On celebrating the Reformation Day

Today is Halloween, and tomorrow is the Solemnity of All Saints. That means I’ll be dressing up as one of my favourite saints—at least, that’s the plan. The only problem is that I still haven’t decided who I’m going to be, and time is running out. But here I am procrastinating by writing down a few thoughts on Reformation Day, which also happens to fall on October 31st.

I used to think the Protestant Reformation was a good and necessary event. The way I saw it, the Church had fallen into error and needed someone brave enough to call it out. I used to believe Martin Luther was the hero Christendom needed—standing courageously against a corrupt Catholic Church, doing the will of God by posting the 95 Theses in Wittenberg. (Though even that famous gesture is historically doubtful; the story was written long after the fact, and he likely just mailed the letter to the appropriate Church authorities.) And wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, to celebrate our “spiritual father”?

Well, not anymore—not after thinking about it more carefully.

I want to be fair: many of the concerns raised by the reformers were legitimate. There were genuine abuses of indulgences; some priests and bishops used them for personal gain. Wherever money enters the picture, human greed tends to follow, and the Church has always been filled with fallible human beings. Even Peter denied Jesus three times—yet God still used him.

The problem is that when you actually read the ninety-five theses, many of them sound surprisingly Catholic—so much so that many modern Christians might not even guess Luther wrote them. Take the third thesis, for example: “Yet it does not mean solely inner repentance; such inner repentance is worthless unless it produces various outward mortification of the flesh.”

Since when did we get the idea that sin is resolved simply by whispering a private apology to God and moving on? After entering the Catholic Church, the idea that sin requires real repentance—both interior and exterior—makes far more sense to me.

Another example is thesis 37: “Any true Christian, whether living or dead, participates in all the blessings of Christ and the Church; and this is granted him by God, even without indulgence letters.”

Here Luther directly addresses abuses surrounding indulgences. He was right to criticize those abuses. But then we read the very next thesis:

“Nevertheless, papal remission and blessing are by no means to be disregarded, for they are, as I have said (Thesis 6), the proclamation of the divine remission.”

It becomes clear that Luther wasn’t originally attacking the papacy itself, or the entire structure of the Church. He was grappling with how indulgences were being exploited.

I could go on and on, but time is running out and I need to go to Mass now.

Anyway, to conclude.

I genuinely believe Luther was trying to do good. In another timeline, perhaps he would be known today as St. Martin of Wittenberg—the humble reformer who helped purify the Church from within, working alongside the Pope, eventually canonized for his fidelity. But history doesn’t always unfold along the gentlest path. Anger and pride—those vices we all struggle to avoid—played their part.

Here’s a thought experiment: If you became estranged from a family member, would you celebrate the anniversary of that division? Maybe you’d be tempted to if they were truly awful—but what if, over time, they changed for the better? Wouldn't you consider to reunite with them at some point?

The Catholic Church did change. Jesus already promised to the apostles that the gates of hell will not prevail against His Church. At the Council of Trent, the Church abolished all indulgence practices connected to money. So then—what exactly are we still protesting? It’s a food for thought, no?

Is it because that's how you were raised and told, that the Catholic Church is the whore of Babylon? If so, I implore you to seek deeper into the story of Protestant Reformation and go look at 500 years from then, would Luther approve the kind of Christianity we see in the present day?

The Reformation is not something to celebrate; it’s something to grieve. It tore apart the Body of Christ, the Bride for whom He prayed would be one. And look at the fruit: countless denominations, each claiming the Holy Spirit, yet contradicting one another. Jesus is not a polygamist. He established one holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. What's your definition of that? Is it the Church with unity in doctrine across the world, where you can feel at home anywhere in the world? Or is it the institution founded out of zeal and pride? Or is it just your local church that disagrees with anyone else not part of the church other than the fact "believe in Jesus"?

We need unity.

Anyway, time to head to Mass—and then to the store to finally choose a costume.