Catholicism made me Protestant

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By the time my parents were living in twenty-first-century Illinois, their families’ historic Reformed commitments had been replaced by non-denominational, Baptistic evangelicalism.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).

Ambrose: …constantly pray ‘Open to us, O Mary, the gates of paradise, since thou hast its KEYS.

Anselm: It suffices, O Lady, that thou willest it, and our SALVATION is certain.

Antoninus: …souls protected by Mary, and on which she casts her eyes, are NECESSARILY JUSTIFIED AND SAVED.

Athanasius: …And, thou, O Lady, wast filled with grace, that thou mightiest be the way of our SALVATION and the means of ascent to the heavenly Kingdom.

Bernadine: …all gifts, all virtues, and all graces are dispensed by the hands of Mary to whomsoever, when, and as she pleases. O Lady, since thou art the dispenser of all graces, and since the grace of salvation can ONLY come through thy hands, OUR SALVATION DEPENDS ON THEE.

(Leo XIII: Adiutricem populi, September 5, 1895) — [p. 19, no. 44]

Blosius: To the, O Lady, are committed the KEYS and the treasures of the kingdom of Heaven.

Bonaventure: …the gates of heaven will open to all who confide in the protection of Mary. Blessed are they who know thee, O Mother of God, for the knowledge of THEE is the high road to everlasting life, and the publication of thy virtues is the way of ETERNAL SALVATION . Give ear, O ye nations; and all you who desire heaven , serve, honor Mary, and certainly you will find ETERNAL LIFE.

She says, "He that shall find Me shall find life, and shall have salvation from the Lord. "Qui me invenerit, inveniet vitam, et hauriet salutem a Domino."

Listen," exclaims St. Bonaventure on these words, "listen, all you who desire the kingdom of God: honor the most Blessed Virgin Mary, and you will find life and eternal salvation." "Audite qui ingredi cupitis regnum Dei: Virginem Mariam honorate, et invenietis vitam et salutem perpetuam."-psalt. B.V.ps.48.

Ephem: …devotion to the divine Mother…is the unlocking of the heavenly Jerusalem.

Fulgetius: …by Mary God descended from Heaven into the world, that by HER man might ascend from earth to Heaven.

Guerric: …he who serves Mary and for whom she intercedes, is as CERTAIN of heaven as if he were already there…and those who DO NOT serve Mary will NOT BE SAVED.

Richard of Laurence: Mary, in fine, is the mistress of heaven; for there she commands as she wills, and ADMITS whom she wills.

“The Catholic Church has always and with justice put all her hope and trust in the Mother of God.”

(Leo XIII: Encyclical, Supreme Apostolatus, September 1, 1883.) — [p. 32, no. 104]

“... Yet our manner of praying to the Blessed Virgin has something in common with our worship of God so that the Church even addressed to her the words with which we pray to God: ‘Have mercy on sinners.’”

(Leo XIII: Encyclical, Augustissimae, September 12, 1897.) [p. 68; no. 302]

"Only She Can Help You"
by Father Nicholas Gruner, S.T.L., S.T.D. (Cand.)
In this letter introducing The Fatima Crusader Issue 38, Father Gruner discusses the growing lies and deception about Russia's errors and the consecration of that nation. He also reminds us that, while it is urgent that we be informed about and fight for Our Lady's cause, we must ask for Her help and intercession.

Mary Leads Her Servants to Heaven
by St. Alphonsus de Liguori
In this article taken from The Glories of Mary, Saint Alphonsus explains that there are countless souls in Heaven who are there now only because Mary, by Her powerful intercession, led them there. If a soul persists in true devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, She will certainly lead that soul to Heaven.

The Rosary
by Father Stefano Manelli, S.T.D.
It is greatly important that Our Lady insisted on the Rosary. When at Fatima She spoke of the salvation of sinners, of the ruin of souls in hell, of wars and peace, and of the future of our age. Our Lady indicated and recommended the Rosary as the prayer that saves, that brings peace, that preserves the faith.

Hail Mary, Full of Grace
by Father Stefano Manelli, S.T.D.
It is truly a treasure to have a strong devotion to Our Lady, for it is She who unites us to Jesus and brings us to Heaven, as this article explains.

Mary, Our Life, Our Sweetness, Our Hope
by St. Alphonsus de Liguori
St. Alphonsus de Liguori explains how Mary is our life, how She is our sweetness, and how She is our hope.

The historical record of the worship of Mary accumulated by St. Alphonsus de Liguori who wrote “The Glories of Mary” in the year 1745, which has been since translated into English and printed again and again and again with the full affirmation and imprimatur of the official Roman Catholic Church. In this book there is the sum of all the glories of Mary which has been vouchsafe to the Roman Catholic Church and the Church itself calls upon all its constituents to give Mary that honor she is due. She is identified as Mary, our Queen; Mary, our mother; Mary, our life; Mary, our sweetness; Mary, our hope; Mary, our help; Mary, our Mediatress; Mary, our advocate; Mary, our guardian; and Mary, our salvation. It is said that Mary delivers us from hell, Mary delivers us from purgatory, and Mary leads us to heaven. And it should be said that de Liguori, who collected all the Marion dogma and devotion, was himself one of the most celebrated and revered authorities in the Roman Catholic Church. De Liguori was himself a cardinal in life, and a saint in death.

Jesus said "Without Me you can do nothing". In this crisis which looms ahead of us, Our Lady has told us that we need Her help, Her intercession. We must ask for Her help with the Rosary and the Scapular.

At Fatima, Our Lady told us very plainly that "Only I can help you". Today more than ever is this so true.

Pray the Rosary and sacrifice yourself for Our Lady.

I urge you to also make some sacrifices as Our Lady of Fatima asked us. For those who are able, do some fasting. If you can, abstain from meat by eating meat only during one meal a day. Try to do this for two days, even ten days or 30 days. Of course we should abstain totally from meat every Friday.

Jesus and Mary — Our Hope

It is so urgent that we reach as many souls as possible before it is too late. Let us be of good cheer and remember the words of Jesus to each of us, "It's never too late to have recourse to Jesus and Mary." That is why it is so important to reach the many millions of souls who do not know this, and who do not know the grave dangers lying in wait for their souls.

No, we must never lose hope. Mary is our hope. She can obtain for us what we cannot by ourselves. Read what St. Alphonsus has to say regarding confidence in Our Lady's intercession in "Mary Leads Her Servants to Heaven". Father Manelli also reminds us of the importance of devotion to Our Lady. (See "Hail Mary, Full of Grace"). Our Blessed Mother tells us to turn to Her in confidence. She tells us repeatedly to ask Her intercession through the frequent fervent praying of the Rosary. (See "The Rosary"). She tells us we must pray the Rosary every day. She wants us to pray it many times a day.

http://fatima.org/crusader/cr38/cr38pg2.asp

"Blessed is he whose interior offers the Blessed Virgin Mary a place of repose." Devotion towards the Blessed Virgin remains in all who are the inheritance of Our Lord; that is to say, in all who will praise Him eternally in Heaven.

O, how many blessed souls are now in Heaven who would never have been there had not Mary, by Her powerful intercession, led them thither. I made that in the heavens there should rise light that never faileth. Cardinal Hugo, in his commentary on the above text of Ecclesiasticus, says in the name of Mary, "I have caused as many saints in Heaven through Her intercession, who would never have been there but through Her ."

...in the words of St. Ambrose, "Open to us, O Mary, the gates of paradise, since Thou hast its keys." "Aperi nobis, O Virgo coelum, cujus claves habes." Nay more, the Church says, that "Thou art its gate."

St. Antoninus tells us "that this divine Mother has already, by Her assistance and prayers, obtained Heaven for us, provided we put no obstacle in the way."23

Hence, says Abbot Guerric, "he who serves Mary, and for whom She intercedes, is as certain of Heaven as if he was already there."24

St. John Damascene also says, "that to serve Mary and be Her courtier is the greatest honor we can possibly possess; for to serve the Queen of Heaven is already to reign there, and live under Her commands is more than to govern."25

On the other hand, he adds, "that those who do not serve Mary will not be saved; for those who are deprived of the help of this great Mother are also deprived of that of Her Son and of the whole court of heaven."26

23. "Coeleste nobis regnum, suo interventu auxiliis, et precibus, impetravit."—Paciucch. Sup. Salve Reg. exc. I.
24. "Qui Virgini famulatur, ita securus est de paradiso, ac si esset in paradiso."
25. "Summus honor, servire Mariæ, et de ejus esse familia; etenim ei servire, regnare est; et ejus agi frænis, summa libertas."
26. "Gens quæ non servierit illi, peribit; gentes destitutæ tantæ Matris auxilio, destituuntur auxilio Filii et totius curi’‘ coelestis."— De Laud. B. M. I. 4.

Cardinal Hugo http://fatima.org/crusader/cr38/cr38pg3.asp

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