My dear brothers and sisters,
Tonight, as a watchman on the wall, I am looking not at the storms of politics or the tremors of nations, but at the horizon of the Church herself. Something decisive is taking shape. Something eternal. And the Holy Spirit is urging us to see it clearly.
A new apostolic letter has been released by the Holy Father, marking the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicaea. And as a bishop of the Catholic Church, a son of the Church, and a lover of the Church, I speak about it with reverence, with fidelity, and with a deep desire for the truth. For fidelity demands clarity. And clarity begins with one question – a question that may well define this age of the Church:
Is the Catholic Church of divine origin … or is she merely a human institution?
If she is divine, then her doctrine is divine – given by God, binding for all time, and not subject to revision. But if she is merely human, then doctrine can be reshaped, softened, negotiated, or set aside for the sake of unity or cultural approval. This is the question underlying everything today – and it is the lens through which we must read the new document on Nicaea.
The letter begins beautifully. It recalls the divinity of Christ, the courage of St. Athanasius, the glory of the Incarnation, and the power of the Creed. And for this, we give thanks. This is the faith we profess, and we rejoice whenever it is upheld.
But as the text moves forward, the emphasis shifts. What begins as a strong proclamation of doctrine slowly becomes an invitation to a different kind of unity – unity not rooted in conversion, but in coexistence; not rooted in truth, but in shared language; not rooted in doctrine, but in dialogue. And it is here that we must return to Nicaea itself.
The bishops of Nicaea gathered not to negotiate with error; not to seek common ground with heresy, not to preserve harmony by softening truth. They gathered because the Catholic faith – the faith that saves – was being attacked at its very heart. And they knew something our age is in danger of forgetting:
The Church IS of divine origin.
She is not a project of human wisdom. She is not the creation of social need. She was founded by Jesus Christ, entrusted with revealed truth, and safeguarded by the Holy Ghost. Because the Church IS divine, truth must be defended, not diluted.
At Nicaea, the question was simple: Is Jesus Christ truly God? Is He “begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father”? The answer was, and is, yes – and Nicaea proclaimed it with thunder. And then Nicaea did something the modern Church hesitates to do: It condemned the opposite. It named the error. It rejected the falsehood. It drew the line clearly.
But if we are honest, we must admit that our modern movement is filled with new heresies – heresies every bit as serious as Arianism, and in some ways even more invasive. We see theologians denying the bodily Resurrection. We see teachers claiming Christ is only “one path among many.” We see scholars redefining the Trinity in terms that strip it of meaning. We see denials of the Virgin Birth, distortions of the hypostatic union, and interpretations of the Incarnation that tear at the very identity of Christ. These are not small matters. They strike at the foundations of salvation. And the errors do not stop there.
We see ideologies that deny the God-given nature of the human person – declaring that one may change one’s gender as if creation were clay in our own hands. We see movements pushing the Church to bless relationships that Scripture calls sin, as if compassion means contradicting the Word of God. We see clergy treating chastity as an optional ideal rather than a sacred command. We see attempts to redefine marriage, sexuality, and identity according to the spirit of the age. These are wounds to the Body of Christ. They are lies about the human person.
And as if this crisis were not enough, we now see the ancient privileges and titles of the Blessed Virgin Mary being questioned or minimized. There are voices denying that she is Mediatrix of All Graces. Voices dismissing the centuries of teaching that she intercedes to restrain the just wrath of God. Voices suggesting her maternal mission can be “updated,” softened, or placed aside for ecumenical sensitivities. These are not side issues. These are not pious debates. These are rejections of truths held for centuries – truths entrusted to the Church by the Holy Spirit.
And yet, instead of confronting these errors with the clarity of Athanasius, we are urged to “walk together,” to pursue unity without conversion, to embrace a harmony without doctrinal agreement. But unity without truth is not unity. It is a façade. It is a fragile illusion.
True unity flows from the acceptance of revealed truth – not the avoidance of it. This is why saints and popes throughout history spoke so plainly. Pope Pius XI declared: “The union of Christians can only be promoted by promoting the return to the one true Church of Christ of those who are separated from it.”
St Cyprian proclaimed: “He cannot have God for his Father who has not the Church for his mother.”
And the Athanasian Creed – born of the spirit of Nicaea – states: “Whosoever will be saved, before all things it is necessary that he hold the Catholic faith.”
The Church did not speak this way for 1900 years because she was harsh, but because she loved souls. Truth is an act of love. Error is a wound. This new approach – presenting the Creed as a shared Christian banner rather than a Catholic boundary – reveals the deeper crisis of our age.
At Nicaea, the question was: Who is Christ? Today, the crisis is: What is the Church? If the Church is divine, she guards doctrine. If the Church is human, she manages dialogue. If the Church is divine, she calls the world to conversion. If the Church is human, she calls the Church to adapt.
Therefore, many Catholics today feel the spiritual tremor that indicates the Church is returning to the catacombs – not necessarily to caves of stone, but to that interior posture of fidelity that arises when the deepest rejection of truth comes not from the world outside, but from voices within the household of the Church itself. When shepherds become silent, when clarity is avoided, when doctrine is treated as negotiable, the faithful instinctively seek refuge in the same place the early Christians did – in the simplicity, purity, and courage of the undiluted faith. This is not a movement of fear. It is a movement of fidelity.
For the early Christians did not go underground because they lacked love. They went underground because they refused to deny Christ – even when pressured by those who should have defended them.
And so I say to you with the love and urgency of a shepherd: HOLD THE LINE. Hold the line with Athanasius, who stood almost alone for the truth. Hold the line with the Fathers of Nicaea, who were willing to suffer for one sentence of the Creed. Hold the line with the martyrs, who chose fidelity over favor. Hold the line with the saints, who preferred truth to comfort. Hold the line with the apostles, who proclaimed Christ with their blood. Hold the line with Christ Himself, who is the same yesterday, today, and forever.
Darkness has never conquered the light. Not in the Roman Empire. Not in the centuries of confusion and corruption. Not in times of persecution. Not in times of scandal. Not now. Not ever.
Christ is Truth. Christ is Lord. Christ is King.
And His Church – divine in origin, divine in mission, divine in destiny – shall prevail, even if she must pass again into the spiritual catacombs. For it is often there, in hidden fidelity and steadfast prayer, that the Church finds her strength again.
Stay strong. Stay faithful. Stay rooted in the Creed. And remember: unity without truth is not unity at all. But truth, held in love, leads to the eternal unity of heaven.
May God bless you and keep you. And may the light of Christ our King guide you in the night.
Bishop Joseph E. Strickland
Bishop Emeritus
