Growing up as an evangelical Protestant, church services did not entail much more than worship and a sermon, followed by more worship. A plain wooden cross was the only symbol church attendees would see when worshiping. I did not question this lack of ornamentation. After all, Christ should be at the center of all church activity, so the fewer material distractions, the better- right?
Years ago, upon entering London’s Westminster Abbey, I found myself experiencing a feeling of unsettledness. If Christ was truly that church’s main focus, I could not understand why such emphasis was placed on the material. From the aura of the stained glass and excessive gold interior to the painstakingly intricate carvings and intimidating buttresses, their pride in the building’s appearance swallowed the significance of Christ. At the time, my understanding of Roman Catholicism was limited to the corrupt church administration riddled with simony and the selling of indulgences under Pope Leo X, villainized by Martin Luther’s 95 Theses in 1517.
In reality, the Roman Catholic Church did not form separately from the Christian faith. In my naivety, I glossed over how Roman Catholics share the same early Church Fathers as Protestants, including Augustine, Chrysostom, Eusebius, and Athanasius, among many others. Roman Catholicism stemmed from the same understanding of the universal Catholic Church under the Nicene Creed in 325, affirming the Trinity and Christ’s coming in the flesh, His death, and resurrection. It was not until 1054 that this universal Church was split into the Eastern Orthodox and the Roman Catholic church. For nearly 500 years, there was no Christian faith in the West outside of Roman Catholicism, until Protestantism broke from this tradition.
Yet the modern evangelical movement largely overlooks this long history of unity and the Protestant church’s origins. Raised in the Protestant/reformed tradition, I learned to label Protestants as “the Christians” and viewed anything outside of this with skepticism. If a person prayed to Mary, then they were specifically Catholic, not Christian. Catholicism was nothing more than a works-based religion raising mortals (Mary and the Saints) to the same level as Christ, and thus unorthodox.
In due time, my eyes were opened shortly after I began working at a Catholic charity. The structure and titles of important people who interacted with the charity, from friars to auxiliary bishops, initially overwhelmed me. The different Catholic churches and parishes were united under a larger diocese. It was a direct contrast to my own Protestant church, which had extremely loose connections and no leadership above the head pastor and elders. With Christ as the only Authority in Protestantism, no such structure is necessary. Yet, I began to rethink my opinion of the Roman Catholic tradition, as part of me longed for the sort of structure that Catholics were so determined to uphold.
In conversing with my Catholic coworker, I learned she attended mass every morning out of sheer willingness, wholeheartedly experiencing Christ’s presence in her taking of the Eucharist. In contrast, I was accustomed to taking communion only once a month. I understood that the bread and crackers represented Jesus’ body and blood, but it did not go beyond an optional way of remembering His crucifixion.
In his discussion with the Senior Editor of First Things magazine, Bishop Robert Barron emphasized how the Eucharist was a “mystery of grace” composed of “the meal,” “suffering of the passion,” and “reality of Christ.” In Barron’s opinion, reducing the elements to mere symbols strips the Eucharist of its true meaning. The Eucharist, in being the real blood and body of Christ, embodies a theology of creation in which the fellowship between God and man in the Garden of Eden is restored. Believers, according to Barron, are reminded of all the other freedoms God gave man outside of the prohibition of eating from the forbidden tree, including all aspects of human flourishing–from art to politics. In Barron’s philosophy, “everything that makes human life beautiful and wonderful” is realized in the terrifying and uncontrollable reality of Christ’s actual presence in the Eucharist.
As my understanding of the Catholic church became more refined, I better understood their desire for ornateness and beauty. While the Protestant church does not often evaluate Christianity in terms of beauty, Catholics view beauty as a virtue, holding the same importance as goodness and truth. According to Barron, beauty is an avenue “into the transcendent mystery of God.” Beauty communicates in ways truth cannot, as logic and arguments can fall short. Likewise, “sacraments, Saints, [and] the beauty of a place” unite the true and beautiful. Barron also laments how as a youth, the elements that make Catholicism beautiful, from incense to stained glass windows, were associated with “Old Clericalism,” with no instrumental purpose or significance.
In evangelical Protestantism, there are little to no rituals outside of baptism and a largely symbolic communion. As Barron points out, there is a pulpit instead of an altar in Protestant churches because we believe the main way God communicates with His believers is through Sola Scriptura. On the other hand, Catholicism has the rich past of the Biblical temple tradition, and liturgy of the early Christian church, which Barron notes is complete with “priests, vestments, miters, incense, and candles.” By keeping with the tradition of Leviticus, Catholics keep the temple concept alive, as they believe Christ’s presence is literally in the altar. Yet, without this biblical and historical context grounding these rituals, they are reduced to thoughtless works and acts. Catholicism has the potential to transform from an ordered religion of sacrifice and beauty to an arbitrary cycle of legalism and liturgy.
I recently attended a lecture on iconoclasm during early Christendom, given by Byzantine scholar Dr. Judith Herrin. While Herrin praised the Byzantine empresses who helped save the icon, a modern-day Protestant might logically side with the iconoclasts, who believed graven images of religious figures were synonymous with idolatry. Yet, when iconophiles venerated the images, they did not give worship, but addressed the icon in prayer, hoping their words would pass through the image in direct communication with God. Likewise, icons increased their devotion, functioning as a visual model of right behavior. God, the Most High, was ultimately whom they tried to reach.
Similarly, in Roman Catholicism, the rituals and the formation of the liturgy are also carried out to increase one’s devotion to Christ, making His presence increasingly real and tangible. Yet, few images in Protestant churches remind the Protestant evangelical of Christ’s presence, save the image of a cross. Depictions of Christ, including His suffering, are noticeably absent, prompting one to wonder if Protestants have overlooked the brutal reality of His sacrifice. From the ornamentation of churches to the dignified order of the liturgy, Protestants could learn a lot from the beauty and mystery of the Catholic tradition.
As you know I was raised in the catholic faith. My father was in the Jesuit monastery when he came here from Ireland as a boy. He learned under Bishop Sheen. Thank you for this wonderful article. Sometimes corruption enters a space and seems to nullify faithful history in a belief system that has worked for millions for centuries.
I am happy you found my article worthwhile! I had no idea my great Grandpa was a Jesuit! I agree that the enduring history of the Church speaks for itself.