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All pages copyright © 2003 Thomas Ross Valentine.
All rights reserved.
Thomas Ross Valentine
Originally written whilst a Roman Catholic in response to requests from others, it has been updated a few times, and (God willing) will never be complete.
When I first became an Byzantine Rite Roman Catholic, I thought my spiritual odyssey had come to an end.
I was a Christian first, a Roman Catholic second, and a Byzantine Rite Roman Catholic third. My study of religion
(spirituality, doctrine, apologetics, etc.) — continued from soon after the Faith Alive weekend —
again changed focus. I immersed myself in the spirituality of the East, and quickly became absorbed by it. One Byzantine
Rite Roman Catholic writer referred to Byzantine Rite Roman Catholics as Orthodox in communion with Rome
. Although
I failed then to recognise the similarity between this phrase and the Anglo-Catholic
concept, I liked the phrase
and adopted it. I abandoned the Roman Rite breviary and began to use only Eastern Christian prayers. I sought to avoid
latinisations. I stopped trying to pray the Rosary which I had done out of a sense of obligation, but had found unhelpful
to my spiritual life. I eliminated all traces of Latin spirituality from my Christian life. Eastern Christian spirituality
seemed so perfect that my transition was very rapid. I soon felt that Orthodox in communion with Rome
accurately
described my spirituality. I didn't realise I had put myself on another bridge — this one between Roman Catholicism
and Orthodoxy.
Unfortunately, I experienced prejudice from Latin Rite Roman Catholics towards Eastern Rite Roman
Catholicism. I discovered most Roman Catholics, belonging to the Latin Rite, didn’t even know there were
Roman Catholics who followed different liturgical practises, assuming that all Catholics were Latin Rite and that anyone
who worshipped differently couldn’t be a Catholic. Meeting an Eastern Rite Roman Catholic confused them.
I was asked if I were really Catholic
; I was told I belonged to a different religion
; I was asked how I
could be Roman Catholic without using the same devotions with which they were familiar. I still didn’t realise
the similarity to the position I had been in as an Anglo-Catholic
, but as before, the attacks against my position
caused me to become more sympathetic to the other side: in this case, Orthodoxy.
About this time, I became connected to the Internet and began communicating with Roman Catholics, Eastern Rite Roman Catholics, and Orthodox Christians. It was a wonderful new world. When I had converted to Roman Catholicism, my perspective was that Orthodoxy was a foreign mystery. Becoming Eastern Rite Roman Catholic, I had begun to learn about Orthodoxy from books, but now I began learning from Orthodox Christians. Before having a connection to the Internet, I had no contacts with other Christians who shared my love and passion for Eastern Christianity (Fr. George had been reassigned and was gone). Now, my horizons were greatly expanded.
Most Eastern Christians were, of course, Orthodox. Most of the Eastern Christians I met online were
Orthodox. Most of the books written from an Eastern Christian perspective were by Orthodox Christians. Whilst being
pushed away from Roman Catholicism by ignorant and intolerant Roman Catholics, I found nothing pushing me away from
Orthodoxy. I should make clear that I found no Orthodox Christians willing to consider me Orthodox in communion
with Rome
. They made clear that was a contradiction in terms: I could be Roman Catholic (even if Eastern
rite) or Orthodox.
At some point — I’m not sure when — I realised that if I were to move to a location lacking an Eastern Catholic parish, I would rather attend an Orthodox parish than a Roman Catholic parish. Some time later, it dawned on me that if one of my children were to convert to Orthodoxy I’d be rather envious, whereas if they were to return to Roman Catholicism, I would be saddened. I was forced to admit that I now considered myself a Christian first (as before), an Eastern Christian second, and a Eastern Rite Roman Catholic third.
In retrospect, I was back at the same point I’d been in the autumn of 1973. I was on a bridge. I
was leaning away from where I’d been. I wanted to be a part of what I had not been without leaving where I’d
been. I was beginning to wonder if Orthodox in communion with Rome
wasn’t as much fiction as
Anglo-Catholic
(i.e. just as one cannot be truly catholic whilst remaining a Protestant, one cannot be
truly Orthodox whilst remaining Roman Catholic). As before, I was strongly inclined to convert, yet remained hesitant.
Of course, instead of having to depart from my parents and sister, a conversion would now mean departing from Jeanne and
my children (although Jeanne and I discussed what I was feeling and thinking, she had no interest in Orthodoxy).
That would be more difficult.
I didn’t know what to do. I prayed. I teetered back and forth: should I become Orthodox or stay
put? I prayed harder. At one point, I resolved to were I was, but like the Hound of Heaven
, God gave me no peace.
It was particularly ironic that I felt utterly unable to refute most of the charges made by the Orthodox against Roman
Catholicism. I knew the responses to Protestant charges, but most of these charges were new to me. I asked help from
Roman Catholic apologists, but none were able to supply satisfactory answers. I found that purported responses to
Orthodoxy were frequently ad hominem (e.g. the articles in the magazine This Rock by the
Roman Catholic apologetics organisation Catholic Answers) or circular arguments. I sought answers from books and from
people. I prayed for something that would be the spiritual equivalent of a two by four to the head in order to get my
attention and make the Truth clearly known to me.
I recognised the necessity of attending an Orthodox parish in order to facilitate my decision, but
since I was the choir director at the Romanian Catholic parish, I felt restricted by the responsibility. I could
occasionally be absent, but not on the weekly basis which I thought necessary to adequately investigate Orthodoxy.
I decided to wait until after Pentecost when Sunday Divine Liturgy would be mostly routine and it would be easier for
me to excuse myself from the choir. I think at this point I was leaning towards conversion to Orthodoxy, but was waiting
to do it in such a way that would minimise its impact on others. (I still had not experienced a spiritual two by
four
.)
However, God’s plans were different. As before, an event which in itself was quite small set
everything in motion: my spiritual two by four
made its impact. I had been immersing myself in Eastern
Christian spirituality to the best of my ability, but I needed and wanted more assistance from my parish.
Unfortunately, there were no services besides the Divine Liturgy: no Vespers, no Matins, not even the Liturgy of the
Presanctified during Great Lent. Soon after the beginning of Great Lent in 1996, it was announced that the parish would
begin celebrating Stations of the Cross on Wednesdays and Fridays during Great Lent. Wednesdays and Fridays! The two days
set aside for celebrating the Liturgy of the Presanctified in the Eastern Christian tradition. They couldn’t
celebrate the Eastern Christian tradition, but they could celebrate a devotion which — to my mind —
epitomised the very aspect of Latin spirituality that I found most distasteful. Instead of striking me as another
Latinisation (of which there were many), it struck me as a rejection of Eastern Christian spirituality — the
very thing I most wanted to live.
The chain reaction came quickly: I realised that a church of one liturgical tradition having a patriarch of a different liturgical tradition was ludicrous. In such a situation — especially when the numbers were so overwhelming — it seemed inevitable that the smaller group would have its traditions compromised. I realised that as long as the Roman Catholic Church maintained her insistence that the Patriarch of Rome holds a position of absolute authority, it was probably inevitable that the Roman liturgical tradition would overwhelm and eventually replace other liturgical traditions.
In reflecting on the Second Vatican Council’s declaration of respect for other cultures, I realised that even if one were to dismiss the cultural imperialism practised by missionaries (especially in earlier centuries) as the fault of individuals and not the teaching of Roman Catholicism, the fact remained that the top-bottom structure of Roman Catholicism easily lent itself to such imperialism — not just cultural, but liturgical as well. It struck me how nonsensical it was to have an individual leading people whose culture, ethos, and spirituality were widely divergent.
In reflecting on early Church history when local churches were able to gather in local councils to make
decisions necessary for a local situation, I realised that this could no longer happen in Roman Catholicism. I thought
particularly of the Council of Toledo which instituted the filioque in response to Arianism. Whether or not one
accepted the filioque, it was undeniable that it was a decision made by a local council (in the West!) in
response to a perceived need. It would be as if the bishops in the U.S. were to decide that the prayer given us by our
Lord Jesus Christ needed to be re-translated: Our Parent, Who art in heaven...
. Though at one time the local
churches of the West were able to institute such local changes, it was clear that was no longer true.
Clearly, the bishops in communion with Pope John Paul II could not institute such a decision without his approval. The
Roman Catholic Church was no longer functioning as the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church had functioned before
the East-West break. It had changed.
I reflected on how a Christian moving to a new territory in the early centuries would first present the
Symbol of Faith to the local church and, once deemed orthodox and being one in the Faith, would then be admitted to
eucharistic unity. Yet, in contemporary Roman Catholicism, this has been turned around! Eucharistic unity with the
Patriarch of Rome has become all-important and unity of faith has been rendered of little or no importance (which is
demonstrated by the presence of so many Modernists
in Roman Catholicism today). It struck me as ironic that
heterodox theologians and bishops were more tolerated than Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre and his followers who were
theologically traditional, but were deemed separated because the Archbishop had dared to consecrate bishops without
Rome’s permission. Roman Catholicism considered it more important for someone to outwardly act as if he were in
union with Rome than to hold and teach a common faith. It seemed to me that accepting outward shows of unity without a
real unity of faith as a sufficient basis for eucharistic communion was the endorsement of a deception and demonstrated
a lack of respect for the Precious Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.
I reflected on how the Church was saved from Arianism: not by the hierarchy, but by the laity. I realised that even though Roman Catholic theology recognises the sensus fidei, it is completely subjugated to the hierarchy’s teaching authority. I realised that as the Roman Catholic Church is structured today, Arianism would probably have triumphed. Even in the wake of widespread grassroots opposition to the Second Vatican Council, the faithful were being compelled to accept it because it met all of Roman Catholicism’s technical qualifications of an ecumenical council. Even though some counciliar decisions in the early Church were successfully resisted by the faithful and were eventually rejected, the top-down structure of the Roman Catholic Church now made this impossible: the sensus fidei has been effectively silenced.
I reflected on the doctrine of the Assumption. Though I believe the Theotokos was bodily raised to heaven
after she died (I reject the teaching of some Roman Catholic theologians that she was taken to heaven before dying —
which, by careful phrasing in official Roman Catholic dogma, is an acceptable belief in Roman Catholicism), I cannot see it
as essential to the Good News and to salvation. If someone believes that the body of the Theotokos moulded in the earth I
would think him guilty of impiety, but I would not deem him unworthy of the name Christian
nor would I conclude that
he could never attain salvation. Yet, as I understand it, Roman Catholicism teaches that one who rejects the Assumption
separates himself from the Church; and outside the Church there is no salvation
. This struck me as yet another result
of Roman imperialism.
I quickly concluded that I could no longer consider myself in union with Roman Catholicism. I had once held
that in order to be truly Catholic, one must accept Rome’s teaching authority. I had taught that if one were to reject
the smallest teaching of the teaching authority, one would necessarily have to deny its validity. I had taught others that
even if one believed everything the teaching authority taught, if the authority itself were rejected then Roman Catholicism
was rejected. I hadn’t cared for cafeteria Catholics
: people picking and choosing which Roman Catholic teachings
they would accept whilst calling themselves Catholic
. I wouldn’t be one. My conscience wouldn’t permit it.
I could no longer remain in the Roman Catholic Church.
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