Reasons for Leaving the Church of Rome

“So as much as in me is I am ready to preach the Gospel to you that are at Rome also. For I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ; for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth.”—ROM. i. 15–16.

My Dear Roman Catholic Friends,

SOME months have now elapsed since my separation from your community. The past delicacy of my health—the thoughts of the important duty I have hereafter to discharge, and a consideration of its awful responsibility, have obliged me to defer until now the following open avowal of my religious opinions. But my change in life has not diminished my ardour for your spiritual interests; on the contrary, my desires for your eternal salvation have increased. Your past kindness has a particular claim upon my gratitude, and highly undeserving should I be in the eyes of the public, were I to remain unmindful of your generosity. Yes, I will assert without any fear of contradiction, that there is no Roman Catholic Clergyman in Ireland could boast of more acts of attention from a people, than I have experienced from your hands in the discharge of my clerical duties. Your actions had ever corresponded with the profession of your kindness towards me, and your liberality had always stamped the mark of your approbation upon my conduct in life. But I hope you will do me the justice in saying, that I have never deviated from the path of honor to catch the air of a fleeting popularity. Well then, my dear friends, allow me to submit a few humble questions in the language of sincerity to your most serious consideration. But before I do so, do you throw aside your prejudices—cast off those thoughts which unfounded calumnies might suggest to your minds—and then, as is mentioned in Isaiah, “Come now, and let us reason together.” Isa. i. 18. Why have I left the circles of your tried friendship, for the uncertainties of yet doubtful acquaintances? Why have I bartered the smiles for the insulting sneers of you a once attached people? Why exchange the scenes of worldly ease, of worldly comfort, and worldly independence, for the struggles of a more arduous duty? Are you not aware, that were I to bend the knee of hypocrisy beneath the mitred head of Roman Episcopal jurisdiction, and submit to those doctrines which Roman credulity would impose, there is not one whose prospects would be more realised, or whose independence more secure? Why have I retired from the pampered sanctuary of your wealthy church, to look for shelter beneath the persecution of an insulted religion? Why have I made such an exchange in life? Oh, my friends, I will tell you. It is because I have a poor soul to save, and feel convinced that its salvation could not be acquired by continuing in the character of a Roman Clergyman. It is because I have made a solemn promise on bended knees, and have called upon the heavens to attest the sincerity of my words, that I would no longer act under the garb of hypocrisy. It is because, throwing all worldly concerns out of my view, and banishing all thoughts of a temporising necessity from my mind, I have at length accepted of the kind invitation of Jesus, saying, “Come out from among them and be ye separate—and I will receive you, and be a Father unto you.” 2 Cor. vi. 17, 18.

In adopting my present change in life, I anticipate, more or less, the difficulties I have to encounter—the troubles I have to overcome, and the sacrifices I must naturally make on the present trying occasion. The friends of my past life—the companions of other days, and the acquaintances of my more mature years, have abandoned me. The very relations who watched over my infant years—who led me by the hand from the cradle of youth into the maturity of life, have also forsaken me; but Heaven, I trust, has not done so—God, I trust, will be my protector; and “if God be for us, who can be against us?” Rom. viii. 31. Oh, my friends, let persons pause before they condemn—let truth take the place of falsehood—let reason but act as the substitute for prejudice—and then I will ask the candid mind the important question, “should I remain under a conviction of my error?” Should I, for a mere temporary gratification, barter an eternal good? Should I, for merely ministering to the wishes of friends and relations, damn this soul which is destined for immortality? Oh, my friends, consider me, when in the character of the Roman Priesthood, and I will again put the important question, “should I remain any longer under a conviction of my error?” Think of me, going from the sanctuary to the altar, clothed in the priestly vest—a vest which I considered as a mere parade of ecclesiastical pomp. Consider me then as being looked upon as the medium of propitiation between the living and the dead—between heaven and earth—between man and his Creator, and offering up what was considered as a sacrifice of propitiation by some, but what was believed to be only a figure or memorial by me that offered on the occasion; would I not deserve to be damned—shall I repeat the unsanctified expression—would I not deserve to be damned for ever, should I continue any longer bending the knee of hypocrisy beneath the altar of dissimulation? Yes, and for having continued so long under a conviction of my error, I now most humbly implore forgiveness, for I should have long since acted in correspondence with the words of our Saviour—“For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?—or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?” Mark viii. 36–37.

Perhaps it would be asserted by some, that my present change is the effect of the moment—that it originates from whim or caprice, and is not the result of coolness and reflection. But, my friends, the months that have passed by since the first open avowal of my sentiments to my then Roman Catholic Bishop, in the presence of another Roman Catholic Clergyman, would serve as an answer to such accusations; while my written as well as personal communications upon this subject, with the truly pious and Protestant Rector of Castletowndelvin, long previous to the open announcement of my sentiments to my bishop, must falsify the assertion, that “this change is the result of the moment.” Allow me also to tell you, that I have mentioned my past doubts, not only months, but years ago, to a near relation, who summed up many a plausible argument to dissuade me from that course, which, I trust, under the guidance of heaven I have now adopted: and what is more, in compliance with the request of my late friends, I have gone to some of the most distinguished members of the Roman religion, to explain to them my doubts; but their mystified evasions upon plain and evident truths, have only tended to confirm me in the conviction of their errors.

Oh, my friends, my present change is not the effect of the moment, but it is the effect of a mind that has overcome an almost invincible prejudice—a prejudice that grew up with my youthful days—that accompanied my more mature years, and had nearly interwoven itself around the future destinies of my soul. It is the effect of a mind that has taken impartiality for its guide, and looked upon truth as the sole object of its ambition—a mind that has ruminated day and night upon the subject—that has viewed both sides of the question coolly, attentively, and I trust religiously, and has now come to this determination, which is founded on a consciousness of its rectitude. During those hours of darkness, when “sleep falleth upon man”—when others were taking that repose to which the silence of the night or exhausted nature might invite them—I trust it is not too much the language of egotism for me to say, that during the silent hours, when thinking of my present change, I had often bedewed the nightly pillow with the tears of affliction—“my eye-lids had grown dim with grief”—my nights were turned into day because of my watching—and I could find no rest until I obeyed the advice of the Psalmist, saying, “To-day if yon will hear his voice—harden not your hearts.” Psalm xcv. 7–8.