Monday 30 September 2013

The Road to Rome


This is part III of a four part series. The previous parts are The Road from Unbelief and Time in the Evangelical Church .


Jesus calls his disciples to go into the deep with him.



Deciding to become Catholic was the most difficult decision I have ever taken and the second most difficult decision I have ever needed to make. I have spent a year and a half hearing how heretical Catholics are, how pagan they are in practice, how ritualistic they are in their deed, how legalistic they are in their teachings and how hypocritical they actually are. Throughout my time in the evangelical church community, it was clear that if anyone had a false gospel, it was those darn Catholics. They never read the Bible, because if they did, they would stop trying to pull themselves up by their own moral bootstraps, stop relying on their works and efforts to gain salvation as if they could twist God's arm, and stop their blasphemous practices of ritualism and idolatry. And I agreed with all of this, because I had lived for six years in one of the most Catholic countries in the world – Spain – and not once was I brought the message of the Gospel. It was there that I developed my anti-religious sentiment, and more particularly, anti-Catholic. Of what use are old rituals that do nothing? And truly, of what use are those old rituals when they change nothing in a person’s life? According to the census, I was surrounded by almost 100% Catholics – but I only ever met a handful, and they did not seem much different to anyone else.

I write this post with some sadness, therefore, as I know it is controversial. I suspect I will lose friendships over this matter, though I suppose I will gain others. I have come to see that all my criticisms of ritualism, idolatry, Pelagianism and so forth are false. With my writing this, it becomes public, and with my confirmation in the Catholic Church it will become official. But it is a short-term sadness, because I know also that to do as God wills is infinitely more important than to concern oneself with maintaining an image of conforming to a manufactured standard of theological orthodoxy given by Protestantism.

Before I give my reasons and tell my story, let me say something to my beloved Protestant brethren: and I know many of you love Christ Jesus our Lord. Seeing your faith is much like seeing the faith of the centurion in Matthew 8, who was supposedly an outsider, yet nonetheless had a faith that surpassed God's own people – similarly, though outside the visible confines of the Church, it is faithfulness to Christ that justifies and therefore you are perhaps in better communion with the Church than many Catholics. I have no pretence of somehow having been enlightened by my own wisdom to some higher level of understanding and orthodoxy, nor that I am better, more pious, holier or anything in myself because of this - though the grace of God has nonetheless moved me in this direction. Thanks be to him who calls the ungodly! Therefore, I do not boast of this change – for who may boast of grace? – instead ask that you would consider what I say, one beggar to another, testifying of his way not just to bread but to the bread of life of our Lord, given for our salvation.

For some, no reason could possibly suffice to become Catholic. The attitudes I mentioned above, ones I held myself, are so engrained that some may think my reasons well thought out and sound, yet nonetheless reject the conclusion. To such people one may truly only say “God help you!” For Catholics are the true Bible-believers, who worship by the Spirit of God and glory in Christ Jesus and put no confidence in our own versions and interpretations of the Bible – though I myself have reason for confidence in my own interpretation also. If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in their interpretation, I too have reasons: converted to the very strongest form of inerrancy and infallibility, of the Evangelical church, a Bible believer of Bible believers; as to reading of the Scriptures, relentless; as to zeal, a detester of the Catholic Church; as to orthodoxy under the guidance of the Reformers, blameless.

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ as he truly is. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. I consider all else as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from knowing and merely believing the Bible, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead. Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own, calling me to his Church and uniting me to his Body. Brethren, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. Only let us hold true to what we have attained.

I have not attempted to engage in an apologia here in any substantial way – I will develop my reasoning elsewhere, including why I think Apostolic Tradition – comprising both written and unwritten teachings of the Apostles – is the correct basis for the Christian faith in its fullness. Additionally, why the stories of profoundly Catholic saints seem to point to the Catholic Church, from Justin Martyr to St Augustine (in whose writings the Catholic understanding of justification is to a large degree explained), from St Thomas Aquinas to St Bonaventure…and St Francis of Assisi, St Ignatius of Loyola and St Francis Xavier…I’m also quite fond of Blessed Peter Favre and many other saints of his order – more on that later. The list is truly quite long. Other pointers include certain texts in the Bible which are better explained within a Catholic context, a stronger stability of doctrine, as opposed to the enormous novelty that appears in other churches, and tens, perhaps even a hundred other reasons. I will focus on ones that led me to the Catholic Church as opposed to ones that now cement me in her embrace.

Perhaps the first nudge God gave me to move me towards the Catholic Church was my coming across the towering figure of John Henry Newman. Educated in the works of people like Thomas Paine and David Hume young in his life, Newman became a Christian at the age of 15, an Evangelical Calvinist who thought of the Pope as the Antichrist. He worked for the Church Missionary Society (CMS – still very much alive today), and during this time began to move towards a High Church view of ecclesiology. He visited Rome, which he thought of as a delightful city, but hated the Roman Catholic Church, describing it as “polytheistic, degrading and idolatrous.” Returning to Oxford, he started the “Tracts for the Times,” sparking what was known as the Tractarian (or more commonly, “Oxford”) movement, together with various other notable figures, including the son of the English Evangelical Protestant abolitionist William Wilberforce.

How did this figure become Cardinal Newman, and Blessed John Henry Newman? What did he see or learn? His own account of his Christian life is recorded in his Apologia Pro Vita Sua, and I do not seek to summarize that presently. It is of far more importance at this point to ask what exactly I found in Cardinal Newman that put me on the path to the Catholic Church, and it can be summed up in a quote:



Meanwhile, before setting about this work, I will address one remark to Chillingworth and his friends:—Let them consider, that if they can criticize history, the facts of history certainly can retort upon them. It might, I grant, be clearer on this great subject than it is. This is no great concession. History is not a creed or a catechism, it gives lessons rather than rules; still no one can mistake its general teaching in this matter, whether he accept it or stumble at it. Bold outlines and broad masses of colour rise out of the records of the past. They may be dim, they may be incomplete; but they are definite. And this one thing at least is certain; whatever history teaches, whatever it omits, whatever it exaggerates or extenuates, whatever it says and unsays, at least the Christianity of history is not Protestantism. If ever there were a safe truth, it is this.


And Protestantism has ever felt it so. I do not mean that every writer on the Protestant side has felt it; for it was the fashion at first, at least as a rhetorical argument against Rome, to appeal to past ages, or to some of them; but Protestantism, as a whole, feels it, and has felt it. This is shown in the determination already referred to of dispensing with historical Christianity altogether, and of forming a Christianity from the Bible alone: men never would have put it aside, unless they had despaired of it. It is shown by the long neglect of ecclesiastical history in England, which prevails even in the English Church. Our popular religion scarcely recognizes the fact of the twelve long ages which lie between the Councils of Nicæa and Trent, except as affording one or two passages to illustrate its wild interpretations of certain prophesies of St. Paul and St. John. It is melancholy to say it, but the chief, perhaps the only English writer who has any claim to be considered an ecclesiastical historian, is the unbeliever Gibbon. To be deep in history is to cease to be a Protestant.


I remember wondering what that meant, what history had to say about being Christian and why it would stop me from being Protestant.

History was going to be one very key point of evidence, but at the time it was completely unconceivable for me to be Catholic. God was going to have to work through the thing I valued most in theology: the Bible. In particular, God worked through the Apostle Paul’s epistles, and concretely in this case, the epistle to the Ephesians.[1] If Protestantism has a patron saint, it is St Paul of Tarsus, so he was certain to have my ears listening. He wrote:

I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called,  with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, eager to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is one Body and one Spirit—just as you were called to the one hope that belongs to your call— one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all. (Ephesians 4:1-6, ESV)

St Paul informs us that there is one Body, that is, one Church (cf. Ephesians 1:22-23), just as there is one God. For all this, I could not even conceive of the idea of calling my church the only church, and nor would any in it, and yet there was supposed to only be one Church.[2] Even if we include all Evangelicals, which spread across various Protestant denominations, they amount to only 90 million of an alleged 2.18 billion strong Christendom.[3] Now, it is true that Christianity is not a democracy – indeed, truth is not democratic – and so mere numbers cannot settle theological disputes. Nonetheless, one can hardly claim there is one Church when 4.5% of Christians belong in very broad and loose terms to one’s own creed.

Very broad and loose terms indeed, because according to the Center for the Study of Global Christianity at the Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, there are approximately 41,000 denominations in worldwide Christianity. Many of these differences are probably geographic or liturgical, but by any reasonable estimate there are tens of thousands denominations that have begun over doctrinal disputes, and where some may be relatively minor, others concern the big questions of Christology, soteriology, and so forth. This hardly seems to be in keeping with the ecclesiology which was developing quickly in the early Church, the seed of which is given in the first epistle to Timothy, chapter 3, where Paul (or Pseudo-Paul) says to Timothy:

I hope to come to you soon, but I am writing these instructions to you so that, if I am delayed, you may know how one ought to behave in the household of God, which is the Church of the living God, the pillar and bulwark of the truth. (1 Tim. 3:14-15, RSV, emphasis mine)

In what way can this be said to be “one Body,” when so many mutually exclusive claimants exist? This first question, which came to me one day whilst reading Ephesians, has been raised by many others before me, and various Protestants have tried to answer it; indeed, it has been a problem since the very beginning. Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant Reformation, disagreed with the next two biggest contributors, John Calvin and Ulrich Zwingli. For instance, Calvin laments in his Advertissement contre l’astrologie (1549):

Every state [of life] has its own Gospel, which they forge for themselves according to their appetites, so that there is as great a diversity between the Gospel of the court, and the Gospel of the justices and lawyers, and the Gospel of merchants, as there is between coins of different denominations.

To deal with this, Calvin established the Consistory in Geneva, which was set up to determine the theological purity of the members of his church in the style of an ecclesiastical court of sorts. In 1555 he was granted the power to excommunicate unworthy members, and in only ten years (1559-1569) one in fifteen were summoned, one in twenty five excommunicated.[4] Historian David Anders also tells of an incident with Jerome Bolsec, a convert to Protestantism who challenged Calvin’s views on one theological topic, and argued that he too was a Christian, he too had the Holy Spirit and consequently, he had as much right as Calvin to interpret the Bible – Calvin would have none of it. Private interpretation of Scripture is simply not in line with Calvin’s theology.[5]

The Protestant tradition is, in reality, an enormous spectrum of doctrines united not even under the Five Solas in its modern form, but holding loosely to Sola Scriptura for matters of Christian doctrine (Calvin himself arguably had a more "ecclesial" doctrine on revelation than this, but that is irrelevant at present) – I think, and this is my second point, that this is the problem.

I would object nowadays to the possibility of claiming infallibility for a fallible collection of books, as RC Sproul does[6] - especially in light of pseudonymity of various New Testament books, and the exclusion of various others, particularly the Protestant rejection of the deuterocanonical books. I would also defend nowadays that sola Scriptura is unsound biblically and almost nonsensical in the early church, though I understand that this view is not without its critics.  However, my second point is instead that “sola Scriptura” removes any semblance of the Church as a unity.[7] It is private interpretation of the Bible which largely produces the tens of thousands of Protestant denominations which fragment Christianity. Except some form of the Church must be visible, because if it is invisible, then it cannot be the city on the hill which brings glory to God (cf. Matthew 5:13-16, and see my commentary here, where I suggest that the Church is the city mentioned), and it cannot be the pillar and bulwark (“guardian”) of truth. The point I seek to make is somewhat less logical (in the sense of being the result of a chain of syllogisms or the like) and more a matter of faith:  can I trust God to bestow upon the Church the grace to remain intact and so enable her to actually be what the Scriptures say she is? If it is the case that the Church is the Body of Christ, that there can only be one and that the Church was to be the guardian of truth, then I think that I should be able to trust God to keep some kind of existent Church which is not made up of mutually exclusive parts.

This leads me back to my first point about history and John Henry Newman. The point was very well put by Peter Kreeft, and I am going to borrow his thought experiment in the modified way that I found convincing: on the Presbyterian view, the Church may have started off as “the Catholic Church” (see writings of Ignatius of Antioch for first recorded use in 110 AD, which is even before the finishing of the canonical books by the dating of some scholars), but it slowly picked up more and more heresies until Luther came along and “got rid of barnacles,” so to speak. Luther then returned Christendom to the undefiled days of the early church without any later Catholic additions. All one would have to do, therefore, to assess whether the real Church is Catholic or Protestant, would be to check out whether the early church was Catholic or Protestant.[8] To my mind, this matter is settled conclusively: every distinctively Catholic “heresy,” either existed in the Church or the seed was unmistakably there.[9]

The Catholic Church is the only one that can reasonably claim to have existed since the time of Christ.[10] Nonetheless, it is common in any movement with Christian roots (Protestants being the closest to these roots, but Mormonism and Jehovah Witnesses are also Christian derivatives) to have some sort corruption theory, by which the Church began to decay after the Apostles died or sometime after that, and the leader of the new movement brings undefiled and true Christianity back again.[11] The Mormons have such a prophet in Joseph Smith Jr., who claims to restore Christianity to the apostolic church; Protestants have similar figures in Martin Luther and other reformers. There are Catholic restorationist movements, of course, but they (since they are Catholic ones) do not break from the Church, instead they attempt to restore if from within. The Catholic Charismatic Renewal movement probably falls into this category. Having said that, not only are the break-away restorationist movements dubious simply because of their lateness, but they end up being mostly unlike the early Church anyway.

Why bother with the early Church, though? The theology of the early Church is important to me because it was the church in the first four centuries of Christianity which changed the Western world.[12] It was the kerygma of that Church which led to the incredible and unparalleled evangelisation, which suffered under various Roman persecutions (even if the idea of constant persecution from Jesus’ death to Constantine is somewhat mythical) and endured the scorn of Jews, Greeks and Romans alike. This was the Church which, once being fed to the lions in Rome, came to non-violently conquer Rome spiritually. Therefore, this is true Christianity, which transforms sinful persons into willing servants of God, at least by the criteria of “bearing good fruit” that Jesus gives. If that transforming Gospel was Catholic – and I contend the early Church’s Gospel was effectively the Catholic one – then as far as I am concerned, that is the true Gospel.

I said I would not attack sola Scriptura as being unbiblical and ahistorical, but I ought to make one point: if one is to bow down solely to the Word of God, one better have a good idea what that Word is. Even if I grant that the consensus of the faithful is essentially enough to establish which books are inspired and which are not, it remains to be seen why one can simply remove seven books from the canon. Those who desire to be faithful to the Bible must, I imagine, be faithful to what the Bible is without making it what one would like it to be – because if one crafts one’s own Bible, one does not believe God but simply in oneself. The Bible throughout all Church history, however, by overwhelming consensus of the Church Fathers is that the deuterocanonical books are part of Scripture.[13] I mention this because one rather important step for me was first seeing how much the Church Fathers quoted these seven mysterious “other” books as authoritative, and then also reading from the second chapter of the book of Wisdom. The account is eerily similar to Matthew’s gospel’s account of the passion. Wisdom 2 is the sort of incredibly Christological part of the Old Testament that makes it clear that truly, the Scriptures testify about Jesus.

I thus far have, I think, established that sola Scriptura leads to disunity in the Church (a problem since the beginning of this doctrine) and have argued that this lack of unity invalidates Protestant claims to being a proper church. Though I myself have not included all of the discussion of these issues, anyone who bothers to read the works I have cited will understand, at least, my position. Furthermore, I proposed that true Christianity was that Christianity which transformed the West, and that it was quite clearly Catholic.

One final point remains for me indispensable: any real Evangelical Christian places a great emphasis on doctrinal purity,[14] and earnestly seeks answers either from their pastors or from the Bible. Now, being a highly individualistic person (unfortunately, I might add) and since I believed fervently, before the vaguest idea of my entering the Catholic Church had passed through my mind, in the doctrine of sola Scriptura, I had to check out all these claims for myself. For this reason, I have spent long nights reading the Scriptures, I have spent great lengths of time engaging with Biblical scholarship and more academic forms of theology. In the process I have learnt an enormous deal, I can understand far more ancient Greek than is normal (though I still do not understand very much at all), I am somewhat able to date the books of the New Testament by the usual critical methods scholars use today. I became relatively proficient in historical and form criticism – though any scholar would of course surpass me. More in the realm of theology, I discussed and argued endlessly with whoever would talk to me about it on issues of theological interest to me, ever wishing to ground my theological views in the very words of the Bible. Nothing was assumed, everything could be challenged and had to live up to what the Bible said.

By all accounts I have heard, though I am no expert on the person, there has been another figure that experienced something analogous though not identical to me: Martin Luther. The basic understanding I have been given tells of a man, an Augustinian monk, who could not keep the requirements imposed upon him, who was unable to “meet the Law’s demands.” Though he tried, though “his zeal no respite [knew]” he could not live up to the standard. Then he discovered he did not have to, in fact, that the Gospel essentially said he could not be good no matter how hard he tried – though he could through God’s grace. Certainly, he could do good things,[15] but being good is more than doing good things – being good refers to essence, not actions.

This experiential aspect is my third point, succinctly stated thus: by my own actions and zeal, I still seem incapable of being doctrinally orthodox. I can try and try, but I will probably always be wrong on many core issues on my own strength – something problematic if salvation involves a cognitive aspect. It seems to be the case that Luther understood salvation erroneously as an Augustinian monk, as if he had to earn his way to heaven, in short, a works-centred salvation. The analogy is particularly poignant because in many ways Protestantism (at least the form in which I was immersed) has a very orthodoxy-centred view of salvation: you could not be saved if one believed the wrong things, for instance –atheists  could not be saved, people who denied the divinity of Christ (like Jehovah Witnesses, or other Unitarians) could not be saved…one is required to believe “the Gospel” to be saved, and that is, in my view, an orthodoxy-centred view of salvation. For this reason, I suspect I will receive objections to my coming to the Church that are doctrinal in nature.[16] Nonetheless, I cannot on my own strength know what the Gospel is: I need someone to tell me.

Now, if that person is a Bible study leader or pastor, then that person must have some sort of teaching authority – which is effectively the Catholic Church’s claim in her Magisterium. If one rejects all such authorities except for the Scriptures, the Gospel can and does become a matter of personal interpretation. The obvious response is that the required guiding voice is the Holy Spirit – and indeed it is. Yet the Holy Spirit, I think, has used the Catholic Church as her means, and though the Holy Spirit obviously acts outside the Church, the diversity of theological views on any given topic clearly testifies that there is no clarity or infallibility guaranteed outside the Church. The words of St Augustine ring extremely true for me when he says that he would not have believed the Gospel except on the authority of the Catholic Church.[17] I require a living voice to tell me “this is what is true” and distinguish it from my own “this is what I think may be is true.”[18]

This living voice is actually also a voice against relativism. In what can perhaps aptly (though dramatically) be called doctrinal angst, I began to wonder whether I can be certain about anything at all in Christianity. Even if I thought that the Bible was infallible and inerrant, it seems that there is no mutual basis for agreement on what that implies: there were some who originally denied that Christ was equal and “ὁμοούσιος” (consubstantial) with the Father apparently on biblical grounds, and various scholars of the New Testament say this is the teaching of St Paul. How do I declare this a heresy? I can find support for such a position in the Bible (see Romans 1, or John 14:28, 1 Corinthians 8:5-6, etc.), yet I have been repeatedly told that Christ is not only divine but equal with the Father. It is not even by overwhelming consensus of the Church Fathers that one may hold to the commonly held Trinitarian view, as before the Council of Nicea which formally defined the doctrine of the Trinity, it is unclear whether the Church as a whole believed such a dogma, and almost certain that she did not believe it in the refined Nicene form. [19]

Most, though not all, seem to agree on the Nicene formulation of the doctrine of the Trinity, yet if I appeal solely to the Bible, how am I to know that there will not be a new interpretation of the Bible that completely overthrows traditional Christian understandings? If I rely simply on my ability to exegete, then perhaps there will be somebody who convinces many that their interpretation is correct. Whether or not such a person shall come is beside the point, what matters is that such a person could come – and if they could (the Reformation and subsequent history being a demonstration that it can) then I cannot be certain of anything in Christianity, not even what the precepts of Christianity are even if it were not true. I would instead have to remain in the realm of “probably” and “that is my current understanding” – even about the Trinity, since there are various ‘Christian’ groups which advocate some form of Arianism or Semi-Arianism.

Thus, it is within a Catholic context that I may bridge the “interpretive gap” – the Scripture is a true authority only when there is some means by which truth can be extracted from it, or in other words, some reason why the interpretation is just as divine as the divine words themselves. If the Word of God was, for instance, in Swahili, it would be of no use to me without an interpreter or translator: and in the analogous case we have in reality, the Holy Spirit acting through the Church is that interpreter.

In summary, my reasons have been essentially three: the Catholic Church provides unity and certainty by means of the Apostolic Tradition (both written in Scripture and orally transmitted), dates back to the first century and is thus, with the Eastern Orthodox Church, the only candidate for being the true “One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church,” and because having a clear certainty arising from the Magisterium of the Church in interpreting the Scriptures, I no longer have to feel the weight of remaining orthodox of my own accord and can indeed be certain of the Christian faith. I shall be confirmed, God willing, into the Catholic Church on the 27th of October, 2013 AD, and from thence I will be a Catholic Christian. In the much more succinct words of my brother in the Lord, St Augustine of Hippo:

"[T]here are many other things which most properly can keep me in [the Catholic Church's] bosom. The unanimity of peoples and nations keeps me here. Her authority, inaugurated in miracles, nourished by hope, augmented by love, and confirmed by her age, keeps me here. The succession of priests, from the very see of the Apostle Peter, to whom the Lord, after his resurrection, gave the charge of feeding his sheep [John 21:15-17], up to the present episcopate, keeps me here. And last, the very name Catholic, which, not without reason, belongs to this Church alone, in the face of so many heretics, so much so that, although all heretics want to be called 'Catholic,' when a stranger inquires where the Catholic Church meets, none of the heretics would dare to point out his own basilica or house"[20]

Promulgated on the Feast of St Jerome,
30th of September 2013 AD,
Brisbane, Queensland.


[1] Strictly speaking, since I do not think the epistle to the Ephesians was written by St Paul, I should refer simply to “the author of Ephesians” – but I will substitute Paul instead of that cumbersome phrase. It does not change my point about him being patron saint, since the Calvinist version of the doctrine of predestination can be read into Ephesians 1, and Ephesians 2:1-10 has a strong statement of salvation by grace alone which is sometimes used against straw-men of Catholic teaching.

[2] Though the New Testament uses the word “Church” in plural at times, it does not mean there are many Bodies of Christ. I suggest that the term “congregation” is a better translation in many instances of the Greek ekklēsia.

[3] Statistic taken from the Pew Forum report accessed: [http://www.pewforum.org/2011/12/19/global-christianity-exec/]

[4] “The Consistory of Geneva, 1559-1569,” Bibliothèque d’Humanisme et Renaissance 38 (1976): 467-484, cited in Anders, accessed 16/09/2013 <http://www.calledtocommunion.com/2010/06/how-john-calvin-made-me-a-catholic/#identifier_0_4918>

[5] Anders, ibid.

[6] R.C. Sproul, Grace Unknown: The Heart of Reformed Theology, p. 58.

[7] For an Evangelical treatment of the topic, particularly using a case study in South Africa:
Dreyer, Y., Zeindler, M., Case-Winters, A., Sadananda, R. & Weinrich, M., 2013, ‘Sola Scriptura: Hindrance or catalyst for church unity?’, HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies 69(1), Art. #2000, 8 pages. http://dx.doi.org/10.4102/hts.v69i1.2000
For a more scholarly treatment of Protestantism’s issues surrounding unity, again from a Protestant perspective, I have been recommended Alister McGrath’s Christianity’s Dangerous Idea, though I cannot myself recommend it as I have not read it.

[8] It is important to address why Eastern Orthodoxy does not feature in this dichotomy, for without the Eastern Church(es) this dichotomy is a false one: I am presently recounting my “road to Rome,” not giving a watertight argument for the Catholic Church. In my view, Roman primacy is sufficiently apostolic and the Catholic faith internally more coherent, as well as possessing more signs of being the Church of Christ, that it is the correct one above the claims of the Eastern Orthodox one. But I freely grant that the Eastern Orthodox Church possesses a powerful claim to the title of “One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church,” the marks of the Church given by Nicea. Perhaps erroneously, I am grouping the Anglican Communion with Protestantism for now, though Anglicans too deserve separate treatment, and also have an interesting claim to be considered.

[9] Accessible modern defences of the “historicity” of the Catholic Church tend to be popular and hence not entirely scholarly. Having said that, for an excellent scholarly treatment of the role of Mary in the early church, see Hugo Rahner SJ’s “Our Lady and the Church,” and for the Catholic understanding of Sacred Tradition and its basis in history see Yves Congar OP’s “Tradition and Traditions” and his “The Meaning of Tradition” For an introductory but still scholarly treatment of the role of the Church as authoritative, see “The Magisterium” by Avery Dulles SJ. It suffices to read the works of St Augustine whilst trying to remain unclouded by one’s own desire to read in Protestant soteriology to see the Catholic view of salvation contained in his writings. JI Packer, an Evangelical theologian, has noted that the Catholic view of justification is essentially the Augustinian one.

[10] This is the point in my journey where, I must admit, for the sake of rationality I ought to have included consideration of the Eastern Orthodox Church, but I did not. I will only consider Catholic claims because this is my “Road to Rome,” and I only paid proper attention to the Eastern Orthodox Church “once in Rome,” so to speak.

[11] The Mormons have the death of the last apostle, usually said to be St John, as that date of definitive corruption, others leave it as late as Constantine. One reason I find the Constantine cut off point interesting is that the Council of Nicea, where the orthodox understanding of the Trinity was established in creedal form, got given conciliar authority is after that historical fact.

[12] It has almost undoubtedly been the Catholic Church which shaped the Western world from then onwards, but since we are concerned presently with the myth of a Protestant church with heresies slowly being incorporated, I use this narrower timeframe.

[13] Though the consensus was overwhelming, it was not quite unanimous: St Jerome is a notable exception, and an exception that Martin Luther relied upon to rid himself of the books which he seemed to dislike. They probably had too much free will in them.

[14] This is deemed unfortunate by some who prize orthopraxis over orthodoxy, but I still maintain that truly believing the orthodox Gospel necessarily produces orthopraxis. Whether good or bad, however, it is true that Evangelical Protestantism is so. Various passages in Scripture, too, highlight the cognitive aspect, such as Romans 10:9-10:
"If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved."

[15] On many readings of Luther, particularly later in life, he seemed to think that practically all actions that we were able to do were sin – the best we could muster is to only sin venially. But that is irrelevant at present.

[16] There is no denial of grace here. I affirm that classical Protestant teaching and modern Evangelical doctrine both teach that faith, belief, and orthodoxy are all gifts of God’s grace.

[17] Augustine of Hippo, Against the Fundamental Epistle of Manichaeus.

[18] Whenever I make potential claims to truth, people point out that truth claims are dangerous. This seems to be a good objection only if one is somehow bound to only believe things which are practical, harmless, nice or useful. On the other hand, the truth (whatever it is), seems to be ignorant of any problems it might cause: whatever is true is true independent of its utility.

[19] The Trinity is a clear case of a doctrine maturing before being defined infallibly, in this case at Nicea. For an excellent study of how doctrines develop over time, becoming more explicit, see John Henry Newman’s “An Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine.


[20] Against the Letter of Mani Called 'The Foundation' 4:5

Saturday 28 September 2013

Though I Walk Through (Fortitude) Valley, I Will Fear No Beggar

Written for Social Justice Sunday, 29th of September, 2013 AD.[1]

I get off at the Valley railway station.

[i]It is a Thursday in the evening, as I walk through Brunswick Street to do some errands. People hailing from all parts of the world, particularly the neighbouring East Asian countries, bustle in the walkway going about their daily lives. The night brings people dressed in more expensive clothes, ready to partake in the Valley's night life. Some are wearing more formal dresses and suits, others seem to be going for sexual appeal - all seem to be getting ready for the entertainment the Valley brings.

Except not quite all. Looking a little more carefully at the people not rushing to get somewhere or huddling in large groups, some people are wearing rather inexpensive clothes indeed, perhaps sufficient for warmth in the upcoming months of Australian spring and summer, but barely enough to survive the ending winter. They seem to live on the streets, making surviving off the waste and generosity of others. Or perhaps they do have some accommodation – still, they barely scrape by the day.

One such person walks up to me now, a lady probably in her early-thirties, but looking closer to fifty years old. Her body looks fatigued, but her eyes dart rapidly around, as if she were paranoid about being attacked by someone behind me. We lock eyes and she, after looking at my chest for a split-second, approaches me with a little more energy.

“Spare a few bucks, mate?”

I stopped.

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Someone like me gets asked that sort of question around Brisbane daily and probably every other second somewhere in the world. I suspect that anyone reading this has been asked on the street for money – not just by someone busking, but by someone in financial woes.

When I talk to people about the issue of giving money to beggars, or giving alms in language that is more common in the Bible, what the saying that usually pops up is “give a man a fish, and he will eat for a day, teach him how to fish, and he will eat for a lifetime.” That sort of logic seems to me to be correct: giving in a way that produces sustainability is better than giving in such a way that produces dependence.

When Caritas International says something to the same effect, I nod my head. Browsing the financial statement for Caritas Australia, I can see that every cent in produces a cent out in targeted and wise relief and humanitarian aid.[2] However, when I talk to the average person about giving to persons such as the lady that approached me on that Thursday evening, I am more than often talking to someone who justifies not giving fish by fooling themselves that they will teach them how to fish.

The brilliance of using that line is obvious upon a little reflection: one is able to justify to oneself one’s lack of kindness by pretending that one is being truly kind. After all, those darting eyes probably came from spending the last merciful soul’s money on drugs, right? One can rationalize the competing desires to give alms because it seems right, and keeping the money because we like money, by making out that keeping one’s money is actually right! With all one’s generosity, one can now abundantly not give.

The utilitarians can stop reading now. Considering only the outcomes of the action, and given that utilitarians are practically obliged to give away the money anyway, their not-giving is more like the targeted giving of Caritas.[3] Though I used to be a utilitarian, I must say I fell too often into the trap of self-deceit and selfishness. I should have known better than to conjure up a rule that justified my doing what I really wanted to do anyway.

The Christian perspective on giving is dramatically different. Of all the numerous parables, discourses and sayings of Jesus about judgement, caring for those in material need is one of the most prominent: be it caring for Christian brethren in need (such as in Matthew 25), or the poor person in the street (such as the parable of Lazarus and the rich man). In fact, Jesus gives us the very clear command to give to whoever begs from us, right after  talking about turning the other cheek, giving one’s cloak after having one’s coat taken and walking two miles when forced to walk one:

"Give to him who begs from you, and do not refuse him who would borrow from you." (Matthew 5:42 – see comments here)

Anyone who refuses a beggar is, in a very real sense, sinning. But the reason we managed to convince ourselves that we were doing the right thing originally is that there was some truth in the fear that the money would just go towards making the lady’s eyes turn red, and it’s distinctly possible that this will be the case now.

Let me say a few words about people in material need who abuse drugs and alcohol: there may be very few people in the world who have more of an aversion to these two substances than me. For various cultural and personal reasons, substance abuse in all its forms is abnormally repugnant to me. It probably is to them, too. These people often abuse substances because forgetting their woes for a few hours, even a whole day, is often far more exciting a prospect than having some food. Particularly those involved in the sex industry, substance abuse can be the only way to get through the day. More generally to the question “what do you do with your pain?” that I heard asked to a group recently, the response was fairly quick: “get drunk.” Another said “Sex, drugs and rock and roll”. This is not a poor investment for many of them: it is an attempt to remedy something deeper, a reflection of the fact that “man does not live by bread alone.”

Suppose there’s a good chance any money given will be squandered on drugs – then is it OK to ignore the beggar? No. We followers of the Risen Lord have the example of Jesus to model our love on. Consider the recklessness with which Jesus graces us: imagine the angels giving counsel to God, saying “you shall give them the grace to do great things, and they shall squander it with sin!” I cannot speak for anyone else, but when God has given me much, too often I have used it all for my own gain. When, by the sheer love that Christ in his forgiveness has lavished upon me, I am pardoned of all my transgressions, when I am invited to dine with Jesus at the Supper of the Lamb, I frequently decline in favour of wrongdoing. So no, the chance, even a high chance, of misuse is not grounds for Christians to refuse alms.

I would go further and say that even the bank note in my wallet[4] is not mine by right, but instead mine by grace. St John Chrysostom famously said "Not to enable the poor to share in our goods is to steal from them and deprive them of life. The goods we possess are not ours, but theirs." The grace given to me in the form of wealth is in fact a chance to give it away to someone who needs it more. This grace of Jesus is the essence of the Gospel, and grace dies if it is not shared, that is, the Gospel withers in a person if it is not nourished by its proclamation by word and deed.

Money might produce temptation in a drug addict, so if we are fairly certain the person will misuse the funds, then are we justified in not giving? Almost, yet absolutely not. As I said, people in material need rarely take drugs because they are overflowing with cash. It is the rich-though-spiritually-needy who try to fill the holes in the soul with the extravagance of drugs, not the materially needy. So although giving money might produce the temptation which leads to sin – obviously a negative outcome – it is still the lack which ultimately produces the sin. We as Christians are not justified in not giving, now is the moment when we must give the most: now we must give instead our time, energy, mental strength, compassion, and not just our money. For instance, I have at times had the opportunity to go out for lunch and talk – or perhaps just listen – to people who usually get ignored because of the guilt they produce in us.

I, at least, must remember that the added energy that came to the lady after glancing down at my chest came from the hope she saw in the Cross of Christ which I wear around my neck. From there all my hopes come, from there her hope came. I should never disappoint, for I have never been disappointed by God.


[1] My gratitude to Marc who wrote an inspiring piece that I have borrowed in large part and recast as my own here. See his version: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/badcatholic/2013/09/giving-your-money-to-drug-addicts.html


[2] The Caritas Australia financial statement for the financial year ending 2012 can be found starting page 70 here: http://www.caritas.org.au/docs/publications-and-reports/annual-report-2011-2012.pdf


[3] For an understanding of why this is the case, see the "Demandingness Objection" - I would have said I was Singerian, though very poorly: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demandingness_objection.

[4] I am, as a university student, not exactly rich anyway, though I have far more than many and my parents provide for all my basic needs. Every so often, though, I do have some spare money in my wallet.



[i] Source for Image: http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/entertainment/your-brisbane/welcome-to-the-valley-australias-scariest-saturday-night-20091104-hy3p.html

Sunday 22 September 2013

The Third Creation Narrative (Genesis 5)

I wrote in late May about the supposedly dull genealogy at the beginning of Matthew's gospel (which can be found here), and it would seem that Genesis 5, entirely dedicated to genealogy, is another dull chapter. I think that appearance is misleading.

I had a look to see what some important Christian figures had said about this chapter to get a more rounded view, so I had a look at John Calvin's commentary on Genesis: nothing about the genealogy itself, just a little about the opening phrase and on the very ending, connecting it to the Flood, plus a paragraph or two on Enoch. This seems a general trend, though I only had a cursory glance. To remedy this, I would like to give a sketch of why I think Genesis 5 is a third creation account (after Genesis 1, Genesis 2) and why it is a fascinating story which sets the scene for the enigmatic verses at the beginning of chapter 6.

We must first ask a question: what does a creation narrative contain, and what issues does it seek to address? These accounts contain explanations of origins, of where the audience came from. Although the term is anachronistic if read back into the times of the ancient Israelites, they seem to set up a certain metaphysical perspective on the world, or more narrowly on humans' role in it. Thus, Genesis 1 presents a highly theocentric metaphysical view of the world, where everything is at a word away from God's command, everything is ordered and tidy, and humankind has a great dignity as well as the task to be fruitful and have dominion over the Earth. Genesis 2, on the other hand, which truly does stand alone in a sense (though is obviously made more rounded with Genesis 1) is a very anthropomorphic picture of God's hand in creation, with God hand-crafting humankind from the earth of the ground, and is said to "plant a garden in the east" (2:8). Combined we see God as entirely transcendent and beyond everything, and at the same time God as walking with us and bringing about growth in our midst - "imminently transcendent."

I propose that Genesis 5 is similarly a creation account: it begins with God once again being said to create man, in the likeness of God, male and female he created them, then he blessed them (v. 1). In this way, it echoes directly the similar statement in Genesis 1. Except unlike what we learn in Genesis 2, Adam is not said to father Cain, but Seth. Cain is completely forgotten, and interestingly, Eve is also forgotten - neither appears again in the Hebrew Bible, though they are both mentioned in the Christian New Testament.

In fact, there's not much mention of anything going wrong in Genesis 5 at all. The harshness of life suggested by the curse in Genesis 4 seems forgotten. The fratricide of Genesis 4 between Cain and Abel seems forgotten, as everyone seems to live peacefully. The line of Seth which came about almost as a fruit of that murder seems to be doing just fine. Calvin makes a long point about death, but I think for the original audience, un-immersed as they were in the eternal life and "death as the curse of sin" theology of centuries later after God's revelation in Christ, the long life and numerous children spelled peaceful success for the children of Adam in the line of Seth.

The line of Seth contrasts itself with the line of Cain directly as even the names resemble, or are even copied: Cain-Cainan, Enoch-Enosh, Irad-Iared, Mehujael-Mahalel, et cetera. Cain's Enoch had his name attached to a city, whereas Seth's Enoch walks with God. Lamech of Cain and Lamech of Seth also contrast similarly.

This would all be accomplished if the text said "lived a long life" after each patriarch, and left it at that. There seems to be no precedent for having details about when the first son (note the text has females but it is the first son which is mentioned in each case) was born or how old exactly the men were at their time of death. It indicates a great longevity - one I admit that I am unsure about - but it is nonetheless fairly superfluous.

What then are the numbers for? I dare say there is some of the typical symbolism in various of the numbers, such as the "perfect" 777 years of Lamech. These do not concern me presently, so I would instead like to point out three things which I find interesting which one discovers when one plots the lives of these men on a time-line:

I did not attempt to draw this entirely to scale, but the recorded events do occur in the correct order spatially.

First, note the green zone, where everyone in the line of Adam through Seth lives concurrently. Here the community of the line of Seth lives peacefully among each other, as far as we can tell, and coexist amicably with all their children. For about a century and a half, everyone from Adam through to Seth's Lamech coexist.

Then the red line, and this is the crucial second point: the curse of sin rears its ugly head, and death finally enters the world naturally. The murder of Abel was death at the hands of another human, and perhaps the curse was restricted to Cain's line, but suddenly this line is painfully aware of their own mortality. Close to a millennium since Adam came into the world, and now it is clear: humankind is destined to die.

I must stress this point of surprise, the jolt that comes from Adam's, and soon after Seth's death: it will be important to understand Genesis 6's cryptic starting verses, but it is even more important for understanding my third point: Noah is born into the mortal world. Note how the red line has everyone except Noah being born before the knowledge of humankind's mortality. Noah is the first person to be raised with the understanding that part of what it means for a person to live is that at some point they die. For everyone before him, death has been at most the consequence of active human violence. Once again, this will be crucial for understanding the figure of Noah throughout the Flood narrative.

To conclude, allow me to return to the idea of Genesis 5 as a creation narrative, and more importantly, how it answers the question that such an account raises: this genealogy presents humans as being first and foremost in the likeness of God, who created us and bestowed us with his blessing. Humans are fruitful creatures, who have children and live long lives. Except there's something horribly wrong - the reader knows full well that there was a curse pronounced on the first couple, Adam and Eve, and that life is therefore finite. This third and final creation account is practically an attempt at forgetting the weight of sin, at erasing all sin from history. This is why Eve, the woman who was tempted, is not mentioned, or Cain and Abel, or indeed anything evil. It thus foreshadows the Flood, where in a catastrophic way creation tries to renew itself by putting to death all the evil that has passed.

Yet it will not work. No amount of historical revisionism will suffice to change the fact that humans are mortal because of sin. With the Flood we shall see that even forcefully removing everything that has gone wrong in the past to try and start afresh will fail: sins must be forgiven, not simply forgotten. It will take the waters of baptism, not just of the Flood, gushing from the side of Christ on the Cross, to erase sin.


Note of gratitude: to the amazing work of Leon R. Kass that I discovered recently, many of whose comments are loosely paraphrased here. In particular, I refer to his commentaries in "The Beginning of Wisdom." He in turn claims to be indebted to Robert Sacks. Thanks to them both.

Sunday 1 September 2013

Your Father Who Sees You In Secret Will Reward You (Passages from Matthew 6)

After deepening the law to include the fullness of the moral law, Jesus turns now to three traditional forms of piety and condemns their misuse; they are almsgiving, praying and fasting. Chapter 6 thus begins:

Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them, for they will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven. (v. 1)

The logic of Jesus’ statement, which he will reiterate for each of the forms of piety, is this: piety is not done for the sake of men, rather for the sake of God. Of what use are these acts if done before men? They bring praise and recognition on the person doing them, which is to completely pervert the true reason for doing them.

Now, what is the true reason for acts of piety? The superficial answer is to get a reward from “your Father who is in heaven,” yet such an answer can easily be misunderstood. One might think that works of piety are a form of coercion of God, as if God were some sort of game-master who gives prizes to good contestants and punishes bad ones – this is far from the truth! We must understand that the use of the term “Father,” prefixed even with the possessive “your” makes this statement a profoundly relational one. We come to our Father as children, glad to give to our fellow siblings, glad to talk to him and give things up for him. Our actions demonstrate a child-like joy in our Father, and the loving reward that he imparts unto us ought to be understood in the context of a relationship between a father and his child – it is not something sought, but something received once again out of joy, whereby the relationship grows once again.

This notion of reward for works may always be a red-light for me, immersed as I am in a profoundly “grace alone” soteriology.[1] I must therefore make even clearer how these works of piety are not done by the merely human will. God does not owe us if we pray, or fast or give alms – we have no right to any reward, for between God and us there is an enormous inequality, for we have received everything from our Creator. In the words of St Augustine of Hippo: “Grace has gone before us; now we are given what is due… Our merits are God’s gifts.” Or the words of the Roman Missal: “You are glorified in the assembly of your Holy Ones, for in crowning their merits you are crowning your own gifts.[2]

These two notes – that the reward should be understood in relational terms, and that the reward is simply the association God freely makes between the works done by God’s grace and us – serve as a solid foundation for continuing on the examine what Jesus says about alms, prayer and fasting.

Thus, when you give alms, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (vv. 2-4)

The grace of God is freely given such that we may properly give alms – but we are only rewarded if we respond to that grace properly. Or more precisely, we must ponder: who do we want to receive the reward from? We may choose to notify hordes of people, and they might see how wonderfully good we have been, and when we are praised by them, we receive the fullness of our reward. Jesus asks us to instead to be God-centred, and so seek the fullness of treasure from God alone: thus, we must not parade our good works for the praise of others, but in secret give alms, almost not even knowing it ourselves, that we may not reward ourselves for our good deeds either. For our Father, who sees in secret, will only then reward us.

And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (vv. 5-6)

Once again, we ought not to display our goodness for the world, but instead be in secret with our Father in prayer. God alone must be the ultimate reason and recipient of prayer, and so to pray in public for the public’s approval is an absurdity of pride. This act showcases, moreover, the objective of piety, which is to build that relationship with God. It is an intimate thing, something to be done most often in private, in secret, much like two lovers that enjoy the secluded time of contemplation of each other. We shall examine the Lord’s prayer in another blog article, but it is important to make note of how prayer can take various forms: contemplative, petitionary, penitent,[3] laudatory, et cetera. Once again, all these must be understood in relational terms: God is the object of our highest love, the one to whom our lives must be orientated.

And when you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by men. Truly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by men but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. (vv. 16-18)

Fasting has a very interesting theology and history within the Jewish and Christian traditions, and it would be difficult to summarize very quickly all the different ways in which fasting is used as a form of piety. It can express dependence on God, penitence, exclusion to prayer, the conscious dethroning of our bellies as gods and idols…many things. Once again, fasting as a pious practice must be done for God and God alone,[4] not done to boost our vainglory.

Whereas almsgiving is intrinsically good, and meritorious when done with the right condition of heart, and as is praying, fasting is a means to an end and can be abused far more than the others. The prophet Isaiah, for instance, calls out the hypocrisy of some Israelites who are using fasting as a means to gain attention, and are displeased when they are unable to coerce God:

Is such the fast that I choose,
a day for a man to humble himself?
Is it to bow down his head like a rush,
and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him?
Will you call this a fast
and a day acceptable to the Lord?

“Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover him,
and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?
(Isaiah 58:5-7)

We may draw the threads together as so: God works in hiddenness often, yet sees all. We are to act always out of love for God, and recognize fasting, almsgiving and prayer in their proper place. God’s seeing in secret ensures that we ought not to parade our accomplishments in public, but allow the most important person to see them in secret. It also means that wrongdoing done in secret will also be seen – for those of us who are often deceived that sin done in private is barely sin at all, this commentary on where our good deeds ought to be done also issues a reminder that no place is secret from our heavenly Father, who sees all and judges in righteousness.

Such statements do not negate that we ought to be the light of the world, and not covered or hidden. As the Church of Christ, we are the manifestation of his glory – yet we as individuals ought not receive the praise due to God and God alone.

Before ending, I may also comment on how formulaic these phrases have been. Notice the deep structure in each of these statements – this is no accident. Undoubtedly, the Sermon on the Mount was first transmitted orally, and sentences like these serve as reminders of this – such statements are easily memorized and internalized, especially for heavily oral cultures like the ones that have existed up to fairly recently in human history. If I were attempting to apply historical criticism to these remarks, I think I ought to conclude that these refer to statements only slightly adapted – if at all – from Jesus’ original words. Stylistic differences between the original and that preserved here are most likely simply ones that would make the teaching easier to commit to memory.

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[1] Soteriology: the study of salvation. I wish to emphasize the alone – not that other orthodox soteriology is anything other than grace alone, but that for me, the free gift of God must be emphasized above all.
[2] See Catechism, section on merit, CCC 2006-2011. In particular, note the citation of St Thérèse of Lisieux, paragraph 2011.
[3] This is probably the one I have to do most frequently, unfortunately.
[4] Since probably the time of Gandhi, fasting has been used as a political tool for coercion as well as for spiritual and religious practices. Nowadays, “hunger strikes” are a form of protest, often separated for the spirituality that gave birth to the practice of fasting. These are fine in proper context, but I will not be addressing them presently.

Friday 9 August 2013

Time in the Evangelical Church

This is part II of a four part series. The others are (in order): Road from Unbelief, The Road to Rome, The Road Ahead.

It seems the case to me that even the most rationally inclined people have some reasons for their religious or irreligious position which goes beyond the purely logical or rational. Individuals simply do not exist independent of emotional, cultural, existential or other extra-rational factors. As an atheist, my position was intellectual but also useful, simple and easy, in addition to a certain feeling of rational snobbery that underlies believing that I had freed myself from humankind's religious yoke. This post will hopefully give an overview of my experience after sixteen months in the Evangelical tradition and what meta-rational reasons I encountered for being a Christian.

I had finished the previous part with new-found belief in the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, and how that led me to think I could aptly be called a Christian. However being a Christian, as anyone well knows, is rarely defined by "belief in the resurrection" - it is a position that has far more labels than that, and indeed by some people, even belief in the resurrection is not crucial to Christianity. Yet I would find it very difficult to believe in the resurrection without calling myself a Christian of sorts. I set about finding an explanation of why God would perform this miracle that made me Christian.

I made two mistakes which I recognize in hindsight: the shock of this belief made me throw all my rationality into the air for a moment, and I became a young Earth creationist.I also became a believer in biblical inerrancy without any other reason than that Jesus (who I now believed to have been resurrected) seemed to be revealed in the Bible.

The first rash belief I left within a week - the week of Easter 2012 when I visited Beulah for a rock climbing festival. I dropped it not so much because I came to the conclusion that the relevant texts did not prescribe young Earth creationism - after reading some more of the Bible I will quickly come to hold the view that science is perfectly legitimate, in line with most Christian denominations (see here) - but because I went about my day and found too many facts that contradicted that belief. Though I had rashly come to this belief, the burst of "maybe everything I know is wrong!" was quickly put down by reality. I hope readers will be understanding with my blunder: revolutions in world-view tend to have the effect of producing bizarre beliefs, and I am grateful that my error was short lived in light of the mind-boggling senselessness of young Earth creationism when it comes to reality. For my Christian brethren who disagree with me on this point, it is important to note that when somebody like myself comes to believe a proposition - in this case, "Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead" - by empirical means, one would be denying the very foundation of one's belief in that proposition if one then went on to deny empirical means. So any believer who believes because of historical evidence must in turn believe the truths discovered through scientific evidence, lest an incoherence be brought about.

The second belief is one I still hold, in some form, but the problematic bit is the phrase "without any other reason." I believed in what I would find out to be called sola scriptura without any epistemological warrant other than the view that since the scriptura talked about Christ, it must be right; a clear fallacy. About eight months later I would write about what I had come to think the real foundation for knowledge in Christianity is in the blog posts here and here (a position which I kind of retain, but with much more sophistication and without certain elements).

Nonetheless, those two issues aside, I thought that the central idea of Christianity was the forgiveness of sins because of the penal substitution of Jesus on our behalf. I got this idea in primitive form from a Pentecostal-Charismatic church (called "Hope Church") that I attended for a few weeks, and in a more elaborate form from Unichurch, which I almost accidentally walked into, in a sermon on Romans 3. I raised a question to the pastor there which would become a prominent issue on my mind a few months later, but I let it rest with "wait for Romans 6" at the time.

A philosophical note before I continue: as an atheist, I had been convinced that the only basis for morality in a secular framework (I wouldn't have dreamed of trying to think of what a non-secular framework might bring) was utilitarianism, and I still think this is the case. So I was a utilitarian, and as a relatively reflective utilitarian, I had noticed a problem: if the morally right action, and hence the obligatory action, was that one which maximized the greatest happiness for the greatest number, then the biggest problem I had was not that some of the outcomes were against my moral sensibilities, but that I did not do those actions which I believed.

It is a classical "problem" in utilitarianism that the obligations placed upon the utilitarian to act morally are enormous and go beyond what most think to be reasonable demands. Consider this: if I like ice-cream, and the ice-cream costs two dollars, may I buy it? No, because two dollars could save a life, and if not a life, then contribute towards much more happiness elsewhere. It is immoral to do anything that would not maximize happiness, and it usually turned out that what I wanted to do did no such thing. Yet I bought the ice-cream anyway. As an atheist, this is an incongruence, but as someone who now believed in the existence of God who cares about each person, who cares what I do...well suddenly I am in a bit of a pickle. For I have done wrong, and that has consequences.

It is sometimes said that modernity and post-modernity had done away with the idea of universal sinfulness in humankind, but I was convinced, since I seemed to able to indulge in my own pleasure and not able enough to live out the weighty demands of doing everything for the greatest happiness of the greatest number of people (some include animals and other sentient beings), that I at least was sinful. Which means that one of the core tenets of the Christian faith, which is that Jesus Christ came to address that very issue of sin in me, was not only sensible but also my only hope. If I was to have any hope of being in good standing with this God I had discovered, then he was going to need to forgive me.

Within this utilitarian framework, I therefore understood grace: I cannot be good enough to deserve favour with God,  I cannot claim that I have rights before God - I cannot even say I satisfied the minimum requirements of the moral law! Now, God's moral precepts are not explicitly utilitarian, but the notion that the demands of the moral law are the very maximum one can give meant that I was necessarily incapable, had I sinned even once, of being in good favour with God. Had I done everything correctly, were it even possible to never err in my deeds, I could merely claim that God should not punish me.

Throughout the almost one and a half years in the Evangelical church that I have spent, there is one thing that I hold to be both self-evident, undeniable and irreplaceable: sola Gratia. The Evangelical church has taught me much theology, many Reformed doctrines, pointed me often to the Scriptures, and yet that phrase, "by Grace alone," necessarily remains at the core of my Christianity, the condition without which none may plead for the mercy of God. What may we say before the throne of God when he asks "why should I let you into my Kingdom"? Kyrie Eleison! Any other answer is futile.

To finish, having read enough of the Bible to figure out conclusively that baptism was highly important, I pushed to be baptized, which happened on October 28th, 2012, at the UQ swimming pool. By that time, I could approve of the bolded parts of the Nicene-Constantinople creed (which is an expanded version of the Apostle's creed - both have a distinctly high Christology in light of the battle against heretical Christology):

I believe in one God, the Father almighty,

    maker of heaven and earth,

    of all things visible and invisible.

I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ,

        the Only Begotten Son of God,

        born of the Father before all ages.

    God from God, Light from Light,

        true God from true God,

    begotten, not made, consubstantial
       with the Father;

        Through him all things were made.

    For us men and for our salvation

        he came down from heaven,

        and by the Holy Spirit was incarnate

        of the Virgin Mary,
        and became man.

    For our sake he was crucified
      under Pontius Pilate,

        he suffered death and was buried,

        and rose again on the third day

        in accordance with the Scriptures.

    He ascended into heaven

        and is seated at the right hand of the Father.

    He will come again in glory

        to judge the living and the dead

        and his kingdom will have no end.

I believe in the Holy Spirit,

        the Lord, the giver of life,

    who proceeds from the Father and the Son,

    who with the Father and the Son

        is adored and glorified,

        who has spoken through the prophets.
I believe in one, holy, catholic,
     and apostolic Church.
    I confess one baptism for the forgiveness of sins
        and I look forward to the resurrection

        of the dead and the life of the world to come.