You may be aware of the recent scandal in which Wheaton College, supposedly the “evangelical Harvard,” fired a black female professor (the only one on the entire campus) for stating that Christians and Muslims worship the same god:
This post is not about this incident, which has been discussed in great detail elsewhere. Rather, I’m going to write about whether Catholics and Protestants worship the same god.
In retrospect, I realize that one reason that I made a poor Catholic traditionalist was because of my obsessive curiosity and my inability to shut off my mind and my heart to what I believed to be injustice. Even as a young child, I was always a bit of a killjoy who preferred to obsess over the unpleasant aspects of life, even if doing so made me a less than popular presence. For example, when I was in third grade, the Atlanta Braves baseball team suddenly transformed itself from being just another semi-anonymous sports franchise to a major powerhouse team, causing the inevitable “Braves fever” and the “Tomahawk chop” to sweep the school. I remained curiously immune to this particular affliction, reprimanding anyone who would listen that the very concept of naming a sports team after an ethnic group was racist and that all this time and energy that was being expended towards the Braves would be better spent on searching for a cure for cancer. I’ve never been able to understand where a seven year old girl got these fairly sophisticated ideas about race, sports, and society’s misplaced priorities, because my parents were never keen on talking about race and at this point in time I was still apolitical. I can only assume that it stemmed from my own personal readings about our country’s less than stellar treatment of blacks and Native Americans, combined with my lifelong antipathy towards professional sports. Regardless, this was simply the first instance of many in which I preferred to wallow in the unhappy details of history, rather than accept a happy ignorance.