Pentecostal, Reformed, Catholic

In public high school, I was a Christian. But when I came here, something strange happened: I became a Pentecostal. I mean, I was always Pentecostal, but suddenly that’s how I was introducing myself. And I met other Christians who also strangely introduced themselves as Reformed or Catholic or Baptist and so on. Through these four years of strangeness, I have tried in small ways to get a sense for what these ‘other Christianities’ are, and hopefully these ‘senses’ can help us all to call ourselves Christians again.

I’m going to describe our different Christianities by their ‘feel.’ Partly because I don’t think our beloved word ‘worldview’ gets at all the differences there are, but also because Pentecostals are all about ‘feeling’ things anyway. I will focus, however, just on two others: the Reformed, because Redeemer is after all a Reformed university and I am close to many of you, and Catholics, because I feel, as a Pentecostal, also close to you in many ways.

To oversimplify, Reformed Christianity seems a Christianity of the mind and of the eyes: the Reformed know the truth of the gospel and see Christ’s glorious reign in every seascape, building and whispered prayer. Pentecostal Christianity, on the other hand, is a Christianity of the heart and of touch: the desire for God burns in our gut and the fire consumes us. Our outstretched hands touch God and are flooded with joy. Catholic Christianity, from what little I know, is a Christianity of the soul: the inner light of peace received by sharing in Body and Blood allows Catholics to purify all their works and carry them into the motherly arms of the Church.

The oversimplification is admittedly a bit of a set-up: we are, after all, meant to love God with all our heart, mind, soul and strength. How can we learn to love one another, then, so we can love God in all these ways? Perhaps a helpful metaphor is the image of wells. The image is this: that we would drink from one another’s wells, and in this way be filled with the traces of grace our common Christ gives to us.

So, some hydrology. Pentecostals and Catholics: read Calvin’s Institutes. (Seriously.) If only one passage, read the moving section from Book II on Christ’s sacrifice (ch. 16). Or the first question and answer of the Heidelberg Catechism, which might even be called “heartfelt.” Read Karl Barth’s Dogmatics in Outline, the ‘Barmen Declaration,’ the CRC’s ‘Our World Belongs to God,’ or John Baillie’s prayers.

Catholic and Reformed: seek the baptism of the Spirit, in worshipping with us Pentecostals. The apostle Peter was flooded with the Spirit at Pentecost and the fire consumed him straight into martyrdom—this was no easy emotional high. The baptism is the one water, and perhaps the greatest and only one necessary, we offer to the Church. Or at least, listen to Hillsong—they’re our Psalter Hymnal.

Reformed and Pentecostals: read the Catholic Catechism. If only one section, read the breathtaking fourth part on prayer. Pray the Divine Office. Read Thomas Merton, (Mother) Teresa of Calcutta or Henri Nouwen. Visit a Catholic Worker house, a parish or a cathedral like Hamilton’s own Christ the King. Read Hopkins’ poems, Mit brennender Sorge by Pope Pius XI or Deus Caritas Est by Pope Benedict XVI.

There are many more wells, more sources, more ways into each of these traditions (and also many other traditions!), but these are some good beginnings. The most important theological movements of the 20th century all had this in common: a fresh, continual return to Christ. Here is our source, our light and our salvation. We may drink from each other’s wells, but our wells only heal if they are filled with his water—water that brings salvation, that quenches the thirst of our brokenness and opens the way for healing. Christ sits by the well, waiting for us to come to drink. Let us then imitate that peasant farmer the Catholic Catechism quotes: “I look at Christ, and he looks at me.”