The Visitation B.V.M.

Oddly, we missed something liturgical in our current issue of Gottesdienst, which is on its way to mailboxes around the world even as I write. In this issue one will find a sermon by St. Cyril of Alexandria appointed for the Third Sunday after Trinity. And if a pastor were to get the current issue, say, in today's mail, he might think, Oh, good, this will help me prepare for this coming Sunday.

Now if one is planning to observe the Third Sunday after Trinity this coming Sunday, July 2nd, we will register no complaint, particularly if it means he is following the Historic Lectionary. So let's stipulate that for the record.

But technically the rules of the sanctoral cycle . . .

(I can hear it already: There you go with your rules again! Rules, rules, rules! Please, spare us the lecture, and yourself the breath it would require. Everything has rules of some kind or another, no? Rules govern how you play the piano too, but that doesn't prevent you from banging away in some indiscriminate fashion should you choose to do so, even if it might sound horrible; rules govern your bedtime routine, but if you alter those no harm has been done, except that it might affect how you sleep; there are all kinds of rules for all kinds of occasions. We are not calling these divine rules. These are just some of the traditional rules that the Western church used to follow with some regularity once upon a time.)

. . . the rules of the sanctoral cycle do happen to count July 2nd as the (traditional) date to observe the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and since this Feast, though a second-class Feast, is a Feast of our Lord, it therefore takes precedence over a Sunday after Trinity and should be observed instead. This is actually reflected in our 2017 calendar, which you should have received last December: it goes out with our Christmas issue every year..

So, if it's not too late, and you should feel so inclined, go ahead and celebrate the Feast of the Visitation B.V.M. this Sunday.

And I'd hazard a guess that your people might even appreciate it. You might even choose, besides the Magnificat hymn (LSB 935 / TLH 275), a Christmas carol or two, such as "Of the Father's Love Begotten." Or this little hymn, written and composed some eight years ago by your humble scribe. It's also more of a Christmas hymn, but it works for this Feast, I think.

Blogger doesn't allow a better image than the one pasted below, so I'll list the lyrics to "Of Mary Was Our Lord and God." here. Stanza 7 is John Riley's, from "Ye Watchers and Ye Holy Ones," whose melody could be used, with alleluias. My own melody is also below. It's in Long Meter.

Of Mary was our Lord and God
Conceived from woman's flesh and blood,
Who knew no man, a virgin pure:
The second Eve bears Eden's cure.

2 As woman once brought forth from man
Was first to sin and so was banned,
Now Man is born from her and He
Restores her lost integrity.

3 She cradles her beloved Son -
The Son of God, thrice holy One.
So small is He, so low His birth,
Who cradles all in heav'n and earth.

4 Serene He lies at Mary’s breast.

Who is Himself eternal Rest

O holy blest nativity,

How wondrous is this mystery!

5 And in her motherhood we find

A pattern tranquil, meek, and kind

Reflected in her sorr’wing eyes,

The hope of heav’nly Paradise.

6 To woman now is giv’n a place

Of honor, dignity and grace

She bears the Lord, so shall she be

Blest lady for eternity.

7 O higher than the cherubim

More glorious than the seraphim

Thou bearer of th’eternal Word

Most gracious, magnify the Lord.

8 All glory to the Father be

All praise, eternal Son, to Thee,

Whom with the Spirit we adore
Forever and forevermore. Amen.

Uncompromising Genuflexion

by Burnell F. Eckardt Jr.

This is an article that was written and printed in the Michaelmas 2002 issue of Gottesdienst, in my Liturgical Observer column. It seemed an appropriate piece to republish, in view of the kerfuffle that has arisen in LCMS circles since this summer's convention that featured genuflecting clergymen at the Divine Service.

Now they even have lobbies, gyms, boutiques, banks, and McDonald’s restaurants on their premises.  The megachurches have certainly not gone away; they have merely become more mega.  The rationale for making the churches into marketplaces is generally the idea that the gathering of people to exchange greetings over coffee is to be considered a “meaningful” part of Christian worship.  Maybe the Golden Arches haven’t yet become Golden Steeples, but they certainly aren’t very far away from the chancel.

Since this is so, it behooves us who know better about what is the truly meaningful part of Christian worship to make our confession all the more bold.  As we believe and teach, so must we confess.  Since Christian worship must be the worship of Christ, and since Christ’s sacramental presence is at the heart of Christian worship, what is called for here is a re-evaluation of our liturgical ways of confessing the faith, as we seek continually to be faithful.

What appears to be at issue in the worship wars waging across America these days is how, or whether at all, we may liturgically insist upon the Gospel.  There is considerable pressure being placed upon churches and pastors to declare that it is improper to insist upon anything liturgical at all, saying, rather, that the freedom of the Gospel means that we can worship any way we see fit, so long as the words expressed in worship are consistent with the Gospel.  The battleground finds the proponents of liturgical leniency contending for a separation between form and substance, while the defenders of orthodox liturgical practice maintain the old maxim lex orandi, lex credendi (literally, the rule of prayer is the rule of believing): the rubrics governing the conduct of our worship have direct bearing upon the essence of our faith.  More simply put, we contend that the way one conducts himself at prayer is tied to the focus and heart of his prayer.

Liturgical worship recognizes that the posture and behavior of the participants is a reflection of what they profess.  To cite the extreme case, if someone enters the church with a pink spike hairdo, rings of one kind or another piercing his body in various places, a swagger in his gait, a smirk on his face, and perhaps a chortle at every reference to Jesus that he hears, it becomes apparent that he does not really wish to be present, or associated with the Christian Church.  Therefore, on the contrary we find it fitting to dress properly for church, to carry ourselves with decency, to make the sign of the cross, to fold the hands, to stand erect, to bow the head, or—notwithstanding its increasing unpopularity—to bend the knee.

Which brings me to the topic of this essay.

Of the fact that genuflexion is biblical and apostolic there can be no doubt.  Daniel “knelt down three times a day” to pray (Daniel 6:10), Solomon knelt in the presence of all Israel at the dedication of his temple (1 Kings 8:54), and Esdras knelt in prayer (1 Esdras 9:5).  The Wise Men knelt before the Christ (St. Matthew 2:11), a leper knelt to beseech His mercy (St. Mark 1:40), Stephen knelt (Acts 7:59), St. Peter knelt (Acts 9:40), St. Paul knelt (Acts 20:36) and maintained the significance of genuflexion (e.g., Ephesians 3:14; Philippians 2:10), and most importantly, Christ Himself in Gethsemane knelt down to pray (St. Luke 22:41).  Tradition relates that St. James’s knees, from his continual kneeling, had become callous as those of a camel (Eusebius 2,23: 76).  Genuflexion is certainly a matter of form, and it ought to be self-evident that it is directly related to substance.  Although we ought never consider a failure to genuflect in itself a statement against what it professes—for that would be judgmental—we always recognize that genuflexion is itself a statement of faith.  It is unmistakably a way of adoring Christ.  In the worship setting, it is also unmistakably a way of adoring Him in the Sacrament.

We must learn to do liturgically what we say theologically.  Most especially lex orandi, lex credendi is true in a sacramental sense, and this leads me to offer this particular application.  In view of the liturgical malaise we face, and especially the evidence of manifest disregard and disdain for the Holy Sacrament, a liturgical response is in order.  It’s high time that we who call ourselves confessional all got used to genuflecting before the Sacrament every Sunday.  For this more than any other liturgical action demonstrates the object of our worship and allegiance.

This assumes that we offer the Sacrament every Sunday.  The rise of the megachurch makes it all the more imperative that we set before our people what we know to be the heart of Christian worship, namely, Christ on the altar.  And this is no more legalism than to insist upon Christ.  To offer the Sacrament every Sunday to those who desire it is to offer them Christ.  It is simply a matter of faith: lex orandi, lex credendi.  The Christian, according to the Catechism, should be admonished and encouraged to receive the Sacrament frequently by “both the command and the promise of Christ the Lord” and by “his own pressing need, because of which the command, encouragement, and promise are given” (Section 4: “Christian Questions with Their Answers,” Luther’s Small Catechism 43).  Should not the churches therefore be offering the Sacrament for frequent reception?  How can one receive it frequently if it be not offered frequently?  If we are teaching and confessing the importance of frequent reception, yet persistently adhere to the Rationalist/Pietist innovations of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries which allowed some Sundays to pass without even offering the Sacrament, then there is a clear contradiction between what we say and what we do.  We really have no right to call ourselves “confessional Lutherans” if we do not seek to correct this blatant deviation from the sacramental and, until well into the sixteenth century, universal practice of the Christian Church.

And given the current sacramental crisis, genuflexion before the Sacrament is becoming more difficult to see as an entirely indifferent matter.  This is not to say that it ought to become a law for Christians; this is not and should not be a matter of forced submission.  Though Christ’s Body and Blood are truly present here, we make no laws out of the Gospel, though we are commonly charged with doing just that. I find, rather, that because genuflexion is an adoration of Christ in the Sacrament, I can scarcely do otherwise than to bend the knee.  If I find myself recognizing that the impetus for genuflecting is a strong one, it is not because I feel constrained to follow some law, but rather because I desire to confess my faith boldly.

And our wanting to do so is not only because of the megachurch phenomenon, but in view of another consideration pertaining to our own liturgical milieu.  Even among those who like to think of themselves as more traditional and confessional in worship preferences, there is still—there has been for a long time—a critical bone of contention over the issue of receptionism.  The receptionist position holds that the words of Christ apply only to those parts of the elements which are actually received. The receptionist view is that whatever is not consumed is mere bread and wine, since it is not included in the entire sacramental action.  The Formula of Concord’s Article VII (“The Holy Supper”) declares that

if the institution of Christ be not observed as He appointed it, there is no sacrament . . . And the use or action here does not mean chiefly faith, neither the oral participation only, but the entire external, visible action of the Lord’s Supper instituted by Christ, the consecration, or words of institution, the distribution and reception, or oral partaking of the consecrated bread and wine, of the body and blood of Christ.  And apart from this use, when in the papistic mass the bread is not distributed, but offered up or enclosed, borne about, and exhibited for adoration, it is to be regarded as no sacrament (SD VII: 83-87, Trigl. 1001f. ).

What the Formula means to reject is the abuse of the Sacrament, where the Host is enclosed in a monstrance for adoration only and is never eaten.  But the receptionists have taken this to mean that only that portion of the elements actually used in the Distribution are truly Christ’s Body and Blood.  They have taken this usus statement from the Formula of Concord to mean that the Body and Blood of Christ cease to be present in every instance where the Sacrament is not being eaten and drunk, and have forgotten the logic of abusus non tollit usum—let not the abuse determine what ought to be done—and so have come to the conclusion that Christ’s true Body and Blood may or may not be present in this or that particular element.  No longer can the celebrant with complete conviction repeat the words of Christ, This is My Body, for now we must wonder, what is this? when is is operative? or what, for that matter, is truly meant by is?

No wonder they have grown sloppy at the altar, and unwitting bedfellows of the megachurch promoters, who, like them, give evidence that their true affections lie somewhere other than there.  No wonder they rush through the Words of Institution with such haste that we wonder what train they have to catch after the service.  No wonder they have no trouble with plastic individual Communion cups: it isn’t really Christ’s own very Blood in there; it only might be, and at that, only when consumed, or, come to think of it, only at the moment it is consumed!  For after consumption, by the same token, it is no longer in use either, since the use has ended; and therefore, it is no longer Christ’s Blood.  But now, alas, we must wonder when, if ever, the elements are truly Christ’s Body and Blood.  Not before, not after, only during!  But what is “during”?  At the moment it passes the vertical plane of the opened lips?  At the nanosecond it sits on the tongue before digestion begins?   Thus is becomes virtually never.  Meanwhile the megachurch promoters would retort, “Who cares? Let’s go to McDonald’s for some real fellowship.”

But we take Christ at His word. He simply says, This is My Body.  Now let us consider: lex orandi, lex credendi.  How are we to behave, in consequence of this truth, especially knowing there are those who deny it, or who don’t care about it?  They are saying that Christ’s Body does not, or may not, truly sit on the altar.  How can we be idle here?  The Scriptures declare, “I believed, therefore have I spoken” (Psalm 116:10).  What does our posture say?  What do our actions say?

Here is one confessional Lutheran who believes it is time for all who have not yet done so to take a serious look at genuflexion.  The bending of the knee is a clear and unambiguous gesture of adoration, such as we offer to Christ alone.  Yes, we believe that Christ is here, that He sits on the altar because of His own words, This is My Body, and that He is here worthy to be adored.  Lex orandi, lex credendi.

Certainly, apart from the use there is no Sacrament, which is why as Lutherans we reject the use of the monstrance, an ornate case intended only for the exhibition and adoration of a Sacred Host.  But we do not by this token deny that the Sacrament, as properly administered, is worthy of adoration.  It is the true Body and Blood of Christ!  Of course it is worthy of adoration, as nothing else on earth.  Moreover we affirm that the chief thing in the Sacrament, besides the bodily eating and drinking, are the words “Given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins” (“The Sacrament of the Altar,” Luther’s Small Catechism, 31).  But by genuflexion we affirm that what is “given and shed for you” is indeed the Body and Blood of Christ, by His own words.

Surely it is not wrong to adore Christ’s Body, which is Christ Himself.  His purpose is not to present His Body here for adoration but for oral reception, to be sure, but is it not proper to emphasize in our ceremony the truth that it is His Body that we are about to receive?  Do we not agree that His true Body is where He says it is?  These ceremonies are most appropriate settings for the mystery that is Christ among us, and for us.  “No one, unless he be an Arian heretic, can and will deny that Christ Himself, true God and man, who is truly and essentially present in the Supper, should be adored in spirit and in truth in the true use of the same, as also in all other places, especially where His congregation is assembled” (FC SD VII:126. Trigl. 1015).

Receptionism seeks to slice and divide which of the consecrated elements are His Body and Blood and which are not, or worse, to put off the moment of the change until the bread is received.  This amounts to a new reading of Christ’s words, as if He had said, “This will become My Body when you eat it, but is not yet at this moment of consecration My Body.”  But Christ said is, and He cannot lie.  Once is is denied, the Zwinglian position wins.  The receptionists put off the effect of is until later, whereas the Zwinglians put it off until never, a difference only in degree.  Even transubstantiation, the Thomist invention and philosophical construct which maintains a distinction between the substance (Christ’s Body and Blood, truly present) and the accidents (the taste, appearance, etc., of bread and wine, which they hold to be no longer substantially present), is nowhere near as bad as this.  Though both constructs are unacceptable, the rejection of Christ’s is is far worse than the impropriety of its philosophical analysis.  As Luther once put it, “Sooner than have mere wine with the fanatics, I would agree with the pope that there is only blood” (AE 37: 317).

In about the year 1200, a new view of the Sacrament became prevalent in the teaching of Peter Comestor and Peter the Chanter, who held that the bread was not consecrated in the Mass until the Words of Institution had been spoken over both bread and wine. As a matter of protest against this view, there arose the practice of elevating the Host before the consecration of the cup.  Those who confessed that the presence of Christ was effected by the words This is My Body supported their confession by at once adoring it, without waiting for the words to be spoken over the chalice.  At Paris, this elevation even became a matter of synodal precept (see www.newadvent.org/cathen/05380b.htm). Certain superstitions also began to arise in connection with this elevation, which nevertheless ought not detract from the fact that genuflexion was understood as a bold act of adoration, of refusing to concede the adversary’s contention.  This was uncompromising genuflexion. 

Similarly, in the days of the Reformation, there arose a telling liturgical difference between the Lutherans and the Reformed, reflective of their respective views of the Sacrament.  Since the Reformed held that it was a mere symbol, they were content to discontinue the practice of genuflecting.  Their strong emphasis on the sovereignty of God brought with it an iconoclasm and disdain for anything which might be considered idolatrous worship of “graven images.”  Hence genuflexion became particularly odious.  But the Lutherans parted company here, and insisted not only upon the real presence of Christ’s Body in, with, and under the sacramental Host, but also upon a rejection of any view of God which separated Him from the Incarnation. For the Lutherans at the altar, genuflexion became a means of affirming their faith in Christ’s real presence in the Sacrament, as well as a liturgical means of rejecting the errors of the Reformed.  The Reformed refused to kneel; the Lutherans consequently made clear their desire to bend the knee at the altar rail.  This too was uncompromising genuflexion.

It is this aspect of the genuflexion which is particularly appealing, and a comparison to our milieu can hardly be missed.  Both the receptionists and those who favor liturgical leniency find genuflexion odious, and generally for the very same reasons we find it proper.  They do not see, as we do, that Christ is on the altar for us to eat and drink, and that this is critical to our faith.  Friends, Lutherans, countrymen: Let us now respond to these errors in a simple, free, and unambiguous way.  Heedless of the megachurchgoers, the receptionists, the critics, the naysayers, and all torpedoes, let us likewise make our confession by serene, sincere, devout, and uncompromising genuflexion. 

What’s This? Genuflecting in Worship?

If you open up your Bible and pray the Psalms you might come across this line, “Oh come let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the LORD our maker”  (Psalm 95:6).  Missouri Synod Lutherans are Bible believers and what the Bible says, they desire to put into practice.  Our Lord and God does not mandate that we bow down or kneel at any particular time or place in the service but as the Scriptures themselves commend bowing and kneeling as a salutary practice, Lutherans do it.  Many of our church buildings have kneelers in the pews and most have an altar rail so that communicants can kneel to receive the very Body and Blood of Jesus Christ under the bread and wine for the forgiveness of sins.  Kneeling is part and parcel of Lutheran worship and while this is confirmed in furniture, one might take a look at our current hymnal and agenda to see where there is instruction to kneel.  Lutherans may kneel to confess their sins (LSB 151,167,184, 203, 213, 291, 292), pray (LSB 227, 233, 241,249, 253) get confirmed (LSB 273) and get married (LSB 276).   If the Lutheran is to be a pastor, he kneels to be ordained (LSB Agenda p. 166),  installed (LSB Agenda, p. 181) and he may kneel if he is leaving for another field of service (LSB Agenda, 195), or retiring (LSB Agenda, p. 198).  If a son or daughter of a congregation is beginning study for service in the church they may kneel (LSB Agenda, p. 207).  If a Lutheran is a candidate for commissioning in service to the church, they are instructed to kneel (LSB Agenda, p. 212).  Dig through Lutheran Hymnals and Agendas past and present and you will find kneeling all over the place.  Genuflecting is kneeling, just with one knee.  It is this one-knee kneeling that has the Rev. Chris Wicher, President of the Eastern District of the LCMS, well, upset.  His full report of the recent Synod Convention is found here, but his comments on the worship practices of the Convention are of particular interest to us.  President Wicher writes,

“WHAT’S THIS? GENUFLECTING IN WORSHIP? Finally, a word about my worship experience at the convention. Worship was definitely of high church style, complete with liturgies “out of the book” and chanting throughout on top of full liturgical garb, chasubles and the like. This is my second convention which was run and organized by our current administration. The same style at this convention held true at our last convention, which is also true when I attend chapel at the International Center in St. Louis. The message to me is plain. High church is the preferred worship style given to the churches of the LC--MS. I get it, I can even do high church liturgy if I wish but which I don’t. But what is completely foreign to me and a bit unsettling, being a life-long LC—MS Lutheran, is what appears to be genuflecting going on in the chancel. This is something I hope will not continue (if genuflecting is what indeed is taking place) which in some strange way is reverencing the host as if the pastor, because he is a pastor, has some magical power and has instantly before our eyes magically changed the substance of the bread into the body of Christ. Really?”

Yes, President Wicher, genuflecting was really taking place! Pastors were kneeling! Many of the editors were present at the convention and saw it with our own eyes!  But what is the problem?  Kneeling is a true adiaphoron, but like all ceremonies or liturgical actions, it may teach something.  The pastors in the chancel did not kneel in some strange way reverencing the host as if the pastor has some magical power and magically changed the substance of the bread into the body of Christ, but because those pastors actually believe that under the bread is the true Body of Jesus Christ and under the wine is the very Blood of Christ according to Christ’s own clear Word.  It is this LORD, our maker, the one through whom all things were made who was born of the Blessed Virgin Mary, crucified under Pontius Pilate and raised on the third day who is really present, under the bread and wine for us Christians to eat and to drink.  Don’t you believe that?   We pray you do.  Have you ever knelt to receive the Sacrament of the Altar?  Did you at that time believe in some magic that the pastor did, or were you receiving the Body and Blood of your Lord and God in humility for the forgiveness of your sins and worshiping him in true faith?   Genuflecting is a true adiaphoron, believing that Christ is present in the Sacrament according to His Word is not. The fact that He is present might cause fellow Christians to kneel in reverence.  They are free to do so.  So are you.  Really.

Wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name: That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. -  Philippians 2:9-11

Holy Father, Holy Son, Holy Spirit, three we name Thee;

Though in essence only one, Undivided God we claim Thee

And, adoring bend the knee, While we own the mystery.  LSB 940:5

- The Editors


Two side notes.  We commend to our readers the following; the first regarding the Adoration of Christ in the Sacrament, the second, Blessed Martin Luther on the genuflection during the recitation of Nicene Creed in the Divine Service as a confession of the Incarnation of the Son of God  -

1. "Now, here we are not saying that one should not worship our dear Lord Jesus Christ in this Sacrament, being present, of that one should not hold this Sacrament with all honor and reverence. On the contrary, since these divine, almighty, true words are believed, all of this follows of itself, and not only in external gestures but also both externally and, first and foremost, in the heart, spirit, and truth. On account of this, such adoration of Christ is not thereby cancelled, but much rather, confirmed. For where the Word is rightly seen, considered and believed, the adoration of the Sacrament will happen of itself. For whoever believes that Christ's body and blood are there (as there is plenty of evidence so to believe, and it is necessary so to believe), he cannot, to be sure, deny his reverence to the body and blood of Christ without sin. For I must confess that Christ is there when His body and blood are there. His words do not lie to me, and He is not separate from His body and blood." - George von Anhalt, The Treasury of Daily Prayer, February 3, pp. 1179-80

2. Although the Antichrist in Rome and the devil frightfully mutilated and perverted all that is divine in the church, God nevertheless miraculously preserved Holy Scripture – even though it was darkened and dimmed under the pope’s accursed rule – and passed it down to our day.  Thus God also preserved these words of the Gospel, which were read from the pulpit every Sunday, although without the proper understanding.  Also the words of the Decalog, the Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer, as well as Baptism and one kind in the Sacrament have survived under the devilish regime.  Although the Gospel was obscured and the proper understanding of it hidden, God still kept it for the salvation of His own.  These words too, “And the Word became flesh,” were held in reverence.  They were sung daily in every Mass in a slow tempo and were set to a special melody, different from that for the other words.  And when the congregation came to the words, “from the Virgin Mary and was made man,” every one genuflected and removed his hat.   It would still be proper and appropriate to kneel at the words “and was made man,” to sing them with long notes as formerly, to listen with happy hearts to the message the Divine Majesty abased Himself and became like us poor bags of worms, and to thank God for the ineffable mercy and compassion reflected in the incarnation of the Deity. But who can ever do justice to that theme?...The following tale is told about a course and brutal lout.  While the words, “And was made man” were being sung in church, he remained standing, neither genuflecting nor removing his hat. He showed no reverence, but just stood there like a clod.  All the others dropped to their knees when the Nicene Creed was prayed and chanted devoutly.  Then the devil stepped up to him and hit him so hard it made his head spin.  He cursed him gruesomely and said:  “May hell consume you, you boorish ass!  If God had become an angel like me and the congregation sang: ‘God was made an angel,’ I would bend not only my knees but my whole body to the ground!  Yes, I would crawl ten ells down into the ground.  And you vile human creature, you stand there like a stick or a stone.  You hear that God did not become an angel but a man like you, and you just stand there like a stick of wood!”  Whether this story is true or not, it is nevertheless in accordance with the faith (Rom. 12:6).  With this illustrative story the holy fathers wished to admonish the youth to revere the indescribably great miracle of the incarnation; they wanted us to open our eyes wide and ponder these words as well.
 - Luther’s Works Vol. 22, pp.102-103, 105-106.

The Faith and Life of the Body vs. Missional "Lutheran" Gnosticism

Sound doctrine is fundamental and foundational to the Christian faith and life, and the right distinction of the Law and the Gospel is the particularly bright light by which the Holy Scriptures are correctly understood.

To have the mind of Christ, however, is not merely a matter of the intellect, but of humility in body and soul, of obedience unto death, and of living self-sacrifice to the glory of God and for the good of the neighbor.  To live by the Spirit of Christ is to live by faith in His Word, and so also to live in the body on earth, in love for God and man.  For the Spirit descends in bodily form, and rests and remains upon the Body of Christ.

Real Wisdom belongs, not to the raw intellectual mastery of data, facts and information, but to the fear of the Lord.  It is not academic, nor clinical, but is possessed by the solemn awe of the great Mystery of godliness.  This true Wisdom is known in her children, who bend their hearts and knees, along with their minds, before the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, and at the great and holy Name above all others, which has been given to Him, who alone was crucified for our transgressions and is raised for our justification.

When faith and life are reduced to the formulations and clichés of dogmatic propositions and jingled slogans — asserted and assented to, repeated ad nauseam, and given lip-service while "anything else goes," in the great free-for-all, the banner over which is "adiaphora" — it is no longer Christianity that we are dealing with, but the latest non-incarnation of gnosticism.  Whether the list of facts is long or short, intricate or simplistic, if that is all there is to it, then that is not the faith which is reckoned as righteousness for the sake of Christ; it is a farce and a fiction, which relies upon itself and on the self-righteousness of its own mental mastery.

Twenty years ago, when I was a seminary student, the powers that be and their clever speech-writers suggested that several of my favorite professors were guilty of a "confessional Lutheran gnosticism," because, it was claimed, those men insisted on right doctrine, supposedly to the detriment of missions and evangelism.  The politicos who made such claims knew not the good people they accused, nor the things concerning which they made such confident assertions, but I find it particularly ironic in retrospect.

In the decades that have followed, I have frequently heard the arguments that the actual practice of worship is utterly neutral and of no real significance to the heart and soul of what we are about.  The Lutheran Confessions are thumped as loudly as ever they were in defense of right doctrine, in promotion of the popular theory, that rites and ceremonies are adiaphora, and are therefore up for grabs.

Over and over, I hear tell that, so long as we all agree on the same "doctrine," the differences in practice don't matter.  And, on the surface of such words, what can I possibly do but agree?  I recognize and affirm, as boldly and confidently as anyone, that the unity of the Church does not depend on uniformity in man-made rites and ceremonies; and that differences in adiaphorous traditions are not divisive to the Body of Christ.

The premise I cannot accept, but which I fear will bring great harm upon the fellowship of the Church on earth, is that her doctrine can be hermetically self-contained, inviolate and vital, in well-worn sound bites and in the hallowed pages of CPH publications.  Such a great treasure the Small Catechism is, Christ be praised for His mercy in preserving it among us these many years, and for granting us a renaissance in its actual use!  But the Catechism, and all doctrine, is to be prayed and practiced, not simply memorized and repeated.  The practice won't look quite the same in every place, but the practice actually matters, and it can be externally measured and evaluated because it is practiced in and with the body.

It is the body, first of all, that receives Holy Baptism for the cleansing of the conscience by faith.  It is the body that eats and drinks the Body and Blood of Christ for the forgiveness of sins.  It is the body that kneels at the Altar, where the penitent asks, "Dear pastor, please hear my confession, and grant me forgiveness in order to fulfill God's will."  It is the body also that rests in the Sabbath of Christ, in order to hear and receive the Word and work of the Lord in the external preaching and administration of the Gospel.  So, too, it is the body that gives voice to the Name of the Lord in prayer, praise, thanksgiving, and intercession.  And it is the body that loves the neighbor in his body and life with genuinely good works.

What I long for is not a lock-step uniformity in every jot and tittle of practice.  I don't believe that such a thing is either possible or desirable.  But it is a dangerous gnostic cancer to suppose that our Christian faith and life and fellowship can be summed up in slogans and dogmatic affirmations, while practice is meanwhile treated as a matter of strategy and style, of personal taste and creativity, of no account or consequence to our present confession or posterity.

When everything is left to depend on a word that hasn't become flesh, no matter whether it is a long or short word, demanding or lax, then we have let go of Christ and lost Him.

What I long for is reverence and awe in the presence of the Word who has become flesh, and a confession of His Gospel with both mind and spirit, with hearts and souls and voices, and with bodies of flesh and blood.  So that the God-given freedom of adiaphora will be understood and exercised as a freedom to worship the Father in the Holy Spirit of our Lord Jesus Christ, and in the one true faith of His Body, crucified and risen, given and received.  Then, whether we bend the knee, or stand, or sit, and whatever it is our neighbor does with his or her body, we will not condemn or cast aspersions, but neither will we naively suppose that it doesn't matter.

Let each of us possess his own vessel in purity and honor, and worship the Lord in the splendor of His holiness, and the whole earth tremble before Him, who alone does wondrous things and saves us by the great glory of His grace.

The Brady Bunch, the Book of Concord, and a Paternal Postscript

By Larry Beane

As addressed definitively by Father Curtis in a previous post, our Lord's words in Matt 23:9-10 are often used by Protestants to decry the "Roman Catholic" custom of calling their pastors "Father."  Fr. Curtis addressed the biblical passages that conflict with that peculiar minority view found in modern American Protestant Christianity that vociferously attacks the "Father" custom.

I offer the following as a sort of PS, as the issue keeps popping up like the proverbial Whack-A-Mole carnival game.  The argument hinges on the question of our Lord's context.  Is this passage to be interpreted literally ("this is my body") or figuratively ("if your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out")?  An episode of The Brady Bunch revolved around this kind of thing when Greg, seeking to work around being grounded, parsed his parents' decree by invoking "exact words" - knowing full well what the intent was.  Let's just say that Greg's hermeneutic did not get him closer to truth and the dishonesty rather complicated matters.

Regarding the assumption that the "father" custom is "Roman Catholic, there is a gap between perception and reality.  For the ancient custom is not only practiced by Roman Catholics, but also by Eastern Orthodox Christians, many Anglicans worldwide, and numerous Lutherans in diverse countries around the world, and to a lesser extent, in the United States.  Moreover, it is also practiced by Protestants and Lutherans when they refer to Roman Catholic clergymen by the title "Father."  If our Lord's words are intended to be taken literally, a Protestant Christian should never refer to a Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican, or Lutheran pastor as "Father" - for the Lord's "exact words" (thank you, Greg Brady!) are "call no man father."

The "calling" is contrary to our Lord's words as well as the "being called."

And the Lord says "call no man," which would include our earthly fathers, church fathers, founding fathers, step-fathers, city fathers, grandfathers, etc.  If the Lord is being literal here, we must come up with a different name for "Father's Day."  Or, to invoke Greg Brady yet again in another episode, maybe teenagers, in order to be consistent with the Lord's command, should amble to the breakfast table in their shades and address their parents as "Mike" and "Carol."  Let's just say the Brady parents did not approve of this innovative custom of protest, disrespectful of tradition and authority.

Some objectors to pastors being called "father" argue that the Lord's words "call no man father" does not apply to our bio-dads - only to our fathers in the spiritual sense, such as pastors.  In so doing, such people are arguing that the Lord's words are literal in some cases, but figurative in other cases; that "call" is literal while "no man" is figurative - at very least, in some cases, but not others.  They parse the metaphor to not include some fathers, but to include other fathers.  It's all very confusing.

Many pastors (as well as ordained men not serving as pastors) are also "instuctors" ("neither be called instructors" v. 10) - whether they are teachers at parochial schools, universities, or seminaries.  The title "instructor" (as the ESV renders καθηγητής) must include the many titles we have for instructors, such as "Professor" and "Doctor."  Yet I have yet to hear anyone offended by this common practice, refer to it as sinful, or interpret the Lord's words to be a literal prohibition against calling men, ordained or lay, "Doctor" or "Professor."

Thus the argument, hacked at haphazardly by Occam's razor, runs like this:

• Calling your biological, well, um, father, by the names "Father," "Dad," Pop," "Papa," etc. is okay.  
• Calling your doctor "Doctor" is okay.  
• Calling your ordained professor "Reverend Doctor" is okay.  
• Referring to the Bishop of Rome as "the Pope" (which is an Anglicized form of the Latin/Italian title "Papa") is okay.  
• But calling your spiritual, um, father, "Father" is one of the few linguistic prohibitions ever given us by our blessed Lord.

Moreover, if it is sinful to apply the title "father" to religious leaders, then St. Stephen committed this sin against our Lord just before being stoned to death by the men he called "fathers" by means as spiritual address, not to mention the Holy Spirit's ill-conceived judgment in allowing this in the inspired Scriptures (Acts 7:2).

But what of our Lutheran confessions?  Surely, calling clergymen "Father," from the parish priest to the Pope (which again means "Father"), was a common practice at the time of the Reformation.  Lutherans based their doctrine and practice on scripture - which certainly includes Matt 23.  Luther did not shy away from making reforms in doctrine and practice that were contrary to our Lord's words.  In fact, he was himself referred to as "Father Martin" as an ordained priest in a monastic order.  One would expect that after the Reformation, his title suddenly became "Pastor Luther."  Even "Doctor" would have been discarded if Luther interpreted Matt 23:9-10 in such as way as to gainsay the use of the honorific "Reverend Father" among Christian clergy.

Well, let's see what the Lutheran Confessions say.

Matt 23:9-10 never appears in the Book of Concord.  Not once.

In fact, the Lutheran confessions do not accept this supposed dominical prohibition of the title "Father," but they actually make use of it.

• In the subscriptions to the Smalcald Articles, one of the signatories, Brixius Northanus, refers to the Smalcald Articles as "the Articles of the Reverend Father Martin Luther" ("articulis reverendi Patris M. Lutheri") - SA 3:15:27.
• In the subscriptions to the Treatise on the Power and Primacy of the Pope (the title of the treatise itself violates Matt 23:9-10 if our Lord is speaking literally), we find the signature of John Brentz, who makes a statement of assent to the articles with a reference to "Dr. John Bugenhgen, most revered Father in Christ" ("D. Iohannes Bugenhagi, Pater in Christo observandi") - Tr - Subscriptions.  In this case, the "offense" is doubled by using both "Father" and "Doctor" as titles of address.  "Doctor" as a title is spread liberally throughout the subscriptions.  If these were seen as inappropriate usages, one could not find a hint of support from the Book of Concord.
• The Formula of Concord (Solid Declaration) includes this reference: "Therefore also our dear fathers and predecessors, as Lutheran and other pure teachers of the Augsburg Confession..." ("Derhalben auch unsere lieben Väter und Vorfahren, als Lutherus und andere reine Lehrer Augsburglicher Konfession..." / "Quare patres et pii maiores nostri, D. Lutherus et alii sinceri doctores Augustanae Confessionibus...") FC SD 7:58.  This passage uses both "fathers" and "teachers" in a way that those citing Matt 23:9-10 in a literal way ought to disapprove of.
• Martin Luther is also referred to as "doctor" and "teacher" in the Solid Declaration: "Dr. Luther as the leading teacher of the Augsburg Confession..." ("D. Luthers, as die vornehmsten Lehrers der Augsburgischen Konfession" / "D. Lutheri ut primarii doctoris Augustanae Confessionis") FC SD 7:34.
• And it goes without saying that the bishop of Rome is referred to as "the Pope" in the Book of Concord: more than 120 times!

So either the literal interpretation of Matt 23:9-10 is wrong or the Book of Concord is in error.

We are all - spiritual fathers and spiritual children alike - guilty of quite enough real sins that we really don't need to be condemned further, accused of sinning against made-made rules under the guise of innovative Protestant customs rooted in bad hermeneutics and in ignorance of what the Book of Concord contains and of what the Lutheran fathers confessed and practiced.

In the end, Greg Brady learned the foolishness of playing the "exact words" hermeneutical game when it suited his selfish ends to reinterpret an obvious meaning within an obvious context.  Some of our Lutheran brethren have not learned this lesson.  

The Importance of Being Vested

Counterfeit trying to look legitimate

The Importance of Being Vested is a provocative blog post from Wisconsin Synod layman and liturgical artist Jonathan Mayer.

It concerns liturgical vestment, not being vested in a church retirement program...

Just a couple morsels:

"Something is not counterfeited unless it has practical value." 

"The church's motto 'Real, relevant, and relational,' which apparently means dressing like Larry the Cable Guy to deliver God's Word."

Legitimate trying to look counterfeit

Contemporary Worship, the Anabaptists, and the Hindus

This article appeared in the Michaelmas 2011 print edition of Gottesdienst.  As promised in the most recent edition, it is being posted here for perusal, in response to a request in the Letters section.

I guess Father Braaten was right. Our development officer—no, really, we have one—has been telling us that what our readers are likely most interested in is the provision of some clarity in theological thought and basis for our incessant objections to contemporary worship. So I dutifully proceeded to attempt to put some meat on the bones of our insistence that when the style of one’s worship is not traditional, something is amiss. In the Trinity 2011 issue, I sought to demonstrate that contemporary worship was fundamentally Arminian in nature, and that the drumbeats of its praise bands sought to excite what for Jacob Arminius would be the natural will’s innate capacity to make the right choice and follow Jesus. And almost before the ink was dry, we started receiving a good number of positive replies, in accord with Father Braaten’s expectations.

And we also seem to have struck a nerve—again—among those who object. Somehow or other, we always manage rather unexpectedly to attract the attention even of people in the middle, people who themselves tend to eschew the crooning of the likes of “Christian music” artists Laura Story, or the Sidewalk Prophets, or countless other singers of praise songs, but who on the other hand wouldn’t want to charge those who like that kind of thing with false doctrine. We Gottesdiensters are the convenient straw men of extremism, easy targets for reproach among people who might be inclined to transform the currency of their “moderating” influence into coins of their own popularity. Without alleging that anyone in particular is actually guilty of that kind of thing—for we wouldn’t want to be judgmental or anything—I’d rather simply ask that our readers be aware that there is no shortage of caricatures of what we’ve been saying.

You’ve probably heard the canard: The Gottesdienster is a Nazi: a hard-nosed, self-congratulatory, self-assuredly pompous narcissist, in whose universe weakness is not tolerated, and certainly love is nowhere to be found. He’s incorrigible. You can’t reason with him, because his mind is made up. The Gottesdienster will bravely rush into a burning church to save the vestments before it occurs to him that there might be children or widows in there. Why doesn’t he just go to Rome, then, where he’d be much happier?

The truth is, the Gottesdienster is not really like that at all. Rome is not right for him either. The Gottesdienster cannot tolerate Rome’s mingling of love with faith before God any more than he can tolerate praise bands. The Gottesdienster really only wants one thing, though you’d never know it if you listen only to his opponents. All he wants is Jesus.

I’m reminded of the parenthetical remark, when Miriam and Aaron opposed Moses, that “Moses was very meek, above all the men which were upon the face of the earth” (Num. 12:3 KJV). Their objection, “Hath the LORD indeed spoken only by Moses? hath he not spoken also by us?” (v. 2) reads like a who-does-he-think-he-is? kind of objection. So here’s Moses, spokesman for God, and getting all kinds of grief for it; Moses, who had in the first place been a bit on the incorrigible side when the Israelites had done their golden calf dance routine. Was Moses a Gottesdienster? Seems so. I always wonder, when I get to the part about Moses’ meekness, about the fact that it was Moses himself who had written that, which therefore makes it come off a little as though he’s defending himself. This in turn might give me a little encouragement to defend the Gottesdienster, though it still seems treacherous at best, and unseemly at worst, to do so. Moses can get away with saying that, after all, since it is the Word of God that he’s writing; but in our case, it’s rather like saying, “No, no, we’re not arrogant, really we’re not.”

Then again, Moses wasn’t really boasting of his humility; he was defending his office. In calling himself meek (Hebrew, ענו: bowed down, afflicted, poor, humble, meek), Moses was—whether he knew it or not—indicating the Christological character of his office. Christ Himself was accused of arrogance (“By what authority doest thou these things? and who gave thee this authority?” St. Matt. 21:23 KJV), and yet was very meek: “he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross” (Phil. 2:8 KJV).

I can already see the eyes rolling: “You’re making yourself out to be Jesus now?” And in reply I’d say that as Moses did, we must defend our office. It is incumbent upon the preachers of the Gospel that they bear with patience the accusations against their person, while defending with vigilance their ministry against its accusers. After all, we’re just as sinful as anyone in our person, so go ahead and complain about the fact that we’re sinful: you won’t be telling us anything we don’t know. But it is our duty to proclaim Christ and His Gospel, and this sometimes means defending the Office.

So we are constrained, in submission to the office we bear, to speak out when Israel is tempted to dance around a golden calf. We’ll leave to others the question whether this means those who want to do the dancing are apostate—and no, we are not really saying that ourselves—we’re only pointing out what should be obvious. The dance itself is not compatible with pure faith.

Those who fashioned for themselves a golden calf did so because they grew tired of waiting for Moses’ return. Those who fashion new ways of worship do so because they have grown weary of waiting on God. They will object that this is what their heart is telling them to do, and we will reply that this is just the problem. And really, you must have a look at some of the videos of praise worship that our guys at Gottesdienst Online have chronicled, if you want to do some liturgical observing of your own, though of course it’s quite a stretch to call it liturgical. Their hearts are telling them to worship this way, to emote, to swoon over Jesus, to get carried away with the pleasure of the encounter. Luther’s German for a fanatic is Schwärmer, which also means one who rhapsodizes. Today’s Schwärmer close their eyes, they raise their hands, they sway, they carry on, they feel.

But their feelings are not telling them the truth. The truth is that Jesus does not approach you through the experiences of your heart, but through the office of Moses, through the ministry of the Gospel,

because we know that God approves this ministry, and is present in the ministry [that God will preach and work through men and those who have been chosen by men]. And it is of advantage, so far as can be done, to adorn the ministry of the Word with every kind of praise against fanatical men, who dream that the Holy Ghost is given not through the Word, but because of certain preparations of their own, if they sit unoccupied and silent in obscure places, waiting for illumination, as the Enthusiasts formerly taught, and the Anabaptists now teach. (Apol XIII, 12-13, Trig, 311, italics added)

See there? Melanchthon (author of that quote, from the Apology to the Augsburg Confession) was a Gottesdienster too. I guess we’re in good company.

More importantly, the Apology recognizes that it is false and pernicious to suppose that emotive worship experiences are what kindle and stoke faith. The whole purpose of the praise band genre is not to serve the Word of God, but to serve the heart. This is undoubtedly why its lyrics are so often banal and trivial, tending toward the personalization of faith experiences rather than the objective truths of the faith.

Consider, for example, these lyrics from the Sidewalk Prophets:

Three in the morning,
And I’m still awake,
So I picked up a pen and a page,
And I started writing,
Just what I’d say,
If we were face to face,
I’d tell you just what you mean to me,
I’d tell you these simple truths,

Be strong in the Lord and,
Never give up hope,
You’re going to do great things,
I already know,
God’s got His hand on you so,
Don’t live life in fear,
Forgive and forget,
But don’t forget why you’re here,
Take your time and pray,
These are the words I would say . . .

Space does not permit a more exhaustive demonstration; suffice it to say these lyrics are typical. They can be interpreted to be edifying and helpful in some sense, and they certainly aren’t in themselves harmful. No false doctrine here, certainly. But not much else, either; especially, that is, when the music is stripped away. If standing alone, the lyrics suffer; they need the support of the music to make their listeners appreciate them. And that, it turns out, is just the nature of the kind of music to which they always tend to wed themselves. The music is beyond Romantic. It elicits emotion like an Italian opera might, although an entirely different genre: if you don’t know the language, it may not matter.

What matters to these practitioners is participation in a kind of reaching out, of feeling the Lord’s touch, in a very nonsacramental way. What matters is the encounter, the moment of illumination, unoccupied with doctrine, wrapped in the relative obscurity that is common to many popular lyrics.

As in much popular song, the meaning of the lyrics is made intentionally somewhat obscure to the hearer. I’m reminded of Tom Hanks’s brilliant offhand quip, in the movie You’ve Got Mail, about the sixties folk song “Both Sides Now”: “I could never be with someone who likes Joni Mitchell. ‘It’s cloud illusions I recall/I really don’t know clouds at all.’ What does that mean? Is she a pilot? Is she taking flying lessons? It’s probably a metaphor for something, but I don’t know what.” Obscurity in the lyrics of popular songs became fashionable in the sixties and seventies, about the same time Contemporary Christian music was born.
Although praise lyrics are generally not nearly so obscure, their lack of specificity regarding specifically Christian truth makes them just as suitable as vehicles of the emotional surge they seek to elicit in their hearers. Most of them could as easily be sung by Buddhists or Muslims. Consider, for example, these Laura Story lyrics, from “There Is Nothing”:

Lord I come before You
To honor and adore You
For who You are and all that You have done
Lord I am not worthy
My heart is dark and dirty
Still somehow You bid for me to come

So clothe me in humility
Remind me, that I come before a King

And there is nothing
There is nothing
More precious, more worthy
May I gaze deeper
May I stand longer
May I press onward to know You Lord

Such nonspecificity might be fine when you’re listening to, say, “Quitting Time” by the Roches, who make no pretentions about being anything other than entertainers. When this is employed as an ostensible vehicle for the faith, however, it becomes a problem. It becomes the fruits of the Anabaptist who dreams that the Holy Ghost is given not through the Word, but because of certain preparations of his own.

Remember the old George Harrison song “My Sweet Lord”? Consider these lyrics:

I really want to know you
Really want to go with you
Really want to show you lord
That it won’t take long, my lord (hallelujah)

My sweet lord (hallelujah)
Hm, my lord (hallelujah)
My sweet lord (hallelujah)

Anything objectionable there? Of course not, in fact it sounds rather indistinguishable from the kind of thing you might hear from a praise band. Unless, that is, you happen to know about the background singers’ prayer that comes in later in the song: “hare Krishna, hare Krishna, krishna Krishna, hare hare, Gurur Brahma, Gurur Vishnu, Gurur Devo, Maheshwara, Gurur Sakshaat, Parabrahma, Tasmayi Shree, Guruve Namah, Hare Rama, hare Krishna . . .”

And that, dear friends, comes from the Bhagavad-Gita, a seminal poem that forms the basis of Hinduism. Repetition of the mantra is said to be the “sublime method for reviving our Krishna consciousness” (www.krishna.com). Here’s the explanation of the mantra from Krishna.com:

As living spiritual souls we are all originally Krishna conscious entities, but due to our association with matter from time immemorial, our consciousness is now polluted by material atmosphere. In this polluted concept of life, we are all trying to exploit the resources of material nature, but actually we are becoming more and more entangled in her complexities. This illusion is called maya, or hard struggle for existence for winning over the stringent laws of material nature. This illusory struggle against the material nature can at once be stopped by revival of our Krishna consciousness.  (http://www.krishna.com/content/transcendental-vibration)

No Christian should have any difficulty recognizing the odious character of that kind of thinking, but how many would recognize it for what it is if it’s left in the background, untranslated, while the banal English lyrics are made the heart of this popular song? In fact, Gospel singer BeBe Winans took this very song and removed the Krishna references and added in their place, “You’re the Mighty One, You’re the Prince of Peace, You’re the First and the Last, You’re the Great I AM, and the Precious Lamb,” as though that would somehow baptize this song for use among Christians. And for many, that sort of thing works just fine, because it’s all really about the mood anyhow, about making the experiential connection with Jesus.
And this provides opportunity to address again a central failure of the contemporary worship mentality to understand that the means of grace are not the experiences of the Christian, but the words of the Holy Gospel.

This gets to the heart of that quotation from the Apology about fanatical men who dream that the Holy Ghost comes to them if they sit and wait for illumination. “Fanatics” have the theological problem of failing to recognize that the real point of contact that a Christian has with God is only the Word of God, and of replacing that link with personal experience. And when personal experience, particularly when that experience is tied to emotion, becomes the driving force in determining the legitimacy of one’s views, it can be a very dangerous thing indeed. The self-control of which the apostle Paul speaks is particularly the control of one’s emotions: the Greek enkrateia (ἐγ + κράτεια) is derived from krateia: strength. Self-mastery has to do with keeping oneself constrained; that is, with keeping the emotive drives in check.

This is not to say that emotion has no place in worship; on the contrary, worship of the noblest kind can be very emotional, since the comfort of the Gospel is bound to have an effect on the depths of one’s soul; and hence it is all the more necessary to take great care to distinguish worship centered in the Gospel itself from worship centered in the emotions. The latter kind, when called Christian, is nothing more than a Trojan horse in which enters the mischief of a false faith rooted in something other than the Word of God.

So then, not only is true faith at odds with the natural will (as this column sought to demonstrate in the previous issue), it is also inseparably bound to the Word of God. Christian faith is dependent upon the Gospel not only at its inception, but for its sustenance. The Gospel itself must form the heart and nucleus of all Christian worship, and therefore nebulous or simplistic emotional “encounters” cannot be allowed as replacements. Nor, then, can the kind of music that lends itself so easily to the repetition of Hindu mantras ever become compatible with what is truly Christian.

And maybe the reason Gottesdiensters tend to come off as so incorrigible is simply that we know this. And ironically, we know it instinctively: we recoil when we hear music that purports to be Christian but has that encounter-driven feel to it, or perhaps even if it has to much feel to it at all. We know the incompatibility from experience as well as from an awareness that the Word of God and faith must be wedded together. But what we have experienced is the fact that our own experiences are cheap imitations and poor substitutes for the riches of the Holy Gospel.

Hence we must not only insist on right worship—orthodox worship, that is—but on the Gospel. After all, we would be no happier with a dignified and well-ordered kind of worship than with a contemporary kind if both were devoid of the Gospel.  And heaven knows there are plenty of dignified worship forms that are devoid of the Gospel. In fact, this is the reason we don’t just go to Rome, or to Canterbury, or anywhere else. It’s because we want the Gospel in its purity, and the dignity of worship and form that such places afford is not really what we’re after. Where the Gospel is watered down by merits or personal satisfactions, it is as bad for us as where it is watered down by emotive vessels that belie its heart, which is always the mercy of Christ for unworthy sinners.

Yes, we want it all. We want right doctrine, and we want right worship. We want Lutheran substance and Lutheran style too. But in this, we do object to being called selfish, for we really only want what Jesus Himself wants us to want, which is Himself. Contemporary worship’s music is bound to the emotions; we’d prefer to be bound to the Gospel. We object because we understand what’s wrong with the Anabaptists (the fanatics, that is), namely, their divorce of faith from the Gospel. This is what leads them to replace that void with the emotions, and encounters; and this in turn is what leads them to prefer—unwittingly, of course—music that mimics the mantras of the Bhagavad-Gita. From this preserve us, Heavenly Father.

Several or More Different Questions re: Adiaphora

Someone recently observed that I am significantly interested in adiaphora.  It's true.  Thinking about adiaphora has occupied much of my time and attention for the past decade or more, and that continues to be so; not only from a theoretical perspective, but with very practical consideration.  Whatever isn't adiaphora should simply be acknowledged and honored as the will of God: What He has commanded should be done, and what He has forbidden should not be done.  His Word, and His good gifts, especially of the Gospel, are definitive and of central importance.  So, it's not as though I am not chiefly concerned with those things that are divinely given.  But that which the Lord has left free requires thoughtful consideration, discernment and discretion, in order to guard the freedom for which He has set us free, and so also to use that precious freedom wisely and well.

The fact that God has given us the Gospel by His Word and Sacraments, that is, by external means, requires that adiaphora will be involved in the administration of the Gospel.  The same particular adiaphora will not be necessary in every time and place, else they would not be adiaphora.  However, some or other adiaphora will necessarily be employed in every case, because it is impossible to do what the Lord has commanded without doing many other things that He has left free and unspecified.  There will always be choices and decisions to be made in this respect, whether deliberately or haphazardly.

In considering those choices and decisions having to do with adiaphora, I have recently begun to realize that several or more different questions are involved.  That doesn't seem all that striking or significant, except that, where those different questions are not distinguished, the conversation easily becomes muddled.  The answer to one question may seem to be addressing a different question altogether, when it really does not.  If I'm simply discussing the merits or demerits of a particular practice, but someone perceives that I am presuming to impose my own opinion on the Church, that presents a false impression that is helpful to no one.  If someone else is proposing a way for the Church collectively to make decisions and order her life accordingly, but that is heard as though righteousness were thereby to be gained, that would be a grossly unfortunate misunderstanding.

So, I have been thinking about the several or more different questions that need to be asked and answered with respect to adiaphora:

First, there is the question of actually defining and identifying what are and are not adiaphora.  It seems like that ought to be simple enough, and in many cases it surely is.  But not always.  Reverence is required, whereas frivolity and irreverence are forbidden, but defining and identifying "reverence" vs. "irreverence" is a difficult task.  Likewise, the Holy Scriptures frequently commend "beauty," but how is that to be discerned?

Second, there is the question of the criteria by which adiaphora will be measured and evaluated.  All things are lawful, but not all things are edifying or profitable.  With respect to the clarity of catechesis and confession, a spectrum of adiaphora may be considered and compared, in order to identify better and stronger practices, on the one hand, and to rule out those practices that are ambiguous and unhelpful.

Third, there is the question of where and how the practical decisions of adiaphora will actually be made: By the individual Christian, by the local pastor and/or the local congregation, by a fellowship of congregations in a particular territory, or by as large a representation of the Church as possible?  There are variously matters of personal piety, of local custom, of confessional identity, and of ecumenical tradition to be considered.  Not all of the decisions regarding adiaphora will be made at the same level, nor in the same way, nor with the same significance.  The Nicene Creed, for example, is neither commanded nor forbidden by God, but it is not free in the same way or to the same extent that ecclesiastical art and architecture are.

Fourth, there is the question of the benefit, importance, and value of uniformity in adiaphora within the fellowship of the Church.  This question is closely related to the previous one, but it goes beyond asking where and how decisions will be made.  It addresses the implementation of common practices across a community of congregations.  If that is not to be done arbitrarily or legalistically, but in active love for Christ and His Church, it needs to be understood what uniformity in adiaphora is, what it includes, what it does, and what it means.  Then uniformity will not be a denial of freedom, but a godly exercise of freedom.

There are further ways of parsing these different questions, and they could be subdivided considerably.  As particulars are explored, numerous questions of detail emerge, along with questions of polity, structure and governance, pastoral authority and care, and dealing with exceptional circumstances as they emerge.  Yet, it seems to me that identifying these several or more different questions provides some clarity for conversation.

Insisting on Adiaphora (or Not)

We do not insist on adiaphora.  That is to say, we do not insist upon what God has not required; nor do we forbid what God has not prohibited.  We are, after all, called "Gottesdienst Online," not "Adiaphora Online."  We are concerned with God's Service, not with any human pretense or presumption.  And, besides all that, as editors of a blog, we are not anyone's bishop; leastwise not here.  That's not who we are, nor what we do.

To be sure, we do advocate and urge some adiaphora over other alternatives, because, among the many things that God has left free, some practices are better and stronger than others.  We have our preferences, no doubt, and we also have our reasons for preferring some practices over others.  It is also the case that we editors of Gottesdienst do not agree among ourselves on every point; in part because different contexts and different circumstances suggest different approaches, and in part because we are different people with different gifts.  Sometimes, too, it happens that one or the other of us will change his mind.  For all of these reasons and more, we cherish the freedom for which Christ has set us free, because it is the freedom to repent, the freedom to learn and grow, and the freedom to serve and care for the Church on earth.

What God has left free, that is, what He has neither commanded nor forbidden, remains free and clear before Him.  We do not presume otherwise.  Such freedom belongs to the righteousness of faith in Christ, and it is a most precious gift and treasure of His Gospel.  To insist upon any work or sacrifice of the Law, as though by it to obtain the forgiveness of sins, justification and salvation, is flat-out false doctrine.  All the more so, then, to insist upon some adiaphorous practice as though it were necessary for salvation is surely twisted and wicked.  So, too, the requirement that something God has left free must either be done or not done, as though the power and efficacy of the Gospel itself depended upon it, is pernicious and quite wrong.  We dassn't do that.  And we don't.

Now, then, the righteousness of love for the neighbor, and of good order, peace, and harmony within family, church, and state, is another matter.  There the Law must do its duty to serve and protect in the midst of sin and death.  Not only because we live, for now, in a fallen world, but also because we live, by God's grace, in His well-ordered creation.  Although the Lord holds all things in His hand, and He governs all things by His Word, He has given man dominion over the works of His hands, as demonstrated, for example, by Adam's naming of all the animals.  And whereas God has left so many of the details and specifics of life on earth free and unscripted, He has given fathers of various kinds to exercise wisdom and judgment, and so also to establish rules, for the benefit of those under their paternal care.  Fathers are not free to contradict or disobey the Word of the Lord, but under His authority they are free to establish and enforce rules of conduct according to the particular context and circumstances of their own "family," whether that be a single household, a village or city, a state or the entire country.

St. Paul relates the paternal management of household and family to the work of pastors and bishops, who are called and ordained to be spiritual fathers of the household and family of God (1 Timothy 3:4-5).  That apostolic word informs and supports our Lutheran confession that "it is lawful for bishops, or pastors, to make ordinances so that things will be done orderly in the Church" (AC XXVIII.53).

As spiritual fathers, pastors and bishops not only can, but should make decisions and even insist upon particular practices that God has not universally commanded or forbidden; certainly not as though to "merit grace or make satisfaction for sins" (AC XXVIII.54), but for the benefit of the Church on earth in her life together.  Some of those decisions will be unique to each congregation, and that is the nature of pastoral care.  But many others will also connect and relate to the larger fellowship of the Church.  Which means that pastors ought to act in consultation and harmony with one another in caring for, leading and guiding their respective parishes.  Bishops with fraternal oversight of the pastors in their own proximity, "diligently joined in unity of doctrine, faith, sacraments, prayer, works of love, and such" (SA II.IV.9), may also serve to promote the harmony of the Church's life together.

The truth is, because God has left so many of the specific details "free," there must be some insistence upon adiaphora if there is to be any sort of "community."  Rules of conduct held in common within each particular household and family, as well as broader rules of mutual engagement within the larger fellowship of the Church, enable brothers and sisters in Christ, and brother pastors and sister congregations, to live and work together in faith, hope, and charity, each person and each parish according to his, her, or its particular place. The freedom of faith in the Gospel does not prohibit but permits and makes possible such rules or "rubrics" of familial life.  The Church on earth necessarily makes these decisions, as she always has and always will, in one way or another.  Some forms of ecclesiastical polity and governance work better than others, and that may vary according to time and place, but there must be some such polity and governance in place.  Ideally, at ground level, the pastors will care for their own respective congregations in the way that responsible, God-fearing and law-abiding fathers care for their own families, within the context of the communities in which they live.

The Gottesdienst editors, as pastors, do engage in such paternal care of their respective congregations.  But, collectively, as "Gottesdienst Online," we do not insist on adiaphora.  What we do is to advocate and urge the use of godly ceremonies, because such practices contribute to the catechesis and confession of the Word of Christ; they honor the means of grace and the ministry of the Gospel; and they adorn the Church with beauty and glory.  Along with that, we also defend the freedom to do that which is truly free in faith and love.

What we insist upon is the doing of what God has commanded, and the not doing of what God has forbidden.  Thus, along with our Lutheran Confessions, we deplore and decry frivolity, irreverence, anarchy and chaos, spectacles of worldly entertainment, and whatever else contradicts or undermines the Word of Christ (FC SD X.1, 7, 9).  Such things are not adiaphora, but are contrary to the Word of God, and are thus forbidden by God.  Permitting such practices to continue without comment within the fellowship of the Church would be irresponsible and wrong.  So we speak in opposition to frivolity and irreverence, even as we defend and recommend the practice of godly ceremonies that promote dignity and reverence.

Paying for the Ambiance

Recent conversations with a younger colleague have included a fair amount of deja vu, as he has been experiencing many of the same things that I did in my first several years as a pastor. He's a good and faithful man, and I'm impressed with the way that he's handling himself and responding to the various situations that he faces. I know that he's going to do well, but I'm also glad for the chance to serve him as a sounding board and a sympathetic ear, because I know how much it meant to me, when I was at that point, to find the same.

As I listen to my friend and colleague, and as I recall my own past experience, I take note again how powerful ceremonies are. Little things clearly mean a lot, in this respect, and all the rhetoric in the world will not render the actual practice of adiaphora insignificant. Something as simple and unobtrusive as the sign of the cross, or as basic and biblical as kneeling before the Lord, can make a lasting impression. The freedom of such things does not rob them of real point and purpose.

At the same time, I also realize with growing clarity that there is something else at work, which, while it does permeate and inform the use of reverent ceremonies, is already yet deeper than ceremony and prior to it. Of course, I'm not here referring to the constitutive ceremonies of the Holy Sacraments, which are foundational and central to the Church and to the Christian faith and life. Rather, I'm talking about an attitude of the heart and mind that precedes the use of godly human ceremonies, such as vestments and chanting, the sign of the cross, elevation and genuflection.

The attitude of which I speak is a matter of repentant faith, but also of theological conviction. It belongs to personal piety, reverence and worship, but also to pastoral commitment, faithfulness and service. It will insist on that which God has commanded, and refuse what He has forbidden. It will also leave free what God has left free; which means that it may live without the use of godly human ceremonies, and it may allow the use of less-than-ideal practices, in love for the neighbor. Lay people may tolerate more or fewer ceremonies than they prefer, for the sake of hearing the Gospel rightly preached and receiving the Sacrament according to the Word of Christ. Pastors, likewise, may practice more or fewer ceremonies than they prefer, in order to care for their congregations with gentle kindness and evangelical patience. I know that many pastors, including my young friend and colleague, willingly compromise their own preferences for the sake of pastoral care. It is good and right that they do.

Yet, the attitude of which I speak still emerges, no matter how few or many ceremonies it may exercise in practice. It makes an impression and leaves a mark, sometimes in ways that are difficult, if not impossible, to put a finger on. I have in mind an ambiance that permeates every word, every movement, whether in sparse simplicity or with the most elaborate and extensive ceremony. By the same token, such ambiance cannot be faked by any amount of formality, if the attitude of the heart and mind is absent.

A pastor who understands and loves the Gospel as the open heart of God in Christ — by which sinners are forgiven and the ungodly are justified by grace, by the Atonement of the Lord's own Cross and Passion — such a pastor cannot help but preach and teach in harmony with that Gospel. A pastor who knows the beauty and benefit of Holy Absolution will be engaged in genuine pastoral care, in conversation as in the confessional; because the Office of the Keys defines the entire Office of the Holy Ministry, which is not only what the pastor does, but who he is. A pastor who has realized and perceives that Holy Baptism is fundamental and foundational to the entire Christian faith and life, and that the Holy Communion is the beating heart and center of the Church, cannot help but orientate himself and everything he does in relation to those Holy Sacraments. His whole bearing and demeanor will bend and gravitate toward those means of grace, like a plant finding the sunlight; whether he finds himself able to elevate the Sacrament or bend the knee before it; with or without traditional vestments.

Where there is the attitude of which I speak, there will be the ambiance I have in mind: an ambiance that exudes the most reverent High Church Liturgy and the most ancient catholicity of the Lord's Bride, fully adorned as a Queen by His Gospel, even when she must content herself with the simple attire of a humble peasant in her life on earth.

Where there is that attitude and ambiance, a new pastor is likely to pay for it, even as he bends over backwards to accommodate the people of his congregation with gentleness and patient care. He may give up and do without godly human ceremonies, and move ever so slowly with respect to any changes in practice. And yet, the people will perceive that there is something about this new pastor and his practice, something that still says "catholic." They will feel the ambiance, even though they can't identify the source or cause of it. Many of the people may be uncomfortable at first, but, given time, most of them will grow into it and learn to love it, because, in their faithful pastor's preaching and teaching, they will learn to discover its source in the Gospel. Others will continue to chafe at the catholic ambiance they feel, and they will continue to agitate against it. Sadly, in some cases, those people will succeed in driving their pastor into the ground, or driving him away. In other cases, also sadly, they will give up and go away themselves, refusing to receive the good gifts that God would give them through their pastor.

But the pastor who really knows and loves the Gospel, who knows its heart and center in the Sacrament, cannot do away with the ambiance that undergirds his every move and permeates his every word. He may not even realize what it is that's making people respond in the way they are, especially when he's doing everything he can to put them at ease and to earn their trust and confidence as a tender shepherd of the Lord's sheep, as a loving father of the Lord's children. It may well break his heart at times, to see people get frustrated with him, to get angry at him, and even to leave the Church because of what he's "doing." But, in truth, it isn't anything he's "doing," so much as it is simply who and what he is: a man of the Gospel.

The ambiance of the Gospel is the warp and woof of true catholicity, and it neither can nor should be done away with. It is neither artifice nor affectation, but comprises an attitude of genuine affection for Christ Jesus.

Here is the good news, which neither the pastor nor the people have to pay for, because it has been purchased by the Lord Jesus and it is given freely to His Church by Him: The ambiance of His Gospel really does adorn even the humblest celebration of the Divine Service with the glorious beauty of heaven. Where His forgiveness is preached and heard, where His Body and Blood are given and received, there is the Lord's Temple on earth, outdoing King Solomon and surpassing the Emperor Justinian. There is an ambiance that no five-star restaurant on earth could ever hope to achieve. As such, the faithful pastor who must forego the use of many godly human ceremonies should not suppose that he or his congregation are lacking anything in piety, reverence, or worship. Let him constrain and discipline himself in the conduct of the Service, in the administration of the Sacrament, but let him do so in the confidence that the Church and Liturgy of Christ are adorned with His grace, mercy and peace.

Consider the Flowers

Not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed like one of these. Which is saying rather a lot, actually, given that Solomon was quite a king, the son of David, the Lord's anointed, and a type of the Christ who was to come. But it was Jesus, after all, who made the comparison and called our attention to it, so it must not only be true but worth considering.

The flowers neither toil nor spin, and like the grass they are but here today, then gone tomorrow, yet they are adorned with such beauty that not even Solomon could compete. How much more, then, will your Father in heaven clothe you, who are beloved of God and redeemed in body and soul by the Lord Jesus for the resurrection and the life everlasting.

It is a thought-provoking argument. Jesus moves from the lesser to the greater, from the perishable flowers of the field to men and women, created in the Image of God for eternal life with Him, who are granted His Kingdom and His Righteousness in Christ. If God adorns the flowers, as He does so gloriously, so beautifully, much more shall He do for His children. For the time being, however, it is a matter of faith: the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Because, for now, it remains the case that the perishable flowers are arrayed more beautifully than any of us. Not even Father Petersen in all his vestments outdoes them. If the great King Solomon was not able to exceed the flowers, then we shall not make ourselves more beautiful than these.

But now a greater than Solomon has come in the flesh, in whom all the fullness of the Godhead dwells bodily among us. And He has given Himself for us, in order to adorn us for Himself, as a Bride in all her glory made ready for her Husband, having no blemish or flaw or any such thing, but cleansed and sanctified, holy and blameless. Beautiful. Clothed with Christ in Holy Baptism.

It is a hidden beauty: hidden under the Cross in the field of the fallen world. It is the hidden beauty of faith in the heart, the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is precious in the sight of God, even when rejected by men. It is not the external adornment of braided hair and gold jewelry, nor of diamonds and pearls and expensive garments. It is not the vanity of an outward appearance that fails to enliven but merely conceals the dust and bones beneath. It does not rely on any pretense or show of self-righteousness, but rests in Christ.

Nevertheless, the true beauty of the Bride of Christ does manifest itself bodily, by means of good works befitting a godly woman, and through her chaste and respectful behavior, at times without a word. It is precisely at this point that I am considering the flowers, which are arrayed in such glorious and outward beauty — which the Church on earth also uses, not only metaphorically but actually, to adorn the Sanctuary and the Altar of her Lord.

I've been mulling over the significance of the flowers for a while now, and it has been instructive, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around the lesson to be learned. It first came to mind when I was asked about the purpose of vestments and the various colors of the liturgical year. On the one hand, it's easy enough to identify the history of these things and the relative significance that has come to be assigned to them. On the other hand, such answers still beg the question. Giving the history does not yet explain the present-day purpose or benefit, and when it comes to the meaning of such things, I often find the supposed symbolism rather contrived and arbitrary.

Where the life of the Church is concerned, I've never been comfortable with doing things arbitrarily, nor with even the appearance of doing things arbitrarily. That caution and concern serves as a discipline against my own idiosyncrasies and personal whimsies, and as an aspect pastoral care for the people of God. Whether in the case of long-standing traditions, current practices, or changes in practice, I should be able to give an answer as to why we are doing something in a certain way.

In considering my answers and my reasons for doing this-or-that in the past, I realize that I have tended to rely upon practical, productive, and pedagogical purposes. That is to say, I have much preferred to have a clear function and identifiable goal in mind, as though anything else, or anything "less," would in fact be arbitrary and insufficient. In many cases, if not most, perhaps that's fair enough, and I suppose it usually works out fine. But the flowers have been teaching me to rethink many other cases rather differently, and in general to resist my proclivities for "practical, productive, and pedagogical purposes." In fact, I strongly suspect that a desire and demand for such purposes betrays an undercurrent of works-righteousness and a kind of evolutionary model that fails to grasp the grace and glory of God.

The flowers with their God-given beauty, arrayed in more colors and configurations than most of us could ever identify or count, are really not practical or productive by any of the usual standards. And though they are in fact teaching me a lesson, by and with the Word of Christ, the flowers of the field are certainly not "pedagogical" in the usual sense. Whatever they may symbolize within some context or another, they are not merely nor mainly symbolic. What they are is pretty, and with their prettiness they glorify the Lord, their Creator, and give pleasure to His children on earth. When the Church adorns the same Lord's Altar with pretty flowers, she does so for the same reasons: not to achieve or accomplish any other agenda, but to glorify God, to delight in His good gifts, and to rejoice in His goodness. Such outward beauty and adornment is not only okay, permissible and tolerable; it is quite good and right. In such a case, the outward appearance is not attempting to conceal a contrary inner reality, nor is it attempting to achieve some other reality than it has received, but it is simply confessing the otherwise hidden reality of God's grace, mercy and peace. It boldly confesses what is most certainly true concerning the beautiful glory of the Cross, despite all appearances and experiences to the contrary.

The beauty of flowers is attractive, not only to people (universally so), but also to the pollinators of the animal kingdom, by which the Lord our God causes more beautiful flowers to spring forth, and by which He also blesses us with the good gift of honey. So, too, the sweetness of the honey is appealing, as the flowers are attractive, that man and beast might be drawn to it and delight in it. Everything could have been quite functional, practical and productive, without such adornments and frills, but in love for His creatures the Holy Trinity makes things beautiful and delicious. He adorns the world with color and light, graces it with lovely sounds, fills it with pleasing aromas, sweetens it and spices it with delectable tastes, in the way a good father enjoys giving pleasant gifts and treats to his children. All of this while the fallen world is perishing! How much more beautiful and lovely shall the new heavens and the new earth be. But for now, the Lord attaches His Word and promises of the New Creation to the gracious beauty of the present age — calling our attention to the flowers, comparing His Word to honey, with which the promised land flows, describing His Church as a beautiful bride, and giving us a covenant in the rainbow with its full spectrum of radiant colors. So did He likewise instruct Moses in the construction of the tabernacle, and in the making of the priestly vestments — involving skilled artistry and fine craftsmanship and excellent materials, including gold and other precious metals — that the earthly tent and the temporal priesthood might be a pattern and a copy of the heavenly things, which are now given to us in Christ Jesus.

The Church, too, that godly woman who fears the Lord, looks for wool and flax, and she stretches out her hands to the distaff, to grasp the spindle, in order to clothe her household with scarlet, and to make coverings for herself of fine linen and purple. With vestments she covers the servants of her Lord, and by doing so she also adorns their office, not only in the most pragmatic and functional way possible, but as beautifully as she is able. Not as a pretense, but as a confession of the One who clothes her and all her children with Himself by the Ministry of the Gospel. Such adornments are "pedagogical" in the way that flowers are, that is, not by their "practical productivity," but by their colorful beauty. They are attractive and appealing, so that men and women, boys and girls, might be drawn to the hidden beauty of the Cross, and to the sweetness of the Word of God, which is even sweeter than honey.

For so are we invited to consider the flowers, that we might know the providence of our gracious God and Father in heaven. And as the perishable flowers point thus beyond themselves — as they point beyond even the great and glorious King Solomon to the One who is greater by far than Solomon — so do the Church's vestments and other beautiful adornments point beyond themselves, and beyond this temporal life on earth, to the glories of the age to come: to the revealing of the sons of God in Christ, when we shall see Him as He is, and we shall be like Him.