Pastor Joe wrote a few letters to friends who were from a Roman Catholic background who were new to faith. These letters are published here to help people who are trying to reconcile their faith with God's Word.
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Letters to my
recovering Roman Catholic friend…
“Communion”
Friend,
I imagine you were taught to treat Communion as holy — that’s a gift, not a problem. We both believe Jesus instituted the Supper, that it centers on His sacrifice at The Cross, and that it’s not casual.
I know you have questions about communion because you want the
truth… You want to do this right. I get it. All I want to do is agree with you
on God’s Word. I’m not trying to win an argument.
I want both you and I to be won
over with truth.
Like many, I was not raised Roman Catholic. My dad was. I’m sure, like he, you were taught about a “closed communion,” transubstantiation, the Mass as a sacrifice, and that the grace was “in the sacrament.”
I cannot defend those Roman beliefs from The Bible. I’ve found that the deeper we dive into these subjects in Scripture, the more we find we begin to understand the real meaning.
From my study of Scripture, I see:
- Communion
helps us remember Jesus’ once-for-all sacrifice.
Jesus instituted Holy Communion at a Passover Sedar meal with his small group of disciples. Passover Sedar was filled with symbolism that pointed to the coming Messiah’s sacrifice as The Lamb of God.
Jesus fulfilled that sacrifice on the Cross.
Jesus’ death is complete and final. It’s never repeated (Hebrews 10:10–14). Communion doesn’t re-sacrifice Jesus; it points to, remembers, and proclaims what He finished at Calvary. - Communion
is a memorial that nourishes faith.
Jesus said, “Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19). Paul says we “proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes” when we partake (1 Corinthians 11:26).
We call it an ordinance because Jesus ordained it. It’s more than a mere symbol. While the elements themselves do not change, the risen Jesus is truly present by His Spirit with His people (1 Corinthians 10:16–17). - Communion
is received by in faith by Christians, not in order to get saved.
Communion doesn’t save us, Jesus saves us. The Communion Table strengthens believers in the salvation we already have by grace through faith (Ephesians 2:8–9). - Communion
is an opportunity for self-examination, not self-condemnation.
Paul’s warning in 1 Corinthians 11:27–29 is about careless, divisive, unrepentant hearts, not about being perfect. What do we do? We pause, confess (1 John 1:9), reconcile where needed (Matthew 5:23–24), and come because we need Jesus, not because we’re worthy. - Communion
is open to believers.
Any follower of Jesus is welcome. If someone doesn’t yet trust Christ, we invite them to watch, reflect, or—better—receive Jesus first. - Communion
meal.
The elements aren’t as important as our heart. It certainly is Godly to use bread and wine – that’s what Jesus used in His small group as He instituted Communion at the Passover Sedar. We most often use bread and unfermented wine at church with a “Romans 14 Conscience” to care for those in recovery.
Perhaps the most fidelity we could hold to true Communion is when we have a meal and a snack with our small group while remembering Jesus. - Communion
frequency.
Scripture is specific in the heart and symbolism of Communion while giving freedom with the frequency of Communion. The Bible simply says, “as often as you do it…” Churches have freedom on how often we celebrate. At New Chapel, we do it regularly and reverently.
I’ve talked with others who had a Roman background in the
past. They asked some questions I thought you might have. These questions
deserve quality answers.
Questions like…
“If it’s not literally His body/blood, why treat it as
holy?”
Communion is holy by purpose. It’s an opportunity set apart by Jesus
to focus our hearts on His Cross and unite us as one body (1 Corinthians 10:16–17).
We treat baptism and our Bible with reverence for the same reason: God uses
ordinary things to do extraordinary work in us.
“What about John 6—‘my flesh is true food’?”
This can be especially confusing to read when coming from a Roman Catholic worldview.
In that chapter Jesus repeatedly pairs eating with believing (read John 6:35).
We understand the “eating” metaphor as coming to and trusting in Christ. The
Supper later embodies that faith—tangible bread and cup that point us to
the same reality: We live by Christ’s broken body and shed blood.
“Do I need confession to a priest first?”
Yes. Jesus is our High Priest. Before Communion we pause to confess sins
and make peace where we can. We practice confession to God and reconciliation
with one another (1 John 1:9; James 5:16). This is what is meant by “examining
yourself…” That is, examine whether you need to confess to your High Priest
anything.
“Do I have to be re-baptized to receive Communion?”
Communion is for believers. Baptism is the public sign of entering the
family; the Table is the family meal. We encourage baptism for believers who
haven’t taken that step yet, but if someone has truly trusted Christ, we won’t
turn them away while they pursue baptism.
“Why do children sometimes receive?”
It all depends on the young persons faith. It helps for parents and pastors
to help discern that case-by-case. If a child can truly express faith in Jesus
and understands (in an age-appropriate way) what we’re doing, we welcome them.
If not, we encourage them to watch and learn until they’re ready. Understanding
the full depth of Communion is not the doorway to taking it – knowing Jesus is.
After all, I’m not sure I understand it all yet.
Friend, I know a lot of this might seem new. It’s okay!
Whether we come from common backgrounds and worldviews or not, Jesus makes all
things new.
I really hope this helps!
God richly bless you, I know He will!
As you go ________!
Pastor Joe
Letters to my
Recovering Roman Catholic Friend
“Tradition”
Friend,
We agree on a lot. I want to begin where you and I already agree: reverence for
what’s been handed down is not a problem; in many ways it’s a gift.
Tradition—rightly understood—can feel like a well-worn family Bible, passed
from caring hands to eager hearts. It guards us from the arrogance of the
moment, it teaches us to kneel where saints have knelt, and it reminds us that
the Church did not begin when you and I first believed.
So, if your story includes processions, creeds
half-whispered, candles lit for reasons you couldn’t quite name—all that
reverence, all that longing for holy ground—I want you to know I’m not here to
mock it. I’m here to bring it to the Scriptures, so that the best of what
formed you can be set free from what bound you.
Here’s my heart: I’m not trying to win an argument
with you; I want both of us won over by God’s Word. If tradition is a
precious family heirloom, Scripture is the title deed. Tradition is a faithful
servant; Scripture is the Master’s voice. Tradition can carry us to the
doorstep; Scripture opens the door and sets the table.
You were likely taught to think of “Sacred Tradition” (capital T) as God’s revelation alongside Sacred Scripture, authentically interpreted by a teaching office that speaks with binding authority. I understand the humane instinct there—who wouldn’t want certainty in confusing times? —Yet I can’t defend that from the Bible.
The more I read, the more I see this: authoritative
apostolic tradition has, by God’s design, been inscripturated. That is: preserved
for the whole Church in the sixty-six books we call the Old and New Testaments.
The
apostles did hand down the faith (1 Corinthians 11:2; 2 Thessalonians
2:15).
Jude
calls it “the faith once for all delivered to the saints” (Jude 3).
The Spirit saw to it that what the apostles taught with binding authority was written,
breathed-out by God (2 Timothy 3:16–17), so that you would never have to wonder
where to hear the Shepherd’s voice. That’s why the Bereans were commended: not for a suspicious
spirit, but for opening the Scriptures to test even apostolic preaching (Acts
17:11).
Did you catch that? God doesn’t shame you for asking, “Where
is that in the Bible?” He invites it. He built the faith to bear that kind of
question because He anchored it to His Word.
If a tradition harmonizes with the
Book, we can sing it with joy.
If
it clashes, we don’t throw away the Book to save the song; we tune the
instrument.
Now, I want to speak gently to what I’ll call “small-t traditions”: the devotional customs, rhythms, calendars, and even the way church rooms are arranged. These are not enemies. In fact, many are beautiful. Advent wreaths can slow our hearts in a hurried season. Set prayers can teach us to pray when words won’t come.
Yet, here’s the difference: customs can help; they cannot bind. They may tutor the affections; they may not rule the conscience. Jesus warned about elevating human tradition to the level of God’s command: “You make void the word of God by your tradition” (Mark 7:13). The problem wasn’t that people had customs; the problem was that their customs competed with clear commands.
So what do we do with the very real comfort that tradition can offer?
We keep the reverence and change the reference. We can love and admire creeds because they summarize Scripture, not because they substitute for it. We can kneel—not because a rubric says to, but because the Word says, “Come, let us worship and bow down” (Psalm 95:6). We honor the saints—not to petition them, but to imitate their faith (Hebrews 13:7). We remember that the Spirit who still speaks never says something that contradicts what He already wrote (John 16:13).
You might ask, “Didn’t the Church give us the Bible?”
Friend, God inspired the Scriptures; the early Church recognized them.
Picture a search party holding up found heirlooms to the light to see the
family seal. The canon wasn’t created by a later vote; it was acknowledged
by a grateful people who heard the Shepherd’s voice in those writings (John
10:27). Authority flows from God’s breath, not our breath about God. That
matters because it guards you from having your conscience pinned beneath any
later edict that would ask you to receive, as divine, what the Scriptures will
not bear.
Can you keep any of the devotions that formed you? The short answer is a “Yes” with a “but…” That is: Yes, but: ensure the tradition doesn’t conceal false claims, or hold you back from all God has for your life. If a practice points you to Christ, helps you obey Scripture, and doesn’t bind where God left free, you’re free to keep it. If it quietly relocates your trust from Christ’s finished work to human intercessors, human rituals, or human authority, lay it down.
Some things can be redeemed; some must be repented of. How do we know which is which? Bring it to the open Bible, in a humble church family, with leaders who are glad to be corrected by the Word they preach.
Friend, my goal isn’t to make you less reverent. It’s to take your reverence higher: to align your love for what’s old with the Ancient of Days, and your trust in what’s reliable with the only Word that cannot be broken.
Keep the reverence; change the reference. Let tradition be a servant that carries water to thirsty saints; let Scripture be the living fountain. And when the time comes to choose—because it always does—choose the Word of God. You won’t lose anything worth keeping, and you’ll gain a freedom that tradition, at its best, was always trying to teach you: “The truth will set you free” (John 8:32).
I'm praying for you!
God richly bless you, I know He will!
As you go ________!
Pastor Joe
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Letters to my Recovering Roman Catholic Friend
“Pagan Origins? — Praying to Saints, Images, and the ‘Sacred Feminine’”
Friend,
I want to gently walk into something that is a bit uncomfortable for many who
come from a Roman Catholic background. …It’s important to talk about because it
cuts through generations of assumptions — and that stings for many people. You know my heart. I am not here to shame, mock, or attack.
I respect your desire to follow Jesus — and I see in you a hunger for truth
that transcends tradition. That’s why you’re reading this.
That’s why we talk.
You want to worship God in spirit and in truth.
This is a tension you have to reconcile. You’ve surely heard people say, “Rome baptized paganism.” Yet, you have also seen sincere people kneel, whisper prayers, and weep in cathedrals because they genuinely wanted God.
I want to help. I’m not here to sneer at your reverence or
to caricature your upbringing. I’m here to place our hands together on the
Scriptures and walk through the hard questions with humility and courage. If
something is beautiful but unbiblical, we lay it down. If something is old and
biblical, we hold it fast. And if something is familiar but fuzzy, we bring it
into the light of Christ until it’s clear.
So today, let’s talk about the roots of tradition.
Specifically, the way Greco-Roman Paganism made its way into Roman Catholic
practices, and how many well-meaning people were never told that the sacred
things they hold dear might have been borrowed from idol worship. We won’t base this discussion on opinions. Let’s walk
through history, Scripture, and even Rome’s own admissions together.
Let’s start with the big story.
The Gospel did not grow in a greenhouse; it sprang up in the middle of pagan
empires.
The apostles preached Christ in cities studded with shrines. They loved people who wore amulets, burned incense to household gods, and treated the emperor like a deity. When men and women truly turned to Jesus, they didn’t drag their idols into the church to be “baptized.” They burned them (Acts 19:19). They confessed there is one God and one Mediator (1 Timothy 2:5). They didn’t keep their spiritual shortcuts; they learned to pray through the torn veil, boldly, because the Son of God had opened the way (Hebrews 10:19–22).
So how did Christian practice later begin to resemble what
the gospel originally rebuked?
History matters here. After centuries of
persecution, Christianity became favored in the Roman Empire. A culture that
once sneered at Christians were now made to join them—sometimes sincerely,
often superficially.
Language from the Bible mingled with muscle memory from the
old religions.
That’s what we call syncretism: mixing. And whenever mixing
happens, we need to examine to ensure we’re holding fidelity to God’s Word and
His vision for His Church.
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Borrowed
Symbols, Pagan Roots
Let’s look at just some of the signs and symbols that became fixtures of
Roman Catholic practice—and ask whether they came from the New Testament or
somewhere else entirely.
>The Bishop’s Mitre: Dagon’s Hat. Consider the mitre—the
tall, split-topped hat worn by bishops and popes. Its shape mirrors the fish-head
headdress worn by priests of Dagon, a Philistine fertility god (1 Samuel
5:1–5). The mouth of the fish opens at the top, and the back drapes like a
tail.
The design wasn't invented in Acts—it was inherited from pagan priesthoods. God
never commanded His shepherds to wear costumes to mimic fish gods.
He said,
“Clothe yourselves with humility” (1 Peter 5:5), not gold-threaded vestments fashioned like idols.
>The Obelisk at the Vatican: A Pagan Monument. Standing at the heart of St. Peter’s Square is a massive Egyptian obelisk, brought from Heliopolis, the city of the sun. Originally built to honor the sun god Ra, this obelisk once stood in a Roman circus where Christians were martyred. Today, it’s crowned with a cross and placed in front of what is claimed to be the holiest church on earth.
God commanded His people not to repurpose pagan
monuments—but to destroy them (Deuteronomy 12:2–3).
Rome baptized it. The Bible
burns it.
>Praying to Saints: A purely Pagan practice. This is where the mixture can be most subtle and most tender. The instinct is understandable. You think, “Those holy ones are near God; maybe they can help my prayer get through.”
In pagan settings, people made offerings to lesser gods for specific needs—one god for the sea, one for fertility, one for the harvest, one for war. In Rome’s Christianized form, the instinct wore new clothes: St. Christopher for travel, St. Anthony for lost things, St. Jude for impossible causes.
But what does Scripture say?
- The veil is torn — we have direct access to God (Hebrews 10:19–22).
- There is one Mediator — Jesus Christ (1 Timothy 2:5).
- Trying to contact the dead is forbidden (Deuteronomy 18:10–12).
- Angels themselves refuse veneration — “Don’t do that... worship God!” (Revelation 19:10).
The saints in Heaven are a cloud of witnesses, not a panel
of intercessors (Hebrews 12:1). They cheer; they don’t chair the meeting. Jesus didn’t die to subcontract your intimacy with the
Father.
>Images and Relics: Art or Idolatry? The second commandment does not forbid art—it forbids making images to bow to (Exodus 20:4–5). God’s tabernacle was artistic—cherubim, pomegranates, lilies—but never objects of veneration.
God already chose His image-bearers: People (Genesis 1:27).
No statue should receive our prayers.
The early Christians resisted images of the emperor because they believed worship belonged to God alone. But over time, remembrance turned into veneration, and veneration into address. Rome invented terms like latria (worship for God), dulia (honor for saints), and hyperdulia (special honor for Mary) to try to justify what everyday people experience as practical idolatry.
You’ve seen “halos” in sacred art—glowing discs hovering around the heads of Jesus, Mary, and the saints. But did you know these were not Christian in origin?
The sun disc was a symbol of Ra, the Egyptian sun god, and of Apollo, the Greco-Roman god of light. In pagan temples, this radiant circle meant divine power. The Church inherited that art and applied it to Christian figures—but Scripture never described a glowing ring on Jesus or the apostles. Holiness doesn’t radiate from gold paint. The true Light of the World doesn’t need a borrowed badge from idolatry (John 8:12).
We can let art teach. Let the worship go to God alone.
>Mary and the Sacred Feminine. Now we come to the most sensitive and sacred tradition in Catholic devotion: Mary.
Let me be crystal clear: Scripture honors Mary. We should
too!
She
is called “blessed among women” (Luke 1:42).
Her
faith and surrender are a model of obedience (Luke 1:38).
Yet, over time, Mary’s role was expanded beyond Scripture.
The Roman Church has elevated her to “The Queen of Heaven,” the “Mediatrix,”
the
Co-Redemptrix,” and, the “Mother of the Church.”
This isn’t biblical—it’s borrowed.
The ancient world was full of mother goddess cults: Isis, Artemis, Cybele. These “heavenly queens” offered tenderness, beauty, and emotional warmth. When Rome blended pagan instincts with Christian themes, Mary became crowned just as they had Venus—not just as a blessed woman, but as an object of trust.
But Mary never asked for that.
She
called God her Savior (Luke 1:47).
She
was at Pentecost—not giving the Spirit, but receiving Him (Acts 1:14).
She
points us to her Son, not to herself (John 2:5).
God reveals His tenderness without needing a feminine deity. He names Himself Father and then compares His compassion to a mother (Isaiah 66:13). He sends the Spirit as Comforter—not a goddess. He calls the Church, not Mary, the Bride of Christ (Ephesians 5; Revelation 21).
In Christ, you don’t need a divine mother to soften a stern
father.
We have a Son who brings you to the Father by the Spirit.
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We can have a reverent faith, while holding fidelity to God’s Word.
“But what about early Christian honors for martyrs and
Mary?”
- - And you’re right to ask. Many Godly early believers honored the dead in
Christ—but with commemoration, not supplication. A slip came later:
…When
memory became mediation.
…When
respect became petition.
…When
inspiration became intercession.
Here’s a better way forward.
Let me offer you a
pathway out of syncretism—not driven by bitterness, but by love:
- Renounce
intermediaries.
Pray: “Father, I renounce placing any saint, angel, or image between You and me. I trust Jesus alone to bring me near.” - Replace
old words with God's Word.
Let the Psalms shape your language. Pray the Lord’s Prayer slowly. Camp in Hebrews 4 and 10. - Reframe
honor.
Celebrate the stories of faithful men and women. Tell them. Teach them. But imitate their faith, not their worship. - Recenter
worship.
Make the Word central. Make Christ exalted. Use art as a window, not a wall. - Rest
in sufficiency.
Jesus is enough. You don’t have to triangulate your prayers. He hears you. He welcomes you. He intercedes for you.
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Friend, I’m not asking you to despise your past. I’m asking
you to distill it—keep the reverence, keep the hunger, keep the sense that holy
things matter—and to pour it into the cup of Scripture until everything cloudy
runs clear in Christ.
The
Gospel didn’t join the pagan pantheon. It dethroned it.
The
Church doesn’t need a thousand helpers in Heaven. We have a living Jesus.
You
don’t need a shortcut. You have a Savior.
If any of this feels new or even frightening, I understand. Meeting the real Jesus is disorienting for people of any background and worldview. My prayer is that you would let this holy disorientation lead you to the throne of grace.
Bring Him your beads, your titles, your images, your
traditions—and say:
“Lord, if anything here is lovely but not true, I lay it down. Give me
Yourself.”
-
- - And He will.
He always fills hands that let go of lesser things.
Lean in to His best. He loves you.
God richly bless you, I know He will!
As you go _______!
Pastor Joe