Anti-Catholic Conspiracy Theories: The Celtic/British Church was Conquered by Pagan Roman Catholicism

 

Christianity in Britain Before and After Rome: History, Theology, and the Myth of an Independent Celtic Church

Author’s Note

I write this article in response to the growing circulation of a conspiracy theory—particularly in popular online media—that portrays early Christianity in Britain as an ancient, independent church supposedly conquered, corrupted, or destroyed by an “evil” and “pagan” Roman Catholic institution. This narrative is not merely historically incorrect; it is often advanced in explicitly hostile and sectarian terms. Disagreement with the theology, authority, or later historical actions of the Roman Catholic Church is a legitimate position. Inventing a past that never existed in order to justify contempt for that Church and its adherents is something else entirely.

What is especially troubling is the willingness of some modern polemicists to fabricate evidence, wrench sources from context, or appeal to imagined institutions in order to cloak anti-Catholic animus in the language of historical recovery. This is not serious scholarship. It is ideological storytelling. When such narratives target a living religious tradition by attributing to it a fictional history of conquest and corruption, they cross the line from critique into bigotry.

This study therefore takes a deliberately unsentimental approach. It examines what the sources actually say—no more and no less—and measures modern claims against the evidence preserved in councils, patristic texts, and early medieval historiography. The so-called “Celtic Church” conspiracy collapses under this scrutiny. What remains is a far more interesting, complex, and honest history—one that deserves better than tin-foil mythology.

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Abstract

This article examines the origins, development, and self-understanding of Christianity in Britain and Ireland from the Roman period through the early Middle Ages in order to evaluate claims that an ancient, independent “Celtic” or “British” Church existed prior to later Roman influence. Drawing on conciliar records, patristic testimony, liturgical evidence, and modern historical scholarship, it argues that while Christianity was firmly established in Britain before the Gregorian mission of 597, it was never doctrinally or ecclesiologically separate from the wider Latin Christian world. Regional diversity in practice emerged primarily from political fragmentation, geographic isolation, and differing social structures, particularly the prominence of monastic organization in Ireland. Disputes with Roman missionaries concerned matters of discipline and observance rather than faith or sacramental theology. By tracing continuity alongside development, this study demonstrates that the notion of a pristine, independent Celtic Church later conquered or corrupted by a pagan Roman Catholic Church is a modern construct unsupported by historical evidence.

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Methodology

This study employs an interdisciplinary methodology combining historical theology, patristics, and late antique ecclesiastical history. Primary sources are prioritized, including conciliar acts, patristic writings, and early medieval narrative histories, with particular attention to genre, context, and authorial purpose. These texts are read synchronically within their historical settings and diachronically to trace continuity and development in ecclesial self-understanding. Secondary scholarship is used critically to assess modern interpretations and historiographical trends, especially where contemporary polemical concerns have shaped readings of the evidence. The article deliberately distinguishes between doctrine, discipline, and custom in order to avoid anachronistic conclusions about ecclesial independence or corruption. This methodological approach reflects standard practices in theological historiography and aims to integrate historical rigor with theological clarity.

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1. Christianity in Roman Britain

Christianity reached Britain during the Roman imperial period, likely by the third century. Britain was not a marginal frontier but an integrated province of the Roman Empire, connected administratively and culturally to Gaul. Archaeological remains, inscriptions, and martyr traditions confirm an established Christian presence by the early fourth century.

The martyrdom of Saint Alban, traditionally dated to the late third or early fourth century, provides early narrative evidence of Christian life in Britain. More decisive, however, is conciliar participation. British bishops attended the Council of Arles in 314, where three signed the council’s acts. Participation in an international council presupposes ecclesial communion, not separation.

As Henry Chadwick observes, “The British church of the fourth century was a normal part of Latin Christendom, not a church apart” (The Early Church).

British Christianity shared the essential features of Western Christianity: episcopal leadership, Latin liturgy, adherence to the Nicene faith, and recognition of conciliar authority. No evidence suggests doctrinal deviation or rejection of wider ecclesial norms.

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2. Post-Roman Britain and Christian Continuity

The collapse of Roman administration in the early fifth century disrupted political and civic structures but did not extinguish Christianity. British Christian communities survived, particularly in Wales and the western regions. The subsequent Anglo-Saxon expansion marginalized these communities geographically and culturally, leading to isolation from continental centers.

This isolation accounts for later divergence in custom. It does not indicate theological independence. The absence of frequent communication with Rome or Gaul resulted in localized developments, not the formation of a rival ecclesial identity.

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3. Irish Christianity and Monastic Organization

Ireland’s Christian development followed a distinct trajectory due to its non-Roman social structure. Conversion, traditionally associated with Patrick in the fifth century, produced a church organized primarily around monasteries rather than cities.

Monastic leaders exercised significant authority, sometimes overshadowing bishops, but episcopal ordination and sacramental theology remained intact. Irish Christianity affirmed Trinitarian doctrine, Eucharistic worship, Scripture, and apostolic succession.

Kathleen Hughes notes that “the Irish church was never a church in isolation from Christendom, but one that developed on different social lines” (The Church in Early Irish Society).

Distinctive features such as penitential handbooks, missionary monasticism, and regional calculations of Easter reflect adaptation to local conditions rather than theological separation.

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4. The Problematic Category of a “Celtic Church”

The term “Celtic Church” is absent from early medieval sources. No centralized institution, council, or hierarchy ever unified the churches of Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and northern Britain into a single ecclesial body.

Patrick Wormald emphasizes that “the ‘Celtic Church’ is a construct, not an institution” (The Making of England). What existed were local churches sharing cultural traits, not a self-conscious alternative to Roman Christianity.

Disagreements with Roman missionaries centered on discipline and practice, particularly the calculation of Easter and clerical tonsure. These issues were important but non-doctrinal.

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5. Augustine of Canterbury and the Roman Mission

The Gregorian mission of 597, led by Augustine of Canterbury, was directed toward the pagan Anglo-Saxons, not the already-Christian Britons. Augustine’s encounters with British bishops reveal mutual recognition of Christian identity despite tensions over authority and custom.

There is no record of accusations of heresy. The disputes concerned uniformity and pastoral cooperation rather than faith itself.

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6. The Synod of Whitby Reconsidered

The Synod of Whitby (664) has frequently been portrayed as the moment when Rome crushed the Celtic Church. This interpretation is untenable. The synod addressed a specific issue: which method for calculating Easter should be followed in Northumbria.

Both parties claimed Catholic legitimacy and appealed to apostolic authority. James Campbell rightly concludes that “Whitby decided a question of observance, not belief” (The Anglo-Saxons).

The decision to adopt the Roman computation reflected a desire for unity within the wider Christian world, not submission to a foreign conqueror.

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7. The Charge of Pagan Corruption

Claims that Roman Christianity was pagan misunderstand both Roman religion and Christian adaptation. While Christians adopted architectural forms, language, and administrative models from Roman culture, they rejected polytheism, emperor worship, and sacrificial cults.

This process is best described as inculturation, not syncretism. British and Irish Christians shared the same sacraments, creeds, and Scriptures as their Roman counterparts. There is no evidence that they regarded Roman Christianity as pagan or corrupt.

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Conclusion

Christianity in Britain was ancient, continuous, and integrated within the wider Catholic world. While political collapse and geographic isolation produced regional customs, they did not produce an independent or rival church. The notion of a pristine Celtic Church later conquered by a pagan Roman institution is a modern myth, unsupported by historical evidence.

The churches of Britain and Ireland understood themselves as part of the universal Christian community. Their differences were matters of discipline and organization, not theology. Recovering this historical reality requires setting aside romantic and polemical narratives in favor of the evidence preserved in councils, texts, and lived practice.

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8. Modern Polemical Misuse and Anachronistic Readings

In contemporary discourse, especially within anti-Catholic, nationalist, or confessional polemics, early British and Irish Christianity is often portrayed as an ancient, independent church that was later suppressed or corrupted by Roman Catholic domination. Such readings frequently project modern theological disputes backward into late antique and early medieval contexts. This approach distorts both the sources and the self-understanding of early Christian communities.

Primary texts do not support the claim that British or Irish Christians viewed themselves as members of a separate ecclesial body opposed to Rome. Bede, our principal narrative source for early English Christianity, consistently presents British, Irish, and Roman Christians as sharing one faith, despite disagreements over custom.^1 Likewise, conciliar legislation from the fourth and fifth centuries presumes unity of belief while addressing practical or disciplinary matters.^2

Modern polemical narratives also tend to conflate later medieval developments with earlier periods, attributing post-Gregorian or post-Norman ecclesiastical structures to the Roman church of late antiquity. This anachronism obscures the fluid and locally adaptive character of early Christian organization. As recent scholarship emphasizes, diversity of practice within the early Church was the norm and did not imply schism or rival ecclesiologies.^3

For theology, the persistence of these myths risks distorting ecclesiology by replacing historically grounded concepts of catholicity with idealized notions of primitive purity. For history, such misuse undermines careful source criticism by privileging ideological narratives over documentary evidence. Addressing these polemical readings is therefore essential for both disciplines.

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Conclusion

Christianity in Britain was ancient, continuous, and integrated within the wider Catholic world. While political collapse and geographic isolation produced regional customs, they did not produce an independent or rival church. The notion of a pristine Celtic Church later conquered by a pagan Roman institution is a modern myth, unsupported by historical evidence.

The churches of Britain and Ireland understood themselves as part of the universal Christian community. Their differences were matters of discipline and organization, not theology. Recovering this historical reality requires setting aside romantic and polemical narratives in favor of the evidence preserved in councils, texts, and lived practice.

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Notes

1. Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, II.2; III.25.

2. Council of Arles (314), subscription lists; Council of Laodicea, Canon 28; Council of Hippo (393), canons on discipline.

3. Patrick Wormald, The Making of England (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2006), 118–123; Kathleen Hughes, The Church in Early Irish Society (London: Methuen, 1966), 45–67.

4. Ignatius of Antioch, Letter to the Smyrnaeans 8; Letter to the Ephesians 20.

5. Justin Martyr, First Apology 65–67.

6. Henry Chadwick, The Early Church (London: Penguin, 1993), 115–132.

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References

Bede. Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum. Translated by Leo Sherley-Price. Penguin Classics.

Campbell, James. The Anglo-Saxons. London: Penguin.

Chadwick, Henry. The Early Church. London: Penguin.

Hughes, Kathleen. The Church in Early Irish Society. London: Methuen.

Ignatius of Antioch. Letters. In The Apostolic Fathers.

Justin Martyr. First Apology.

Wormald, Patrick. The Making of England. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell.

Catholic Jubilee & The Holy Doors

 

Jubilee 2025 After the Doors Have Closed: Scripture, Tradition, and a Catholic Witness

Jubilee 2025 has ended. The Holy Doors are now closed, in Rome and throughout the world. As a Catholic, I do not experience this moment as a loss. I experience it as a reckoning, a quiet but demanding question: What did this year actually change in me?

A Jubilee is not meant to remain open. It is meant to form us, then send us back into ordinary life carrying what we received.

The Jubilee Is Biblical Before It Is Catholic

The Jubilee is not a medieval invention. It comes straight from Scripture.

In Leviticus 25:10, God commands Israel to “proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants.”¹ Debts were forgiven, slaves freed, and land restored. The Jubilee was not symbolic theater. It was a concrete act of mercy rooted in God’s ownership of all things.

Jesus places Himself directly in this tradition. At the start of His public ministry, He reads from Isaiah and declares:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me… to proclaim liberty to captives… to let the oppressed go free” (Luke 4:18–19).²

Christ is not abolishing the Jubilee. He is fulfilling it.

When Pope Boniface VIII proclaimed the first Christian Jubilee in 1300, he was not importing something foreign into Christianity. He was drawing out what was already there: repentance, pilgrimage, reconciliation, and mercy grounded in Christ.³

“I Am the Door”: Scripture and the Holy Door

The Holy Door is one of the most misunderstood elements of a Jubilee.

Jesus says plainly:

“I am the door. Whoever enters through me will be saved” (John 10:9).⁴

The Church takes this literally and sacramentally, not magically. Passing through a Holy Door is a bodily confession of faith in Christ.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that God uses visible signs to communicate invisible grace, because human beings are both spiritual and bodily creatures.⁵ This sacramental logic flows directly from the Incarnation.

St. Augustine of Hippo expressed this principle succinctly when he described the sacraments as *“visible words.”*⁶ The Holy Door functions in that same theological register.

The Closing of the Holy Doors

Now the doors are sealed again, and that closure is not accidental.

In Scripture, sacred time always has an end. Feasts conclude. Fast days end. Grace then calls for response.

The closing of the Holy Doors reminds me that grace is never meant to remain confined to a season. As the Catechism teaches, grace requires human cooperation and bears fruit in lived conversion.⁷

Christ does not close the door on us. He sends us out.

Rome: The Heart of the Universal Jubilee

In Rome, the traditional Holy Doors were opened and then closed at the four major papal basilicas:

• St. Peter’s Basilica

• St. John Lateran

• St. Mary Major

• St. Paul Outside the Walls

These basilicas are not talismans. They are visible signs of apostolic continuity and ecclesial unity.

During the Jubilee, Pope Francis repeatedly emphasized that the Holy Door symbolizes entry into the mercy of the Father through Christ alone.⁸

A Jubilee for the Whole Church: Including San Diego

Jubilee 2025 was intentionally universal.

While Rome held pride of place, dioceses around the world designated local pilgrimage sites so the faithful could participate fully. This included my own city, San Diego.

In San Diego, designated Jubilee pilgrimage sites included:

• St. Joseph Cathedral, the mother church of the Diocese of San Diego

• Mission San Diego de Alcalá, the first Franciscan mission in California and a foundational site of Catholic evangelization

• Additional diocesan shrines and parishes designated by the bishop for Jubilee prayer, confession, and pilgrimage

Participating locally reinforced a core Catholic truth: the Church is universal, but mercy is always personal and near.

Indulgences, Healing, and the Catechism

Indulgences are often misunderstood.

The Catechism explains that sin produces both eternal and temporal effects.⁹ While sacramental confession reconciles the sinner to God, healing and purification often remain necessary.

This teaching is grounded in both Scripture and pastoral realism. St. John Chrysostom described repentance as a medicine for the soul, emphasizing healing rather than legalism.¹⁰

Indulgences are ordered toward that healing, not toward bypassing conversion.

Responding to the Claim That the Jubilee Is “Pagan”

Claims that the Jubilee or Holy Doors are pagan misunderstand both history and theology.

The Jubilee originates in Jewish law, not pagan myth. Its Christian development flows from Scripture, not syncretism. The use of ritual and physical signs is not pagan but biblical, sacramental, and incarnational.

As the Catechism affirms, Christianity rejects superstition while affirming the legitimate use of sacred signs ordered toward God.¹¹

The Jubilee calls sinners to repentance, confession, and trust in Christ. That is not paganism. That is the Gospel.

What Remains Now That the Doors Are Closed

The Holy Doors are sealed again, in Rome and in San Diego. But Christ remains open.

As Pope Francis has often reminded the Church, *“God never tires of forgiving us; we are the ones who tire of asking.”*¹²

The Jubilee has ended. The work continues.

If this Holy Year meant anything, it will be revealed now, in how I live.

The doors are closed.

Christ is not.

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Endnotes

1. Lev. 25:10 (RSV).

2. Luke 4:18–19; cf. Isa. 61:1–2.

3. Boniface VIII, Antiquorum Habet Fida Relatio (Bull of Jubilee, 1300).

4. John 10:9.

5. Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC), nos. 1146–1148.

6. Augustine of Hippo, In Johannis Evangelium Tractatus, 80.3.

7. CCC, nos. 2001–2002.

8. Francis, Misericordiae Vultus (Bull of Indiction of the Jubilee of Mercy), no. 3.

9. CCC, nos. 1472–1473.

10. John Chrysostom, Homilies on Repentance and Almsgiving.

11. CCC, nos. 2110–2111.

12. Francis, General Audience, February 19, 2014.

MLK Day: A Catholic Perspective on Martin Luther King Jr., MLK Day, and Racism

 

A Catholic Perspective on Martin Luther King Jr., MLK Day, and Racism

From my Catholic perspective, Martin Luther King Jr. is best understood not first as a political figure, but as a moral witness. Though he was a Baptist minister and not Catholic, his vision of human dignity, moral law, and nonviolence aligns deeply with the heart of Catholic teaching. MLK Day, when viewed through the lens of the Church, is not about partisan agendas. It is about sin, conscience, conversion, and the demands of the Gospel lived out in history.

At the center of Catholic theology is the belief that every human person is created in the image and likeness of God. Racism directly denies that truth. The Church does not treat racism as a mere social flaw or historical mistake, but as a grave moral disorder. It wounds both the victim and the one who commits it because it rejects what God has revealed about humanity. As Pope John Paul II taught, racism is a sin precisely because it contradicts the equal dignity God gives to every human being.

King’s insistence that segregation and discrimination were not just unfair but morally wrong resonates strongly with the Catholic natural law tradition. His famous claim that “an unjust law is no law at all” echoes principles articulated centuries earlier by Saint Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, both of whom taught that laws lacking justice fail to bind the conscience. From a Catholic point of view, King was not inventing a new moral framework. He was applying an ancient one.

Racism and Catholic Theology

Catholic theology has never supported race theory, racial hierarchy, or biological superiority. The Church teaches that humanity is one family, united by a common origin and a shared destiny under God. Differences of culture, language, and appearance are real, but they carry no moral weight. No race is closer to God than another. No race is inherently superior or inferior.

The Bible itself offers no support for racial theories or racial discrimination. Scripture consistently affirms human unity and repeatedly undermines ethnic privilege. While God chooses particular peoples in salvation history, He does so for mission, not superiority. The New Testament makes clear that in Christ, divisions rooted in ethnicity no longer define human worth. Attempts to use the Bible to justify racism always involve imposing later ideas onto the text rather than drawing meaning from it.

Was the Catholic Church Racist?

This question requires honesty.

The Catholic Church’s official teaching was not racist, but many Catholics failed to live according to that teaching. These two realities existed at the same time.

Throughout history, Catholic doctrine consistently affirmed the unity and dignity of the human person. Yet individual Catholics, including priests and bishops, sometimes absorbed the prejudices of their surrounding cultures. In societies shaped by slavery or segregation, some Catholic leaders remained silent when they should have spoken or accommodated unjust practices out of fear, habit, or misplaced prudence.

These were real moral failures. Silence and compromise matter. But they are not the same as official Church endorsement.

No pope, ecumenical council, or binding Church teaching ever declared racism or racial discrimination to be morally acceptable. When clergy defended discriminatory practices, they did so in tension with Catholic theology, not because of it. At the same time, Catholic history also includes bishops, missionaries, and religious orders who defended marginalized people, opposed slavery, and insisted on education and dignity for those excluded by society.

As early as the twentieth century, Pope Pius XI explicitly condemned racism and antisemitism, reminding Christians that humanity is one family under God. His words did not introduce a new teaching. They clarified what Catholic theology had always implied.

MLK, Nonviolence, and the Moral Life

One of the strongest points of convergence between King and Catholic thought is nonviolence. While the Church recognizes the tragic complexity of moral choices in a fallen world, it consistently presents nonviolence as a deeply Christian response to injustice. King’s refusal to answer hatred with hatred reflects Christ’s command to love one’s enemies and overcome evil with good.

Catholic moral teaching also recognizes that personal sin can shape laws, customs, and institutions over time, which then influence individual behavior in return. King’s work exposed how racial prejudice had become embedded in everyday life and public policy. From a Catholic perspective, this diagnosis matters because conversion must address both the heart and the habits that flow from it.

Why MLK Day Matters to Me as a Catholic

MLK Day challenges me not simply to admire a historical figure, but to examine my conscience. Do I truly believe in the equal dignity of every human person? Am I willing to confront injustice when it costs me comfort or approval? Am I willing to let the Gospel question my silence as much as my words?

Seen this way, Martin Luther King Jr. points beyond himself. His life and witness echo truths the Church proclaims every day: that injustice offends God, that love has moral power, and that courage rooted in faith can change history. Remembered through a Catholic lens, MLK Day does not compete with the faith. It calls me to live it more honestly.

This is partly why I am Catholic. The Church is truly catholic in the fullest sense of the word: universal. From its beginning, it was never meant to belong to one race, nation, or culture. It is global by design and open to all humanity, exactly as Christ intended. Catholicism does not ask people to erase their identity in order to belong. It asks every culture, language, and people to bring what is good and true into communion with the Gospel. That universality is not vague or sentimental. It is concrete, historical, and lived out across centuries and continents.

When I look at the Church honestly, I see failures by her members, but I also see something no human institution could sustain on its own: a faith that crosses racial, ethnic, and national boundaries without collapsing into tribalism. The Church’s teachings on human dignity do not shift with politics or geography. They apply everywhere because the truth about the human person applies everywhere. That consistency matters to me.

Catholicism’s openness to all humanity is not about trends or slogans. It flows directly from the belief that God created one human family and redeemed it through Christ. That is the Church I believe in, and that universality is not incidental to my faith. It is one of the reasons I trust it.

Valentine’s Day and the Real Saint Valentine

 

Valentine’s Day: The History, Theology, and the Real Saint Valentine

Valentine’s Day is often treated as a modern invention about romance, cards, and candy, but from my perspective as a Catholic, its roots go much deeper. Long before it became commercialized, this day was connected to Christian martyrdom, sacrificial love, and a very real saint whose witness still matters.

The Real Saint Valentine

The Church recognizes Saint Valentine as a Christian martyr from the early centuries of the Church, traditionally dated to the third century during Roman persecution. Historical records are sparse, which is common for early martyrs, but the consistent thread is clear: Valentine was a priest or bishop who remained faithful to Christ in a hostile pagan culture and paid for it with his life.

One of the strongest traditions surrounding Saint Valentine is that he ministered to persecuted Christians and, according to later accounts, secretly married Christian couples when marriage itself was threatened or restricted. Whether every detail of those stories is historically verifiable or not, the Church has always honored him as a martyr who defended Christian love and fidelity at great personal cost.

What matters most to me is not the romantic embellishments added centuries later, but the core truth: Saint Valentine died for Christ. His witness places him firmly within the early Church’s understanding of love, not as sentimentality, but as self-gift and sacrifice.

How February 14 Became Associated with Love

Saint Valentine’s feast day has been celebrated on February 14 since at least the early Middle Ages. Over time, especially in medieval Europe, cultural customs began associating the day with courtship and affection. Poets and writers layered romantic symbolism onto the feast, eventually giving rise to what we recognize today as Valentine’s Day.

This cultural development does not replace the saint or his meaning. It reflects something deeply Christian: the idea that love, commitment, and faithfulness are worth celebrating. When properly understood, romance is not opposed to Christianity. It is elevated by it.

The Theology of Love Behind the Feast

From a Catholic theological perspective, love is never just a feeling. Love is an act of the will rooted in truth. The Church teaches that authentic love involves sacrifice, commitment, and openness to God’s grace. Saint Valentine’s martyrdom fits squarely within this understanding.

Christian marriage itself is sacramental because it reflects Christ’s love for the Church. That is the theological foundation behind why the Church sees love as sacred, not disposable. When Saint Valentine is remembered correctly, he stands as a witness to faithful love in a world that often misunderstands it.

Addressing the Claim That Valentine’s Day Is “Pagan”

I often hear the claim that Valentine’s Day is a Christianized version of pagan fertility festivals. Like many such accusations, this one relies on surface-level similarities rather than solid evidence.

While ancient Rome did have pagan observances in February, there is no historical proof that the Church simply renamed a pagan festival and replaced its gods with a saint. The Church commemorated Saint Valentine because he was a martyr, not because of a seasonal ritual. The feast follows the same pattern as countless other saint days: honoring a Christian who bore witness to Christ through death.

The presence of love-themed customs does not make a feast pagan. Christianity does not reject love, affection, or marriage. It redeems them. The Church transformed culture by infusing it with Christian meaning, not by borrowing pagan worship.

Why Saint Valentine Still Matters to Me

When I look past the cards and candy, I see Saint Valentine as a reminder of what love actually costs. Love is not shallow or disposable. It demands courage, fidelity, and sometimes sacrifice. That is the kind of love Christ calls me to live, whether in marriage, friendship, or discipleship.

Valentine’s Day, at its core, is not about fleeting romance. It is about a martyr who understood that real love flows from faithfulness to God. Remembered that way, Saint Valentine doesn’t cheapen Christian belief. He deepens it.

The Feast of the Baptism of the Lord

 

The Feast of the Baptism of the Lord: History and Theology from My Catholic Perspective

When I attend Mass for the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, I see it as far more than a transition out of the Christmas season. For me, this feast is a profound moment in the life of Christ and a key to understanding my own baptism. The Church places this celebration at the close of the Christmas season because it reveals who Jesus truly is and what His mission will be.

The feast centers on the Gospel accounts of Jesus going to the Jordan River to be baptized by John the Baptist. The Church teaches clearly that Jesus did not undergo baptism because He needed repentance or cleansing. He is without sin. Instead, He enters the waters to identify Himself with fallen humanity and to inaugurate His public ministry. At this moment, Christ steps forward openly as the Messiah.

What strikes me most is how explicitly Trinitarian this event is. The Son stands in the river, the Holy Spirit descends upon Him, and the Father’s voice declares Him to be His beloved Son. The Church has always understood this moment as a manifestation of the Trinity, a public revelation of God’s inner life. That alone gives the feast enormous theological weight.

Catholic teaching also emphasizes that Christ’s baptism sanctifies the waters of the world. By entering the Jordan, Jesus prepares water to become the instrument through which new life in grace will be given. This is why the Church sees His baptism as directly connected to mine. His baptism is not separate from Christian baptism. It is the source of its power. Because Christ entered the water, my baptism becomes a real participation in His life, death, and resurrection.

Historically, the Church has commemorated the Baptism of the Lord since the early centuries. In the East, it was closely tied to the celebration of Christ’s manifestation to the world, alongside the visit of the Magi and the wedding feast at Cana. Over time, the Church clarified the liturgical calendar, but the meaning remained the same: this feast proclaims who Jesus is and what He came to do. It is about revelation, mission, and salvation, not seasonal symbolism.

When I reflect on this feast, I also hear the Church calling me back to my baptismal identity. The prayers of the Mass repeatedly point to adoption, grace, and new life. I am reminded that baptism is not merely a past event but a present reality. I belong to Christ because He first chose to stand in the waters for me.

Addressing the Claim That the Feast Is “Pagan”

I’ve often encountered claims that the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord is pagan because it involves water or because other ancient cultures used water in religious rituals. I find this argument deeply flawed.

Water is universal because it is necessary for life. Its use does not automatically make a practice pagan. The Church does not teach that water has power on its own. Baptism is effective because of Christ’s command and promise, not because water is treated as a deity or magical force. Catholic sacramental theology is clear: God uses created things as instruments of grace, not objects of worship.

There is also no historical evidence that this feast was adapted from a pagan festival. Christians were commemorating Christ’s baptism very early, based directly on the Gospel accounts. The meaning of the feast has always been tied to Jesus, the Trinity, and salvation. Pagan myths do not proclaim a sinless Son of God revealed by the Father and Spirit, nor do they teach incorporation into divine life through grace.

From my perspective, labeling this feast as pagan requires ignoring both Scripture and history. It assumes similarity equals borrowing, which is not how the Church understands truth. Christianity does not absorb paganism; it transforms the world by revealing the true God within it.

Why This Feast Matters to Me

For me, the Feast of the Baptism of the Lord is a declaration of identity. It tells me who Jesus is and who I am because of Him. It reminds me that my faith is rooted in real events, real history, and clear teaching. Far from being pagan, this feast stands at the heart of Christian revelation. It proclaims Christ, sanctifies creation, and calls me to live as a baptized child of God.

The Feast of the Epiphany & La Befana

 

Epiphany, La Befana, and the Faith I Had to Find for Myself

I did not grow up immersed in Italian Catholic tradition. Not really.

My parents divorced when I was young. My father was Catholic. My mother was Lutheran. I lived with my mom, so most Sundays were spent in her Lutheran church. It was sincere and reverent, but stripped down. No saints. No feast days. No sense of the liturgical year as a living cycle. Christmas and Easter were there, of course, but everything else felt flat and interchangeable.

Catholicism entered my life only in fragments. Weekend visits with my father. Time at my grandparents’ house. Occasional Mass at his parish. Even that faded when my father stepped away from the Church for a while. Whatever Italian Catholic inheritance I had was not handed to me whole. It came in pieces, and then it mostly stopped coming at all.

That is the context in which I now approach the Feast of the Epiphany and the tradition of La Befana. Not with nostalgia for a childhood I never had, but with a deliberate desire to reclaim something that slipped through the cracks.

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Discovering Epiphany as an Adult

In the Lutheran world I grew up in, Epiphany existed mostly as a word. It might show up in the church calendar, but it did not shape how we lived. There were no customs attached to it. No sense that Christmas was still unfolding.

Catholicism sees things differently. The Feast of the Epiphany celebrates Christ revealed to the nations through the visit of the Magi. It is not a quiet wrap-up. It is a declaration. The child born in Bethlehem is not only for Israel, and not only for the devout or the prepared. He is for outsiders, travelers, seekers.

Learning this as an adult Catholic changed how I understood the season. Christmas does not end in a single day. It moves outward, like ripples. Epiphany is where that movement becomes explicit.

For someone who grew up between traditions, never fully rooted in either, that message matters. The Magi were not insiders. They came late. They came from far away. And they were still welcomed.

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Meeting La Befana Later Than Most

I did not grow up hearing about La Befana. No stories. No candies left behind. No Epiphany Eve rituals.

I encountered her later, while trying to understand Italian Catholic culture beyond stereotypes. At first, she sounded almost silly. An old woman on a broomstick delivering gifts did not seem especially theological.

Then I learned the story behind her.

According to tradition, the Magi asked an old woman for help finding the Christ Child. She refused to go with them. Later, filled with regret, she set out to find Him herself, carrying gifts. She never finds Jesus, so she gives gifts to children instead, hoping one of them might be Him.

Seen through a Catholic lens, La Befana is not a distraction from the Gospel. She is a commentary on it. She represents repentance, missed chances, and the stubborn hope that love can still make amends.

That story resonates deeply with someone who came to Catholicism slowly, unevenly, and with long gaps. It speaks to the fear of having missed something essential, and the faith that the search still matters.

It is worth addressing the claim, often repeated online, that La Befana is pagan or even “evil.” That accusation says more about modern suspicion than about history or theology. La Befana developed within a Catholic culture that understood how to teach through story. She is not worshipped, invoked, or treated as a spiritual power. She is a folk figure attached to a Gospel event, much like medieval mystery plays or saint legends. The Church has long distinguished between superstition and symbolic storytelling, and La Befana clearly belongs to the latter. Her broomstick is not a sign of witchcraft but of humility and domestic life. Her journey is not magic but repentance in motion. Far from undermining the faith, the tradition reinforces a core Catholic truth: even when we hesitate, even when we miss Christ the first time, grace still invites us to go looking.

Another common claim is that La Befana is simply the Roman goddess Strenia in disguise, a pagan figure renamed and smuggled into Christian culture. From a Catholic perspective, this argument misunderstands how history and popular devotion actually work. Similarities in timing or symbolism do not equal identity. The Church did not baptize pagan gods by renaming them; it replaced them. Where pagan festivals once marked abstract forces like fortune or the new year, Epiphany centers on a concrete historical event: the revelation of Christ to the nations. La Befana is not treated as divine, does not receive worship, and has no cult, temples, or prayers. She functions as a moral figure within a Christian story, shaped by the Gospel, not as a survival of Roman religion. At most, older cultural imagery was repurposed and emptied of its former meaning, something Christianity has done throughout history without compromising the faith. What remains in La Befana is not paganism, but a thoroughly Christian message about repentance, humility, and the persistent search for Christ.

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Growing Up Without Saints

My mother’s Lutheran church was thoughtful and Scripture-centered, but saints were absent. Their feast days were absent too. The faith I learned there emphasized belief, but not memory. There was little sense that Christians across centuries and cultures had lived the same faith in richly different ways.

Catholicism, by contrast, remembers everything. Saints, feast days, seasons, customs. Italian Catholicism does this with particular intensity. Faith spills into food, stories, local legends, and household rituals.

Because I did not grow up with that, I had to choose it later. That choice feels more conscious, and sometimes more fragile. I am not continuing a seamless tradition. I am rebuilding one.

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Reclaiming What Was Interrupted

Reclaiming Epiphany and La Befana now is not about pretending my upbringing was something it was not. It is about honoring the part of my heritage that was interrupted by divorce, distance, and time.

It looks simple. Leaving Christmas decorations up until January 6. Reading the Gospel of the Magi slowly. Learning the stories my grandparents likely knew without thinking about them. Letting Catholic time shape my year, instead of letting the secular calendar rush me along.

These practices do not erase my past. They integrate it.

As an Italian American Catholic who did not grow up fully Catholic, Epiphany feels especially fitting. It celebrates a God who reveals Himself to those who arrive late, from far away, carrying questions instead of certainty.

La Befana reminds me that regret does not have to end in paralysis. It can become movement. Searching. Giving.

In reclaiming these traditions, I am not going backward. I am finally stepping into something that was always waiting for me.

New Years is Pagan!

 

Mother of God & the Christian Meaning of New Year’s Day

Every year, January 1 rolls around with a mix of fireworks, champagne, and cheers. For many, it’s a day of parties and resolutions. But for Catholics, it’s much more than a secular calendar flip. It’s the Solemnity of Mary, the Holy Mother of God—one of the most theologically rich and historically rooted feast days in the Church.

This article explores both the civil New Year and the Christian feast that shares the date. We’ll unpack their origins, address the criticisms about "paganism," and explain why Catholics are not only justified in observing this day but spiritually enriched by it.

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1. The Theological and Historical Roots of the Solemnity

On January 1, the Catholic Church celebrates the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, a feast with deep Christological roots. The Church honors Mary not simply as the mother of Jesus the man, but as the Mother of God (Theotokos), because the child she bore is one divine person with both a human and divine nature.

This title was dogmatically affirmed at the Council of Ephesus in 431 A.D.:

“If anyone will not confess that the Emmanuel is very God, and that therefore the Holy Virgin is the Mother of God (Theotokos)... let him be anathema.”

This teaching wasn’t about elevating Mary in isolation, but about safeguarding the truth of the Incarnation. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC 509) puts it:

"Mary is truly 'Mother of God' since she is the mother of the eternal Son of God made man, who is God himself."

Historically, January 1 is the Octave Day of Christmas. The Church often places major theological feasts eight days after a solemnity. In this case, the day also originally commemorated the Circumcision of Jesus, an event that signified His entrance into the covenant of Israel (cf. Luke 2:21).

In 1974, Pope Paul VI reaffirmed the Marian focus of the day in his apostolic exhortation Marialis Cultus:

“[This celebration] is meant to commemorate the part played by Mary in this mystery of salvation... and to exalt the singular dignity which this mystery brings to the ‘holy Mother’ through whom we were found worthy to receive the Author of life.”

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2. The Origins of January 1 as New Year’s Day

Long before Christians marked January 1 as a feast day, the Romans celebrated it as the Kalends of January, a day dedicated to the god Janus—the two-faced deity of beginnings and transitions. In 46 B.C., Julius Caesar reformed the Roman calendar and established January 1 as the start of the civil year under what became known as the Julian calendar.

Centuries later, as the Julian calendar was replaced with the more accurate Gregorian calendar under Pope Gregory XIII in 1582, January 1 was preserved as New Year’s Day in much of Western Europe. Its adoption was based on civil practicality, not religious ideology.

It is important to understand that the Catholic Church does not teach that January 1 has pagan origins in any theological sense. Celebrating a new year is a natural human expression of time, change, and renewal. Just because pagans celebrated the new year and Christians also mark it does not mean Christians copied or adopted paganism. It's simply a coincidence rooted in the universal human impulse to recognize the passage of time and the beginning of something new.

Likewise, the date of December 25 for Christmas is often wrongly labeled as pagan. In truth, the Church Fathers calculated Jesus' conception based on a traditional date for his crucifixion (believed to be March 25), then counted nine months forward. This places His birth in late December. As the Church has clarified repeatedly, the date was chosen based on theological reasoning, not to align with pagan festivals.

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3. Is New Year’s Pagan or Even Evil?

Critics, especially from fundamentalist Christian circles, argue that participating in New Year’s Eve celebrations is inherently pagan or even evil. They cite its origins in Roman religion and point to modern customs like drinking and partying as evidence of its corruption.

One commentator warns:

“The idea that the beginning of the year should be celebrated at the beginning of January is pagan through and through!”

Others argue that such festivities promote immorality and distract from God. Some go as far as to say:

"God condemns the celebration of any pagan festival — that includes New Year’s."

But these claims ignore an essential truth: the Church has always redeemed cultural elements and given them Christian meaning.

4. Christians Are Not Under the Old Covenant Calendar

This point is crucial and often ignored: Christians are not bound by the Old Covenant ritual calendar in the way ancient Israel was.

The earliest Church faced this question head-on: Must Gentile converts keep the Mosaic Law—circumcision, feast days, sabbaths—to be real Christians? The answer, delivered by the apostles themselves at the Council of Jerusalem (Acts 15), was no.

St. Paul addresses calendar observance directly:

“Let no one pass judgment on you in questions of food and drink or with regard to a festival or a new moon or a sabbath.” (Colossians 2:16)

And again:

“One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Let everyone be fully convinced in his own mind.” (Romans 14:5)

The Letter to the Hebrews frames this at the covenantal level:

“By speaking of a new covenant, he has made the first one obsolete.” (Hebrews 8:13)

This does not mean the Old Testament is rejected. It means it is fulfilled. As the Catechism explains, the Old Law was a preparation for Christ—holy, inspired, but no longer binding as a legal covenant once the New Covenant is established.

Early Church Fathers agree

St. Ignatius of Antioch (early 2nd century) warned Christians:

“If we still live according to the Jewish law, we acknowledge that we have not received grace.”

Justin Martyr explicitly lists sabbaths and feast-days as no longer obligatory for Christians under the New Covenant.

Church councils echoed this teaching. The Council of Laodicea instructed Christians not to “judaize” by treating the Mosaic sabbath as a covenant obligation, instead honoring the Lord’s Day, the day of Resurrection.

Vatican teaching today

Vatican II affirms that the Church received the Old Testament through the Jewish people and rejects all anti-Judaism. At the same time, Catholic theology is clear: Christians live under the New Covenant in Christ, not the ritual obligations of Sinai.

This is why arguments like “God commanded a different calendar, so January 1 is disobedience” simply fail. Christians are free—indeed commanded—to sanctify time in Christ.

5. Did the Pope “Change God’s Times”? Daniel 7:25, the Antichrist Claim, and the Gregorian Calendar

Some critics cite Daniel 7:25 (“think to change times and law”) to argue that any calendar reform proves the pope is the Antichrist, even claiming Pope Gregory XIII “changed God’s times” by introducing the Gregorian calendar in 1582. Historically and textually, that’s a category mistake. In Daniel, the phrase is tied to an oppressive blasphemous ruler who persecutes God’s people; many mainstream historians and biblical scholars locate Daniel’s “little horn” imagery in the Antiochus IV crisis and the coercive attempt to suppress Jewish religious life—i.e., interference with sacred observance, not a scientific correction of the solar year. Journal of Hebrew Scriptures+2Jewish Encyclopedia+2 

By contrast, Gregory’s reform (the bull Inter gravissimas, Feb. 24, 1582) explicitly aimed to restore the calendar’s alignment with the seasons and the Church’s paschal calculations: the Julian calendar had drifted, pulling the equinox earlier and disrupting the intended timing for Easter; the reform therefore skipped ten dates (Oct. 4 → Oct. 15, 1582) and adjusted leap-year rules to prevent future drift. Wikipedia+2Encyclopedia Virginia+2 

Even Encyclopaedia Britannica notes the reaction proves more about polemics than prophecy: “many Protestants saw it as the work of Antichrist and refused to adopt it,” which is a report of historical suspicion—not evidence that Daniel’s prophecy was fulfilled in a calendar fix. Encyclopedia Britannica 

In short: Daniel 7:25 is about a tyrannical power “speaking against” God and crushing the holy ones, whereas the Gregorian reform was an astronomical/chronological correction adopted gradually by civil authorities across confessions; calling that “the Antichrist changing God’s times” is neither how Daniel is handled in serious scholarship nor what the 1582 reform actually was. 

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6. Catholic Defense of Celebrating New Year’s

The Church does not deny the pagan roots of January 1—just as it acknowledges the same for other dates like December 25. But Christianity doesn't exist in a vacuum. It has always engaged with culture, purifying what is good and rejecting what is contrary to Christ.

January 1 is now sanctified by the Church as a liturgical feast. Its focus is not on arbitrary celebrations, but on Mary and, through her, Christ.

Pope Paul VI stated:

“This celebration [on January 1] is meant also to exalt the singular dignity which this mystery brings to the 'holy Mother' through whom we were found worthy to receive the Author of life.”

Moreover, Catholics are encouraged to mark the day with Mass, prayer for peace, and thanksgiving for the year past. The secular celebration, when kept in moderation, can coexist with the spiritual significance of the day.

The Church does caution against:

• Drunkenness and excess (cf. Galatians 5:19–21)

• Superstition or occult practices (cf. Deuteronomy 18:10–12)

But it also encourages sanctifying time:

"Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." (Psalm 90:12)

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7. How Christians Can Enter the New Year Faithfully

Rather than rejecting January 1, Christians are invited to reclaim it:

• Attend the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God Mass

• Reflect on the past year with gratitude and contrition

• Offer prayers for peace and guidance in the new year

• Make resolutions grounded in discipleship, not self-improvement hype

The calendar may change, but our call remains the same: to love God with heart, soul, mind, and strength (cf. Mark 12:30).

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Final Thought

January 1 is not just a new beginning on the calendar. For Catholics, it’s an opportunity to begin the year with Christ, through Mary. It is not pagan to mark time; it is human. And it is profoundly Christian to redeem time by dedicating it to God.

So yes, raise a toast if you like—but start with the Mass. Light a firework if you must—but pray for the light of Christ to guide your year.

Let the world party. Let the Church pray. And let Mary, Mother of God, intercede for us as we step into another year of grace.