Hi, CreekCrawler. I converted almost three years ago from Lutheranism, and I still have to listen to Lutheran sermons on a regular basis, so I can kind of see what you’re saying. But at the same time, I don’t agree. I don’t know what form of Protestantism you converted from, so this may not be applicable, but I can tell you about my experience with “passionate preaching of the gospel” and why I think that approach isn’t incredibly constructive.
When I was attending an Evangelical school, the faculty loved giving us impassioned speeches about how we were sinners who ought to do so much better. There was a sense that if you weren’t “on fire”, you had a problem. In fact, you might not even be saved. Emotions ruled the day, sadness was usually unacceptable, and I think the sermons were an extension of that. Actual theology was kind of hazy, and I was never totally clear on what they stood for or why. I didn’t like that approach very much.
Sundays were better. I spent a lot of years going to a church where the pastor would give collections of thoughts on the readings, maybe talk about the greek or hebrew, and tie it into a nice little lesson about lying or pride or giving to the poor. I liked it. He was knowledgeable and spoke on a wide variety of topics. Unfortunately, I soon learned that he was doing it “wrong”- in Lutheranism, every sermon is supposed to follow a specific pattern. You talk about the “law”, and then you talk about the “gospel”.
The year before I began RCIA (they sent me through RCIA as a kid because of reasons), I went to a church that did things “right”. The pastor yelled dramatically and emphatically and always, always, always talked about law and gospel. Twice a week, for a whole year, I listened to this man spend twenty minutes bringing the scripture of the day around to how we’re all horrible, wretched, miserable, filthy
worms that deserve to be cast into hell for breaking the law. It didn’t matter if the reading was literally “go give money to the poor”- the entire sermon would be about how we are wretched sinful beggars and God ought to hate us. And then, we had the obligatory description of the crucifixion, about five minutes of “but Christ died for you
anyway”, and then maybe a couple lines thrown out about not sinning or helping the poor or something. Maybe.
Listening to that really takes its toll. Sooner or later you realize that they’re ignoring the actual readings in favor of preaching the same sermon every week. You realize that few apply this stuff- they know all the answers in religion class, but if you talk about
love, they scoff. I’m not saying the church didn’t have its good points, but as a 13-year-old kid, I knew that the pastor’s number one job was to remind me that I was a pitiful, sinful, willfully evil pile of filthy rags.
That I was worthless.
I first came to Catholicism because they talked about things that were interesting. I came because they did want to discuss things like the death penalty. There was something to sink your teeth into; there were answers when you asked a question. There were people discussing every minute facet of the faith, from scripture readings to moral theology to the everyday business of being a Christian. I
stayed because they helped me realize that I’m not worthless. Nobody is. We’re made in the image of God, and we’re precious.
The year after I became Catholic, I was invited to a Catholic retreat. The main thing I remember is that at one point they showed us a music video from Tenth Avenue North. The song they sang (“You Are More”) doesn’t differ significantly from the Lutheran or Catholic view of salvation. Basically, it was the same thing I’d heard for years- we are sinners, but Christ has ransomed us and made us “more”.
For some reason, I found myself in awe that you guys- that we- actually believe this. That each person, no matter how wretched or helpless or small, is worth fighting for. I knew that it was true. I knew it because every moment of my experience as a Catholic has been filled with Christians insisting that we remember the dignity of all humans. That we fight for them. That we love them. Only here do I hear the word “soul” and think of a beautiful, individual being created in God’s image, a being that must be protected at all costs (whatever form that protection may take). My Catholic friends don’t know much about the Bible in many cases, and sometimes that really bothers me. But they do have love and respect for the human person, and if they’re going to major on a certain part of the faith, I’m glad they’ve got that part down.
So. That was way more long and emotional than I intended it to be. But what I’m trying to say is, the concern for the death penalty, or abortion, or porn use, or the poor, is really important to me. The arguments convinced me, yes. But it’s the concern for the dignity of the human person that lets me know, more than anything, that I’m in the right place. I see it in our arguments here, even when they get heated. I see it in the way we take the time to individually address the doubts of each individual, and tell them that they can lose their sense of being “on fire”, but it doesn’t mean God has abandoned them. I see it in the way that our religious orders reach out, in the way we welcome converts, in the way we collect food. It’s a complete faith: if you need arguments, they are here; if you need answers, they are here; if you need practical help, it is here; if you need to feel God through the sacraments, He is here. But everywhere, there is concern for the human person. There is love. Catholics preach the gospel with their lives, with their ministries, out of love for their brothers and sisters. And that tells me, more than any passionate sermon ever could, that I am home. I pray that my life can be a part of that- that I can “preach the gospel, and if necessary, use words.”
