I teach philosophy at a Jesuit liberal arts college. I am an ecumenical priest at the same Jesuit school, where I also serve as a mentor in the Manresa program, an undergraduate community inspired by Ignatian spirituality to examine one’s place in the world. My research work is in medieval theology, with a particular focus on Thomas Aquinas. My most meaningful peer group interactions are with Catholic theologians.

But here’s the thing: I’m a Protestant.

What does this mean to me, as a Protestant who is so deeply committed to the Catholic community? In terms of Christian faith and personal spirituality, there is nothing earth-shattering about it. My grounding in Thomistic theology and my love of sacramental practices gives me a tremendous appreciation for Catholic expressions of biblical Christianity, including the guidance we moderns receive through the magisterium of church history.

recently studio (a small workshop of medieval scholars grappling with the thought of Aquinas), a priest I consider a good friend marveled at how the “stumbling blocks” common to Protestant Christians did not constitute points of division for me. Mariology, for example, is for me a rich source of wonder about divine love and generosity, and the beautiful reality of the helping human hand that guides us on our journey to encounter Christ. (My son compares Mary’s theological role in helping other Protestants to a friend you know at a party who helps you feel comfortable and introduces you to her surroundings.)

Similarly, I think that the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist is a deep and sacred mystery around which Christian faith and identity take shape and substance. And I see the doctrine of Purgatory as a demonstration of God’s unwavering, limitless mercy and his determination to never give up on any of his children.

My experiences of intersection with Catholicism have generally been experiences of brotherhood, love and ecumenism. In fact, I think we are seeing a greater need than ever for unity in the body of Christ and a call for it from Christian leaders. Pope Francis said in his speech at “Community in Transition,” an ecumenical youth initiative in New York in 2022.

The future of faith in our world lies in Christian unity… Yes, we have beliefs that seem incompatible or incompatible. But that’s exactly why we choose to love each other. Love is stronger than all disagreements and divisions…Jesus Christ is a bond stronger and deeper than our cultures, political ideas, and even doctrines.

This has truly been my experience. As people of common Christian faith, Catholics and Protestants serve together, worship together, study and struggle in faith together, and grow in Christlike spirituality together. It was beautiful.

With one exception. There is a particular area of ​​the Christian experience that bothers me because Catholics and Protestants are kept separate and apart from each other. This is the experience of the Eucharist or the Lord’s Supper.

Let’s clarify right away. I am not suggesting that Protestants should join the consecrated host in the Catholic Mass. This is a sacred sign of identity and experience of grace for the Catholic community, and I respect it as such. Rather, what I have in mind is the idea of ​​Catholics and Protestants sharing the experience of participating in the Eucharist according to their own traditions—that is, in a common space, side by side with a Catholic priest serving the blessed Eucharist to Catholic believers. A Protestant minister who ministers the elements of Communion to Protestant believers. In all the places I have gone, in all the common areas of ecumenical Christian experience, this single aspect of Christian identity—some might say the definitive aspect of Christian identity—remains a moment of division among us.

I think the reason why this idea is so important and urgent to me is that, although Eucharistic practices are indeed deeply historical and embedded in important theological tradition, it is of course Jesus’ work that it was ordained as a sacramental practice. In John’s account of the Last Supper (where, as we see in the Gospel of Luke, Christ instituted the sacred sharing of Christ’s body and blood), Christ prays first for his 12 apostles and then for us: “My prayer is for them alone. I also pray for those who believe in me through His messages, that they may all be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you.

Clearly, Christian unity requires much more than personal intimacy, but my heart grows heavy when I think about our inability to be in the same room as we rekindle Christ’s sacrificial love for us as a community. Just like in a family, sharing a meal means eating it together. Should different doctrinal understandings of the Eucharist, however important, be the final word on Christian unity? I’m not convinced it has to be this way.

Of course, those of us with the help of the Holy Spirit can honor these differences and still be in the same room, in a shared experience. As Pope Francis said, “Jesus Christ is a bond stronger and deeper even than our teachings.” We can understand this bond not only as Christ’s power and love transcending differences, but also (and perhaps most importantly) as Christ’s desire. Our unity was what he wanted, what he wanted from the Father. I feel sad and even worried that we are neglecting this special thing that Christ wanted, even though we do it to honor him.

I will continue to hope and desire this experience for the love of Christ and his church. I remembered how the Jewish people ended the Passover Campaign by expressing their longing for “Next year in Jerusalem.” Every time I receive the Lord’s Supper in my own community, and every time I stand or pass by a place where fellow Catholics do the same, my heart cries out in the same way: “Maybe next time, maybe next year, we too will eat the Supper together.”