Why I’m Not a Roman Catholic—Though I Recognize Its Catholicity

Why I’m Not a Roman Catholic—Though I Recognize Its Catholicity

There’s a part of me that will always feel at home in a quiet chapel lit by candles and the scent of incense. The rhythm of the liturgy, the communion of saints, the holy hush before the consecration; these are threads that have shaped my spiritual life and continue to nourish me.

I am not Roman Catholic. But I recognize its catholicity.

This is not a rejection born of bitterness. It’s a divergence born of conscience, of study, and of a longing to return not just to a church, but to the Church: rooted in Christ, built on love, and led by the Spirit. What follows is not a declaration of war but a love letter with grief woven in. It’s an acknowledgment of what is good and a gentle critique of what hinders the Spirit’s work.

The Early Church: Communion, Not Control

The Church in its earliest centuries operated as a communion of churches, bound together by faith, baptism, and shared Eucharist, not by centralized power. Local bishops shepherded their communities, and when disputes arose, councils were called. These gatherings sought consensus through prayer, scripture, and the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

Rome held a place of honor, certainly. St. Irenaeus referred to the Church of Rome as having “preeminent authority” because of its apostolic foundation and moral influence (see Against Heresies, Book 3). But this authority was moral, not juridical. Rome was “first among equals,” a phrase that reminds me of how the Archbishop of Canterbury functions within the Anglican Communion today: respected, visible, and central in moments of unity, but with no power to command other bishops or interfere in their dioceses.

The early Church councils—such as Nicaea (325) and Chalcedon (451)—did not recognize the pope as a universal ruler. In fact, Canon 28 of Chalcedon granted the Patriarch of Constantinople equal privileges to the Bishop of Rome, citing the importance of the city, not Peter’s succession.

This is the model I long for; a Church that listens before it commands, that discerns before it decrees.

Papal Supremacy and Infallibility: A Later Development

The doctrine of papal supremacy, that the Bishop of Rome has full, supreme, and universal power over the whole Church, developed gradually. It wasn’t formalized until centuries later. Likewise, papal infallibility: the idea that the pope cannot err when speaking ex cathedra on matters of faith or morals was not declared dogma until the First Vatican Council in 1870.

This was not the faith of the first thousand years. St. Cyprian of Carthage, writing in the 3rd century, famously said: “None of us sets himself up as a bishop of bishops” (Letter 51.24). He defended the independence of local bishops, even in disagreement with Rome.

To say that one man cannot err, or has authority over the entire global Church, is to place too much power in human hands. The early Church trusted the Spirit to speak through councils, through the whole body of the faithful not just through one mouthpiece.

I believe truth is best guarded not by a single voice but by a chorus: prophets, pastors, mystics, and the Spirit moving through the entire Body of Christ.

Clericalism: A Barrier to the Spirit

Clericalism, the undue exaltation of clergy over the laity,has long been a spiritual illness within the Church. Pope Francis himself has called it “a perversion of the Church” and “a true leprosy” that disfigures Christ’s Body.

Too often, the Roman Catholic Church has functioned as though the Holy Spirit flows only through the ordained. But the Apostle Paul reminds us that the Spirit gives gifts to all members of the Church: “To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good” (1 Cor. 12:7).

In the early Church, prophets, teachers, and even laypersons were recognized for their charisms. The Didache, an early Christian manual from the first or second century, gave guidance not only on bishops and deacons, but also traveling prophets and teachers; people who were Spirit-led but not institutionally ordained.

To silence or sideline the laity is to grieve the Spirit and forget who the Church truly is.

Exclusion of Women and LGBTQ+ People: A Wound in the Body

This is perhaps the most painful part.

I have seen women called to preach with a fire in their bones, only to be told to sit down. I have witnessed LGBTQ+ individuals who live lives of deep holiness, compassion, and humility yet are still denied full sacramental inclusion.

This exclusion is not in line with the Jesus who crossed every social boundary: who spoke with the Samaritan woman at the well, healed the servant of a Roman centurion, and welcomed children when others turned them away. Nor is it consistent with the early Church’s inclusion of figures like Junia—an apostle (Rom. 16:7), and the Ethiopian eunuch, who was baptized without doctrinal interrogation (Acts 8).

The Catechism of the Catholic Church still calls “homosexual acts” intrinsically disordered. Women remain barred from ordination. And though the Church calls for compassion, the lived experience for many LGBTQ+ Catholics is rejection and shame.

By their fruits, we shall know them. And when the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience are visible in those the Church excludes, we must ask: Is Christ perhaps calling them already, and we simply haven’t caught up?

Still Catholic, Just Not Roman

So where does that leave me?

I still pray with the saints. I still receive the Eucharist with reverence and awe. I still believe in the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. But I see that Church not confined to Rome, but alive wherever the Spirit moves.

I find home among Anglicans who lift the chalice and say, This is my Body. Among Old Catholics who ordain women and honor tradition without turning it into a weapon. Among Orthodox who maintain ancient rites without centralized power.

I have not left the Church. I have found it again, in its older, wilder, more Spirit-filled form.

A Call to a Bigger Table

The table of Christ is wide. There is room for the mystic and the doubter, the queer and the questioning, the layperson and the ordained. There is room for Rome, but there must be room beyond Rome as well.

I pray for reform, for healing, for a Church that remembers its roots and reclaims its wings.

And I walk this path not in defiance, but in love. Love for the Christ who calls each of us by name. Love for the Church that is still being born in every act of justice and mercy. Love for a truth that cannot be monopolized, only shared.

May we all keep listening. May we all keep loving. And may the Spirit lead us into all truth.