestant, because, as it turned out, the Reformers had thought like catholics. Like their pope-aligned opponents, they had asked questions about justification, the authority of tradition, the mode of Christ’s self-gift in the Eucharist, the nature of apostolic succession, and the Church’s wielding of the keys. Like their opponents, Protestants had appealed to Scripture and tradition. In time, I came to find their answers not only plausible, but more faithful to Scripture than the Catholic answers, and at least as well-represented in the traditions of the Church.

The Protestants did more than out-catholic the Catholics. They also spoke to the deepest needs of sinful souls. I will never forget the moment when, like Luther five hundred years earlier, I discovered justification by faith alone through union with Christ. I was sitting in my dorm room by myself. I had been assigned Luther’s Explanations of the Ninety-Five ­Theses, and I expected to find it facile. A year or two prior, I had decided that Trent was right about justification: It was entirely a gift of grace consisting of the gradual perfecting of the soul by faith and works—God instigating and me cooperating. For years, I had attempted to live out this model of justification. I had gone to Mass regularly, prayed the rosary with friends, fasted frequently, read the Scriptures daily, prayed earnestly, and sought advice from spiritual directors. I had begun this arduous cooperation with God’s grace full of hope; by the time I sat in that dorm room alone, I was distraught and demoralized. I had learned just how wretched a sinner I was: No good work was unsullied by pride, no repentance unaccompanied by expectations of future sin, no love free from selfishness.

In this state, I picked up my copy of that arch-heretic Luther and read his explanation of Thesis 37: “Any true Christian, whether living or dead, participates in all the blessings of Christ and the church; and this is granted him by God, even without indulgence letters.” With these words, Luther transformed my understanding of justification: Every Christian possesses Christ, and to possess Christ is to possess all of Christ’s righteousness, life, and merits. Christ had joined me to himself.

I had “put on Christ” in baptism and, by faith through the work of the Spirit, all things were mine, and I was Christ’s, and Christ was God’s (Gal. 3:27; 1 Cor. 3:21–23). His was not an uncertain mercy; his was not a grace of parts, which one hoped would become a whole; his was not a salvation to be attained, as though it were not already also a present possession. At that moment, the joy of my salvation poured into my soul. I wept and showed forth God’s praise. I had finally discovered the true ground and power of Protestantism: “My beloved is mine, and I am his” (Song 2:16).

Rome had brought me to ­Reformation.

[alrea]

Impressive work.

[Luircin]

Yep.

That’s why I love that copypaste; either it proves Luther believed the same thing as the ECFs, or it proves that the ECFs did not have the ‘unanimous consent’ that the Roman rooster loves to crow about.

It also shows that people didn’t actually read the article, since the article itself makes reference to many of the church fathers that contradict Catholicism.

[boatbums]

The failure, or refusal, to recognize the difference between the eternal law of God and the Mosaic Law is at the heart of the Protestants' misunderstanding of Paul. Circumcision and the Mosaic Law were provisional and limited to the Jewish nation. Non-Jews committed no sin for not following them, nor did the Jews before the establishment of the covenants with Abraham and Moses. With the establishment of the New Covenant in Jesus Christ, no one sins for not keeping the Mosaic Law.

At the heart of Catholicism's perverted and accursed gospel is their insistence that Paul didn't know the difference between the ceremonial law of Moses and the Ten Commandments! Notice that he explains it quite well here:

Is the law, then, opposed to the promises of God? Certainly not! For if a law had been given that could impart life, then righteousness would certainly have come from the law. But the Scripture pronounces all things confined by sin, so that by faith in Jesus Christ the promise might be given to those who believe. Before this faith came, we were held in custody under the law, locked up until faith should be revealed. So the law became our guardian to lead us to Christ, that we might be justified by faith. Now that faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian. You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus. For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed and heirs according to the promise. (Galatians 3:21-29)

If righteousness COULD HAVE come by the law - ANY law, then the law of God was the best way eternal life could be given (the law of the Lord is perfect (Psalm 19:7)). But that was NOT the purpose! No one is justified by ANY law! We are justified before God by FAITH. The law is our schoolmaster to bring us to Christ (Galatians 3:24) . Therefore no one will be declared righteous in God's sight by the works of the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of our sin. (Romans 3:20).

Only when we let go of our pride and boasting about our own righteousness and turn to the only one who lived in perfect obedience to the law so that He could make full and complete propitiation for our sins, will we be clothed in the righteousness of Christ and be gifted with eternal life. We will have no reason to boast but will have all eternity to rejoice in the God of our salvation.

[Luircin]

The best part being that Paul very specifically refers to the ten commandments as part of the law of God.

And Jesus himself places the Commandments and the two great commandments IN THE LAW.

Catholicism calls God a liar by claiming that works of the law do not include these.

[Luircin]

Heh, just a copy-paste from a website that I encountered long ago, thanks to boatbums showing it to me.

I wish I had the complete works of the ECFs so that I could take the time to look up even more.

[Mark17]

We will have no reason to boast but will have all eternity to rejoice in the God of our salvation.

No doubt about it. I still wonder, however, why cult members still reject it?

By the way, my son flew again today. He now is able to land the aircraft by himself, and doesn’t understand why he struggled with it earlier. 😁 He will solo on Monday. 👍

[MHGinTN]

Wonderful!

[infool7]

Anyone else see the contradiction and hypocrisy here?

Is it a courtesy to remain silent and allow one to

persist in their ignorance and worse yet to

to mislead others into error?

7

[Luircin]

So why are you hating on Protestants for trying to keep Catholics from misleading others into error?

[infool7]

No hate whatsoever but you've got it exactly backwards.

The seven chief spiritual works of mercy:
1. To admonish the sinner.
2. To instruct the ignorant.
3. To counsel the doubtful.
4. To comfort the sorrowful.
5. To bear wrongs patiently.
6. To forgive all injuries.
7. To pray for the living and the dead.
7

[Mark17]

Wonderful!

You got it bro. I think when we see each other in the clouds, he will get there ahead of us, cuz he will already be “in the clouds,” since he will have instrument flight training. 😁🤣👍☝️ I hope some of these people don’t take the mark of the beast. 👍 Maybe after the rapture, some of them will get saved, but they might become martyrs. 👎

[boatbums]

Could Scripture be any clearer in declaring that we are not saved by faith alone?

It's frustrating to keep asking this. Why isn't it getting through to you that the verse you say you are citing DOESN'T say what you keep telling us it's saying! Please find me a single verse in the entire Bible that says, "we are not saved by faith alone". It's NOT in there! I can show you dozens of verses that DO say we are saved by faith and not by our works - of ANY kind. So how is it you are adamant that we are not saved by faith alone?

If all you have that even comes close is James 2:24, then you are not only misquoting what that verse says, you are ripping it out of its context which is that our works justify our faith which is what we keep trying to explain. A "dead" faith is an unproductive, unfruitful kind of faith. It doesn't help anyone. James compares it to telling a brother who is hungry and naked that you'll pray for him but then you do nothing to meet his needs. What does it profit him? In the same way, James says, faith without works is dead. Abraham was justified, counted righteous, long before he offered Isaac to God. Abraham's faith was credited to him as righteousness. And that IS in the Bible see Romans 4:9.

[Syncro]

There are no verses in the New Testament indicating the believer can ever unseal nor unseals what God has sealed.***

Nice Biblical informative post, thanks.

Reminds me of Nicodemus

There is a reason God used the term born again.

Simply put, you cannot be unborn.

Once you are born again, God seals you into his kingdom.

If you are indeed born again, sin has no hold on you and cannot cause you to lose your salvation.

[Luircin]

So why you so angry about us Protestants instructing the ignorant?

[boatbums]

What then shall we say that Abraham, our forefather, has discovered? If Abraham was indeed justified by works, he had something to boast about, but not before God. For what does the Scripture say? “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness.” (Romans 4:1-3)

[boatbums]

Hebrews 10: 26-31 (And many other examples) counters all that, what say you? Hint, you need to take "Sola Scriptura" as a whole, not cherry pick what you like.

Take your own advice! Read the whole chapter starting with verse 1. You'll counter your OWN erroneous and cherry picked conclusions.

[davidwendell]

The Bible came from the Church....

In other words, the Holy Spirit, working through the Church, gave us the Scriptures. Scriptures Alone? Nope.

I like the phrase Saved through faith working through love. It’s in Galatians.

He never told us what type of Protestant he was? Of course the answer is Sola Himself, the church of his opinion.

[Luircin]

The ‘Church’ did not give us Scripture. The Holy Spirit did.

Through the pens of the Apostles and Prophets.

You are also using a fake definition of what sola scriptura means.

[Mark17]

So why you so angry about us Protestants instructing the ignorant?

Good question bro. 😁👍😆🙃

[boatbums]

Catholicism calls God a liar by claiming that works of the law do not include these.

I see that happens on many other things as well. I can't help but pray with all my heart that God lifts the scales of self-righteousness away from people's eyes and they clearly see the truth and the wonder of why the grace of God is so amazing. I can do NOTHING to save myself! There isn't ANYTHING I am capable of doing that makes me worthy or deserving of His mercy.

The prophet Jeremiah understood:

Yet I call this to mind, and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD’s loving devotion we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness! (Lamentations 3:21-23)

The psalmist got it:

He has not dealt with us according to our sins or repaid us according to our iniquities. (Psalm 103:10)

But thou, O Lord, art a God full of compassion, and gracious, longsuffering, and plenteous in mercy and truth. (Psalm 86:15)

The prophet Nehemiah understood:

Nevertheless for thy great mercies' sake thou didst not utterly consume them, nor forsake them; for thou art a gracious and merciful God. (Neh. 9:31)

Micah saw it:

Who is a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the transgression of the remnant of his heritage? he retaineth not his anger for ever, because he delighteth in mercy. (Micah 7:18,19)

Jesus made sure His apostles understood it as well:

This is how God’s love was revealed among us: God sent His one and only Son into the world, so that we might live through Him. And love consists in this: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins. (I John 4:9,10)

How prideful we can be when we start thinking WE are so pious and holy because we do all these things FOR God! We imagine God HAS TO let us into heaven because we've been so good and done all the things we were told we had to do in order to please Him and merit it. But what really pleases God?

For You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it; You take no pleasure in burnt offerings. The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, You will not despise. (Psalm 51:16,17)

I truly humble and contrite spirit is what God can use to get through to us and it draw others to Him and He gets ALL the glory - which is how it should be. Belonging to one church versus another matters very little. It is what we believe and how we live what we believe that really matters.