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A few lessons come to mind—the need for a robust moral theology, relationship of faith and reason, historical rootedness, emphasis on catechesis and spiritual formation. Among these, here’s the primary one that I describe in Holy Ground (drawn from pp. 129-130).

Many Evangelicals seem to have a theological sickness. It’s not a condition that you can easily identify like lice or athlete’s foot. It’s much more subtle, like a parasitic tapeworm that hides in your digestive tract for months before you discover it. Philosophers call it a “platonic dualism.” In short, it’s an outlook that regards spiritual things to be inherently superior to the physical world—spirit is good, matter is evil.

When Catholics identify our illness they often do so with the following phrase: “You’re so heavenly minded that you’re no earthly good!” These words describe the tendency of Evangelicals to be overly spiritual on one hand and on the other oblivious to the practical needs of society. As one Evangelical preacher was fond of saying, “Don’t carry a loaf of bread in one hand and the Bible in the other, lest in your efforts to feed the poor you forget that you’re carrying the word of God.”

Very often we don’t realize that we have the theological tapeworm until our Catholic friends help us see it by their positive example. What I’m referring to is the Catholic practice of engaging culture, what is often called “social action.” Following from their emphasis on the principle of incarnation, Catholic ministry is concerned with how the life of Christ addresses the tangible dimensions of our world. Whether it’s education, politics, economics, sexual issues, prison reform, poverty, race issues, or sanctity of life, Catholics operate with a robust moral theology that is generally foreign to Evangelicalism.

In my role as Pastor of Community Outreach, I am keenly aware of how much we struggle with understanding how gospel ministry relates to the enterprise of cultural engagement. In our church we have a pretty good grasp on what needs to happen in the name of “evangelism;” but our handle on social outreach is clumsy at best.

Thankfully, there seems to be a growing awareness among Evangelicals today of the need to repent of our unbiblical dualisms. These often younger Evangelical leaders have somehow removed their tapeworms and therefore have an appetite to enrich culture as constructive agents of Christ’s kingdom. I’ll close this section with a quote from one of these agents who extricated his tapeworm long ago, if he ever had one, the British Pastor John Stott:

“It is exceedingly strange that any followers of Jesus Christ should ever have needed to ask whether social involvement was their concern, and that controversy should have blown up over the relationship between Evangelicalism and social responsibility. For it is evident that in his public ministry Jesus both ‘went about…teaching…and preaching’ (Matt 4.23; 9.35 RSV) and ‘went about doing good and healing’ (Acts 10.38 RSV). In consequence, evangelism and social concern have been intimately related to one another throughout the history of the Church” (John Stott. Issues Facing Christians Today: A Major Appraisal of Contemporary Social and Moral Questions. [Basingstoke: Marshalls, 1984], 2).

Several months ago, Paul Grimmond of Matthias Media asked me the following question in an interview. Because it regularly emerges as among the most popular questions, I have chosen to include it in this second installment of our apologetics series.

QUESTION: Chris, in your book Holy Ground you clearly articulate some of the significant differences in doctrine between Evangelicals and Roman Catholics while also continuing to call Roman Catholics "brothers and sisters in Christ" (p. 163). For many of the Reformers, the doctrinal differences led to quite different conclusions about where Roman Catholics stand in their relationship with God. I’m wondering if you can explore further for us what believing basic Roman Catholic doctrine means for the average Roman Catholic’s relationship with God? How do we juggle the importance of calling on our Roman Catholic friends to turn away from Roman Catholic belief and practice with the reality that they believe in God who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit?

ANSWER: First, thanks Paul for the privilege of this exchange.

In Holy Ground I use the word “some.” I call some Catholics “brothers and sisters in Christ.” In context, my statement on p. 163 is of my Catholic classmates from Boston College who were ardent defenders of Jesus’ literal death and resurrection, over and against our liberal classmates who appeared to be lost in the morass called postmodern relativism.

I would also say that many Catholics are not brothers and sisters in Christ (in the same way that many Protestants fail to posses genuine faith). God alone knows the condition of one’s heart, but I would go so far as to say that a Catholic who honestly believes what the Catholic Church teaches about justification—that it is based upon a mixture of faith and meritorious works—is likely not a brother or sister in Christ. I say “likely” because there are some Catholics who trust fully in Christ even though their religious confession relies upon unscriptural elements of Catholic tradition. In other words, it seems to me that the Bible teaches that one must believe with faith alone (Rom 4:4; Eph 2:8-9; Titus 3:5), but it doesn’t require that he or she believes in faith alone as a body of doctrine. John Piper makes this point, for instance, quoting John Owen who wrote: “‘Men may be really saved by that grace which doctrinally they do deny; and they may be justified by the imputation of that righteousness which in opinion they deny to be imputed.’ …Owen’s words are not meant to make us cavalier about the content of the gospel, but to hold out hope that men’s hearts are often better than their heads.” Accordingly, some Catholics appear to fully trust in Jesus, despite the teaching of their church. (John Owen, The Doctrine of Justification by Faith, chapter VII, “Imputation, and the Nature of It,” [Banner of Truth, Works, Vol. 5], 163-164. in John Piper. The Future of Justification. [Wheaton: Crossway, 2007], 25).

If this sounds anti-Catholic, please keep in mind that the Catholic Church says essentially the same thing about Protestants. From the Catholic point of view, the evangelical’s hope in justification is found in our observance of baptism which reflects the Catholic sacrament of baptism. We Protestants may think that we’re justified by faith alone, says the Catholic, but it’s actually on account of our baptism, which finds legitimacy in the sacrament of the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. Am I offended by the Catholic view? Well, maybe a little. But I can deal with it because I realize it’s not personal and that Catholics are simply expressing the teaching of their church with candor. Hopefully, my comments are read in the same light.

Your reference to the Reformers is interesting. It’s undoubtedly true that many of them regarded Catholics to be without salvation, yet not all of them did. In fact, there is a significant tradition in Reformed theology of those who regard Catholicism to be an orthodox expression of Christianity, consisting of brothers and sisters in Christ, even while vehemently disagreeing with basic tenets like sola Scriptura and sola fide. Following are some notable examples.

For all of the sharp invectives that Martin Luther launched against the papacy and clergy, he wasn’t as harsh toward all Catholic people. This was so because under the barnacles of unbiblical Catholic tradition Luther recognized a scriptural core that could truly generate and nurture faith. In his words, “the Roman Church is holy, because it has God’s holy name, the gospel, baptism, etc.” (Gustaf Aulen, Reformation and Catholicity, trans. Eric H. Wahlstrom. Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1962. pg 76).

Calvin expressed a similar sentiment in his letter to Sadoleto that despite serious differences of doctrine “[it doesn’t mean] that Roman Catholics are not also Christians. We indeed, Sadoleto, do not deny that those over which you preside are Churches of Christ.”

Over three hundred years later in 1869, Princeton theologian Charles Hodge wrote to Pope Pius IX declining an invitation to attend Vatican I. After citing the reasons why his attendance and that of his delegates would not happen, he offers the following conclusion:

“Nevertheless, although we cannot return to the fellowship of the Church of Rome, we desire to live in charity with all men. We love all those who love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity.

We regard as Christian brethren all who worship, love, and obey him as their God and Saviour, and we hope to be united in heaven with all who unite with us on earth in saying, ‘Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen’ (Rev. 1:6).”

Finally, after Charles Hodge we read this statement from another theologian of Princeton, J. Gresham Machen. Writing 50 years later about the relatively close proximity of Catholics to Evangelicals, compared to the chasm separating us from liberals, Machen highlights the common ground upon which we stand:

“Yet how great is the common heritage that unites the Roman Catholic Church…to devout Protestants today! [As significant as our difference is]…it seems almost trifling compared to the abyss which stands between us and many ministers of our own church” (J. Gresham Machen, Christianity and Liberalism (New York: Macmillan, 1923), p. 52).

This leads me to the final part of your question, Paul: “How do we juggle the importance of calling on our Roman Catholic friends to turn away from Roman Catholic belief and practice with the reality that they believe in God who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit?”

In Holy Ground, I challenge readers to follow the Protestant Reformers, and, more importantly Jesus himself, by expressing honesty about where we differ and, at the same time, extending true love and grace in our areas of disagreement with Catholics. The primary biblical touchstone for this is John 1:14 where it says of Jesus that he came “full of grace and truth.” There you have it. That’s the how. As our Lord maintained these virtues with a perfectly balanced poise, we must work to do the same. We can’t justify being irritable and crotchety, certainly not from the Bible, like foaming at the mouth pit bulls who go for the jugular of every Catholic who crosses our path. On the other hand, we must not be so open-minded that our brains fall out of our heads, lacking the theological chutzpah to be honest.

When a Catholic confesses the gospel and lives for Jesus, I’m applying the love about which 1 Cor. 13 speaks, love which “bears all things, believes all things, and hopes all things,” a love that extends the benefit of the doubt, puts its arm around this Catholic friend and calls him brother. I’m also going to proclaim the gospel and extend discipleship so that I and my Catholic friend together realize a greater level of sanctification. Would I like to see this friend eventually leave the Catholic Church? Yes, of course. I’m a Protestant Pastor who believes that on such issues of Christian authority and soteriology, Protestants are fundamentally right. To say otherwise would be disingenuous. And yet, I’m not going to insist that such a departure happen in my time frame. The Lord is my friend’s shepherd as much as he is mine. Indeed, I must apply my Calvinism at this precise point by faithfully and winsomely trusting in God’s sovereignly timed oversight. Thus, in the final analysis, we must approach this enterprise as Peter says in his first epistle, “honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect” (1 Peter 3:15-16).

Thanks again Paul for this opportunity. Richest blessings to you and yours!

In two weeks I’m scheduled to deliver a presentation at Biola University in Los Angeles, hosted by their apologetics department, titled Confessions of a Former Catholic.  You can read about the event from the school’s website. A Catholic professor living in the area who read the advertisement wrote asking me to answer some questions in advance for his students. It then occurred to me that perhaps others might be interested. So, here is the first one, my view of the Eucharist from John 6:

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. If anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever. And the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (v. 51).

“So Jesus said to them, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up on the last day.” (v. 53-54)

“For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink” (v. 55)

First, we must remember the context of John’s Gospel. Jesus has just fed the 5000, and despite their full stomachs, these folks are not satisfied. They want a sign to demonstrate that Jesus is in fact the Messiah of Israel. In response, Jesus explains his identity with the first so called “I am” statement, which appears in verse 35:

“Jesus said to them, ‘I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst’” (v. 35)

Using the Old Testament metaphor of bread from heaven, as in the manna which God provided for Israel in the desert, Jesus presents himself as God’s provision for humanity, who, like righteousness itself, satisfies our deepest hunger and thirst (cf. vv. 49-51).

The Jews then argued among themselves asking, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat.” Because of their woodenly literal interpretation of Jesus’ words (‘this man is speaking of his real flesh’), the Jews completely missed the metaphorical meaning and thus the point of Jesus statement.

May I suggest, with the utmost respect and humility, that this is the flaw of the Catholic interpretation. It imposes a literal reading of vv. 51-58, when in fact the passage should be understood theologically. In other words, rather than feasting on his actual flesh, Jesus calls people to receive him as the source of eternal life, God’s appointed Savior who alone satisfies human appetites.

Okay Chris, if that’s the case, why does Jesus use such emphatic language in vv. 51-58? i.e., “My flesh is real food, and my blood is real drink.” I’m glad you asked.

This appears to be an example of what we see throughout the prophets, that when Israel’s heart is hardened and she refuses to receive God’s word, God’s messenger employs figurative language. In fact, I think the text bears this out precisely. Please notice what happens from the middle of the discourse moving toward its conclusion:

Finally, for those of you who are perhaps still skittish about the word “figurative,” let’s remember that this is the nature of Jesus’ “I am” statements. He is the light of the world (John 8:12), he is the door (John 10:7), and he is the vine (John 15:1), for example.   The Lord doesn’t swing on hinges or produce grape juice, but thankfully he is the real entranceway to the Father and, like a life-giving vine, the source of everlasting life. For this reason we receive him as we would bread and wine (or grape juice, if you prefer), with satiable hunger and true joy.

In chapter five of Holy Ground I describe a celebration in the Piazza Campo dei Fiori of Rome after the Italian soccer team defeated Germany in double overtime of the semi-final World Cup. This is a clip of the event followed by an excerpt from the book explaining its significance.

“As the evening festivity continued, the terraces around the piazza filled with spectators. From one such window emerged an elderly gentleman in his undershirt, enjoying a smoke. A few young men noticed the resemblance of this fellow to the late Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini. They shouted, “Look up, look up” and began calling to the second story window, “Il Duce, Il Duce” (Mussolini’s nickname translated “the Leader”). Soon others were allured by this phenomenon. The old man played the part with delight. Initially, I thought he was a professional actor since he performed so well; then I realized he was simply Italian. Others quickly joined in and soon the entire piazza was looking to the same window where the old man with the prominent hooked nose and protruding chin enjoyed his moment of fame. The crowd continued to chant, “Duce, Duce, Duce!” as the Benito look-alike waved and blew kisses to his adoring fans.

Among the various lessons I learned in the Roman piazza is the importance of having a leader. God has created us to follow him; men and women cannot function otherwise. However, from the Greek philosopher Protagoras to the blue-eyed Sinatra of Hoboken, man has measured meaning by himself and has sought to live his own way.

Catholics and Evangelicals agree that men and women are designed to depend on God and not live as delusional demigods who create their own destiny. Scripture describes us as sheep whom God leads into green pastures. When a sheep wanders off by himself, it isn’t long before danger befalls him. To avoid this calamity, the shepherd extends nurture and protection. Such loving care is graphically expressed by Charles Spurgeon in the following story:

One evening, in 1861, as General Garibaldi was going home, he met a Sardinian shepherd lamenting the loss of a lamb out of his flock. Garibaldi at once turned to his staff and announced his intention of scouring the mountain in search of the lamb.  A grand expedition was organized.  Lanterns were brought, and old officers of many a campaign started off, full of zeal, to hunt the fugitive.   But no lamb was found, and the soldiers were ordered to their beds.  The next morning Garibaldi’s attendant found him in bed, fast asleep.  He was surprised at this, for the General was always up before anybody else.  The attendant went off softly and returned in half-an-hour.  Garibaldi still slept. After another delay, the attendant awoke him.  The General rubbed his eyes, and so did his attendant when he saw the old warrior take from under the covering the lost lamb and bid him convey it to the shepherd.  The General had kept up the search through the night until he had found it.  Even so does the Good Shepherd go in search of His lost sheep until He finds them.[1]

“We all like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way,” says the prophet Isaiah (53:6). In John’s Gospel Jesus says, "I am the Good Shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me—just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep (John 10:14-15).” In response to these statements, all Christians say “amen.” Jesus, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world died, rose, and is now seated beside the Father in heaven. Up to this point Catholics and Evangelicals are of one mind. However, disagreement comes with the question that usually follows: who represents the Good Shepherd on earth?”

[1] Charles Spurgeon, The Best of C.H. Spurgeon, (Grand Rapids, MI, Baker Book House, 1978), 117.

Kay Burley, British news anchor on Afternoon Live, marvels at the size of Joe Biden’s “bruise” (seconds 25 to 110):

Today is Ash Wednesday. Catholic parishes across the country often see some of the largest crowds of the year on this day. Even though it is not a “holy day of obligation” (a mandatory service) many people, including those nominal/ cultural types who seldom visit church, make a special trip to their local parish to be marked with an ashen cross on their foreheads. In what follows I will offer a word about the history of this tradition and a couple of ways that evangelical Protestants can respond to it.

Catholics look to the Old Testament as the origin of the practice of marking oneself with ashes. It says for instance in Jeremiah 6:26, “Oh, daughter of my people, put on sackcloth and roll in ashes” (see also Isa. 58:5; Dan 9:3; Jonah 3:6). The New Testament picks up this theme emphasizing ashes as a sign of repentance. For instance, "Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the mighty deeds done in your midst had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would long ago have repented in sackcloth and ashes" (Mt 11:21, Lk 10:13). While the opening Millennium had just a few references to ashes in Christian liturgy, it was in the 12^th Century when the modern tradition of burning palm branches from the previous Palm Sunday and applying their charred remains to the penitent developed.

The first response of evangelicals toward Catholic observers of Ash Wednesday is to encourage them in the gospel. Let me explain. Because so many cultural Catholics not only have ashes applied to their foreheads but then also wear the mark faithfully throughout the day (an amazing thing for someone who doesn’t regularly practice his faith) the best response is to ask honest, humble questions: “What is the meaning of Ash Wednesday?” “I understand that it is a sign of repentance; what happens in your relationship with God as a result?” The purpose of these questions is not to refute the practice as something that is extra-Biblical…. Rather, you want to help your friend or loved one recognize to a greater extent that realities of the gospel—the substitutionary death and resurrection of our Lord that is accessed by faith alone.

Our second response to Ash Wednesday, certainly of equal importance to the first, must be honest self evaluation with a view to our own personal repentance. Every time I see someone walking down the sidewalk or through the office with ashes on his forehead it is an opportunity for me to pause and reflect on my own need for a Savior. It is a valuable reminder to all of us that we live in between the ages, looking forward in faith to the return of our Christ when sin and death will be removed forever and ashes will be no more.

Since writing Holy Ground, I have enjoyed following several Catholic authors and journalists in an attempt to remain current on Catholic issues. One such writer is Philip Lawler, editor of Catholic World News (cwnews.com). Phil recently described the Catholic identity of Ted Kennedy from the late senator’s autobiography titled “True Compass: A Memoir.” In the following excerpt, Phil presents Kennedy as a classic example of what I have titled the “Cultural Catholic.”

Kennedy mentions his Catholicism hundreds of times in this book, but almost invariably he is referring to the cultural heritage of Catholicism rather than to its doctrinal content or its spiritual exercises—the form rather than the substance of his faith. Still he insists that his faith shaped his political outlook. In one of the book’s most revealing passages, he relates how his thoughts matured as he entered adult life:

“My own center of belief, as I matured and grew curious about these things, moved toward the great Gospel of Matthew, chapter 25 especially, in which he calls us to care for the least of these among us, and feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, visit the imprisoned. It’s enormously significant to me that the only description in the Bible about salvation is tied to one’s willingness to act on behalf of one’s fellow human beings.”

It boggles the mind that an adult Catholic—who presumably heard the Scriptures read at every Sunday Mass, even if he never read the Bible himself— could claim that there is only one passage in the Bible addressing the question of salvation. But the above quotation contains another sign, less obvious but even more telling, of the author’s detached attitude toward his faith. When he says that “he calls us to care for the least of these among us,” Kennedy never identifies who “he” is. The name of Jesus does not appear anywhere in this memoir.

“All of my life, the teachings of my faith have provided solace and hope,” Kennedy wrote as he faced the prospect of death. He surely did draw solace from his faith, but not guidance. He knew that the Church offered words of comfort; he never recognized that the Church also spoke with authority. So in his final illness, while he felt the need to write to Pope Benedict XVI, asking for the pontiff’s blessing, he still saw no need to renounce his long history of public opposition to Church teaching on the dignity of life.

A Christianity without Jesus, a Catholicism without sacraments, a doctrine without authority: this is the conception of the Church that emerges from True Compass. Ted Kennedy saw Catholicism as an important part of his identity, of his family history, of his cultural patrimony. But his life story provides very little evidence that his faith shaped his political ideals. On the contrary, it seems clear that his political ideals shaped the content of his faith. The story of Ted Kennedy’s public life is, to an alarming extent, the story of a generation of Catholics—in Boston in particular, in America in general. It is, regrettably, not a story of how these Catholics shaped the popular culture, but of how that culture changed their faith.

Sister Mary Ann, who worked for a home health agency, was out making her rounds visiting homebound patients when she ran out of gas. As luck would have it, a Texaco Gasoline station was just a block away.

She walked to the station to borrow a gas can and buy some gas. The attendant told her that the only gas can he owned had been loaned out, but she could wait until it was returned. Since Sister Mary Ann was on the way to see a patient, she decided not to wait and walked back to her car.

 
She looked for something in her car that she could fill with gas and spotted the bedpan she was taking to the patient. Always resourceful, Sister Mary Ann carried the bedpan to the station, filled it with gasoline, and carried the full bedpan back to her car.

As she was pouring the gas into her tank, two Baptists watched from across the street. One of them turned to the other and said, 
‘If it starts, I’m turning Catholic.’

According to Padre Pio, the Capuchin Friar of Pietrelcina, Italy, who was canonized on June 16, 2002 by Pope John Paul II, “It has ever been the teaching of the Church . . . that Purgatory exists . . . It is a place or condition wherein the souls of the just undergo that purifying fire that renders them fit for God and the joys of eternal life.”  Therefore, it is said that “Pio spent scores of hours each week in the confessional.”1

Padre Pio’s concern for purgation was not limited to the confessional. It also shaped his understanding of the Eucharist: “The Holy Mass is a sacred union of Jesus and myself. I suffer unworthily all that was suffered by Jesus (emphasis added) who deigned to allow me to share in His great enterprise of human Redemption”.2

Over and against Pio’s understanding of salvation is the biblical teaching of substitutionary atonement, expressed by the 16th Century English Reformer, Bishop John Hooper:

“I do believe and confess that Christ’s condemnation is my absolution, that his crucifying is my deliverance, his descending into hell is my ascending into heaven, his death is my life, his blood is my cleansing and purging, by whom only I am washed, purified and cleansed from all my sins, so that I neither receive nor believe any other purgatory, either in this world or in the other, whereby I am purged, but only the blood of Jesus Christ, by which all are purged and made clean forever.”3

Footnotes

1. http://www.padrepio.com/

2. Ibid.

3. Bishop John Hooper, quoted in Philip Edgcumbe Hughes, Theology of the English Reformers (London, 1965), page 65, style slightly updated.