Holy Ground: Walking with Jesus as a Former Catholic (Zondervan, 2009).

In the book, Chris takes readers on a dynamic exploration of the challenges and opportunities encountered by Roman Catholics who become Evangelical. Holy Ground also casts a vision for how evangelicals can emulate Jesus in relationship to Catholic loved-ones and friends. Here are some questions I had for Chris after reading his book.

Trevin Wax: In the beginning of the book, you define “evangelical” in terms of the Lausanne Covenant. Later on, in your division of Roman Catholics into categories (traditional, evangelical, cultural), you use the term “evangelical” as an adjective for a type of Catholic. Are these different ways of using “evangelical” compatible?

Chris Castaldo: Essentially, although I would like to offer one caveat.

The Lausanne Covenant elucidates the gospel in point four under the heading The Nature of Evangelism saying:

“To evangelize is to spread the good news that Jesus Christ died for our sins and was raised from the dead according to the Scriptures, and that as the reigning Lord he now offers the forgiveness of sins and the liberating fruits of the Spirit to all who repent and believe.”

As far as this statement goes, Catholics say “amen.” This is so because Catholics and Protestants virtually agree on the “objective” dimensions of the gospel (that Jesus died, rose, and now reigns).

Where we differ is on how these redemptive realities are applied to humanity. Does it come through the sacraments of the One, Holy, Catholic, Apostolic Church, as Rome asserts? Or is it supremely revealed in Scripture and accessed by faith alone, as Protestants believe?

Since the Lausanne statement doesn’t specify how the gospel is applied (whether it comes through the sacraments or through faith alone), it is essentially consistent with the Evangelical Catholic view.

However, I happen to agree with the Reformed tradition which asserts that our definition of the gospel should reach beyond the objective content of Jesus’ death, resurrection, and reign to also define the gracious nature of its application (that it is accessed by faith alone). As I state on page 144 of Holy Ground,

“This widely used category of ‘Evangelical Catholic’ remains problematic in that it often doesn’t include a commitment to the doctrine of justification by faith alone, which is central to Evangelical belief and identity. Nevertheless, the category of ‘Evangelical Catholic’ continues to be used in a sociological sense by Catholics and Protestants alike.”

This is the point at which our compatibility breaks down.

Trevin Wax: It seems that most evangelicals believe the defining difference between Catholics and Protestants is on the doctrine of justification. You believe that the difference is in authority. Why is sola Scriptura the primary doctrine that divides us?

Chris Castaldo: At the risk of sounding scholastic, I find it helpful to think in terms of the Protestant Reformers’ distinction between the formal and material causes of the Reformation (sola Scriptura, the formal, giving rise to sola fide, the material).

It’s not that one is more important than the other; rather, it’s a matter of which is fundamental. In an epistemological pecking order, sola Scriptura is the starting point, setting the trajectory for our position on justification by faith alone.

The practical benefit of understanding this distinction is realized in theological conversation with Catholics. We can argue (in the best sense of that word) about justification by faith alone until the cows come home, but if we never consider the sources of authority with which we’re operating, the fact that we’re singing from different sheets of music — the Catholic sheet including Tradition and magisterium as infallible forms of revelation — means we’re unlikely to ever enjoy fruitful discussion.

Stepping backward a few paces to behold the big picture, broad enough to include the doctrines of revelation, Christology, and ecclesiology, inevitably sheds light on our understanding of salvation.

Trevin Wax: You mention some of the reasons that Catholics convert to evangelical faith, including a desire to be motivated by grace rather than guilt, or have a relationship with Christ rather than a rules-based understanding of religion. Aren’t there cases in evangelical circles where we make the same mistakes (emphasize guilt, rules, etc.)? If so, does this necessarily mean that Catholicism is invalidated by some of the mistaken practices of its adherents?

Chris Castaldo: We Protestants are certainly just as guilty of legalism. We all know fundamentalist Protestants for whom law keeping is their way of salvation. In Holy Ground I make the assertion that for every finger we point at Catholics we have one or more pointing back at us.

The correlation between Protestant and Catholic types also applies to the taxonomy. Each of the three categories of Catholics which I posit in the book (traditional, evangelical, and cultural) apply to Protestant churches as easily as they do Catholic ones.

To the last part of your question, however, I think there is a difference between Catholic and Protestant teaching at this point.

While Protestant pastors and laypeople make the mistake of using guilt as a motivation, when they do so it is a departure from biblical teaching, an inconsistent move that takes its cues from religion instead of the Bible. For Catholicism, motivation by guilt is a natural outworking of what the Catholic Church officially teaches in her catechism and elsewhere. Sacraments like reconciliation involving penance, precepts like holy days of obligation (think of the wording “obligation”), and doctrines like purgatory, all feed the same guilt impulse. It’s what my colleague Josh Moody calls “salvation on probation.”

Thus, for Catholics, guilt is not simply an incident, it’s a form of psychosis, one that eventually shapes how you view God, self, and salvation.

Trevin Wax: What can evangelicals learn from their conversations with Catholic friends and families?

Chris Castaldo: The way you phrase this question is exactly right. What can we learn? In your question is an assumption that we can and should learn. I think your assumption is right for two basic reasons.

First, it’s sophomoric at best to think that we have nothing to learn from other Christian traditions. When I was a student at Gordon-Conwell, for instance, I took classes at other divinity schools in the Boston area. I studied Eastern Orthodoxy at Holy Cross and Roman Catholicism at Harvard Divinity School. Catholic classmates taught me profound lessons about reverence for God, prayer, bio ethics, cultural engagement, and social justice. These are the same lessons we can learn from our Catholic friends and family.

Did I agree with everything I heard from my Catholic classmates? Certainly not! Yet, those experiences broadened my perspective in ways that wouldn’t have happened otherwise.

You say, “Well, my cousin Vito, the primary interlocutor in my Catholic family, isn’t exactly the Harvard Div. type. But that brings me to the second reason why we must take the posture of a humble listener. It’s essentially the law of reciprocity.

If you and I ever hope to communicate what we believe about the gospel of grace, we must first establish trust and credibility, currency that comes by listening before we talk. This approach, characterized by genuine interest and concern, will enrich relationships, and therefore promote fruitful conversation about the greatness of Jesus, the One who died, rose, and now lives, and alone deserves the glory.

Holy Ground: Walking with Jesus as a Former Catholic lays out seven evangelical approaches to Roman Catholicism. Look through his listing below and then answer the poll question at the end that asks which group you belong to.

1. Actively Anti-Roman Catholic

Evangelicals with an actively anti-Roman Catholic approach have a strong focus on the teaching and practice of the Roman Catholic Church which they feel are contrary to biblical teaching. The errors of these teachings and practices are felt to be so substantial and fundamental that most Evangelicals with this approach feel it is virtually impossible to be both a born-again Christian and a practicing member of the Roman Catholic Church. Churches and individuals with this approach feel that it is important to regularly and decisively explain these differences. Contact with Roman Catholics is generally limited to evangelizing them and public polemic, in which the perceived errors of Roman Catholic teaching and practice are exposed.

2. Passively Anti-Roman Catholic

Evangelicals with a passively anti-Roman Catholic approach share the convictions of those who are actively anti-Roman Catholic concerning the teachings and practices of the Roman Catholic Church. They generally do not, however, use the public square to critique those teachings and practices. While there tends to be a strong desire to clarify distinctives among themselves, contact with Roman Catholic institutions is avoided and contact with Roman Catholic members is generally limited to evangelism.

3. Coexistent

Those Evangelicals with a coexistent with a coexistent approach are concerned not to antagonize Roman Catholics by openly criticizing the Roman Catholic Church, its teachings, or its practices. Many Evangelicals with this approach rarely concern themselves with doctrinal issues of any sort, including those that relate to Catholics. When differences are evident, they are seldom addressed. Their posture is best described as ambivalent.

4. Positive Identity

Evangelicals with a positive-identity approach to Roman Catholics are relatively open about their distinctives, while avoiding criticism of the Roman Catholic Church. They seek common ground as well as positive contact with Roman Catholics and Roman Catholic institutions. While cautious, they are open to cooperating with Roman Catholics in isolated social projects such as pro-life efforts and disaster relief. They hesitate, however, to cooperate evangelistically, since they reject both the institution and authority of the Roman Catholic as well as certain central doctrines. Less central differences, as perceived by these Evangelicals, tend to be minimized.

5. Symbiotic

Symbiotic Evangelicals with a symbiotic approach, while maintaining core distinctives, welcome and may even seek cooperation with Roman Catholics on multiple fronts. As with the coexistent approach, differences are seldom the subject of internal teaching or public debate. By contrast, however, resources and energy are expended to actively pursue positive points of contact, publicly underscoring common beliefs and practices and supporting common causes. This would include cooperation with “believing” Catholics in evangelistic efforts. Evangelicals with this approach do not want to be perceived as competing with Roman Catholic institutions.

6. Ecumenical

Evangelicals with an ecumenical approach seek to build bridges with Roman Catholics in pursuit of unity. Evangelism among active Roman Catholics is discouraged and common ground is the subject of both public proclamation and in-house teaching. Differences are generally perceived to be a matter of preference, historical and cultural, rather than as theological and fundamental matters. Evangelicals with this approach make full use of Roman Catholic institutions and other interconfessional structures.

7. Internal Renewal

Evangelicals with an internal-renewal approach toward Roman Catholics seek to work within the Roman Catholic Church and its institutions. Their desire is to encourage renewal with the goal of restoring “prodigal” Roman Catholics both to personal faith and to the Roman Catholic Church. Their focus is often evangelism and personal discipleship through Bible study under the authority of , or at least in cooperation with, the local Roman Catholic priest and parish. Divisive distinctions in teaching or practice are avoided or minimized.

1. I’m on sabbatical writing Volume IV of my big series, on Paul; so I don’t have time for more than a quick response.

2. “Sacramental, transformational, communal, eschatological”? If you gave me that list and said “Where in the Christian world would you find that?” I could easily and truthfully answer:

• (i) in the best of the Reformed tradition — spend a couple of days at Calvin College, or read Jamie Smith’s new book, and you’ll see;
• (ii) in much of the best of the charismatic movement, once it’s shed its low-church prejudices and discovered how much God loves bodies;
• (iii) in the best of… dare I say it… Anglicanism… ;
• (iv) in some bits (not all) of the Emerging Church movement . . .

3. Trent said both much more and much less than this.

• Sacramental, yes, but in a muddled way with an unhelpful ontology;
• Transformational, yes, but far too dependent on unbiblical techniques and practices;
• Communal, yes, but don’t let the laity (or the women) get any fancy ideas about God working new things through them;
• Eschatological? Eschatology in the biblical sense didn’t loom large, and indeed that was a key element in the Reformers’ protest: the once-for-allness of the events of Jesus’ death and resurrection as producing, not a new system for doing the same stuff over and over, but a new world.

Trent, and much subsequent RC theology, has had a habit of never spring-cleaning, so you just live in a house with more and more clutter building up, lots of right answers to wrong questions (e.g. transsubstantiation) which then get in the way when you want to get something actually done.

In particular, Trent gave the wrong answer, at a deep level, to the nature/grace question, which is what’s at the root of the Marian dogmas and devotions which, despite contrary claims, are in my view neither sacramental, transformational, communal nor eschatological. Nor biblical.

The best RCs I know (some of whom would strongly disagree with the last point, some would strongly agree) are great conversation partners mainly because they have found ways of pushing the accumulated clutter quietly to one side and creating space for real life. But it’s against the grain of the Tridentine system, in my view. They aren’t allowed to say that but clearly many of them think it. Joining in is just bringing more of your own clutter to an already confused and overcrowded room…

4. I am sorry to think that there are people out there whose Protestantism has been so barren that they never found out about sacraments, transformation, community or eschatology. Clearly this person needed a change. But to jump to Rome for that reason is very odd.

It reminds me of the fine old German NT scholar Heinrich Schlier, who found that the only way to be a Protestant was to be a Bultmannian, so, because he couldn’t take Bultmann, became a Roman Catholic; that was the only other option in his culture. Good luck to him; happily, most of us have plenty of other options.

To say “Wow, I want that stuff, I’d better go to Rome” is like someone suddenly discovering (as I’m told Americans occasionally do — sorry, cheap shot) that there are other countries in the world and so getting the first big boat he finds in New York to take him there . . . when there were plenty of planes lined up and waiting at JFK. Rome is a big, splendid, dusty old ocean liner, with lots of grand cabins, and, at present, quite a fine captain and some excellent officers — but also quite a few rooms in need of repair. Yes, it may take you places, but it’s slow and you might get seasick from time to time. And the navigators have been told that they must never acknowledge when they’ve been going in the wrong direction . . .

5. I spent three very happy weeks as the Anglican observer at the Vatican’s Synod of Bishops last October. They were talking about the Bible: about how for so long they have more or less banned the laity from reading or studying it, and how now they want to change all that, to insist that every Catholic man, woman, child, cat and dog should have the Bible in their own mother tongue and be taught to read it, study it, pray with it, individually and together. Hallelujah! Who knows what might happen!

Question: why did nobody say this in 1525? If they had, we’d have been saved a lot of bother.

Let’s engage cheerfully in as much discussion with our Roman friends as we can. They are among my best ecumenical conversation partners, and some of them are among my dear friends. But let’s not imagine that a renewed biblical theology will mean we find ourselves saying “You guys were right after all” just at the point where, not explicitly but actually, they are saying that to us . . .

Why did Frank Beckwith, a well-respected evangelical scholar and author, return to the church of his childhood? Return to Rome: Confessions of an Evangelical Catholic (2008, Brazos Press) is a personal memoir that tells the story of Beckwith’s decision to rejoin the Roman Catholic Church.

Return to Rome is primarily a narrative, although it is laced with Catholic apologetics, evangelical appreciation and criticism, as well as theological reflection. Speaking of his book, Beckwith states:

“It is not meant to be an apologetic for Catholicism or an autobiography in the strict sense.” (16)

Despite Beckwith’s stated intentions in writing this memoir, it is hard to see this book as something less than a Catholic apologetic, since he devotes a considerable amount of space to delineating the theological reasons for his movement back toward the Roman Catholic Church.

Beckwith begins his story with his departure from Roman Catholicism. Raised in the atmosphere of post-Vatican II Catholicism, Beckwith received little conservative and traditional teaching.

“My religion teachers often spoke of Catholicism as ‘our tradition’ rather than as a cluster of beliefs that were true. This relativizing of the faith did not engender confidence in the young students under their tutelage. Moreover, basic Catholic doctrine was often presented inadequately.” (36)

He writes honestly about the weaknesses of the Catholic environment of his childhood:

“I believe that the Catholic Church’s weakness was presenting the renewal movements like the charismatic movement as something new and not part of the Church’s theological traditions. For someone like me, interested in both the spiritual and intellectual grounding of the Christian faith, I didn’t need the ‘folk Mass’ with cute nuns and hip priests playing ‘Kumbaya’ with guitars, tambourines, and harmonicas.” (38)

Reading over the reasons for Beckwith’s departure from the Roman Catholic Church, I could not help but wonder if perhaps evangelicals are making the same mistakes he observed in the post-Vatican II era. What if evangelicals are watering down biblical truth in an effort to be “cool” and appeal to certain segments of our society? What if evangelicals are repeating the mistakes the Roman Catholics were making 30 years ago? Might such a development lead more people to Rome?

Beckwith recognizes that the Catholic Church’s intellectual tradition was also very attractive. He writes:

“My experience has been that most very intelligent Christians who had come to a deeper walk with Christ in independent Evangelical and/or non-liturgical churches often gravitate toward a theological and/or ecclesiastical tradition that has strong historical roots, such as Calvinism, Lutheranism, Catholicism or Eastern Orthodoxy.” (44)

Beckwith does not sugarcoat his experience as a young child in Catholicism. He asks tough questions of Catholicism:

“…The American Catholic Church has to ask itself a serious and painful question: is there anything that we did that helped facilitate the departure of these talented and devoted people from our communion?” (45)

Beckwith recounts the passion of his early years as an evangelical. He speaks fondly of Francis Schaeffer. He relates his enthusaism upon becoming convinced that certain creeds are authoritative renderings of Christian doctrine. He outlines the major steps in his education and his rise to prominence in evangelical scholarship.

Readers might be surprised to discover some charismatic tendencies in Beckwith’s memoir. He describes a vision of Jesus that his wife had. He interprets events in his life as signs of God’s approval of his departure from the evangelical faith back to Roman Catholicism.

Beckwith devotes considerable space to the doctrine of justification by faith, which is, of course, the defining difference between Protestants and Catholics. I found his exposition of the Protestant view to be somewhat reductionistic. For example, he writes:

“The grace one receives is legal or forensic. This means that grace is not real stuff that changes nature, but merely the name given to God’s graciousness by legally accounting to us Christ’s righteousness.” (85)

I do not know of any Protestant who argues that God’s grace is not transformative. Protestants take care to note that the basis of our justification is faith alone in Jesus Christ. But that does not exclude the transforming power of God’s grace. We simply do not call the moral transformation “justification.” Protestants are careful to avoid making our own righteousness the basis for our salvation.

The end of the book forcefully argues for inclusion of Catholics in the Evangelical Theological Society.

“I still believe that the ETS doctrinal statement is broad enough to allow Catholic members.” (119)

I actually agree with Beckwith on this issue. I do not classify Catholics as evangelicals in the classic sense, but if Beckwith is making a case for Catholic membership in ETS based solely upon the society’s doctrinal statement, then he is correct. There is nothing in this document that would explicitly exclude Catholic members.

Beckwith bolsters his case by bringing good evidence:

“Pastors and theologians like Boyd, Pinnock, and Sanders are constrained only by ‘inerrancy’ and ‘the Trinity,’ which means (at least theoretically) that they could embrace any one of a variety of heresies condemned by the ancient Church and yet still remain an ETS member in good standing: Nestorianism, Monophysitism, Pelagianism, semi-Pelagianism, or the denial of Christ’s eternal sonship. Yet oddly, Catholics who embrace the Church that claimed to have the ecclesiastical authority to condemn these heresies, and which provided to its separated progeny, including Evangelicals, the resources and creeds that provide the grounds for excluding these heresies, apparently have no place in ETS.” (126)

I find Beckwith’s case to be very persuasive. He goes on to write:

“Put in terms of specific traditions, if the term ‘Evangelical’ is broad enough to include high-church Anglicans, low-church anti-creedal Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, the Evangelical Free Church, Arminians, Calvinists, Disciples of Christ, Pentecostals, Seventh-Day Adventist, open theists, atemporal theists, social Trinitarians, substantial Trinitarians, nominalists, realists, eternal security supporters and opponents, temporal theists, dispensationalists, theonnmists, church-state separationists, church-state accomodationists, cessationists, non-cessationists, kenotic theorists, covenant theologians, paedo-Baptists, Anabaptists, and Dooyeweerdians, then there should be room for an Evangelical Catholic.” (128)

I agree with Beckwith that ETS should allow Catholics in its membership as long as it stands by its current doctrinal formulation. If ETS decides that Catholics should be excluded, then the official doctrinal statement needs to be adjusted in order to reflect what the society agrees is “true evangelical identity.” It might be time for a more robust confession of faith, and not the minimalist document that guides ETS today.

At the end of the book, Beckwith admits:

“…My return to the Catholic Church has as much to do with a yearning for a deeper spiritual life as it did with theological reasoning.” (128)

In the end, Beckwith confesses that a deep spiritual yearning ultimately led him back to Rome, not theological reasoning.  Return to Rome would have been better had Beckwith given us more insight into Rome’s satisfaction of his spiritual yearnings instead of the doctrinal issues that he admits were not the primary factor in his decision to return to Rome.

The Scripture readings formed the high point of the service for me. I am not accustomed to hearing so much Scripture read aloud in church. The first man read a passage from Isaiah which foreshadowed the sufferings of Christ.

The second person to read was an elderly woman. She read from Philippians 2, about Christ humbling himself and then being raised and exalted by God. A woman sang a spine-tingling rendition of Psalm 22, complete with repetitive “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” lines.

Finally, we read the entire Passion narrative from Mark’s Gospel, beginning with Mark 14 and continuing all the way to Christ’s burial at the end of Mark 15. A man to the right of the stage read the narration, the priest said the words of Jesus, the woman to the left of the stage read the other voices in the narrative, and whenever the crowd in the passage spoke, so did the entire audience. This was a creative way to read the Passion narrative. I felt as if I were there, in the crowd, shouting “crucify him” and “come down from the cross.”

The sermon was the most disappointing part of the service. The priest offered a few words about the importance of the coming week. He pointed to the sufferings of Christ done on our behalf, but he did little to explain just how that takes place. The sermon lasted less than five minutes.

The way that the church took Communion was quite disturbing to this Baptist. The explanation of Communion’s significance is clearly sacrificial. The priest said a secret prayer out loud while we were singing, a prayer that we could all hear but not understand. He prayed several times that the “sacrifice” of the Mass might be pleasing to God. Then, he would speak of Jesus as our perfect sacrifice.

The ideas regarding the Mass as a sacrifice and Jesus as a perfect sacrifice were conflated. The priest did not mention who is eligible to receive the elements. I came across a paragraph at the beginning of the hymnal which specified that only Roman Catholics who have not committed grave sins can partake of the elements. But a newcomer to the church would not know what to do in this situation unless they happened to read that paragraph.

The songs were uplifting and God-centered, so I did feel encouraged to praise God. God did speak to me through His Word, but that came from the reading, not from something the priest or singers said.

Every worship service has a theology, be it sound or errant. This church’s worship service began with a song that speaks of Jesus, the coming King. From the start of the service, we were invited to worship a holy and powerful Creator God. Another song was about the sufferings of Jesus. We sang “O Sacred Head Now Wounded,” which recounted more of Christ’s sufferings. “My God, My God” was taken directly from Psalm 22 and spoke again of Jesus’ Passion. Overall, I believe the songs chosen were appropriate for the season of Lent, even though there was little explanation for how one can have the death of Jesus appropriated for our salvation.

The church’s role in the life of a believer was most evident in the priest’s remark regarding two recent funerals in the church. Also, the priest encouraged members to take flowers to the elderly in nursing homes. The priest encouraged the church to act as a family, even though the atmosphere was cold. Aside from the “passing of the peace,” people rarely spoke to each other.

The sermon did little to explain what salvation is, and who Jesus is. There was no effort to evangelize people. The entire service was created under the assumption that everyone knows what is going on, who God is, who Jesus is, and what the church is all about.

The impression one gets from visiting a Catholic Church is seriousness! Everything is taken seriously, from the music, the readers, the auditorium, to the Eucharist. It is easy to feel as if you are only a spectator and not a participant, due to the inaccessibility of some of the songs and prayers. The service itself is very structured, yet the atmosphere is informal. Some people are dressed casually, while others are dressed in suits and ties. The worship team was dressed in robes.

I grew up in a Baptist church that was a not liturgical at all. In the past few years, I have studied Catholic and Anglican liturgies, so I must say that I am familiar with this type of worship service, even if this was my first time to attend a Mass.

I enjoyed my visit to this church. There are things I can learn from the Roman Catholic Church. Even though there were several theological aberrations, I believe we can learn from this church how to better revere God and how to prize history and tradition as Baptists.

written by Trevin Wax  © 2008 Kingdom People blog

Today and tomorrow, I am describing my visit to a local Roman Catholic church, as well as my thoughts on the worship service. On Wednesday, I will describe my visit to a mega-church.

My visit to a Catholic Church took place on a Saturday night service on the eve of Palm Sunday. (The worship service on Saturday evening is identical to the services on Sunday morning.)

The priest occupies the central position of leadership in the church. It is evident from the moment he walks down the aisle during the procession. He leads the worship time, initiates the prayers and readings, and he is the one who gives the short homily. Other people who were involved in the service included the organist (who was never seen, but played from the balcony), a violinist (who also remained unseen), and a woman who led in most of the singing. Two altar boys accompanied the priest during the procession, and they remained with him onstage. They helped collect the dishes from the Eucharist after the service. Two laypeople were involved in the Scripture readings, one a man and the other an elderly woman. There were no greeters at the doors of this church.

Several things strike me as being important to the planners of this worship service. First, professionalism is definitely a goal of the singers and musicians. The music and singing from onstage and from the balcony is beautiful, creating a “high church” atmosphere. A strong sense of reverence pervades the service. Everything done must be top-notch.

Secondly, the worship service is concentrated on the individual worshipper before God. The vertical aspect of worship (God and man) overshadows the horizontal aspect (man edifying man). The worship service is designed for the individual to connect with God; little room is left for individuals to connect with other individuals.

Everyone around us sang and prayed during the appropriate times. All the worshipers had palm branches that they waved at the priest and the altar boys as they proceeded down the aisle at the beginning. The priest sprinkled water on all the worshipers as he passed, saying this was a blessing of the palm branches. No more was said about that, so I have no idea what the theology is behind the sprinkling of palm branches.

People seemed distracted during the priest’s message, even though it only lasted a few minutes. The sermon was rather predictable. People seemed to understand the priest’s message, but the priest had little time to develop an exhortation that went any deeper than a typical “We should be mindful that this is Holy Week” theme.

From what I saw, every person in the church took Communion except me. Communion was taken reverently by the people around me. The comments from the stage about the significance of Communion came out clearly in favor of transubstantiation (not surprisingly, of course).

The auditorium is typical of a Catholic Church. The altar table is central on the stage, with the pulpit to the left. Behind the altar table was a large purple curtain (for the season of Lent, I assume) and a large crucifix hanging down from the ceiling in front of the curtain. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling. On the walls, one could see wood sculptures of the Stations of the Cross. If I were to begin on one side of the church and make my way to the other side, I could follow the wood sculpting and visualize the entire Passion narrative. The pews had fold out kneeling rails, so one could kneel at the appropriate times.

The décor matched the worship service, thoroughly liturgical and reverent. The people who led the service seemed educated and at ease in their task of addressing the crowd.

I saw other worshipers holding printed bulletins and hand-outs, but since there were no greeters at the door, I did not get one and did not know where I could obtain one. Thankfully, there were hymnals in the seat in front of me, so when the woman singing songs gave hymn numbers, I was able to follow along. Also helpful was a Lenten book of prayers and Scripture readings in the pew. This book contained the long responsive reading from Mark’s Passion narrative. Without this, I would have been lost during the crucial moments of the service.

Overall, all these factors create a strong sense of tradition. The liturgy, combined with the antiphonal singing and responsive readings are deeply rooted in tradition. The décor and worship style give you the impression that you have entered into a sacred space, where you are witnessing something much bigger than yourself and your problems. I can see how this type of worship service would appeal to people who are in need of peace and quiet from the hustle and bustle of life.

Tomorrow, I’ll write a few more thoughts about my visit to this church.

written by Trevin Wax  © 2008 Kingdom People blog

Related Articles:
My Series of Conversations with a Catholic

Understanding Four Views on the Lord’s Supper lays out the Baptist, Reformed, Lutheran, and Roman Catholic views of the Lord’s Supper. Russ Moore (our dean of the school of theology at Southern) starts off the book. It’s hard to believe that Moore is actually articulating a Baptist position! As a lifelong Baptist, I have yet to come across Baptist pastors who articulate such a rich, (indeed sacramental) understanding of the memorialist view (except perhaps for Charles Spurgeon). Moore’s contribution includes the most Scripture – another good thing for a Baptist. He also rightly shows how different atonement theories are visible in the Lord’s Supper proclamation.

John Hesselink brings the Reformed position into view, quoting Calvin and the Reformed confessions at length. David Scaer clearly articulates the Lutheran position, and Thomas Baima contributes the chapter on the Roman Catholic view.

Understanding Four Views on the Lord’s Supper is a terrific addition to the Counterpoints series. I find much to be commended in each of the four views, though I would probably land somewhere in between the Baptist and Reformed perspective. The authors’ responses to the other contributors also help the reader distinguish the differing doctrines. After reading this book, I came across with a clearer understanding of how all of our theology is affected by or at least made evident in our doctrine of the Lord’s Supper.

I must not fail to mention the helpful appendix. This section includes confessions of faith from many traditions as well as a compendium of quotes from important church figures, both Protestant and Roman Catholic. One’s view of the Lord’s Supper will be enriched simply by spending time with the giants of church history whose thoughts are included in this book.

written by Trevin Wax  © 2007 Kingdom People blog

The Reformation was, in many ways, a politically-motivated religious movement of the 16th century. Even Roman Catholics today affirm that the Church of the time was in desperate need of reform. Yet, Martin Luther came to understand that the true dividing line between him and Rome was not in papal authority, the sale of indulgences, the existence of purgatory, or even the place of tradition. The fundamental difference was found in how the gospel worked… in other words, on what basis is a person justified before God?

Infusion versus Imputation

The Protestants differed from Roman Catholic on justification in several important ways. First, they believed that justification was a declaration of righteousness made by God regarding human beings. They countered the Catholic notion that justification was God’s action of “making” someone righteous by infusing grace into them. Instead, justification was being “declared” righteous, not being “made” righteous.

The Protestants believed that righteousness was not infused into the believer, but imputed to the believer. In other words, God justifies sinners by seeing them as righteous on account of Christ’s righteousness reckoned or imputed to them. How does God justify the ungodly? By declaring an ungodly person as “righteous” based on the righteousness of someone else.

God does not accept sinners by making them righteous, or by giving them heavenly grace, but solely on the basis of the death and resurrection of His Son in the place of the sinner.

Christ’s death was the moment in which he took our sins upon himself and died a substitutionary death in the place of the sinner. In the moment of salvation or justification, the sinner’s wickedness is placed on Christ and Christ’s perfect righteousness is placed on the sinner. Luther called this “the Great Exchange.” Christ takes our sin and we take His righteousness. God then declares us “righteous” on the basis of Christ’s work alone.

Faith Alone 

The way to appropriate this righteousness is by faith alone. One must simply receive the salvation that God has provided in Christ Jesus. One receives this salvation by faith alone.

“Faith alone” according to the Reformers, does not refer to a mere mental assent to certain propositional truths or Christian doctrines, but an all-encompassing trust in the mercy of God for salvation. The Reformers saw faith itself as a gift of God, given to be the instrument by which one appropriates Christ’s righteousness and can then be declared “justified” or “righteous” before God.

Good Works? 
It should be noted here that the Reformers did believe in the necessity of good works in the Christian’s life. As Calvin said, “Faith alone saves, but the faith that saves is never alone.” The Reformers believed that good works would necessarily follow as an outworking of true faith. Good works were commanded and expected of the Christian, but good works did not form the basis for a person’s justification before God.

This doctrine differed sharply from the Roman Catholic theology of the day, which saw saving “faith” as including good works. One earned salvation by cooperating with God’s grace which was infused into the believer at the moment of baptism. The Reformers rejected the idea of cooperation and synergism, because they believed any compromise on this doctrine left room for human boasting, as well as the abolishment of any assurance that one was truly faithful.

The Protestants believed that Roman Catholic theology had mixed “justification” and “sanctification” and had thus mixed faith and works. I should note that Protestants had a robust doctrine of sanctification, the doctrine of growing in Christ and doing good works. None of the Reformers believed that Christians were free to sin as much as they wanted because of their salvation. They believed that sanctification followed justification as the place where one worked out personal salvation and cooperated with the Holy Spirit in growing in grace.

The Protestants sought to distinguish between these two doctrines, in order to show how the good works of the Christian are necessary and indeed important, though they in no way form the basis of one’s salvation. The Catholics argued that divorcing justification from sanctification would lead to unrighteous living.

The Protestants believed that the Catholic doctrine of justification led to human despondency. Without assurance of right standing before God, a person could never rest in God’s mercy and unmerited love. Instead, people were driven to despair as they sought to buy and earn their salvation before God. No one could ever be sure of salvation and thus people were chained to the prison of their mind, always questioning and wondering whether or not their good works would suffice.

The Roman Catholic theologians and pastors believed that the Protestant doctrine of justification sola fide would necessarily lead to lawlessness. If a person’s good works are unnecessary to gain a right standing before God and avoid his just wrath, why would a person do them? If one can be assured of salvation based on faith alone, then the rationale for good works is ripped away. There is no incentive to holy living and righteous behavior. The Roman Catholics were worried that the Protestant doctrine would lead to wicked behavior and lawlessness.

The Protestants believed that it was the Catholic system of theology which ultimately led to self-centered, unrighteous living. If a person’s good works are motivated by the desire to gain heaven, they are not done selflessly, but selfishly – and thus are not truly good at all. According to the Catholics, a person does good works in order to earn favor with God.

The Protestants believed that only the doctrine of justification by faith alone properly freed people to love their neighbors without thought of reward or selfish prize. Once one was assured of salvation by grace through faith alone in Christ’s finished work of redemption, one could freely love people unselfishly, with thoughts of their neighbor’s wellbeing instead of their eternal state.

Some Thoughts about Luther

Luther himself was a traditionalist. If you go into most Lutheran churches, you will see that the service itself is not too different from the Roman Catholic services. Luther had no problem with liturgy, written prayers, vestments. He had no problem with stained glassed windows and statues and beautiful sanctuaries. He maintained his belief that Jesus Christ is physically present in the Lord’s Supper, so that when one eats the bread and drinks the wine, they are chewing on Christ’s flesh itself. Other Protestants would take a more symbolic view, or would defend the idea of Christ being spiritually present in the Lord’s Supper.

Luther also defended the idea of baptizing infants. He believed that the infant could actually believe the gospel.

Luther translated the Scriptures into German, and his translation became for the German people much like the King James Version became for English speaking nations. He married several years later. He continued to write. Towards the end of his life, his testimony was marred by a severe anti-Semitic bent. Some of his writings, sadly, paved the way for Hitler’s atrocities against the Jews.

Though we would disagree with Luther in many ways, he himself would say, “I am both a sinner and a saint.” And his life showed that. On his deathbed in 1546, his last words were, “We are beggars. This is true.” His life indicates the truth of that statement. We beg for God’s mercy and receive it in the robe of Christ’s righteousness, becoming simultaneously righteous and sinful – but forgiven by God.

written by Trevin Wax  © 2007 Kingdom People blog

Your agrarian defense is left wanting. Sure, as you’ve said, dead wheat gives us bread, and one can see from that a similarity to Jesus’ death giving us life, but if you intend to use it as defense of it being as clear symbolically as the “door” or “vine” stories, I’ve got to disagree. Jesus is the symbolic door through which we enter eternal life (simple), as opposed to Jesus symbolizes a wheat seed, who died and was made into a food stuff (which symbolizes his teachings, his Spirit, etc.), and we feed on that. I reiterate that it doesn’t make much sense symbolically.

If Jesus intended this symbolic meaning, he blew it by not saying, “This represents my body,” and then explaining that wheat, not the bread, is the symbol which is the object of meaning. Also, where’s the blood? This agrarian wheat manipulation ignores half of the equation by not addressing the blood.

Why not accept Jesus’ words at face value when he says, “My flesh is real food?” and “My blood is real drink”? Again, half the equation is left out if the point is made (when reversing his words for effect as you did) that he did not say “This food is real flesh”, for the other half would be “This drink is real blood.” If you think the RCC applies these reversed meanings, folks would remain baffled by the blood references, even from the agrarian standpoint. It just doesn’t make sense.

This is where the patristic writings can come in handy, for we see time and again where Christians are executed for cannibalism, for they claimed to be eating the body and blood of Jesus. The Romans took clear advantage of this belief by carrying out their desire to kill the Christian Jews. Reams of pages of historical writings support this fact. We know for certain from first, second, and third century writings that Christians had a literal understanding of the mystery of Jesus’ institution of communion.

Also, where’s the scripture in rebuttal to the literal understanding? You haven’t supplied any. Let’s review… Scripture points to Jesus as the fulfillment of the Passover lamb (which had to be eaten). Jesus says, “This is my body… This is my blood” at the Last Supper accounts in the gospels. He says, “My flesh is real food, and my blood is real drink” in John 6 (again at Passover time, a year prior to the Last Supper). Paul gives the strongest of warnings in 1 Cor 11 not to eat and drink without recognizing the body and blood of our Lord.

All these I’ve mentioned previous. Let me add another… Malachi 1:11 “‘For from the rising of the sun, even to its going down, My name shall be great among the Gentiles; In every place incense shall be offered to My name, and a pure offering; For My name shall be great among the nations,’ says the Lord of hosts.” We know this was a prophesy, for when written the Lord’s name was not yet great among the Gentile nations. So, let’s see if we can see where this prophesy is fulfilled… What do we have here?… Hmmm… Incense is offered – each and every day – from sun up to sun down around the world – and a perfect offering is made. What is the only perfect offering? Jesus alone of course.

So, we see here an allusion to the Church’s worship in the Mass where we know Jesus himself is the sacrificial offering. (Not a re-sacrificing… more explained in final paragraph.) Mass is offered daily, all around the world, incense is used and Jesus’ ministry as victim becomes present.

You asked why don’t the elements change? Let’s say a scientist had access to one of the cells from Jesus’ body when Jesus was in the womb. Looking at it under a microscope, would he find something different than blood cells and human molecular biology? No, yet Jesus was fully divine. Why weren’t the elements of his physical makeup different than ordinary flesh and blood? Why weren’t they something different? We don’t know because it’s a mystery, and we accept the mystery of bread and wine becoming Jesus even though it appears to be bread and wine. Again, as he says in John 6, “It is a hard saying.”

Lastly, surely as you’ve said, the Eucharist is not something we do for God, but something God does for us. Why would you think Catholics see the Eucharistic action as primarily ours? We know from Hebrews that Jesus holds his priesthood permanently because Jesus continues forever (Heb 7:24). This, of course, is unlike the priests under the Aaronic order who could not continue as priests because of their deaths (Heb 7:23). Under the Old Covenant, the high priest made the sacrifice and entered the most holy place with the blood to complete the sacrifice, yet this was only done once per year. Plus, the priest had to leave lest he die. This is a type to Jesus entering the true holy place (heaven), but he too must offer something, his blood, and he remains in the true holy place, continually offering so that we can enter into the holy places (Heb 10:19-21). Since Jesus never leaves, there is no need to crucify Jesus all over again.

The Mass is a making present of the reality of Jesus’ sacrifice and his continual high priest ministry. The Mass is both a remembrance and a present participation in our Lord’s two fold sacrifice in which he is priest and victim. 1 Cor 10:18 has Paul asking rhetorically, “Consider the people of Israel; are not those who eat the sacrifices participants in the altar?” Again, Paul does the same with pagan sacrifices in verses 19-20 where he asks, “What do I imply then? That food offered to idols is anything, or that an idol is anything? No, I imply that what pagans sacrifice they offer to demons and not to God. I do not want you to be participants with demons.”

So, we see that sacrifices make us participants, and through the mystery of communion (common union) we on earth are in union with the communion of saints and angels in heaven at the celebration of the Eucharist. — I’ve said before, when you get your worship right, everything else is right. God gave us the means of proper worship, and he renews his covenant at each Mass.

Trevin’s Response

Hi Brian,

I’m sorry that you refuse to see the obvious symbolism in the “Jesus is the Bread of Life” statement. The agrarian wheat defense is not a manipulation of the text, but one that seeks to place it in its proper context. The blood is likewise the symbol of life – life is in the blood – as Scripture and science attests. To drink of Jesus’ blood for eternal life is not cannibalism – it means Jesus’ blood must be shed and must be applied to human beings for salvation. In Jesus’ death (his shed blood), we find forgiveness and life. Do not make John 6 say more than it says. That there is an allusion to the Lord’s Supper here is undeniable. But the main focus of the text is not the Lord’s Supper, but the importance of Jesus’ sacrifice for our sin.

I know that Christians were called “cannibals.” This is because the New Testament doctrine of the Lord’s Supper was misunderstood by outsiders. They were also persecuted for “incest,” because of their calling each other “brothers” and “sisters.” Now tell me, do you think this proves that early Christians were committing sexual acts of passion with each other? Just because the early Christians were accused of something does not mean that is actually what they were promoting. It is weak logic indeed to assume that the early Christians believed in transubstantiation because the pagans thought they did.

Jesus is not offered up to God as a sacrifice when we take Communion. Look at Hebrews 9 and 10. And Hebrews 7. Our celebration is a commemoration of his sacrifice, not a representing of Jesus to the Father. We believe that Jesus is present in the Lord’s Supper, but not that the elements are to be worshipped and adored and paraded as idolatry. We look through the elements to see Jesus. We do not believe the elements become Jesus’ body and blood in the physical sense. Why does Jesus, after saying “This is my blood,” still refer to the cup as “the fruit of the vine?”

I believe it is wrong to mistake the sign for the thing symbolized. How would I feel if in love, I gave my wife her wedding ring, and she spent all her time worshipping, adoring and kissing the ring because it was my love. No… she wears the ring because it expresses my love. Look past the physical elements to Jesus himself in the sacrament.

A couple questions:
Why does Paul in 1 Corinthians 11:26-27 still call the bread “bread” and the cup “the cup” if these had already become literal body and blood?
Jesus says the cup “is the covenant” in his blood. If the blood is not at all symbolic, then what is it? Is it Jesus’ blood? Or is it the covenant? If it’s literal, it can only be one thing, right?

Trevin

 

Brian’s Letter 

Since we found some common ground on liturgy, and since the Eucharist is the high point of the RCC liturgy, let’s tackle the whole symbolic vs. literal thing with regard to communion.

You acknowledged earlier that although you don’t personally believe the Bible teaches it, the “literal” Body and Blood meaning can be gleaned from scripture (once again, so much for sola scriptura).

You go on to make the point that Jesus was speaking symbolically and compared this to Jesus saying he was door or a vine. This actually proves a buttress to my point. For example, a door does indeed symbolize that Jesus is how we pass to eternal life. It makes sense. Or to say he is a vine, one sees that through the sap (his Spirit) we receive nourishment and are part of something larger. Easy symbolism to follow, and again it makes sense. But, if Jesus was trying to get across some symbolic sentiment by comparing bread to his flesh, there’s a disconnect. Where’s the symbolism in that? It doesn’t make sense.

When digesting John 6, it’s important to recall that Jesus prayed in John 17 that the Father would see to it that he lose none of those given to him. With this in mind, after “speaking symbolically” in John 6 as you say, how could Jesus let his disciples leave? (John 6:66) He was morally obligated to clear up their misunderstanding so that he would lose none of them. Like the parables he preached, all he had to do was simply explain it. He always explained the parables when they didn’t get it.

So here, if it was symbolic meaning, all he had to say was… “Hey guys, come back, don’t leave, I’m only speaking symbolically. You’re misunderstanding what I’m saying”. It is profound that he does not explain it that way. As he explains what he means, he doesn’t back off, and indeed he continually takes it up a notch as he tells them in John 6:53-56 that they must eat his flesh (The graphic Greek word used means to gnaw or chew). He allows his disciples to leave, and then not only that, he turns to the 12 and asks, “Will you leave too?”.

You claim a personal disagreement with Baptists who believe in a merely symbolic meaning of communion, yet in light of these verses it seems unlikely you can reconcile your personal belief in an exclusively “spiritual” feeding either.

So, like John 6 says, “It is a hard saying.” If it is a symbolic meaning, one has to ask what’s hard about a symbolic meaning? Who is the last person who you’ve seen leave a church because they couldn’t accept a symbolic meaning in John 6 and even considered it a “hard” saying? Doesn’t happen. I’m trying to keep my explanation simple, but Jesus is so incredibly direct, one has to twist John 6 to get anything but a literal meaning. For example, he says in verse 51, “…and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world” – the real, physical flesh he gives up on the cross – and also in verse 55 he says, “My flesh is real food, my blood is real drink.” He can’t be any more direct.

In 1 Cor 11:27 we see Paul explain, “Therefore, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord unworthily will have to answer for the body and blood of the Lord.” Symbolic? Not hardly, and Paul drives it home further in verse 29 where he admonishes, “For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body, eats and drinks judgment on himself.” With these two verses in mind, one cannot be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord, unto judgment, if it’s not the body and blood of the Lord!

Lastly, it is a major misunderstanding to state, as was previously done, that “the Eucharist is a re-sacrificing of Christ on the altar.” It is most certainly not a re-sacrificing, but instead is a re-presenting of that once, for all sacrifice which is ever-present before the Father. Refer to my previous liturgy email where I said, “Through liturgy, Christ’s sacrifice becomes a present reality. His sacrifice, once, for all, is mysteriously ever-present before the Father. Liturgy plugs us into that.” So, there is no re-sacrificing going on.

Trevin’s Response

Hi Brian,

I love talking about the Lord’s Supper, so this discussion will be enjoyable. I believe it is a travesty that the Lord’s Supper – the symbol of our unity as believers in Christ around his table, united to his cross – has become such a source of controversy and division. I hope through this discussion, a spirit of love will be evident from both sides.

You said that “Jesus is the Door” or “Jesus is the Vine” is obviously symbolic, while comparing Jesus to bread is a disconnect. There is definite symbolism in Jesus comparing his flesh to bread. Put yourself in the place of the people in John 6.

In the agrarian culture of first-century Jews, having bread was essential to survival. There was no endless supply of bread (in dozens of varieties) available at the local market. Simply put: without bread, there was no life. Even today, almost everything we eat comes from something else that has died. Dead animals provide us with meat. Dead wheat gives us bread. Vegetables come from dead plants.

When we see how other life dies that we may live, Jesus’ words take on a new meaning. “I am the Bread of Life” is another way of saying: “Without My death, you cannot live.” Just as bread is the essential element in the human diet, Jesus says that He Himself is the foundation for spiritual life. Without His death – his body being broken (hence the reference to flesh) no one else can live. Those who come to Him will never again be hungry. Those who believe in Him will never again thirst. Through His death, we live.

Let’s stay in John 6 for a minute. Some have argued (persuasively) that John 6 is not about the Lord’s Supper at all, but only about trusting in the crucified Jesus for salvation. I tend to agree with most, though, that John 6 is definitely an allusion to the Eucharist, since John does not record the words of Institution.

You say that this passage means that the bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper becomes the actual, physical body and blood of Christ. You are turning the verse around. Jesus says, “My flesh is real food.” Not “this food is real flesh.” I believe that Jesus’ body – broken for us – is real food, not that it turns into food, but that his death is what gives us life, just like food gives us life.

If the food actually becomes in a physical sense the body of Christ, why don’t the elements change? (I know this simple argument has been brought up again and again, but it bears repeating.) When Jesus was passing out the bread and cup at the Last Supper and he said, “this is my body,” I don’t think any of the disciples said, “wow! This bread is now Jesus’ physical flesh.” I don’t think they even thought that.

You say that it is a major misunderstanding to see the Eucharist as a re-sacrificing of Christ on the altar. I’m glad you agree. The problem is, the Catholic liturgy at this point, is woefully misleading. And perhaps that is why many lay Catholics actually see it wrongly. Nowhere does the Bible tell us to re-present the sacrifice of Christ before the Father. We are called to do this in remembrance of Christ, not as a representing of his sacrifice.

The real problem with the RCC understanding of the Lord’s Supper in my opinion, is not the idea that the bread and wine become the body and blood. The real problem is seeing the Eucharist as action that is primarily ours – an offering before God of Christ’s sacrifice.

This can also be a problem with the evangelical understanding of “ordinance” – something we’re commanded to do. Yes, Jesus tells us to “do” this in his remembrance, but the emphasis on the Lord’s Supper in Scripture is on what God does for us as we approach his table. The Eucharist is not something we do for God, but something that God does for us. As we spiritually feed upon Christ at his table, we are recipients of his strengthening grace. We are reminded and strengthened by what he did for us at Calvary.

Grace to you,
Trevin