Posted on 09/11/2019 10:52:15 AM PDT by 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By the time my parents were living in twenty-first-century Illinois, their families’ historic Reformed commitments had been replaced by non-denominational, Baptistic evangelicalism.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.
To think that doing works gets you justified is utterly foreign to the overall context, and is a false, incredible doctrine.
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Your statement here is an example of the erection of a straw man for the simple reason that justification by doing good works has not been asserted, at least not by me. But your subtle play on words to imply that it has is quite clever!
Let me ask you, do you live in fear for your salvation,
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Not at all because, even though St. Paul says to “work out you salvation in fear and trembling . . .” (Phil 2:12), I follow the Master’s advice as quoted in Matt 2:27 and do the will of the Father as it is revealed throughout the Holy Scriptures.
In the King James Version of the Bible the relevant text reads:
Not every one that saith unto me, Lord, Lord, shall
enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth
the will of my Father which is in heaven.
John6:28 Then they said to him, “What must we do, to be doing the works of God?” 29 Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”38 For I have come down from heaven, not to do my own will but the will of him who sent me. 39 And this is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day. 40 For this is the will of my Father, that everyone who looks on the Son and believes in him should have eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.”
If confused, refer to John 3 and the exchange between Jesus and Nicodemus, and what God did regarding the act by Moses in the Desert.
Any questions? I don't see any sacraments or religious idols or Maridolatry in that. Any questions?
Do you even proofread what you write? Millions of Bibles in every country in the middle ages? Liar!!! If you'll lie about something so easily proven wrong, why would anyone take your "supposed teaching" about the Catholic church seriously?
Read this article which totally disproves your comment.
History - Why didn't people in the Middle Ages read the Bible?"
Bible wasn't available - no printing presses
The Bible was on scrolls and parchments during the early centuries of Christianity. No one had a "Bible". In the Middle Ages, each Bible was written by hand. Most people were, at best, only functionally literate. That is partially why they used stained glass windows and art to tell the Bible story. The printing press was not invented until 1436 by Johann Gutenberg. Note: The Gutenberg Bible, like every Bible before it, contained the Deuterocanonical books - or "apocrapha" in Evangelical circles.
It’s about believing God.
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Very simplistic. Many people and even the devil herself believe God (or think they do). But as we all know believing God depends on the correct understanding of what God has revealed. If one’s understanding is in error then obviously one is not believing God but instead is believing only a misunderstanding.
Moreover, believing God and doing His will are two entirely different things. Many people believe God but knowingly defy His will. We call such people sinners, and Jesus has told us explicitly that these people will not enter the kingdom of heaven (Matt 7:21).
You have just committed the unacceptable deed of bragging in Post #562 of how you are earning your way into God's gracious benefices and how He must now recognize how nice you are and how clean your heart is.
Isn't there something just a little strange about your approach to gaining Jesus' favor?
"But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthyH5708 ragsH899; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away" (Isa. 64:6 AV).
Notes:
Strong's Number H5708
עד
‛êd
ayd
From an unused root meaning to set a period (compare H5710 and H5749); the menstrual flux (as periodical); by implication (in plural) soiling: - filthy.
Strong's Number H899
בּגד
beged
behg'-ed
From H898; a covering, that is, clothing; also treachery or pillage: - apparel, cloth (-es, -ing), garment, lap, rag, raiment, robe, X very [treacherously], vesture, wardrobe.
Actually, all the works that you have done for God count even less to Him than it does to the reader here, according to the above verse. Unless you are dead in sins, crucified to the world, and the world crucified to you, with Christ living in you and through you doing the works, for which HE ALONE gets the credit and GOD the glory, your works will be burned up as hay and stubble. with your future looking very sombre indeed.
A number of us have been down that road of soulish and spiritual wreckage, received the gift of eternal life, and are appealing to you now, praying for your eyes to be opened as to God's plan of freely given salvation, not yours that includes meritorious labors to achieve it.
You outright admitted that you aren’t keeping God’s Commandments. Why should God save you from damnation?
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I think it has been revealed that He will save REPENTANT sinners, but I know that “repentance” gets short shrift in almost all Protestant theology. Oh well. We will all see soon enough who will be saved and who will be burned. Good luck!
You have just committed the unacceptable deed of bragging in Post #562
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#562 ?????????????????????? Bragging is an extremely common practice in Fundy and other Protestant religious exegesis. I never stoop to that level so you must be mistaken!
The will of the Father is to constantly and urrevocably believe on Him Whom He hath sent. No more, no less, nothing else; and by this committing to keep watchfully secure and carry out whatever commands He has declared.
I suspect such arguers / pleaders are those who will try to plead their deeds when Jesus will turn to them and state 'Depart from me, I never knew you.'.
The Will of God is plainly and succinctly stated BY JESUS in John 6, yet you want to add anything your fertile mind can conger up (and it is really your father sending the 'yes-buts').
The Gospel of Grace includes zero of your works and all of God's Mercy. He sees the inward you and His word is powerful to divide even soul and spirit. He has made His Gospel of Grace so simple only a proud fool would try to add to what God requires. And what God requires HE has told you in John 3 and John 6. Argue with Him at your eternal peril.
Not clever. Factual and contextual. Stop whining. You are the braggart of your good works Post #562.
But you told me that you’re earning salvation by your works.
Now you’re throwing yourself on God’s grace? What happened to your works? If they’re so great, why not use them as a reason God should save you?
From Matthew 7:15-23 (NASB)
15“Beware of the false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly are ravenous wolves.
16“You will know them by their fruits. Grapes are not gathered from thorn bushes nor figs from thistles, are they?
17“So every good tree bears good fruit, but the bad tree bears bad fruit.
18“A good tree cannot produce bad fruit, nor can a bad tree produce good fruit.
19“Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.
20“So then, you will know them by their fruits.
21“Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father who is in heaven will enter.
22“Many will say to Me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name, and in Your name cast out demons, and in Your name perform many miracles?’
23“And then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; DEPART FROM ME, YOU WHO PRACTICE LAWLESSNESS.’
Jesus is clear in His message. It is those who practice lawlessness who do not inherit the Kingdom.
The key word there is lawlessness. The Greek word is ἀνομία, anomia.
It conveys the following meaning:
458 anomía (from 1 /A "not" and 3551 /nómos, "law") – properly, without law; lawlessness; the utter disregard for God's law (His written and living Word).
458 /anomía ("lawlessness") includes the end-impact of law breaking – i.e. its negative influence on a person's soul (status before God).
https://biblehub.com/greek/458.htm
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These are people who are not followers of Christ. They are false prophets.
Sure you did. Anyone can see it. Saw nothing there about Christ working through you, with the Spirit at the control panel, and claiming nothing for yourself to boost your FR reputation. Tch, tch.
This sounds like your works are without faith.
I see you're not very well acquainted with non-Roman Catholic theology.
I assure you, at the church I attend, repentance is preached.
James; is that the same fella that wrote, "Call no man father."?
Oh; no; that was JESUS speaking.
My bad.
I’m firmly convinced that everyone who continues unto death to assume that they are “saved”, precisely because of their faith in what an apparition; that is presumed to be Christ's mother; has promised them...
The poster is incapable of seeing self in the light of Truth found in the Word of God. ‘If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!’
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