by, Renee Wood

It is nice to be able to have good theological discussions with people from other denominations. What I mean by that is, you’re not trying to change the other person’s point of view — you’re simply telling one another what you believe, why you believe it, and citing scripture to support your understanding. No arguments, no proselytizing, just curiosity.

The other day my friend and I had a conversation like this. For context, she is from a Baptist denomination and I am Catholic. We both believe in God and Jesus, so there’s no confusion between us that we are both “saved” (her term) or “followers of Christ” (my term).

The conversation started with the idea that Jesus is the only way to heaven: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Although my husband is baptized Catholic, he struggles with the concept of Jesus — a man who walked the earth — being God. My friend, on the other hand, says Jesus is God, but then asks, “Why pray to Jesus when you can pray directly to God?” Well, if Jesus is God, then praying to Jesus is praying to God, and vice versa. You are also praying to the Holy Spirit because they are One. According to Catholics, Orthodox, Lutherans, Methodists, and Anglicans, there is no difference.

That night my friend claims Jesus was just God in a “meat suit,” which I had never heard before. However, the next day, after speaking with her husband, she told me that she believes that Jesus and God are one in the same along with the Holy Spirit. Before she updated me on her real belief, I had never heard of Jesus being called “God in a ‘meat suit’”. It even seemed a little derogatory to me, so I asked Copilot about this so I could understand the concept. AI explained that it’s basically a modern slang version of an ancient heresy called Docetism, which claimed Jesus only “appeared” human. I know now my friend doesn’t actually believe that, but those who do, think Jesus is a “lesser” form of God., It makes sense that people who believe this wouldn’t understand why praying to Jesus is the same as praying to God. But in historic Christianity, Jesus is not a lesser anything. He is fully God, fully human, and fully One with the Father and the Spirit.

My husband, ironically, is probably more “Catholic” than some Catholics. Why do I say this? Because the Catholic faith has a deep understanding of sacrifice — “Pick up your cross and follow me.” Floris may not realize he’s picking up his cross, but he has graciously done it throughout his life without complaint. He believes in God and he prays to God. So in my belief, if you pray to God, you are also praying to Jesus, even if you don’t realize it. And if Jesus is the way to the Father, then praying to God is not bypassing Jesus — it is going “through” Him, because they are One.

It seems arrogant and prideful to think your religion’s interpretation is the only way to heaven. Out of all the religions in the world, and out of all the good and faithful people who are not of your religion but still do the right thing, you just happened to pick the one correct path — the only way? I cannot box God in like that.

This is my husband’s main issue with Christianity: “What if I picked the wrong religion and I find out after I die?” It may sound silly, but it is a genuine fear. You cannot reassure someone who is truly afraid that as long as they are good and faithful, they cannot pick the wrong way to God.

I can say Jesus is a sure way, a revealed way, a trustworthy way to God. I just cannot say knowing and believing in Jesus is the only way. If I said Jesus was the only way, then inadvertently, I would be condemning a lot of people. And in my Bible it says, “Do not judge.” That is my third personal commandment of my eleven! Moses might have skipped that one, I don’t know. But for me, not judging is vitally important. It doesn’t mean I can’t recognize when someone hurts another person — that is clearly wrong. But I cannot claim they are going to hell. I don’t have that power. I can judge the possible results of “my own” actions, but I cannot judge the results of other people’s actions. I do not know the mind of God. To pretend I do would be presumptuous.

Christians across denominations agree that accepting Jesus changes a person. Where we differ is “how” that change unfolds. Some Christian traditions teaches that salvation happens in a single moment — from that point forward your sins (past, present, and future) are forgiven. It’s a one‑time event, a spiritual transaction that seals your eternity. Repentance still matters, but it’s private, personal, and not sacramental. You do the right thing because you want to, not because you fear losing salvation. In her view, salvation is a done deal.

Catholics see salvation differently. Catholics believe salvation begins at baptism, but it continues throughout your life. It’s not a moment — it’s a relationship. What I interpret as a journey to my “salvation”, my friend sees the same thing as a journey to “Sanctification”, since she has been saved once and forever. Two different names for it, but they cover the same thing. You cooperate with God’s grace, you grow, you stumble, you get back up, and you keep walking. We also recognize that people sometimes have a powerful religious experience that opens their eyes. In that moment, someone might recognize Jesus and genuinely want to do the right thing because they love Him. But even then, we know we are still capable of falling away because we still have free choice. Just because you want to do the right thing doesn’t mean you’re always capable of it. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.” When we fail, it hurts others — and it hurts ourselves.

In the Catholic tradition, confession is not about re‑earning forgiveness; it’s about humility, accountability, and healing. It reminds you that you are capable of turning away from God, and it gives you guidance so you don’t repeat what is hurting you. Catholics believe faith must be lived out — “Faith without works is dead.” Not because works save you, but because works reveal the condition of your heart.

Scripture supports the idea of salvation as a journey. Paul tells believers to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling,” which doesn’t sound like a one‑time event. Hebrews says to “run the race set before you,” implying endurance, effort, and growth. Peter urges Christians to “grow in grace,” which means grace is something that expands over time, not something you receive once and never revisit. These passages paint salvation as a lifelong transformation, not a spiritual checkbox.

To me, the journey model makes sense. Humans don’t stop sinning the moment they accept Jesus. We keep learning, growing, and changing. Our relationship with God deepens as we live it. Salvation is not a transaction — it’s a transformation. And transformation takes time.

In the end, these theological conversations remind me that faith is both deeply personal and beautifully diverse. My friend’s belief that salvation happens in a moment gives her confidence; my belief that salvation is a journey gives me purpose. Neither of us is trying to convert the other — we’re simply trying to understand God as best we can. What I know for certain is this: Jesus is a sure way, a revealed way, a trustworthy way to God. But I will not pretend that God is small enough to fit inside any one religion’s box whether Jewish, Buddhists or anything that promotes love. I cannot claim to know the mind of God, and I will not judge the fate of souls I cannot see. My job is to love others as God loves me, walk my path with humility, to grow in grace, and to trust that the God who created the universe is far more merciful, creative, and loving than any of us can imagine.