Answering Protestant Objections to Pope Francis

Not objections to the Papacy as in the past, but objections to the non-Christian bollocks Francis spews in his frequent bouts of verbal diarrhœa.

From Crisis

By Casey Chalk, MA(Theol)

I’ve been told by several Protestants over the last decade that Francis is the single greatest obstacle to their conversion. How should I respond?

I’ve been meeting for lunch with a Lutheran friend of mine who is contemplating a conversion to Catholicism. We talk through his frustrations with Protestantism, as well as his lingering objections to Catholic doctrines, such as Purgatory. I, in turn, share from my own conversion experience and explain how I worked through similar objections fifteen years ago, as I began studying my way toward Rome.

After Pope Francis, in September, was reported to have declared: Tutte le religioni sono un cammino per arrivare a Dio: “All religions are path[way]s to reach God,” my friend sent me a text. “Hard to consider coming into the Catholic Church when the Pope makes these kinds of statements,” he wrote. It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like this from a Protestant considering the claims of Catholicism. Indeed, I’ve been told by several Protestants over the last decade that Francis is the single greatest obstacle to their conversion.

I don’t know about you, but I didn’t hear this kind of thing when Benedict XVI was pope. During his pontificate, many of my once-Protestant compatriots traveling into the Church explicitly cited the German theologian as influencing their conversion. They appreciated his theological and scholarly brilliance as well as his courageous defense of unpopular truths, often in the face of an increasingly hostile secular West. 

That perspective was certainly true for me. I had read some of Benedict XVI’s writings in college. As a Presbyterian seminary student, I admired his scholarly trilogy on the life of Christ, in which he confidently affirmed the historicity of the Gospels. Though he had a reputation in the media as “God’s Rottweiler,” we Catholic converts knew better. Yes, Benedict XVI was an ardent, uncompromising defender of orthodoxy, but he was also a man of great pastoral gentleness. It was not difficult to learn to call this man our “holy father.” 

Protestants I’ve communicated with over the last decade don’t feel the same about Francis. They’re confused by his public statements (or, in many cases, how his public statements are spun by a media eager for a provocative headline). They are wary of what they interpret as his antipathy toward the traditionalist wing of the Catholic Church, evidenced in the various actions taken to restrict celebration of the Latin Mass. They wonder how much authority Francis possesses as the vicar of Christ to change Catholic teaching, or to appoint people to positions of authority who can influence the trajectory of the Church in immoral or unorthodox directions.

If I was a Protestant today, I’d probably have the same concerns. Indeed, I suppose in some respects I do have those concerns. Which is exactly what I told my Lutheran friend. I do not, for example, understand the current pontificate’s antagonism toward the Latin Mass, which has been a blessing to so many young Catholics looking for a deeper, more reverent liturgy. Nor can I keep track of all the latest controversies regarding Pope Francis, whether it be the “air of faggotness” in seminaries dustup from earlier this summer, or the contentious document Fiducia Supplicans and its curious language regarding the blessing of people in same-sex unions. 

Yet, years ago, I realized I didn’t really need to keep up with every pontifical controversy, nor muster apologetic rhetoric to defend or explain every statement uttered or action performed by our current pope. Indeed, the very practice of “popesplaining,” as it’s come to be called, could only really occur in an age such as our own, in which mass media cajole us into a frenetic anxiety over events we will hardly remember in a week’s time. We should remember that it wasn’t that long ago that, when it came to the pope, Catholics could do little more than cite his name; we were hardly prepared to describe, let alone to defend, anything he had recently said or done. 
So, when I read about the latest contentious event circulating around the papacy, I shrug my shoulders. It’s not that I don’t care about the pope. He is our Holy Father, for whom we should pray daily. To wit, one might even argue that by choosing to ignore the way mass media influence Catholics to think and speak about their Church—and, by extension, the Vicar of Christ—Catholics better honor the pope and the office he holds. Pope Francis doesn’t need me to explain or defend his every word and action; and, frankly, I don’t want the job. Maybe he is a bundle of confused gaffes and erroneous declarations; maybe he’s just misunderstood. It doesn’t matter much to me.

The reason for that, I tell Protestant friends and interlocutors, is that, by virtue of what we Catholics believe about the magisterium, Pope Francis, whether he would want to or not, cannot override established magisterial teaching. Though the pope possesses a (rarely exercised) magisterial authority, the Holy Spirit does not protect him from saying erroneous or even ridiculous things. Nor does the special charism of infallibility extend to papal decisions on the many things that most irk traditionalists, be it liturgical reform, the selection of bishops or cardinals, or how many synods on synodality the faithful must suffer through. 

Of course, that doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to express our frustration with certain papal decisions—and certainly there is a valid place for our protestations, as long as they are presented not in schismatic brazenness but prayerful humility. (For what it’s worth, I think the editors and writers at The Lamp have done a credible job of offering a respectful exemplar of what that looks like on the Latin Mass question.) But the tendency of contemporary Catholics to constantly play referee when it comes to the papacy is, I think, an unnecessary, exhausting, and probably even unhelpful enterprise. I have little reason to think that Christ has called us to such a mission, and it is far less important than the task of faithfully, winsomely articulating the historic teachings of Holy Mother Church, which, thankfully, are not driven by the news cycle.

Sadly, that perspective is insufficient for many Protestants considering the claims of the Catholic Church—some have told me as much. They worry about a papacy during which Mass attendance rates have precipitously declined, and a time in Catholic history in which even the more sober-minded Catholic commentators express their dismay at the latest pronouncements or exploits out of Rome. Better to remain on the other side of the Tiber, they wager.

It is a view, I would argue, that fails to properly understand what the Church is—namely, a divinely-created institution upon which the gates of Hell shall not prevail. No schismatic, no wayward bishop or cardinal, nor even an extemporizing pope can alter that fact. Thus, one should never refrain from seeking full communion with the Church because of who currently sits upon the chair of St. Peter, nor should one enter the Church primarily for that reason. Popes, be they saints or sinners, will come and go. The Church remains.

Thankfully, my Lutheran friend has the good sense to appreciate that. He recently brought his family to Mass, which, I hope, marks the beginning of their entrance into the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. Pray for him, and for all Protestants struggling with this current pontificate.