Why I Love the Catholic Church — and Why I Am Not Catholic

There was a time, back in my “cage-stage Calvinist” days, when I didn’t think Catholics were really Christians at all. In fact, I was quick to label the Catholic Church as little more than a cult. I had been told (and believed) that Catholics worship Mary and the saints, that they pray to human beings rather than to the Creator of the universe. From where I stood at the time, it seemed obvious: this was idolatry. This was not Christianity.

But the more I studied—especially as I began my long academic journey toward a PhD in theology—the more I realized that many of the objections I had heard were attacks on straw men, not on the real thing. And the more I actually interacted with thoughtful Catholic friends, the more I found myself challenged to rethink my assumptions.

These friends didn’t fit the caricature I had been given. They loved Jesus. They had a passion for evangelism. And they patiently explained to me that asking Mary or the saints to pray for them was no different, in principle, than asking my own mother to pray for me. One Catholic friend asked me directly: “When you ask your mom to pray for you, are you worshiping her?” Fair point.

While I still don’t believe we should ask the dead to pray for us, I could no longer use that practice as a deal-breaker or dismiss the Catholic Church as non-Christian.

Over time, my respect for the Catholic tradition deepened further. Ironically, one of my all-time favorite theologians—Luis de Molina—was not only Catholic, but a Jesuit priest. I’ve written an entire book on Molina’s theology and have arguably become one of the leading “Molinist popularizers” in the world today. Unsurprisingly, this has led many Catholics to ask me, “If your theology is so influenced by a Catholic Jesuit, why aren’t you Catholic yourself?”

It’s a good question. The truth is, I find myself resonating with much of Catholic doctrine. I love so much about the Catholic Church. But I also disagree—enough that, in good conscience, I cannot sign on the dotted line. What follows is my attempt to explain why.

What I Love About the Catholic Church

I want to be clear from the outset: my disagreements with the Catholic Church come from a place of deep respect and admiration. There is so much I love and appreciate about Catholicism.

First, the intellectual tradition of the Catholic Church is unmatched. Thinkers like Augustine, Aquinas, and Molina have shaped my own theological development in profound ways. The Catholic commitment to classical theism—the defense of God’s aseity, immutability, simplicity, omnipotence, omniscience, and perfect love—is a beacon of light in a time when many Protestants have drifted into shallower waters.

Second, I admire the Catholic Church’s moral clarity, especially in a culture increasingly confused about fundamental ethical issues. On matters of life, marriage, and human dignity, the Catholic Church has stood firm where others---including my own church---have compromised.

Third, I respect the sacramental vision of Catholic theology—the sense that the physical world can be a vehicle of grace, that the spiritual and material are not opposed but beautifully interwoven. Even though I disagree with aspects of sacramental theology, I appreciate its beauty.

Finally, I am grateful for the courage many Catholic leaders have shown in confronting secularism and defending objective truth. I’m blessed to count several Catholics as dear friends and colleagues—people whose love for Jesus and commitment to sharing the gospel is undeniable.

But despite all this, there remain some key theological reasons why I am not Catholic.

Why I Am Not Catholic

1. The Doctrine of Mary: Too Much, Too Far

I affirm, with the historic Church, that Mary is theotokos—the “Mother of God” in the sense that she bore Jesus, the incarnate Son. I agree that she is “blessed among women” and a model of faithfulness. But I cannot affirm some of the additional Marian doctrines declared by the Catholic Church.

For example, some argue that Mary’s sinlessness was necessary for Jesus to be born sinless. But if sinlessness were biologically required of one’s mother, wouldn’t Mary’s own mother have needed the same? Does this not lead to an infinite regress? The Catholic position, of course, avoids this regress by claiming that Mary was uniquely preserved from original sin by a special act of grace. Still, I find this doctrine both unnecessary and biblically unsupported.

I also do not believe in her perpetual virginity; not only does that seem absurd, I’m convinced that James was indeed Jesus’s half-brother.

To be clear, I don’t view these disagreements as deal-breakers for Christian fellowship. But I do believe these doctrines are false and unnecessarily extreme. That matters.

2. Baptism and Salvation: The Problem with Infant Baptism

My disagreements with Catholicism aren’t limited to Rome—they also apply to many Presbyterians, Lutherans, and Methodists. Chief among them: I believe infant baptism is irrelevant to the baby being passively baptized.

In a recent blog, I presented a thought experiment that crystallizes my concern. Suppose a baby named Lydia dies before baptism. God, being omniscient, knows that if Lydia had grown up, she would have freely chosen to follow Christ at age 18. If baptism is necessary for salvation, then Lydia’s eternal destiny would hinge on the failure of her parents to baptize her—not on her own response to God’s grace. That’s inconsistent with the justice, love, and maximal greatness of God.

Let’s walk through a simple step-by-step argument:

1. God is a maximally great being—perfectly just, loving, and omniscient, including knowledge of how every person would freely respond in any given situation.

• This is standard theism: God knows not only what happens, but what would have happened under different conditions.

2. God knows that Lydia would have chosen to believe in Christ if she had lived to adulthood.

• We’re assuming that given the chance, she would have responded freely to grace.

3. Lydia’s parents failed to baptize her, and she died as a baby.

• A tragic but realistic scenario—many infants have died unbaptized through no fault of their own.

4. If baptism is necessary for salvation, then Lydia is damned to hell—not because she rejected Christ, but because of her parents’ omission.

• Her fate would then hinge on their actions, not hers. 

5. It would be unjust and unloving for God to damn Lydia to hell based on something outside her control, especially when He knows she would have chosen Christ.

• A perfectly intelligent, just, and loving God does not eternally damn someone to hell for something they never had the opportunity to choose.

6. Therefore, if Lydia is damned to hell, this would contradict God’s maximal greatness.

• God’s justice and love are not arbitrary or dependent on human error.

7. Conversely, if God saves Lydia based on what He knows she would have freely chosen, then baptism was not necessary for her salvation.

• That is, she didn’t need the sacrament in order to be saved.

8. Therefore, infant baptism is either inconsistent with God’s maximal greatness (if it’s necessary) or irrelevant to salvation (if God saves without it).

In summary, if God is maximally great, and baptism is necessary for salvation, and Lydia wasn’t baptized (due to others), yet God knows she would have believed and been saved if she would have lived to adulthood, then either (a) God isn’t maximally great (which is absurd), or (b) baptism is not necessary for salvation.

I affirm that baptism is important—every Christian should be baptized. But the idea that infant baptism is necessary for salvation conflicts with both Scripture and reason.<1>

3. Papal Authority: I Am My Own Pope (Respectfully)

I mean no disrespect when I say this, but when it comes to the question of ultimate theological authority, I believe I am my own Pope.

Luther and the Reformers were right to insist on the priesthood of all believers and on the freedom—and responsibility—of every Christian to engage the Scriptures directly, using the God-given tools of reason and conscience. This conviction has shaped my “Conceptually Reformed” approach, which holds Scripture as the ultimate standard against which every human authority, confession, and tradition must be logically measured.

Here’s a thought experiment: Suppose the next Pope replaces Pope Francis and declares that homosexual marriage is now approved by God and the Church. Would Catholics be right to compare the Pope’s words against the Word of God and judge him as wrong? I believe they would. Some might respond, “Ah, but that wasn’t spoken ex cathedra.” Fine—let’s tweak the scenario: what if the Pope makes this declaration ex cathedra? Would faithful Catholics then be bound to affirm it? If so, I find that position philosophically untenable. If not, then it seems the Pope’s ultimate authority becomes irrelevant—since you yourself stand in an epistemic position to judge and, if necessary, disagree with him.<2>

The point remains: every believer has the duty to test all claims (1 Thessalonians 5:21; 1 John 4:1)—even those of the Pope—against the inspired Word of God. For that reason, I cannot submit my theological conscience to Rome.

In the words of Luther:

"Here I stand, I can do no other."

That said, when the Pope speaks, I listen. I pray for the Pope. And I am praying that the next Pope will be far better than Francis.

4. The Eucharist and Transubstantiation: Drawing the Line (But Barely)

For a while, I thought the Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation would be the ultimate deal-breaker for me.

I remember one Catholic friend telling me that after the priest blesses the bread, she literally sees Jesus in the Eucharist and wants to “curl up with” and cuddle the bread. While I admired her love and passion for Christ, I couldn’t help but think, “Cuddling with bread? Really?”

At the time, I challenged my Catholic friends: “If the bread literally becomes the flesh of Jesus—the same Jesus crucified on the Roman cross—then let’s test it for human DNA. Better yet, let’s see if it matches the DNA from the Shroud of Turin. If it does, I’ll become the most hardcore Catholic the world has ever seen!”

But my friends wisely backed off. They clarified that belief in DNA-level transformation isn’t actually required for Catholic faith. Rather, they affirmed that something supernatural happens—that Christ is really---but mysteriously---present in the Eucharist, though not in a way that yields human DNA under a microscope.

Fair enough. I still disagree with transubstantiation as defined by Rome. But I do believe something deeply significant—perhaps even supernatural—happens in the Lord’s Supper, whether Catholic or Protestant. On this point, we are not as far apart as I once thought.

Conclusion: Grateful Dissent, Loving Dialogue, and Hope for Unity

So why am I not Catholic? Because I believe the Catholic Church has erred on certain key doctrines—doctrines that, while not always salvation issues, matter enough to keep me from joining.

But I also want to be clear: Catholics are my brothers and sisters in Christ. I love you. I value you. I am rooting for you.

In many ways, I feel closer to the Catholic Church than to many Protestant traditions. But I could never be Catholic, just as I could never be Presbyterian. And yet, I love and respect my Presbyterian friends too.

At the end of the day, I am so thankful for the Catholic Church. Our world is a better place when the Catholic Church is strong and the Pope is a godly man. My prayer is that God will bless the Catholic Church with wise, faithful leadership, and that we will continue to sharpen one another—even in disagreement—with grace and truth.

If we must disagree, may we always disagree as friends, with love that never fails (1 Corinthians 13:8) and a shared longing for truth that never wavers.

Stay reasonable (Isaiah 1:18),

Dr. Tim Stratton

Notes

<1> I’m aware that some Catholic theologians appeal to the idea of “baptism of desire” or “hopeful entrustment to the mercy of God” in the case of unbaptized infants. However, the official teaching still affirms that baptism is ordinarily necessary for salvation, which raises serious philosophical questions when it comes to those who die without it through no fault of their own.

<2>Of course, Catholic theologians would argue that a true ex cathedra declaration could never contradict Scripture or prior infallible Church teaching. But this only seems to reinforce my point: the ultimate standard remains Scripture itself—not the Pope.