Open Letter to Women Desiring to be Pastors

In many respects the modern era brought almost limitless advancement for women; today we are granted choices which are staggering even to our grandmothers. There are few career opportunities from which we're excluded due to our gender, we may decide the number of children to have, whether or not to be married, where to live, and how much education we wish to pursue--the options for us really are endless. In most respects the world is ours, and this can lull us into the belief that we have the right to everything we want, or that to be denied something is an attempt at subjugation. How dare society, culture, or family hold us back, never mind the church! In this climate we are taught to resist tradition, or in the very least treat it with suspicion, after all tradition merely serves as a vestige of the past, a past which insisted women comply with its demands and stipulations, a past which we have been taught robbed women of their freedom. From this vantage point it is difficult to see any restriction placed upon women as meaningful, helpful, or even advantageous. Is the continuing subjugation of women what is in the historic Church's mind when she restricts women from occupying the Office of the Holy Ministry? Is this another blockade which women must breach on the path to freedom?

It is my assumption that any woman who is considering the Office of the Holy Ministry has read Scripture and noted the many women who are granted special recognition by its authors. Scripture does not ignore women, rather it very forthrightly lauds them for their service. We see many examples of strong faithful women throughout the Bible, in its pages we meet Rahab, Sarah, Hannah, Deborah a prophetess and Judge of Israel, Mary Magdelene, Martha, and even Mary, the one chosen to bear our Lord. We note that women stayed by our Lord during His crucifixion, and are later there to witness the resurrection, even telling the apostles the news. Then there are the women, named and unnamed, who supported the ministry of the apostles with their service and their finances. This witness does not stop at Scripture as church history boasts a pantheon of female saints who served the church in countless ways. It is clear that Scripture and church tradition, far from subjugating women, affords them honor. It is also clear that none of these women served as pastors. Despite the special place that our Lord grants to women, He never called one to be an apostle, rather He calls men to feed His sheep.

Did our Lord fail to call women to the Office of the Holy Ministry because He was somehow short-sighted? Did He deny that women were capable of carrying out this weighty task? It seems obvious that women are capable of carrying out the tasks of the ministry--it is not as if we are somehow physically unable to write a sermon, preach it, or administer the sacraments. Women are indeed physically capable of all the tasks with which the ministry is vested, yet this is a form of service which eludes the women of Scripture. The ministry is not like other secular jobs which we may pursue--it is not a matter of our capabilities, it is a matter of our Lord's ordering of creation and indeed His Church. Just as we are unable to become fathers by simply participating in traditional fatherly roles, we may not become pastors simply because we take on the role of pastor. Women would not deny that we aren't given to fatherhood, or that our inability to become fathers can be undone by a mere change in policy, yet we expect Christ's Church, His Bride, to be less stalwart than simple biology. Do we really want that which richly forgives our sins and the sins of all believers to be as fickle as our culture? The order of creation which the Church mimics does not seek to pit women against men, rather it honors diversity by highlighting the distinctions between male and female, along with the gifts and vocations each are afforded.

There are many ways in which women may serve the church, the pastoral ministry is hardly the only vehicle of service available. If we assume that women must be pastors in order to have legitimate service to the church, then we tarnish the service of the women who have gone before us, women who though sinners are extolled in Scripture, and hardly treated as second-class citizens because they failed to achieve the pastoral office. Furthermore, to claim that women must be pastors do we not also submit to a mindset which is astonishingly patriarchal? That is, it assumes that the only valid service to be rendered is that which is given to men. This is akin to stating that fatherhood is the only meaningful parental vocation. Why cannot we simply rejoice in the service which we have been given rather than opining that which we have not been given?

Scripture calls wives to submit to their husbands, but it also calls husbands to love their wives as Christ loved the Church. When we seek to traverse the bounds of gender and creation we deny men the vocations they have been given, we reject their love, and in the name of freedom we simply submit to another form of bondage. Instead of submitting to Christ's authority, and the authority of those men given to preach His Word and administer His sacraments, we wander aimlessly in the wilderness, bereft of the Church, and falling victim to every wind of doctrine. By pursuing ordination women risk following in the footsteps of Eve who doubted God's Word, twisted it to her own ends, and trusted the promise of the serpent—yet another promise of freedom resulting in bondage to sin and death. For these reasons the question of women's ordination cannot be simply an academic issue, or even a secondary issue, as it flies directly in the face of our Lord's institution of the Church. Rather than remaining the ship which saves us from a flood of sin, the church becomes yet another worldly establishment which promises everything and delivers exactly nothing.

Bloodless Jesus

"Well, toward morning the conversation turned on the Eucharist, which I, being the Catholic, was obviously supposed to defend. Mrs. Broadwater said when she was a child and received the Host, she thought of it as the Holy Ghost, He being the 'most portable' person of the Trinity; now she thought of it as a symbol and implied that it was a pretty good one. I then said, in a very shaky voice, 'Well, if it's a symbol, to hell with it.' That was all the defense I was capable of but I realize now that this is all I will ever be able to say about it, outside of a story, except that it is the center of existence for me; all the rest of life is expendable." –Flannery O'Connor, letter to "A", December 16^th 1955.

These seem like harsh words, particularly when one considers it unlikely that Flannery was speaking hyperbolically. Indeed, if it is just a symbol it is a form of rank idolatry, as it communicates a Christ who is present only as an extension of our own memorializing of Him, rather than according to His flesh and promise. Christ's presence in a symbolic Eucharist is fomented by our own identification with the symbolism, with the abstraction, with the emotional connection to the event of the Cross, therefore the Christ worshiped is a mirror of one's own sentiment. In this schema the Eucharist ceases to be where Christ meets, forgives, and feeds sinners with true life.

So much is to be gained by this simple truth held by the Church throughout her history, yet a large vocal minority rages against it. There is no exegetical basis to claim that the Eucharist is purely symbolic, unless one is really willing to argue that Jesus' words do not mean what they say, yet the raging remains among many who claim to be bound by the witness and authority of Scripture. The sinful man must rage against Christ's presence in our midst. A figurative Christ, one who is all spirit and no flesh can be contorted to suit our likings; it is easier to bend a memory to conform to one's own particular sentimentalities than it is to risk our own encounter with the flesh and blood of Jesus. Humans are not incapable of erecting monuments to their own sentiments, and certainly are not above worship of our own emotions. A sentimentalized Jesus is preferable: He's simpler, and certainly much tidier. The flesh and blood Jesus is hazardous to sinners, and even much more so dangerous to the virtuous, here one must nod to C.S. Lewis and agree that though Jesus is good, He is not safe. We know we are unlikely to survive a meeting with Jesus--our vices with be brought to light, and perhaps even more frighteningly, our virtues seared away, our pious pretentions would be reduced to rubble, leaving us with nothing of ourselves, nothing which we can claim as ours. A symbolic Eucharist is the vain attempt to save ourselves from such an encounter with Christ. Much like the demons, in our sin we cry out, "depart from us Jesus of Nazareth!" Yet unlike swine cast into the abyss, we are not driven away, but rather comforted, not with some sentimental notion that He loves us just as we are, but rather in a much more concrete absolute—that He feeds us Himself so we may live. He does destroy us, as even our most virtuous qualities are burned away by the flesh and blood the crucified and risen Lord, and it is then that we amount only to what we are in Him. But in this, staring through a glass darkly we begin to understand with the apostle that it is no longer "I who lives, but Christ who lives in me."

From Vice to Virtue?

"God does not want to redeem us through our own, but through external, righteousness and wisdom; not through one that comes from us and grows in us, but through one that comes to us from the outside; not through one that originates here on earth, but through one that originates in heaven. Therefore, we must be taught a righteousness that comes completely from the outside and is foreign. And therefore our own righteousness that is born in us must first be plucked up. Thus we read in Ps. 45:10 'Forget your people and your father's house, etc.' Abraham, too, was ordered to leave his father's house in this way (Gen 12:1). Thus we read also in the Song of Solomon (4:8) 'Come from Lebanon, my spouse, and you shall be crowned.' Also, the whole exodus of the people of Israel formerly symbolized that exodus which they interpret as one from faults to virtues. But it would be better to understand it as an exodus from virtues to the grace of Christ, because virtues of that kind are often greater or worse faults the less they are accepted as such and the more powerfully they subordinate to themselves every human emotion at the expense of all other good qualities. Thus the right side of the Jordan was more afraid than the left side. But now Christ wants our whole disposition to be so stripped down that we are not only unafraid of being embarrassed for our faults and also do not delight in the glory and vain joys of our virtues but that we do not feel called upon to glory before men even in that external righteousness that comes to us from Christ. Nor should we be cast down by sufferings and evils which are inflicted on us for His sake. A true Christian must have no glory of his own and must to such an extent be stripped of everything he calls his own that in honor and dishonor he can always remain the same in the knowledge that the honor that has been bestowed on him has been given not to him but to Christ, whose righteousness and gifts are shining in him, and that the dishonor inflicted on him is inflicted both on him and on Christ."

Martin Luther, Lectures on Romans (Luther's Works 25:136-7)

Religion Versus Relationship?

    "It's not about religion but about relationship" has become a cliché bandied about primarily by Evangelicals wishing to underscore what it is that makes them distinct from the forms of Christianity that have come before them. Evangelicalism is, indeed, relatively new on the religious landscape, and it understands that it must market itself to a population which expects to be seduced by good salesmanship, if it is to survive. That is, Evangelicalism, particularly American Evangelicalism, understands Americans. It understands that in America success is largely measured by popularity, which is measured by numbers. In order to get one's numbers to grow, it helps if there is a slogan which sets you apart from what is, for lack of a better word, the competition. In a sense, "it's not about religion but about relationship" has become the marketing jingle of America's own brand of Christianity. With these few words it lays bare a critique of the forms of Christianity which have preceded her, and it promises a new, revitalized, version of Christianity. In this new version of Christianity God is not concerned with Himself, but God is concerned with you. He wants to get to know you as a person, because, well, you're that important. And if you get to know God, you'll discover the power awaiting your claim. Americans understand power: we want and expect our cars to be powerful, our military to be powerful, our leaders to be powerful, and we certainly expect our religion, opps, I mean our personal relationship with Jesus, to be one of power as well.

    The trouble with this language, with this phrase, isn't the words themselves. There is nothing inherently wrong with speaking of a personal relationship with Jesus, to seek to know and understand Him better. What is troubling, are the connotations it bears within the American religious landscape: it speaks of a Christianity devoid of any certainty, or any assurance outside of one's own personal experience of Jesus. By speaking of Christianity as something that is grounded in one's own experience, and rejecting what it classifies as "religion" which invariably are the rituals and sacraments which Christ has provided His Church, we form a vapid Christianity lacking any depth, and certainly without any personal weakness. In this new Christianity there is no room for failure, there is no room for Job, there is no room for God dead on a cross. It is no accident that this Christianity, or what passes for Christianity, rarely portrays this dead God in their sanctuaries. Here one might trot out the Reformed understanding of the numbering of the 10 Commandments, which places as the second commandment a prohibition against images of the divine, and at some junctures this might be a valid historical claim, however, I believe in mainstream American Christianity, something much more sinister is at work—the Cross doesn't have any value in a religion that is largely about you and your personal success stories. We see this principle at play in the use of testimonies within these churches. Everyone is expected to have a testimony, this is the mark of one's salvation—how bad a sinner were you, and how much have you cleaned up your act since then (of course with all the glory to God alone!)? And no, no one ever says "well I was a three week old rotten sinner at enmity with God when my parents carted me the baptismal font where I was born again in the waters of baptism, and given the promise of life and salvation." No, that's just not exciting enough (debates over infant baptism notwithstanding). When this brand of Christianity speaks of an encounter with Jesus, it will almost certainly be in the form of goosebumps, chills, an internal revitalization, or I cringe to say it, a "special word from the Lord." In this brand of Christianity it's blasé to say one has encountered Jesus by eating His body and drinking His blood, for the forgiveness of sins. Not nearly exciting enough. In this brand of Christianity, salvation itself has become blasé. Or at least salvation spoken of in Biblical terms--you're a rotten sinner, Jesus is a great Savior who loves you, died for you, and there's nothing you can do about it. In this form of Christianity our feelings are a means of grace, our source of assurance, and Jesus is our life coach. He's there to encourage us, and to bless us, to help us straighten up and fly right. This brand of Christianity has done exactly what it claims it does not do: it is a very religious program of personal self-fulfillment and self-advancement.

What do we lose when we define our faith by our experience and our quest for power? We lose Jesus. Sure, there may be much talk about Jesus, but he's a Jesus without any verbs, and is almost relegated to an abstract concept. He is a Jesus who died, rose, and ascended, so we may have "power from on high." He's a Jesus who is the means to a better life. He is no longer the sum total of all theology. With this emphasis on power we lose Jesus, and we lose the prayer of the Church, "Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy." There is little place for a cry for mercy when one is busy with the business of being a successful Christian.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

Bible Message Fail

Look everyone: I have a blog! The funny thing about blogs is that you're supposed to write stuff and then publish it on said blog. Clearly I've been remiss in so doing. I'd apologize or offer some lame excuse to explain my absence, but an apology I think would be a bit over the top, and the excuse would probably be made-up, so I'll refrain from both. However, here I am again, back at it after once again being told by several people that I should "blog." Honestly, I don't think I have much to say that isn't already being said by other people who are much smarter than I, but alas I suppose the appeal to vanity worked, as evidenced by this entry. So hang on, and read carefully--this may be the only thing I have to say for another 4 or 5 months.

A few days ago a blog entry appeared which listed the answers given by nearly 30 noted Evangelical scholars and pastors when asked to relay the message of the Bible in one sentence. I was struck by this entry and the responses; the question he poses is the sort which would force us to sift through our own perceptions of what it is God brings to us in His Word. In a day where the Bible is used for any one of a number of things: life coach, financial planner, magic de-coder ring, prophecy illuminator, and basic instruction book, what do seminary professors, scholars, and mega church pastors see as the Bible's central message?

Perhaps not surprisingly, though somewhat depressingly, several scholars gave responses that made me want to plant a tree rather than rejoice in the salvation God has brought to man. I cannot help but find it distressing that seminary professors and pastors could speak of God's central message without speaking of Jesus, not to mention Jesus' salvation of sinners. Granted, several responses did point to Jesus, however this is not Leno's "Jaywalking" segment, this is not the word on the street--this is the word from the seminaries. Many bloggers, commentators, and radio hosts have pointed to the near-absent evangel in much of today's Evangelicalism, and I think we tend to assume that law-centered, improve your life, be a good person, 40-days-to-a-better-you, type of sermons and Bible studies happen in some sort of vacuum. If a professor at a seminary does not see Christ crucified for sinners as the central message of Scripture, then how can we expect him to see Jesus on every page? How can we expect him to teach seminarians anything different from what he himself confesses? Why should we be surprised when the gospel is treated as a secondary add-on when it is not seen as the central message of the Bible? If the professors don't know what the Bible's about, then how can the students (who will later be pastors) fare any better?

This question reminds me of recent sermon delivered by a noted Christian apologist at Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary: he was slated to preach on "What's so great about the gospel?" but introduced his sermon by stating that he couldn't begin to cover that topic in 20 minutes, so chose instead to preach a bizarre sermon which outlined his principles for leadership. This leads us to consider the old adage that if we understand something we should be able to explain it quickly and with simplicity.

 

Waivering Wanda--My Review of Beth Moore's "Get Out of That Pit"

Beth Moore couples a profoundly deficient understanding, interpretation, and application of Scripture with her desire to assuage her audience’s feelings of loneliness and failure, thereby creating a landscape in which we are told that God will not help us out of our various pits, and we must save ourselves. Moore’s lack of theological certitude causes her to systematize a strange theological formula in which she seems to borrow from both the Calvinist and Arminian camps, creating a God who is far removed from us and our suffering, as God’s sovereignty is a constant basis of appeal for Moore, and an anthropology where man is not only able to save himself, but actually desires to do so. This flies in the face of Scripture’s teaching about man and the work of the Redeemer. In Moore’s schema, Jesus is no longer the all-sufficient Savior from sin, death, and the devil, but rather man’s help-meet, who soothes us in the midst of our mistakes. In short, Moore’s theology, as presented in this book, fails to proclaim God’s work on behalf of sinners, and has such has no basis from which to deliver on its subtitled promise of “straight talk about God’s deliverance.”


Moore defines a pit and its impact: “a pit is an early grave that Satan digs for you in hopes he can bury you alive. Should you fall into it, make no mistake; he cannot make you stay. Ironically, neither will God make you leave. Like it or not, some things are simply up to us.” This definition lays the groundwork for Moore, and it is not difficult to see how this would create a multiplicity of complications for the unsuspecting reader. Despite Moore’s various attempts to define a pit, or even how we can get out of the pit, the reader is left with little other than mystical language which is more than slightly nebulous. Granted, Moore does go on to further qualify by explaining how to recognize when one is stuck in a pit, but again she fails to do this without resorting to language which is entirely centered on the individual and his or her sense of reality. Moore tells us that one may recognize herself as a pit-dweller when one or several criteria are met.

Moore’s first indication that one is caught in a pit is that one feels stuck. She draws this conclusion from Isaiah 42:22, which, according to her paraphrase, describes a pit as a “place where you feel trapped.” The trouble is that this is not what God is telling us in Isaiah 42:22. Rather, God is describing the exile which Israel must endure as the result of her faithlessness. Oddly enough this verse is sandwiched between a plainly Christological description of God’s servant who will not break a bruised reed or quench a burning wick (Isaiah 42:3, ESV),who will “open the eyes that are blind, bring out the prisoners from the dungeon, from the prison those who sit in darkness” (Isaiah 42:7, ESV) and an on-going description of God as Israel’s deliverer in chapter 43. It is clear from the context that God was not describing a pit figuratively as an emotional place in which one feels stuck, but was literally describing the fruit of Israel’s faithlessness. God also goes on to say that He is Israel’s deliverer, He does not give them steps to climb out of a pit of emotional despair but promises a future servant in whom God’s “soul delights” (Isaiah 42:1) and furthermore promises deliverance from the turmoil that will soon seem to engulf them. Even if God was simply illustrating an emotional difficulty in one’s life, these chapters make it clear that escape from the pit is not at all left up to us, but is rather fomented by God’s direct intervention in humanity through His Son the Servant and Savior.

The second way we may know that we’re in a pit is when we “can’t stand up.” For this criterion Moore takes her cue from Psalm 69:2, where David laments his weariness in the face of seemingly insurmountable enemies. Interestingly enough, this very psalm looks to God as the deliverer. After pouring out his heart to God, David proclaims “But I am afflicted and in pain; let your salvation, O God, set me on high!” (Psalm 69:29, ESV) David expounds on this point further and concludes the psalm by rejoicing in the Lord’s salvation. David looks to God. Moore, however, seems to overlook this somewhat obvious point, and chastises her readers for failing to take the devil’s schemes more seriously:

"If you’re not already convinced, it’s time you accepted the biblical fact that your soul has a very real enemy, and he is not flesh and blood. We can’t keep on ignoring someone who is systematically trying to destroy our lives. The passivity has got to go. Ephesians 6:11 implores us, ‘Take your stand against the devil’s schemes.” Your stand. No one can stand indefinitely for you. If you and I are going to be victorious people, we’ve got to stand with our own two feet on solid ground. Ephesians 6:13 exhorts, ‘Stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.’"

Moore is correct inasmuch that the devil is indeed the enemy of our souls. Scripture tells us that we do not wage war against flesh and blood. However, Moore’s broader assertion is far more troubling, especially when placed in its correct Scriptural context: first Moore puts the weight of deliverance upon us, and claims that Scripture does the same. This is so far from the truth it is astonishing. Moore claims she is quoting Ephesians 6:11 when she is actually only providing a summary of the verse, and a profoundly misleading summary at that. The verse, according to the English Standard Version, actually states: “Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.” But what is even more telling is that the verse which precedes this tells us to “be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might.” Moore tells her readers to stand under their own strength when these verses tell us explicitly not to do this but rather we are to stand against Satan in the Lord’s might, not our own, protected by the gifts the Lord has given to His children.

Lastly, Moore states that we can recognize we are in a pit when we have “lost vision.” It is difficult to discern what exactly it is Moore means when she uses this phrase, as she speaks of it in terms of an “endless echo of self-absorption” and also a failure to “overflow with an effervescent life, stirring and spilling with God-given vision.” Her descriptions here are starkly mystical, and as such it is unsurprising that even given her somewhat unscrupulous use of Scripture, she is unable to find one to support her case here. This simply is an assertion which is entirely without Scriptural warrant: even Scripture put to rather creative uses.

From her description of a pit, Moore goes on to explain three different means of arriving in a pit, and our various means of escape. One may find herself in a pit when she is thrown into it by life circumstances, by slipping into it by neglecting the things of God, or by jumping into it by committing willful sin. The distinctions Moore makes between these pits are essentially the result of Moore’s anthropology. She spends many pages discussing the devil’s schemes, but never addresses man’s sinful condition, and his ensuing war against his own flesh. Thus, a pit is always Satan’s trap, which we fail to avoid through our own lack of commitment and earnestness in our Christian walks.

Of the three descents into a pit that Moore describes, the most troubling is her description of the pit into which we fall. She uses as an example Joseph’s slavery in Egypt, but not only as an example of an event in a biblical character’s life, and also as a rubric for recognizing and conquering one’s pit. What is of particular concern is the theological perspective she brings to the pit that some of us may have been thrown into as victims of abuse or misfortune. Moore approaches the theodical question from the basis of God’s sovereignty rather than grounding the question of God’s goodness in the face of suffering in the cross of Christ. Moore attempts to comfort her readers with the knowledge of a sovereign God who orchestrates difficult events in their lives to ultimately bring a better end. Superficially, it may seem that Moore has a biblical case; however, she is delving deeply into the hidden will of God. We know that God can take all pain and suffering and bring good out of it--the cross itself is proof of this. However, there is a profound difference between God bringing good from the intentions of the evil one, and God actively orchestrating evil events in our lives. The truth is we cannot always know the specifics of why a terrible ordeal was suffered by one person and not another. We can know, however, of the God who comes to save sinners, who takes all our infirmities upon Himself. We can know that God loves us and we can comfort people with this knowledge by pointing to Christ. We cannot point to God’s sovereignty in an attempt to comfort hurting people; and this is not how God would have us comfort others. The God of Christendom is a God who steps down to humanity in His incarnation, and continues to meet humanity in His Word and the sacraments. As He promises, He is with us always, even to the end of the age (Mt. 28:20). An appeal to God’s sovereignty in the midst of suffering leaves room for one to despair of God’s love. Moore makes God’s love into an abstraction when God Himself illustrates His love on Golgotha.

Unsurprisingly, Moore solves the problem of life’s various pits with an unhealthy dose of watered-down law. Rather than dealing with biblical categories of sin, repentance, faith, and forgiveness, she deals almost exclusively in the categories of mistakes, mishaps, misdeeds, our human decisions, and our relationship with Christ. Moore sees a stronger relationship with Christ as the answer to all life’s ills, but fails to give the reader tools to understand how this relationship is fashioned. One would not expect a Southern Baptist to be sacramental in her counsel to despairing sinners, but one can expect her to at least demonstrate a clear grasp of the gospel. Moore does not demonstrate this, but rather tells a struggling sinner to get her act together by deciding to put her trust in Christ. She imagines it is comforting to be told “He’s all yours if you want Him [Christ].” She tells us that the way out of the pit is to make the decision to give Jesus our whole heart, mind and soul: when we have done these things we can know we are out of the pit. It seems obvious, however, that if we could keep the first commandment, which is all Moore is really asking of her readers, then we really would not need a savior.

Moore simply does not grasp that she is speaking to sinners with a bound will who do not naturally seek the things of God. Because Moore does not understand the fallen human condition, she fails to understand and communicate the all-encompassing work of Christ. Without pure, unfettered gospel there is simply no means to deliver Christ to despairing sinners. Moore approaches sinners in despair, and tells them how to feel forgiven without really proclaiming Christ’s forgiveness. This is where her confusion of law and gospel becomes the most apparent—and the most disastrous. Because Moore seeks to make sinners feel better, she does not allow the law to condemn to its full extent, but rather softens the effect. She also does not communicate unconditional gospel promises, but rather restricts the gospel’s promise with words like “all you have to do is…” This structure, and this confusion of law and gospel, has one of two likely outcomes: the despairing sinner could be lead further down the road to despair as she realizes her inability to clean up her own mess. Or, perhaps even worse, she could imagine she has cleaned up her act, and in terms of the law, is managing very adequately. This places the weight of one’s deliverance and salvation upon one’s own good works rather than on Christ’s perfect work. For this reason one has to conclude that Moore’s theology is nothing less than toxic.

Why I Became a Lutheran

I was introduced to Luther, and by extension Lutheranism, by a professor of mine at an Evangelical seminary I attended. I thought I was a pretty convinced Southern Baptist until I realized that Luther nailed me and my pietism on too many things.

The summer after my first year at seminary I started attending a Lutheran church off and on and discovered the irrelevance of Lutheran worship and Lutheran preaching. Why irrelevant? Not once did I walk out of that church with steps to improve my love life, my bank account balance, my job prospects, or my social skills. In fact I don't think I ever walked out with steps to improve anything, because all I ever heard about was my sin and my Savior.

Two back-to-back Sundays during this summer stick in my mind. The first Sunday I attended my regular Baptist church. I don't remember the sermon title, or much of anything about the sermon as a matter of fact, despite the power point and my careful note-taking. I do recall, however, the pastor suggesting that if we wanted to grow in our Christian lives we should take advantage of all the great resources available to us today. If we had financial problems there were books on that, if we had marital problems there were books on that, if we wanted to improve in just about any area we were just about guaranteed that someone had written the book for that struggle which would detail how to be a good, virtuous Christian. The following Sunday I attended the Lutheran church, and received a very different answer to the exact same question-- Jesus. And not just some abstract Jesus who gives me a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart sometimes, but a Jesus who died for my sins, vividly portrayed by the crucifix in front of the church. The pastor didn't tell what to do, but he told me what had already been done. For me.

In the view of pop-Evangelicalism it doesn't get more irrelvant than vestments, lectionaries, prayer books, hymns, or chanting. It doesn't get more irrelevant than preaching the same gospel to forgiven sinners week after week and month after month. It doesn't get more irrelevant than God's Word combined with water or the very body and blood of Jesus given for the forgiveness of sins. It doesn't get more irrelevant than the Church which desires to know nothing but Christ crucified for sinners.

It doesn't get more irrelevant than the Church being the Church.