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. 

Lift High the Christ, His Flesh and Blood Proclaim

Here is Part IX of my ACELC free conference paper (16 April 2013).  It is one of the sections that I omitted in my presentation of the paper, because of time constraints.  The entire paper will be made available on the ACELC website.

[There is one] particular ceremony, or pair of ceremonies, [that] needs to be considered, because it touches upon a decisive theological point.  Here I refer to the Elevation and the Adoration of Christ in the Sacrament of the Altar.  Actually, more time and attention should be given to this topic than this paper can afford, but for now, if nothing else, let us have it on the table for discussion.

The Elevation of the Sacrament occurs after each of the elements is consecrated with the Word of the Lord.  Thus, after Christ has spoken, “This Is My Body,” His Body is lifted up by the celebrant at the Altar, in and with the consecrated Bread, in order that all may see it; and all are thus invited to adore the Lord in His Body.  In the same way also, after Christ has spoken, “This Is the New Testament in My Blood,” the Chalice is lifted up for all to see, that all may adore the Lord in His Blood.

Luther dealt with questions concerning the Elevation and the Adoration of Christ in the Sacrament throughout his lifetime as a reformer.  His attitude and criteria remained consistent, but were applied somewhat differently in the advice that he gave, depending on the particulars of each situation and its immediate context.  Bear in mind that he had to confront competing challenges on either side: Roman sacrificial notions, and the adoration of the Host apart from the Holy Communion, on the one hand; and Zwinglian denials of the Sacrament altogether, on the other hand.

Because of its associations with the Roman sacrificial Mass, Luther was at first inclined to do away with the Elevation.  However, several considerations led him to preserve the practice, and to defend it against critics and detractors: First, he wanted to exercise patience and care for the piety of the people, lest they be scandalized by such a dramatic change at the highest point of the Divine Service.  Second, he recognized that the Elevation could be understood evangelically, as a commending of the Body of the Christ to the communicants.  For this very reason, Luther notably retained the Elevation in both his Latin and German Masses, describing it as a proclamation of Christ in the Sacrament, and as a gracious invitation to eat and to drink His Body and His Blood for the forgiveness of sins.

As a third and final reason for retaining the Elevation, Luther set himself in opposition to Karlstadt and others, who insisted that the practice was contrary to the Gospel and to the Holy Scriptures, and that it therefore had to be abolished.  Here, as previously mentioned, Luther insisted on its freedom.

It was not Luther, but his own pastor, Johnannes Bugenhagen, who finally did away with the Elevation in Wittenberg (in the late 1530s).  He did so while Luther was away, and there are some indications that Luther was unhappy with this change in practice, especially because there were many people who then perceived it to be a capitulation to Zwinglianism.  In any case, Luther consistently supported Pastor Bugenhagen, and he did not publicly object to the change in ceremony.  Although he mentioned on occasion the possibility of restoring the Elevation to the Liturgy in Wittenberg, that did not happen.

Toward the end of his life, Luther indicated that it would be just as well for the Elevation to be let go from the practice of the churches; not because he was opposed to it, but for the sake of unity among the Lutheran territories, since many of them had already done away with this ceremonial practice.

In considering the Elevation of the Sacrament, it has to be taken into account what a prominent and visible part of the Roman Mass this practice was, and what a volatile issue it became in the context of the Reformation.  In that light, it is actually remarkable that the Lutherans kept it at all, and for so long.  That this continuation of the practice was not solely as a consolation for the weak, nor simply a matter of polemics against the Zwinglians, is demonstrated by a similar but slightly different practice that developed in some of the Lutheran territories of the Sixteenth Century.  In those places, the Body and Blood of Christ were elevated before the people at the Pax Domini, the pastor facing the people with the Host and the Chalice in his hands.  Evidently there was also a rite that would sometimes accompany this new ceremony, drawing upon the words of Luther from one of his writings against Karlstadt: “Look, dear Christian, here are the Body and Blood of your Lord Jesus, which He gives to you for the forgiveness of sins.”  In some cases, this new ceremony was used in addition to the historic Elevation.  Both practices were understood as a strong confession of the Body and Blood of Christ.

With or without the Elevation, as far as Luther himself was concerned, and for other Lutherans after him, there still remained the Adoration of Christ in the Sacrament; although this practice became controversial among the Lutherans, mainly after Luther’s death, in connection with a receptionist trend in Melanchthon and his followers.

The “Adoration,” here, refers specifically to bending the knee (or genuflecting) at the consecration of the Sacrament.  That is to say, it is the bodily worship of Christ, the Lord our God, in His Sacrament.

“Receptionism” is the view that Christ is not present in the bread and wine, except in the actual eating and drinking of the elements.  This view developed with Melanchthon, and continued after him, on the basis of Aristotelian philosophy (or, rather, on a misunderstanding of Aristotle’s “four causes”).  Especially as Melanchthon grew closer to John Calvin, in the years after Luther had died, he and others would make disparaging remarks about “bread worshipers,” referring to those (such as Luther!) who adored the Lord Jesus Christ in His Sacrament.

Luther, in his lifetime, explicitly answered the receptionist position, along with its implications for the celebration of the Sacrament, especially in a couple of letters that he wrote to a Pastor Wolferinus.  Therein he indicated that the proper “use” of the Sacrament, in accordance with the Lord’s Institution, begins with the consecration of the elements (with the Verba Domini) and continues until everything has been consumed.  Within that breadth of “use,” as Luther describes, the bread is the Body of Christ Jesus, and the wine is the Blood of Christ Jesus, exactly as the same Lord Jesus Christ has spoken in the consecration: “This Is My Body,” and “This Is My Blood.”  Therefore, we eat and drink because the Holy Supper is the Body given and the Blood poured out for us.  Likewise, everything is consumed, in keeping with the Word of Christ: “Eat,” and “Drink.”  None of the elements that He has consecrated with His Word should be returned to common usage, nor simply “disposed of.”

The Lutherans of the Sixteenth Century (and well beyond) followed Luther’s lead in this regard, and took these matters quite seriously, as the various Lutheran Church Orders (and several controversies) make plain.  In fact, church practices emulated Luther’s “consecrationist” position, in spite of the growing entrenchment of Melanchthon’s “receptionism” in subsequent generations.  Regrettably, the Formula of Concord, in its article on the Lord’s Supper, has frequently been interpreted through the filters of those later developments, and has therefore been misunderstood in a “receptionist” manner.

As regards the Adoration, in particular, the Formula of Concord has likewise been misunderstood.  On the surface, it would seem as though the Formula rejects this ceremony, when it explicitly disavows the adoration of the bread and wine.  However, that particular “antithesis” is actually confessed in response to those (including Melanchthon) who had accused the Lutherans of “bread worship,” as mentioned earlier.  The point is made, precisely because Luther himself, and many others, did adore the Body and Blood of Christ in the Sacrament, while yet distinguishing His sacred flesh and blood from the creaturely elements of bread and wine, which do of course remain in the Holy Communion.

It is especially clear that the Adoration is actually defended and affirmed, when one compares the Formula of Concord on this point with the corresponding section of the Examination of the Council of Trent, by Martin Chemnitz (a primary author of the Formula).  For “no one except an Arian heretic can or will deny that Christ Himself, true God and Man, who is truly and essentially present in the Supper when it is rightly used, should be adored in Spirit and in Truth in all places but especially where His community is assembled” (FC/SD VII.126).  As Luther had also written in 1544: “In the Sacrament of the Eucharist, which is deserving of honor and adoration, the body and blood of Christ are truly and substantially present, proffered, and received both by the worthy and by the unworthy” (LW 34: 355).

Do This

Here follows the summary conclusions from my recent post on the Blackbird's Blog, stemming from my presentation on "Consecrationism vs. Receptionism" at the Indiana District Church Workers' Conference in October 2011. Of course, you are welcome to read the entire post, but these three points are the bottom line.

To begin with, only as much bread and wine should be prepared upon the Altar for the consecration as may reasonably be expected to be necessary for the distribution. Exactness is difficult, if not impossible in some cases, but close approximation should not be hard: certainly not where regular pastoral care of the congregation is being exercised. In any event, deliberately preparing and consecrating far more bread and wine than will be needed for the distribution is irreverent and inexcusable. Better to estimate too low on occasion, and then to consecrate additional elements as needed, than deliberately to aim too high.

Following the Word of Christ Jesus, "This is My Body," and "This is My Blood," then, whatever a pastor's particular ceremonial may be, let his posture, movement, demeanor and conduct confess the truth of that Word! Please, dear brothers in Christ, do act like you believe it. Not only for the sake of a clear confession and consistent catechesis, but, above all, because it is true. Not as though the Lord would punish you for any frailties or mishaps, but because it is "truly meet, right, and salutary" that you should take care, and behave with dignity and decorum, as you handle and administer the holy Body and precious Blood of Christ.

The third specific thing that I do want my colleagues to do is really nothing more nor less than what our Lord Jesus Christ has given us Christians to do, namely, to eat and to drink His Body and His Blood. That seems so simple, and so obvious, and yet it isn't followed when it comes to the reliquae. Questions concerning what to do with the consecrated elements that remain at the conclusion of the distribution — which is to speak of the Body and Blood of Christ, as He Himself has declared, also concerning this bread and wine — are easily answered with the same Verba: "Take, eat." "Drink." Either immediately at the Altar, before concluding the Divine Service with the Post-Communion, or as soon after the Service as reasonable possible. For Luther and his followers in the 16th-century, the Sacrament extended from the consecration to the consumption of all the consecrated elements.

This practice, in harmony with our doctrine, rests solidly and simply on the Word of Jesus. So, yes, brothers, I do want you to do that. Because I want you to do what Jesus says. "Do whatever He tells you," the Blessed Virgin Mary also spoke to the servants of the feast. If care is taken in the quantities of bread and wine that are prepared for the consecration, it isn't difficult to consume whatever may remain. If, on any given occasion, more of the precious Blood of Christ remains than a pastor should consume by himself — since it is also wine, which is intoxicating — then he should enlist the assistance of other communicants (as the early Lutheran Church Orders also instruct).

This is that I want you to do. Not as a matter of ceremonial preference, but as a faithful and reverent administration of the Lord's Supper. Let's talk about ceremonies, too, as belonging to the catechesis and confession of the Sacrament. But do not suppose that I'm attempting to lay any weight upon your conscience concerning adiaphora. What God has left free, is free. But my real concern is with a more fundamental stewardship of this sacred Mystery of God.

Luther and Chemnitz vs. Walther and Pieper: Sorry, but, no contest

In preparing to speak on "Consecrationism vs. Receptionism" at the recent Indiana District Church Workers' Conference (17-18 October), various points became increasingly obvious, some of them new and surprising to me, and others already familiar, confirming and clarifying what I already knew and understood from past reading.

It is certainly clear enough, and really beyond any reasonable doubt, that Luther and Chemnitz were "consecrationists." That is to say, they consistently taught and confessed that, by and with and at the speaking of the Verba, the bread becomes and is the Body of Christ, and the wine becomes and is the Blood of Christ. It is the Word and work of the Lord Jesus that does this and gives this. As Herman Sasse, Tom Hardt, Bjarne Teigen, Scott Murray, John Stephenson, et al. have pointed out, this "consecrationist" theology of Luther and Chemnitz flows from and with the doctrine of justification and the authority of the Word of God. It is not only what I was taught, or at least understood, from my seminary professors, but what I have always understood and believed from the Words of Christ Jesus, my Lord. And, as it is the clear teaching of Luther and Chemnitz, it is likewise clear that "consecrationism" is the teaching of the Formula of Concord, which was authored chiefly by Martin Chemnitz (echoing much of what he wrote in his Examination of the Council of Trent), and which explicitly cites Dr. Luther as the foremost interpreter of the Augsburg Confession.

It is also clear and straightforwardly obvious, that Walther and Pieper, following the 17th-century Lutheran scholastics, were "receptionists." That is to say, they taught that the Body and Blood of Christ were present only in and with the actual eating and drinking, and neither before nor after nor apart from that eating and drinking. This "receptionist" teaching follows from the emphases of Melanchthon, which stood in tension with Luther's emphases while both men were still alive, but which developed and sharpened in Melanchthon, in his students and beyond, in the years following Luther's death. Resulting controversies over a right understanding of the axiom, that "nothing has the character of a Sacrament outside of its intended use," were addressed by the Formula of Concord. However, in spite of the Formula's clarification, and in spite of Luther's and Chemnitz's understanding and explanation of the axiom in question, subsequent generations of Lutheran scholars adopted and taught a "receptionist" interpretation of the axiom, and, therefore, of the Sacrament. This view was fostered and solidified by a reliance on Aristotelian philosophy, or, rather, on a misunderstanding and misuse of Aristotle's "four causes." Walther and Pieper followed the Lutheran scholastics in this vein, and read back into Luther and Chemnitz and the Formula of Concord that "receptionist" view, which came to predominate.

It is a daunting thing to be in the position of saying that Walther and Pieper (and the 17th-century Lutheran scholastics) were wrong, but, on this point, they were. I'll stand with Luther and Chemnitz vis-a-vis Walther and Pieper, eight days a week. Even more important and to the point, I'll stand with the Words of our Lord Jesus Christ against anything and everything else in heaven and on earth. What He speaks, is so. It is, at once, the most profound Mystery and the simplest thing imaginable.

To answer the question that was put to me at the end of my presentation: No, I don't think that Walther and Pieper were Zwinglians, and I have no desire or intention of making any such claim. They certainly taught and confessed that the true Body and Blood of the Lord Jesus Christ were received and eaten with the bodily mouths of the communicants, and in this faithful confession they were as far from Zwingli as the heavens from the earth. But in their "receptionist" position, they weakened and undermined the fundamental power and definitive authority of the Word of Christ, and allowed human philosophy and participation to intrude upon the Mysteries of God. It was one of Pieper's famous "felicitous inconsistencies" that preserved their faithful confession of the "Real Presence" alongside their "receptionism." Perhaps in largest part because their practice preserved a care and reverence for the consecrated elements that belied their theoretical teaching on the presence. Carefully consecrating only as many elements as would be needed for the Holy Communion, but also using a second consecration whenever additional elements were required to complete the distribution, and then consuming any and all remaining consecrated elements, rather than ever mixing consecrated with unconsecrated elements, made a strong ceremonial confession of the central and definitive significance of the Verba-consecration.

In subsequent generations, a breakdown in practice, supported and defended by an appeal to "receptionism," has eroded confidence in and reverence for the Verba and the Body and Blood of Christ. Thus, the historic Lutheran doctrine and practice spiral downward together.

In saying that Walther and Pieper were wrong on this point, in deference to Luther and Chemnitz and our Lutheran Confessions, and above all in deference to the clear Words of Christ, I do not dishonor those faithful men, who were far stronger and much better theologians than I am. But those who would appeal to Walther and Pieper (over against Luther and Chemnitz) in defense of a careless, sloppy, or otherwise irreverent practice, do those men a grave injustice. Worse is the dishonor that is perpetrated against the Word and Sacrament of Christ, our Lord.