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252. Sacred Bones? Why Roman Catholicism Needs Relics

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.

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251. Watch out 2033, the “Omega Point” of the Ecumenical Movement

February 1st, 2026

As expected, the highlight of the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea was the ecumenical prayer on November 28 presided over by Pope Leo XIV at the ruins of the church of St. Neophytus in Nicaea (today the name of the town is Isnik), where the Council meetings were held in 325 AD.

The ceremony was sober, but the language used was solemn. Above all, the symbolic meaning of the event was charged with “historical” significance, not only because of the reference to the important anniversary, but above all in view of further steps in the ecumenical journey.

The point reached in that celebration had been long in preparation: it was a question of using the centenary of Nicaea to enhance the “common faith” expressed in the Nicene Creed and to consolidate the idea that all Christians are united because they recite the words of that ancient text together. From an ecumenical perspective, differences are seen, if anything, as subsequent interpretations of secondary aspects that do not undermine the common basis. The risk is clearly to exploit Nicaea and use it as a pretext for purposes other than a deeper understanding of its contents.

The question that was not asked (but its positive answer only assumed) is: In what sense the Nicene creed is the basis for ecumenism? The reality is that while different poeple can affirm – and even recite – the words of the Nicene Creed together (e.g. remission of sin, Mary, church), they mean different things according to their different theological frameworks and church’s allegiances.[1] Evangelicals want their faith to be not only loosley attached to Scripture, but under God’s Word and always open to be corrected by it.

Of course, on November 28 the Roman pope was symbolically at the center of the scene, the point of connection between everyone, flanked by the Patriarch of Constantinople Bartholomew and other ecclesiastical dignitaries seated behind him in lesser roles. The only notable absentee was the Orthodox Patriarch of Moscow, Kirill, at odds with the “good” ecumenical world for his support of the Russian war against Ukraine.

In any case, it was a theatrical representation of contemporary ecumenism: all united around the successor of Peter, the Roman Pope, the only dressed in white.

That said, what happened in Nicaea is, on the one hand, a point of arrival, but on the other, it is only one step in the ecumenical trajectory. The direction was indicated by Pope Leo himself during the flight to Lebanon, the second stop on his first international trip.
 
Speaking to journalists, Pope Prevost said of the meeting in Nicaea with ecumenical leaders:
 
“Yesterday morning we spoke about possible meetings in the future. One would be in the year 2033, two thousand years after Redemption, the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, which is obviously an event that all Christians would like to celebrate. The idea was well received. We have not yet made the invitation but there is a possibility of celebrating this great event of the Resurrection, for example in Jerusalem in 2033. We still have a few years to prepare for it.”
 
2033, precisely. This is the next strategic step in the journey imagined and planned by the ecumenical movement at large. Nicaea 2025 was only the rehearsal in preparation for Jerusalem 2033. The great evocative power of the celebration of the 2000th anniversary of Christ’s Resurrection and Pentecost will be put at the service of what could be the ecumenical movement’s final coup: having representatives of all Christian bodies gathered by and around the Roman Pontiff all celebrating their “unity” and having spiritually and theologically “reconciled” relationships.
 
The kind of unity that will be promoted in 2033 will also involve some kind of recognition of the global and transversal (albeit differentiated) role of the Roman Pope for all denominations and boides on the basis of a theology that considers the “solas” of the Protestant Reformation to be definitively overcome.
 
For those who participate in the initiatives planned for 2033, it will no longer be “Scripture Alone,” but Scripture elastically understood as to include tradition, even those traditions which run contrary to the biblical message (e.g. the Marian dogmas, the “imperial” papacy). No longer “Faith Alone,” but faith that is not sufficient to receive the gift of salvation and needs to be supplemented by human works and the sacraments administered by the church. No longer “Christ Alone,” but a Christ who is inclusive of the mediations of Mary and the saints and perhaps of other religious figures. All of this will be included in this version of ecumenically pacified but biblically deviant Christianity.

All these departures from the biblical “solas” of the Protestant Reformation mean that the unity that is going to be promoted in the ecumenical initiatives in 2033, as humanly attractive as they are, will be turns to “a different gospel” (Galatians 1:6-9) that was given “once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3).

For sure, for Evangelical Christians the year 2033 will be an opportunity to celebrate the gospel truths of Christ’s passion, death, resurrection and ascension, plus the pouring of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Amen.
 
However, ecumenical celebrations of the same events will not be neutral and at no cost for evangelical fidelity. More than how 2025 has been, 2033 will be the “Omega Point”, i.e the goal of the Ecumenical Movement: all Christians (Roman Catholic, Orthodox, Liberal Protestants, Evangelicals, …) will be finally united and seen by the world as “One”. Will it be the unity the Lord Jesus prayed for in John 17? Hardly so. Rather, it will be a decisive point scored for the absorption project that Roman Catholicism has been pursuing for centuries, i.e. integrating different bodies, leaders and beliefs under its umbrella.
 
2033 will be a test for Evangelicals, and the fundamental question will be: can the Evangelical faith be rethought and assimilated within the ecumenical embrace intentionally and primarily prepared by Roman Catholicism?

[1] As it is argued in Mark Gilbert – Leonardo De Chirico (edd.), The Nicene Creed. The Nature of Christian Unity and the Meaning of Gospel Words (Sydney: Matthias Press, 2025).

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250. The Blurred View of “Grace” of Cardinal Fernández

When the Cardinal Prefect of the Vatican Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith (Victor Manuel Fernández, number 3 in the Vatican) writes a book, it is worth paying attention. Cardinal Fernández is also the one who signed “Fiducia supplicans,” allowing the blessing of same-sex unions, and “Mater populi fidelis,” on the use of the Marian title of “co-redemptrix.” In reality, although the book Grazia. Concetti fondamentali per pensare la vita nuova (Grace. Basic Concepts to Think About the New Life) has only just been published in Italian, it dates back to 2003 and was updated in 2010. It was therefore written before he took up his current position as the “guardian” of Roman Catholic doctrine. The theme of grace makes it appealing to the evangelical reader, given the doctrine’s central position in Roman Catholic and Protestant theology.
 
The author’s intention is not to cover the entire doctrine on grace, but to touch on some fundamental concepts, as the subtitle indicates. The three main interlocutors considered in the discussion are Scripture, the medieval pair of Thomas Aquinas and Bonaventure, and the German Jesuit theologian Karl Rahner.
 
Grace as Interpersonal Relationship
The author begins by arguing that grace, biblically speaking, can manifest itself “only in an interpersonal relationship” (14). In the encounter between people, it is the triune God himself who communicates with our lives (uncreated grace) and brings about effects and consequences (created grace: regeneration, liberation, transformation).
 
To this understanding of grace, the Roman Church has preferred other contents, making it more of a “thing” to be dispensed, deserved, and administered. Within the relational conception of grace, the author emphasizes grace as friendship with God, rather than sonship (33). Here, the sacramental categories typical of Roman Catholicism immediately come into play: at baptism, grace is received in order to be “children of God,” but friendship with God depends on sanctifying grace, which is incremental (38-39).
 
Within the realm of relationships, even a “non-Christian” can live in a state of grace (44): when one lives in friendship with others, one experiences grace. It is immediately clear that this relational-sacramental understanding of grace lacks the covenantal and juridical categories proper to Scripture. On the one hand, the sacramental framework of Tridentine Catholicism is reiterated, while on the other hand, the relational emphasis of the contemporary Catholic embracement is affirmed. This Roman Catholic expansion lacks the covenantal criteria of grace, i.e., we receive grace by the imputation of Christ’s righteousness.
 
In other words, for the author, God grants us grace by wanting us to be his “friends,” but he fails to say that he does so by not imputing our sins to us, since our Substitute, Jesus, has taken them upon himself. God is a covenant God, and this covenant is broken because of sin and can only be reconciled through the vicarious work of Christ. Biblically speaking, adoption, sonship, and fellowship with God are grounded in justification.

Reinterpreting Augustine
In his discussion, the author oscillates between harsh judgments against Protestantism and ecumenical attitudes. Among the former are the accusations of having conceived grace in such a “particularistic” way as to give rise to a “rotten subjectivism” (quoting J.I. Gonzales Faus, 89) and capitalism. Among the latter is the recognition of God’s gratuitous initiative that precedes any moral action on our part (119).
 
The author’s treatment of Augustine is interesting. The thinking of the “Father of grace” requires “revision” because it has reached “unacceptable extremes” and “exaggerations” that have been harmful (131, 137). The author seems to understand the reasons of the “semi-Pelagians” who proposed a “middle way” between Augustine and Pelagius (134ff). In fact, even if the Cardinal does not say so explicitly, Roman Catholic theology is closer to semi-Pelagianism than to Augustine. In line with the Council of Orange, the Council of Trent moves with “caution” and teaches that God inspires us first, but human cooperation is necessary (139). In explaining how, the author reverses the terms and shows how Roman Catholicism, in calling itself moderately Augustinian, is actually closer to semi-Pelagianism: in fact, God always acts with respect for our fragility (144), in a “resistible” way (151), and starting from human freedom (146, 150), with the exception of Mary, who had “impeccable freedom” (144)!
 
It is then understandable how convoluted the Roman Catholic doctrine of grace is: in words, it is Augustinian. In fact, it is far from Augustine, with an addition of Mariological exceptionalism. Within this complex and convoluted vision, baptism is seen as a sacrament that frees us from original sin and disposes us to justification (163). Yet the sacraments are not the only way to grace (162). Traditional sacramentalism is reaffirmed, but open to the universalist demands of contemporary Roman Catholicism.
 
Clumsy Justification
When it comes to justification, the conceptual difficulty that pervades the book emerges even more clearly. Without any biblical support, justification is understood as “the very fact of being a friend of God” (178). Instead of accepting the legal categories of Scripture, friendly categories are preferred, which are not proper to justification. In addition, two modes of God’s action (transforming and impelling) are associated with justification. First, it is said that grace precedes works, but then it is also argued, with Thomas, that one can dispose oneself to justification by giving consent (197). This cooperation is of “variable intensity” (198) or “different intensity” (200). In short, without the forensic framework of Scripture, justification is sometimes thought of as friendship, sometimes as a gift, and sometimes as something to be prepared for through one’s own cooperation.
 
The final theses proposed by the author are a theological potpourri (243-245). In a nutshell, Roman Catholic justification brings together all the complexity of the layered tradition of Catholicism: a little of Augustine but without the gravity of sin, a little of semi-Pelagianism that emphasizes our ability to collaborate, the subtle distinctions of Thomas Aquinas, the sacramentalism of Trent, the catholicity of Vatican II whereby even non-Christians can be justified (223).
 
One of the last chapters deals with the Roman Catholic-Lutheran dialogue on justification. The interpretation offered by the author is in line with the mainstream ecumenical view: the two views (Catholic and Lutheran) are “two aspects of the same truth” (208) that use “different expressions” (209) to refer to the same reality interpreted in the light of different concerns. In light of the 1999 Joint Declaration, anathemas have become “salutary warnings” that no longer apply (211). As for other religions, given the absence of forensic categories, justification can be accessible in various degrees of fullness (224-225): only the Roman Catholic sacraments guarantee the greatest fullness.
 
In the end, the author’s thinking on the subject is summarized as follows: “God is present in every human being from the moment of conception, not only as Creator, but also as Savior” (235). This is the catholicity of grace in contemporary Roman Catholicism. Without the legal/covenantal understanding, one slips into the universalism of salvation.
 
The book introduces us to the universe of contemporary Roman Catholic theology of grace, in which everything can be found except a firm commitment to respect the biblical teaching that “by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves; it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8).

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249. Mary as “Co-redemptrix”: fresh clarity or further confusion?

Roma locuta, causa finita est (Rome has spoken, the issue is over). This phrase taken from Augustine (Sermo 131.10) has often been used to highlight the solidity of the Roman Catholic authority structure and the finality of its decision-making process. Well, forget it. After the Note of the Vatican Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith “Mater Populis Fidelis” (4 Nov), Rome has spoken (yes), but contradicting what was authoritativelty said earlier and making the issue an open-ended one.
 
We are talking about Mary being ascribed the title of “Co-redemptrix”, recognizing  the contribution of Mary to the redemption of the world accomplished by the Son. Over the centuries, the acceptance of this title has been brewing in popular piety, in the writings of some mystics, and more recently in official documents by Popes Pius X and Pius XI. Pope John Paul II was also fond of talking about Mary participating in redemption, thus being worthy of being called “Co-redemptrix”. After the 19th century Marian dogma of her Immaculate Conception (1854), and the 20th century dogma of her Bodily Assumption (1950), there has been some expectation in some Catholic circles that Rome would promulgate the fifth Marian dogma, i.e. Mary as “Co-redemptrix”, in the 21st century.
 
While these developments in Marian devotions were at work and growing, there were also pushbacks coming from high ecclesiastical quarters. For example, Cardinal Ratzinger (before becoming Pope Benedict XVI) argued that the title was subject to misunderstandings and not yet sufficiently clarified theologically; Pope Francis expressed similar reservations fearing ambiguities and confusions over the exact nature of Mary “co-redemption”.
 
This sofly critical trend was echoed in the Note of the Vatican Dicastery. The document basically repeats the Ratzinger-Francis cautious comments: Mary as “Co-redemptrix” has not yet been clarified theologically and the title is open to abuses if it is thought as paralleling Chirst’s redemption. The new element is that the reigning Pope, Leo XIV, shares these concerns and has approved the Note. For these reasons, for the time being, the Vatican is not to put in motion the promulgation of the fifth dogma, but will stick to a wait-and-see policy. It is more of a temporary stop of the process, than a definitive halt.

A few observations need to be made. First, Roman Catholic Mariology has always had maximalist and minimalist parties. The pendulum has been swinging in one direction or the other. The Note signals the fact that the latter is now prevalent over the other in the Vatican headquarters. The movement could change in the future, given the fact that Mariology, not being governed by Scripture Alone, is conceptually and practically open-ended.
 
Second, while the Note is cautious about new developments towards Mary’s title as “Co-redemptrix”, it unwaveringly reaffirms the traditional Roman Catholic Mariology made of unbiblical dogmas, practices and devotions. The document reiterates the view of Christ’s mediation as being “inclusive” and participatory, thus making room for Mary’s and the saints’ intercession and mediation of graces. There is no “Christ alone” theology in the Note!
 
Third, the main driver of Mariological development has always been the lex orandi (i.e. liturgy and spirituality) rather than the lex credendi (i.e. doctrine). The Vatican Note underlines a potential problem in the latter but warmly encourages the full expression of the former. In other words, the door for Mary’s co-redemption is not definitively closed, but only left ajar. Inspite of idealized views of Roman Catholicism, Rome is not the stable and coherent entity that pretends to be.
 
There is far truer and better way to honor Mary than that of the Vatican Note: imitate her faith and cherish her legacy according to Scripture while trusting in Jesus Christ alone for our salvation.  
 
 
(A version of this article was posted on Evangelicals Now, 6 November 2025)

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248. “The Church is Jesus himself.” The heart (and the heresy) of Roman Catholicism?

Most recently, evangelical theologian Henri Blocher argued that at the heart of Roman Catholicism lies the concept of the Church as the continuing incarnation of Jesus Christ. The idea is that, in a strong and “real” sense, the Roman Catholic Church is the sacramental and mystical body of Jesus, as if His incarnation were prolonged in it. Obviously, Blocher was not inventing anything. The theological point is affirmed in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (no. 521), evoked by the Second Vatican Council (Lumen Gentium nn. 8, 48, and 52), and argued with different nuances and emphases by leading modern Roman Catholic theologians such as Johann Adam Möhler, John Henry Newman, Mathias-Joseph Scheeben, and Yves Congar.[1]

Another testimony confirming this view is added to these authoritative voices. It is that of Robert Hugh Benson (1871-1914) in the book Christ in the Church. A Volume of Religious Essays (London: Longman, Green and Co., 1911). Until recently, I was unaware of the works of Benson, who may not be central to contemporary Roman Catholic theology, but neither is he negligible.

Converted from Anglicanism (after John Henry Newman) to Roman Catholicism under the pontificate of Leo XIII, Benson became a Catholic priest while continuing to write novels, short stories, and various essays. A brilliant and eclectic personality, as a convert, Benson looked for and explored the “heart” of Roman Catholicism. Thus, in the pamphlet Christ in the Church, he tackles head-on the self-understanding of the Church of Rome and dissects its meaning.

Benson begins with Jesus’ words, “This is my body, which is given for you” (Luke 22:19): “that act was but a continuation (though in another sense) of that first act known as the Incarnation” (8). Roman Catholics believe that “the Church is in a real sense the body of Christ… in the Church He lives, speaks, and acts as He lived, spoke, and acted in Galilee and Jerusalem” (9). The analogy is thus established: just as Jesus Christ lived two thousand years ago, so “He lives His mystical life today in a body drawn from the human race in general – called the Catholic Church” (10). It follows that the actions of the Church are His, “her words are His, her life is His” (id.). Here is the Roman Catholic thesis briefly put: “in a real sense, she is Himself” (id.).
 
On the basis of the extension between Christ and the Church to the point that the Church is Christ, Benson continues: “The written Gospel is the record of a past life; the Church is the living Gospel and record of a present life” (11). The Vine and the branches “are in the most direct sense identical” (12). For the Catholic, “Jesus Christ still lives upon earth as surely, though in another and what must be called a ‘mystical’ sense, as He lived two thousand years ago” (18). Moreover, “we have present upon earth in the Catholic Church that same personality and energy as lived upon the earth two thousand years ago in the Figure of Jesus Christ” (25). Therefore, “the same authority must be predicated of the voice of the Church as of the Voice of Christ” (21). No religion, “except one, and that the Catholic Church, claims to be actually Divine and to utter the Voice of God” (32). If the Church is the continuation of the Incarnation, “she is indeed what she claims to be — the one and unique organ of Divine Revelation” (40).
 
In this sense, the infallibility of the Church and its Roman Pontiff is simply inevitable and obviously true because “If infallibility be predicated of Jesus Christ, it must be predicated of Him in His Mystical as well as in His Natural Body” (22). In the Roman Catholic view, there is therefore a transitive property between Christ and the Catholic Church to the point that what can be predicated of the one passes to the other. It is the theological logic that is in the DNA of Roman Catholicism and makes it what it is.
 
The identification is so complete that “we, living members of the Church on earth, have the same personality and energy that existed in the figure of Jesus Christ two thousand years ago” (20). This means that Christ still suffers in the Church (10) and “Jesus Christ is still resurrected, not once or twice, but repeatedly in the Catholic Church” (22). The Church is so identified with Christ that she continues to “redeem humanity” (33).

Now, despite being a Catholic priest and a voice of early 20th-century Anglo-Saxon culture, Benson is not one of the leading voices in Roman Catholic theology. Yet, in his sparkling and drumming style, he gives voice to what Catholic teaching and official theology have developed over the centuries: the church is the extension of the incarnation of Jesus Christ.
 
Evangelical theologian Gregg Allison speaks of the “Christ–church interconnection.”[2] The church is considered a prolongation of the incarnation, mirroring Christ as a divine–human reality, acting as an altera persona Christi, a second “Christ.” The threefold ministry of Christ as King, Priest, and Prophet is thus transposed to the Roman Church–in its hierarchical rule, its magisterial interpretation of the Word, and its administration of the sacraments. There is never solus Christus (Christ alone), only Christus in ecclesia (Christ in the church) and ecclesia in Christo (the church in Christ).
 
The emphasis on the Christ–church interconnection seems to forget that the church is still a divine creature, belonging to the reality created by God and marked by sin, while Christ is the divine Creator, the One from whom all things are and who is perfect now and always. When we talk about Christology, we are talking about the unique relationship between human nature and divine nature in the person of Jesus Christ on the side of the Creator. When we talk about ecclesiology, we are talking about the unity of divine and human elements from the side of creation. The distinction between Creator and creature is crucial to avoid the trap of elevating the church into a quasi-divine body.

There are enormous problems with this thesis: it goes beyond the biblical image of the body of Christ (Christ is the head, we are members!), it deifies a human community, it idolizes an institution, and it usurps what should be recognized only to Jesus Christ according to Scripture alone (sola Scriptura, Scripture alone!). It goes beyond and against what is written in the Bible. Yet it gives access to the deep bowels of Roman Catholicism of all times. Ultimately, Roman Catholicism is a heresy that took Christology and transplanted it into its ecclesiology. And in doing so, Rome distorted it.

[1] See Roberto Baglioni, La chiesa “continua incarnazione” del Verbo: da J.A. Möhler al Concilio Vaticano II (Napoli: Editrice Domenicana Italiana, 2013).

[2] Gregg R. Allison, Roman Catholic Theology and Practice. An Evangelical Assessment (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2014) pp. 56-66.