Vatican Files

Why on earth is a religious event that took place 60 years ago still passionately debated? Most Evangelicals are puzzled when observing the theological and emotional involvement many Roman Catholics show when thinking about the Second Vatican Council (or Vatican II). Evangelicals may hold the 1974 Lausanne Congress on World Evangelization in high regard,[1] but their investment in discussing the texts and the spirit of the Lausanne Movement is only remotely comparable to the heat generated by the legacy of Vatican II in Roman Catholic circles.

Vatican II: Great Grace or Cause of all Problems?
On the one hand, it was no less than Pope John Paul II who bluntly stated that Vatican II is “the great grace bestowed on the Church in the twentieth century: there we find a sure compass by which to take our bearings in the century now beginning.” (Apostolic Letter Novo Millennio Ineunte, 2001, n. 57). On the other, there are sectors of the Roman Church that are cold toward the Council, if not critical of its outcomes. The issue of what Vatican II means for Roman Catholicism is still at stake.

Since the beginning of January, Pope Leo XIV has been focusing on the main texts produced at the Council in his Wednesday morning General Audiences given in St. Peter’s Square. In so doing, he is signaling the permanent relevance of the Council for the Roman Catholic Church and providing his own interpretation of it.

Meanwhile, the theological discussion on Vatican II goes on relentlessly. One of the recent contributions from a group of Italian Roman Catholic theologians is the collection of essays edited by Marco Vergottini, Al cuore del Vaticano II. Una rilettura teologico-fondamentale (Brescia: Queriniana, 2026; English translation: At the heart of Vatican II. A theological-fundamental re-reading).

In its four chapters, the book opens some windows on the most important documents, i.e., the four constitutions on divine revelation (Dei Verbum), on liturgy (Sacrosanctum Concilium), on the church (Lumen Gentium), and on the church in the modern world (Gaudium et Spes).

More than touching on the details of each chapter, what is interesting is to appreciate how the whole reception of Vatican II is framed, especially as far as the “heart” of the Council and its significance for the present-day Roman Catholic Church is concerned.

Beyond the Conflict of Interpretations
Here is the gist of the reflection echoed in the book. The aftermath of Vatican II has been characterized by an ongoing conflict of interpretations. After the first phase, when the texts of the Council were commented on in the context of a very positive attitude towards them and in view of the application of its deliberations, later decades have seen the emergence of a critical reading of the Council, sometimes presented as a “rupture” from the established tradition. Examples of this tendency can be found in the five-volume History of Vatican II edited by G. Alberigo, 1995-2001, and the five-volume Herders theologischer Kommentar zum Zweiten Vatikanischen Konzil edited by P. Hünermann and B.J. Hilberath, 2004-2006.

This reading, which stressed the discontinuity between Vatican II and the pre-Vatican II Church, was opposed by an anti-conciliar sentiment that spread in traditionalist circles. In their eyes, Vatican II was seen in negative terms and as the cause of all problems. Other interpretations wanted to read Vatican II in merely pastoral terms, as if the Council wanted to update the language of the Roman Church and build bridges with the modern world, but not change its doctrinal posture and traditional practices.

The tension (at times, the chaos) generated by these discussions led Benedict XVI, in his 2005 Address to the Roman Curia, to move beyond polarization by suggesting a mediation in the “hermeneutics of reform” formula. In pure Roman Catholic style, the two extremes (i.e., discontinuity and continuity) were questioned and replaced with a dynamic category of renewal within the tradition that would account for the developments of the Council while remaining committed to the dogmatic outlook and the self-understanding of the Roman Church inherited from the past.

Vatican II as an “Open” Structure
The book wants to highlight the strategic importance of this dynamic principle both in the drafting of the documents and in their subsequent reception, whereby updating and fidelity are not to be pitted one against the other, but combined in a Roman Catholic, organic way.

Looking at Dei Verbum in particular, here is how it works: Vatican II absorbed some fundamental principles of the two previous Councils (i.e., Trent and Vatican II), yet wanted to overcome their controversial and apologetic thrust (p.60). In the words of Vatican II itself, “sound tradition” must be retained, and yet “the way remain open to legitimate progress” (Sacrosanctum Concilium, n. 23).

As far as the Church is concerned, the inherited rigid vision of the Church as the hierarchical perfect society is reiterated, yet expanded to include the importance of the laity in the logic of an ecclesiology of communion rather than mere obedience. In this sense, Vatican II adopted an “open structure,” no longer driven by the desire to separate and divide that was prevalent in past Councils, nor by the impulse to compromise between traditional and progressive positions. Rather, it was guided by the power of navigating “between” polarities.

The Roman Catholic move is not an attempt to choose between positions, but to connect them according to the principle of “hospitality” (p. 164) guaranteed by the Roman Catholic conciliar dynamic system.

Two Lessons
What can Evangelicals learn from these Roman Catholic debates? At least a couple of points should be mentioned.

First, Evangelicals need a better grasp of what happened at Vatican II, what was produced then, and how it has been received in the Roman Catholic Church. In the past, much attention has been given to Trent (and rightly so), but less attention has been paid to Vatican II. Today, many Evangelicals can be confused about what is going on in Roman Catholicism because of a lack of awareness over the last 60 years. Developing an Evangelical analysis of Vatican II is still a work-in-progress, and homework needs to be done. The danger is to have either outdated, static views of Rome or unwarranted, evangelically hopeful perceptions of it. As the book indicates, Rome evolves in history while remaining committed to itself. Becoming acquainted with the different Roman Catholic voices discussing the legacy of Vatican II is a step forward toward a more theologically mature Evangelical interpretation of it.

Second, as intuitive as it may sound, the “Traditional vs. Progressive” grid does not fully fit the reality of Roman Catholicism. It probably fitted the “Conservative-Liberal” divide within 20th-century Protestantism, but it does not neatly apply to Rome. Roman Catholicism has its own way of handling its movements through history. Yes, there are traditional voices, yes, there are progressive tendencies, but the overall direction is not driven by the polarization between the two. One needs to come to terms with the dynamics of the Roman Catholic system that is Roman (i.e., faithful to its centered structure) and Catholic (i.e., open to ongoing absorptions) at the same time.

Since the biblical Gospel is not the ultimate criterion, the Roman Catholic system is governed by its self-defined Tradition (which swallows the Gospel and does not submit to it) and can oscillate between the Roman and the Catholic poles. Instead of applying the “Traditional vs. Progressive” opposition in a simplistic way, Evangelicals should study the inner dynamics of Rome that allows it to change but not reform itself according to Scripture.

[1] E.g., The Lausanne Movement: A Range of Perspectives, edited by Lars Dahle, Margunn Serigstad Dahle and Knud Jørgensen (Oxford: Regnum Books International, 2014).

The blood of Saint Januarius in Naples. The tongue of Saint Anthony in Padua. The head of John the Baptist in Rome. The tail of the donkey ridden by Jesus in Genoa… Welcome to the imaginative world of Roman Catholic relics. Many Catholic churches hold relics of various kinds and origins that have been venerated for fifteen centuries.

As material objects, relics are fragments of bones, limbs (arms, legs, fingers), organic tissues and textile fabrics, and various objects that belonged to figures from the Gospel or church history to whom the Roman Catholic Church attributes a role in pointing people to God. Since these objects come from or have been in contact with “saints,” they are considered capable of transmitting a sense of divinity or holiness to those who venerate them (by going on pilgrimage, touching them, or praying in front of them).

This is how Rome explains the reason for relics: “Relics in the Church have always received particular veneration and attention because the body of the Blesseds and of the Saints, destined for the resurrection, has been on earth the living temple of the Holy Spirit and the instrument of their holiness, recognized by the Apostolic See through beatification and canonization.” [1]

A new and fascinating book by historian Federico Canaccini, Sacred Bones: Stories of Relics, Saints and Pilgrims (Italian edition: Sacre ossa. Storie di reliquie, santi e pellegrini, 2025), tells the history of how objects and bones became religious relics.

The question that prompts the book is the following: If the Christian faith starts from the empty tomb of the risen Lord Jesus, why has Roman Catholicism filled its churches with objects to be venerated?

If the Christian faith relied on the eyewitness testimony of those who saw the risen Jesus and then wrote the books of the New Testament as “proof,” why did the Christian masses go in search of artifacts to help them believe?

If apostolic teaching says that “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7), why has Roman Catholic imagery filled itself with things to see, touch, and kneel before?

The book shows how the “Constantinian shift” of the fourth century changed the face of Christianity by adding the collection and veneration of relics to Christian spiritual practices. After Constantine became emperor, his mother, Helena, organized an expedition to Jerusalem to search for objects and artifacts related to the history of Jesus with which to fill the temples that were being built throughout the empire.

From that expedition, Helena brought back the wood of the cross, the nails of the crucifixion, hairs from the Lord’s beard, etc., effectively “creating” the phenomenon of Christian relics and introducing into Christian life the idea that they were “charged” with holiness that could be transferred to the faithful.

The phenomenon of relics thus arose during that complex and sadly decisive transformation of Christianity from its post-apostolic phase (still largely anchored in biblical teaching) to its “Roman” phase. It was a transition in which Greco-Roman religious beliefs were covered with a Christian veneer, rather than being challenged by the Gospel and reformed accordingly.

Instead of following the words of the Lord that “blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29), the Christianity of relics changed the rules of engagement of faith: From listening to the Word to viewing objects, from the mediation of the risen Lord Jesus to that of saints and other mediators, from the presence of the Holy Spirit to the touch of artifacts.

Canaccini’s book is a fascinating journey through the history of relics and documents how, from Helena onwards, Roman Catholicism was swept up in a frantic search for relics, to the point of becoming a factory for them. The author also appropriately reports the devastating criticism of the Protestant Reformation (above all, John Calvin, who wrote a “Treatise on Relics” in 1543), which contested not only the abuses associated with relics but also their biblical legitimacy.

Canaccini seems to understand Protestant criticism but remains within the narrative of relics as fulfilling a deep anthropological need—that of contact with the sacred through an object considered close.

Here, there is a fundamental choice. Roman Catholicism chooses to accommodate its religious offer to the quest for tangible objects mediating the sacred. In theological terms, Rome integrates grace into nature, elevating it to a supernatural level. From this perspective, relics are felt as a necessity of nature, and grace responds to the need for contact with the divine through the relics of saints. This happens in analogy to the way Roman Catholicism believes that the Eucharist is the “real” presence of Christ, whereby the bread and the wine are transubstantiated (i.e., the nature is changed into the body and blood of Christ).

Roman Catholicism understands grace as being transmitted by means of objects (wine, bread, oil, water, sanctified altars, relics, etc.) that are “sacraments” or “sacramentals”. Relics are among those graced “objects” that can administer grace as part of the sacramental system.

The Evangelical faith is different; based on Scripture, it knows that “faith comes from hearing the Word of God” (Romans 10:17) and that faith is “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). It also believes that “by grace we are saved through faith” (Ephesians 2:8). Jesus Christ is truly present through the Holy Spirit in the signs He left behind (baptism and the Lord’s Supper), but not in objects imbued with the divine.

Ultimately, the choice is between religious anthropology filtered through Greek thought and cloaked in Christianity, i.e., the Roman Catholic option, or the biblical Gospel that renews one’s entire life, i.e., the Evangelical option. Relics are the symbol of the former, not the latter.

[1] Instruction “Relics in the Church: Authenticity and Preservation” (2017) issued by the Congregation for the Causes of Saints.

Posts

253. Vatican II, 60 Years After and Two Lessons for Evangelicals

252. Sacred Bones? Why Roman Catholicism Needs Relics