Is There Only One True Church? (Part 2)

(If you haven't read it yet, go back and read the first installment of this series of essays, where I define the categories of arguments used to make the claim of "one true church." The piece below focuses on one such category, historical arguments.)

Let’s take the Roman Catholic Church as our case study for the historical angle. Their stance on other Christian communions has softened somewhat since Vatican II, but they still insist on a basic recognition that they are “the” church: the church Jesus founded, the church in which sacramental grace is most abundantly present, and the church which God ultimately wants everyone to join. Since they are among the most vocal about asserting such claims, they make for a good case study illustrating the difficulties in presenting historical, biblical, or experiential arguments for one’s position.

- Historical arguments – The RCC claims that they are an apostolic church, founded in the first wave of Christianity and organized under the apostolic leadership of Peter. That much can reasonably be granted as plausible. Not only was Rome one of the first major churches, but there is good historical evidence that Peter went there, encouraged the Christians there, and died as a martyr there. It’s the further RCC claim that run into historical trouble: namely, that Peter’s apostolic foundation of the church of Rome represented the beginning of a bishopric meant to hold sway over the entire Christian communion; and further, that the RCC should be considered the one true church because it descends in an undeviated line from that apostolic foundation.

Let’s take it one step at a time. Is there reason to believe that Peter’s role as an apostolic founder of the Roman church signified the beginning of a bishopric exalted above all others? Maybe, but probably not. It’s true that Rome was granted a certain sort of primacy from very early on, but most of the early sources do not treat it as the same sort of primacy which the see of Rome now claims for itself. Rome was described as “first among equals,” as having a “primacy of honor,” and as being “the church which presides in love,” but note that each of those statements bears a condition with it—an equality with other sees, a primacy of honor (not of governmental authority), and a presidency exercised in love (not in monarchical superposition). Irenaeus argues that churches must be in communion with Rome (and even ascribes to it a “preeminent authority”), but the main reason he usually gives is Rome’s role as the preserver of the apostles’ doctrine—thus opening the question of what one should do if Rome ever strayed sufficiently far from the core of New Testament doctrine, as the Reformers believed it had. (It’s also worth noting that Irenaeus was within the geographic bounds of the patriarchate of Rome and was writing to address local situations of heresy, so one would naturally expect him to refer matters to Rome’s authority rather than, say, to Jerusalem’s.) Cyprian of Carthage, often quoted as one of the fiercest early defenders of the necessity of being in communion with Rome, is also the church father who most consistently told the pope to butt out of the business of bishops elsewhere (such as in his own native Africa). So while the early records do indicate a form of primacy accorded to Rome, it doesn’t leap off the page as being quite what the RCC now asserts regarding the role of the pope.

Now we'll take a closer look at some of the specific historical arguments involved. First, the association with Peter: we should note that Peter was almost certainly not the founder of the Roman church—at least not in terms of being the one who first began building a circle of believers there. There’s every reason to believe that there were Christians in Rome shortly after Pentecost (Acts 2:10), in the early 30s AD, and Peter likely does not arrive in Rome for several decades thereafter (late 50s or early 60s). Still, we’ll grant the possibility that he may have been the first of Jesus’s twelve apostles to visit the church in Rome, and that upon his arrival he took an active role in organizing the believers there into an institutional form by appointing leaders. One of the problems for this view, however, is that the earliest sources refer to Rome’s authority in the context of Peter and Paul’s apostolicity (that is, not specifically with reference to Peter alone). In some cases, it’s more Paul than Peter. When Pope Clement writes to the church of Corinth in the late first century, he writes his letter as issuing from the whole church of Rome (not from his own personal authority), advises them to submit to their own appointed leaders (again, not to his own authority), and makes reference to the mutual connection they have to Paul’s apostolic authority (not Peter’s). Judging from the earliest references, then, it was not so much the position of Peter’s office that made Rome special, but the clout of having the two heaviest hitters in the apostolic college.

A further argument against making a simplistic connection between a founding by Peter and supreme authority arises from the fact that Peter exercised a similar office for the church in Jerusalem three decades beforehand, and (by good historical authority) in Antioch as well. So we have two other major patriarchal sees which also claim an apostolic foundation from Peter. Why should Rome get the nod over them? In most patristic sources that touch on the subject, Rome is ranked before Antioch and Jerusalem despite them all having an apostolic foundation rooted in Peter’s ministry, and for two main reasons: it was the site of Peter and Paul’s martyrdoms, and it was the imperial capital. The latter reason—based largely in institutional practicality—was also the main reason for adding Constantinople to the list of patriarchal sees, in a position proximate to Rome’s, in the fourth century. The elevation of sees to the circle of the five major patriarchates was not really a function of apostolic founding (though that was assumed), but of practical organization: they represented the major urban centers for their respective regions (Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, and Antioch), plus Jerusalem, which was included for its status as the original mother church. The administrative practicality of the arrangement appears to have been the decisive factor, else one would be hard-pressed to explain why none of the small churches of central Asia Minor (also plausibly founded by Peter—see 1 Peter 1:1) ever rose to the circle of major patriarchates. Constantinople claimed a possible-but-historically-dubious founding from Andrew, but it was really its status as the new imperial capital that sealed the deal for its inclusion. It seems, then, that being the imperial capital carried with it a considerable sway, not only in political affairs, but ecclesiastical ones as well, and the sources openly admit that as a major consideration.

Other reasons raised by modern Catholics in favor of Rome’s historical primacy—like Jesus’s appointment of Peter in Matt. 16:17-19—are not quite as clear-cut as it might seem at first glance (more to come on that passage in the section related to biblical arguments). So it appears that to claim an apostolic foundation from Peter is not really a “case closed” argument, since other patriarchal sees can and do make the same claim, and early texts show that Rome was distinguished from those sees on other grounds. The see of Rome was regarded as “first among equals,” but patristic texts seem to show that while Rome gradually came to think that “first” was the most important word in that phrase, everyone else thought that “equals” was the most important.

It should perhaps also be noted that the Western tradition makes a common error in speaking of this matter, whenever someone labels Peter as “the first pope.” Patristic sources are generally careful to separate the special office of the apostles from that of the institutional bishop, which was derived from their authority but not exactly equated with it. Thus Peter is counted a founding apostle for Jerusalem, Antioch, and Rome, but not the first bishop in any of those places. James (the brother of Jesus) is counted as the first bishop of Jerusalem by patristic texts, a role which can pretty clearly be seen in the records of the original ecumenical council, when his personal assessment is taken as the final form for the council’s ruling, even though Peter is also there in person (see Acts 15:13-21, especially v.19). For Rome, Linus is counted as the first bishop, and thus the first pope. Both Irenaeus and Eusebius speak fairly clearly on the matter—Peter is an apostle, not a bishop. That’s all a bit tangential to the topic at hand, but worth mentioning.

The second little piece of the historical argument—that the RCC should be considered the one true church because it has descended in an undeviated line from its apostolic foundation—is compelling in some respects, but a little incomplete. Other apostolic churches, not in communion with Rome, make the same claim about themselves. Some of those churches even reckon their apostolic foundings earlier than Rome’s, and they also still exist in an unbroken line of descent (the Coptic church of Alexandria is a good example of this). What distinguishes Rome’s claim above theirs? For an outsider, it’s difficult to see any significant distinction in the arguments which should favor one side or the other.

Further, the argument from an undeviated descent only takes into account the institutional process by which each ordained office is filled by an appointed successor. Even the necessity of apostolic succession is open to question, since it is not clearly pointed out as important in the New Testament and only emerges as a consideration gradually over the subsequent centuries. And it’s also worth asking whether the institutional process is actually the most important part of the idea of apostolic succession. While it’s kind of neat to have a chain of ordinations stretching back to the apostles, that institutional narrative says nothing at all about whether the church in question has remained faithful to the doctrine of the apostles. This was the main sticking-point for the Reformers of the sixteenth century. They had no arguments with the historical fact of Rome’s apostolic succession (though some doubted whether it was really that important), but rather with the sense that Rome’s doctrine had gradually shifted into something that was now in significant tension with the doctrine of the New Testament—preeminently, Paul’s apostolic declaration of salvation by grace through faith, and not by works. Even if one were to grant that Peter had founded Rome and that it maintained an undeviated line of succession from him, should one still hold allegiance to it if it began teaching a different gospel than the one taught by the apostles? This matter is a little harder to see clearly now than it was in the sixteenth century, because various reforms from the sixteenth century on have clarified Catholic doctrine and led the RCC to tack back towards a more biblical expression of its theology, but at the time of the Reformation, it was clearly and openly preaching a salvation that could be earned by works. One of the most fundamental questions to discern, then, in the matter of whether a church’s claim to be the one true church is valid, is the question of whether their teaching still matches the doctrine that was “once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3). Given the various doctrinal disagreements between apostolic churches today, one cannot simply assume that apostolic succession guarantees doctrinal faithfulness.

And with that consideration, we’ll shift and examine the biblical arguments in the next piece. As I hope this case study demonstrates, the historical arguments for claiming to being the one true church quickly get bogged down in the messiness of early sources. No church’s claim actually shows up to be nearly as clear-cut in history as they want it to be. Is it possible that Rome (or something else) really is the one true church? Maybe. But history won’t make that case with anything approaching even a basic level of confidence.

The Evangeliad (30:4-5)

(Click here for an introduction and previous installments of the Evangeliad)

Section 30:4-5 (corresponding to Luke 14:10-11)

So when you're invited to come to a feast,

Go straight for the seat that's honored the least.

And then your host, when he enters the house,

Might seat you higher than everyone else.

He'll see your humility, want you to be

At his very side as you go through the feast,

And so give you the most honored place,

Exalting the lowly to everyone's praise. 

For abasement awaits all those who would try

Their own name and station to glorify,

But those who humble themselves, they will find

An exaltation to the highest of heights."

Is There Only One True Church? (Part 1)

I recently had a discussion with my sister—a devout Roman Catholic, of the very best kind—about how one could plausibly assess the contention made by her church to be the one true church and the exclusive, fully legitimate heir of Christianity’s apostolic foundations (a title to which, contrary to the Catholics, the Eastern Orthodox and Oriental Orthodox churches also lay claim). I was, as one might imagine, skeptical of such claims, though I love Catholicism and Orthodoxy for their rich traditions of piety and their steadfast adherence to the core doctrines of the patristic age. But unlike some Protestant skeptics, who are content to brush off the exclusivist claims of apostolic churches as mere hubris, I desperately want to know the truth of the matter: Which church, if any, is closest to what Jesus intended? Is there a “one true church” among the proliferation of Christian denominations, and if so, how might one discern it?

Terminology

It might be useful to start with a couple notes on terminology. I’m using the term “denomination” to designate each Christian group. Some communions don’t think of themselves as denominations, either because they see themselves as the one true church, rather than one among many (à la Catholics and Eastern Orthodox), or because they prefer to think of themselves as a “movement” (like some recent Protestant arrivals, such as Calvary Chapel). Unfortunately for their preferences, “denomination” is a word that entirely fits the bill, so it’s the one I’m going to use. It simply means “a group with a name,” as they all quite obviously are.

I’m also going to use the term “apostolic” in this piece, which refers to denominations that can trace their lineage and governance back in a direct line to churches founded by the apostolic generation of the first century. For the purposes of this piece, I will refer to denominations which feature an undeviated line (that is, being always in communion with the apostolic foundation from which their line was originally traced) as “apostolic churches.” These would include the Roman Catholic Church, the Eastern Orthodox churches, and the Oriental Orthodox churches. These are distinguished from what I’m calling “apostolic communions,” which maintain an unbroken line of descent and governance from apostolic foundations (usually mediated through ecclesiastical structures like the office of bishop), but deviated by separations in communion from their original apostolic source. Major examples of this would be the Church of the East (formerly called Nestorian), the Old Catholic churches, and the Anglican Communion, all of which preserved the lineage of traditional ecclesiastic orders even during their breaks with the apostolic sees from which they came, and so can trace the succession of their ordinations in a direct line back to the apostles.

One True Church?

Two broad types of claims are usually made. When an apostolic church claims a position as the one true church that Jesus founded, it is usually appealing to its history of direct descent from the apostles. Every other church, in their view, branched off from the one true church either by abandoning a crucial element of Christian doctrine or by choosing to break communion with the apostolic foundation over some other matter. Ironically, all of the apostolic churches generally hold this view with regard to themselves: namely, that they are the ones who stayed connected to the apostolic foundation, and everyone else chose to break off at some point. They hold that communion could be reestablished, but only if everyone else gave up major parts of their theological distinctives in order to align with the practices of the "original" group. You can imagine the apostolic church as a giant iceberg which has, over time, split into several smaller icebergs, and all the penguins on each iceberg believe that theirs is the original piece, from which all the others broke off.

The other type of claim comes from a small set of Protestant churches which regard their own doctrine and practice as representing the one true church. In this view, most of Christian history was an exercise in going astray, starting immediately after the apostolic age, and it was only when their own branch’s founder rediscovered the core of true doctrine that authentic Christianity re-emerged. Such churches base their claim primarily on the principle of biblical adherence, arguing that their own practice best matches that laid out in the New Testament. While this now tends to be something of a fringe position in Protestantism, a fairly broad swath of Protestant churches had their beginnings in a belief like this. My Baptist communion would not usually claim to be the only true church nowadays, but one doesn’t need to read that far back in Baptist history to find such a claim being made.

It might be tempting, on looking at the churches making these claims, to dismiss them with a wave of the hand. It seems a little silly, after all, that all the churches in each group are making the exact same claim about themselves, despite the many manifest differences between them. They can’t all be right, and thus many observers are content to shrug the matter off. 

But if there is one true church--or even just a church that most closely accords to God's intention--then I would very much like to know. It seems rather important that if there is one, then I should try to be a part of it. So I’m working through how one might assess the rival claims of all these different churches. Is there a communion of Christians that constitute the one true church in the world today? Or, on the other hand, is it the case that the one true church is simply the mystical Body of Christ, composed of all faithfully believing Christians, regardless of which visible communion they belong to? Either way, it seems an important question to try to get right.

Assessing the Evidence: Historical, Biblical, Experiential

Three main types of arguments are used to back up the claim that one’s own church is the right one:

1.) Historical arguments: “We’re directly descended from the original church and never separated from it, so that must mean we’re the true church.”

2.) Biblical arguments: “Our theological distinctives offer the clearest presentation of New Testament doctrine and practice of any church body, so that must mean we’re the true church.”

3.) Experiential: “The Holy Spirit works in our midst in such-and-such a way, and we experience this or that kind of miracle, clearly showing that God’s supernatural stamp of approval is on us.”

Each of these arguments faces challenges: for the historical and experiential arguments, it’s commonly the plurality of denominations that causes the most difficulty for making an exclusivist case, since there are usually other groups that can boast similar historical records and miracle stories. For the biblical argument, it’s the ambiguity of certain aspects of biblical interpretation that causes the most difficulty—it’s hard to make the case that your interpretation on a particular point is clearly the right one when, again, there are other denominations making equally impassioned and theologically plausible arguments for their own view of the same passages.

(To be continued…Next time we’ll examine each of the three types of claims using the case study of our quirky big sister in the faith, the Roman Catholic Church.)

The Evangeliad (30:1-3)

(Click here for an introduction and previous installments of the Evangeliad)

Section 30:1-3 (corresponding to Luke 14:7-9)

Jesus looked round the room, then spoke these words,

Advising the men on what he'd observed:

"When you are invited to a feast, my friends,

Don't seek out the table's most honored end.

You want for yourselves a prestigious spot,

But vanity's shame will be all you got

When you're moved by the host to the lowest seat,

Where common folk and humility meet.

For what if a guest more honored than you

Should come through the door, then isn't it true?--

The host would come and unseat you himself,

To give the best spot to somebody else.

Changes to My Blog

After several years of posting on a daily (or near-daily) basis, I'm going to scale back my presence on this blog, moving to a weekly pattern. The quotes, photos, and prayers will be going away, at least for a little while (reasons for this shift can be found below). Nevertheless, a few things will remain the same:

- I will continue posting new sections of my Evangeliad poem, partly because I've found that keeping a scheduled posting habit has kept me moving on the project, and it likely has at least a couple more years to go. Those poems will now be posted near the end of each week. 

- Sermon podcasts will no longer be posted directly to this blog, but you can easily access them by going to my church's website (calaisbaptist.org), and clicking the "Sermons" tab. There is a permanent link to the church website on the sidebar of this blog (if you're viewing the desktop version of the page).

- I will also occasionally post essays, though not on an every-week basis. Essays were one of the staples of this blog a few years back, and I had moved away from them because of time constraints, but I found that I greatly enjoyed the handful of essays I wrote after coming home from my England trip. Every once in a while, then, you can expect to see an essay (and maybe, just maybe, a new hymn!).

Two main motivators are driving this shift: first, my schedule has changed significantly in the past two years, making an every-day posting habit difficult to maintain. I'm now working part-time teaching classes and writing books in addition to my pastoral ministry (in fact, I have a new book manuscript under contract right now, and it will command much of my time until December). Reducing the time given to the blog will enable me to take one small thing off the mountain of little demands that make up my life. At the same time, it will also free up the blog to highlight some of the projects that develop on a more sporadic basis.

Second, and perhaps more importantly, I'm committed to radically cutting down the amount of time I spend looking at digital screens this year. This week marks two years since the beginning of my oblate novitiate (and nearly a year as a full monastic oblate). I'm working to bring some of the practices of my life more in line with the wisdom of the monastic tradition, which is characterized by patience, listening, and leaving margins of silence and contemplation in one's daily life, to more readily recall oneself to the awareness of God's presence. The ubiquity of screens in our modern life--from smartphones to laptops to TVs hooked up to streaming platforms--tends to work the other way, filling up all the available margins with an incessant stream of articles, shows, games, posts, and trivialities. I'll still have to use my computer for necessary research and communication, and I'll still engage in watching an occasional show, movie, or sporting event as a communal activity with others, but that's where I'm drawing the line. For the next year, I'll be reducing my exposure to screens down to just two roles: necessary tasks and communal hospitality. 

Cutting back on some of my blog-posting schedule will enable me to stay away from the computer more consistently, and the creative pieces that I'll continue to post--poems, and the occasional essay or hymn--are things that can be entirely composed elsewhere (by hand or with my gloriously old-fashioned word-processor, which features nothing but a four-line text display). So look for (at the very least) a weekly Evangeliad post, and an occasional extra piece every now and then. I'll of course have weeks during vacations where I'm not posting anything, and I'll probably not announce those breaks formally anymore; just look for the normal posts to resume in a week or two weeks' time if there's a gap. I'll also certainly continue using the blog to keep readers apprised of new books and articles that may be coming out shortly, so keep an eye out for that.