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<div>Could John the Baptist forgive sins?</div><div>No, John could not forgive sins, or, more precisely, he could not absolve people of their sins. His baptism was a baptism of repentance, which prefigured that won by the merits of Jesus through his sacrifice of Calvary, i.e., the sacrament of baptism (CCC 700). Baptism absolves one of all his sins and gives him new life in God through the indwelling of the Holy Trinity (see CCC 1262-70).
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How Were John’s Baptisms Different Than the Sacrament?

Why Christmas Was Unnecessary (sorta)

<div>If mankind evolved over thousands of years, when was a soul introduced?</div><div><blockquote>The teaching authority of the Church does not forbid that, in conformity with the present state of human sciences and sacred theology, research and discussions . . . take place with regard to the doctrine of evolution, in as far as it inquires into the origin of the human body as coming from pre-existent and living matter—for the Catholic faith obliges us to hold that souls are immediately created by God (Pope Pius XII, Humani Generis 36).</blockquote>
The Church teaches that the physical and genetic makeup of the human person can come from an evolutionary process. The soul, on the other hand, is something that was immediately created by God.
When that happened is open to theological speculation. The Church has no official teaching on when in the human soul first appeared in history.
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When Was the First Human Soul?

This year marks the ten-year anniversary of Peter Leithart’s “<a href="https://www.patheos.com/blogs/leithart/2015/10/what-i-want-from-catholics/">What I Want From Catholics</a>.” The 2015 wish list may seem like a trivial thing to mark an anniversary of. It made some waves when it was first published but has since died the quiet death of most internet blogs posts, being largely forgotten in the decade since.
But for me, the anniversary is like the death of a pop star from my youth. I vaguely remember when it was published, as I was starting to obsessively follow the Catholic blogosphere. When I stumbled upon it again more recently, it was another sharp reminder that many of my youthful memories are now measured in decades rather than years.
So I reread the list for nostalgia’s sake—and was hit by a passage that contributed to its initial rage-circulation:
<blockquote>I want Catholics to give up veneration of the consecrated host and other sacred objects. Jesus gave us his body and blood to eat and drink, not to admire. Whatever Catholics think they are doing, to Protestants they appear to be indulging in a form of liturgical idolatry. At the very least, they are distracting from Jesus’ purpose for the Eucharist: take, eat; take, drink.</blockquote>
These words are unremarkable from Rev. Leithart himself. He is a <a href="https://theopolisinstitute.com/staff/peter-leithart/">Protestant minister</a>, and so he calls Catholics to do exactly what we’d expect: Become more Protestant. I have no problem with that (though I think he is wrong); he’s asking what he ought within his tradition.
What’s more surprising is how many Catholics seem to have taken up his advice in the ten years since his letter.
As an altar server, I had a priest stop me from praying before Mass, claiming that it would take away from my “reception” of the Eucharist. In seminary, I had formators who discouraged us from adoration, dismissing such eucharistic prayer in words very similar to Leithart’s. Many readers could offer their own stories. We need not look to Protestant brethren for examples; in many parishes, schools, and internet caves, you’ll still find Catholics suspicious of eucharistic adoration, though often for the same reasons as Protestants: The Eucharist is to take and eat, not to look at.
These Catholics <a href="https://www.christiancentury.org/article/2011-06/vatican-tries-revive-eucharistic-adoration">didn’t originate</a> with Leithart, and realistically, they haven’t increased because of him, either. They’re instead another remnant of the post-Vatican II liturgical and spiritual upheavals.
In that sense, the argument is worth reexamining in 2025 just as in 2015. After all, the point is largely correct: The Eucharist <a href="https://www.usccb.org/sites/default/files/flipbooks/catechism/336/">is a meal</a>. It has its origin in the Last Supper, comes to us today in the ritual meal of the Mass, and is given to the faithful for consumption. Isn’t there a tension between this divine intention and adoration, where the Eucharist decidedly isn’t consumed?
This is a false competition, as anyone who has tried adoring the Eucharist knows. The Eucharist is meant for consumption, but that doesn’t necessitate that it’s meant for only consumption. But still, we shouldn’t presume God’s purposes of a gift as precious as Jesus’ body beyond what he told us—and it seems as though he’s told us to take and eat, without mentioning taking and adoring.
So let’s see if we can reason additional insight into the Eucharist from what Jesus did tell us. Perhaps he implied more than he was able to explicitly say in that little room 2,000 years ago.
Let’s instead use the closest analogy we have to the soul and the Eucharist—a man and his wife.
St. Paul prompts us in <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ephesians%205&amp;version=NIV">Ephesians 5</a> to make the connection. <a href="https://suscopts.org/resources/literature/300/a-spiritual-study-of-the-song-of-songs-during-the-/#:~:text=In%20the%20fifth%20chapter%20of,is%20the%20celebration%20of%20marriage.">The Song of Songs</a>, and the <a href="https://www.eucharisticrevival.org/post/st-thomas-aquinas-on-the-eucharist">saintly commentaries</a> on it, prompt us to do the same, as does <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation%2019%3A6-9&amp;version=ESV">Revelation</a>. Most importantly, Jesus himself implies a nuptial dimension when he <a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/verse/en/Matthew%2026%3A26">gives us his body</a>.
A woman gives her body to her husband in marriage in some sense for the purpose of sexual union and the bearing of children (perhaps among other purposes). After all, this is the consummation that seals the sacrament into an unbreakable bond; this is the action that separates marriage from other forms of friendship and relationship, and the core of why it’s a separate sacrament in the first place, as opposed to, say, sacramentalizing “friendship.”
But imagine the husband who says, “Honey, I really don’t want you wearing such beautiful clothes anymore, or doing your hair. When you do, I can’t help but admire the beauty of your body—but I don’t want to admire it; I want to experience it. So, except for when we’re in the marital embrace, I want you to wear this burka at all times.”
That husband clearly misunderstands the nature of a sexual union. Even Islamic cultures that laud the burka and the hijab <a href="https://iqranetwork.com/blog/when-can-a-woman-take-off-her-hijab-guidelines-and-exceptions/">do not do so at home</a> with the woman’s husband.
The admiration of the other, including of their body, outside of the actual sexual act clearly is ordered toward and helps facilitate the sexual act. As do other forms of bodily self-gift: taking out the garbage, giving a back rub, speaking pleasantries, or cuddling on the couch. The wife’s purpose in giving her body in the sacrament of marriage is for the husband to “take, have; take, hold.” That purpose is not frustrated by “take, look; take, admire.” In fact, it is furthered.
Of course, this “looking” isn’t the full story in marriage, either. My wife would doubtless be perturbed if I stared at her all day, especially if I refused to do anything else. My gaze of admiration can go awry if it is made into the goal rather than an instrument. Like a marital relationship, the Eucharist indeed is transgressed if “looking” and “adoring” eclipse the “taking” and “eating” and becomes a substitute for the clear primary intention Jesus had in giving us his body to consume.
This might also give an objection that even Leithart misses but is levied at times by the Orthodox: The Eucharist is too sacred for display. Yes, gazing and adoring are normally ordered toward reception and intimacy. But the Eucharist is so special that we ought to shield it from the ravenous gazes that may fall upon it.
This is the sensibility of Islamic and Eastern cultures in general. A Muslim woman needn’t wear the hijab with her husband, since everything about their relationship can be ordered toward intimacy, but she needs to wear it in most other situations because all men except her husband are not meant for that same intimacy with her. And though this seems extreme to most Christian cultures, the principle is shared by all faiths. A husband may not object to his wife’s lingerie at home, but he certainly objects to it on the street corner.
But this goes beyond adoration in general and gets to prudential applications of when and how the Eucharist should be exposed to faithful eyes. This is why the Church <a href="https://fdlc.org/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/Guidelines-for-Adoration-and-Exposition-of-the-Blessed-Sacrament-Diocese-of-Lansing.pdf">has rules</a> about adoration: to protect it from abuses. Debates about the exact rules and application will rage on, as ever they have.
Perhaps the East ought to be less obscure, just as the West ought to be more modest. Or perhaps both are appropriate for their sensibilities, just as there are legitimate variations of physical intimacy among married couples. But the ever-changing mores about how, when, and where the Eucharist ought to be adored shouldn’t cause doubt that it should be adored at all.
The Eucharist is too sacred to look at, too sacred to touch, and too sacred to eat. Yet the Eucharist is “what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands” (<a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/verse/en/1%20John%201%3A1">1 John 1:1</a>). Though we should guard against abuses, we must also remember that anything we do in relation to the Eucharist is a generous gift.
So, whereas objections can be excused from Protestants, and even from the Orthodox, fellow Catholics should know better. We look upon our beloved in love and admiration, and then, with hearts primed, we’re all the more able to unite in true affection in the eucharistic liturgy. For where the Eucharist is, there is Christ. And where Christ is, there is God.

Eucharistic Adoration: Good or Bad?

This is an encore episode, originally aired on October 1, 2025
“Does God Want Organized Religion?” In this episode, we explore the role of organized faith and its significance, along with questions like why Protestants should respect the Pope and how a priest can absolve sin. We also delve into the historical presence of bishops and the continuity of apostolic authority, providing a comprehensive look at these vital topics.
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Does God Want Organized Religion? & More Questions on Hierarchy

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Does the Pro-Life Position Have an Answer for this Abortion Question?

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DAY 350
CHALLENGE
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“Catholic teaching on justification is confused. Catholics hold that, when God justifies us, he gives us more than legal righteousness, yet we obviously aren’t fully righteous in our behavior.”
DEFENSE
This concern is caused by the categories used to look at the question.
In the Protestant community, justification (here meaning the initial justification at the beginning of the Christian life) is usually thought to involve the bestowal of only legal righteousness (sometimes called “forensic” righteousness). On this model, God acts like a courtroom judge and declares the sinner innocent, giving him legal righteousness, regardless of his past sins.
The other form of righteousness typically discussed in Protestant circles has to do with our behavior and may be called behavioral righteousness. It is understood that God gives us this form of righteousness over time through the process of sanctification, so that we progressively overcome sinful patterns of behavior.
If these are the only two forms of righteousness, then the Catholic claim that justification involves more than legal righteousness would be problematic because we obviously aren’t completely behaviorally righteous after initial justification.
However, these two are not the only types of righteousness Catholics envision. There is another, which may be called objective or metaphysical righteousness. Metaphysics is the study of what is ultimately real, and the idea is that when we sin, it changes the condition of our souls in a real, objective way by depriving them of holiness. This is reflected in the biblical images depicting sin as dirty, unclean, or defiling.
But when God justifies us, he changes this and gives us the objective holiness that we had been deprived of due to our sins. This inward transformation is reflected, for example, in the famous statement, “though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool” (Isa. 1:18).
On the Catholic view, God’s word is efficacious and brings about what he declares (Isa. 55:11). Thus, when he declares a person righteous, that person becomes objectively (metaphysically) righteous. This is what prevents God’s declaration of righteousness from simply being a legal fiction.
This objective righteousness is also referred to as “sanctifying grace” (cf. CCC 2023), and it is what grows during the process of ongoing justification (see Days 99 and 257).
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Objective Righteousness

Why does the Catholic Church “police” who can receive the Eucharist? After all, many Protestant churches practice “open communion,” in which the Lord’s Supper is offered to all baptized Christians in attendance, or to all believers (including the unbaptized), or simply to whoever wishes to receive.
But as a non-Catholic attending a Catholic Mass quickly discovers, this is not the case in reverse: non-Catholics are (typically) not permitted to receive. And <a href="https://www.vatican.va/archive/cod-iuris-canonici/eng/documents/cic_lib4-cann879-958_en.html">Catholics are themselves reminded</a> that “a person who is conscious of grave sin” may not “receive the body of the Lord without previous sacramental confession unless there is a grave reason and there is no opportunity to confess” (CIC 916). And ministers of Holy Communion are instructed that those who have been excommunicated or are otherwise “obstinately persevering in manifest grave sin are not to be admitted to holy communion” (915).
On the surface, it’s easy to see why the Catholic practice of “closed communion” appears scandalous and pharisaical. After all, when “the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear” Jesus, it’s the hypocritical Pharisees who complain that “this man receives sinners and eats with them” (Luke 15:1-2). If Jesus dined with sinners, then why do we refuse them the Lord’s Supper?
The answer is because Jesus treats the Last Supper differently. For starters, whereas Jesus dined with others quite freely, the Last Supper is presented in the Gospels as a more exclusive affair, between Jesus and his chosen twelve. St. Matthew says that Jesus “sat at table with the twelve disciples,” and St. Luke describes how Jesus said to them, “You are those who have continued with me in my trials; as my Father appointed a kingdom for me, so do I appoint for you that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel” (22:28-30).
This is a special, intimate moment between Jesus and his closest followers. Jesus tells them, “I have earnestly desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer” (Luke 22:15). This Jewish context is significant, since the Passover was a decidedly “closed” affair: “When a stranger shall sojourn with you and would keep the passover to the Lord, let all his males be circumcised, then he may come near and keep it; he shall be as a native of the land. But no uncircumcised person shall eat of it” (Exod. 12:48). In other words, anyone was free to join the Passover table . . . as long as he first entered the covenant people through circumcision.
It’s not only that the Last Supper is an intimate affair between Jesus and his disciples, or that it’s the fulfillment of the Jewish Passover. It’s also that the Eucharist is communion with Jesus Christ. This is why Catholics, who believe that the Eucharist really is Jesus, treat the Eucharist with more reverence, and in a more exclusive manner, than those Christians who believe it’s only a symbol. We take seriously St. Paul’s warning that whoever “eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord,” and that “any one who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment upon himself” (1 Cor. 11:27,29).
Christians treat hospitality (open to all!) very differently from how they treat marital intimacy (reserved for the one with whom you’re in a covenantal relationship!). So which of these is the Eucharist more like? If you think the Eucharist is just a symbol, you might think the former. But Scripture is clear that it’s the latter. St. Paul takes the words of Genesis 2:24, about how “the two shall become one flesh” in sexual union, and applies them to the union of Christ and the Church (Eph. 5:31-32). And how does this union occur? As Paul explains, “the cup of blessing which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?” And Paul insists that “we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread” (1 Cor. 10:16-17). In other words, Christ and the Church become one body through the Eucharist.
<a href="https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/0126.htm">St. Justin Martyr told us all of this</a> back in about the year 160, writing,
<blockquote>And this food is called among us Εὐχαριστία [the Eucharist], of which no one is allowed to partake but the man who believes that the things which we teach are true, and who has been washed with the washing that is for the remission of sins, and unto regeneration, and who is so living as Christ has enjoined. For not as common bread and common drink do we receive these; but in like manner as Jesus Christ our Savior, having been made flesh by the Word of God, had both flesh and blood for our salvation, so likewise have we been taught that the food which is blessed by the prayer of his word, and from which our blood and flesh by transmutation are nourished, is the flesh and blood of that Jesus who was made flesh.</blockquote>
So the earliest Christians didn’t practice open communion. They required anyone presenting themselves for the Eucharist to be (1) baptized, (2) a believing Catholic, and (3) not living in sin. Why? Because, as Justin says, the earliest Christians realized that the Eucharist isn’t common food and drink, but truly the flesh and blood of Jesus. <a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Liturgy-of-the-Catechumens">So seriously did the early Christians take this guarding of the Eucharist</a> that “in the early Church, the catechumens, or hearers who had not yet been baptized, were dismissed at the conclusion of the Liturgy of the Catechumens, and the faithful, or baptized Christians, remained to celebrate the mystery of the Eucharist.”
But what about Judas? It’s all well and good to say, as the Eastern Liturgy does, “Holy things for holy people.” But at that first Eucharist, we find Judas Iscariot. Benjamin Perry, a Protestant minister at Middle Church in New York City (“<a href="https://www.middlechurch.org/first-time/">where therapy meets Broadway</a>”), puts the argument <a href="https://twitter.com/FaithfullyBP/status/1189241063044714501">this way</a>:
<blockquote>Do not deny anyone communion. Ever.
Communion is not a reward. It is not a privilege for the righteous. It is an invitation to step towards God’s table where everyone has enough and everyone a place.
Remember: Jesus fed Judas.</blockquote>
How do we make sense of this? For starters, it’s not entirely clear that Jesus did give the Eucharist to Judas, and the early Christians disagreed on this point. Nevertheless, the majority opinion is that he probably did, and for good reason: Judas’s sin was a secret. As <a href="https://www.newadvent.org/summa/4081.htm">St. Thomas Aquinas explains</a>, “Christ did not repel Judas from Communion so as to furnish an example that such secret sinners are not to be repelled by other priests.”
This is an important distinction. Take the case of two people who commit adultery. One of them repents and goes to confession; the other doesn’t. If the priest knows about the adultery only through the confessional, he may not deny the unrepentant sinner Communion, since to do so would be to reveal this secret sin. Similarly, “if your brother sins against you,” you should first “go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother” (Matt. 18:15). People should have the space to quietly repent without being publicly humiliated.  But none of that applies when the person is openly non-Catholic, either in creed or in action. That’s why canon 915 says you deny Communion in cases of “manifest grave sin”—the sin has to be out in the open.
In the case of Judas, we see these principles at play. Initially, Aquinas points out, “the wickedness of Judas was known to Christ as God; but it was unknown to him after the manner in which men know it.” Jesus doesn’t want to reveal his secret sin publicly, and so he instead says, “Truly, I say to you, one of you will betray me.” His disciples, including Judas, then ask, “Is it I, Lord?” (Matt. 26:20-25). Jesus has given Judas one last chance to convert without naming him openly. In so doing, he’s also pricked the consciences of the other disciples, who aren’t confident it won’t be they who betray Jesus. It’s only once Judas’s sin becomes manifest, when he’s openly betraying Jesus, that Jesus rebukes him openly: “Judas, would you betray the Son of man with a kiss?” (Luke 22:48).
This is the model the Church has sought to follow for the past two thousand years. If the person’s sin is private, handle the issue privately (including by instructing him not to present himself for Communion); if the person’s sin is open, then prevent scandal by refusing to allow him to eat and drink “judgment upon himself.”