How Did Christian Worship Change So Dramatically?

Denzinger part 30

Why Are Later Church Customs Defended More Vigorously Than the Practices of Christ and the Apostles?

When Pope Pius VI condemned the Synod of Pistoia in Denzinger 1531–1533, he was not merely defending multiple altars, relics upon altars, flowers upon altars, or the complexity of the received liturgy. Beneath these specific controversies lay a far deeper question. The Pope's argument rested upon the assumption that customs which had existed for many centuries within the Church possessed a legitimacy that placed them beyond ordinary criticism. What is striking, however, is that the defense offered is not primarily grounded in the teaching of Christ, the example of the Apostles, or the explicit testimony of Scripture.

Instead, the appeal is repeatedly made to ancient ecclesiastical custom, long usage, and centuries of approval.

This immediately raises a question that every Christian ought to ask. If Christianity began in Jerusalem, if Christ was a Jew, if the Apostles were Jews, and if the entire New Testament emerges from the world of Israel and the Hebrew Scriptures, why should later Roman customs carry greater authority than the practices and patterns visible in the world of Christ and His Apostles?

This question becomes even more significant when one remembers that Christianity did not begin in Rome. Christianity was not born in the courts of bishops, in medieval cathedrals, or within the ceremonial structures that would later characterize Western Christendom. Christianity began in the land of Israel. It began among a people whose Scriptures were the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings. It began among men who worshipped the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Jesus Himself did not appear as a Roman religious figure introducing a new tradition detached from Israel. He appeared as Israel's Messiah, fulfilling promises that had been spoken centuries before through Moses and the Prophets.

The Gospels repeatedly emphasize this reality. When Jesus entered the synagogue at Nazareth, Luke tells us that "there was delivered unto him the book of the prophet Esaias. And when he had opened the book, he found the place where it was written" (Luke 4:17). Christ then publicly read the words of Isaiah and declared, "This day is this scripture fulfilled in your ears" (Luke 4:21). The scene is profoundly important because it reveals the world in which Jesus lived and taught. He was not standing before side altars adorned with relics. He was not surrounded by centuries of accumulated ecclesiastical ceremony. He was opening the Scriptures and proclaiming their fulfillment. The authority to which He appealed was the written Word of God.

The same pattern appears throughout the ministry of the Apostles. Peter preached from the Psalms and the Prophets. Stephen surveyed the history of Israel. Paul entered synagogues throughout the Roman world and reasoned from the Scriptures concerning the Messiah. In Acts 17, Luke tells us that Paul "reasoned with them out of the scriptures" (Acts 17:2). The Bereans were commended because they "searched the scriptures daily, whether those things were so" (Acts 17:11). The standard by which apostolic teaching was examined was not ecclesiastical custom, nor was it the accumulated weight of tradition. The standard was Scripture itself.

What makes this especially relevant to Denzinger 1531–1533 is that the practices being defended by Pius VI are not practices that can easily be traced to this apostolic environment. The Pope condemns the desire to return to a single altar in each church because the custom of multiple altars had become ancient and approved. Yet where does the New Testament establish such a system? He condemns the rejection of relics and flowers upon altars because these customs had become deeply rooted in church life. Yet where do Christ or the Apostles teach such practices? He condemns the desire for greater liturgical simplicity and wider use of the vernacular because these proposals imply criticism of the received liturgy. Yet where does the New Testament present elaborate liturgical complexity as a mark of faithfulness?

The problem is not that these customs are necessarily sinful. The problem is that their defense depends upon a source of authority different from the authority to which Christ and the Apostles consistently appealed. One may search the Gospels, Acts, Romans, Galatians, Hebrews, the Pastoral Epistles, and the Johannine writings without discovering commands regarding multiple altars, relics upon altars, or the liturgical practices under discussion. The silence of Scripture does not automatically prove that such customs are wrong, but it does make it difficult to understand why criticism of them should be considered rash or offensive.

The contrast becomes even sharper when one considers the trajectory of New Testament worship. The Epistle to the Hebrews presents Christ as the fulfillment of the entire sacrificial system. The temple pointed to Him. The priesthood pointed to Him. The sacrifices pointed to Him. The earthly sanctuary pointed to Him. Hebrews repeatedly directs the believer's attention away from earthly ritual structures and toward the heavenly ministry of the risen Christ. The writer declares, "By one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified" (Hebrews 10:14). The emphasis falls not upon multiplying sacred objects but upon the finality and sufficiency of Christ's work. The argument of Hebrews consistently moves from shadow to substance and from earthly mediation to direct access through the Son of God.

If the New Testament moves in the direction of simplicity, fulfillment, and direct access to God through Christ, why does so much later Christian history move in the direction of increasing ceremonial complexity? Why do practices absent from the apostolic age eventually become protected by ecclesiastical authority? Why do customs that emerge centuries after the death of the Apostles become objects of official defense, while the simplicity visible in the ministry of Christ and the earliest Church is treated as something requiring correction?

The answer usually given is that the Church possesses authority to develop and regulate worship. Yet this response simply moves the discussion to a deeper level. The real question is no longer about altars or liturgical language. The real question concerns the nature and limits of ecclesiastical authority. Does the Church possess authority merely to preserve and transmit apostolic teaching, or does it possess authority to establish customs that later generations are expected to receive with something approaching religious obligation? The distinction is crucial because the New Testament clearly grants authority to Christ and to His Apostles. What must still be demonstrated is whether later ecclesiastical institutions inherit the right to elevate post-apostolic customs to such a protected status.

Christ Himself warned against confusing tradition with divine commandment. When confronting the Pharisees, He asked, "Why do ye also transgress the commandment of God by your tradition?" (Matthew 15:3). His criticism was not directed against every tradition as such. Rather, it was directed against traditions that had acquired practical authority without clear divine warrant. The warning remains relevant because age alone does not establish truth. A custom may be ancient and still be mistaken. A practice may be widespread and still lack apostolic foundation. A tradition may be beloved and still require examination.

What is especially striking about the Christian faith is that its central figures continually direct attention away from institutions and toward God Himself. Jesus taught His disciples to pray, "Our Father which art in heaven" (Matthew 6:9). He declared that true worshippers would worship the Father "in spirit and in truth" (John 4:23). Peter described believers as "a royal priesthood" (1 Peter 2:9). Paul taught that through Christ "we both have access by one Spirit unto the Father" (Ephesians 2:18). The consistent emphasis of the New Testament falls upon direct access to God through Christ rather than dependence upon increasingly elaborate structures of mediation.

For this reason, the controversy behind Denzinger 1531–1533 is far more significant than it first appears. The issue is not whether flowers may be placed upon an altar. The issue is not whether churches may contain multiple altars. The issue is not even whether liturgy should be simple or elaborate. The true issue concerns the source of authority in Christian worship. Are Christians ultimately governed by customs that developed within the Church over centuries, or are they governed by the example of Christ, the teaching of the Apostles, and the testimony of Scripture?

Christianity began in Jerusalem, not Rome. It emerged from the world of Moses, Isaiah, David, and the Prophets. Its Lord worshipped the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Its earliest teachers opened the Scriptures and reasoned from them. Therefore every later doctrine, practice, and custom must ultimately face the same question. Can it be shown to arise from Christ and His Apostles, or does it derive its authority primarily from later ecclesiastical development? Until that question is answered, appeals to antiquity can never be sufficient, because the oldest and most authoritative witness available to the Church is not medieval custom, conciliar approval, or centuries of usage. The oldest and most authoritative witness is the Word of God itself, the same Word read by Christ in the synagogue, preached by the Apostles, and entrusted to the Church as the permanent standard by which all traditions must be tested.

Did the Church Reverse the New Testament Order?

Among the condemnations contained in Auctorem Fidei, Denzinger 1534–1535 may be among the most significant. Earlier sections dealt with altars, relics, flowers, and liturgical customs. Those issues raise important questions about tradition and authority, but they remain largely questions of ecclesiastical practice. A Catholic apologist can reasonably argue that such matters belong to discipline rather than to the substance of the Gospel itself. Here, however, the discussion moves into far deeper waters. The subject is no longer church furnishings or ceremonial forms. The subject is repentance, forgiveness, reconciliation, grace, priestly absolution, and the nature of conversion itself. These are not peripheral issues. These are Gospel issues.

What immediately stands out in Denzinger 1534 is that the Synod of Pistoia appears to be looking back toward an earlier form of canonical penance and suggesting that later developments obscured something of its original dignity and simplicity. Pius VI does not deny that the ancient penitential system existed. Neither does he deny that significant developments occurred over the centuries. Instead, he condemns the implication that those developments diminished the dignity of the sacrament.

That response is revealing because it raises a historical question that extends far beyond penance. If an older practice stood closer to the apostolic age, why is it wrong to ask whether something valuable was lost when later developments replaced it? If a doctrine or practice has undergone substantial modification through history, why should Christians be forbidden from evaluating whether those modifications brought genuine improvement? More fundamentally, if development occurred, must development always be assumed to be progress?

These questions reach into the heart of the Catholic understanding of tradition. Throughout church history many practices have developed gradually. The issue is not whether development occurred. The issue is whether every development should automatically be regarded as an enrichment of apostolic Christianity. The Synod of Pistoia appears to have been asking whether later penitential practices preserved the original spirit of repentance visible in earlier Christianity. Pius VI responded by condemning the criticism itself.

The deeper problem emerges in Denzinger 1535. Here the dispute concerns whether acts of humiliation, repentance, and penitential discipline should ordinarily precede absolution rather than follow it. At first glance this may appear to be a technical disagreement concerning sacramental administration. In reality it forces us to confront one of the most fundamental questions in the entire New Testament. What comes first: repentance or forgiveness?

The answer given throughout the preaching of John the Baptist, Jesus, Peter, and Paul appears remarkably consistent.

John the Baptist proclaimed, "Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand" (Matthew 3:2).

Jesus began His public ministry with the command, "Repent ye, and believe the gospel" (Mark 1:15).

Peter answered the convicted crowd at Pentecost by declaring, "Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins" (Acts 2:38).

Paul announced to the nations that "God now commandeth all men every where to repent" (Acts 17:30).

The pattern is difficult to miss. Repentance is not presented as something that follows forgiveness. Repentance is presented as the sinner's turning toward God. Repentance belongs to the very heart of conversion itself.

This observation becomes even more significant when one asks what repentance actually is. In Scripture, repentance is never merely the recitation of sins. It is never merely the performance of a religious duty. It is never merely the completion of a prescribed procedure.

Repentance is the turning of the heart toward God.

It involves sorrow for sin because sin has offended God. It involves a change of mind that produces a change of direction. It involves the abandonment of rebellion and the embrace of God's mercy.

When David repented after his great sin, he cried out, "Against thee, thee only, have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight" (Psalm 51:4). David's grief was not primarily focused upon ritual restoration. His grief was directed toward God Himself. His repentance was relational before it was ceremonial.

The same principle appears throughout apostolic preaching. When Paul described his ministry before King Agrippa, he summarized it as calling men to "repent and turn to God" (Acts 26:20). The movement is always Godward. The sinner turns from darkness to light. The sinner turns from self to God. The sinner turns from sin to Christ.

This is why the question raised by Denzinger 1535 is so important. If repentance is fundamentally a turning of the heart toward God, can it truly be reduced to a sacramental process administered through ecclesiastical structures? More importantly, does the New Testament place its emphasis upon the sinner's repentance before God or upon the priest's declaration of absolution?

The contrast becomes even sharper when viewed through the lens of Hebrews. The entire argument of Hebrews directs believers away from confidence in earthly mediators and toward confidence in Christ's completed priestly work. The writer repeatedly emphasizes that Christ entered the heavenly sanctuary on behalf of His people and accomplished what no earthly priest could ever accomplish. "By one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified" (Hebrews 10:14). The focus is relentlessly Christological. Forgiveness rests upon Christ's sacrifice. Access to God rests upon Christ's priesthood. Reconciliation rests upon Christ's mediation.

Yet as one moves through later church history, a gradual shift becomes visible. In the earliest centuries, serious sins were often followed by lengthy periods of public penance. Reconciliation was commonly delayed until evidence of repentance had been demonstrated. Over time, particularly through medieval developments, private confession became dominant and penances increasingly became assigned after absolution had already been pronounced. Whether one agrees with this development or not, the historical shift is undeniable.

This is precisely what makes the Synod of Pistoia's question so significant. The issue was not whether penance should exist. The issue was whether something essential had been lost when the older pattern gave way to a different sacramental structure. The issue was whether the Church had gradually moved from emphasizing repentance before God toward emphasizing absolution administered through ecclesiastical authority.

At this point an even deeper question emerges. Genuine repentance is a matter of the heart. Scripture repeatedly teaches that God alone fully knows the heart. "Man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). A priest may hear a confession. A priest may hear expressions of sorrow. A priest may observe tears and promises of amendment. Yet only God knows whether true repentance has actually occurred. This does not mean that confession is worthless. It means that the decisive reality remains hidden within the soul and known perfectly only to God.

The danger, therefore, is not merely theological but practical. A sacramental system can unintentionally encourage the idea that reconciliation is achieved through a process rather than through genuine conversion. A troubled conscience naturally seeks relief. A person may confess sins, receive absolution, perform assigned acts of penance, and yet never truly turn to God. The procedure may be completed while the heart remains unchanged. The conscience may be quieted while the soul remains unconverted.

The New Testament consistently places its emphasis elsewhere. John the Baptist demanded fruits worthy of repentance. Jesus called for repentance and faith. Peter called sinners to turn to God. Paul called men and women out of darkness and into the kingdom of Christ. The emphasis falls repeatedly upon inward transformation rather than sacramental administration.

For this reason Denzinger 1534–1535 raises a question that reaches directly into the Gospel itself. The question is not whether confession has value. The question is not whether repentance matters. The question is whether the center of gravity has shifted. Does forgiveness flow from genuine repentance and faith in Christ, as the New Testament consistently presents it, or has the focus gradually moved toward a judicial process administered through ecclesiastical authority? The answer to that question affects how one understands repentance, grace, forgiveness, conversion, and ultimately the Gospel itself.

When Christ and the Apostles preached, they called sinners to repent and turn to God. That was the beginning of reconciliation. Any later system must therefore be measured against that apostolic pattern. The issue is not whether a practice is ancient. The issue is whether it preserves the order established by Christ Himself. The question that remains is both simple and profound: did the Church preserve the New Testament pattern of repentance leading to forgiveness, or did later developments gradually reverse the order and place increasing confidence in sacramental absolution rather than in the sinner's direct turning to God through Christ?