Scott:
We decided to return to the college town where we had met. We wanted to plant our family in a nice, small town where we knew many people, while I hoped to find a job that would leave my evenings free to study the difficult issues that were troubling me.
I accepted an offer to serve as assistant to the president of Grove City College. It was an ideal job. I worked nine-to-five in the administration, while serving as a part-time guest instructor in the theology department, teaching one course each semester. It left me with my evenings free for study.
One of my former college professors asked why we were moving back to town. He had heard that I had been a pastor of a growing church in Virginia, along with teaching at a local seminary. He was baffled by our move. I suggested that life around the D.C. beltway was too fast-paced. We wanted to raise a family. . . . I couldn’t tell him all the reasons why—because I still wasn’t sure myself.
Shortly after our move, on a visit to my in-laws in Cincinnati, I found a used bookstore that had bought out the library of a deceased priest who was also a well-known Scripture scholar. Over the next two years, I walked away with about thirty boxes of his theology books. I began intensively devouring these for five, six, sometimes even seven hours at night. I was able to get through at least two hundred books. For the first time, I was hearing Catholicism from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.
Sometimes, in the evening, I would play a game with Kimberly that I called “Name That Theologian”. On one occasion, I read a section from Vatican II and asked her, “Who is the author?”
She said, “That sounds like one of your sermons back in Virginia. You don’t know how much I miss hearing you preach!”
“That wasn’t me. That was Vatican II. Can you believe it?”
“I don’t want to hear that”, was her only reply.
I continued reading all kinds of books about Catholic theology. One evening I stopped in the dining room en route to my study and said, “Kimberly, I have to be honest. I’m reading a lot of Catholic books these days, and I think God might be calling me into the Catholic Church.”
To which Kimberly quickly replied, “Can’t we become Episcopalians?” Apparently there was something more dreaded than becoming Episcopalian—anything but Catholic.
I went to a Byzantine Catholic seminary just to attend their vespers liturgy. It wasn’t a Mass; it was just prayer, with all the prostrations, incense and icons, the smells and the bells. When it was over, a seminarian asked me, “What do you think?” I simply muttered, “Now I know why God gave me a body: to worship the Lord with his people in liturgy.”
I drove back home, searching and asking God for help. I still hoped to find one fatal flaw that would keep me from “swimming the Tiber”, as we say, or from “popeing”.
So I started looking into Orthodoxy. I met with Peter Gilquist, an evangelical convert to Antiochene Orthodoxy, to hear why he chose Orthodoxy over Rome. His reasons reinforced my sense that Protestantism was wrong; but I also thought that his defense of Orthodoxy over Catholicism was unsatisfying and superficial. Upon closer examination, I found the various Orthodox churches to be hopelessly divided among themselves, similar to the Protestants, except that the Orthodox were split along the lines of ethnic nationalisms; there were Orthodox bodies that called themselves Greek, Russian, Ruthenian, Rumanian, Bulgarian, Hungarian, Serbian and so on. They have coexisted for centuries, but more like a family of brothers who have lost their father.
Further study led me to conclude that Orthodoxy was wonderful for its liturgy and tradition but stagnant in theology. In addition, I became convinced that it was mistaken in doctrine, having rejected certain teachings of Scripture and the Catholic Church, especially the filioque clause (“and the Son”) that had been added to the Nicene Creed. In addition, their rejection of the Pope as head of the Church seemed to be based on imperial politics, more than on any serious theological grounds. This helped me to understand why, throughout their history, Orthodox Christians have tended to exalt the Emperor and the State over the Bishop and the Church (otherwise known as “Caesaropapism”). It occurred to me that Russia had been reaping the consequences of this Orthodox outlook throughout the twentieth century.
Ever since seminary, I frequently “talked shop” in late-night marathon phone conversations with my old friend from Gordon-Conwell, Gerry Matatics. He was a real kindred spirit who loved the Bible as much as I and hated the Catholic Church even more. At the time, he was pastoring a Presbyterian church in Harrisburg. Both of us shared the conviction that the Catholic Church was totally unlike certain Protestant denominations, such as the Methodists, the Lutherans or the Assembly of God—all of which we thought were a little off here and there, on this or that point of doctrine.
But if the Catholic Church was wrong, it was more than a little off, because no denomination on earth made the kinds of outrageous claims that Rome made for itself. For instance, the Methodists never claimed to be the one and only true Church founded by Jesus; nor did the Lutherans claim to have as their head a Pope who was Christ’s infallible vicar on earth; nor was the Assembly of God run by leaders claiming an unbroken line of succession going all the way back to Peter.
Like Cardinal Newman before us, Gerry and I could see that if the Catholic Church was wrong, it was nothing less than diabolical. On the other hand, if it was right, it must have been divinely established and preserved; but that was hardly a serious option for either of us.
To be honest, I dreaded the moment when Gerry would find out what I was reading and thinking about. But since we talked so much and so long, I figured that it was only a matter of time.
One night it finally happened. We had been talking about Scripture for over an hour when, all of the sudden, I got the urge to read him a passage from The Spirit and Forms of Protestantism, by Father Louis Bouyer. I wasn’t going to tell him the title, author or even his denominational affiliation. I just wanted to get his reaction.
After a long pause, he gasped, “Wow, that’s good stuff, Scott. Who were you reading from?”
His response really threw me off. I hadn’t planned on his liking it. What should I do now?
I replied rather weakly, “Louis Bouyer”.
“Bouyer? Never heard of him. What is he? An Anglican?”
“No.”
“That’s okay, Scott. I’ll read Lutherans.”
“No, he’s not Lutheran.”
“Well, what is he? Methodist?”
“No.”
“C’mon, Scott, what is this, twenty questions? Stop playing games. What is he?”
I covered my mouth and murmured, “Catholic.”
I heard Gerry knock his phone and say, “Scott, I must have a bad connection—I couldn’t make out what you said.”
A little less softly, I muttered, “I said, he’s a Catholic.”
“Scott, there must really be something wrong with my phone. I could have sworn you just said he’s a Catholic,”
“I did, Gerry. In fact, I’ve been reading lots of Catholics lately.”
All of a sudden it began gushing out. “I have to tell you, Gerry, I’ve struck gold. I don’t know why, but we were never told at seminary about the most brilliant theological minds of modern times, men like Henri de Lubac, Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, Joseph Ratzinger, Hans Urs von Balthasar, Josef Pieper, Jean Danielou, Christopher Dawson and Matthias Scheeben. It’s incredible—even if they’re wrong—it’s a gold mine!”
Gerry was stunned. “Whoa, Scott. Slow down! Wait a second. What’s going on?”
I sighed, “Gerry, I need your help.”
He said, “I’ll help you. Brother, I’ll help you. Give me a list of titles, and I’ll give you a list of the best anti-Catholic books I know.”
So I sent Gerry a list of the best books I had read on Catholic theology. When Gerry’s list arrived, I found that I had already read every title he recommended.
A month later Gerry called back.
Kimberly could hardly contain her excitement. She had been hoping and praying that God would send help.
She whispered to me as I picked up the phone, “Finally, someone is going to take you seriously, Scott. I’ll be praying for your conversation.”
In that month since our previous phone call Gerry had read every single title on my list and then some. Now he even asked, “Could you give me some more titles? I really want to be fair.”
For Kimberly, Gerry was a “knight in shining armor” sent by God to rescue her husband from heresy. And he had the credentials to do it. He was a Phi Beta Kappa scholar who had majored in classical Greek and Latin and studied Hebrew and Aramaic. He was more than ready for combat.
I said, “Sure, Gerry. I’ll send you some more titles. Gladly.”
About a month later, we talked for three or four hours, until around three in the morning. Afterward, I slipped quietly into bed so that I wouldn’t wake Kimberly.
She whispered, “How did it go?” She was wide awake.
“It went great.”
She sat up in bed. “Really? I knew the Lord would hear my prayers and Gerry would help.”
“Gerry is helping. He has read through every book.”
“Scott, he’s really taking you seriously.”
“Oh, he sure is.”
She asked, “So, what does he think?”
“Well, so far he says there’s not a single Catholic doctrine that he can’t find scriptural support for.”
These were not the words Kimberly had expected to hear.
“What?” she replied.
In the darkness I could feel her slump back into bed. She buried her face in the pillow and began to sob. I tried to comfort her, but she said, “Don’t touch me. I feel so betrayed.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Gerry’s still working on it, so don’t give up hope.”
Gerry, who was supposed to rescue me, ended up getting swept off his feet. He began his own in-depth study of Scripture, and, as a result, he saw how much sense the Catholic Faith made in light of covenant theology and the early Church Fathers.
We talked long distance a number of times, trying to figure out together how the Catholic Church was wrong. It had to be—that was the given. How could we prove it? Whenever we felt we had found the Achilles heel, not only would we discover an answer, but an unanswerable answer. We were getting nervous.
Meanwhile Kimberly had just given birth to our second child, Gabriel. Another son meant greater joy than ever; at the same time it intensified the need for resolution. As a busy mother, with little free time to study theology, Kimberly grew anxious and confused. But I kept pressing on like a zealot.
It was hard because Kimberly really didn’t want to talk about the Catholic Church. It was even harder because several priests I visited really didn’t want to talk about the Church, either. I would sneak out to find a priest to answer some of my remaining questions. I was discouraged by one after another.
I asked one of them, “Father Jim, how would I go about converting to the Catholic Church?”
“First,” he said, “please don’t call me ‘Father’. Second, I don’t think you really need to convert. Ever since Vatican II, it’s not ecumenical to convert! The best thing for you to do is simply to be the best Presbyterian you can be. You’ll do more good for the Catholic Church if you just stay put.”
Amazed, I responded, “Look, Father, I’m not asking you to twist my arm and force me to become a Catholic. I think God might be calling me into the Church, where I’ve found my home, my covenant family.”
He replied icily, “Well, if you want someone to help you convert, you’ve come to the wrong person.”
I was stunned.
On the way home, I prayed that the Lord would lead me to someone who would answer my questions. A thought came to me: perhaps I should enroll in theology courses at a Catholic university,
I applied to the doctoral program at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh. I was accepted and awarded a scholarship. Each week I drove down for classes. I was the only Protestant in some of my seminars and the only student defending Pope John Paul II! It was weird. I found myself explaining to priests (and even ex-priests) how certain Catholic beliefs were grounded in Scripture, especially in its theology of the covenant. It wasn’t clear that I was going to find answers to my questions there.
Sometimes a Catholic friend from Grove City would accompany me down to Pittsburgh, where he met with Father John Debicki, a priest of Opus Dei. I had never heard of Opus Dei before. All I knew was that this was a priest who took my questions seriously, gave thoughtful responses and let me know he was praying for me. He was such a humble man—I didn’t discover until later that he had studied theology in Rome, where he received his doctorate.
Several Catholics at Duquesne came to me on the side and said, “You can really make Scripture sing. It sounds Catholic when you talk.”
I said, “I think it is Catholic.”
Later that night, I wondered aloud to Kimberly: “Why are Gerry and I the only ones to see these Catholic ideas in Scripture?”
Kimberly replied somewhat cynically, “Maybe the Church you’re reading about doesn’t exist any more.”
I wondered if she might be right. It was frightening. I knew Kimberly was praying for help for me. I was praying a lot, too.
Someone mailed me a plastic Rosary. As I looked at those beads, I felt I was confronting the toughest obstacle of all: Mary. (Catholics have no idea how hard Marian doctrines and devotions are for Bible Christians.) So many doctrines of the Catholic Church had proven to be sound biblically that I decided to step out in faith on this one.
I locked myself in my office and quietly prayed. I said, “Lord, the Catholic Church has gotten it right ninety-nine times out of a hundred. The only major obstacle left is Mary. I apologize in advance if you’re offended by what I’m about to do. . . . Mary, if you are even half of what the Catholic Church says, please take this specific petition—which seems impossible—to the Lord for me through this prayer.”
I then prayed my first Rosary. I prayed it again for that intention several more times the next week, but then I forgot about it. Three months later, I realized that from the day I prayed my first Rosary, that seemingly impossible situation had been completely reversed. My petition had been granted!
I was struck by my inattention and ingratitude. I immediately thanked God for his mercy, took up the Rosary and have been praying it daily ever since. It is a most powerful prayer—an incredible weapon, one that highlights the scandal of the Incarnation: the Lord took a humble, peasant virgin and raised her up to be the one who would give sinless human nature to the second Person of the Trinity, so that he could become our Savior.
A short while later, I got a call from an old college friend. Apparently he had heard I was flirting with the “whore of Babylon”, as he put it. He didn’t waste any words.
“So, Scott, are you worshiping Mary yet?”
“C’mon, Chris, you know that Catholics don’t worship Mary, they simply venerate her.”
“Really, Scott, what’s the difference? There’s no biblical basis either way.”
I didn’t know what to say. Fingering my Rosary, I whispered to Mary for help. Emboldened, I replied, “You might be surprised.”
“Oh, really, how so?”
I just started saying whatever came into my mind. “It’s really quite simple, Chris. Just remember two basic biblical principles. First, you know that, as a man, Christ fulfilled God’s law perfectly, including the commandment to honor his father and mother. The Hebrew word for honor, kabodah, literally means ‘to glorify’. So Christ didn’t just honor his heavenly Father; he also perfectly honored his earthly mother, Mary, by bestowing his own divine glory upon her.
“The second principle is even easier: the imitation of Christ. So, we simply imitate Christ not just by honoring our own mothers but also by honoring whomever he honors—and with the same honor that he bestows.”
There was a long pause before Chris said, “I never heard it put that way before.”
To be frank, I hadn’t either. “Chris, that’s just a summary of what the Popes have been saying for centuries about devotion to Mary.”
He started back on the attack. “The Popes are one thing, but where is it in Scripture?”
I fired back instinctively, “Chris, Luke 1:48 says ‘Henceforth all generations will call me blessed.’ This is what the Rosary does, Chris, it fulfills that Scripture.”
There was a long pause, before Chris quickly changed the subject.
From then on, I kept sensing how praying the Rosary actually deepened my own theological penetration of Scripture. The key was meditating upon the fifteen mysteries, of course, but I found the prayer itself imparted a certain theological outlook for pondering all the mysteries of our Faith according to something that went beyond (but not against) the rational powers of the intellect, what certain theologians have called the “logic of love”.
This “logic of love” I first discovered by contemplating the Holy Family in Nazareth, the model for every household. This, in turn, pointed to the covenant and ultimately back to God’s own inner life as the one eternal Holy Family: the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. This beautiful and compelling vision started to fill my heart and mind; but I still wasn’t sure that the Catholic Church should be identified as the earthly expression of God’s covenant family. A lot more study and prayer were needed for that.
During this time, Gerry and I kept up our phone conversations. One day he called to invite me to join him in a get-together with one of our more brilliant mentors, Dr. John Gerstner, a Harvard-trained, Calvinist theologian with strong anti-Catholic convictions. Gerry told him that we were seriously considering the claims of the Catholic Church; so he was more than willing to meet with us to answer our questions.
Gerry made the arrangements. We could bring our Greek New Testaments, Hebrew Bibles, Latin council texts and whatever else we wanted; and we should be ready to debate anything, but especially sola fide.
All three of us were to meet for supper at the York Steak House not far from Gerry’s home in Harrisburg. This meant Dr. Gerstner and I would drive together for several hours there and back. I was both excited and nervous to interact with such a devout and erudite scholar.
As Dr. Gerstner and I drove out, we had four hours of intensive theological discussion. I was sharing this backlog of arguments that I had been storing up, all about the Catholic Church being the climax of salvation history in the Old Testament and the embodiment of the New Covenant.
Dr. Gerstner listened carefully, responding to each point with concern and respect. He seemed to regard my arguments as somewhat novel; all the while he insisted they did not require anyone to join the Roman Catholic Church, which he referred to as “the synagogue of Satan”.
At one point, he asked, “Scott, what biblical support do you find for the Pope?”
“Dr. Gerstner, you know how Matthew’s Gospel emphasizes Jesus’ role as the Son of David and the King of Israel, sent by his Father to inaugurate the Kingdom of heaven? I believe that Matthew 16:17-19 shows us how Jesus establishes it. He gave Simon three things: first, the new name of ‘Peter’ (or Rock); second, his pledge to build his Church upon Peter; and third, the keys of the Kingdom of heaven. It’s that third item I find so interesting.
“When Jesus speaks of the ‘keys of the Kingdom’, he is referring to an important Old Testament passage, Isaiah 22:20-22, where Hezekiah, the royal heir to David’s throne and King of Israel in Isaiah’s day, replaced his old Prime Minister, Shebna, with a new one named Eliakim. Everyone could tell which one of the royal cabinet members was the new Prime Minister since he was given the ‘keys of the kingdom’. By entrusting to Peter the ‘keys of the Kingdom’, Jesus established the office of Prime Minister for administering the Church as his Kingdom on earth. The ‘keys’ are a symbol, then, of Peter’s office and primacy to be handed on to his successor; thus it has been handed down throughout the ages.”
He responded, “That’s a clever argument, Scott.”
“So, how do we Protestants refute it?”
He said, “Well, I’m not sure I’ve heard it before. I’d have to think some more about it. Go on with your other points.”
So I went on to describe how the covenant family was the overarching principle or master idea of the Catholic Faith. It explained Mary as our mother, the Pope as our father, the saints as our brothers and sisters, the feast days as anniversaries and birthdays.
“Dr. Gerstner, it all makes so much sense once you see the covenant at the center of Scripture.”
He listened carefully. “Now Scott, I think you’re taking this covenant thing too far.”
“Maybe I am, Dr. Gerstner, but I’m absolutely convicted that the covenant is central to all of Scripture, just as the greatest Protestants like John Calvin and Jonathan Edwards have taught; but I’m also convinced that the covenant is not a contract, as they understood it, but rather a sacred family bond between God and his people. If I’m wrong on either point, show me where. Please. You could save my career.”
He said, “Let’s wait until we are with Gerry.”
Once we arrived at the meeting place, we hacked away for hours and hours on many issues, but primarily justification. I was presenting the Catholic view that justification was not merely acquittal but was, in the view of the Council of Trent, divine sonship. For six hours Gerry and I argued various Catholic positions; none was refuted. We also raised many questions that were not answered to our satisfaction.
At the end, Gerry and I looked at each other—we were both pale. This was a shock for us. We had been hoping and praying that someone could save us from having to undergo the humiliation of converting.
When we were alone briefly, I said, “Gerry, I feel betrayed by our Reformed tradition. I came here thinking we were going to get blown out of the water. But the Catholic Church didn’t lose on a single point. The texts quoted from the Council of Trent have been taken out of context. Inadvertently, he’s been misrepresenting the canons by isolating them from the definitions stated in the decrees.”
On the way home I talked a lot more with Dr. Gerstner. I asked him to show me where the Bible taught sola scriptura. I did not hear a single new argument. Instead he posed a question to me. “Scott, if you agree that we now possess the inspired and inerrant Word of God in Scripture, then what more do we need?”
I replied, “Dr. Gerstner, I don’t think that the primary issue concerns what we need; but since you ask the question, I’ll give you my impression. Ever since the Reformation, over twenty-five thousand different Protestant denominations have come into existence, and experts say there are presently five new ones being formed every week. Every single one of them claims to be following the Holy Spirit and the plain meaning of Scripture. God knows we must need something more.
“I mean, Dr. Gerstner, when our nation’s founders gave us the Constitution, they didn’t leave it at that. Can you imagine what we’d have today if all they had given us was a document, as good as it is, along with a charge like ‘May the spirit of Washington guide each and every citizen’? We’d have anarchy—which is basically what we Protestants do have when it comes to church unity. Instead, our founding fathers gave us something besides the Constitution; they gave us a government—made up of a President, Congress and a Supreme Court—all of which are needed to administer and interpret the Constitution, And if that’s just enough to govern a country like ours, what would it take to govern a worldwide Church?
“That’s why, personally, Dr. Gerstner, I’m beginning to think that Christ didn’t leave us with just a book and his Spirit. In fact, he never mentions a thing about writing to his apostles anywhere in the Gospels; besides, fewer than half of them even wrote books that were included in the New Testament. What Christ did say—to Peter—was, ‘Upon this rock, I will build my Church. . . , and the gates of hades will not prevail against it.’ So it makes more sense to me that Jesus left us with his Church—made up of a Pope, bishops and councils—all of which are needed to administer and interpret Scripture.”
Dr. Gerstner gave a thoughtful pause. “That’s all very interesting, Scott, but you said that you didn’t think it was the primary issue? What, then, is the primary issue for you?”
“Dr. Gerstner, I think the primary issue is what the Scripture teaches about the Word of God, for nowhere does it reduce God’s Word down to Scripture alone. Instead, the Bible tells us in many places that God’s authoritative Word is to be found in the Church: her Tradition (2 Th 2:15; 3:6) as well as her preaching and teaching (1 Pet 1:25; 2 Pet 1:20-21; Mt 18:17). That’s why I think the Bible supports the Catholic principle of sola verbum Dei, ‘the Word of God alone’, rather than the Protestant slogan, sola scriptura, ‘Scripture alone’.”
Dr. Gerstner responded by asserting—over and over again—that Catholic Tradition, the Popes and ecumenical councils all taught contrary to Scripture.
“Contrary to whose interpretation of Scripture?” I asked. “Besides, Church historians all agree that we got the New Testament from the Council of Hippo in 393 and the Council of Carthage in 397, both of which sent off their judgments to Rome for the Pope’s approval. From 30 to 393 is a long time to be without a New Testament, isn’t it? Besides, there were many other books that people back then thought might be inspired, such as the Epistle of Barnabas, the Shepherd of Hennas and the Acts of Paul. There were also several New Testament books, such as Second Peter, Jude and Revelation, that some thought should be excluded. So whose decision was trustworthy and final, if the Church doesn’t teach with infallible authority?”
Dr. Gerstner calmly replied, “Popes, bishops and councils can and do make mistakes. Scott, how is it you can think that God renders Peter infallible?”
I paused for a moment. “Well, Dr. Gerstner, Protestants and Catholics agree that God most certainly rendered Peter infallible on at least a couple of occasions, when he wrote First and Second Peter, for instance. So if God could render him infallible when teaching authoritatively in print, then why couldn’t he prevent him from errors when teaching authoritatively in person? Likewise, if God could do it with Peter—and the other apostles who wrote Scripture—then why couldn’t he do it with their successors as well, especially since he could foresee the anarchy that would come if he didn’t? Besides, Dr. Gerstner, how can we be sure about the twenty-seven books of the New Testament themselves being the infallible Word of God, since fallible Church councils and Popes are the ones who made up the list?”
I will never forget his response.
“Scott, that simply means that all we can have is a fallible collection of infallible documents!”
I asked, “Is that really the best that historic Protestant Christianity can do?”
“Yes, Scott, all we can do is make probable judgments from historical evidence. We have no infallible authority but Scripture.”
“But, Dr. Gerstner, how can I be certain that it’s really God’s infallible Word that I am reading when I open up Matthew, or Romans, or Galadans?”
“Like I said, Scott, all we have is a fallible collection of infallible documents.”
Once again, I felt very unsatisfied with his answers, though I knew he was representing the Protestant position faithfully. I sat there pondering what he had said about this, the ultimate issue of authority, and the logical inconsistency of the Protestant position.
All I said in response was, “Then it occurs to me, Dr. Gerstner, that when it comes right down to it, it must be the Bible and the Church—both or neither!”
I got home early the next morning. When I shared with Kimberly the results of our day together, she panicked. She had hoped that the previous day’s conversation would end it all.
She exacted a pledge from me. “Please don’t do this abruptly. It would be too painful.”
I assured her, “If I convert, Kimberly, it won’t be until 1990 at the earliest, I promise. And I will convert only if it is absolutely necessary; if these conclusions become inescapable.” The year was 1985. That seemed like enough time to make an intellectually respectable move if I was going to convert.
She said, “Okay. I can live with that.”
After much prayer we saw that it was necessary for me to work on this full time. We decided the best place to go would be Marquette University, where I had discovered there was a team of outstanding Catholic theologians who loved the Church and taught the Church’s doctrine very well. In fact, there was a Jesuit professor of theology, Father Donald Keefe, who specialized in covenant theology. When we heard that Marquette had accepted me into the doctoral program in theology—and was offering me a full scholarship with a teaching assistantship—we felt the Lord’s leading.
Little did I know, little did we know, that our marriage was about to embark upon a time darker and stormier than we could ever anticipate.
Kimberly:
When we returned to Grove City, we were moving into our season of “fall”. The winds of change were beginning to blow. The colors were beautiful, but the changes they signaled were signs of dormition and death.
There was a change of pace as we resettled our family. Scott began his nine-to-five job as assistant to the president of Grove City College. I focused on Michael and renewing friendships.
Scott’s job enabled him to have evenings free to study for hours every night. He went into his study and closed the door, and I did not want him to open it. I was not interested in knowing what he was reading. As long as he kept that door shut, it was just fine with me.
We were really beginning to grow apart in our convictions: in part I was busy, pregnant with our second child, and in part I was not interested. I was sure that he was going way out on a limb and that he was going to come back. The most important thing for me to do was to keep steady.
One night he interrupted my sleep with an enthusiastic thought, “Kimberly, do you realize that we are surrounded right here and now by Mary, the saints and countless angels?”
Quickly, I replied, “Not in my bedroom! No way!”
What Scott had said had startled me. Mary? He was thinking a lot more about her these days. It seemed that Catholics focused on Mary the way we focused on Jesus: she was the approachable one—you could hide in her skirts rather than face the Father in his anger; Mary was the broad back door into God’s favor, while Jesus remained the narrow front door. Those thoughts were repugnant to me.
I once read about a man in Rome who was repairing the ceiling of a beautiful chapel one day when he observed an American woman enter the church and begin to pray. He thought he’d have a little fun, so he called down quietly, “This is Jesus.” But the woman did not respond.
So he called out a little louder, “This is Jesus.” Still no response.
Finally, the man called loudly, “This is Jesus!”
The woman looked up and yelled, “Be quiet, I’m talking to your mother!”
My exposure to how Catholics viewed Mary led me to think they were substituting love, devotion and even worship of Mary for love, devotion and worship of Jesus. I voiced these concerns to Scott. And he challenged me with the almost total neglect of Protestants even to talk about her, though at the very least she was the chosen, most highly favored woman of all time, who bore the Son of God and gave him his human nature. Protestants probably thought they were compensating for the overwhelming attention she was given by Catholics.
When I was approached to speak to the women’s Christmas dinner at church, Scott challenged me to speak on Mary. So I gave a Bible study on Mary as a woman of God, not at all sharing any Catholic notions about her (which I didn’t believe myself at that time). I cautioned the women not to fear honoring her as the Mother of our Lord because Jesus was both the Son of God and the Son of Mary.
Immediately following my talk, the two pastors’ wives sang “What Child Is This”, deliberately changing the last words of the chorus to “the babe, the Son of God” because one minister had voiced concern just before the dinner that the line “the babe, the Son of Mary” gave too much honor to Mary. What a case in point to illustrate my talk!
I was reminded of the lecture in seminary where Dr. Nicole had said that an ecumenical council had declared Mary to be Theotokos, Mother of God. At first we were all offended—she didn’t create God! But he quickly clarified the purpose of that affirmation—it was necessary for our salvation for Jesus to be fully human as well as fully divine—two natures in the one Person of God the Son. Therefore, since Mary was the source of his human nature, she was the mother of Jesus; and since Jesus is God, she is the mother of God. There was no need to be offended by this truth, Dr. Nicole had pointed out, because it safeguarded our salvation.
One day, Scott paused in the dining room to say, “I’m reading a lot of Catholic books these days. God may be calling me into the Catholic Church.”
“Can’t we be Episcopalians?” was my immediate response. In the grand scheme of things, I preferred to remain Protestant as an Episcopalian than to become a Roman Catholic. He smiled as if to say he understood why I asked. Then he asked me to pray for him.
I was happy to pray for him, but I didn’t want to talk to him about his growing convictions. At this point I wanted to shelve Scott and put his growing convictions away, out of my reach. He gently tried to share some of his questions and conclusions with me when we were on a walk.
I said, “Scott, you are so bright. You could convince anyone of anything.”
To which he replied, “So I have nothing to say to anyone?”
That cut me to the quick. How could I let myself say, or even think, that he had nothing to say to me about his theological reflections on issues when our whole marriage was based on precisely this kind of sharing?
I wasn’t exempt from wrestling with the truth just because Scott was a persuasive person. But I didn’t want to hear it. It was too scary—I had too much to lose. I should have been at least curious to know why he thought Catholicism was so biblical, of all things, because Scripture was the basis of my convictions. But I was too threatened by it to want to ask.
I began to feel as if I were married to a man I didn’t marry. I had married a reformed Presbyterian, not just a generic Christian. However, Scott reminded me that what drew me to him was that he was a Bible-believing Christian, which he still was. He begged me to come alongside him in his study, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
Scott, after all, had been anti-Catholic—he had thought one could not be a thoughtful Christian and remain Roman Catholic. I, on the other hand, had had a more balanced approach—Catholics can be Christians, but there was no need and certainly no desire on my part to want to be Catholic. Perhaps all his study would help him be less judgmental toward Catholics and more like me. But no longer condemning them did not mean joining them!
Scott felt that he was searching for “Mother Church” and that perhaps he had found her in Catholicism. In contrast, I was never keenly aware of a need to search (perhaps because I was raised in such a strong, evangelical family and church where that need had been met).
What Scott now believed compared to what he had believed when we were students in college seemed markedly different. Scott saw continuity where I saw only discontinuity. He explained it using an analogy: an acorn doesn’t look like an oak tree, but it holds within itself the possibility of becoming an oak tree.
“The convictions I held in college and seminary are coming to a richer flowering than ever before. There is organic growth, even though my beliefs look different from what they were in the beginning. I still believe the Bible. I’m still a committed Christian”, he would say.
The analogy was plausible, I had to admit. But it was also possible he was outsmarting himself and getting into real trouble theologically.
We sought some advice from my father, who urged me to stay connected with Scott’s studies. Even though I didn’t want to study, it would not help for us to grow at different paces.
I finally agreed to read one book, The Faith of Our Fathers, by Cardinal Gibbons. His book was simple, yet it was making too much sense. It angered me. Catholicism could not be that clear! I got so frustrated I threw the book across the room, something I had never done before.
No, I thought, I was just going to hang on and hope that Scott would make his way back to truth on his own. I had my Master’s in theology! Was I supposed to relearn everything, go back to the ABCs of theology? I was too busy with life to be able to do that.
The psalmist captures my thoughts at the time (Ps 69:13, 14, 16):
But as for me, my prayer is to thee, O Lord. At an acceptable time, O God, in the abundance of thy steadfast love, answer me. With thy faithful help, rescue me from sinking in the mire. Answer me, O Lord, for thy steadfast love is good; according to thy abundant mercy, turn to me.
In the midst of the theological turmoil in our home, the Lord blessed us with a dear son, Gabriel Kirk, on our fifth wedding anniversary, August 18, 1984. When I delivered him, I remembered a prayer Scott and I had prayed in the middle of our first date—that God would raise up many godly men. And I thought: Lord, is Gabriel, and, for that matter, Michael, in part an answer to our prayers years ago? It sure is the slow way to make disciples, but please help us to raise them to be godly men for you.
Gabriel’s first year of life was a busy time. Besides caring for our two little sons, many good activities consumed time which otherwise might have been study time to resolve the issues between Scott and me. I led three Bible studies, chaired the community pro-life group and helped found Life Advocates on the Grove City College campus. Scott shifted from full-time college work to part-time work with youth at two churches and the college. He also began work on his doctorate at Duquesne University. Though it was a Catholic institution, he usually found himself being the lone defender of the Catholic Faith in class.
In the midst of the busy-ness, Scott was still studying. As I realized that the Catholic Church was not diminishing in Scott’s interest, I began to feel the weight of what we would lose should Scott become Catholic. All kinds of dreams that previously we had shared would have to die—being a pastor-and-wife team, Scott returning to teach at Grove City College or Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary and both of us traveling a circuit to speak on the reformed Protestant faith.
One night Scott told me he had begun praying the Rosary. I couldn’t believe my ears! I didn’t even know he owned one. This study and now practice of Catholicism were getting serious.
A friend of ours from seminary, Gerry Matatics, challenged Scott’s theological direction. To Scott, I referred to him as my “knight in shining armor” who was going to save me from this fate. Gerry pursued Scott for lists of Catholic books. I was so grateful for that, especially because Gerry was so much like Scott—a person of conviction who really wanted the truth, no matter what.
But I’ll never forget the night Scott came back to the bedroom after talking to Gerry for several hours and told me how excited Gerry was about the Catholic books he was reading!
All I could do was weep. My “knight in shining armor” was getting tarnished! If Gerry could not stop Scott, I couldn’t imagine who could.
When Gerry arranged a meeting with Dr. Gerstner, I found my hopes soaring, only to have them dashed upon hearing Scott’s report of the meeting.
Since the beginning of our relationship, Scott and I had grown and changed together, at least in minor ways, in our convictions. But by Scott’s continuing to change and my refusing to change, we were both starting not to trust one another. The foundation of trust in our marriage was being shaken tremendously.
After one particularly agonizing day, I said to Scott, “I would never consider suicide, but I have begged God today to give me an illness that would kill me so that I can die and have all the questions laid to rest. Then you could find a nice little Catholic girl and get on with life.”
Scott was devastated to hear me express such anguish. “Don’t ever say or even think that again! I don’t want some nice little Catholic girl. I want you.”
This was the beginning of the “winter” of my soul. I remember where I stood in our living room when I felt the joy of the Lord depart. Except for a few brief times, it did not return for almost five years—a lack I had never before experienced in my life. The joy of the Lord that had been my strength and had encouraged my spirit had been blocked by my refusal to be open to study or to read or even to talk. I felt as though I were facing a wall that I did not know how to get over and was not sure I even had the will to try.
“Lord, the joy is gone. Who are you? I’ve known you all my life. I thought I understood you, but now I don’t understand anything. Are you the God of the Catholics or the Protestants? I’m so confused.” There did not seem to be an answer.