For a long time, the idea that salvation is by “faith alone” stood between me and the Catholic Church. When I began to really read the Bible, however, I got a whole new look at things.
I grew up in a mainstream Protestant Church, fell away in adolescence, and returned in my early thirties under the influence of Evangelical writings that stressed that we are saved by faith alone, not by any good deeds. Evangelicals pointed to Bible passages such as Romans 3:28, “For we consider that a person is justified by faith apart from works of the law.” This was the good news, the evangelists said. In the Catholic Church, they wrote, people were burdened with the impossible task of trying to earn their way into heaven with good works and rituals. The Protestant Reformers had helped Christians break out in a religion of joy and faith. I was glad to have been so liberated. I was so lucky I wasn’t a Catholic. And yet, at times I felt as overwhelmed by the burdens of “faith” as any medieval Catholic supposedly overwhelmed by the burden of doing good works.
What was faith? Was it a feeling? Did I have it? How could I know? I examined my feelings, only to get more confused than ever. I could defend orthodox Christian ideas. I subscribed to them. But did I have faith in them? I could not tell. I found that sizing up my faith was as hard as calibrating my good works and sins.
Moreover, I began to see how some ultra-liberal writers used this idea of “faith vs. works” to repudiate all morality. If one had faith, these ultra-liberals said, one need not worry about mere “righteousness.” Isn’t that what Paul said? When I began to see the weaknesses of Protestantism, I began to be attracted to the Catholic Church. But what about faith vs. works? I resolved to read the New Testament again just to see what it said about “faith alone.”
Reading the Bible with an open mind made me see it in a whole new light. Does Jesus call us to obey moral commands? Let me put it this way: Have you ever heard of something called the Sermon on the Mount? I only had to read a few pages into the New Testament to find Jesus saying, in Matthew 5: “Your light must shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your heavenly Father. Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. . . . Whoever obeys and teaches these commandments will be called greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
There is a notion that all a Christian needs to do is call Jesus “Lord” and he will be saved. But Christ rejects this in Matthew 7: “Every tree that does not hear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. So by their fruits you will know them. Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven.”
It hit me like a hammer: We are commanded to obey God’s law. Jesus warned us of the consequences in Matthew 25: “Then they will answer and say, “Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or ill or in prison, and not minister to your needs?’ He will answer them, ‘Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’ And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”
I kept reading. Paul speaks of faith, but he also condemns immorality, as in Romans 2:5-8, where he points out “the just judgment of God, who will repay everyone according to his works: eternal life to those who seek glory, honor, and immortality through perseverance in good works, but wrath and fury to those who selfishly disobey the truth and obey wickedness.”
By the time I finished this reading, I saw that the Bible rejects the modern notion of “faith”-that mouthing some slogan, or having some vague feeling of religiosity, is the kind of faith that will save us. Yes, it is impossible for our puny good works to earn us eternal life in God’s presence, any more than we could buy the crown jewels of England with a bottle cap. But the Bible is clear that “faith” is more than a slogan or a feeling: It is a life; it is action. I began to see that there was no Berlin Wall between “works” and “faith.” When Jesus commends someone’s faith, he is often referring to some response that person has made to him. I was forced to conclude that the Protestant doctrine of “faith alone,” as interpreted by many modern Protestants, was just a plain flat mistake.
Many of my other prejudices fell at the same time, and eventually I was received into the Catholic Church. Still, there was a lingering doubt in my mind. Would the Catholic Church substitute works for faith? But as I grew to understand the Church better, I saw how deeply it understands faith. I began to see that the Church knows that though we do nothing to earn salvation, we are still free to reject it. I read the advice of saints such as Catherine of Siena and Francis de Sales and saw the clear understanding of how all of us must daily make the effort to accept the free gift of salvation. The playboy who inherits an estate does not earn it, but he can squander it. The Catholic Church understands that all of us are prodigal sons who are given an undeserved inheritance, and who all too often throw it away.
I began to see that the Church understands how our works do nothing for our salvation, and yet they may on some level count for something. If a friend asks how much our new car costs, we might reply, accurately enough for his curiosity, “It cost me twenty grand.” But when making out the payment to the dealer, we would have to fill in the exact amount: “$20,007.20.” That $7.20 is so trivial we don’t even mention it to our friend. But the dealer insists on it, if only so that his books stay correct. The Church understands that someday our own $7.20 also must be reckoned. The Church understands that in the grand scheme of things our good deeds are nothing, and yet they still matter. I imagined a child asking, “What makes the electric light go on?” We might talk of the laws of science, and inventions, and the power company, and finally the wires and switches and the bulb in the room.
But what if the person who paid the bills came in and asked, in an annoyed voice, “Who left that light on?” I would have to raise my hand. Then my tiny, insignificant action is worth mentioning. The Church understands that in the grand scheme of love and grace, we are hardly worth mentioning. Yet there is a time when our tiny, insignificant actions must be mentioned.
Indeed, I saw how faith can become a work. As a Protestant, I thought that my belief in the orthodox Christian teaching was faith. Thus it became a mere work, something that I did that catapulted me into salvation. Moreover, it became a work of pride. I fancied that I was smart enough and faithful enough to see why the orthodox Christian teachings were true. Therefore I had won my faith, as I might have won a spelling bee, and therefore I won salvation. Is this not too often the case? Some of us may think that faith is a cozy feeling we get on Sunday, sitting in a pretty church and listening to a familiar hymn. Others may think it is the warm glow of joining some well-meaning social movement. Yet others may think it is some slogan. But the Catholic Church understands that this is only an imitation of faith.
After I became a Catholic, I found that, far from accepting “works righteousness,” the Catholic Church taught me far more about grace and my dependence on God than I had ever learned before. It is the Catholic Church that understands best that faith is not a feeling but a way of living. This is a special danger of our age, which exalts feelings and is tempted to identify faith with a feeling. But the great teachers of the Church, such as John of the Cross or Cardinal Newman, are clear that faith is our overall response to God, not just the feeling that sometimes accompanies it.
Nowhere else had I heard so clearly the need for grace, the need for God’s power and love to give us the strength and courage to accept that salvation, and the love and holiness to be able to keep that salvation. I began to see that a criticism of the Catholic Church was in fact 180 degrees wrong. Evangelicals often accuse the Church of substituting works for faith. They then point to the many traditions and rites of Catholic Christianity as proof of this. But Catholic rites and traditions are proof that in fact Catholics do understand that everything comes from God. Catholic rituals and traditions are not magic in which we make God do something. They are confessions of faith, a willingness to seek out God. In the language of our computer age, Catholic rituals and traditions are a way to “log on,” to access God’s power and love.
No longer am I burdened by “faith vs. works.” I understand, of course, the danger of substituting good works for obedience and the danger of putting the lesser things of God before God himself. Yet now, as a Catholic, I think I have a better g.asp of what the Bible says about faith and works. I understand that no simple slogan or catchphrase can sum them up easily. But in the company of others, in obedience to his Church, acting in love, and fueling myself with the sacraments and traditions of the Church, I have faith that I can do my insignificant, hardly-worth-mentioning part to bring the kingdom closer-and that, when that day comes, actions of faith will be of infinite importance.