Why I’m Catholic: Overcoming Distrust of Organized Religion and Deep-Seated Protestant Misconceptions

 

The main reason I am Catholic, "Why I'm Catholic," is that I overcame my distrust of organized religion and worked through deep-seated misconceptions from my partly-Protestant background. One of the main reasons I was once anti-Catholic was my deep distrust of organized religion. I believed that fallen, sinful humans could neither faithfully represent God nor govern others in His name without falling into hypocrisy and corruption. In my view, any system where people attempt to govern or organize will naturally gravitate toward misuse of power. As the saying goes, "Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely." I saw this as especially true in the Catholic Church, with its structured hierarchy, extensive bureaucracy, and the Pope as a supreme authority, which seemed to me like a breeding ground for corruption. The darker periods in the Church's history only seemed to reinforce my doubts.

For a time, my thinking aligned with certain Protestant beliefs: that to be a true Christian, all you need is the Bible. Church authority, pastors, and formal structures were nice to have but ultimately non-essential. I believed in an "invisible church" of all believers, known only to God.

However, as I began reading the Bible more deeply and critically—though I had read it often throughout my life, thanks to my mom who taught me to read from Scripture at a young age—I started to notice something I’d overlooked: the existence of a visible, organized Church established by the Apostles. The Bible outlined a structure of governance and teaching, with bishops, priests, and deacons. I realized that a visible Church with defined roles wasn’t just Biblical but logical. Any community, whether for worship or charity, would naturally need organization and leadership, despite the flaws of the individuals involved.

Over time, I came to see that a visible, organized Church was not just helpful but essential. Rather than contradicting the Bible, this structure reflected its teachings, pointing to an enduring institution that could offer guidance, continuity, and accountability in the practice of faith.

I came to understand this Church’s governing and teaching structure not merely as a human institution to be dismissed or abandoned when disagreements arise, but as one divinely established by Christ Himself. In Matthew 16:18-19, Jesus entrusted St. Peter with the "keys of the kingdom," signifying authority, and gave him, along with the other Apostles—the Church's first bishops—the power to "bind and loose." This was not a temporary structure but an enduring one, meant to guide and unify believers in the truth.

I also came to see the Catholic Church itself reflected in the pages of Scripture. St. Paul addressed his Epistle to the Romans directly to this early Christian community in Rome, which, though it doesn’t yet use the specific terms "bishop" or "pope," does reference the office of overseers or elders. Paul’s letters frequently mention the role of elders (Greek: presbyteros) and overseers (Greek: episkopos) within Christian communities (e.g., Titus 1:5-7, 1 Timothy 3:1-2). Given the importance of structure and leadership that Paul establishes, it seems reasonable to deduce that the Church in Rome would have had its own elder or overseer—an office that, over time, would become known as the bishop of Rome and, eventually, the Pope.

My doubts about the Church’s history, rooted largely in misconceptions and anti-Catholic narratives, were gradually challenged as I delved deeper into objective sources. St. Ignatius of Antioch emphasized the importance of unity with the bishop as early as the 1st century, affirming that a divinely appointed structure has existed since the Apostolic era. The Council of Nicaea (325 AD) later confirmed this structure, defining roles within the Church to maintain doctrinal consistency. Similarly, St. Augustine recognized the fallibility of individuals within the Church while affirming that the Church itself, as the body of Christ, remains divinely led despite human faults.

Yet, I still struggled with the darker chapters of Catholic history. Much of my initial understanding of these events came from Protestant critiques that portrayed the Church as irredeemably flawed. However, as historian Hilaire Belloc and theologian John Henry Newman have argued, many criticisms are rooted more in polemic than in objective history.

I came to realize that claims about the Inquisitions having killed millions of believers are, at worst, outright falsehoods or, at best, significant exaggerations. Historical research indicates that while abuses occurred, the scale of violence was far less than often alleged by anti-Catholic sources. Likewise, the Crusades—though marred by the actions of some unscrupulous individuals—were originally noble endeavors aimed at protecting pilgrims and preserving Christian lands. These are indeed challenging chapters in Church history, but objective scholarship reveals that they are not the atrocities that some anti-Catholic critics, particularly from certain Protestant groups, portray them to be.

• On the Inquisitions: According to historian Henry Kamen in The Spanish Inquisition: A Historical Revision, modern scholarship estimates the number of executions by the Spanish Inquisition in the thousands, rather than the millions sometimes claimed.
• On the Crusades: Historian Jonathan Riley-Smith, in The Crusades: A History, explains that the Crusades were initially motivated by a genuine desire to protect Christian pilgrims and defend Eastern Christians, though they were later tainted by personal ambition and greed among certain participants.

I found greater peace and clarity in Pope John Paul II’s encyclical Tertio Millennio Adveniente (1994), where he called for a “purification of memory” as the Church approached the Jubilee Year 2000. During the Jubilee, he openly acknowledged the faults and sins of individuals within the Church, including those in leadership, and asked for forgiveness. This act of repentance did not negate the Church’s divine foundation but rather reinforced the necessity of humility and accountability within its human aspect. In his words, “The Church, embracing sinners in her bosom, is at once holy and always in need of purification” (Lumen Gentium, 8).

This sincere apology and reflection, grounded in the Second Vatican Council’s call for renewal and self-examination, allowed me to see the Church not as a static or flawless institution but as a living body, committed to truth and humility. Through the examples of the Apostolic Fathers and Popes like John Paul II, I began to understand that the Church’s enduring structure is both human and divine—a vessel for God’s grace, even when it bears the marks of human imperfection.

When it comes to Church governance, I also came to understand that, while the Pope is recognized as the supreme authority in the Church, he does not act unilaterally. In practice, the Holy Father exercises his role in a collaborative and ecumenical manner. When defining a dogma or binding doctrine, especially on matters requiring the faithful’s assent, the Pope does not act alone. Instead, he seeks counsel from respected historians, theologians, and—most importantly—from his fellow bishops and the Magisterium, the Church’s teaching authority. The Pope’s authority, as outlined in Canon Law and affirmed in the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC 883), is exercised collegially, showing him not as a dictator but as a servant leader who values unity and consensus.

This approach aligns with the teachings of St. Cyprian of Carthage, who emphasized that “the Church is in the bishop and the bishop in the Church,” underscoring the collaborative, not autocratic, nature of ecclesial governance. The Second Vatican Council further affirmed this in Lumen Gentium (LG 22), which teaches that the Pope, while supreme, is bound to act in communion with the other bishops, especially in matters of grave importance.

Moreover, the principle of subsidiarity—a key tenet in Catholic social teaching—ensures that decisions are addressed at the most local level possible. This means that individual archdioceses, dioceses, and parishes exercise a degree of independence and autonomy, entrusting local issues to those directly involved rather than centralizing all power in Rome. Subsidiarity reflects the Church’s respect for the unique needs of each community and further illustrates that the Pope is not an absolute ruler but a unifying leader, facilitating guidance rather than imposing rigid control.

Historically, Popes have acted in consultation with the bishops, especially when defining matters of doctrine. This collaborative approach was evident in Pope Pius IX’s declaration of the Immaculate Conception in 1854 and Pope Pius XII’s proclamation of the Assumption in 1950, both of which were made only after consultation with bishops worldwide. Even Pope John Paul II highlighted this aspect of collegiality in his encyclical Ut Unum Sint (1995), where he reaffirmed the importance of dialogue and unity in decisions affecting the Church.

In this way, the Church’s governance structure, while often described as a “monarchical episcopacy,” in fact includes elements of democracy and lay involvement, with respect for local governance and the contributions of laity, priests, and bishops alike. This balance of hierarchy with communal involvement reaffirms that the Pope’s role is not one of tyranny but of a guiding steward. As St. Augustine once said, “I am a bishop for you; I am a Christian with you.” This ethos remains central to the Church’s leadership, demonstrating that the Pope’s role is fundamentally pastoral, seeking to lead with humility, wisdom, and shared responsibility.

All of these insights helped dismantle the barriers that had once separated me from the Catholic Church, allowing me to let go of deeply ingrained Protestant anti-Catholic beliefs. I had been so influenced by these views that I once saw the Catholic Church as the "Whore of Babylon" and the Pope as the "Antichrist." However, through deeper study of Scripture and the writings of Church Fathers—including St. Augustine, who emphasized that “where the Church is, there also is the Spirit of God” (De Baptismo, 4.16)—I came to see the Church not as an adversary but as the Body of Christ, the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church.

The Second Vatican Council’s Lumen Gentium (LG 8) describes the Church as “a sacrament... of communion with God and of unity among all people.” This teaching echoed my growing understanding that the Catholic Church is the divinely established means to salvation, founded by Christ upon Peter’s confession in Matthew 16:18-19 and entrusted with the “keys of the kingdom.” Studying Pope Leo XIII’s encyclical Satis Cognitum (1896), which reaffirms the necessity of unity within the one Church established by Christ, deepened my conviction that the Catholic Church alone possesses the fullness of truth.

Through the teachings of Canon Law (canon 205), which affirms that “full incorporation” in the Catholic Church is essential for true communion with God, I realized that the faith of my ancestors, rooted in the Apostolic succession and doctrines upheld by the Church, is the path to salvation. Influenced by the writings of theologians and historians like John Henry Newman, who famously stated, “To be deep in history is to cease to be Protestant,” I came to recognize the profound truth of Catholicism. I was finally able to embrace the faith I had once rejected, knowing it to be the true and unbroken path to God: the One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. I came home to the Catholic Church.