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The Problem With Protestantism, Part 1

It's not that the Catholic Church is so blindingly obviously true at the outset. I believe in the grace of God and in his leading, but if I overstated this, I'd be manipulating you, and misrepresenting myself. But in all things, truth is connected. And truth is knowable. Truth can be on the level of nature or above it. I trust I'm not scaring anyone yet.

But you can't approach this question as a "Protestantism vs. Catholicism" thing, mainly because there is no Protestantism, properly speaking. There are Christian communities of varying theologies that were formed, or are now in some way connected to, those leaders who separated from the Catholic Church in the 16th century. It's really important to state that clearly and somewhat precisely, because it becomes important to the story I'm telling.

As I am fond of mentioning to several friends, my Myers-Briggs type is ENFP. "Close enough is good enough." I paint with broad brushes to tell a broad story, and hopefully, I do it well. But I need people in my life who are more precise. I appreciate you if you are that person. I digress.

But I realized that my ordination vows before God and man would be one of those times. I was to be a churchman; I was to be, in some way or another, a creature of ecclesial politics and life. All the more reason to know what it is I believe, and why. Because I owed that to God and to those I would serve. That in general was the occasion for the events that would shake my life, the earthquake that was the call of the Catholic Church.

Before I go on, I need you to promise me that you will read the questions I ask as I would have experienced them, as "Reformed Seminarian JK" not as "Hack Apologist in His Catholic Pajamas JK." That's important. [You don't wear pajamas.--ed.] It's a metaphor, OK? Anyway...

In general, one of the things I couldn't take for granted was that the Reformed had more faithfully recapitulated the early Church than had the Catholic Church. You can embellish this any way you like, but at a minimum, we were taught that people who called themselves the Catholic Church had hijacked the true universal Church of the Lord Jesus Christ and added a whole slew of human traditions to the gospel, as found in the Bible. If you were Catholic, we hoped and prayed somehow that you had heard something about the true Jesus and the gospel that the Holy Spirit had quickened you, and that you would ignore all the 'unbiblical' things. As much as we Reformed enjoy ripping on evangelicals and their excesses, we are evangelicals. I mean that in a good way. The faithful person shaped by Reformed theology is deeply passionate about the gospel, about living it, and sharing it. It's not true what other Christians say about you, brothers; you are not the Vulcans of Christendom, though the jokes between us about that are still funny. This is a huge digression; my apologies.

I could not take the early Church for granted, partly because A) my liturgical life was predicated on the appreciation, and the claim of continuity with the early Church, and B) my own curiosity. In any case, in truth, no one should take them for granted, because all the disputes among Christians revolve around questions of continuity and discontinuity, or better said, the theological meaning of each.

One of the reasons I cannot countenance calling anything "Protestantism" is that all theology is local, just like politics. I do not, have not, and will not ever live in the abstract invisible ethereal reality that some of you call "the Church." At every point of my Christian life I can say, "I'm a part of this church, in this place, with these people. How we worship, our liturgy, our "reasonable service," is the place where God is encountered by us. And frankly, nowhere else quite so directly. If God does not act here, there is little point at all in talking about where else he does. I am not saying that going to church is the end or fullness of the Christian life, not at all. But I am saying that it is important. It is vital. I have always believed that. The questions you ask in these moments--the questions we ask together, our conviction, our experience of grace, pardon, and joy--are no small thing. The law of prayer is the law of faith.

So we are a local body. We are connected to some larger body in some fashion, given the obvious point that we are not the only church on Earth. One of the ways that we show that bond, that unity which binds us to every Christian in the entire world--we even said this--is by the Creed. Most often, the Nicene Creed, and sometimes the Apostles' was used. But I don't need an advanced degree in theology to know that we Christians as a whole might mean different things by saying it. I knew that because there was often a note in the bulletin "clarifying" certain words, like "catholic" or "apostolic," for example. First Idiot Question: Is it really uniting us if we don't agree on what the words mean? Obvious Follow-Up: I might want to find out the nature of this disagreement, and nail down why I think we are right.

On that score, I had no problem with saying (somewhere between 2002 and 2008) that the creed was a restatement of the scriptural truths concerning God, man, and the Church. No big deal. Most people, including Catholics, could say something like this, and it's true as far as it goes. It's only when we discuss how the Creed actually functions, or is supposed to, that we run into trouble. We'll come back to this. I hope and pray that I can connect all this in a coherent fashion. This is your official Digression Warning.

I have always loved the Catholic Church. Ever since I recognized that as a distinct body of people who did their uniquely weird churchy things. When you dismiss me as an emotional simpleton who sought full communion with the Catholic Church for primal, emotional reasons, this is the paragraph you will cite. I watched my Aunt Mary Ann get married in a Catholic church. I can recall my father's funeral Mass in a Catholic church. I have the Heirloom Edition of the Bible that they gave to my grandmother when he died. She gave it to me. I read it a few times. There are full-color pictures explaining the Mass to you. The translation and study notes are hideous (Paging the bishops! Clean-up on Aisle 5!) but someone was really serious about teaching someone something. Anyway, the truth is that I've never had a negative personal experience with the Catholic Church or its officials ever. Lucky me, right? The priest at Mary Ann's wedding gave me the Eucharist without asking. I was 12 at the time. That was very weird. Did I look like I wanted it? Needed it? If I had the theological knowledge to articulate what I thought then, I'd say, "Thank you, Father, but these accidents are disgusting." As an additional aside within the digression, let me say that all things Catholic are usually beautiful. The church is beautiful, the priest is adorned, the words he says are exalted, as are the words the people say. I remember that Anne Rice had said she loved Mass when she was small, and the beauty drew her back again before she left...again. One blatantly obvious reason why iconoclasm is stupid is that it's utterly contrary to the manufacture of a human being. Our senses work well, God-willing, and that's how it's supposed to be. If I wanted to start a cult, the Cult of Jason would have everything the Catholic Church does, in addition to whatever creepy thing I wanted to add. It works, man.

When we talk next time, I'm just gonna continue with the story. Thanks for stopping by.

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