Tag Archives: Roman Catholic Church

Christ the King, and honor in worship

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Christ the King (try as I might, I couldn’t identify the artist).

This Sunday is the Solemnity of Christ the King — properly “Our Lord Jesus Christ, Lord of the Universe” — the last Sunday of the liturgical year, before Advent begins it anew, when we celebrate Jesus’s Divine Kingship over all Creation.

I had a brief thought this morning at Mass, in response to the criticisms of some Protestant friends, that Catholic worship is “empty ritual” or “rote.” When the king of a great earthly kingdom visits — when the President of the United States, or the Queen of England, or a senator or a governor or even a powerful CEO, makes an appearance — there is an expected protocol, an established ceremony, in welcoming that person and celebrating his or her presence. The act of that ceremony — and the people’s participation in it — shows that person the honor, respect, and reverence befitting his or her position.

How much the more should we do the same for the Almighty King of the Universe, the Lord of All Creation! Our liturgy — all the texts, and psalms, and chants; all the vestments and vessels and incense; all the buildings, all the art, all the music — they are to honor our King, to celebrate His Presence, His coming to us in the Sacraments; to lift high His Name, in heavenly praise with the angels — but also to magnify Him before all the world. Almighty God, the King of the Universe, took on flesh and walked among us, and still He is in our midst, in His Holy Spirit — and in His Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity. How can we not do these things?

Justification by faith alone, or what? What do Protestants think Catholics believe?

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Le Sueur, The Preaching of St. Paul at Ephesus

The Preaching of St. Paul at Ephesus (1649), by Eustache Le Sueur. (WikiPaintings.org)

For Protestants, one of the cries of the Reformation, one of the staples of Protestant faith, is sola fide, justification by faith alone. Many Protestants, especially the Reformed, hold this point to be so crucial and integral to the message of the Gospel that they label any other view (that is, the Catholic or Orthodox views) to be “heresy” or even “apostasy.”

As you know, this troubles me deeply. The Catholic Church teaches salvation by grace alone (sola gratia), the gracious and unmerited favor of God on the sinner, just as uncompromisingly as any Protestant community. So Catholics and Protestants agree on the source and the cause of grace; what we disagree on with regard to sole fide amounts to merely the mechanics by which that grace is received. To my view, our theologies even on this disputed point are much closer to each other than either side generally admits, resulting in what appears to me to be a difference of mere wording and nuance.

Velazquez, St. Paul

St. Paul (c. 1619), by Diego Velazquez. (WikiPaintings.org)

So the charge that the Catholic Church teaches a “different gospel” than Protestants (and a false one) is entirely incomprehensible to me. And so, the question occurs to me — and I sincerely hope for some dialogue with Protestants here: What is it that Protestants, particularly Reformed Protestants, think that the Catholic Church teaches, that is so antithetical to the Gospel? that would warrant denying fellowship with their Christian brothers and sisters, and even accusing them of “apostasy”? I am not at this time attempting any positive argument for Catholic position; I am merely trying to understand the Protestant charge.

The unspoken assumption of sola fide — by faith alone — is the rejection of the idea that “works” play any role in salvation. As St. Paul writes, “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Ephesians 2:8–9). These verses comprise one of several linchpin passages in sola fide theology — but what exactly does Paul mean here by “works”? I have often heard the accusation that Catholics (or Arminians, or anyone not Calvinist) teach “works’ righteousness” — the doctrine that by our “works” we are saved: that somehow, anything we can do can win God’s favor, merit our salvation, or in our own deeds make us righteous. As I’ve demonstrated, this isn’t what Catholics believe at all. I have heard the charge that Catholics are “Pelagian” or “semi-Pelagian”: Pelagius taught that Adam’s original sin did not taint human nature and that man was capable, in himself, of choosing good over evil without the grace of God. The Catholic Church denies this, and always has.

Ribera, Saint Paul (1637)

Saint Paul (1637), by Jusepe de Ribera. (WikiPaintings.org)

This line of sola fide reasoning apparently interprets that the “works” of Paul’s argument means any act of doing something — any work accomplished, ἔργα or facta. The belief, then, that doing something, anything, any action at all other than having faith, is necessary for salvation, is therefore construed as a contradiction: Certainly the practice of the Sacraments or the belief that Baptism is necessary for salvation fall into this category, but taken to the extreme, this opposition to “works” (that is, having to do anything to be saved) includes even the simple act of praying a prescribed prayer.

So is that it? Is it this teaching that one has to do something in order to be saved that is so gravely contradictory to the Gospel, and that makes Catholics “apostate” (that is, having willfully turned one’s back on and denied Christ)? Or is there something else I’m overlooking? Because the something that Catholics believe one must do to be saved, at a most basic understanding, is merely to accept God’s freely offered grace. All other actions — Baptism, the Sacraments, good works of charity proceeding — are merely the result of God’s grace working in our lives, both giving us the will and empowering us to work (Ephesians 2:10, Philippians 2:12–13).

Where in this is the denial of Christ? If I believed that in any sense I was abandoning Christ’s Gospel, I would not have made this journey. I would like to understand the positions of Protestants who would label this “apostasy.”

The Sacrament of Confirmation and Protestants: Profession of Faith or Pentecostal Fire?

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Giotto. Pentecost (1310)

Pentecost (1310), by Giotto.(WikiPaintings.org)

So I’ve written a bit introducing the Sacrament of Confirmation, what it is and what it means; I’ve explicated Confirmation as it appears in Scripture and in the early Fathers of the Church; now I’d like to explore a bit the meaning of Confirmation among our separated Protestant brethren.

Since the practice of Confirmation in the Church is so well attested from Scripture forward, the earliest Protestant reformers didn’t outright reject it. The more liturgical, traditional Protestants — Lutherans, Anglicans, and Methodists, apparently some Presbyterians* — have retained Confirmation in some form. Because there is no explicit scriptural testimony that it was instituted by Christ Himself, however, these Protestants have generally held it not to have sacramental value. These groups, speaking generally, consider Confirmation to be a public profession of faith for children coming of age who wish to publicly embrace their Christian faith, a reaffirmation of the baptismal vows for those who were baptized as infants, and the end goal of a curriculum of catechesis (q.v. Calvin on Confirmation).

Confirmation from Seven Sacraments Altarpiee (der Weyden)

Confirmation. Detail from Seven Sacraments Altarpiece (1450), by Rogier van der Weyden.

* It seems, from my cursory googling, that it’s mostly PCUSA Presbyterians who do this, and not the more hard-core PCA and OPC. Do I have any Presbyterian readers who can give me the info?

Most evangelicals, on the other hand, have completely rejected the practice of Confirmation as unbiblical — since the church can’t do anything that’s not in Scripture.† Most of these churches, in the Baptist tradition, practice believer’s baptism (the baptism only of adult believers, not infants), and for them Baptism takes the place of Confirmation as a public profession of faith for children coming of age and new believers.

† They’re not looking hard enough, in any case. It’s plain enough that the scriptural references to the laying on of hands refer to some formal act of the Church related closely to Baptism and the receiving of the Holy Spirit. Call it Confirmation or call it something else; debate what it means; but it’s there.

Baby baptism

This was labeled, in Google Image Search, as a “baby dedication” — but that looks an awful lot like a baptismal font to me.

The Completion of Baptismal Grace

And this is where, believe it or not, I feel we have some common ground. Though many of these groups consider it immoral and incorrect and unbiblical to baptize infants (or downright heretical if one is also Catholic), the practice of these churches outwardly is not completely alien from that of Catholics. Many of these communities, instead of infant baptism, have a rite of baby dedication that in many ways (by design, I think) mirrors a Catholic infant baptism. The child is dedicated to God, and the parents, and other family members, and the whole congregation, promise to diligently raise him or her up in the Christian faith. Likewise in the Catholic rite of baptism for an infant.

Baby dedication

That looks more like it.

I have never understood,
even when I was an evangelical, the evangelical objection to infant baptism. It seems in all literature I have ever read, especially from the Baptists, to be a vehement and visceral denial. “We do NOT believe in infant baptism,” any Baptist document is strident to point out. What are they afraid of — of appearing too Catholic? If Baptism is not sacramental, and is only a sign or public profession, why should it matter, regardless of what one church believes, how another church decides to present its public signs? But it does: paedobaptism (the baptism of infants) is often a major theological point of division among evangelicals, and has been, for many Catholic converts of an evangelical background, a major stumbling block.

At the other end, both Catholics and evangelicals have a rite of coming of age, of children reaching the age of reason and publicly professing to embrace the Christian faith. For evangelicals, it is Baptism, but — here’s the thing — for Catholics, Confirmation is part of the same process as Baptism. Confirmation is the completion — the confirmation — of the baptismal grace the believer received as an infant. I would present to my Baptist friends that Confirmation for Catholics functions in the same way as Baptism does in their churches, and is in truth part of the same movement of the Holy Spirit.

Titian, Pentecost

Pentecost (c. 1545), by Titian. (WikiPaintings.org)

Pentecostal Fire

I’ve discovered another parallel in outward forms to Catholic Confirmation among Protestants — and they have no idea. It comes from the very neck of the woods from which I hail: the Pentecostal or Charismatic movement. I have mentioned it once before, almost exactly a year ago, and I wondered what it meant, without ever realizing that it ran parallel to the Sacrament of Confirmation: what Pentecostals call “the baptism of the Holy Spirit.” The Scriptures they read in the Acts of the Apostles as describing this second “baptism,” separated from the context of Church Tradition, are in fact the very passages that I have described that give the earliest accounts of Confirmation.

Baptism of the Holy Spirit

I’m back in Sunday school!

For Pentecostal churches, in particular the Assemblies of God in which I grew up, the Baptism of the Holy Spirit is necessarily accompanied by the evidence of speaking in tongues. They read in the Book of Acts that the descent of the Holy Spirit, in every case that it is mentioned, beginning with Acts 2, is accompanied by speaking in tongues and prophesying. In particular they note the incident in Acts 19 in which St. Paul “laid his hands on [believers]” and “the Holy Spirit came on them, and they began speaking in tongues and prophesying” (Acts 19:1–7). And this is commonly how Pentecostals receive the Baptism of the Holy Spirit: by having other believers lay hands on them and pray that the Holy Spirit falls on them. This laying on of hands, in Acts, is precisely what we Catholics read as the Sacrament of Confirmation.

The Assemblies of God believe:

The Baptism in the Holy Spirit is a vital experience of the Christian life. It is a special work of the Spirit beyond salvation. On the Day of Pentecost, disciples who had already made a decision to follow Jesus “were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues” (Acts 2:4). Paul asked the Ephesians disciples if they had received the Holy Spirit, after which “the Holy Spirit came on them, and they spoke in tongues” (Acts 19:2). New Testament believers were constantly challenged to be filled with the Spirit (Acts 1:4,5; Ephesians 5:18). The Assemblies of God is committed to the baptism in the Holy Spirit because the experience is such an important focus of New Testament Christianity.

And strangely enough, they kind of get it.

Most Protestant Christians do not acknowledge any further sense of receiving the Holy Spirit in one’s life after their initial regeneration, when the Holy Spirit first comes to them (we believe this happens at Baptism). I am not sure what other evangelical Christians make of these passages of Scripture that Pentecostals have built their doctrine upon, but in my days I’ve never heard of such a thing discussed.

Holy Spirit as Dove

The Holy Spirit as a Dove, from St. Peter’s Basilica.

But we Catholics understand that the Sacrament of Confirmation “in a certain way perpetuates the grace of Pentecost in the Church”; that it is “the special outpouring of the Holy Spirit as once granted to the apostles on the day of Pentecost” (CCC 1288–1288,1302–1303). We believe that it, among other graces, “increases the gifts of the Holy Spirit in us.” This sounds in every way like the “Baptism of the Holy Spirit” I grew up with.

We Catholics believe that only a bishop has the authority to celebrate the Sacrament of Confirmation, or a priest to whom he delegates the authority (this actually goes for all of the Sacraments save Baptism). And, I can say without hesitation that Confirmation, spiritually, was for me unlike anything I’d ever experienced before. But, as I have written before, though God has instituted the Sacraments, He Himself is not bound by them (CCC 1257). It may be that in some portion, Pentecostals, in praying to receive the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, are given what they ask, by the overabundant grace of our God.

Una Misa en Español

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Our Lady of Guadalupe

Our Lady of Guadalupe.

This past Sunday I had the opportunity to attend a Mass in Spanish. I thought I would share a bit of my cultural reconnaissance.

First, I know exceedingly little Spanish — a truly sad paucity, given that I took Spanish in school for two and half years (though that was now over ten years ago). So I had a difficult time even getting the gist of the homily or the announcements. But thanks be to God, the Mass is universal: though I didn’t know the words, I nonetheless knew the liturgy. The missalette had the words of the Spanish liturgy facing the English; and I do know enough Spanish and enough Latin to read Spanish with a fair proficiency.

It was a large parish, and had a large church building; and it was packed. I’m not a good judge of numbers, but I would say at least a couple of hundred were there? To my knowledge, it was one of the only Sunday Masses in Spanish within a thirty-mile radius. It seemed to be a very active and close-knit community, judging by the length of time spent making announcements both before and after Mass, and the bulletin that I snagged.

Holy Spirit

But they have a superb pipe organ.

The music was lively and contemporary with a distinct Latin beat, not surprisingly (the church architecture and decor were also contemporary, or were fifty years ago). The homily was longer than any English homily I’ve heard, probably thirty minutes or so; I caught scattered bits here and there about the Year of Faith, the importance of living the faith, and what sounded like bits of the Credo. The congregation both spoke and sang a lot faster than my feeble attempts at Spanish pronunciation could keep up, but I did my best, and finally during the Liturgy of the Eucharist resorted to responding in English under my breath. I suppose I am a dead giveaway as an Anglo, with my pale white skin, brown hair, and green eyes, because both the priest and the extraordinary minister of the Cup spoke to me in English (to my slight disappointment): “The Body of Christ.” “The Blood of Christ.”

Holy Spirit Church

Holy Spirit Church, Huntsville.

There was one very striking thing: When it came time to go up for the Eucharist, only a small fraction of the people went; I would say only one or two per row, and not even from every row. I am not sure how to interpret this — certainly it is a vast cultural difference. At every English-speaking Mass I’ve ever been to, the majority of people go up; indeed, I tend to feel a little uncomfortable not going up, when I’m not well-disposed for whatever reason — though I know I shouldn’t. One hears of all sorts of “cultural Catholics” or “cafeteria Catholics” who go to receive Communion even when they shouldn’t, when they go to Mass irregularly and haven’t been to Confession, or when they hold views starkly in conflict with the teachings of the Church (thinking especially of certain Catholic politicians). Many of these merely cultural Catholics (judging by what I’ve heard and not by knowing any of them) feel that receiving Communion is their “right” as Catholics, and are incensed if they are denied it. The attitude seems to be that the Church is there to serve them, not they to serve Christ’s Church.

And here in this Latino congregation, the thinking seemed to be much different. I can think of several ways to read this phenomenon. Clearly the large number of people in attendance thought it was important if not necessary to be there. Were all of these people who didn’t go up — which included young people and old people — not well-disposed to receive, on account of unconfessed sin or being away from Confession? Or, are they merely “cultural” Catholics who attend Mass for the community aspect but do not believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist or in its importance? Or is taking regular Communion simply not a part of their culture? In any case, the one thing I think I can say for sure is that these people had a profound respect for the Blessed Sacrament, not to dishonor it by receiving it in sin or unbelief.

EDIT: In discussing this with a friend, I realized the probable reason for so many congregants’ abstinence from Communion: this was the first Sunday Mass after All Saints’, a Holy Day of Obligation. Many of these folks may not have been able to attend Mass that day (especially not a Spanish Mass). But still, at an English Mass, many people who had missed the Holy Day would have nonetheless gone up to recieve: these people were very respectful.

What is a Saint? An Introduction for Protestants

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All Saints

Fra Angelico. The Forerunners of Christ with Saints and Martyrs (about 1423-24).

(This is a post I made earlier this year which seems appropriate for the solemnity of All Saints, updated and revised for the occasion and expanded with some better explanations, since I’ve learned and grown a lot since the original post.)

It occurred to me the other morning in the shower (that’s where thoughts usually occur to me) that many Protestants might be troubled by the concept of saints and sainthood. I have heard Protestants say, “We don’t believe in saints.” I assure you that you do. Do you believe that there are people in Heaven? Then you believe in saints.

Martyrdom of Ignatius

The Martyrdom of St. Ignatius of Antioch.

A saint, very simply — in the sense that the Roman Catholic Church (and the Eastern Orthodox Church) declares one a saint, and grants “Saint” as a title — is someone whom we believe, with certainty, is in Heaven with God. That’s all. From Latin sanctus (Greek ἁγιος or hagios), the word means “holy, sacred, set apart.” In biblical usage, as Protestants should be aware, “saints” refers to all the “holy ones,” the believers of the Church. When we state in the Apostles’ Creed that we believe in the “communion of saints,” we are saying that we believe all believers, both those who are living and those who have died, are a part of our Body and share in our communion with Christ. The author of the Epistle to the Hebrews envisions in the Old Testament saints and prophets a “great cloud of witnesses” surrounding us (playing on μαρτυρέω, testify, bear witness, in Hebrews 11:39, and μάρτυρες, witnesses [also the same word as martyrs], in Hebrews 12:1), evoking the image of spectators in an arena as we “run . . . the race that is set before us.” How much more would those who die in Christ join this “cloud”!

Virgin and Child with Rosary, 1655 (Murillo)

Virgin and Child with Rosary (1655), by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo.

Veneration, not Worship

Catholics venerate saints — we respect, honor, and revere them; we celebrate their memory — because of their great witness and example for us in faith, virtue, and godliness. They are the heroes of the faith whose godly lives we want to remember and whom we want to emulate. They are our spiritual ancestors, our predecessors, our loved ones, the members of our family who have gone to their reward, and yet are still with us in communion with Christ. We do not worship the saints; only God is worthy of worship. We venerate them in much the same way Americans venerate the memory of George Washington or Abraham Lincoln.

Along the same lines: as much as Catholics are accused of “worshipping” the Virgin Mary, let me set the record straight: we don’t. We venerate Mary in the same way we venerate the saints, for she is one, too. For all that we speak of her being mother to the Church and to all Christians, she is one of us: a human person, a Christian — the first Christian — the firstfruits of salvation, who shows forth to us all that we are promised in Christ. Loving and honoring Mary is just a way to love and worship Jesus all the more.

Friends and Family

We have an unlimited calling plan.

The Intercession of Saints

So why do Catholics pray to saints? Well, if we believe that they too are part of our communion in Christ, a “great cloud of witnesses,” then why should we be separated from them? They are our friends and family, our brothers and sisters in the Lord who have crossed the river before us. They are already by Christ’s side. Why shouldn’t they pray for us? And aren’t they in a better position for that, to bring our needs and requests before God? Catholics believe that the saints can intercede for us. Praying to saints is nothing more than asking our loved ones to pray for us.

St. Luke the Evangelist

St. Luke the Evangelist, patron saint of physicians. (Simone Martini)

Patron Saints

So what is the deal with patron saints? Well, just as the saints had particular interests and causes and affinities when they were here on earth, they do in Heaven too. A saint is held to be the patron (Latin patronus, protector, defender, advocate, patron — yes, like in Harry Potter) of the profession, activity, nation, cause, or place with which they were associated in earthly life. He or she is held to be a patron against specific diseases, afflictions, and dangers when, through suffering or death, they have gained victory over those things in Christ. And, through tradition, through practice, through trial and error, saints are held to be the patrons of these things because their intercession proves efficacious: because prayers for their aid in those causes work. Saints don’t have magical powers. Saints don’t, in themselves, produce effects on this earth. But by where they are and whom they’re with, they have immense spiritual power to intercede on our behalf.

St. Isidore of Seville

St. Isidore of Seville, patron saint of the Internet. (Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, 1655).

Relics: What they leave behind

So what about relics? Why the macabre obsession with dead body parts? You may or may not be aware that in most Catholic altars there is a relic of some saint (Latin relictum, that which is left behind or remaining) — usually a small piece of bone or some other body part, but sometimes the whole body, or possibly an object the saint owned or touched. We hold that the person, his or her spirit, is in Heaven with Christ — but that the things which the saint left behind, his physical body most of all, offers a connection, an anchor, a bridge to their presence in that spiritual realm. The idea of placing relics under our altars — or building our churches and altars over their remains, as in the cases of Saint Peter and Saint Paul and many other ancient saints — is that by proximity to these connections, by association with these saints, we can draw as near to Heaven and to God as possible.

The Cleansing Fire of Purgatory

Another thing: Aren’t all Christians who die saints? We do believe that all Christians who die in the grace of God will go to Heaven, yes; but we Catholics also believe in Purgatory — which is not what you might think it is. It is not a place like Heaven or Hell (an idea Dante made popular) but a process. It does not detract from Christ’s victory over sin on the Cross, from His salvation or from His forgiveness of our sins. Everyone who experiences Purgatory has already had his or her sins forgiven, paid in full; he or she will be saved and is promised eternity in Heaven.

Candle

But it is the calling of every Christian to take part in the life of Christ’s grace, to live within His Church and Sacraments, to pursue holiness and grace and daily be sanctified and converted (Latin converto, turn towards, change, transform) to Christ’s image. To put it in the terms of Protestant theology: According to Luther and Calvin, justification, the forensic declaration that one is holy and righteous before God, by which Christ’s righteousness is imputed to the believer, is different than sanctification, the process by which the believer is actually made holy and righteous, by living and working in God’s grace. (Catholics believe these are part of the same process.)

Nothing unholy or impure can enter Heaven — so for those of us believers who are not able to finish this process of sanctification, of being transformed, in our lifetimes on earth — and this will be most of us — there is Purgatory, a fire in which we will be purified of our faults and shortcomings and made holy and pure, ready to stand before God (1 Corinthians 3:15, 1 Peter 1:7). If anything, the fire of Purgatory is not a detraction from Christ’s sacrifice, but its fulfillment: He has paid the penalty for our sins, the death we deserve. Purgatory is a tool of His mercy by which even those of us believers who struggle with sin, who are less than perfect, can be saved.

St. Thérèse

St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower of Jesus.

Canonization

Saints, on the other hand, are very special people who, through life in God’s grace, did achieve holiness and become wholly molded to Christ’s image in this life, to the extent that they could as fallen creatures. (Cf. the Wesleyan idea of entire sanctification.) They are people whose godliness is not in doubt, people like the Apostles and St. Francis and St. Thérèse. These days, there are so many very godly people dying that there is a formal process of canonizaton in the Church, through which a person’s sainthood is confirmed and verified, as best as we on Earth can: by asking them for intercession and seeing if those prayers are answered. Two or three miracles associated with a saint’s intercession is the usual standard. A martyr’s death is the saint’s golden ticket to immediate canonization: they pay the price in blood.

Protestant Saints

Are there Protestant saints? You can bet there are. Just because someone hasn’t been formally declared a saint by the Church doesn’t mean they’re not one. Walk through any cemetery, and there are likely to be unknown saints lying all around, people who led truly godly lives and who merited Christ’s reward as soon as they crossed over from this life. Catholics are never in the business of declaring who isn’t or who can’t be saved, or who isn’t or can’t be saints: we believe God, in his infinite mercy, grants His grace and His favor according to His own will.

All Saints

All Saints and All Souls

So what are the holidays that the Roman Catholic Church celebrates on November 1 — All Saints’ Day (or All Hallows’, the origin of Halloween, or Hallows’ Eve) — and November 2 — All Souls’ Day? Well, in the 2,000 years of Church history, there have been a lot of saints, a lot more than the few who get their own universal feast days on the liturgical calendar that are celebrated by the whole Church. There are even more saints who are unknown: everyday holy people who have been sanctified but never attract the attention or veneration of the Church. All Saints’ Day — the Solemnity of All Saints — is the day the Church celebrates all the saints — the many who don’t get celebrated any other day.

The Day of the Dead (1859), by William-Adolphe Bouguereau.

The Day of the Dead (1859), by William-Adolphe Bouguereau.

All Souls is the other side of the picture: our beloved dead in Christ who may not have been wholly sanctified at the time of their passing. Officially called the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, it is the day dedicated to remembering them and praying for them, for mercy and grace in their purification and passing to Heaven. We believe that just as we on earth are in communion with the saints in Heaven, we are also in communion with our faithful departed who may not be there yet. We have no idea how long Purgatory takes — it may, as Pope Benedict has reasoned, not be measured in our time at all, but be an “existential” passage that happens in an instant by our reckoning — but we believe, as the Church has always believed, that our prayers for our departed brothers and sisters help them and ease their journey (2 Maccabees 12:46).

May all the saints pray for us, the Church on earth, and may all the souls of our beloved dead pass into the everlasting light!

The Sacrament of Confirmation in Scripture and the Church Fathers

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Confirmation (c.1712), Giuseppe Maria Crespi

Confirmation (c.1712) by Giuseppe Maria Crespi.

I’ve given an introduction to the Sacrament of Confirmation — the Sacrament that brings to perfection the grace begun at Baptism, gives to the believer an even deeper outpouring of the Holy Spirit, and seals him or her by His anointing. In this post I will take a closer look at the Sacrament of Confirmation in Scripture and in the Church Fathers.

In Scripture

I have heard sola scriptura Protestants scoff that the Sacraments cannot be found in Scripture. They can. Though it is never referred to as “confirmation” in the Bible, the practice is clearly there:

Therefore let us leave the elementary doctrine of Christ and go on to maturity, not laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God, and of instruction [διδαχὴν] about washings [βαπτισμῶν, lit. baptisms], the laying on of hands [ἐπιθέσεώς τε χειρῶν], the resurrection of the dead, and eternal judgment (Hebrews 6:1–2).

Note in the Greek the enclitic particle τε: it is unfortunately often not translated in modern Bible translations, as is the case here. It is a strong copulative, most simply translated and, but denoting a close, intrinsic, inseparable connection between the words or ideas it joins: in this case, βαπτισμῶν διδαχὴν ἐπιθέσεώς τε χειρῶν (baptismōn didachēn epitheseōs te cheirōn) should translate as “teaching of baptisms and laying on of hands” — with these two things sharing an inner bond as if part of the same action or idea. This verse is a reference to the Early Church’s “dual sacrament” of Baptism and Confirmation.

Confirmation from Seven Sacraments Altarpiee (der Weyden)

Confirmation. Detail from Seven Sacraments Altarpiece (1450), by Rogier van der Weyden.

Also note the clear progression of ideas here: since the author is about to move from the “milk” of Christianity to “solid food” (Hebrews 5:12–14), he sums up the essential ideas: repentance from sins; faith in God; Baptism; Confirmation; Resurrection of the Dead; and Final Judgment. This is the path of the Christian life, the stages from Christian birth to Christian eternity.

There are at least two episodes in the Acts of the Apostles of the Early Church administering Confirmation to new converts. In the first, St. Philip the Evangelist (not St. Philip the Apostle; this Philip is one of the Seven Deacons ordained in Acts 6:1–6) has been down to proclaim the Gospel in Samaria (Acts 8:4–8). Philip baptized the new converts there — since any Christian may administer the Sacrament of Baptism (CCC 1256). The new Christians received baptismal grace, and in some measure, the Holy Spirit. But because only an Apostle could carry out the Sacrament of Confirmation (and thus today only a bishop, or a priest to whom he explicitly delegates the authority), the Samarians did not receive this immediately. And so:

Now when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent to them Peter and John, who came down and prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit, for he had not yet fallen on any of them, but they had only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. Then they laid their hands on them and they received the Holy Spirit (Acts 8:14–17).

Here, by the laying on of hands, the new Samarian Christians are confirmed in God’s grace and receive the fuller measure of the Holy Spirit. Since, at the time St. Luke penned the Book of Acts, the Early Church was still fleshing out its theology and working to grasp fully the outpourings of grace that Christians were receiving, Luke’s theological terminology was still somewhat uncertain. We know that Christians receive the grace of the Holy Spirit at Baptism — so apparently these Christians had been baptized but not confirmed.

Another episode occurs later, when St. Paul ministers in Ephesus:

And it happened that while Apollos was at Corinth, Paul passed through the inland country and came to Ephesus. There he found some disciples. And he said to them, “Did you receive the Holy Spirit when you believed?” And they said, “No, we have not even heard that there is a Holy Spirit.” And he said, “Into what then were you baptized?” They said, “Into John’s baptism.” And Paul said, “John baptized with the baptism of repentance, telling the people to believe in the one who was to come after him, that is, Jesus.” On hearing this, they were baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. And when Paul had laid his hands on them, the Holy Spirit came on them, and they began speaking in tongues and prophesying. There were about twelve men in all (Acts 19:1–7).

After Paul baptized these men in the name of Jesus, he laid hands on them — and they received the fullness of the Holy Spirit, as it had fallen at Pentecost. This is another clear example of what the Church came to call Confirmation.

In the Church Fathers

This is running a bit long. There are a lot of patristic quotations I could share concerning Confirmation. I will choose a few of the earliest and clearest.

Tertullian, writing ca. A.D. 200, demonstrates:

Tertullian

Tertullian

Then having gone up from the bath we are anointed with a blessed anointing of ancient discipline, by which people were accustomed to be anointed for priesthood, by oil from a horn from which Aaron was anointed by Moses [Exodus 30:22–30]. For this reason we were called “christs” (“anointed ones”) from “chrism,” which is the ointment which lends its name to the Lord. It was made spiritual because the Lord was anointed with the Spirit by God the Father, as it says in Acts: ‘For they were gathered together in that city against your holy Son whom you have anointed [Acts 4:27].’ Thus also the anointing flows on us physically, but benefits spiritually, as the physical act of baptism (that we are immersed in water) has a spiritual effect (that we are free from transgressions). Next, calling and inviting the Holy Spirit, the hand is imposed for the blessing (On Baptism 7–8).

St. Hippolytus of Rome, writing ca. A.D. 215, documents:

St. Hippolytus of Rome

St. Hippolytus of Rome

The bishop, imposing his hand on them, shall make an invocation, saying, ‘O Lord God, who made them worthy of the remission of sins through the Holy Spirit’s washing unto rebirth, send into them your grace so that they may serve you according to your will, for there is glory to you, to the Father and the Son with the Holy Spirit, in the holy Church, both now and through the ages of ages. Amen.’ Then, pouring the consecrated oil into his hand and imposing it on the head of the baptized, he shall say, ‘I anoint you with holy oil in the Lord, the Father Almighty, and Christ Jesus and the Holy Spirit.’ Signing them on the forehead, he shall kiss them and say, ‘The Lord be with you.’ He that has been signed shall say, ‘And with your spirit.’ Thus shall he do to each (Apostolic Tradition 21–22).

Finally, St. Cyprian, writing A.D. 253, exposits the passage from Acts 8 I quoted above, and connects the episode to the Church’s understanding of Confirmation:

St. Cyprian of Carthage

St. Cyprian of Carthage

Some say in regard to those who were baptized in Samaria that when the apostles Peter and John came there only hands were imposed on them so that they might receive the Holy Spirit, and that they were not re-baptized. But we see, dearest brother, that this situation in no way pertains to the present case. Those in Samaria who had believed had believed in the true faith, and it was by the deacon Philip, whom those same apostles had sent there, that they had been baptized inside—in the Church. . . . Since, then, they had already received a legitimate and ecclesiastical baptism, it was not necessary to baptize them again. Rather, that only which was lacking was done by Peter and John. The prayer having been made over them and hands having been imposed upon them, the Holy Spirit was invoked and was poured out upon them. This is even now the practice among us, so that those who are baptized in the Church then are brought to the prelates of the Church; through our prayer and the imposition of hands, they receive the Holy Spirit and are perfected with the seal of the Lord (Epistulae 73[72]:9).

And so we see that the Church has practiced the Sacrament of Confirmation since the days of the Apostles. We reached the full understanding of it that we have today no later than the early third century.

The Sacrament of Confirmation: Sealed with the Gift of the Holy Spirit

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Poussin, The Confirmation (1649)

The Confirmation (1649) by Nicolas Poussin (from series on The Seven Sacraments). (SightsWithin.com)

I’ve written about the Sacrament of Baptism, by which the new believer’s sins are washed away, his or her old life is buried and raised again in a new life in Christ, and he or she receives the Holy Spirit. It is the first act of a believer’s initiation into the Church and into Christ. It is not a “work” by which we “save ourselves” — we are only brought to Baptism by God’s gift of grace — it is the means by which we receive God’s sanctifying grace.

A believer having been baptized has received the Holy Spirit and been washed in His grace; but we believe God has even greater things in store — an even greater outpouring of the Holy Spirit in the believer’s life. In the Catholic Church, baptismal grace — the process begun with Baptism — is completed and strengthened in the Sacrament of Confirmation. The Rituale Romanum (Roman Ritual) describes:

In baptism the Blessed Trinity comes to inhabit the soul; in confirmation the Father and the Son send to it the Holy Spirit in pentecostal mission to consecrate anew the edifice which the first sacrament has established. The one is the sacrament of birth; the other the sacrament of manhood. Baptism incorporates a man [or woman] in Christ and His Church; confirmation elevates his being in Christ through the anointing which brings more abundant grace. The former fashions; the latter strengthens. The former initiates; the latter seals.

In the Early Church, Baptism and Confirmation were generally celebrated at the same time, as part of a “double sacrament.” This practice has continued in the Eastern Orthodox tradition. In the West, however, the two Sacraments have been separated from an early date, out of a desire that the bishop of each church should celebrate the completion of Baptism — since, with the initiation of so many new Christians, through both natural birth and spiritual rebirth, he could not be present at every rite of Baptism.

Poussin, Confirmation (1645)

Confirmation (1645), by Nicolas Poussin (from series on The Seven Sacraments). The artist produced two separate series of seven paintings on the Sacraments (for different patrons). (WikiPaintings.org)

Confirmation, like Baptism, is a free, unmerited gift of God’s grace, and thus is open to all baptized Christians. By custom in the West, children of the Church receive Confirmation after they reach the “age of discretion,” have learned about their faith, and have freely chosen a deeper and more intimate union with Christ. At what age children receive Confirmation is at the discretion of each bishop and diocese, but the United States Council of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) has declared that the age for Confirmation should be between the age of discretion (“about the age of seven”) and sixteen. If a younger child is gravely ill and in danger of death, the Church extends Confirmation to them.

Adult converts to the faith receive Confirmation at the same time as their Baptism; or if they have already received Baptism, as in my case, Confirmation is itself the rite of initiation into the Catholic Church, together with partaking of the Eucharist.

Confirmation from Seven Sacraments Altarpiee (der Weyden)

Confirmation. Detail from Seven Sacraments Altarpiece (1450), by Rogier van der Weyden.

As with the other Sacraments, Confirmation accomplishes an inward, spiritual grace by means of an outward, visible action. Confirmation has several outward manifestations. The most basic, ancient, and biblical sign of Confirmation is the laying on of hands (Hebrews 6:2), to impart the gift of the Holy Spirit. Very early in the Church, to better signify this gift of the Spirit, the anointing with perfumed oil, the oil of chrism, was added to the rite. As Christ is the Anointed One, Christians thus are anointed to mark the fullness of their communion with Him. The anointing with oil represents, as it does in the Old Testament, a spiritual cleansing, a healing, an outpouring of joy, the commissioning to a divine vocation — the Sacrament of Confirmation reflects each of these dimensions. From this anointing, Confirmation is known in the East as Chrismation.

The anointing with oil — the tracing in oil of the sign of the Cross on the forehead of the believer — also marks the believer, places on him or her the seal of the Holy Spirit. Just as a document bears the seal of its Author and Judge, or a sheep bears the mark of its Master, the believer is marked with the indelible seal of belonging to Christ, of bearing His Spirit and carrying out His mission. In the Latin rite, the minister of the Sacrament, with the laying on of hands and the anointing with chrism, speaks, “Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit” (Accipe signaculum doni Spiritus Sancti).

For as much as I have striven in my life as a Christian to avoid the emotionalism of my Pentecostal youth, my Confirmation and First Communion were among the most joyful, most deeply felt moments of my life. I felt more intimately joined with Christ than I ever had before. I felt the mark on my forehead even after I had washed it. Since that day my life of faith and my Christian walk have been changed and deepened radically. I am Christ’s! I am sealed with His Spirit! I am united with His Holy Church! This ancient Sacrament of the Church has been such a profound outpouring of grace in my life, such a precious gift of love — I feel that it in itself, in its moment, is an incomparable prize that all should seek after. Thanks be to God that it will be followed by a lifetime of the most intimate Communion!

(For a fuller treatment of Confirmation, see §§1285–1321 in the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Coming up next:

  • A biblical study of the Sacrament of Confirmation in Scripture
  • A consideration of Confirmation and Protestantism

St. Ignatius of Antioch, Witness of the Early Church, and Three Important Lessons He Can Teach Us

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Ignatius of Antioch

St. Ignatius of Antioch

Today is the feast day of St. Ignatius of Antioch, Bishop and Martyr. St. Ignatius was born in Syria ca. 50, and is believed to have been a disciple of the Apostle St. John. He became the third Bishop of Antioch, following St. Peter and St. Evodius, in ca. 69. In about 108, on the authority of the emperor Trajan, St. Ignatius was arrested and condemned to die for his faith before a Roman audience.

It is at this point that he becomes for us one of the greatest μάρτυρες (martyrs) of the Early Church. A martyr in Greek literally is a witness, one who gives testimony — and in his death, St. Ignatius not only bore great testimony for his faith in Christ, but he bears great testimony to us in this day of the faith, beliefs, and practices of the Early Church. For on his way to Rome, he wrote seven letters to the Churches of Asia Minor, exhorting them to remain firm in their faith, and to the Church at Rome, admonishing the believers there not to intervene and prevent him from giving his ultimate witness.

Martyrdom of Ignatius

The Martyrdom of St. Ignatius of Antioch

A.D. 108 — this is scarcely two generations from the time of Christ’s earthly ministry, at the very closing of the Apostolic Age: the Apostle John is believed to have died as late as ca. 100. Ignatius of Antioch lived early enough to have known several of the Apostles and heard their teachings. He was held in high esteem by the entire Church, a well-known, respected, and authoritative bishop and teacher. He was notorious enough even outside the Church for Trajan to have made an example of him. So we have every reason to trust Ignatius’s testimony regarding the faith of the Christian Church of his day — the faith received from the Apostles.

What Ignatius can teach us

The Authority of the Bishop

Bishops' Croziers

The crozier, one of the symbols of the episcopate.

There has been considerable debate among historians about the development of the episcopacy and at what point in the growth of the Church the office of bishop came to mean what it means to the Church today. Bishops (or overseers — the Greek is ἐπίσκοποι* [episkopoi]) are described in the New Testament (Philippians 1:1, 1 Timothy 3:1-7, Titus 1:7), but it appears that in the earliest days of the Church, the offices of bishop and presbyter (πρεσβύτερος [presbyteros], or elder — the presbyters of the Church became what we call priests) may have been to some extent synonymous. (For example, in 1 Peter 5:1, St. Peter refers to himself as a fellow presbyter†; in the above passage in 1 Timothy 3, St. Paul describes the offices of bishop and deacon but not presbyter.) The governance of the local church by only one monarchical bishop, as came to be the model and continues to be the model, is known to historians as the monoepiscopacy — with some liberal scholars, such as Bart Ehrman, suggesting that it was not established until well into the second century. This has particular bearing on the claims of the Church of Rome — for its bishop is also known as the pope, and as the successor of St. Peter, claims primacy over the whole Church.

* See “Bishops and Priests” for a lengthier discussion of the Greek for this terms.

† In the Church to this day, however, all bishops are presbyters (priests), but not all priests are bishops.

St. Clement of Rome’s Epistle to the Corinthians (1 Clement), dated ca. 95, does not give explicit evidence of the monoepiscopacy (neither does it contradict it). But St. Ignatius’s letters, dated ca. 107, give absolute and undeniable evidence of the monoepiscopacy, and he asserts it as a known and established fact, not as a recent institution:

See that you all follow the bishop, even as Jesus Christ does the Father, and the presbytery [i.e. the priests] as you would the apostles; and reverence the deacons, as being the institution of God. Let no man do anything connected with the Church without the bishop. Let that be deemed a proper Eucharist, which is [administered] either by the bishop, or by one to whom he has entrusted it. Wherever the bishop shall appear, there let the multitude [of the people] also be; even as, wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church. It is not lawful without the bishop either to baptize or to celebrate a love-feast; but whatsoever he shall approve of, that is also pleasing to God, so that everything that is done may be secure and valid. (Epistle to the Smyrnaeans 8)

Not only does the bishop have absolute authority in the local church, but neither baptisms nor the Eucharist are valid without the ministry or approval of the bishop. This establishes definitely the monoepiscopacy, the subordinate roles of presbyters and deacons, and the authority of the bishop over the Sacraments of the Church. Ignatius compares the office of the bishop in every community of believers to the presence of Jesus in the Eucharist — Wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church. (This is also the earliest known description of the Church as Catholic, or universal.)

The Belief in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist

Eucharistic adoration

The Catholic Church believes that in the Eucharist, the elements of bread and wine become in reality the Body and Blood of Christ. Many Protestant detractors argue that this doctrine is a later development and not a true apostolic teaching (despite clear statements in Scripture, e.g. 1 Corinthians 11:27-29). St. Ignatius, however, attests firmly to the Church’s belief in the Real Presence in the first decade of the second century — a much earlier time than Protestants would like to admit, and too soon after the Apostles for such a doctrine to have been “invented”:

But consider those who are of a different opinion with respect to the grace of Christ which has come unto us, how opposed they are to the will of God. . . . They abstain from the Eucharist and from prayer, because they confess not the Eucharist to be the flesh (σάρξ) of our Saviour Jesus Christ, which suffered for our sins, and which the Father, of His goodness, raised up again. (Epistle to the Smyrnaeans 6–7)

The Compilation of the New Testament

Codex Vaticanus

A leaf from Codex Vaticanus, one of the earliest extant manuscripts of the Greek New Testament.

Third and finally, Ignatius’s writings demonstrate a thorough knowledge of the New Testament Scriptures, and he quotes from them as if from memory — it is unlikely that he would have been traveling to his death with a full church library. Working from the citations labeled by the editors of the texts at New Advent, I find:

  • Matthew
  • John
  • Romans
  • 1 Corinthians
  • Galatians
  • Ephesians
  • Philippians
  • Colossians
  • 1 Thessalonians
  • 1 Timothy
  • 2 Timothy
  • James
  • 1 Peter
  • 1 John

Considering the contemporaneous Martyrdom of Ignatius, believed to have been written by eyewitnesses to Ignatius’s death — probably the believers who accompanied him to Rome — adds Acts and 2 Corinthians to the list above.

NOTE (2013/10/30): I may have to review this argument. It seems the editors of the Ante-Nicene Fathers may have been a little overzealous in their citations, and marked as Scripture references passages and phrases that were not explicitly Scripture references. I withhold a verdict at this time, until I can study the problem more deeply.

That makes for a fairly comprehensive collection of New Testament documents. Ignatius was familiar with the writings of St. Paul, St. Peter, St. John, and St. James, as well as the Gospel of Matthew — the citations ascribed to which, I suppose, might include references to the other Synoptic Gospels also. For a date mere decades after these documents were written — and these documents having been written in diverse parts of the Christian world — the Church seems to have very quickly assembled the collection known as the New Testament nearly in its entirety. And what’s more, Ignatius quotes from the New Testament with the same authority as he quotes from Old Testament Scripture — certainly the Church in Ignatius’s day considered the Gospels and apostolic letters holy, inspired writings. By the first decade of the second century, the Church had nearly (if not fully) assembled intact the body of Scripture that has been handed down to the Church today.

The Audacity of Pope: Everything I’ve ever tried to say about Church Authority

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Pope

When I get busy and enfrazzled, I get behind on my blog-reading. So forgive me for reposting an entry that’s now a month and a half old. But Called to Communion, ever one of my favorite blogs, has offered a brilliant piece by Neal Judisch, a Catholic convert from the Reformed tradition, that says everything I’ve ever tried to say about church authority — toward sola scriptura, toward the Magisterium, most of all toward the epistemological trap that Protestants fall into regarding scriptural interpretation — only in a clearer, more robust, more comprehensive way than I ever could; every argument, tied neatly and powerfully together. And most important and thought-provoking of all — Judisch demonstrates how the Catholic Church’s position, seeming from the outside to place so much authority in the hands of men, is actually the far more humble and self-effacing position than sola scriptura, which places ultimate authority in one’s own individual interpretation and conscience.

Similar remarks apply, as we’ve also seen, to the question of “Tradition” and “Magisterium.” The idea of an authoritative tradition and ecclesial teaching organ had sounded uncomfortable to my Protestant ears, since it sounded as though Catholics didn’t think the Bible was enough, that the words of mere men had to be added so as to round off and complete what was apparently lacking in the very Word of God. Here again, I thought, the Catholics were detracting from Scripture and its Author by putting mere men on some sort of par with them, and the human element was being unduly exalted once more.

Yet from a Catholic perspective this gets things upside down. For the Protestant alternative is to say that since Scripture alone is infallible, that means the Church cannot claim such authority when it comes to Scriptural interpretation. At the same time, we know we cannot simply leave this task to each individual Christian, for neither the individual Christian nor the tradition to which he belongs can claim to possess some sort of authority that he refuses to attribute to the Church. So, we are left with the question of how we can know, how we can decide with confidence, which of the endlessly diverse and contradictory Christian traditions has things right – hardly a trivial matter, if it might mean heresy on the one hand or fidelity to the Faith on the other.

And such sums up the conflict over authority that brought me to Catholicism in the first place.

Read the rest: “The Audacity of Pope”

This article, as CtC always is, is meaty, lengthy, and will stretch your theological muscles — but I encourage everyone to read it, as I encourage anyone of a Reformed background to examine CtC and consider its arguments. I pray every day for the reunion of Christ’s Church, and CtC is the most powerful voice of Christian unity I know.

Off the map

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(It’s been months since I last posted an entry in my personal story. That’s because this next chapter is one of the most painful, and most personal. I was nearly inclined to skip over it — but it’s an important prelude to the events that followed. I’ve written three or four entries and discarded each as insufficient. Yesterday I wrote another one, what I thought was the final one — but it still felt too distant, too detached. So last night I read about a year of my journal entries from that period, and remembered the agony. I think now I’m ready.)

“Desert Road” (2008) by Matt Hintsa. (Flickr, CC-licensed)

My experiences in Rome had woken me from my spiritual apathy, and reminded me that there was a God who loved me. I knew in my mind that I needed Him. I set about, in my own striving, to seek Him. But I was still too caught up in myself — my life, my needs, my pain, my wounds — to truly embrace Christ’s.

I believed I was seeking God, but I was looking for fulfillment, for salvation, in the wrong places: in friends, in girls, in acceptance, in personal satisfaction. I bounced from one infatuation to the next with beautiful, godly women who weren’t the least bit interested in me. Time and time again I dashed my own heart against the rocks of heartbreak. All the while I was striving so desperately for love, when I didn’t even know what love was; I only knew selfishness. All the while I was seeking completion, the missing piece to my heart, when that could only be found in God.

Near New Market

“Near New Market,” by author. Taken on one of these wanderings.

It was a time of increasing restlessness. Some deep discontent was always boiling just beneath my skin. Most of the time I couldn’t put a finger on why — was I worried about money? about school? about my singleness? about the future? So often I would just get in the car and drive, not knowing where I was going — I just needed to get away.

This was the Baptist leg of my wandering road, almost by accident. I knew I needed to get back in church, but I couldn’t make up my mind where to start, or move myself to visit someplace where I didn’t know anybody. And then, thinking it might be a chance to get closer to some or another girl, I found myself in the Baptist church.

The Southern Baptist faith is the most deeply and essentially southern flavor of Christianity there is. It is the archetypical church in the southern mind, the kind of religion most people think of if you don’t specify otherwise. And so it was comfortable and safe. I liked the pastor and his preaching, and I liked the worship. But over the months I was in that church, I increasingly felt alone and out of place. Being about twenty-six years old, I was a part of the “adult singles” ministry; but I was the youngest person there by easily ten years. Every other “adult single” was older, divorced or widowed, with kids and a career. I, too old for the “college” ministry but still in school, never married, without a job or family of my own — had none of the concerns of these other people. In fact, there were few people in that church my age at all. It dawned on me more and more that they had no real place for me there. I felt disheartened and trapped.

Meanwhile, I had a blog in which I had come to invest an unhealthy degree of my self-worth. I posted every day, hoping someone would read me and validate me.* It was the golden age of LiveJournal, and I was one of those people. I had discovered a circle of blogfriends who were young (younger than me), educated, intellectual Christians who’d grown up with an evangelical persuasion but were searching for something deeper. The looming question for each of them was whether to convert to Roman Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy — and I believe every one of these people eventually did become one or the other. I admired them all a great deal — I longed for an intellectual faith like theirs more than anything — but having no foundation in theology or doctrine, I couldn’t follow their arguments or post anything intelligent in response. I felt like the lonely little kid chasing after the gang, eagerly wanting to play with the big kids, but left behind and left out every time. Oh, how I tried so hard to impress them — to be noticed; to be accepted — but just as I had always felt in my youth group growing up — for entirely the opposite reason — I felt an outsider.

* Now you see why I’ve been so concerned with blogging humbly.

There was one blogfriend in particular whom I considered an especially close friend — and then one day, she was gone. She dropped me from her friends list (ah, LJ drama!) and stopped answering my messages. In retrospect, I was entirely too dependent on my blogfriends for my self-esteem and emotional support, and letting go was the best thing for me in the long run; but at the time, I was fairly devastated. I searched and searched for reasons for this rejection, and the unfortunate conclusion I drew was that intellectual Christians, especially those inclined toward Catholicism and Orthodoxy, were arrogant, condescending snobs with whom I wanted nothing more to do.† I allowed the trauma to turn me away from Catholicism, from several favorite TV shows and books this friend and I had shared, even from C. S. Lewis, whom I associated with thinking Christians and this friend in particular. I didn’t take up any of those things again for a good four or five years. And so I came to associate Catholicism, even more than I had before, with coldness, rigor, and emptiness.

† In fact, as I later learned, the reason was that she had realized how unhealthy this sort of thing was for both of us.

Already unhappy and disillusioned with the church I was attending, I turned away from God in anger. My nascent search for a church that “fit me” — my first attempts to delve into Christian theology and thought — had brought me nothing but pain. I felt utterly rejected, utterly alone, even though my true friends were with me all along. My faith had been shallow, selfish, immature, and poorly rooted: I was the seed sown on stony ground that sprang up vividly, but met with affliction, withered away. If church had failed me yet again — what else was out there? Shaking off what I thought were shackles, I aimed to find out.

That was six, nearly seven years ago. For the first time in my life, I entered truly uncharted territory — a world not constrained by my Christian faith, which I left in tatters, flapping helplessly in the wind. Over the next months, I charged further and further away, deeper and deeper into the unknown. I hope I never go the places I went again.

But God was always there. By my Baptism, I was a Christian: one with the Body of Christ. And He still had plans for me. He wasn’t going to let me go so easily.