Why I cannot be a Catholic

Embarrassment in Anglicanism, salvation in humility

When a twenty-something year old man turns up, unannounced, to his local church looking to “get involved”, there is no amount of Christian virtue, love and kindness that will deter the clergy from thinking that it has an imminent mental breakdown on its hands.

This fearful mental image has deterred me from stepping into a Catholic church for the best part of a decade, despite my curiosity. Like many of the Anglican faith I am aware of the inferiority of my religious upbringing and find myself naturally drawn to the seriousness of Catholicism. At the same time, I cannot ignore the ridiculousness of hopping between branches of what is essentially the same faith. My parents, as I remember, did not even make that distinction of denomination. We were simply “Christians” and went to church every so often until Mother got over her religiosity and started bowling on Sundays instead.

This is the nature of Anglican churches. Congregations change constantly. Members of the flock occasionally wander off, either returning for Christmas or Easter, or otherwise disappearing entirely. Few of those sat in the pews are in it for the long-term. Some are recovering alcoholics or drug addicts for whom the Christian faith is an ancillary treatment on their road to recover. Many are old people staving off the loneliness. A few dotted about the nave will have arrived with a genuine religious impulse, which is soon extinguished by the vicar’s sermon in which he stutters something about the cultural importance of a new television show.

Anglicanism, in this way, is the antibiotic of Christian denominations: effective for a fixed period, but rarely a lifelong prescription. The temptation for a restless young man or woman to take some stronger stuff is inevitable. The obvious choice - unless that person is a redhead - is Catholicism.

This temptation to defect to the Romeish Church is not unique to me. From my admittedly limited vantage point, the Church seems to be gaining favour with the younger generation. While I of course sympathise with these people, I am skeptical of their sincerity. Many, I wager, have joined the Catholic church because it grants them a sense of superiority. Others do so knowing that Catholics, like any sectarian group, are given to help out their own in economic and professional matters. And many young men, no doubt, are lured in by the sacrament of penance, by the fantasy of running around with large-breasted women before absolving themselves with a hasty confession and a few Hail Marys. No such loophole exists in Anglicanism. One may seek “spiritual guidance” from the vicar, but absolution (and the sacramental seal) is off the table. When I conferred with my vicar I was told that if I saw a big-breasted woman walk by I should simply take my glasses off.

Compare this laxity to the exacting precision of the Catholic liturgy. The rituals need to be studied, presumably. You cannot just waltz into a Catholic church and start fondling rosary beads, crossing your chest and tapping your foot along to the Gregorian chant as if it were the most natural thing in the world. These are the sorts of things that need to be inculcated at birth if one wants to avoid feeling silly or bothering others with obvious questions like “do I swallow the wine, or is this just a tasting?”

Yet perhaps this agony of indecision - the gnawing sense of belonging to the wrong Church by accident of birth - is the surest path to Heaven. Catholics, secure in their Nicene legitimacy, risk pride in the certainty that their Church is obviously the most serious. The Anglican must grapple with the constant awareness that he was raised a heretic. And what does this breed but humility? While the Catholic’s soul is surfeited with pride, certain as he can be in the historical and moral supremacy of his Church, the Anglican’s is tempered by a healthy self-doubt. If there’s one thing we know about God it’s that he loves a good paradox.