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. 

You Dassn't Do That

From the current issue -- Calling all readers:  Become our eyes and ears!  Send us something goofy, outrageous, or just out-of-place that you’ve recently seen in church.  Give us the details of where and when you saw it, but we promise we won’t put anything in the journal except the Synod and District in which the offense was spotted, and we won’t even list your name.  Maybe, if people get the idea that we have eyes everywhere, they’ll start thinking they ought to behave themselves.  Wouldn’t that be grand!  To send a folly online, go to www.gottesdienst.org, click Contact Us, and select You Dassn’t Do That from the dropdown list.  Or you could drop us a line via email. 

I expect Holy Week might be a reservoir for shenanigans across the land, so be on the lookout . . .

Goldilocks, George Carlin, and the Middle of the Road

By Larry Beane

"This one is just right!"

~ Goldilocks

“Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?”

~ George Carlin

In some ways, the liturgy is like a baseball glove or a favorite pair of jeans.  Pastors and laymen become comfortable with a certain (for lack of better terminology) "height."  That is to say, a certain level of ceremony during worship.

There are indeed very "low church" Lutheran congregations and pastors - those who eschew such vestments as chasuble and alb in favor of cassock and surplice, or in some cases, a choir gown over a shirt and tie.  They prefer to either speak the liturgy, or at least have the pastor speak his parts of the liturgical dialogue while the people sing their responses.  Genuflecting and elevating at the altar are out of the question.  Some may frown upon the sign of the cross and the use of a chalice.  Some such congregations de-emphasize the sacramental element of the liturgy so as to celebrate the Eucharist with less frequency than the "every Sunday and every feast day" description in the Augsburg Confession.

I do think the number of such congregations has grown smaller in recent years.

If a new pastor were to come along in one of them and sing his parts of the service, cross himself, put a chalice on the altar, and start preaching about having communion every Sunday - some people would (naturally) get uncomfortable.  There may even be suspicions and whispered accusations of "Romanism."  For in the mind of someone used to such a low level of ceremony, anything "higher" is somehow "too catholic."

There are also very "high church" Lutheran congregations and pastors - those who make full use the the traditional vestments, such as chasubles, and in such services as ordinations, perhaps even a cope.  Some LCMS district presidents carry bishop's crosiers, and one even wears a miter on occasion.

What was once considered "high church" has become normalized.  It is more common nowadays for pastors to chant, genuflect, elevate, and it is hardly uncommon for pastors and laymen to cross themselves.  Incense is not common, but nor is it unheard of in many of our churches.  Most congregations these days offer both the chalice and some form of individual cup, and celebrate the Lord's Supper every Sunday.

And while not all of these practices are the norm in all places, they are certainly not uncommon - especially chanting, crossing, and chasubles - which are all now quite mainstream.  A few decades ago, these might have been considered "extreme" or "high church" or "too catholic" by many.

There has indeed been a movement back toward our Lutheran roots - including our ceremonies - much of which were lost over the last hundred years as German immigrants adopted the language and customs of their non-Lutheran American neighbors.  The blessings of ceremony - as articulated in our Book of Concord - have been rediscovered and re-implemented in churches across the country.  I can't cite any studies, but I don't know that I would get much argument if I were to assert that the average "height" of the typical LCMS congregation - averaged overall - has increased consistently over the last few decades.  And this trend has continued even in the time-frame since the death (nearly four decades ago) of Dr. Herman Sasse, who is often cited for his distrust of the Liturgical Movement.  What he viewed askance in his day has actually become rather ordinary among mainstream LCMS Lutherans.  His warning against widespread defections to Rome have proven (by hindsight) to be unfounded.

For every Lutheran pastor who becomes a Roman Catholic, there are probably a hundred who now wear a chasuble with no thought of leaving our confession.  What should concern us far more is the large numbers of pastors who leave the ministry burned out, those abused by congregations and/or district presidents, as well as those who linger in CRM status year after year - not to mention candidates who may never get a call.  These are much more realistic (and common) problems facing us than the occasional defection of a pastor to Rome.

Can you just imagine what Dr. Sasse would have thought about a mitered bishop preaching at the installation of a synodical president in the chapel of one of our seminaries?

But the Carlin Observation is alive and well among those who warn against "extremism" in matters of ceremony and liturgy.  Playing the role of a liturgical Goldilocks ("not too high... not too low... just right!"), some will offer opposite-and-equal criticisms against both non-liturgical "praise" services (Carlin's "idiots") and the "Gottesdienst Crowd" (Carlin's "maniacs") - as though these are two equally un-Lutheran choices.  Some may argue for a certain level of ceremony, and not anything more - as if there is some kind of Golden Mean, a "just right" for everyone.  It calls to mind a joke by Dr. Norman Nagel (as recounted by one of his former students, now a professor) who advised pastors (with tongue in cheek) to wear their stoles a little crooked so as not to be thought of as "high church."

In many areas of life, moderation is certainly wise: beer, fried chicken, cigars, etc.  But sometimes moderation is not such a good thing: teaching correct doctrine, being true to one's vows (ordination, wedding, promise to tell the truth in court, etc.), preaching the law in its severity, preaching the gospel in its sweetness, being well-groomed and hygienic, being deferential to ladies and to children, politeness, genuineness, a commitment to excellence in one's various vocations, taking pains to communicate through ceremony what we confess, etc.

I don't think anyone would want to go the Goldilocks route in such matters, seeing a Happy Medium between the "extremes" of, say "Gentleman" and "Philistine."  What would such moderation look like?  A guy who only belches and wipes his nose on his sleeve occasionally at the dinner table?

Moreover, the argument that "smells and bells" and "happy clappy" are two sides of the same coin is a false analogy, and nowhere near a valid approach to liturgy.  It is a convenient way to appeal to the center, to the majority that are somewhere in the middle, to those who (for whatever reason) are not interested in pursuing a richer ceremonial and liturgical life in the parish as has been the trend among our synod as a whole for decades.  Liturgy is normative in our Lutheran confessions.  Going without the liturgy is un-Lutheran and antithetical to our confession.  On the other hand, being "high church" is consistent within our tradition as articulated in the Book of Concord.  To lump the two together in a box and label them both un-Lutheran is just plain wrong.

Higher is not necessarily better.  But we have been on a trajectory for decades to elevate the ceremonial in our churches - for these ceremonies "teach the people" and confess (to ourselves and to the outside world) what we believe is really happening on our altars.  Reverence can be shown (and indeed ought to be shown) even when Masses are said in muddy ditches with soldiers, even when said on food trays in a hospital, even when such niceties as altar cloths and candles and chasubles and an organ are not present.  And even when parochial considerations make it premature or ill-advised for a pastor to introduce something like a chasuble, he can (and should) still carry himself with dignity, not flippantly, not casually, not in some kind of affected slovenliness so as to avoid the accusation of being too "high church" in some Quixotic Goldilocks extremism of moderation.

Indeed, there are pitfalls of extreme moderation.  There are faithful people who are forced to commune without a chalice because of the pastor's timidity.  There are faithful people who go week in and week out without every Sunday communion because the pastor is trying to avoid extremes.  There are faithful people who continue to believe that the sign of the cross and the crucifix are things that are for other Christians, not for Lutherans - and thus do not benefit from such expressions of the incarnational and cruciform faith as an aid to prayer and devotional life.  Being a moderate extremist is also a fast path to Phariseeism, as one gets to be the liturgical Goldilocks, a self-appointed policeman who gets to chide both "high" and "low" alike - in fact, anyone who doesn't do it just the way he does, anyone who dares to deviate from his own personal norm.

It is George Carlin's observation about driving speed applied to liturgical ceremony.

I don't claim to speak for anyone else at Gottesdienst, but our motto is most certainly not "higher is better" and "a thurible in every chancel."

What is important is faith in Christ the Crucified One who died for the forgiveness of sins and to give us eternal life - working through the means of preaching and sacraments.  We do believe that as Lutherans, we ought not not practice moderation in communicating God's grace in Word and sacrament, in what we say and in what we do - including how we do it.  Often what we say can be undone (or enhanced) by how we say it.  And so, we emphasize ceremonies as tools of communication - even as ceremonies were nearly all retained by our Lutheran forefathers.  We are pleased to see ceremonies returning to our liturgical life in North American Lutheranism.  But if you are going to make use of traditional ceremonies as teachers and communicators of God's grace and Christ's presence (and we do think you should - exercising proper pastoral care and wisdom, of course), then everyone - pastors and laymen - ought to know how to do them properly, what the etiquette is, how to communicate the gospel in a nonverbal way - both within the church and to those outside the church - so that we might confess with clarity.  Anyone who would mock a careful emphasis on propriety and "taking pains" in matters of worship, even in matters that might appear to be petty details, might want to restudy Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers.  If we are serious about the real presence of Christ on our altars, we ought to be serious about our conduct in that real presence.

Ceremonies are not about looking pretty, but rather about communicating well and with excellence.  Ultimately, it's all about charity, humility, and love.  A man who loves his wife will "take pains" in the way he acts around her, treats her, and speaks to her.  Christ took great pains for us on the cross.  And we "take pains" to confess this truth with clarity and in love.

In the final analysis, it is all about God's grace.

And when it comes to God's grace, I think "moderation" falls into the category of what you often find in the middle of the road, the ultimate symbol of the "extreme moderate"...

Encouragement toward Uniformity in Worship Fails at SID Convention

It's amazing how the opponents of uniformity in worship are so predictable.  Their tired arguments never change, which makes it all the more clear that they just aren't listening.  They prate about legalism, complain that encouragement amounts to the use of a club, warn against compulsion, etc.  The only sensible explanation I can muster for their contortions is that they are very urgently needing to shore up their rationalizations for their own departures from the common service, departures perhaps conscience is already telling them they shouldn't have made in the first place.

Anyhow, kudos for Fr. William Weedon for trying again, at the Southern Illinois District Convention, even though his resolution failed. To read all about the effort from his own helpful perspective, have a look the latest entry at his blog.

Jefferson Bethke's Palpable Hypocrisy

Over sixteen million hits on his YouTube video "Why I Hate Religion, but Love Jesus" have provided over sixteen million people with an opportunity to see the palpable hypocrisy of Jefferson Bethke and his poetry.  Unfortunately it's likely that the same misguided thinking has kept many more millions away from the church, Bethke's straw man. He claims the church starts wars, builds huge churches while failing the poor, and equates establishment Christianity with support for the Republican party. His verdict: "It never gets to the core; it's just behavior modification like a long list of chores."

He claims that God calls religious people whores, and charges them with hypocrisy ("acting like a church kid while addicted to pornography"), because they are "self-righteous."

No doubt it would be easy to find churches that fit this description, in part for the simple reason that there are so many offerings on the smorgasbord, but here's what struck me.  While going on this rampage without making any distinctions, and writing religion off in some of the most wildly descriptive judgments imaginable, he makes this outlandish disclaimer: “Now I ain’t judging.  I’m just saying quit putting on a fake look."

"I ain't judging"?  Friend, if this ain't judging, then what is?  

Here's the whole trouble, actually.  He shouldn't be judging, because his judgment is grossly unfair; he's not equipped, and he doesn't provide the evidence.  It's the same worn and tired complaint that it's religion that starts wars. What religion started the Nazi regime?  Or the Viking marauders?  Or the Huns?  And as for religions that do start wars, well, let's see: there's Islamofascism, but I don't think that's the religion Bethke has in mind.  What he's probably thinking of (though one can't really tell) is the Crusades.  There's a lot of misunderstanding afoot about the Crusades, but even we grant that the Crusades were stared in the name of religion, it's doubtful that Pope Urban was the religious type Bethke has in mind, and to say the papacy in that day was an exemplar of the religion prominent in today's American churches is a hard sell.  My guess is that Bethke knows next to nothing about the Crusades. 

In the end, he's another self-styled, self sent preacher, who conveniently chooses to forget that the apostles were "in the temple" praising God, and that Jesus stood up to preach "in the synagogue," as was his wont, and that those who preached his name in the New Testament were sent by him to do so.  "How can they preach, except they be sent?"  The result of such self-crafted preaching is that while it may be partly true--and on the basis of its partial truth it gains adherents--its overall message ends up being a lie.  

"Pure religion and undefiled and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself unspotted from the world."  And that reminds me of one of the important duties laid upon the ministers of the Gospel, whom God has sent.

You Spin Me Right Round, Jesus?

Here's another example of "worship" that speaks volumes about what's wrong with Praise Bands, if you have ears to hear (and eyes to see). I mean, either we have to say, "OK, nothing wrong here, folks, it's all adiaphora, and there's no detectable false doctrine, so you can't judge," or you have to agree with us that the divine liturgy is not a matter of indifferent things. If you take the time to read the uploader commments at the youtube site, you'll see that this is in fact the discussion people are having there.

It's also another example of the kind of thing I was seeking to show in my most recent Liturgical Observer (for a subscription to the print version of our quarterly journal, click here), of a singer taking a popular rock song and changing the words a bit to convince himself that he has made it acceptable for worship. The example I had listed in the Observer was George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord," for which someone replaced the background lyrics from the Bhagavad-Gita with references to Jesus. This example is actually creepier than that one, because it takes a song which is unquestionably about hedonistic sex -- "You Spin Me Right Round, Baby," by the overtly homosexual band Dead or Alive (to see for yourself, click here) -- and seeks to make it Christian. I expect few of those kids in the audience who were, um, spinning right round for Jesus were aware of the ugly origin of that tune, and who knows, perhaps some of those dancing Israelites were similarly unaware that their "worship" was unacceptable to God (for the final word on it, check with Moses).

So raise your hand if you think these people are actually worshiping Jesus. And if you raised your hand, it's likely you wanted to take of your shoe and spin it around too, like the people in the video, right?

I can't decide, but I think maybe this is Gnosticism, the ancient religion named some of its gods "Truth," "Word," "Life," and "Church" but was as far from Christian as darkness is from light.

HT: Dr. William Tighe

Memo to Synod: Mind Your Own Business

This article was published in the Easter 2011 issue of Gottesdienst. By request it is being posted here. Word is that the mischief herein mentioned is still going on.

Naiveté can get one into trouble. I should have smelled something fishy when I received a request from the LCMS International Center to have my parish participate in a “Perceptions of Ministry Inventory,” a survey designed “to enhance the formation and professional development of parish pastors”; had I been paying closer attention, I might have wondered why the Board for Pastoral Education and the Council of Presidents wanted to assure me that my “privacy and anonymity will be preserved throughout the process.” I might have been a bit suspicious about the fact that the survey packets I was to hand out to various congregational leaders were sealed. Why the secrecy? But I shrugged, Why not? What harm can a little survey do?

Next thing I know, the survey packets are being returned to me by confused people wondering why they are being asked to pass judgment on their pastor’s performance. Fortunately for me, there’s no undercurrent of unrest in my parish. What if there were? These survey questions could be lethal:

How often have you seen that [your pastor]
Expresses his confidence in the Lord.
Recognizes his own intellectual, emotional and physical limitations.
Focuses on important issues in a conflict situation.
Worries about what others think of him.
Belittles a person in front of others.

That second-last one would probably get a higher ranking if the pastors knew what was in these sealed packets going out to their members. And the list goes on:

Appears to believe his own opinions as a pastor should be accepted without question.
Tends to be pessimistic and negative in his attitudes.
Talks and acts as though he is unable to forgive himself.

There are 117 questions in all. Each question is framed in a way that asks the participant to make a moral or value judgment about the pastor.

Frankly, it’s all rather creepy. It’s really creepy. Here we have the bureaucracy of the Missouri Synod butting its nose into the life of the parish, and for what purpose? What good could possibly come of this kind of thing? In the first place, the parishioners are subtly being asked here to craft their thinking in a way that is manifestly contrary to the meaning of the Eighth Commandment, which tells us to “explain everything in the kindest way.” But no matter: the survey needs to be filled out, which apparently grants permission to set the divine directive aside for a moment and become judge and jury! And to judge the pastor, of all people to forget to treat with the benefit of the doubt!

There are already plenty of parishioners around the Synod who are eager to do this very thing. The real reason they don’t like their pastor is likely to be (and usually is) that he has some confessional stamina, and so is unwilling to compromise the truth. Say he practices closed Communion, or refuses to allow the Gideons to speak to his people, or will not bend the rules forbidding members of Lodges to be members of his parish. Or say he’s more liturgical than his predecessor was, or conducts the liturgy in a less emotive kind of way, or won’t choose hymns like “The Old Rugged Cross.”

One of the questions asks how much “eye contact” he makes. Seriously? Eye contact? There will always be people who don’t like pastors for all the wrong reasons, which makes holding the confessional line a very difficult task for some pastors—particularly young or new ones. Persistence may require a boatload of patience and indomitable courage. But now, although the pastor is painstakingly hoping to lead his parishioners to a better and richer faith, they find in their hands this ghastly survey that provides them with a howitzer’s worth of ammo for use against him.

Does he behave “like a bull in a china shop”? Why yes! Yes! He does! That’s just it! He’s ruining our church! Is he “argumentative”? Yes! Exactly! He never listens to us! Why, I am led to wonder, aren’t they being asked if they ever listen to him, which is in fact the reason they are called “the hearers” in the Catechism?

And this one’s particularly rich: does the pastor remain “positive and constructive toward antagonistic members”? And now, by a stroke of coincidence, those very members have become more antagonistic.

What’s especially insidious about this project is that the pastor gets some survey questions of his own to answer, but they are of a different stripe. They’re all entirely bland, requiring no sort of assessment at all: questions of age, marital status, years of service, type of parish, etc. Not one of the 38 questions on the pastor’s form requires a judgment of any kind, leading the pastor—as it certainly did me—to think the whole exercise is entirely innocuous and harmless as a dove.

Nothing could be further from the truth. There are no assurances given that these surveys would not be shared with district officials in the midst of a “reconciliation” process between a troubled parish and her pastor, for though a promise of confidentiality is made, the results of the survey could still be given anonymously. And come to think of it, that could actually be devastating if used to accuse a pastor of flaws: anonymous accusations are the worst.

Dr. Glen Thomas, Executive Director of the Board for Pastoral Education, is the one whose name appears on all the correspondence about this, so I called him to express my concerns. Naturally he demurred, but he also said that the survey results may well be used by District Presidents to discuss areas of concern “fraternally” with the pastors whose members’ surveys may have led him to think some areas of pastoral improvement might be in order. I can’t quite imagine the benefit of a fraternal conversation with a District President encouraging me to make more eye contact with my people. Whatever happened to parish visitations in which superintendents looked for and encouraged pure doctrine and practice?

I pointed out to Dr. Thomas that the questions overall seem crafted in a way which encourages or elicits a negative assessment of the pastor, and all he could say was that a low mark on the negatives would itself amount to a positive mark. Right, and by the same token there was nothing sinister about the Pharisees’ temptations, since Jesus did the right thing by refusing to fall for their tricks! Further, Dr. Thomas told me several times that if the pastor determined he did not wish for his congregation to participate, he was free to choose that they not do so. Yet this reply sidesteps the feint embedded in the tool which leads the pastor to think the questions asked of his parishioners would be of the same vanilla flavor as the questions asked of him. How could he know otherwise? The parishioners’ packets were sealed. Dr. Thomas was pleasant enough to talk to on the phone, but I note that he did, er, “appear to believe his own opinions should be accepted without question,” and while he was polite, he also came off as rather “argumentative” to me. Let’s see, who’s his District President?

Even if these survey questions were not be used in any way to add fuel to a parish fire—though we now know that they may well be used for that very purpose—still, the ramifications of any high negative ratings would reflect poorly on seminary training. And what would come of that? Seminary training in psychobabble, anger management, or a host of efforts to make the pastor somehow nicer, while more likely serving to emasculate him. Forget integrity, theology, faithfulness; let’s concentrate on things like eye contact.

But the worst in this is that these kinds of menacing questions can get a train rolling along the perilous track of unintended consequences in the parish in which the questionnaires are circulated. They serve to help the “antagonistic members” to frame complaints in more concrete ways, even if the concretion of the complaint would bear little similarity to what is really irking the complainant. Is the pastor strong in his confession? Now he can be called stubborn, unyielding, hard to get along with. Is he willing to persist even when attacks on his person depress him? Now he can be called one who “distances himself,” is “easily hurt,” or “fatigued.” Honestly, if the devil himself wrote this thing I couldn’t imagine it being worse.

The Catechism quotes 1 Timothy 3 in saying that “the overseer must be above reproach,” etc., and to be sure, that list of requirements for a pastor is daunting: “. . . temperate, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not given to drunkenness, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money.” That list is enough to deal with in itself. The last thing the pastor needs is a cadre of people whom the Synod has now abetted in their opposition to his efforts to be faithful, by offering them a potential list of nebulous character adjustments.

So here’s a little memo to the Synod: mind your own business, will you? If you really want to be of service to the churches, how about some encouragement for struggling pastors? How about reminding parishioners of what they owe their pastors? Gee, that sounds awfully “abrupt,” “driven by guilt and fear,” and needing “to have the last word,” doesn’t it? I suppose we might have had to change the way it’s put, were it not from the Catechism.

Go ahead, fill out a survey about me, and when you get to the question “can relate to others on a feeling level,” be sure to give me a high mark, because I do know how—I feel—how difficult it can be for those young guys who are just trying to be faithful. And on the question, “expresses anger or hostility toward other people or institutions,” you can rate me high on that one too, especially right now. Count this pastor as one whose anger is particularly reserved for meddlers.

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Worship Attire

By Larry Beane

An interesting article regarding the trend toward casual clothes in worship (and one way to address this pastorally):  "No Hooters shirts in Mass, please."

Church Workers

While we're at it, there are plenty of lousy terms to go around. "Public ministry" is certainly one of them, but I think the worst has to be "church workers." I think of guys in hard hats.

It would be funny, but the truth is that it denigrates the Holy Office.

I suppose someone could answer that you need a term for that section in the synodical website. What are you going to call pastors, teachers, and deaconesses (are they listed in there too?), all at once.

Answer: how about "Pastors, teachers, deaconessess"? Is that really so hard?

In addition, "church workers" has to be about the clumsiest designation I've ever heard.

Of course it has plenty of longevity. I think St. Leo the Great was the first to use it, during the controversy with Dioscorus. Just kidding.

New administrations in the LCMS have a way of putting their mark on things. The Bohlmann administration gave us the current LCMS cross (ah, more on that later, sometime); the Barry administration gave us those nice little "What About" tracts; the Kieschnik administration gave us, well, you know . . .

So here's a suggestion to pass along: how about the Harrison administration making a review of our nomenclature?

Church workers? Honestly.

BFE

On Temptations to Go East

By Burnell F Eckardt Jr.

This article first appeared online in 2005 for Reformation Today, a web site that is no longer available. A recent request for it has prompted this republication.

It has been stylish in recent years to be optimistic about the prospects for reunification of Eastern Orthodoxy and Western Christendom. The talk has intensified this year, because Pope Benedict XVI has wasted no time making clear to delegates from the East his earnest desire for unity. But Frederica Mathewes-Green, writing in The Wall Street Journal (“All for One?,” July 15, 2005) provides an insightful reason for keeping those hopes from getting too high, however desirous the new pope, or we, might be for an end to the millennium-long schism. She explains, “From a Roman Catholic perspective, unity is created by the institution of the church,” but for the Orthodox, “unity is created by believing the same things.” Interestingly, these competing concepts of unity have also been seen among American Lutherans over the past hundred years. A desire for institutional unity among the more left-leaning churches has led to merger after merger, the most recent being that which brought the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America into being. On the conservative side, one can contrarily see no great impetus for any bureaucratic unification, but confessional unity is understood as something arrived at when altar-and-pulpit fellowship is declared between church bodies.

Confessional Lutherans ought therefore to have a certain appreciation for the Orthodox perspective over against the West. Mathewes-Green, writing from the Orthodox point-of-view, describes the Eastern notion of unity in terms with which we ought to have no trouble agreeing:

"You don't need a big bureaucracy to keep them faithful. Across wildly diverse cultures, Orthodox Christians show remarkable unity in their faith. . . . What's the source of this common faith? The consensus of the early church, which the Orthodox stubbornly keep following. That consensus was forged with many a bang and dent, but for the past millennium major questions of faith and morals have been pretty much at rest in the Eastern hemisphere."

A large part of the reason for the occasional temptations of confessional Lutheran pastors to consider jumping to Orthodoxy has to do, I think, with this refreshing kind of unity. To be sure, cultural differences easily manifest themselves among the varying strains of Orthodox Christians around the world, and yet when it comes to theological controversy and debate, in stark contrast to what the West has known for hundreds of years, the Eastern silence is deafening. And the more that those who defend traditional stances of faith tend to lose the battles for the minds and hearts of the people in the West, the more appealing the peace of the East gets.

That appeal gets magnified when mixed with a common contention of the East that the West has had its troubles precisely because it abandoned the consensus of the Ecumenical Councils in favor of Papal supremacy. Confessional Lutherans would be quick to find points of agreement with their assessment, of course, since the very existence of Lutheranism arose from Luther’s rejection of Papal supremacy. Our agreement with the East tends to be tempered with a different understanding of the relation of Ecumenical Councils to the Scriptures, but we have to admit that on the question of the supremacy of the Chair of Peter, the East was right all along.

What has too easily been granted entry into the discussion of East versus West, however, is this notion that the seemingly incessant squabbles in the West prove somehow that the West is the wrong place to be. An excerpt from the Greek Orthodox “Oberlin Statement” dating back a half century (from the North American Faith and Order Study Conference, Oberlin, Ohio, September 3-10, 1957, for which see www.orthodoxinfo.com/ecumenism/oberlin.aspx) is quick to point out that the Orthodox Church “has been unassociated with the events related to the breakdown of religious unity in the West,” and declares their “firm conviction that this Unity can be found only in the fellowship of the Historical Church, preserving faithfully the catholic tradition, both in doctrine and in order.” They might as well have said, See you have had all these struggles, and that demonstrates that you should never have separated from us in the first place. The gist of the contention is that our controversies are the children of our folly, and ought to convince us that we should at once go and seek chrismation in an Eastern church. And some of us do just that.

But it seems to me that the whole argument is rooted in the old post hoc flaw. The fact that the West is the place of all the controversies cannot be held forth as the result of flawed Western thought, any more than the coming of night can be offered as proof that we shouldn’t have allowed the sun to set. Indeed, according to a well-known Luther line, whenever a cathedral is built, the devil builds a chapel next door, a logion which makes perfect sense: Would not the devil seek to make more trouble where his purposes could be the more severely assailed? C. S. Lewis’s Screwtape would certainly agree. That is not to say that this line of thought is necessarily the right one, for it can just as easily fall victim to the post hoc mentality. The point is that neither can be used by itself to prove validity.

Yet what can definitively be said is that the existence of controversy in the West offers us the opportunity—forced upon us by necessity—of dealing with matters that have never surfaced in the East. The Reformation provided us with the Augsburg Confession, whose descriptions of faith and justification contain an unsurpassed depth of succinctness and clarity. That volatile period of our history has forced us to arrive, through much struggling, at a point of confessional clarification we had not attained prior to it.

This is, ironically, the very same kind of process as was seen in the periods leading to the great ecumenical councils to whose decrees the East refuses to add or detract. They call the Nicene Creed settled dogma, and so it is; but its declarations too came in just the same way as those of the sixteenth century, out of much tribulation. The need arose to state with great clarity what the church believed against the heretic Arius, and so the Nicene Creed was crafted by the 318 bishops assembled at Nicea in a.d. 325. After a half-century of further strife, during which the catholic faith was greatly suppressed, the Second Ecumenical Council met at Constantinople, and the Creed was expanded and refined. Our Creed is the result of exasperating confrontations of error. By this token, the second millennium struggles and controversies of the West would place it in a more favorable vantage point over against the East, rather than the other way around. In a manner of speaking, we have wrestled with God and with men, and have prevailed.

The most salient theological issue between East and West has always been the filioque, which the East oppose because of their contention that it is an innovative doctrine and therefore to be avoided according to clear apostolic admonition, repeated by the seven ecumenical councils. What they tend to avoid, in their argument, is the difference between contending that the filioque is an innovative formula, something we readily admit (unlike Charlemagne who once ignorantly blamed the East for omitting it from the original Creed), and saying that the doctrine which the filioque expresses is the truth. They reject the latter primarily because they do not see it in the former.

Interestingly, the filioque, like the Creed itself, is also the result of struggles against the Arians’ repeated attacks on the catholic faith, specifically their rejections of the divinity of Christ. The date normally associated with its inclusion in the Creed is 589, when at the third local synod of Toledo the formerly Arian Visigoths were required to accept the Creed so amended. But it was at Toledo’s first synod in 447 that they first added filioque to the Creed, lifting it from a letter Pope Leo I had sent them in response to the heresies they were confronting. The clause itself actually dates to the fourth century, however, and was explicitly used by St. Ambrose (De Spiritu Sancto, 1, 11, 120, PL 16, 733) and St. Augustine (De Trinitate XV , 25, 47, PL 42, 1095). In addition to this use by these Western fathers, incidentally, is the notable first-ever introduction of the phrase into the Creed by a regional council in Persia in 410, which makes the filioque an authentically Eastern expression of thought on the Trinity. In addition these data reveal, remarkably, that the expression is virtually as old as the Creed, which serves to debunk the idea that it is a novelty. Most important, though, is the fact that the filioque is evidence of the Church’s further struggle against heresy. Like the Creed itself before it, and like our Lutheran Confessions after it, it arose in the heat of battle. It is a token to the Church’s continual need for vigilance against error. As long as she is on earth, she is ecclesia militans.

What became a point of contention for the East was the fact that the Third Ecumenical Council, the Council of Ephesus in a.d. 431, while acknowledging the Second Ecumenical Council’s amendments to the Creed, now forbad anyone “to bring forward, or to write, or to compose a different Faith as a rival to that established by the holy Fathers assembled with the Holy Ghost in Nicaea” (Canon VII, NPNF, Vol. 14: 231). The meaning of this phrase has been subject to varying interpretations, but it has been interpreted by the East as a prohibition of any further textual changes to the Creed.

Thus although the filioque was employed theologically against heresy, as Leo had done, neither the Council of Chalcedon nor any succeeding Ecumenical Council could, according to the East, see fit to provide any further alteration to the text of the Creed, even if an alteration such as the filioque were deemed theologically acceptable, since the undoing of any of the decrees of a prior Ecumenical Council would have called into question the authenticity of all the Ecumenical Councils.

The East, moreover, is rather insistent about maintaining the infallibility of the Ecumenical Councils, seeing them as having been guided necessarily by the Holy Spirit. The addition of the filioque in the West is an implicit assertion that we do not believe even an Ecumenical Council has the right to declare that there will never be a need for a further creedal declaration of truth, whether or not that was the intention of Canon VII.

Here the East claims authority where the West is not so quick to do so. But here the Lutheran Church parts company with both. For we reject impious papal decrees with the same criterion by which we accept the Councils: we only allow the authority of the Councils because they are found to be in agreement with the Scriptures. And while we certainly accept the decrees of the seven Ecumenical Councils, we do so in the same way as we accept the Lutheran Confessions, namely as a matter of theological agreement. We accept the Creeds, and the Lutheran Confessions, because they agree with the Sacred Scriptures, but never in addition to them. There is a bit of a conundrum here, admittedly, since one can here charge (as Eck did against Luther in the 1519 Leipzig debate) that by saying this we appear to be placing our own private views of the Scriptures above those of everyone else, the ultimate error of the sectarians. On the other hand, to take one’s final cue from the decrees of the Councils is to place them above the Scriptures. Our reply is to point to the perspicuity of the Scriptures: they interpret themselves, and they are clear; we confess as doctrine only what the Scriptures teach, and it is only by their authority that we confess it. In this regard we have a differing view both on the nature of Biblical authority, and on the life of the Church and her struggles against error.

So we accept the Creeds and the Confessions theologically, and not necessarily with respect to non-theological matters, such as whether we ought feel bound to a particular point of exegesis in the Confessions, or whether one may add a theologically acceptable term like filioque to the Creed.

I cannot help but admit, on the other hand, that I certainly wouldn’t want to see anyone get the idea from this that it’s therefore acceptable to make any other wholesale changes. Heaven knows the levees have already burst in that regard; but let no one cite the filioque as imprimatur for some of the wild innovations recent years have seen. It bears remembering that the Creed in both its forms comes from the Ecumenical age when churchmen were more apt to think and speak in terms befitting a venerable theological tradition, and that we will certainly court disaster if we seek to undo what they have done.

What is perhaps most damaging about the Orthodox perspective is their insistence that they are the visible Church of Jesus Christ on earth: “We do not admit that the Unity of the Church, and precisely of the "visible" and historical Church, has ever been broken or lost” (Ibid.). This insistence has been consistently evident in all their deliberations, including specifically those of Patriarch Jeremiah II of Constantinople to the Lutherans between 1576 and 1581. In reply to the Lutheran overtures to the East, the final word was, in effect, Drop your heretical adherence to the filioque and other matters with which you disagree with us, and we will gladly receive you as sons. Otherwise, go your way and leave us alone (see George Mastrontonis, Augsburg and Constantinople, Brookline, MA: Holy Cross Press, 1982).

By throwing the full weight of their venerable tradition at the Lutherans, the Orthodox have caused the knees of the historians among us to quiver a bit. Their tradition is harder to gainsay than that of Rome. We can more easily withstand such threats to our own integrity when they come from the latter, seeing that Rome had clearly veered from her own apostolic moorings beginning somewhere from Gelasius’ fifth-century conception of two swords under God (pope and king) to Leo III’s coronation of Charlemagne (a.d. 800) and reaching its ugliest mutation in the early 13th century genocidal pomposity of Innocent III. But the fact of the East’s clear sailing through history without any Middle Ages to speak of provides them with an added weight of authority behind their claims of tradition. No wonder there are capitulations among us.

Nevertheless it ought to be remembered that saying one is in the right is not what makes it so, no matter how forcefully or impressively one is able to say it. For us, the unity of the Christian Church has never been manifest except in her marks, in the same way that the divinity of Christ, during His humiliation, was not manifest except in His marks. The cross marked Jesus, as could nothing else, as the Christ, the King of the Jews. Not even His healings and miracles, as important as they were, pointed as clearly as the cross itself did to who He really was, in fulfillment of the Scriptures, as the centurion at the cross in St. Matthew 27 also confessed. So also, it is not necessary to say that the schisms which have externally beset the Church in any way encroach on her unity, any more than it would be to say that the passion and death of Christ is a renunciation of His glory. We live by faith, not by sight. By faith, then, we agree that the unity of the Church has never been broken or lost, but we do not believe that this unity must be visibly evident. Its concealment might even be said to betoken its likeness to Christ’s divinity. And as the bitterness and travail of Christ’s soul resulted in ultimate good for the human race, so the struggles we have endured through the centuries of the Church’s tribulations, both inwardly and outwardly, have produced the good fruits of confessional stamina and refinement.

All in all, the temptations to go East are easy to understand. The East has peace. The East can say it has the more pristine Creed. And the East has visible unity. But we must go on fighting the good fight. We preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness. By the same token, I believe, it is admissible to say that we preach a cruciform Christianity, which likewise is a stumblingblock and foolishness to some. Tho’ with a scornful wonder, men see her sore opprest; By schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed; Yet saints their watch are keeping, Their cry goes up, How long? And soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song.

Congratulations to Rev. Matthew Harrison

The election, moments ago, of Rev. Matthew Harrison to the office of President of the Lutheran Church -- Missouri Synod, is a remarkable demonstration of the mysterious ways of God.

Rev. Harrison is, in my estimation, a theologian of impressive stature, who knows the history of the Synod as well as what counts for confessional Lutheran theology. I heard him speak up in Minnesota a few months ago, very impressive. I have known him for some time, but in my estimation, he has gained much in theological clarity and sense. The grace of God is with him.

He's going to need it.

Moments after the election, while waiting for the ballot boxes to reset for the election of first VP of Synod, the delegation had to listen to a traditional Trinitarian hymn "Holy God We Praise Thy Name," but with a rhythm section and a male vocalist. It was pure praise band stuff, which confessional Lutherans find, well, rather repulsive. It doesn't match the words being sung. It's the very kind of thing we've been teaching our people to avoid.

So here we have a truly schizophrenic situation. The music here is unbefitting worship, but the election tells another story. A divided synod, but hopefully one which wend its way through the worship wars to a God-pleasing resolution.

Could we dare to hope for such a thing? Well, years ago I would never have expected that a Matthew Harrison would have had a chance to be elected President of the Missouri Synod.

Well, There's an Advertising Twist

Driving through Indiana yesterday we saw this sign, a cheery invitation for visitors to Cornerstone Church: New Pastor! Fresh Approach!

I wonder what kind of thinking runs through the minds of people who think an advertisement that their church has a new pastor with a fresh approach will bring new members. One could take this a number of ways, I suppose, but the most glaring, it seems to me, would be a serious caveat emptor, since another way to say "new pastor, fresh approach" is to say, We have such little regard for the ministry that we are letting the world know how unpopular, stale, and worn out our old pastor was. How can a church with such a disdain for the pastor be a welcoming place for anybody?

Now the question is, Who wrote this sign? The people? In which case I pity the poor new pastor and advise him to watch his backside. Or, perhaps, the new pastor himself, in which case I'd be inclined to quip that what goes around comes around.

In any case, this definitely qualifies as creepy.

Comic Relief

Behold the meeting of a bankrupt ecclesiology and the marketplace. It had to happen sooner or later. Barbie has entered the priesthood.

Indelible Character?

In the Roman Catholic world, character indelibilis is the special grace which attaches itself to the ordination of a priest which is irrevocable. This does not mean that an ordained priest cannot be removed from office for cause; what it does mean is that such a man can never again be considered a layman. From the Catechism of the Catholic Church:

"The sacrament of Holy Orders . . . confers an indelible spiritual character and cannot be repeated or conferred temporarily.

"It is true that someone validly ordained can, for grave reasons, be discharged from the obligations and functions linked to ordination, or can be forbidden to exercise them; but he cannot become a layman again in the strict sense, because the character imprinted by ordination is for ever. The vocation and mission received on the day of his ordination mark him permanently.

"Since it is ultimately Christ who acts and effects salvation through the ordained minister, the unworthiness of the latter does not prevent Christ from acting. St. Augustine states this forcefully:

"As for the proud minister, he is to be ranked with the devil. Christ's gift is not thereby profaned: what flows through him keeps its purity, and what passes through him remains dear and reaches the fertile earth. . . . The spiritual power of the sacrament is indeed comparable to light: those to be enlightened receive it in its purity, and if it should pass through defiled beings, it is not itself defiled." (Catechism of the Catholic Church, s.v. The Sacrament of Holy Orders, Par. 182-4)

The Lutheran (especially Luther's own) response to this was to point out that the ministry is a ministry of the word and Sacraments, which themselves confer grace for salvation, to be received through faith. Moreover the 'grace' of ordination cannot be allowed to obscure or supplant the grace of salvation. So Luther disagreed with the indelible character, at least as it was being bandied about in his day, and could say that a deposed priest was no priest at all(WA 6, 408, 22ff.; 567, 18-19).

Wolfhart Pannenberg has pointed out that if the idea is understood somewhat differently, we do not need to reject it altogether. If we see it "in terms of the thought of promise and sending that constantly govern the ordained and claim them for Christ's service, we no longer need to oppose [indelible character] on the Lutheran side, since this point of view finds expression in the Lutheran churches, too. Here there is no repetition of ordination." (Systematic Theology [Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1998], 398.

I think Pannenberg's sentiments are right, although perhaps it isn't that we "no longer" need to oppose it, but simply that there is a proper way to understand it. After all, St. Paul tells Timothy not to neglect the gift that is in him by the laying on of hands (I Timothy 4:14), and the gifts and the call of God are irrevocable (Romans 11:29).

So, acknowledging Luther's concern that ordination cannot be allowed to supplant the grace of God given to an individual for salvation, we ought not be too quick to scuttle the permanence of ordination. Set aside for a moment the negatives (e.g. what about the rogue or wicked priest?), the positive truth is that someone who is ordained into service as a minister of the Gospel is indeed supposed to see himself as ordained for life. He may not view this calling as an ordinary job.

If you want to be, say, a schoolteacher or pharmacist, and after a number of years shrug and say you'd like to embark on a different career, that's entirely up to you. We cannot quite say the same for a clergyman. And in fact the shepherd who knows this will be less inclined to turn tail and run when he sees the wolf; especially if he remembers the attendant promises given to him for perseverance.

While it is true that there remain valid reasons for removing a man from the office, or even that the man himself might rightly see fit to step down, on the other hand there are many reasons that are not valid. Fear of persecution is not a valid reason.

Nor, for that matter, is the attainment of the age of 65. It is true that the 'retired' minister sometimes does plenty of preaching, and there is a place for retired preachers in the economy of the churches, so I do think that there's a salutary way to take 'retirement' in the church; but I don't think one can simply look at that magical age as an opportunity to go find a Florida beach and take in the rays for the rest of your life, just because you want to.

Seminarians ought to think twice before receiving their Holy Orders, because in a way it's rather like getting married. After all, you do take a vow to preach. And the Apostle says "woe unto me if I preach not the Gospel." Presumably his saying of this was not in any way related to his age.

So, then, is there a proper way to understand the indelible character? I think so.

The Discussion Format

The discussion format will provide an added appeal at this year's Oktoberfest in Kewanee, Illinois.

Last January Fr. Stuckwisch and I sat comfortably up front to discuss--what was it?--something about the future of the Missouri Synod, at Fr. Petersen's place in Ft. Wayne. It was, I think, the first instance of something new: the exclusive use of the discussion format. Fr. Petersen asked us questions about the topic, and we responded, and discussed. Questions were then invited from those present as well. This was a theological conference of sorts, but neither of us presented a formal paper. Rather, we spoke extemporaneously, and conversed with Fr. Petersen.

It was my own idea, which I had taken from what I saw on a National Review cruise last year. There were several speakers, big name people, but not one presented a paper. All were interviewed or involved in casual discussions on stage. The nearby picture is one I took of John O'Sullivan, Mona Charon, and Darcy Olsen in one such setting on the cruise. I found the format--to say nothing of the subject matter--to be very attractive, because it was so easy to listen to. I was so impressed--with the format, that is--that I even made a point of telling Jay Nordlinger so.

We've all been to theological conferences in which excellent papers are presented. And yet, even when the very best papers are presented--say, by David Scaer, or William Weinrich, who never disappoint--it's a standard rule that you must not ever say that your mind wandered, or that you had to struggle to stay with the speaker. (oops, I just broke the rule, didn't I)

Think about it: aren't the most memorable parts of such papers most often the asides, the offhand remarks, the non-scripted parts?

Speaking of Dr. Scaer, for instance: he will disagree with me about this, I know, because I've heard him say he thinks his writing comes off better than his classroom teaching, but I find his teaching--no prepared paper--nevertheless the places where he truly shines.

I remember back in the stone age of the Symposia, when speakers would give their papers in Sihler Auditorium, and as a sem student I'd sit there listening, after a late night of partying, and find myself struggling to stay awake. No matter what the paper was about, sometimes I know I missed out on some great material, for this very reason.

It was the format, I now conclude, that contributed most heavily to my zoning out.

So after the NR cruise, I got to thinking, and Fr. Petersen and I talked it over, and agreed to give it a try, at his place. I think it worked.

Then last spring I was up at Fr. Bender's place, his CCA shindig, and after having talked this over with him, partook in another such discussion. Then it was Petersen and I, with Bender as moderator, simply discussing, extemporare. And I think that worked too.

I'm beginning to think it is a more fit vehicle for theology than the prepared paper.

So, naturally, I determined this would also be the format for Oktoberfest this year. Our speakers will have no prepared manuscripts. Their preparation will be of the subject matter at hand (how the liturgy is Not a matter of Indifferent Things; details here). Frs. Stuckwisch, Beane, and Curtis will discuss questions which I will have prepared for them; and questions will be entertained from the people as well.

I am already convinced that this format is way better. Waaaay better.

It's coming up, October 11-13. Register here.

I Guess It's Not Just the Lutherans

Egad, there's a part of me that wants to find solace in seeing that even in the Church of Rome there is liturgical abuse and chicanery going on (not to say sacrilege), but there's another part that simply recoils, while my skin crawls. This is really creepy. I know these bobble head larger than life puppets are going to give me nightmares tonight. (HT: Trent Sebits)