A Catholic Reflection on American Independence Day and America’s 250th Birthday Why Catholics Should Reflect on the Fourth of July

 

Faith and Freedom

A Catholic Reflection on American Independence Day and America’s 250th Birthday

Why Catholics Should Reflect on the Fourth of July

This year, July 4th carries special meaning. In 2026, the United States marks its 250th birthday—the Semiquincentennial of American independence. Two and a half centuries have passed since the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and this milestone invites us not only to celebrate with fireworks, flags, parades, and family gatherings, but also to reflect more deeply on the meaning of freedom itself.

For Catholics, Independence Day is not merely a civic holiday. It is an opportunity to thank God for the blessings of liberty, to pray for our country, and to examine whether we are using our freedom well. Many Catholic churches across the country will mark this historic anniversary with special Masses, prayers, adoration, and patriotic observances. Here in San Diego’s Little Italy, Our Lady of the Rosary Catholic Church—an Italian National Parish and a beloved spiritual home for generations of Catholics—will also be among the churches honoring this moment with a special Mass.

That is fitting. The Mass is the highest prayer of the Church. Before we debate politics, celebrate national pride, or worry about the future, we first turn to God. We bring our nation, our leaders, our families, our soldiers, our communities, and our divisions before the altar of Christ.

In today’s digital age—flooded with opinions, arguments, headlines, and endless commentary—Catholics are constantly exposed to competing visions of politics, culture, and freedom. For me personally, this climate has led to deeper reflection: What does it really mean to be free? How do I, as a Catholic, live out patriotism in a way that is faithful, humble, and grounded in truth?

July 4th offers not only a chance to celebrate America, but also a sacred opportunity to reexamine the Catholic vision of freedom and how we can serve our nation by first serving God.

The Catholic Foundations of American Liberty

Catholics were once a small and often mistrusted minority in the early days of the American Republic. Yet many of the ideals expressed at the Founding—human dignity, natural law, religious liberty, and inalienable rights—echo truths long taught by the Catholic Church.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights…”
—Declaration of Independence, 1776

This language aligns closely with the Catholic belief that every human person possesses inherent dignity because every person is created in the image and likeness of God.

Genesis tells us:

“God created mankind in his image;
in the image of God he created them.”
—Genesis 1:27

The rights of the human person do not come from the State. They do not come from political parties, courts, kings, presidents, or popular opinion. They come from God. Government exists to recognize and protect those rights, not to invent or abolish them.

Early American Catholics understood this well. Charles Carroll of Carrollton, the only Catholic signer of the Declaration of Independence, placed his name on the founding document of a new nation. His cousin, Father John Carroll, later became the first bishop in the United States and helped guide the young American Catholic Church through a new era of religious liberty.

Bishop Carroll once wrote:

“The Constitution is wisely framed to secure, without any danger to liberty or conscience, the rights of every religious denomination.”

For Catholics, this is one of the great blessings of the American experiment: the freedom to worship God, to build churches, to educate our children, to serve the poor, to speak the truth, and to live our faith openly.

America at 250: Gratitude, Memory, and Responsibility

A 250th birthday is not only a celebration. It is a moment of examination.

America has given many blessings to the world: constitutional government, religious freedom, representative democracy, opportunities for immigrants, and a civic ideal that insists human beings are not subjects of a ruler but citizens with dignity. For generations, Catholics—Irish, Italian, Polish, German, Mexican, Filipino, Vietnamese, African, Native, and many others—have helped build this nation through labor, sacrifice, military service, parish life, education, public service, and family.

Italian Americans especially know what it means to love both faith and country. Our ancestors came to America seeking work, dignity, safety, opportunity, and a future for their children. Many were poor. Many were looked down upon. Many faced prejudice. Yet they built churches, opened businesses, worked dangerous jobs, served in the armed forces, and passed on both Catholic faith and love of country.

That is why a special Mass for America’s 250th anniversary means so much. It reminds us that our patriotism is not merely sentimental. It is prayerful. We do not worship the nation, but we do thank God for the good we have received through it. We also ask God to purify, guide, and strengthen our country so that America may live up to its highest ideals.

What the Church Teaches About True Freedom

The Catholic understanding of freedom goes far beyond individual autonomy. Freedom is not simply doing whatever we want. True freedom is the ability to choose the good, to live in truth, and to become the people God created us to be.

St. John Paul II famously said:

“Freedom consists not in doing what we like, but in having the right to do what we ought.”

Pope Benedict XVI warned that freedom detached from truth can become destructive:

“When freedom does not have a purpose, when it does not wish to know anything about the rule of law engraved in the hearts of men and women… it ends up being self-destruction.”
—Pope Benedict XVI, Address at the White House, 2008

The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches:

“Freedom is the power, rooted in reason and will, to act or not to act… to perform deliberate actions on one’s own responsibility.”
—CCC 1731

And again:

“The more one does what is good, the freer one becomes.”
—CCC 1733

This is a powerful reminder for Americans. We live in a country that prizes liberty, but liberty without virtue becomes license. Freedom without truth becomes confusion. Rights without responsibility become selfishness. A society that forgets God may still use the language of freedom, but it risks losing the moral foundation that makes freedom meaningful.

In short, freedom is for love, for truth, for goodness, and ultimately for God.

The Church at Prayer for the Nation

As Catholics gather this year for special Masses marking America’s 250th birthday, we should remember what we are doing. We are not turning the altar into a political platform. We are not confusing the Kingdom of God with any earthly nation. We are doing something deeper and more Catholic: we are praying for the country in which God has placed us.

At Mass, we ask God to bless America—not because America is perfect, but because America needs grace. We pray for our leaders—not because we agree with every leader, but because Scripture commands us to pray for those in authority. We pray for peace, justice, religious liberty, the protection of life, care for the poor, healing among divided communities, and a renewed respect for truth.

A special Mass at Our Lady of the Rosary in San Diego’s Little Italy is especially meaningful because that parish stands at the crossroads of faith, heritage, immigration, and American life. It represents generations of Catholics who brought their traditions to this country, loved their ancestral homelands, and also became part of the American story.

That is Catholic patriotism at its best: grateful, prayerful, humble, and rooted in God.

Faithful Citizenship and the Christian Duty to Society

The Catholic Church does not teach withdrawal from society. Catholics are called to participate faithfully in public life. This includes voting, public service, charity, community leadership, peaceful advocacy, and moral witness.

Democracy, the Church teaches, can be a just system when it is rooted in truth, human dignity, and moral order.

Pope St. John Paul II wrote:

“An authentic democracy is not merely the result of a formal observation of rules, but is the fruit of a convinced acceptance of the values that inspire democratic procedures.”
—Centesimus Annus, 46

He also warned:

“Democracy without values easily turns into open or thinly disguised totalitarianism.”
—Centesimus Annus, 46

The Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church teaches:

“The Church… esteems the democratic system inasmuch as it ensures the participation of citizens in making political choices, guarantees to the governed the possibility both of electing and holding accountable those who govern them.”
—Compendium of the Social Doctrine of the Church, §406

This means Catholics should care about the moral health of the nation. We should care about the unborn, the poor, the elderly, the immigrant, the worker, the family, religious liberty, human dignity, public safety, peace, and the common good.

We will not always agree with one another politically. Catholics can and do disagree about policies, candidates, parties, and practical solutions. But we must never allow political identity to become more important than our identity in Christ.

St. Augustine, writing in The City of God, reflected on what binds a people together:

“A people is an assemblage of rational beings bound together by a common agreement as to the objects of their love.”
—St. Augustine, City of God, Book XIX

That question remains urgent for America at 250: What do we love? Do we love truth? Do we love life? Do we love justice? Do we love God? Or have we become united only by anger, entertainment, comfort, and division?

A nation’s future depends not only on its laws, but on the loves of its people.

Gratitude and Vigilance: Catholic Patriotism

We thank God for our freedoms in America. But we also acknowledge that freedom is fragile. It must be guarded, renewed, and handed on.

True patriotism does not mean pretending that one’s country has no faults. Nor does it mean despising one’s country because it has failed at times. Catholic patriotism means loving one’s country enough to pray for it, serve it, correct it when necessary, and call it toward virtue.

As the Second Vatican Council taught:

“Citizens should cultivate a generous and loyal spirit of patriotism, though without narrow-mindedness.”
—Gaudium et Spes, 75

That phrase is important: patriotism, but not narrow-mindedness. We can love America without idolizing it. We can honor the flag without forgetting the Cross. We can celebrate freedom while remembering that the highest freedom is not political, but spiritual.

Our love of country must be shaped by our love of God. Our politics must be purified by our faith. Our civic life must be guided by conscience. Our freedoms must be ordered toward truth, goodness, and charity.

A Prayer for America at 250

God of our fathers,
You guided generations before us through trial, sacrifice, hope, and renewal.
As our nation marks 250 years of independence,
we thank You for the gift of freedom
and for all who have labored, prayed, served, and sacrificed for this country.

Bless the United States of America.
Protect our religious liberty.
Strengthen our families.
Guide our leaders with wisdom and humility.
Heal our divisions.
Defend the vulnerable.
Convert our hearts.
Help us to use freedom not for selfishness, but for truth, love, and service.

May we, as Catholics, be salt and light in our communities.
May we defend life, uphold human dignity, seek justice, and serve the common good.
And may our nation never forget that true liberty finds its highest purpose in You.

Through Christ our Lord.
Amen.

Final Thought

As a Catholic American, I celebrate Independence Day not only as a historical anniversary, but as a spiritual reminder. Freedom is a gift, but it is also a task. We are called to defend it, use it well, and order it toward the highest good: God Himself.

This year, as America celebrates its 250th birthday, may we do more than wave flags and watch fireworks. May we go to Mass. May we pray for our country. May we thank God for our blessings. May we ask forgiveness for our failures. May we recommit ourselves to faith, family, virtue, and service.

May we never take liberty for granted.
May we never forget that rights come from God.
And may we always remember that the greatest freedom is the freedom to love and serve Christ.

For factual grounding: America250 describes July 4, 2026, as the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and the USCCB has also encouraged Catholic participation through “250 Hours of Adoration” leading up to the anniversary. Our Lady of the Rosary’s parish site confirms its regular Mass life in San Diego’s Little Italy.

 

Saint Anthony of Padua: A Feast of Faith, Bread, Lilies, and Italian Devotion in San Diego’s Little Italy

By Chris M. Forte

Every June, Catholics around the world celebrate one of the Church’s most beloved saints: Saint Anthony of Padua. His feast day falls on June 13, but in many parishes, especially Italian parishes and communities, the celebration is often moved to the nearest Sunday so more people can participate.

That was the case last Sunday at Our Lady of the Rosary Catholic Church in San Diego’s Little Italy, where the Feast of Saint Anthony was celebrated during the noon Mass. Since the noon Mass at Our Lady of the Rosary is the parish’s Italian Mass, the festa carried a special cultural and spiritual meaning. It was not only a Catholic devotion. It was also a living expression of Italian faith, memory, and community.

For a parish founded by and for Italian immigrants, the Feast of Saint Anthony is more than a date on the liturgical calendar. It is a reminder of how faith traveled with our ancestors across oceans, how saints became companions in hardship, and how Catholic traditions helped hold immigrant communities together in a new land.

Who Was Saint Anthony of Padua?

Saint Anthony of Padua was born in Lisbon, Portugal, in 1195. His baptismal name was Fernando Martins de Bulhões. Though he came from a noble family and received a strong education, he chose religious life at a young age. He first entered the Augustinian Canons, but after being inspired by the martyrdom of Franciscan missionaries, he joined the Order of Friars Minor, the community founded by Saint Francis of Assisi.

Taking the name Anthony, he became known as a brilliant preacher, teacher, theologian, and defender of the faith. He preached with clarity, courage, and deep love for the poor. His knowledge of Scripture was so profound that Pope Gregory IX reportedly called him a “living ark of the Testament,” a man whose mind and heart were filled with the Word of God.

Saint Anthony died near Padua, Italy, on June 13, 1231, at only 35 or 36 years old. He was canonized less than a year later, one of the fastest canonizations in Church history. In 1946, Pope Pius XII declared him a Doctor of the Church, honoring him as one of the great teachers of Catholic doctrine.

Yet for ordinary Catholics, Saint Anthony is not remembered only as a scholar. He is remembered as a saint close to the people.

He is the saint we ask for help when something is lost. He is the saint whose image often shows him holding the Child Jesus, a lily, or a book. He is the saint many families turn to in moments of worry, need, gratitude, and hope.

The familiar prayer says it simply:

“Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony, please come around. Something is lost and must be found.”

That little rhyme may sound simple, but behind it is a serious Catholic instinct: the belief that the saints are alive in Christ, that they pray for us, and that God’s grace reaches into the ordinary details of human life.

The Customs of Saint Anthony’s Feast

The Feast of Saint Anthony has many customs, especially in Italian, Portuguese, Brazilian, and other Catholic cultures. These traditions vary by region, but several are especially common.

One of the best-known customs is Saint Anthony’s Bread. The tradition is connected to stories of miracles and charity, especially the idea of giving bread or alms to the poor in thanksgiving for favors received through Saint Anthony’s intercession. In many churches, loaves of bread are blessed and distributed on or near his feast day.

This custom reflects something central to Saint Anthony’s life. He was not only a preacher of beautiful sermons. He was a preacher of charity. His devotion was not separated from the poor, the hungry, the suffering, or those who had been forgotten.

Another custom is the blessing or use of lilies, a symbol often associated with Saint Anthony. The lily represents purity, holiness, and the beauty of a life given to God. Many statues and holy cards show Saint Anthony holding a lily along with the Child Jesus.

There are also novenas and special prayers to Saint Anthony. In some places, Catholics pray a thirteen-day devotion leading up to his feast, while others observe the “Thirteen Tuesdays” in his honor. Tuesday became associated with Saint Anthony because of early traditions surrounding miracles at his tomb.

In Italian communities, the feast often became a full festa: Mass, prayers, processions, music, food, family gatherings, and a public expression of faith. These celebrations were not merely ethnic festivals. They were acts of Catholic memory. They brought together the altar, the street, the family table, and the neighborhood.

That is why saints’ feasts mattered so much to Italian immigrants in America. They were a way of saying: We are in a new country, but we have not forgotten who we are. We have not forgotten our faith. We have not forgotten the saints who walked with our parents and grandparents.

Saint Anthony and Italian Catholic Identity

Although Saint Anthony was born in Portugal, he is deeply loved in Italy, especially because of his life, ministry, death, and burial in Padua. To many Italians and Italian Americans, he is simply “Sant’Antonio.”

For generations of Italian families, devotion to Saint Anthony was part of everyday Catholic life. His statue might be found in a parish church, on a family prayer table, or in a grandmother’s home. His name was invoked for lost keys, lost documents, lost opportunities, lost loved ones, and sometimes even lost faith.

This is one of the beautiful things about Catholicism. The Church is universal, but devotion is often local, personal, and familial. A saint born in Portugal becomes beloved in Italy. Italian immigrants bring that devotion to America. Their children and grandchildren continue it in places like New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and San Diego.

In that sense, Saint Anthony belongs to the whole Church, but he also belongs to the story of Italian America.

His feast reminds us that Italian Catholic identity was never only about food, language, music, or ancestry. Those things matter, but at the heart of the old Italian neighborhoods was the Church. The parish was where people were baptized, married, mourned, educated, organized, and remembered. The saints gave the calendar its rhythm. The festas gave the community its soul.

The Feast at Our Lady of the Rosary in San Diego

Our Lady of the Rosary Catholic Church has long been the spiritual heart of San Diego’s Little Italy. Founded to serve the Italian Catholic community, the parish remains one of the most visible signs of Italian faith in Southern California.

Last Sunday, the parish celebrated the Feast of Saint Anthony during the noon Italian Mass. That detail matters.

In many places, ethnic Catholic traditions have faded or become purely cultural. But at Our Lady of the Rosary, the Italian language still has a place in the life of the parish. The Mass itself becomes a bridge between generations: between the immigrants who built the parish, the children and grandchildren who inherited it, and the newer parishioners and visitors who come to experience its beauty.

To celebrate Saint Anthony at the Italian Mass is to remember that this devotion came to San Diego through real families, real immigrants, real fishermen, real workers, real mothers and fathers, and real Catholics who wanted a church where their language, culture, and faith could live together.

The festa during Mass also keeps the focus where it belongs: on God. Saint Anthony is honored not as an isolated figure, but as a witness to Christ. The Mass is the center. The Eucharist is the center. The saint points beyond himself to Jesus.

That is the Catholic meaning of a feast day. We honor the saint because the saint reveals what God’s grace can do in a human life.

A Tradition Celebrated Every Year

Every year, the Feast of Saint Anthony at Our Lady of the Rosary continues this old pattern of Catholic life. It brings together devotion and heritage, prayer and memory, the Italian language and the universal Church.

For San Diego’s Little Italy, this annual celebration is one of those traditions that quietly preserves the neighborhood’s deeper identity. Little Italy today is known for restaurants, piazzas, apartments, nightlife, tourists, and the famous neighborhood sign. All of that is part of the modern community. But beneath the visible neighborhood is a much older story.

Before Little Italy was a dining destination, it was a working immigrant neighborhood. Before it was a brand, it was a community. Before the patios, wine bars, and condo towers, there were families, fishing boats, processions, parish societies, novenas, baptisms, funerals, and Sunday Mass.

Our Lady of the Rosary keeps that memory alive.

The Feast of Saint Anthony is part of that living memory. It reminds us that Italian American culture is not only something we inherit through blood. It is something we practice. It is something we show up for. It is something we teach, pray, sing, cook, bless, and hand on.

Why Saint Anthony Still Matters

Saint Anthony remains popular because his intercession feels close to ordinary life. People lose things. People lose direction. People lose hope. People lose faith. People lose loved ones. People lose their sense of belonging.

Saint Anthony’s life answers those losses with the Gospel. He tells us that what is truly lost can be found in Christ. He reminds us that faith is not an abstract idea, but a lived relationship with God. He shows us that preaching, charity, humility, and devotion belong together.

For Italian Americans, especially Catholics, his feast is also a reminder that our heritage is not dead. It does not have to be reduced to nostalgia. It can still be lived in the present.

When the Feast of Saint Anthony is celebrated at Our Lady of the Rosary, in Italian, during Mass, in the heart of San Diego’s Little Italy, something beautiful happens. The past and present meet. The old immigrant parish speaks again. The saints are honored. The Eucharist is celebrated. The community remembers who it is.

And Saint Anthony, the humble friar of Padua, continues to do what he has done for centuries: point lost souls back to Christ.

Sant’Antonio di Padova, prega per noi.

Saint Anthony of Padua, pray for us.

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.

The Feast of the Holy Innocents

 

The Feast of the Holy Innocents: History, Theology, and the Question of Historicity

Each year on December 28, the Catholic Church commemorates the Feast of the Holy Innocents. It is a quiet, somber day tucked into the joy of Christmas, and that placement is deliberate. The Church asks us to remember that the Incarnation did not enter a neutral world, but a violent one. In recent years, claims have circulated that this feast is “pagan,” borrowed from pre-Christian customs, or that the event it commemorates never happened at all. Both claims collapse under even modest historical scrutiny.

Date and Liturgical Place

The Feast of the Holy Innocents is observed on December 28 in the Roman Rite. The dating is not arbitrary. It follows the Feast of St. Stephen on December 26 and St. John the Apostle on December 27, forming what medieval liturgy called the Comites Christi—the Companions of Christ. Stephen died by martyrdom of will and blood, John by will alone, and the Innocents by blood but not by conscious will (Martimort, 1986).

This structure is distinctly Christian and theological, not seasonal or agricultural. There is no evidence of a pagan festival on December 28 that could plausibly account for the feast’s origin.

Biblical and Historical Origin

The feast commemorates the massacre of male children in Bethlehem ordered by King Herod the Great, as recorded in Matthew 2:16–18. Matthew situates the event within Herod’s well-attested pattern of paranoia and brutality. Outside the New Testament, Herod is described by the Jewish historian Josephus as capable of murdering his own sons, his wife Mariamne, and numerous perceived rivals (Josephus, Antiquities 15–17).

The argument that the massacre “did not happen” usually rests on the fact that Josephus does not explicitly mention it. This objection misunderstands both ancient historiography and the scale of the event. Bethlehem was a small village. Modern estimates suggest the number of children killed may have been in the dozens, not hundreds or thousands (Brown, 1993). Josephus routinely omits minor local atrocities unless they affected elite politics or large populations. The absence of mention is not evidence of absence.

Raymond E. Brown, one of the most respected New Testament scholars of the twentieth century, concluded that while Matthew’s account is the only direct source, it is “fully consistent with what we know of Herod’s character” and cannot be dismissed as legend simply because it lacks external corroboration (Brown, 1993).

Early Christian Witness

The Feast of the Holy Innocents is ancient. By the late fourth and early fifth centuries, it was widely celebrated in both East and West. St. Augustine preached sermons on the Holy Innocents, calling them “flowers of the martyrs” (Sermon 373). Prudentius, a fourth-century Christian poet, references their martyrdom in his Cathemerinon. These sources predate the Christianization of Europe’s pagan populations and cannot plausibly be explained as syncretism.

No early Christian writer treats the massacre as symbolic or mythological. It is consistently understood as a real event with theological meaning, not a metaphor invented for liturgical drama.

Theology of the Holy Innocents

Theologically, the Holy Innocents occupy a unique place. They are venerated as martyrs, not because they consciously professed Christ, but because they died for Christ. This distinction matters. The Church has long recognized martyrdom as rooted in the objective cause of death, not solely in subjective awareness (Catechism of the Catholic Church, §2473).

Their feast underscores a central Christian claim: salvation history involves real suffering, especially the suffering of the powerless. The Incarnation provokes opposition. Christ’s kingship threatens worldly power from the moment of His birth.

The Holy Innocents also raise difficult questions about grace, baptism, and salvation. Historically, theologians like Augustine and Aquinas addressed these questions seriously, never dismissing the children as narrative devices. Their deaths were understood as mysterious but meaningful within God’s providence, not as expendable details.

The Claim of Pagan Origins

The claim that the Feast of the Holy Innocents is pagan usually appears without primary sources. It often gestures vaguely at Roman festivals or child-related rites, but no direct parallels exist. Roman religion did not commemorate the mass killing of children as virtuous victims. Nor did it celebrate innocent suffering as redemptive.

By contrast, the Christian interpretation of innocent suffering is distinct and even offensive to pagan sensibilities. As Candida Moss notes, early Christianity redefined martyrdom in ways that sharply diverged from Greco-Roman ideals of honor and heroism (Moss, 2013). The veneration of powerless victims was not inherited from paganism. It contradicted it.

Conclusion

The Feast of the Holy Innocents is not pagan in origin, not mythological in intent, and not ahistorical by scholarly standards. It arises from a specific Gospel account, coheres with what we know of Herodian violence, and is attested early and consistently in Christian tradition. Its theology is sober, uncomfortable, and unmistakably Christian.

That discomfort may explain why modern readers are tempted to dismiss the feast altogether. But the Church has never flinched from remembering that the coming of Christ into the world was met with real bloodshed. The Holy Innocents stand as a reminder that Christmas is not sentiment. It is invasion.

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References

Augustine. Sermons.
Brown, R. E. (1993). The Birth of the Messiah. Doubleday.
Catechism of the Catholic Church. (1992).
Josephus. Antiquities of the Jews.
Martimort, A. G. (1986). The Church at Prayer. Liturgical Press.
Moss, C. (2013). The Myth of Persecution. HarperOne.

The Feast of the Holy Family

 

The Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph

Date, historical development, theological meaning, and a response to claims of pagan origin

Introduction

Within the liturgical cycle of the Roman Catholic Church, the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph occupies a distinctive place. Celebrated during the Christmas season, the feast directs attention to the domestic life into which the Son of God freely entered through the Incarnation. Far from being a marginal or sentimental observance, it reflects sustained biblical reflection, theological development, and pastoral concern for the Christian understanding of marriage and family.

Occasionally, the feast is dismissed as a late, “pagan” innovation. Such claims collapse under historical and theological scrutiny. This article examines the feast’s date, origins, theological foundations, and addresses those accusations directly.

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Date and liturgical placement

In the Roman Rite, the Feast of the Holy Family is observed:

• On the Sunday within the Octave of Christmas (December 26–January 1), or

• On December 30 when Christmas itself falls on a Sunday and no intervening Sunday exists.

This placement is deliberate. The Church situates reflection on the family immediately within the mystery of the Incarnation. The child celebrated at Christmas is not an abstraction; he belongs to a household, lives under parental authority, and grows within ordinary human relationships (cf. Luke 2:39–52).

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Historical development of the feast

Devotion to the Holy Family did not emerge in the early centuries as a formal liturgical celebration. Instead, it developed gradually as Christian meditation on the Gospels deepened.

Private and communal devotion to the Holy Family gained prominence in the early modern period, particularly in seventeenth-century France and Canada. This growth coincided with renewed attention to domestic spirituality and the moral formation of Christian households.

In the late nineteenth century, Pope Leo XIII strongly encouraged devotion to the Holy Family, especially in response to social and economic conditions that were destabilizing marriage and family life (cf. Neminem fugit, 1892). The feast itself was extended to the universal Church by Pope Benedict XV in 1921.

Subsequent liturgical reforms placed the feast within the Christmas season, reinforcing its Christological focus and grounding it firmly in the mystery of the Incarnation.

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Scriptural foundations

The Feast of the Holy Family rests on explicit biblical testimony. The Gospels do not present Jesus solely in public ministry but also emphasize his hidden life within a family.

Key scriptural texts include:

• Matthew 1–2, portraying Joseph’s role as legal father and protector

• The flight into Egypt (Matthew 2:13–15), revealing a family marked by vulnerability and exile

• The finding in the Temple (Luke 2:41–50), where Jesus’ divine sonship is affirmed without negating parental authority

• Luke 2:51–52, which states plainly that Jesus “was obedient to them” and grew in wisdom and grace

These passages establish that family life is not incidental to salvation history but integral to it.

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Theological significance

1. The concreteness of the Incarnation

Theologically, the feast underscores that the Incarnation is not merely metaphysical but historical and social. The Son of God assumed not only human nature but a human context. As the Catechism of the Catholic Church states, Jesus’ hidden life “allows everyone to enter into fellowship with him by the most ordinary events of daily life” (CCC §533).

2. The family as a locus of sanctification

The Holy Family reveals that holiness ordinarily unfolds within routine responsibilities. Mary and Joseph’s sanctity is expressed through fidelity, trust, labor, and sacrifice rather than public miracles. This affirms the family as a primary place where grace is received, lived, and transmitted.

3. Ordered love and authority

The family at Nazareth embodies an ordered relationship between love and authority. Joseph exercises real paternal authority in obedience to God; Mary models faithful assent amid partial understanding; Jesus submits freely to parental authority while remaining obedient to the Father. This balance resists both authoritarian distortion and modern reductions of authority to mere preference.

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Addressing claims of pagan origin

Alleged roots in fertility or household cults

No historical evidence supports the claim that the Feast of the Holy Family derives from pagan fertility rites or domestic cults. The feast arises explicitly within Christian devotional and liturgical history, many centuries after pagan religious practices had ceased to shape public worship in Christian Europe.

Comparisons with pagan triads

Some argue that honoring Jesus, Mary, and Joseph mirrors pagan triadic deities. This is a categorical error. Catholic theology does not treat the Holy Family as a divine triad. Worship (latria) is given to God alone, while Mary and Joseph receive veneration (dulia). Superficial numerical similarity does not constitute theological or historical continuity.

Claims of winter solstice adaptation

The feast’s timing is governed by the Christmas octave, not by the winter solstice. Its prayers, readings, and theology are entirely Christological and biblical, with no agricultural, cosmic, or seasonal symbolism characteristic of pagan observances.

In short, accusations of pagan origin rely on analogy rather than evidence and misunderstand both Catholic liturgy and history.

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Conclusion

The Feast of the Holy Family is a theologically rich and historically grounded celebration. It proclaims that God chose to dwell not only among humanity but within a family. By doing so, the Incarnation sanctifies ordinary domestic life and elevates the family as a central site of Christian discipleship.

Rather than being a borrowed or syncretistic observance, the feast emerges organically from Scripture, tradition, and the Church’s pastoral response to the enduring realities of human life. In honoring the Holy Family, the Church affirms that salvation unfolds not apart from daily life, but within it.

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Selected references

• Catechism of the Catholic Church, §§531–534

• Sacred Scripture: Matthew 1–2; Luke 2:22–52

• Leo XIII, Neminem fugit (1892)

• Congregation for Divine Worship, General Roman Calendar

If you want, I can now adapt this further for:

• a peer-reviewed journal style

• footnotes in Chicago or MLA format

• a shorter academic blog version

• or a parish adult-education handout

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Masses

 

Catholic Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Masses

History, theology, and a clear response to pagan claims

What the Church celebrates at Christmas

In the Catholic Church, Christmas is not a single service or a single moment. It is a liturgical unfolding of one mystery: the Incarnation, God entering human history in Jesus Christ.

That mystery is celebrated through four distinct Mass formularies connected to Christmas:

• Christmas Vigil Mass (often on the evening of December 24)

• Mass During the Night (commonly called Midnight Mass)

• Mass at Dawn

• Mass During the Day (Christmas Day)

Parishes usually celebrate two or three of these, but together they show how deeply the Church wants to dwell on the meaning of Christ’s birth, not just mark a date on a calendar.

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Christmas Eve: Waiting and fulfillment

Vigil Mass

The Christmas Eve Vigil Mass focuses on anticipation and fulfillment. Its readings trace the promises made to Israel and their fulfillment in Christ. Genealogies, prophecies, and royal language emphasize that Jesus is not an accident of history but the long-awaited Messiah.

This Mass has the feel of standing on a threshold. Salvation is at hand, but not yet revealed in full.

Midnight Mass

Midnight Mass is the most symbol-rich celebration of Christmas. Historically, it was celebrated in Rome at midnight to mark the transition from waiting to arrival.

The Gospel is always Luke’s account of the Nativity. Angels announce peace. Shepherds hurry to Bethlehem. God enters the world quietly, without power or spectacle.

The theology here is simple and radical:
God comes not in strength, but in humility.

The timing matters. Night represents darkness, fear, and uncertainty. Christ is born into that darkness, not after it has passed.

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Christmas Day: The meaning of the birth

Christmas Day Mass shifts from the story of the birth to its cosmic meaning.

Instead of shepherds and angels, the Gospel is usually the opening of John:

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

Here the Church proclaims that the child born in Bethlehem is the eternal Word through whom all things were made. The focus is no longer the manger, but what the manger reveals about God.

This Mass emphasizes:

• Christ’s divine identity

• God’s desire to dwell with humanity

• The transformation of human nature through the Incarnation

Where Christmas Eve tells us what happened, Christmas Day tells us why it matters.

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A brief history of Christmas Masses

Christmas has been celebrated by Christians since at least the fourth century. As public worship became possible after periods of persecution, the Church developed richer liturgical expressions.

By the early Middle Ages, Rome had established the tradition of multiple Christmas Masses, each with its own prayers and readings. This was not duplication for convenience. It was theology expressed through time.

The structure remains today because it teaches something words alone cannot: the Incarnation is too large a mystery to exhaust in a single hour.

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Theology at the center: God with us

At the heart of all Christmas liturgies is one claim:
God truly became human.

Not symbolically. Not metaphorically. Not temporarily.

Catholic theology insists that:

• Christ is fully God and fully man

• Human nature is dignified, not discarded

• Salvation begins not at the Cross, but at the womb

Christmas is inseparable from Easter. The wood of the manger points toward the wood of the Cross. The child is born in order to die and rise, not as a tragedy, but as a gift.

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Debunking pagan-origin claims about Christmas

Claims that Christmas is “really pagan” or borrowed wholesale from pre-Christian festivals are common. They are also historically weak.

“Christmas was stolen from pagan winter festivals”

The most frequent claim is that Christmas comes from Roman festivals like Saturnalia or from sun worship tied to the winter solstice.

The reality is simpler:

• Early Christians did not celebrate Christmas at first, but they did carefully reflect on the dates of Christ’s life.

• By the third and fourth centuries, many Christians believed Jesus was conceived and crucified on March 25.

• Counting nine months from March 25 leads to December 25.

This reasoning appears in early Christian writings, independent of pagan celebrations.

“December 25 is the birthday of the sun god”

The Roman feast of Sol Invictus was promoted by emperors in the third century, after Christians were already associating Christ with light imagery.

Christians did not adopt sun worship. They challenged it. Calling Christ the “Sun of Justice” was a theological claim that Jesus, not the sun, is the true source of life and light.

“Christmas trees, candles, and lights are pagan”

Using natural symbols does not make a celebration pagan.

Light, evergreen branches, and feasting are universal human expressions of hope, life, and joy. Christianity did not ban human culture; it reoriented it toward Christ.

The Church has always distinguished between:

• Worship (which belongs to God alone)

• Cultural expression (which can be baptized and transformed)

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Why these claims persist

Pagan-origin claims persist because they sound rebellious and simple. They reduce a complex historical and theological tradition into a gotcha moment.

But Christianity grew in a real world with seasons, empires, and existing cultures. The question is not whether Christians lived among pagans. They did. The question is whether they worshiped pagan gods.

They did not.

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The enduring meaning of Christmas Mass

Christmas Eve and Christmas Day Masses are not repetitions. They are layers.

Together they proclaim:

• God keeps His promises

• God enters human history

• God chooses humility over power

• God invites humanity into divine life

To attend these Masses is not just to remember a birth long ago. It is to step into a mystery the Church believes is still active now.

God is with us. Not as an idea. Not as a myth. But as a person who took flesh, entered time, and changed history from the inside out.

Thanksgiving in the United States: A Catholic Perspective

 

As Thanksgiving approaches in the U.S., I’d like to explore it from a Catholic perspective. This uniquely American holiday presents a meaningful opportunity for Catholics to reflect on gratitude as a core element of their faith, recognizing the blessings from God and gathering in a spirit of thankfulness. By looking at Thanksgiving through the lens of Catholic teachings, we can deepen our understanding of gratitude and the role it plays in both our personal lives and faith communities.

Thanksgiving in the United States: A Catholic Perspective

Thanksgiving, celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November, is a cherished American holiday that traditionally focuses on gratitude, family gatherings, and feasting. While its historical roots are often traced to the 1621 feast between the Pilgrims and Native Americans in Plymouth, Massachusetts, the Catholic Church recognizes Thanksgiving as an opportunity to reflect on gratitude as a key virtue in Christian life. The Catholic Church views Thanksgiving as a time to express thanks to God for His blessings, offering a moment for families and communities to come together in a spirit of prayer and thanksgiving.

Although Thanksgiving is not a religious holiday in the liturgical calendar, many Catholics attend Mass to offer prayers of gratitude, and the holiday’s emphasis on thankfulness aligns closely with Catholic teachings. The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops encourages Catholics to attend Mass and reflect on the many blessings they have received, following the example of Christ, who gave thanks at the Last Supper.

The "Actual First Thanksgiving" in New Spain

Some historians argue that the first Thanksgiving in what is now the United States did not occur in Plymouth in 1621 but rather in St. Augustine, Florida, in 1565, when Spanish settlers and Native American converts held a feast and celebrated the first Mass of Thanksgiving on American soil. The Mass, a central part of Catholic worship, was celebrated by Spanish settlers led by Don Pedro Menéndez de Avilés. This event marks an earlier moment of thanksgiving, where Catholics and Native Americans came together in gratitude, worship, and fellowship.

Similarly, Catholic thanksgiving celebrations were held in New Mexico in 1598, when Don Juan de Oñate and Spanish settlers gave thanks to God upon their safe arrival in the region. Mass was celebrated, followed by a communal meal with the Indigenous peoples.

These early Thanksgiving events, rooted in Catholic liturgy and tradition, reflect the deep connection between faith, gratitude, and community. While they are lesser-known compared to the 1621 Plymouth feast, they demonstrate that the Catholic Church was integral to early expressions of thanksgiving on the American continent.

Conclusion

For Catholics in the United States, Thanksgiving is more than just a secular holiday. It is a time to reflect on gratitude and to remember the role of the Church in early American history, including the Catholic Masses of thanksgiving that predate the more widely celebrated Pilgrim feast. Whether celebrating in Plymouth, St. Augustine, or New Mexico, the core of Thanksgiving remains the same: a heartfelt expression of gratitude to God for His many blessings.

The Mass is Pagan!

 

Is the Catholic Mass Pagan?

A Personal Reflection and Historical Defense

By Chris M. Forte

Every so often, I hear the accusation that the Catholic Mass is “pagan,” “evil,” or even “devil-worship.” To some, it’s a recycled Babylonian mystery rite, a continuation of ancient idolatry dressed in Christian robes. I’ve read the pamphlets, the Chick tracts, the sermons, and the rants — from Alexander Hislop’s The Two Babylons to Protestant reformers, evangelicals, and even the modern fringe.

But as a Catholic — and as someone who studies both history and faith — I’ve come to a different conclusion: the Mass is not pagan. Yet I understand why people make that claim. The imagery, the ritual, the incense, the bells — to modern eyes, they look old, even “foreign.” But appearances can deceive. What’s often dismissed as “pagan” is, in truth, a continuity of something older than paganism itself: the ancient worship of the one true God.

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1. Where the Criticisms Come From

The Babylonian Theory

The most popular version of the “Mass is pagan” argument comes from Alexander Hislop’s The Two Babylons (1853). Hislop claimed that the Catholic Church is the modern face of the cult of Nimrod and Semiramis, ancient Babylonian deities. According to him, nearly every Catholic ritual — the altar, the candles, the priesthood, the Virgin Mary — descends from ancient pagan fertility cults and goddess worship. He wrote:

“The papal worship is nothing else than the worship of Nimrod and his wife.” — Alexander Hislop, The Two Babylons (1853)

This view influenced countless Protestant tracts, from Jack Chick’s comics to Adventist and Jehovah’s Witness literature. Some Lutherans, in the Smalcald Articles, called the Mass “a human invention” that “obscures the Gospel.” Even groups like the Ku Klux Klan, in their anti-Catholic phase, echoed the same rhetoric — claiming that Catholic ritual was “Roman paganism reborn.”

I get where they’re coming from: the imagery of a robed priest offering sacrifice before an altar, lighting candles, and swinging incense — it does look like something out of the ancient world. But history and theology tell a different story.

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2. The Ancient Roots of the Mass

The Altar and Sacrifice

Every ancient religion had altars — including Israel. In Exodus, God commands Moses to build an altar of acacia wood (Ex 27:1–2). The Temple in Jerusalem, where Jesus worshiped, had an altar for sacrifice and incense. The early Christians saw the Eucharist as the fulfillment — not the abolition — of that altar. As St. Paul wrote:

“We have an altar from which those who serve the tabernacle have no right to eat.” — Hebrews 13:10

In the early centuries, the altar became both table and sacrifice — echoing the Last Supper and Calvary. It was not about re-sacrificing Christ but re-presenting His one sacrifice in time. Pagan altars may have looked similar, but the meaning could not be more different. Pagans offered to gods they invented; Christians offer through the one sacrifice of the God who revealed Himself.

Incense and Candles

Incense is one of the most misunderstood symbols in Catholic worship. Yes, pagans burned incense — but so did the Jews. The Book of Exodus commands:

“You shall make an altar on which to burn incense… Aaron shall burn fragrant incense on it every morning.” — Ex 30:1, 7

The smoke rising symbolizes prayer ascending to heaven:

“Let my prayer be incense before you, the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice.” — Psalm 141:2

Candles, too, were not pagan but practical and symbolic. The early Christians worshiped in catacombs — dark, candle-lit spaces where the flame symbolized Christ, “the light of the world” (Jn 8:12). Long before electric light, candles were the human way to fight darkness, both physical and spiritual.

Bells

Bells in the Mass developed in the Middle Ages, not from pagan magic, but to alert the faithful at key moments — especially when people couldn’t see or hear the priest. In large cathedrals or outdoor gatherings, the bell was a call to attention, a cue to reverence. Symbolically, it echoes the trumpet of Sinai — a divine announcement, not an occult charm.

Vestments and the Priesthood

Critics say the Catholic priesthood looks “pagan” — with robes, symbols, and hierarchy. Yet every sacred order in history has had set-apart ministers. In Judaism, the priest wore sacred garments (Ex 28) “for glory and beauty.” The Christian vestments evolved from the tunics and cloaks of the Roman world — but were consecrated for sacred use. They’re not costumes of a mystery cult; they’re uniforms of service and humility.

The word priest itself (from presbyteros, elder) is biblical. The New Testament is full of priestly language: offering sacrifice (Rom 15:16), serving the altar (1 Cor 10:21), forgiving sins (Jn 20:22–23). If pagan priests distorted the image, that’s because they were imitating something real — the original priesthood that God revealed to Israel and fulfilled in Christ.

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3. Pagan Parallels and the Search for God

I’ll admit — some pagan rites look similar to Christian ones. Ancient Rome had holy water, candles, and chants. Egypt had bread offerings and incense. Babylon had processions and altars. But to assume that similarity equals imitation is poor scholarship. As Catholic historian H. J. Thurston noted, “the existence of a pagan parallel does not prove a pagan origin.”

In truth, every ancient culture groped toward God. As St. Paul told the Athenians:

“Men of Athens, I see that in every way you are very religious… What you worship as unknown, I proclaim to you.” — Acts 17:22–23

That’s how I see the ancient pagans. They weren’t all malicious idolaters. Many were searching for the divine — but without revelation, their worship got distorted. In that sense, pagan rituals were like fractured mirrors: they reflected genuine religious intuition, but the image was twisted. Christianity, then, was not born from paganism — it corrected it. The true worship they longed for became real in Christ.

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4. The Continuity of the Temple

The Catholic Mass is not a copy of Babylon, but the continuation of Jerusalem. The structure of the liturgy — readings, psalms, offering, incense, prayers, and communion — mirrors the pattern of Jewish Temple worship and synagogue service.
The early Christians didn’t abandon the sacred; they fulfilled it. When Christ instituted the Eucharist, He did so at Passover, in the context of sacrifice and covenant. He told His apostles, “Do this in memory of me” (Luke 22:19). The Greek word anamnesis means more than “remember” — it means “make present.” That’s what the Mass does: it makes present the one sacrifice of Calvary.

The Catholic Catechism teaches:

“The Eucharist is the memorial of Christ’s Passover, the making present and the sacramental offering of his unique sacrifice.” (CCC 1362)
“In the Eucharistic sacrifice, the whole of creation loved by God is presented to the Father through the death and Resurrection of Christ.” (CCC 1359)

That’s not Babylon — that’s the heart of the Gospel.

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5. The Pagan Accusation Reconsidered

When Evangelicals, Fundamentalists, or Jehovah’s Witnesses accuse the Mass of being pagan, I no longer see it as innocent confusion — I see it as prejudice, even hatred. It comes from a long history of anti-Catholic bigotry dressed up as theology. These critics don’t merely misunderstand the externals — they despise them. The vestments, incense, statues, and candles offend not because they’re unbiblical, but because they’re unmistakably Catholic.

This hostility has deep roots: from the Reformation polemics that called the Church the “Whore of Babylon,” to the anti-Catholic propaganda of the 19th century, to Jack Chick tracts in the 20th, and even the slurs of the Ku Klux Klan. The pattern is the same — a desire to delegitimize the oldest form of Christianity by labeling it “pagan.” But hatred doesn’t become truth just because it’s wrapped in Bible verses.

The irony is that Catholicism preserved the very things that made worship sacred — ritual, symbol, and season — because human beings are ritual creatures. We express faith with body and soul. The Mass speaks that universal language — but with Christ, not superstition, at the center.

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6. The Mass in Scripture and the Vision of Heaven

One of the most overlooked realities is that the Mass comes straight out of Scripture — not just the Gospels, but especially the Book of Revelation.
From beginning to end, Revelation describes heavenly worship that looks astonishingly familiar to any Catholic: an altar (Rev 8:3), incense (8:4), candles (1:12), vestments (4:4), chants and responses (“Holy, holy, holy” in 4:8), and even the “Lamb standing as though slain” (5:6). The book’s entire structure is liturgical — a heavenly Mass.

Early Christians understood this instinctively. The Mass wasn’t meant to entertain; it was meant to join heaven and earth. When the priest says, “Lift up your hearts,” and the people respond, “We lift them up to the Lord,” it’s not poetry — it’s literal theology. The sanctuary is a meeting place between heaven and earth, time and eternity, the visible and the invisible.

That’s why Catholic churches were designed as microcosms of heaven.

• The altar represents Christ Himself, the Lamb and the sacrifice.

• The candles symbolize the light of the angels who stand before God’s throne.

• The incense evokes the prayers of the saints rising before the Almighty.

• The dome or apse often depicts heaven itself, filled with angels and saints.

Every stained-glass window, every golden chalice, every echoing hymn is meant to remind us: this is not merely a human ceremony. It is participation in divine worship.
The Mass isn’t a re-enactment of Calvary — it is Calvary made present. It isn’t pagan ritual — it’s the heavenly liturgy of the New Jerusalem, the worship seen by John on Patmos and handed down through the Church.

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7. A Theological Reflection

When people say “the Mass is pagan,” they often mean “it looks old, strange, and mysterious.” And that’s true — because God is mysterious. He meets us not only in ideas, but in flesh, sound, scent, and sight. Christianity did not abolish the language of the sacred; it baptized it.

In my view, paganism was humanity’s first attempt to speak to God without hearing Him first. It was religion built from below — imagination reaching for heaven. Christianity is the opposite: revelation descending from heaven. So if pagans burned incense or raised altars, it was not because they invented the idea of worship — it was because something within them remembered it.

In that sense, the Mass doesn’t imitate paganism; paganism was a shadow of the Mass.

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8. Conclusion: The Mass as Fulfillment, Not Borrowing

So yes — incense rises, bells ring, priests wear robes, and candles flicker before the altar. But none of this is Babylon. It’s Bethlehem, Calvary, and the empty tomb — made present again and again in every generation.

I can understand the suspicion of outsiders. I once shared it. But history and faith have taught me this: the Catholic Mass is not the corruption of true worship — it is true worship, restored and perfected. Pagan rites were humanity’s attempt to find God. The Mass is God finding us.

“From the rising of the sun to its setting my name is great among the nations, and in every place incense is offered to my name, and a pure offering.” — Malachi 1:11

That prophecy is fulfilled every day at every altar.
That is not Babylon.
That is the Body of Christ.

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Notes and Selected Sources (Chicago Style)

1. Alexander Hislop, The Two Babylons: The Papal Worship Proved to Be the Worship of Nimrod and His Wife (Edinburgh: 1853).

2. The Smalcald Articles, II.II.1–3, in The Book of Concord (1580).

3. Catechism of the Catholic Church (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1992), §§ 1359–1362.

4. H. J. Thurston, “Pagan Parallels and Christian Origins,” The Catholic Encyclopedia (New York: Robert Appleton Co., 1911).

5. Rev 4–8; cf. Hebrews 8–9; Exodus 25–30; Psalm 141:2.

6. Council of Trent, Decree on the Sacrifice of the Mass (Session XXII, 1562).

7. Pope Benedict XVI, Sacramentum Caritatis (2007), § 34.

8. Scott Hahn, The Lamb’s Supper: The Mass as Heaven on Earth (New York: Doubleday, 1999).

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Author’s Note

I write this not as an academic alone, but as a believer who has wrestled with faith, history, and doubt. I’ve stood in cathedrals and in deserts; I’ve read the critics and the catechisms. The longer I study, the clearer it becomes: the Mass is not a relic of superstition, but the living heartbeat of Christianity — heaven touching earth, eternity breaking into time.

About the Author

Chris M. Forte is a Catholic writer and storyteller based in Downtown San Diego. His work explores faith, identity, and history — from My Catholic Defense to his historical fiction and cultural projects like The Italian Californian and The Soil Remembers: The Saga of the Sieli Family. Drawing on his Italian-American roots and lifelong study of Scripture and Church history, Chris writes to bridge ancient faith and modern life, confronting the myths, misunderstandings, and prejudices that have long shadowed Catholicism. His essays, novels, and reflections all return to one theme: that truth, beauty, and faith still meet — in the Sacraments, in the Mass, and in the mystery of the God who became man.