Tonight, someone called me a heretic.
It wasn’t the first time I’ve been part of a heated conversation about faith, but this one left me feeling particularly worn out. The discussion started with concerns I’ve had for a while now: the way some Catholics treat Protestants, especially in conversations about belief and tradition. There’s often a focus on how Protestants speak about Catholicism—sometimes harshly and unfairly—but rarely do I see Catholics pause to reflect on how they speak about or treat Protestants in return.
Respect is a two-way street. It has to be.
In this particular conversation, I expressed my disagreement with the Marian dogmas—teachings like the Immaculate Conception or the Assumption of Mary. I’ve struggled with them, not out of stubbornness, but because I genuinely don’t see them rooted clearly in Scripture. These doctrines were developed and defined by the Magisterium over time, and while I respect the tradition they come from, I also believe it’s okay to ask questions and not feel convicted in accepting every teaching as absolute.
The person I was speaking with told me that if my priest and bishop are okay with my views, then they’re also okay with me being a heretic. That kind of response stops the conversation altogether. It assumes disagreement equals rebellion. It assumes that faithful questioning is dangerous.
But faith isn’t about shutting down questions—it’s about seeking God honestly, even when it’s hard.
I’ve also heard a lot of claims that “Jesus gave us the Catholic Church,” and while I understand where that sentiment comes from, I don’t fully agree. The earliest church was rooted in Judaism. The first followers of Jesus were Jews in Jerusalem, and the community we now call the early Church began on Pentecost, as recorded in Acts 2. The Christian church in Rome likely began with Jewish believers who had been present in Jerusalem during that time, returning to Rome and continuing to follow the way of Jesus.
Over time, as Jewish leadership was pushed out and Christianity became legalized and later adopted as the official religion of the Roman Empire, the Church changed. It was influenced by Roman structures, cultural shifts, and centuries of theological development. That doesn’t invalidate the Catholic Church, but it does remind us that the Church we know today didn’t drop out of the sky fully formed—it grew, evolved, and adapted.
To be called a heretic simply for holding these views—views shaped by study, prayer, and conversation—feels like a dismissal of the very faith I’m trying to walk out in sincerity.
I’m not writing this to attack anyone or any tradition. I’m sharing this because, if you’ve ever felt like you don’t belong because of your questions or convictions, I want you to know you’re not alone. Disagreement doesn’t mean disloyalty. Wrestling with belief is not the same thing as rejecting it.
Faith is a journey. And on that journey, we need more grace, not less. More listening, not more labeling.
Let’s be people who make room at the table for honest conversation—even when we don’t see eye to eye.
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