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262. The Light of the Church is the Light of Christ? A Belated Review of “The Light of Christ. An Introduction to Catholicism” by Thomas White

If it is true that only those who have truly delved into and assimilated a subject are capable of writing an introduction to it, this book confirms it. It is an introduction to Roman Catholicism written by one of the best-known and most profound contemporary Catholic theologians in the Anglo-American world. As rector of the Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas, Thomas J. White is a Dominican theologian who has authored important works on the Trinity and Christology, in which he reinterprets the intellectual tradition of Thomas Aquinas and Thomism in a modern context. Because of this organic connection to Thomas, White has also garnered some interest in North American Evangelical theological circles, which are particularly interested in the “retrieval” of the “great tradition.”
 
In the book The Light of Christ. An Introduction to Catholicism (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 2017), White sets out to reconnect the general public with the intellectual and spiritual richness of Roman Catholicism. He does so through an apologetic work in which the Catholic faith is presented in a catechetical manner, highlighting its internal connections and engaging in dialogue with various currents of modern thought. In the author’s words, “my goal is to outline in a few broad strokes the form of Catholicism,” highlighting “its intrinsic intelligibility or form, as a mystery that is at once visible and invisible, ancient and contemporary, mystical and rational” (23). In all of this, the Roman Catholic Church is seen as “the trusted teacher of human and divine truths” (23).
 
In the Anglo-American world, the book has circulated among well-educated people engaged in scholarly inquiry, helping to present Roman Catholicism as an intellectually sound and attractive option. It is interesting that it is now also being published in Italian,[1] perhaps in the hope that it will serve to attract the attention of students and intellectuals who no longer practice the Catholicism imposed by tradition, but whose journey of inquiry leads them to return to religion after experiencing the emptiness of secularization.
 
Thus, the book is a reasoned presentation of the Roman Catholic faith. The table of contents gives an idea of its catechetical structure and the breadth of the topics covered: faith and reason, God and the Trinity, creation and the human person, the Incarnation and atonement, the Church, its social doctrine, and the last things.
 
The discussion of faith and reason begins with one of the cornerstones of Thomistic thought: faith surpasses reason, but does not oppose it. In line with Vatican II, Scripture is believed to be inspired “for our salvation” (42) and therefore not in a plenary sense. Furthermore, White maintains that the Bible and Tradition are in harmony and mutually interdependent. In this fluid vision, the authority to teach lies with the ecclesiastical magisterium. For the Catholicism presented in the book, Scripture is “merely” (46) a book that is programmatically open to the “vital flow of apostolic tradition” (48), which is found in the Church’s tradition and which requires “a concrete structure of governance dating back to the time of Christ and his apostles” (49)—that is, the bishops and the pope. The guidance of the Holy Spirit is said to manifest itself within this structure. Here, the author caricatures the Protestant position (without actually citing it, even though he mentions John Calvin a few lines later) when he claims that it rejects tradition. For the Evangelical faith, it is not a matter of rejecting tradition, but rather of subjecting it to Scripture while recognizing its ministerial—rather than magisterial—role.

Regarding the doctrine of God, White addresses the question of the “proofs” of God’s existence, consistently drawing on the teachings of Thomas Aquinas. Appropriately, White states that the aim of this inquiry is “to establish that God exists,” even if this does not allow us to say much about what God is in Himself (75). At this point, the Trinity is introduced, and its doctrinal presentation is interwoven with the contribution of the tradition of Roman Catholic mysticism.
 
In the chapter on creation, while acknowledging that God confers being upon all existing things, White echoes the Aristotelian doctrine of the hierarchy of natures (vegetal, animal, human), remaining wedded to a theory of the scale of being that owes more to paganism than to the differentiated creation described in Scripture. Regarding the interpretation of the first chapters of Genesis, the author argues that the purpose of the narrative is to establish a metaphysics of reality, without any historical or scientific intent.
 
As far as anthropology is concerned, the doctrine of the “imago Dei” is affirmed, and an essential part of it is the original justice received. With the fall into sin, this original grace was lost, and human nature was consequently “impoverished” (116). A disharmony has crept into life in the form of ignorance, malice, weakness, and concupiscence (118). Despite the Fall, there remains “good in our nature” (121), and human beings remain “fundamentally good” (122)—fundamentally inclined toward the good and therefore open to salvation (201). At this point, White falls back into the caricature of Protestantism he had already slipped into earlier when he says that the “total depravity” upheld by the Reformers meant the complete loss of the image of God (121). False. The Reformation never taught that humanity had lost the “imago Dei.” By sinning, Adam and Eve irreversibly broke their covenant with God and placed themselves under God’s righteous judgment. Here again, it is regrettable that a theologian of White’s caliber should resort to a falsehood to attribute to the Reformation something that does not belong to it.
 
According to the Roman Catholicism presented in the work, sin has taken away original grace, but not the inclination toward the good. The latter is merely weakened and wounded by sin. Only an additional gift of grace can “complete and fulfill the human person” (122). Here we are immersed in the Thomist view of the relationship between nature and grace, but far removed from the Gospel’s perspective on the irreparable tragedy of sin. Later on, justification is viewed as an “infusion” of grace, but without any recognition of its legal significance (193–194). The relationship between nature and grace is one of the key interpretive frameworks of Roman Catholicism: a nature that is weakened but still good corresponds to the conception of grace as uplifting, with the Church mediating grace through the sacraments. This is the foundation of the type of Christianity defended in the book.
 
Regarding Christology, while White upholds the Nicene account of the person of Christ, with regard to His work he rejects the understanding of atonement as penal substitution, this time rightly associated with John Calvin (167). As for the presence of Christ, it is associated with sacramental activity, holy ministers, and the mystical body that is the Church (174–175), but not with His Word.
 
In outlining the Roman Catholic vision of the Church, the author places great emphasis on the “apostolic hierarchy” (179) and the “Petrine ministry,” which he claims was established directly by Christ (181). Once again, at this point, White takes a jab at Protestantism, claiming it has experienced many doctrinal divisions because it rejected the primacy of the pope (182). This, too, is a specious argument. Protestantism, though internally diverse, has maintained a degree of doctrinal unity regarding the fundamentals of the faith in the absence of the papacy, testifying to the fact that the Church is guided not by a human leader but by the Holy Spirit through the written Word.
 
Regarding the sacraments, White admits that their institution cannot be empirically proven (183), even though the Council of Trent states that all seven were instituted by Christ Himself.
 
As for purgatory, White admits that prayer for the dead is a “pre-Christian” practice (256), but then places it within church tradition, according to which we can pray for the souls in purgatory just as they can intercede for us (264).
 
It is in the concluding pages that we find a reference to the other axiom of Roman Catholicism, in addition to the aforementioned relationship between nature and grace. Reflecting further on the Church and quoting the 17th-century French Catholic and anti-Protestant apologist J.-B. Bossuet, White writes: “The Church is Jesus Christ extended and transmitted…Ultimately, the light of the Church is precisely the light of Christ” (271). This is a way of summarizing the heart of Roman Catholicism: the interconnection between Christ and the Church, in that the latter prolongs the Incarnation—no longer in physical form, but sacramentally.
 
One final note. Among the recommended readings listed at the end, there are several that belong to the realm of Roman Catholic polemical apologetics (Bellarmine, Bossuet, Francis de Sales, the Tridentine Catechism) directed against Protestants, demonstrating that this introduction to Roman Catholicism, despite its gentle and ecumenical tone, also carries anti-Evangelical polemics in its very DNA. This is to say that the Roman Catholicism skillfully presented here is distinct and distant from the Evangelical faith, not merely in some secondary doctrines, but in the overall framework of doctrine and life.
 

[1]La luce di Cristo. Un’introduzione al cattolicesimo (Roma: Città Nuova, 2026). I have actually read the book in Italian and the page numbers will refer to this edition.

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261. Reformanda Initiative Turns 10. Reflections on the Evangelical Engagement with Roman Catholicism

Note: This article summarizes the introductory talk given at the eighth edition of the Rome Scholars and Leaders Network (Rome, June 15–18, 2026).

Ten years are just the blink of an eye in the normal course of events. We shouldn’t attach too much importance to them. However, for Evangelical initiatives that originated in minority contexts and have an international profile, ten years is no trivial period. It was in 2016 that the first Rome Scholars Network (RSLN) was launched and the Reformanda Initiative (RI) began its work. In 2016 RI also launched “Is the Reformation Over? A Statement of Evangelical Conviction” which was signed by hundreds of Evangelical scholars and leaders. The statement helped Evangelicals see that the Reformation’s problems with Roman Catholicism are still current problems for Evangelicalism. Despite the same words used by Rome and Evangelicals (e.g. faith, grace, sin, salvation), Rome’s gospel is not committed to Scripture alone and to salvation by faith alone, and is therefore flawed. 

Aside from the two-year hiatus caused by the pandemic, the RSLN has met regularly ever since, with at least two hundred international Evangelical scholars and leaders participating. Over these ten years, there have been dozens of conferences and symposia in Europe and around the world, the publication of books in various languages, the launch of a podcast, and more, all sponsored or led by RI.

I would like to take this opportunity to reflect on the state of Evangelical theological engagement with Roman Catholicism and on how the RI has sought to contribute to it. Of course, my reflections are biased, since I have been involved with the RI since its inception, and they are impressionistic, as I will highlight some general points without delving into them in depth or documenting them academically. I believe three areas can be identified in which the RI has done significant work.

1. Call to Action: From a Blind Spot to a Field of Work
Over the past ten years, Evangelical interest in the Roman Catholic Church has grown, and RI has played a small part in this phenomenon. At the time of its launch, no Evangelical initiative worldwide was dedicated to studying Roman Catholicism. In Evangelical circles in general, there was a sort of blind spot. Roman Catholicism was—and is—everywhere, yet the Evangelical radar paid little or no attention to it. With few exceptions, seminaries and Bible schools did not offer specific courses on Roman Catholicism; mission agencies paid scant attention to the need to train their staff on how to engage with Roman Catholicism in an Evangelically responsible manner. Churches did not include any training on Roman Catholicism in their catechesis or discipleship programs. New books on the subject were few; those that did exist—if not outright obsolete—tended to rehash past controversies.
 
Ten years later, the situation has changed slightly—not solely because of RI, of course—but RI has played a small role in what has happened. It is necessary to briefly mention several factors that have contributed to this change:
 

  • The conversion of former Evangelicals to Roman Catholicism—certainly amplified by social media—has drawn attention to the fact that there are people who not only cross the Tiber in the right direction but also in the wrong one. That said, statistics continue to show that more people are leaving Roman Catholicism to embrace the Evangelical faith than are making the reverse move.
     
  • The growing visibility of Roman Catholic apologists who intentionally reach out to Evangelicals with their sentimentalized and selective view of Rome. Roman Catholicism has suddenly become trendy on social media.
     
  • The resulting reaction from Evangelical apologists (such as Gavin Ortlund and Wes Huff), who offer rebuttals and responses to the growing challenge posed by Catholic apologists. Ten years ago, only a few marginal Evangelical voices spoke about Roman Catholicism. Now it has almost become fashionable.
     
  • The general impression that Roman Catholicism is attracting the attention of younger generations as an alternative to superficial Evangelicalism and secular emptiness. One cannot even begin to understand the “quiet revival”—whatever it means and however it is defined—without having an idea of the appeal exercised by Roman Catholicism.
     
  • The growing popularity, in certain sectors of conservative theological circles, of the “great tradition,” championed by some eminent Roman Catholic theologians. All this excitement surrounding the “great tradition” has drawn attention to Roman Catholicism as the tradition that, more than any other, preserves it and claims it as its own.

Over the past decade, it has become clearer that Roman Catholicism is not merely a regional and local issue for Evangelicals in predominantly Catholic countries, but represents a theological challenge for Evangelical theology as a whole.
 
2. Epistemic Shift: From Particulars to System
In 2014, Gregg Allison published his seminal book Roman Catholic Theology and Practice. In it, he argued that Roman Catholic theology is a “coherent and all-encompassing system.” Not since Gerrit Berkouwer’s The Conflict with Rome (1948; English edition: 1958) had the category of “system” been used to address Roman Catholic theology in Evangelical books. Furthermore, Allison identified the two axioms of the Roman Catholic system: the interdependence of nature and grace and the interconnectedness of Christ and the Church.
 
Regarding the first, here is how Allison explains it: “Nature, while wounded by sin, retains a capacity for grace, and grace elevates or perfects nature. The two continue to operate interdependently” (p. 47). As for the interconnection between Christ and the Church, here is the summary: “Nature, being open to grace, is capable of receiving the grace mediated to it by the Church… This mediation also depends on the principle or law of incarnation” (p. 56)—that is, Christ sacramentally present in the Church. In his book, Allison addresses specific Roman Catholic doctrines as presented in the 1992 Catechism of the Catholic Church, but from the perspective of their systemic interrelationship and their derivation from the two axioms. This approach stood—and stands—in sharp contrast to Evangelical treatments of Roman Catholic doctrine, which are based largely on the analysis of individual doctrines alone.
 
Throughout its ten-year history, RI has served as a laboratory where this systemic approach has been tested and explored in depth. Rather than viewing doctrines and practices as independent units or elements, we seek to develop a systemic vision of the Roman Catholic Church. We recognize that everything Rome believes and does has a theological “DNA” consisting of commitments that operate across all areas of Roman Catholic doctrine and life. Although their impact may vary—from doctrinal aspects to devotional practices—with differing emphases and intensities, these commitments are omnipresent within the system, as they constitute the Roman Catholic Church’s epistemic infrastructure and operational perspective.
 
From a theological perspective, the Roman Catholic system is “flawed” and needs reformation in accordance with the Gospel. Such a reformation should address not only certain doctrines and practices, but Rome’s theological core, which lies at the intersection of the interdependence of nature and grace and the interconnectedness of Christ and the Church.
 
To borrow the title of Vittorio Subilia’s book (1962; English edition: The Problem of Catholicism, 1964), the problem with Catholicism does not lie in additions or subtractions that can be easily removed or reinserted. The problem with Catholicism is its system as a whole. Additions or subtractions are not Lego bricks that, once added, can be removed. They are elements that have become integral to the system. Roman Catholicism is no longer biblical Christianity with a few additions. It is not half Gospel and half additions. It is an integrated whole in which non-biblical additions define its fundamental vision and not merely its secondary and tertiary aspects.
 
Christ warns us: “Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees” (Matthew 16:6). Paul adds: “A little leaven leavens the whole lump” (Galatians 5:9). Rather than the result of various additions, the metaphor of leaven is appropriate for describing the problem with Roman Catholicism: a core of theologically and even dogmatically defined commitments that shape the whole. Considering the Roman Catholic Church as a system, RI has served as a laboratory where we have sought to observe the impact of the leaven of Roman Catholicism on the whole dough.
 
3. Theological Approach: From the Outcomes to the Heart of the Matter
A recurring theme, even in Evangelical analyses of Roman Catholicism, is that all historical Christian traditions (Roman Catholicism, Eastern Orthodoxy, various streams of Protestantism) differ in how they understand salvation (e.g., justification, renewal, deification) and the nature/role of the Church and the sacraments, but agree on the principles of the Christian doctrines of the Trinity and Christology. An example of this approach can be found in N. Geisler and R. MacKenzie, Roman Catholics and Evangelicals: Agreements and Differences (1995).

Although this is formally true on some level, a closer look reveals some cracks. The contrast between the traditions becomes most evident in the areas of salvation and the Church, yet both are organically and inextricably linked to Trinitarian doctrine as the core of Christian theology. As Gerald Bray states, “The great issues of Reformation theology—justification by faith, election, assurance of salvation—can be properly understood only against the background of a trinitarian theology which gave these matters their peculiar importance.”[1] In this context, the supposed consensus on the Trinitarian framework of the Christian faith turns out to be more limited than is often assumed.

All attempts to point to “Nicene Christianity” (i.e., unity based on the Nicene Creed) as common ground between Roman Catholicism and Evangelicalism are historically simplistic and theologically superficial. The way in which the Trinitarian framework is received, believed, and applied highlights a significant distance between the two traditions, despite formal points of agreement. The words used are the same, but the theological worlds they open up are different.
 
At RI, we have just begun to analyze the shift from approaching Roman Catholicism as theologically situated within soteriology and/or ecclesiology to addressing it at the level of Trinitarian foundations. In other words, the question is: Does the true, central, and essential problem of Catholicism lie in one or two doctrines, in one or two theological clusters, in one or two distinctive practices, or does it lie in its ultimate doctrinal presuppositions—that is, in the fundamental commitments concerning the confession of God as Trinity and what follows from it?
 
Concluding Remarks
Ten years have passed since the launch of RI. We are grateful for the small contribution it has made in reviving Evangelical interest in Roman Catholicism and in suggesting and advocating that the theologically most responsible way to engage with it is through a systemic approach.
We pray that RI will continue to serve the purpose of “uniting, equipping, and resourcing Evangelical leaders” to understand Roman Catholic theology and communicate the Gospel.

[1] G. Bray, The Doctrine of God (Leicester: IVP, 1993), pp. 197–198. On this crucial point see also M. Reeves, “The Holy Trinity” in M. Barrett (ed.), Reformation Theology. A Systematic Summary (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2017), pp. 189–216.

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260. Catholic and Evangelical Charismatics United?

Building a bridge between institutional Roman Catholicism and the Pentecostal and Evangelical churches. This is the mission of the Roman Catholic charismatic movement as described in Filippo D’Alessandro’s book, God’s Dream: Christian Unity in the Power of the Spirit (Italian edition: Il sogno di Dio. L’unità dei cristiani nella potenza dello Spirito, Rimini: Edizioni Rinnovamento nello Spirito Santo, 2026).

The author speaks on this subject with authority, as he serves as one of the regional directors of the Rinnovamento nello Spirito Santo (“Renewal in the Holy Spirit,” i.e., the Italian Roman Catholic Charismatic movement) and as one of its national delegates for Christian unity. The book brings together various contributions, all aimed at illustrating the purpose of charismatic ecumenism: in the words of Pope Francis during a meeting with Pentecostal pastors in 2020, it is a matter of “creating communion and collaboration among the various charismatic communities” (35). Or, in the author’s own words, “to create connections between our Pentecostal brothers and sisters and the priests and bishops in the region” and thus to serve as “a link” (200).

The book does not offer a history of the Roman Catholic charismatic movement that began in 1967, but it does contain several significant stories intertwined with the author’s biography, such as Pope Francis’s meetings with Italian and international Pentecostal leaders. The Pentecostal movement as a whole is viewed as a “current of grace” that cuts across denominational lines, and the baptism of the Holy Spirit associated with it is seen as an “ecumenical grace” (91).

In other chapters, D’Alessandro sets forth the Roman Catholic view of the charismatic experience. It is situated within the sacramental journey and is seen as an activation, a reawakening, or a “thawing” of the sacrament of Baptism. Therefore, in the Roman Catholic understanding, it in no way calls into question the hierarchical and sacramental structure of the Roman Catholic Church, nor the Marian dogmas and the devotions associated with them. So to speak, it integrates the charismatic experience into Roman Catholic life by adding something extra but taking nothing away.
 
D’Alessandro is an admirer of Pope Francis and particularly praises the encyclical Fratelli tutti (“All Brothers,” 2020), establishing the universal brotherhood regardless of different religions, and the Abu Dhabi Document on Human Fraternity (2019), signed jointly with the Grand Imam of Al-Azhar, where the diversity of religions is presented as the will of God. For him, ecumenical dialogue and interreligious dialogue, though distinct, go hand in hand because both express the catholicity of Roman Catholicism—its longing for the unity of mankind.
 
At times, his language is reminiscent of the Gospels (when, for example, he speaks of the communion of those who are “born-again,” 116), but the framework of his thought is Roman Catholic because being born again for him coincides with being baptized—not necessarily with being a believer in Jesus Christ. From a Roman Catholic perspective, every baptized person is born again regardless of his/her faith in Christ. But is this the case according to the Bible?
 
When offering suggestions on how to organize events and meetings with Pentecostal Evangelicals, he advises avoiding devotional expressions related to Mary and the saints, references to sensitive topics such as indulgences and purgatory, as well as Marian apparitions and private revelations (204). The intention, therefore, is—if not to conceal, then at least to try to downplay—the specific characteristics of Roman Catholicism.
 
Without wishing to question people’s good faith, one cannot help but wonder whether these practices are spiritually honest. Is dialogue truly being promoted if one lacks the courage to say and do the things one believes? Furthermore, how can Evangelicals who participate in these gatherings be so naive as to think that there is authentic Evangelical spirituality if the faith of Charismatic Catholics does not abandon the non-biblical—if not anti-biblical—elements of its creed and practice?
 
In the book’s introduction, Bishop Derio Olivero, president of the Italian Episcopal Conference’s Commission for Ecumenism, writes that the fear of ecumenism stems “from a fragile or poorly understood identity” (9). This is not necessarily true. In fact, the opposite is true. The more solid one’s evangelical identity is (i.e., grounded in Scripture and its message), the more one recognizes that ecumenical attempts which hide identities or cloak them in charismatic language without reforming them from within do not correspond to the Lord Jesus’ prayer to the Father in John 17. After praying: “they may be one, even as we are one” (v. 11), the Lord goes on to say: “Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth” (v. 17). Unity and truth go together. When true dialogue takes place, neither hiding nor camouflage should occur.
 
If a person is born again, born of the Spirit, and a disciple of Jesus Christ, the Roman Catholic baggage—composed of traditions that are foreign to and contrary to Scripture—must be reformed, not simply and tactically concealed. Saying this to our charismatic Catholic friends does not mean being opposed to dialogue. It means engaging in dialogue in truth, submitting all we are and do to the Word of God. Other paths to unity are shortcuts, perhaps useful for Roman Catholic ecumenism, but not for biblical unity.

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259. “Excommunicated!” When the Roman Prevails Over the Catholic

But how can this be? Roman Catholicism teaches that we are “all brothers” (Pope Francis’s 2020 encyclical), that we must bless everyone (the 2023 “Fiducia supplicans” declaration allowing the blessings of same-sex attracted people), that “todos, todos, todos” (all, all, all), all are children of God—and then…it excommunicates the newly appointed bishops and all the clergy of the Society of St. Pius X, who are more Roman Catholic than anyone else!?!

We’re used to a Catholicism that’s soft, understanding, inclusive, pluralistic, and accommodating. Today, hearing talk of “schism” and “excommunication” regarding the Society of St. Pius X seems incomprehensible and evokes centuries of history that seem to have been consigned to the past.

In fact, to a casual observer, what happened at the beginning of July is a facet of Roman Catholicism that, after Vatican II, we were no longer accustomed to. Yet it is a facet that is an integral and organic part of Roman Catholicism.

How can all this be explained? One must understand the markers of Rome’s identity. Catholicism, in addition to being “Catholic,” is also “Roman.” It is both at the same time. On the one hand, its catholicity is the ideal of universality, which goes hand in hand with an attitude that embraces diversity. On the other hand, its Roman identity embodies the institutional dimension expressed in the hierarchical-sacramental structure centered on the papacy.

On the one hand, it absorbs; on the other, it controls. Thus, Rome can incorporate the charismatic movement, tolerate dissenting Catholics, fraternally embrace followers of other religions, show understanding toward LGBTQ+ people, make room for the German synodal path (with its progressive impulses), incorporate the Andean fertility goddess such as Pachamama, and approve new Marian apparitions…provided that the hierarchical-sacramental structure remains untouched and the prerogatives of the “Roman” system are not threatened.

This is precisely what happened with the Society of St. Pius X. It is not their traditionalism, nor their criticism of Vatican II, nor their nostalgic interpretation of Roman Catholicism that poses a problem. In Roman Catholicism, there is room for this and much more, both on the right and on the left of the spectrum, on the traditionalist side as well as on the progressive side.
 
What led to the schism was the challenge posed to the “Roman” system. By ordaining four bishops without the Vatican’s authorization, the Society of St. Pius X claimed for itself a right that Rome considers its exclusive and non-negotiable prerogative. As long as it comes to opening space for new interpretations, diverse experiences, multiple perspectives, and varied theological and ethical paths, Roman Catholicism is welcoming, and its broad embrace expands even further. 
 
On the contrary, when the system feels its “Roman” prerogatives threatened, the harsh reaction we have witnessed unfolds: the excommunication because of “schism,” with all the canonical consequences.
 
The relations between the Roman Catholic Church and the Society of St. Pius X have a turbulent history marked by decades of bitter debate. As long as the issues remained within the realm of Vatican II interpretations, the room for maneuver allowed relations to be maintained. Now, however, the dispute has shifted to the realm of the “Roman” structure, and Rome has shown its intransigent face.
 
What does all this remind us of? It reminds us that Roman Catholicism is both Roman and Catholic. Always. Anyone who looks only at the “catholic” aspect and not at the “Roman” one (and vice versa) has understood little or nothing.
 
Since we’re talking about schism and excommunication, our thoughts inevitably turn to the Protestant Reformation. Luther was excommunicated and charged with the sin of schism. If Martin Luther had limited himself to calling for a moral reform of the clergy, a renewal of the Church’s teaching, or the formation of a new religious order, even then Rome’s catholicity would have been capable of assimilating those demands. The crux of the Reformation was that the “Roman” heart—the imperial/hierarchical/sacramental construct at the center of the system—needed to be reformed according to Scripture. This triggered Luther’s expulsion by the then-Pope.
 
Roman Catholicism oscillates between the Roman and the Catholic. Its catholicity is not defined by biblical standards, but by the preservation and implementation of its Roman interests.

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258. In or Out? Roman Catholic attitudes towards the Christians “on the threshold”

“I’m Catholic, but I don’t go to church.” “I’m Catholic, but in my own way.” “I’m Catholic, but …” How many times have we heard friends or neighbors say these things? These are people who, while they continue to identify with a vaguely defined religious identity – in this case Roman Catholicism – do not fit into the traditional features associated with the practice of that faith.
 
Around the world, there are many different kinds of Catholics. They used to be called “nominal” Christians, “non-practicing” Christians, “cultural” Catholics, etc. The book by Livio Tonello, Roman Catholic professor of Pastoral Theology at the Theology Faculty in Padua (Italy), Il respiro di Dio. Tra i cristiani “della soglia” (Padua: Messaggero, 2026: The breath of God: Among the Christians on the threshold), calls them “Christians on the threshold.”
 
The threshold is that intermediate space between the inside and the outside that is generally crossed to move from one place to another. One does not linger on the threshold, but transits through it. Yet many Roman Catholics, instead of passing through the threshold, make it their permanent dwelling place. They remain there. Neither outside nor inside. The threshold becomes their spiritual home.
 
Tonello describes the Christian on the threshold as follows: “They are no less believers than in the past, but in a different way; they are no less spiritual, but not within an institution; they are no less in need of signs and rituals, but resistant to continuity. They are still searching their identities; distrustful of the institution but open to mystery; indifferent but not hostile; distracted but not closed off” (10).
 
The Christians on the threshold are not found only in the Roman Catholic world. Even the recent phenomenon of the “quiet revival” in Northern European countries does not seem to be bringing people back to traditional denominational practice, but rather to moving within the threshold of the search for the sacred. It is a movement that stays within the parameter of the threshold.
 
The Roman Catholic Church has long sought to decipher this phenomenon and respond to it by launching the “New Evangelization” project and updating its patterns of pastoral care. The former tries to reach out to people who have been baptized in the Roman Catholic Church but have lost contact with it. In his book, Tonello reflects on the need to work hard on the pastoral approach to them by suggesting three images of humanity: “homo viator” (the man on a journey), “homo religiosus” (the religious man), and “homo peregrinus” (the pilgrim man).

People are, by definition, on a journey; what happened is that the path has become eclectic, open-ended, and no longer predetermined. As for the religious mark of humanity, it remains a constitutive trait (“homo naturaliter religiosus”) of what it means to be human, but the established codes and patterns of religious identity have been replaced by the more fluid ones of holistic spirituality. Finally, pilgrimage is another hallmark of life, except that contemporary man has become more of a nomad or wanderer than a pilgrim. The destination of the journey no longer exists.
 
In the wake of Pope Francis’s call to be a “church that goes forth” (Evangelii Gaudium, n. 20), Tonello seeks to outline a Roman Catholic pastoral approach that engages those on the threshold and within the gray zone of belief. Roman Catholicism has some cards to play in reaching out to Christians on the threshold, e.g. medieval pilgrimages now back in vogue, shrines as places of spirituality, rites and devotions that allow for varied forms of participation, youth and family initiatives as spaces for social interaction, an online presence that invites dialogue, and so on.
 
The approach taken by Tonello is soft: it involves “envisioning a Christianity that becomes part of the culture without presenting itself as a counterculture” (123). The goal is not to challenge, but to accommodate. Not to shake things up, but to go along with them. Not to invite people to choose, but to encourage hybridity. Not to become cold or hot, but to stay lukewarm. The hope is not to overcome the threshold but to give it Christian legitimacy.
 
Behind this take on the Christians on the threshold lies an entire conception of Christianity steeped in sacramentalism. For Roman Catholicism, in fact, even Christians on the threshold are people who express “a spirituality of the baptismal priesthood lived out in daily life” (174).
 
In other words, they are already on a journey of grace that must be accompanied. The sacramental journey, begun with baptism, is nonetheless active even in the space of the threshold. In the various facets of the threshold, “there remains a way of being Church because the Spirit manifests itself in diverse subjectivities, both individual and collective, whose culmination is Eucharistic subjectivity” (66).
 
Translated: From the moment of baptism onward, one is a Christian and remains so forever. The Eucharist (that is, the “source and summit” of the Christian life: Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 1324) is merely the culmination of the Christian life, but there are countless other ways to live it differently, even outside of traditional beliefs and practices. Once initiated through baptism, according to Rome, Christianity is a dynamic, evolving (even devolving), and graded continuum that can go forward and backward, upward and downward, closer and further. If, before Vatican II, Roman Catholicism fenced its boundaries by encouraging an identity-based understanding and practice of Roman Catholicism, after Vatican II, it legitimizes the religious threshold and, indeed, considers it a permanent place where everyone can find their own niche.
 
The threshold space allows Roman Catholicism to make room for all people, even outside of Christianity. According to Vatican II, “For by His incarnation the Son of God has united Himself in some fashion with every man” (Gaudium et Spes, n. 22), and this is one of the reasons why Rome can speak of all men and women as “all brothers,” as Pope Francis entitled his 2020 encyclical. So the threshold is not only a metaphor for lapsed and nominal Catholics, but for people of all faiths or of no faith.
 
Regardless of one’s view on baptism, the biblical Gospel has a different take on the threshold: with regard to the kingdom of God, one is either inside through conversion to Christ or outside, even if nominally “Christian” and occasionally connected to the church. Either here or there. For the Gospel, the threshold is a place of transition, not of lingering. It is a one-way passage, not a platform where one is supposed to remain.
 
Can someone be a disciple of Christ, build his spiritual home on the threshold and never decide to follow Jesus, no matter the cost? Hardly so. Being on the threshold means being on the other side of the kingdom. Perhaps close, but beyond the line.
 
A follower of Christ on the threshold is an oxymoron. One can be a sympathizer, one can be searching, one can be hesitant, one can be perplexed… but one is either on this side or that side of the kingdom of God. If someone wants to stand on the threshold and does not want to cross it, she is actually still on the other side. The church patiently and kindly waits for people to cross the threshold but is not supposed to build theological and spiritual infrastructure to keep them comfortable in it.
 
With kindness, tact, and patience, everyone must be reminded that Christianity is not a seasonal religion, nor just any old store where one occasionally shops. Either you embrace the Gospel on the Gospel’s own terms, or you reject it. It is not baptism that saves; it is Jesus Christ who converts hearts, not by keeping them entangled on the threshold, but by calling them to enter definitively into His kingdom.