“A True Catholic Is an Abomination to God?”

A conversation for Catholics who’ve ever been shaken by that claim

Let’s imagine you and I are sitting across from each other at a table. The coffee has gone a little cold. And someone has just said something that lodged itself in your mind more deeply than you expected.

“A true Catholic is an abomination unto God. God has given us His only holy guidebook, and it tells us what is acceptable and unacceptable.”

If you’ve ever heard something like that—from a televangelist, a street preacher, a well-meaning coworker, or even a family member—you’re not alone. And if part of you quietly wondered, What if they’re right? What if I missed something important? that doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.

So let’s slow this down and talk it through calmly, biblically, and honestly.

First things first: what does the Bible mean by “Scripture”?

Here’s something many cradle Catholics were never clearly told.

When the New Testament uses the word Scripture, it’s referring to the Old Testament—the Jewish Scriptures. The New Testament, as a collected book, didn’t yet exist.

So when St. Paul writes, “All Scripture is inspired by God and profitable for teaching…” he’s talking about the Scriptures Timothy knew “from childhood.” That means the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings—what we would call Genesis through Malachi.

That matters, because it means the idea of “God’s only holy guidebook” being the Bible as we know it today simply doesn’t fit history. The earliest Christians didn’t have a New Testament. What they had was the Old Testament, the preaching of the apostles, and the living Church.

And that distinction changes everything.

The Church came before the New Testament

This isn’t a Catholic talking point. It’s just history.

Jesus didn’t write a book. He didn’t tell the apostles to sit down and produce a text. He told them, “Go therefore and teach all nations.” And He added something crucial: “He who hears you hears Me.”

Before a single Gospel was written, the Church was already baptizing, celebrating the Eucharist, forgiving sins, and handing on the faith. The New Testament didn’t create the Church; the Church gave us the New Testament.

So when someone says, “The Church must submit to the Bible,” it’s fair to pause and ask: Which Church gave us the Bible in the first place?

“Abomination”? Let’s be careful with Scripture

The Bible does use the word abomination—but it uses it very specifically. In the Old Testament, abominations include things like idolatry, injustice, child sacrifice, sexual immorality, and dishonest dealings.

What Scripture never says—anywhere—is that belonging to the Church Christ founded is an abomination.

In fact, Jesus gives us a clear identifying mark of His disciples: “By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Calling fellow Christians “abominations” may sound bold or confident, but it isn’t biblical.

If God gave only a book, why did Jesus give the keys?

This is where it helps to look closely at what Jesus actually did to safeguard His Church.

If Christianity were meant to function by private interpretation alone, there are several things Jesus wouldn’t have done—but did.

He gave Peter the keys of the kingdom. To first-century Jews, this wasn’t poetic language. It was a clear sign of authority, echoing Isaiah’s description of a steward entrusted with the key of the house of David. Books don’t hold keys. People do.

Jesus also gave the apostles the authority to bind and loose—language that came straight from Jewish teaching authority. To bind and loose meant to teach authoritatively, to permit and forbid, to govern the community. And notice what Jesus didn’t say. He didn’t say that whatever each individual believer decides will be backed by heaven. He tied heaven’s authority to the authority He gave His apostles.

Then He made a promise that’s easy to overlook but impossible to soften: “Upon this rock I will build My Church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”

That’s not poetic encouragement. It’s a guarantee.

In Scripture, gates are defensive structures. Jesus isn’t saying hell will attack and sometimes lose. He’s saying that even the full weight of evil, deception, death, and division will never overcome the Church He founded.

Now pause with me for a moment and think this through carefully.

If the Church Christ established were destined to fall into total corruption—
if it were going to become an “abomination”—
if it were going to lose the Gospel and mislead generations of Christians—
then this promise would have failed.

But Jesus does not make promises He cannot keep.

Notice what He does not say. He doesn’t say the gates of hell will not prevail against Scripture alone, or against sincere believers reading privately, or against correct interpretation. He says they will not prevail against His Church.

That distinction matters deeply for Catholics who have ever been told, “The Church fell away, but the Bible survived.”

Jesus never promised the survival of a book apart from a Church.
He promised the preservation of the Church through which the book would live.

So where is the promise of private interpretation?

This is a question few people ask out loud.

If Christianity were meant to operate by private interpretation alone, we would expect Scripture to say that clearly. But there is no verse that guarantees the correctness of individual interpretation. Not one.

What Scripture does give us is a warning.

St. Peter—writing Scripture—says that no prophecy of Scripture is a matter of one’s own private interpretation. And then, speaking specifically about St. Paul’s letters, he adds something striking: there are things in them that are hard to understand, which the ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction.

Notice what Peter doesn’t say. He doesn’t say everyone just needs to pray harder. He doesn’t say sincere Christians will all arrive at the same conclusion. And he certainly doesn’t say the Holy Spirit guarantees every reader the correct meaning.

Instead, he acknowledges something painfully obvious—even in the first century. Scripture can be misunderstood. Scripture can be twisted. Scripture can be weaponized.

That isn’t a failure of Scripture. It’s a limitation of the reader.

And Jesus knew this. Which is why He didn’t leave us to ourselves.

Why Jesus established authority instead of leaving us alone with a text

When you step back and look at the whole picture, a pattern emerges.

Jesus gave the keys to the kingdom. He gave the power of binding and loosing. He promised the Church would endure. He warned against private interpretation. And He promised the Holy Spirit would guide the apostles into all truth.

What He did not say was, “After I ascend, everyone will figure this out individually.”

That idea would have been unthinkable to first-century Jews, who understood that God works through covenant, community, and authority—not isolated individuals.

Even in the Old Testament, God gave Israel priests, judges, elders, and teachers. He didn’t hand Moses a scroll and say, “Good luck.”

So it’s worth asking quietly and honestly: why would the New Covenant be less guided than the Old?

What the early Church actually did with Scripture

This isn’t theoretical. We can see it clearly in history.

Around the year 180, St. Irenaeus—who learned the faith from Polycarp, who learned it from the Apostle John—encountered groups quoting Scripture while teaching contradictory doctrines. His response wasn’t to tell everyone to decide for themselves. Instead, he pointed to the apostolic tradition preserved throughout the whole world in the Church.

Then he makes a statement that can stop a modern reader cold: even if the apostles had left no writings at all, the Church would still possess the truth through what was handed down.

That alone tells us how the earliest Christians understood authority.

A few decades later, Tertullian presses the point even further. He argues that Scripture itself belongs to the Church that received it from the apostles. He challenges heretics not just to quote verses, but to go visit the apostolic churches and examine their teaching—because truth is preserved through succession, not isolation.

In other words, don’t just ask, What verse do you quote? Ask, Where did you get it, and who taught you how to read it?

By the time we reach St. Augustine in the fourth and fifth centuries, the canon of Scripture is becoming clearer. And Augustine famously says that he would not believe the Gospel unless moved by the authority of the Catholic Church.

That isn’t a rejection of Scripture. It’s an acknowledgment of reality.

Someone had to say which books were Scripture and which were not. Someone had to guard the authentic faith and reject distortions. And that “someone” was the Church Christ promised would endure.

So what was the fundamentalist really asking you to doubt?

When someone says, “A true Catholic is an abomination to God because Catholics don’t follow God’s only holy guidebook,” they’re asking you—often without saying it outright—to doubt several things at once.

They’re asking you to doubt that Jesus knew what He was doing when He founded a Church. They’re asking you to doubt that His promises were trustworthy. They’re asking you to doubt that the Holy Spirit has been faithful for two thousand years. And they’re asking you to doubt that the Church which preserved Scripture could also preserve truth.

That is a lot to doubt.

And here’s the quiet irony: to accept that accusation, you would have to trust your own private judgment more than Christ’s explicit promises.

Catholic faith does not ask you to do that.

A gentle word to cradle Catholics

If you’ve read this far, let me say this plainly and kindly.

You are not Catholic because you never questioned.
You are Catholic because Christ called—and His Church endured.

If you’ve ever felt unsettled by a televangelist’s certainty or shaken by a fundamentalist’s accusation, remember this: the Catholic Church does not fear Scripture. It loves it—Old Testament and New alike. The Church does not fear history; history testifies to it. And the Church does not fear honest questions. It has been answering them for centuries.

Jesus did not leave us orphaned. He did not leave us a book without a shepherd. He left us His Church, and He promised to remain with her until the end of the age.

And He keeps His promises.

A closing prayer

Heavenly Father,
we thank You for calling us by name,
for planting us in Your Church,
and for never abandoning what Your Son established.

Lord Jesus Christ,
You are the Word made flesh,
the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets,
the same yesterday, today, and forever.
When voices around us are loud and confusing,
bring us back to Your voice—
the voice that says, “Do not be afraid.”

Holy Spirit, Spirit of Truth,
You who guided the apostles,
who sustained the early Church,
and who still breathes life into Your people today—
strengthen our faith when doubts arise,
steady our hearts when accusations shake us,
and remind us that we belong to You.

Father, help us to love Your Scriptures,
to hear them as Your people Israel first heard them,
and to read them as the Church has always read them—
in the light of Christ,
with humility,
and within the communion of believers.

Forgive us for the times we have doubted Your promises
or believed You could abandon Your Church.
Heal any wounds caused by harsh words,
false accusations,
or fear planted by misunderstanding.

Teach us to trust—not in ourselves alone,
but in You,
who promised that the gates of hell would not prevail,
who promised to remain with us always,
and who is faithful even when we struggle.

May we never be ashamed of the faith handed down to us.
May we grow deeper, not defensive;
steadier, not afraid;
and more charitable, not hardened.

We place ourselves, our questions, and our faith
into Your Sacred Heart,
confident that You who began this good work
will bring it to completion.

We ask all of this
in the name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.

A small invitation before you go

If this conversation helped steady your heart even a little—
if it clarified something you’d never heard explained this way—
or if it simply reminded you that you’re not alone in your questions—
I invite you to stay connected.

If this resonated, feel free to like it. If you’d like more thoughtful, Scripture-rooted conversations about the Catholic faith—especially the kinds of questions many of us were never taught to ask—consider subscribing. And if someone you love has been quietly shaken by what they’ve heard from televangelists, friends, or online voices, consider sharing this with them.

You never know who’s sitting across their table right now, wondering if their faith can really hold.

Let’s keep the conversation going—charitably, honestly, and anchored in Christ.