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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.

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257. “Magnifica Humanitas”. The Chart of Roman Catholic Humanism and Its Theological Problems

It is not a written rule, but a recognizable pattern: the first encyclical of a Pope sets the tone of the whole pontificate and Pope Leo XIV’s “Magnifica Humanitas” (MH) – released after one year since his election – does exactly that. The document will probably shape the future papal teaching as its overarching framework. As the subtitle indicates, the Pope’s concern is “on safeguarding the human person in the time of artificial intelligence.” This is going to be the main concern of his reign as Pontiff of the Roman Catholic Church.
 
The choice of the name Leo had already indicated his desire to develop the legacy of Leo XIII, the Pope who at the end of the 19th century gave rise to the Social Doctrine of the Catholic Church (SDC). With his encyclical “Rerum Novarum” (1891), Leo XIII voiced the growing preoccupations of the Church of Rome for the poor condition of workers and the exploitation of labor, thus expanding the range of her interests from internal ecclesiastical matters to the wider social issues of the day. “Rerum Novarum” was a turning point in the long tradition of the Roman Church, making it more “catholic” (having a universal look at the world), but no less “Roman” (claiming its prerogatives over the world).
 
Since becoming Leo XIV, Pope Prevost hinted at his desire to build on his predecessor’s legacy by updating the Social Doctrine of the Church on the pressing concern of today: how to deal with the challenges and opportunities of AI without succumbing the human person to it. No surprise was the date when MH was signed and launched: May 15, the same date than “Rerum Novarum” in 1891. As the latter signaled Rome’s desire to speak into the social problems then, so MH reflects its vision on how to address the pressing dilemma now. Full circle.
 
MH is a rich and dense 40,000-word document. The concentration of themes and issues is impressive. In this article, I will try to summarize its main diagnosis of what is at stake with AI and the suggested way forward with the values of SDC. Then I will make some remarks on the flawed theological framework it comes from, if seen from an Evangelical viewpoint.

The “Technocratic Paradigm” and the Remedy of the Social Doctrine of the Church
After describing the theological rationale of SDC (ch. 1), MH provides a summary of its principles as they have been developed in the last 145 years, i.e. the dignity of the person, the value of work, the universal destination of goods, solidarity and subsidiarity, care for creation and the centrality of peace and fraternity (ch. 2), then moves on how to deal with the promises and threats of AI to humanity (ch. 3), the necessary safeguards to protect humanity with special reference to truth, work and freedom, to finally conclude with the alternative set before us between the culture of power and the civilization of love (ch. 5). Being Leo XIV an Augustinian Pope, particularly in the last chapter, one can spot the Augustinian theme of the two cities (city of man, city of God) being transmuted in today’s tensed interplay between power and love.[1]
 
MH is not an ecclesiastical document addressed to Roman Catholics only. As is the case with modern magisterial documents, Leo XIV wants to speak to “all the Catholic faithful, to all Christians and to all men and women of goodwill” (16). So, it is meant to be read widely regardless the different religious, ideological, and cultural allegiances.
 
The starting point in the analysis of the contemporary world is not new. MS refers to the “technocratic paradigm” (92) that was already used by Pope Francis in his 2015 encyclical “Laudato si’”. The technocratic paradigm is “the tendency to let the logic of efficiency, control and profit alone shape personal, social and economic decisions” (92). The growing development and use of AI has only further intensified and exacerbated the problem.[2]
 
AI is “valuable tool that requires vigilance” (100-101). As tool, “we must avoid the misconception of equating this type of ‘intelligence’ with that of human beings” (99). While the use of technology is never morally neutral (9), it presents a sever challenge when it fosters an “anti-human vision”, i.e. when “the fullness of life is equated with having more, reducing weakness, eliminating uncertainty and exerting total control” (112).
 
Instead of respecting the humanity in “all its grandeur and woundedness” (126) and help human beings to flourish, the “technocratic paradigm” aims at “dominating humanity” (110) and ultimately paves the way to an “enhanced human being” (trans-humanism) or a “human-machine hybrid” (post-humanism) (115). Both prospects are ultimately anti-human. What is at stake with technological progress is not technology as such, but the “anthropological vision that guides it and the ends it pursues” (94).
 
The Roman Church approaches these challenges with the criteria offered by “the noble principles of Social Doctrine: the inalienable dignity of the human person, the common good, the universal destination of goods, subsidiarity, solidarity and social justice” (96). Building on these principles and elaborating these criteria in more political terms, MH advocates for “robust legal frameworks, independent oversight, informed users and a political system that does not abdicate its responsibility” (106) that will put checks and balances and a set of moral constraints over technological progress. If adequate measures are not implemented at all levels (e.g. individuals, local communities, States, international organizations), the technocratic thinking will impose rules “shaped by those who control data, infrastructure and computing power” (106).
 
More specifically, MH suggests five practical steps toward daily and public responsibility: “the need to disarm words, building peace through justice, adopting the perspective of victims, cultivating a healthy realism and reviving dialogue and multilateralism” (213).
 
The Pope’s Voice in International and Inter-faith Conversations
What to say of these critical remarks about the de-humanizing threats of AI and the possible way forward in order to safeguard the human person? On the one hand, at the level of guidelines and policies, in MH there is nothing radically different than what can be found in parallel documents by secular agencies (e.g. UNESCO, the European Union, OECD, and others) and faith communities, including Evangelical bodies such as the World Evangelical Alliance[3] and the Lausanne Movement.[4] The de-humanizing danger of the technological power is broadly perceived among important sectors of civil society and the ways to handle it is shared across the institutional and religious spectrum. The Papal document is just the last of many voices participating in this global debate with its own nuances and accents. It encourages international action to establish guidelines and to implement them.
 
Biblically speaking, common grace is at work in making different people (be they Christian and non-Christian) sensitive to the need for AI to be developed and used within shared parameters and ethical limits, even adopting measures that Pope Leo echoes and suggests in MH. In this sense, even non-Catholics can appreciate some of the indications coming from his encyclical urging for accountability, transparency, and responsibility in the use of AI.
 
Having said that, in terms of assessing MH, this is only one side of the coin. According to MH, the key threat of AI is not technological per se, but essentially anthropological. This being the issue, MH presents the gist of Roman Catholic humanism as the best suited remedy against the real and potential de-humanizing tendencies of AI. For this reason, it is important to evaluate the theological vision that undergirds MH.
 
The Roman Catholic Humanism, and the Fall?
As one would expect, for all the commonalities that can be found in the use of terms and categories, MH is a distinctly Roman Catholic theological document. It stems from a particular view of humanity and its relationship to God held by a historic institution. It is grounded on an account of reality that Rome has been endorsing and promoting for centuries.
 
Here are samples on how the Roman Catholic theological framework of MH works, followed by brief comments:
 
“Building a city founded on the common good implies, first and foremost, building on a firm relationship with God” (11).
 
Yes, but the implication is that all men and women are already in a viable relationship with God: According to MH, that relationship only needs to be deepened or expanded by doing what is good for humanity. There is no sense of the consequences of the Fall in sin having broken that relationship; no sense of that relationship being in need to be restored by the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ for sin and the need for faith and repentance on our part.
 
“Building for the common good means accepting the limits and weakness of humanity without considering them an error to be corrected” (12).
 
Yes, but more than that, biblically speaking, our humanity is not only limited and weak: it is sinful and rebellious against God and in need of salvation. Limitation and weakness do not describe what is most central in the human condition.
 
“The Church reminds us, with a firm yet humble voice, that true fulfilment is not achieved by eliminating weakness but through harmonious growth” (12).
 
Yes, but again there is no mention of sin and the brokenness it caused. Our fulfilment does not have to deal with weakness only but needs repentance and faith in Jesus to see the beginnings of harmonious growth.
 
“Ours is the pressing duty to remain profoundly human” (15).
 
Yes, but from a Christian perspective an even more pressing duty is to be regenerated by Christ in our humanity. The pressing need is not to remain more fully “in Adam” (our sinful humanity), but to be given new life in Christ, “the last Adam”. In this vein, MH can speak of “the humanizing power of the Gospel” (22) as if the Good News only makes us better human beings rather than new creations in Christ.
 
The Nature-Grace Interdependence
At the core of the theological vision of MH is the Roman Catholic account of the nature-grace motif. Roman Catholicism’s starting point is the relationship between “nature” and “grace” into which is engrafted the idea of the Church as the extension of the Incarnation of the Son of God.[5] This basic orientation explains why MH has little sense of the tragedy of sin, tends to encourage an optimistic view of humanity’s abilities, sees the gospel as a process in which nature is made more perfect and justifies the Church’s role as a mediator between man and God.
 
The spheres of nature and grace are thus in irreversible theological continuity, as “nature” in Roman Catholicism incorporates both creation and sin, in contrast to the Evangelical distinction between creation, sin, and redemption. Although nature has been touched by sin, it is still programmatically open to be infused, elevated, and supplemented by grace.
 
The Roman Catholic “mild” view of the Fall and of sin makes it possible for MH to hold a view of human nature and society at large that is tainted by sin but not depraved, obscured but not blinded, wounded but not alienated, morally disordered but not spiritually dead, inclined to evil but still holding on to what is true, good and beautiful.[6] After Vatican II, more recent interpretations of the nature-grace interdependence go as far as arguing that nature is always graced from within.[7] If traditional Roman Catholicism maintained that grace was added to nature, present-day Rome, as it is reflected in MH, prefers to talk about grace as being an infrastructure of nature. In spite of the differences between the two versions, the interdependence is nonetheless underlined.
 
Hope From Within Through Elevation?
The nature-grace interdependence, in all its various forms and degrees, is the reason why MH nurtures an optimism in humanity’s ability to know and to follow God’s will and to co-operate with his grace. Humanity has “wounds” (21), experience limits such as “vulnerability, suffering and failure” (122), but has resources to be healed from within through the grace that is already in it. In fact, “The Church stands alongside the world without overpowering it, so that the promise of justice and peace that the Holy Spirit continues to sustain in the heart of humanity may come to fruition in every human endeavor (20).
 
For the Pope, the heart of humanity is the place where the Holy Spirit (grace) brings about justice and peace. Again, the underestimation of the impact of sin has wide-ranging consequences on the theological vision of MH, whereby grace is already at work and only needs to be further unleashed. In Leo XIV’s words: “Even these painful expressions of our limitations leave openings for the good. Even when persons dehumanize themselves and bring about tragedy, a small light continues to shine within humanity, one that can be rekindled, with God’s grace, along paths of conversion and reconciliation” (121). In other words, hope is to be found in the “small light” that continues to shine and that sin has only obfuscated but not obliterated: “it remains possible to enter into the heart of that inexhaustible life, even as we journey through the limitations of this world” (127). Conversion and reconciliation are possible as grace elevates nature, rather than regenerating it as the Gospel indicates: for MH, the hope for humanity is to be “elevated by the inexhaustible grace of God” (128).
 
The biblical words of conversion and reconciliation are used but understood within the framework of the nature-grace interdependence whereby sin only limits humanity’s capacity. If the Christian hope comes from within through elevation, is this gospel hope or is it a humanistic and religious wishful thinking?
 
Christ the One Who Frees, but What about the Atonement?
After envisaging the hope for our wounded humanity in divine grace that can elevate it, MH also highlights the way in which Jesus Christ offers it. The incarnation of the Son of God is seen as the act of God’s condescension. In Christ “the living God descends into our history in order to free us from all forms of slavery. He takes upon himself our weakness and transforms it into a setting for salvation” (232). Jesus is told to have taken our weakness. But what about His death on the cross? In MH the cross is only mentioned once (232) in a quotation from a 19th century French theologian Pierre de Bérulle who wrote: “According to the teaching of our faith, we have and adore, in our mysteries, a God who is born in a manger, a God who lives and travels in Judea, a God who dies on the cross, a dead God who lies in the tomb”. The cross is generically referred to as part of the mysteries of faith, but no indication is given as to its atoning significance.
 
Given the example of Christ in his incarnation, MH moves on to say: “The future of humanity, therefore, finds its standard in the ability to welcome this divine way of drawing near, of sharing the burden of the world, of transforming relationships from within” (232). What is clear here is that Christ drew near and shared the burden: yes, but without the atoning work of the cross whereby He paid the price of sin, the biblical gospel is not told, and the message that is given is no Good News at all.
 
The conclusion suggested by Pope Leo is the following: “What saves humanity is the divine love that descends into the most fragile point of our history and renews it from within” (232). All the threads that have already been detected are here interwoven: the incarnation as Jesus’s descent into our fragility (no sin is indicated; no atonement is referred to) and salvation as a renewal movement from within (grace is always at work in us). The language is certainly borrowed from the Christian vocabulary, but is it the biblical message?
 
Babel and Nehemiah: A Viable Use of the Bible?
The narrative infrastructure of MH makes extensive use of two evocative Bible images, i.e. the tower of Babel and Nehemiah’s rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem (e.g. 90, 129, 130, 184, 241). They are the two biblical icons that guide the Pope’s reflection on the opposition between the culture of power and the civilization of love. In setting the tone of the document, he writes: “the primary choice is not between a “yes” or “no” to technology, but rather between constructing Babel or rebuilding Jerusalem” (9).
 
On the one hand, “Babel reveals the limits of any effort that, however grandiose, arises from self-affirmation, sacrifices human dignity for efficiency and aspires to reach heaven without God’s blessing” (7). Therefore, following Babel means being infected by the “Babel syndrome,” namely “the idolatry of profit that sacrifices the weak, a uniformity that neutralizes differences, and the pretense that a single language — even a digital one — can translate everything, including the mystery of the person, into data and performance” (10). In order to safeguard the human person in the time of AI, Babel is the bad image to be warned against and the evil pattern to avoid.
 
On the other hand, the first chapters of Nehemiah talk about “the possibility of building together, of transforming diversity into a resource and of making listening and dialogue the common ground upon which to cultivate justice and fraternity” (10). MH takes them as the alternative biblical image to draw inspiration from. In an emphatic and exhortatory tone, Pope Leo urges: “let us choose the ‘way of Nehemiah,’ which highlights the importance of working together to make the City of God a safe place for returning exiles” (10).
 
While the reference to biblical images and stories is commendable, there are two problems with their use in the argument of the encyclical.
 
Babel’s sin was first and foremost the rejection of God and an attempt to become one’s own god(s). The negative consequences that stemmed out of this sin were the confusion of languages and the dispersion of the people. In order to overcome the sin of Babel, a conversion must take place whereby our lives are re-oriented toward Him. No reverse of the evil consequences of sin is to be expected if God is not recognized and obeyed to as God.

In the Pope’s use of the image of Babel, however, while spiritual conversion is evoked, there is no expectation that all readers of MH would turn to Christ in repentance and faith as the condition to undo the effects of Babel. What lies at the heart of his message is that humanity as a whole should work together to cultivate justice and fraternity. He wants more of the fruit than the re-planting of the root.
 
Here is how he puts it: “the task of building in our time must place our relationship with God at its center. Our rule must be the acceptance of human limitations as a natural and positive reality, and should be characterized by shared responsibility and a language characterized by the Gospel” (236).
 
Again, no reference to sin is mentioned here, but another question arises: who is he talking to? Is the Pope talking to Catholics? No, the encyclical is addressed to all men and women of goodwill. Now, if all need to place our relationship with God at the center, there should be a call extended to all to come to faith in Jesus Christ. Otherwise, biblically speaking, that relationship is still characterized by Babel’s sinful anti-God ideology. That call is missing in MH.
 
At the very end, there is another appeal by the Pope, i.e. “a call to overcome our divisions and to work together — for this is the way of Jesus Christ, yesterday, today and forever” (242). Is he writing this to Christians? No. In the spirit of MH, he calls humanity to overcome divisions and to work together, not having urged all man and women to profess faith in Christ first.
 
He uses the language of “God at the center” and “the way of Jesus Christ” to motivate shared responsibility and work together among men and women of all religions or of no religion, without inviting them to believe the biblical Gospel. How is this ambiguity possible?
 
The other biblical image, i.e. Nehemiah’s rebuilding of Jerusalem’s wall, sheds other light on the question. In the Bible, Nehemiah calls the covenant people of God to work together to re-build the walls. Clearly, the book speaks of the responsibility of the people of God, not humanity in general. And yet, in its application to our time, MH uses Nehemiah’s story to encourage co-operation among men and women of good will, missing the point that it addresses the church.
 
The ambiguity can be explained in the Roman Catholic view of the church that is endorsed in MH. Using the words of Vatican II, the church is considered as “a sacrament… of communion with God and of the unity of the entire human race” (2, quoting Lumen Gentium 1). MH explains this doctrinal point in the following way: “she (the church) embraces the entire human family yet is also immersed in the concrete situations of peoples and cultures” (26). The Roman Church is both the community of the Catholic faithful and a sign and instrument of the entire human race. She is both the Roman Catholic Church canonically defined whose members are the baptized and the communicant people and – sacramentally – the expansive representative of the whole of humanity. This explains why in MH the Pope can use Christian language and applies it to all. The boundaries between the Roman (the believing and practicing Catholics) and the Catholic Church (the entire human race) are fluid and mysterious.
 
Ultimately, the reference to the two Biblical images of Babel and Nehemiah, as brilliant as it appears to be, is an instance of a misapplication of Scripture. They are referred to by MH to reinforce the claims of Rome’s catholicity whereby Christian language is used without it being governed by biblical principles and applied consistently.
 
Concluding Remarks
“Magnifica Humanitas” is a programmatic document by Pope Leo XIV that will set the tone of his future magisterium on the challenges brought about by AI. It will certainly become a landmark of SDC. In it, the humanistic wisdom of the Roman Catholic Church is in full display. Many of the insights and proposals on how to preserve and promote human dignity in times when the technocratic paradigm seems prevailing are already shared across cultural, institutional and religious lines, thanks to common grace. The voice of the Pope adds new strength to the choir of those who don’t want to succumb to the technocracy of AI and should be heard by all those who share this concern.
 
Having said that, the theological vision of MH is embedded in the Roman Catholic account of the nature-grace interdependence. The nature-grace motif is not the biblical message whereby all was created by God, sin disrupted all, and in Christ (incarnation and atonement) there is the only hope of redemption. On the contrary, although acknowledged by MH, sin has only weakened humanity’s capacity to co-operate with grace to be elevated by it. Human goodness, as wounded as it is, is still what marks all men and women and forms the background of the encyclical’s appeal to work together toward justice and peace.
 
The language used is Christian as far as the use of words is concerned, but the meaning is Roman Catholic rather than biblical. This results in doctrinal ambiguity at best, in not theological wrong-headedness. If one is looking for biblical wisdom to navigate the challenges posed by AI, she needs to look elsewhere.[8]

[1] Although MH is signed by an Augustinian Pope, the Augustinian “just war” theory is considered outdated and in need to be overcome (192). An Augustinian against Augustine!

[2] Similar analyses were already outlined in the Note by the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith – Dicastery for Culture and Education, Antiqua et Nova (2025).

[3] Quinting McGrath, Gretchen Huizinga, John Dyer, Mark Graves, “AI, Ethics, and Trust: A Biblically Grounded Christian Position” (2025). This paper was given at the WEA General Assembly in 2025.

[4] “AI Ethics and the Great Commission”, Lausanne Global Analysis (2025).

[5] Gregg Allison has helpfully named them, the “nature-grace interdependence” and the “Christ-Church interconnection”: Roman Catholic Theology and Practice. An Evangelical Assessment (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2014) pp. 42-67.

[6] The Roman Catholic teaching on sin can be found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (1992), nn. 1849-1875. In terms of the indication of the human problem, MH talks about the evil brought about by “structures of sin” (36, 79), i.e. “mechanisms and economic and cultural systems that produce inequality almost automatically”, but makes no reference to personal sin.

[7] Stephen J. Duffy, The Grace Horizon. Nature and Grace in Modern Catholic Thought (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1992). Roman Catholic theology does not distinguish between “common grace” and “special grace”.

[8] See notes 2 and 3 for suggested evangelical resources.

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242. Why Not Be a Roman Catholic? Ask Jerry Walls

A prominent Roman Catholic theologian, Matthew Levering, recently wrote a book entitled Why I Am Roman Catholic (2024). As a result, it was to be expected that a Protestant author would write a mirror book on why not. It is the case with Jerry L. Walls, Why I Am Not a Roman Catholic. A Friendly, Ecumenical Exploration (Eugene, OR: Cascade Books, 2025), professor of philosophy at Houston Christian University. Actually, Walls did not read Levering’s book beforehand and perhaps wasn’t even aware of it, but it doesn’t really matter. Books and digital resources in the intersection between the Roman Catholic-Protestant divide are mushrooming, and defending why and why not one is Roman Catholic or Protestant is becoming a literary genre in itself.
 
Each book has a story behind it. Walls recalls his. He tells how he participated in different informal dialogues with influential Roman Catholic scholars and theologians, only later realizing that these initiatives were aimed at encouraging conversions to Rome. Reflecting on these experiences and others led him to further clarify why he was not a Roman Catholic, also thinking of the growing number of former evangelicals who have converted to Rome in recent years under the influence of aggressive RC apologists who oftentimes use “dubious reasons, spurious arguments, and misinformation” (xvi). Walls’s book, therefore, has an apologetic thrust, even though he readily qualifies it in terms of the subtitle: while critical of Roman Catholicism, he wants to write in a friendly and ecumenical way.
 
Walls is not new in this field. Together with Kenneth Collins, a few years ago, he penned the more substantial tome Roman but Not Catholic: What Remains at Stake 500 Years after the Reformation (2017; my review of the book is here). There, he critiqued Rome for having lost its catholicity (i.e. biblical universality) at the expense and on the altar of its Roman-centered claims. This new book reiterates the same basic critique but adds a new flavor to it.
 
So, why is Walls not a Roman Catholic? Briefly stated: because he rejects both papal infallibility and the Marian doctrines, two doctrinal tenets of the Roman Catholic Church to which Rome has given dogmatic status, something “analogous to the role of the resurrection of Jesus in classic creedal orthodoxy” (8). The book is a sustained critique of the Roman claims regarding the papacy and Mariology.

As far as the papacy is concerned, Walls takes issue with the dogma of papal infallibility. This papal doctrine is a distillation of Catholic doctrine, yet it is based on faulty history and has generated excessive claims. In sum, Peter was not the first pope, and there was no monarchical bishop in Rome up to the end of the second century. Moreover, as far as the political role associated with Rome is concerned, “Roman authority rested in no small part on the fact that it had been the capital city, not on an irrevocable conferral of authority by Christ” (25). Walls’s argument moves on by highlighting the terrible record of the lives of many popes across history, many of whom were corrupted and “very bad men” (31). To prove the point, he provides a gallery of impious popes who were involved in perverse politics and immoral affairs, thus showing how the historical records are another factor that undermines the dogma. There is no biblical support for the claim that Peter is the first Pope (Walls discusses some exegetical points in Matthew 16 in the Appendix, pp. 181-185), no historical witness up to the end of the second century to back up the role of the bishop of Rome, no spiritual motivations behind his authority other than the political significance of Rome as the capital of the empire. After quoting and discussing a plethora of Roman Catholic scholars providing contrary evidence to the Catholic claims, Walls argues that papal infallibility lies on too poor foundations to be a binding belief for Christians.
 
Moving to the Marian claims, Walls exposes the “Marian maximalism” that led Rome to dogmatize Mary, e.g. the 1854 dogma of the immaculate conception and the 1950 dogma of the bodily assumption, and is still brewing in the prospect of proclaiming her “co-redeemer” (87). His conclusions are trenchant: “Popular Marian piety in Roman Catholicism has morphed into infallible dogmas that make Mary far more central to the faith than scripture warrants” (100).
 
After presenting his two main objections to the Roman Catholic Church, Walls deals with apologetic arguments often put forward by popular defenders of the Roman Catholic faith over against Protestants. Oftentimes, we hear the rehearsed saying that if one refuses the authority of the Church of Rome, she becomes her own pope following an individualistic religious path. Although this is a possibility and a danger, the “You are your own pope” type of argument is a caricature of Protestantism. The evangelical faith has historically affirmed the apostolic authority of Scripture, at the same time recognizing degrees of authority in councils and creeds and leaving room for disagreement on secondary issues.
 
Approaching dialogue in fairness and charity is a constant point made by Walls. In an interesting chapter, he observes that some North American popular Roman Catholic apologists depict Protestantism in straw-man terms, often “comparing the best of Rome with the worst of Protestantism” (148) and presenting Rome as “the panacea for all ills” (150). To disillusioned evangelicals who are enticed and enchanted by these poor apologetic and golden portraits of Rome, Walls urges them “to resist the Roman fever and to think twice before taking the Tiber plunge” (152).

The reality is that Rome is not the solid, stable, and unified bullwark that some of its defenders paint it to be. If one only scratches the surface, he can find all types of Catholics (e.g. traditional, cultural, liberal) and all kinds of beliefs and practices in Rome. Indeed, because of their lax views on morality and doctrine, “most Roman Catholics are functional liberal Protestants” (157) because they do not endorse, let alone practice, what their Church teaches them. Walls goes as far as to say that Rome is “a church that is functionally a radically pluralist Protestant denomination” (171) with factions that stand on very different sides, even fighting one another. Compared to it, Evangelical Protestantism in all its denominational diversity is “a far more impressive model of true unity” (171).
 
The final chapter sums up Walls’s main argument, which is also found in the more extensive 2017 book written with Kenneth Collins. Here it is: Roman Catholicism is not the best form of Catholic Christianity. Actually, it is a “constricted view of catholicity” (179) because it is founded on a “rickety biblical and historical foundation” and is also “rotten in many places because of its recurrent corruption” (179). With Walls being one of the promoters of the 2017 “A Reforming Catholic Confession”, “Reformed catholicity” or “mere Protestant orthodoxy,” or whatever you want to call it, is for him a far better version of the Christian faith (xvii).
 
Walls’s book is full of fine and well presented apologetic points. Especially his critical remarks on the papacy and the lack of biblical and historical foundations as far as the first two centuries of the church are well argued for. The book also signals a growing awareness in North American evangelical circles that Roman Catholicism is a “competitor” that is gaining strength and making some inroads among disillusioned evangelicals. After years of evangelicals trying to show how much we have “in common” with Catholics (e.g. the “Evangelicals and Catholics Together” initiative) and, more recently, how the “Great Tradition” is our shared platform, it is refreshing to see evangelical scholars engaging Roman Catholicism apologetically, kindly and firmly refuting some of its foundational claims and hinting at far better biblical alternatives.
 
The book is a helpful resource for evangelicals tempted to convert to Rome and to Roman Catholics attracted to the evangelical faith. More work has to be done to present Roman Catholicism as a fully orbed doctrinal/institutional/sacramental/hierarchical “system” that is not committed to the supreme authority of Scripture (Scripture Alone) and to salvation as a gift of God grounded in the finished work of Christ (Faith Alone). While using similar languages and categories, the pillars of the Roman Catholic Church are different from the biblical account of the gospel that the evangelical faith seeks to bear witness to.
 
The Roman Catholic version of the gospel, based on the self-referential authority of the Roman Church and the blurred and distorted message it gives voice to, is a sufficient reason not to embrace the Roman Catholic faith but to stick to the once and for all given “evangel” (good news) of Jesus Christ.

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238. No Longer Accretions. The Problem of Roman Catholicism in Dialogue with Gavin Ortlund

In the beginning was the church, then something went wrong, and Roman Catholicism emerged. What did go wrong? The answer is: accretions. Accretions were innovations added to the faith and life of the early church mainly in the realm of Mariology, sacraments, and devotions. Roman Catholicism is the cumulative result of such accretions, having become a religion where these additions have found citizenship and have become identity markers of the Roman Catholic account of Christianity.

This is one of the points made by Gavin Ortlund in his recent book What It Means to Be Protestant (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2024). The volume is a superb commendation of the Protestant faith against the background of recent attraction to Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy experienced by younger evangelicals. The advice given by Ortlund to people who are searching is to think twice (and pray even more) before dismissing Protestantism as a “new” and “sectarian” departure from ancient and traditional Christianity, as some Roman Catholic apologists depict it. As a matter of fact, the Protestant faith is the best pathway to catholicity and historical rootedness. In essence, Protestantism is “a movement of renewal and reform within the church” (xix). Its Sola Fide (faith alone) and Sola Scriptura (Scripture alone) principles, properly understood and applied, represent biblical teaching at its best and make Protestantism the best-suited movement for “an always-reforming Church”, as the subtitle of Ortlund’s book suggests.

This is not going to be a review of this insightful book but only a reflection on one of the arguments that Ortlund puts forward in addressing the problem of accretions in Roman Catholicism and how Protestantism deals with it in its renewing and reforming drive.

Accretions Explained
As already indicated, central to his analysis is the idea of “accretion”. Here is what happened. In post-apostolic times, the “gospel has been both obscured and added on to” (xxiii) and Roman Catholicism is the institutionalized result of such an accretion process. Again, “Many of the essential, necessary features of Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox theology and worship represent historical innovation and error” (149). Both traditions “have inadvertently added requirements on the gospel that Christ himself would not require” (221).

Ortlund’s book explores in detail two examples of accretions and presents them as case studies: Mary’s bodily assumption, a belief sneaked in during the 5th century that was dogmatized by Rome in 1950, and icon veneration as was affirmed by Nicaea II, the seventh ecumenical council, in 787. In both cases, we are confronted with two add-ons that are not part of the biblical core of the gospel.

Protestantism and Accretions
What’s the calling of Protestantism then? In the 16th century, Protestantism called for “the removal of various innovations or accretions” (xx). To put it differently, “The point of Protestantism was to remove the errors. Their goal was to return to ancient Christianity, to a version prior to the intrusion of various accretions” (138). This is not confined only to the Reformation age. The very mission of Protestantism is to be “a historical retrieval and a removal of accretions” (147, 149, and 220), even its own internal ones.

This is to say that Protestantism has accretions too and is not immune from deviations. According to Ortlund, “Accretions are inevitable. In an imperfect world, the intrusion of errors will be a constant possibility and frequent occurrence. The difference is that Protestant accretions are not enshrined within allegedly infallible teaching” (149). Unlike Rome, which has locked accretions in a system that is allegedly infallible, the Protestant faith through the Sola Scriptura principle has a mechanism that is at the service of “an always-reforming church”, at least in principle. Through retrieval of biblical teaching and removal of deviations that are incompatible with it, Protestantism submits to the infallibility of Scripture rather than to a pretentiously infallible church and its magisterium that is already infected by accretions.   

No Longer Accretions
The theory of accretions is certainly plausible from a historical point of view, and Ortlund does a great job in raising the issue and sampling it. The point is that Roman Catholicism is no longer Christianity in its biblical outlook but an accrued version of it.

Whereas the historical awareness is present, what is perhaps lacking in Ortlund’s book is the theological appreciation of the impact of accretions on Roman Catholicism as a whole. As already noted, an accretion is a belief and/or practice discordant if not contrary to the Bible that is added. When the accretion is made by Rome and it has received the official approval by the magisterium, it is no longer an add-on but has become part of the whole doctrinal and devotional system. Accretions are integrated in such a way as to infiltrate the religious core at the deepest level. They start as additions but result in becoming part of the theological DNA.  

Ortlund hints at this when discussing Mary’s assumption. He writes, “The bodily assumption of Mary is held to be an infallible dogma, and thus an irreformable and obligatory part of Christian revelation” (161). True, this “historical innovation” (185) was introduced as an accretion but now according to Rome is to be considered as inherently belonging to divine revelation. After it became dogma in 1950, it is “irreformable” and “obligatory”. It is no longer an add-on: it is a defining mark of Roman Catholicism.

The same is true for icon veneration. As historical accretion, the practice was given doctrinal status only in the 8th century. Since then, though, in the Eastern Orthodox tradition, “The icon is placed on a level with the Holy Scripture and with the Cross” (190). This means that icon veneration infringes on the authority of Scripture and the significance of the cross, i.e., two tenets of the Christian faith. Also in Roman Catholicism, icon veneration is grounded in the incarnation of Christ, thus touching on a basic Christological point. It is no longer a historical addition that can be detached and disposed of. It has become embedded in the core account of the Roman and Eastern gospels at the highest theological level, i.e., the doctrines of revelation (Scripture), salvation (cross), and Christ (incarnation).

While not investigating the issue with the same historical depth as the previous two, Ortlund makes reference to the doctrine of the papal office as another example of accretion. The papacy is evidently not part of the New Testament message. It is a child of imperial culture and politics, the result of “Slow historical accretions – a gradual accumulation and centralization of power within the Western church” (109-110). Yet Roman Catholicism has elevated the papacy to the highest theological status, i.e., the dogma of papal infallibility promulgated in 1870. The papacy is now another defining mark of Roman Catholicism, and this means that the Roman Catholic account of the gospel considers the papacy as central in the deposit of faith. Introduced as accretion, it is now organically part of the whole.

A Perplexing Conclusion
With all these accretions added to a system that deems itself to be infallible when elevated to dogmas, we are confronted with an integrated theological whole. Accretions were added in history but are now part of theology and practice. Borrowing an expression used by the Church Father Cyprian, Ortlund refers to “muddy water” (151) to indicate the mixed nature resulting from the accretions: it used to be water, but after the dirt is added, the water is no longer separable from the dirt.

This is the problem of Roman Catholicism from a Protestant viewpoint: it is muddy water in all areas. The muddiness is not equally dirty but is everywhere: the accretions have percolated in such a way as to modify all doctrines and practices.

Considering this, Ortlund’s final comment is perplexing. When he sums up his argument, he writes, “While we (Protestants) can share the core gospel message with many of the traditions outside of Protestantism, certain of their practices and beliefs have the unfortunate effect of both blurring it and adding on to it” (221-222). An inconsistency is evident here. On the one hand, the devasting reality of irreformable accretions is reckoned with; on the other, he still thinks that “we can share the core gospel message” as if the accretions have not altered it.

The case studies presented in the book show something different, i.e., accretions have infiltrated the core gospel message. Mary’s assumption is dogma although it has no biblical support. Icon veneration is thought of in terms of the incarnation of Christ. The papal office is dogma although it is a child of imperial ideology. We could add other examples of accretions:

In other words, the Roman Catholic “core gospel message” is Roman, papal, Marian, and sacramentalist. After the Council of Trent (1545-1563) that anathemized “faith alone”, the First Vatican Council (1870) that promulgated papal infallibility, the two modern Marian dogmas of the immaculate conception (1854) and bodily assumption (1950), the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965) that made steps towards universalism, Rome’s “core gospel message” is imprisoned in irreformable and unchangeable dogmatic commitments that are beyond the Bible if not against the Bible. After the Counter-Reformation there is no core gospel message that is left untouched by accretions.

There is a vast difference between what Paul writes in Galatians and what he writes to the Philippians. In Philippians 1, Paul is able to rejoice because, despite leaders’ wrong motives, the true gospel is preached. But in Galatians, the gospel is being distorted although some gospel words are still used, and Paul confronts this. Post-accretions Roman Catholicism is more of a Galatians 1 than a Philippians 1 issue.

Accretions are not Lego bricks that once added can be taken away. They are additions that impact the whole system and transform it into something different. Roman Catholicism is no longer biblical Christianity; it is “muddy water”. It is not half gospel and half accretions. It is an integrated whole where non-biblical accretions define its foundational outlook and not only its secondary-tertiary aspects. As “a historical retrieval and a removal of accretions”, Protestantism serves the cause of an always-reforming Church and calls Roman Catholicism to a biblically radical reformation of its core commitments: back to Faith Alone and Scripture Alone.

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235. More than the heart of Jesus, the heart of Roman Catholicism. On the latest encyclical of Pope Francis


Dilexit Nos (DN, “He loved us,” a quotation from Romans 8:37) is the fourth encyclical of Francis’ pontificate signed on 24th October. After 2013’s Lumen Fidei (The Light of Faith, although written by Benedict XVI and thus not his brainchild), 2015’s Laudato si’ (Praise Be to You) on environmental issues, and 2020’s All Brothers on universal fraternity, DN takes its cue from the Roman Catholic devotion to the Sacred Heart of Jesus to elaborate a more general reflection on the heart, affections, and compassion in a world full of evils.
 
The encyclical consists of 5 chapters, which are made up of 220 paragraphs, and it comes out while the celebration of the 350th anniversary of the first manifestation of the Sacred Heart of Jesus to St. Margaret Mary Alacoque is still underway. Not surprisingly, the text mentions Jesus’ apparitions in Paray-le-Monial (France) between late December 1673 and June 1675. Francis also names some mystics particularly connected to this devotion: Therese of Lisieux (1873-1897) and Faustina Kowalska (1905-1938). The encyclical stitches together biblical reflections, patristic quotations, historical examples, and devotional practices that all converge at times on the human heart, other times on the heart of Christ, and always on the devotion of the “sacred heart.”
 
Devotion to the Sacred Heart is pervasive in Roman Catholic spirituality. Images of the bleeding heart, dedicated processions, mystical writings, collective imagery, and iconography in churches are all spaces imbued with this relatively modern tradition. Even the prestigious Catholic University of Milan is named after the Sacred Heart. This is to say that DN grafts onto very fertile ground for Roman Catholicism, which the pope evidently wants to enhance further.
 
In DN, the whole movement of Roman Catholicism can be seen in the watermark: there is some biblical quotation that is then elaborated in practices that take leave from the Bible as they go to focus on images and devotions that seek to “actualize” the biblical message. Through recourse, further revelations shift attention away from the biblical Christ and onto the Christ imagined by the church and mediated by it.
 
In DN, the biblical starting point flows into popular piety. The message of Scripture is blurred to make room for the world of devotions. Moreover, for the pope, popular piety is the “immune system of the church,” instead of being considered an excrescence to be always kept in check and treated with biblical antidotes.
 
St. Margaret Mary Alacoque herself, who initiated the devotion of the Sacred Heart, tells of revelations that led her to corporal mortifications (self-flagellation, sticking needles, ingesting other people’s vomit, etc.), encouragement to devote herself to the cult of Our Lady, and even to the heart of Mary (No. 176). Well, Pope Francis recalls with approval that Pius XII in 1956 stated that “the worship of the Sacred Heart expresses in an excellent way, as a sublime synthesis, our worship of Jesus Christ” (No. 79) and that it is even “a synthesis of the Gospel” (No. 83). Perhaps it is a synthesis of the Roman Catholic gospel, but certainly not the biblical gospel! Indeed, DN gives voice to the Roman Catholic account of the “Sacred Heart,” not Jesus’ heart as the Bible presents it to us.
 
This brief introduction to DN is worth concluding with a reference to a work almost contemporaneous with the Catholic apparitions of the Sacred Heart and the beginning of its devotion. The work is entitled The Heart of Christ in Heaven toward Sinners on Earth and was first published in 1651. It became the most popular work of the Puritan Thomas Goodwin (1600-1680).
 
Here, we find an excellent example of what it means to meditate on the heart of Christ biblically without giving room for spurious and misguided devotions. In the book, Goodwin sets out to show from the Scriptures that, in all His heavenly majesty, Christ is not now detached from believers and indifferent but has a very strong affection for them. Goodwin begins with the beautiful assurances given by Christ to His disciples, taking as an example of this love the washing of Christ’s feet (John 13). The heart of his argument, however, lies in the exposition of Hebrews 4:15, in which Goodwin shows that, in all His glorious holiness in heaven, Christ is not unkind toward His people; if anything, His heart beats stronger than ever with tender love for them.
 
Instead of the “sacred heart” of Dilexit Nos, so hopelessly steeped in traditions and practices that are contrary to the gospel, we need to know and experience the heart of Jesus as the Bible (sola Scriptura!) presents it.