Hey, that's me!

Whaddya know, I'm listening right now to myself on Pirate Christian Radio. It's out "St. Paul's on the Air" program, which airs on our local radio station at 7:30 Sunday mornings. It's now also on the internet at 7:30 pm CDT Mondays and repeated, I believe, at 7:30 am Tuesdays. Also for late-nighters, it repeats at 1:30 am Tuesdays. Anyhow, listen in sometime; the station is great; has a lot of very fine programming . . .

The Allure of a Foreign Accent

People are always stacking up the good parts and the bad parts of various church bodies, and debating the merits and demerits. Especially these days among bloggers with whom I have become familiar this seems to have become an exciting pastime.

The Roman Catholics have ecclesiastical integrity, episcopal decorum, apostolic succession, and a really cool pope.

The Orthodox, of course, have lots of the same, and though they lack a pope, this fact is usually counted as a plus.

The Lutherans, well, we languish and struggle with strife, etc. Integrity is a byword, decorum is hit-or-miss, and despite all our best efforts at churchmanship, we struggle with things like Ablaze!, church growth, and a whole smattering of terrible practices.

Who'd ever want to be among the lowly Lutherans?

Well, here's one. Count me in.

Offhand I could rattle off all kinds of confessional reasons for this, but you could read them for yourself here and here and here for starters. You know, the Lutheran Confessions.

I could also point out some of the historical follies of both Rome and the East, and let me tell you, there are some real lulus.

But instead, today I'd like to suggest another reason I am not as taken with them as some of my compatriots have been in recent years. Or put conversely, a possible reason those compatriots have been taken with them.

I think it has something to do with their foreign accents.

Most of the great Lutheran scholars I know have American accents. That certainly doesn't exude an ecumenical or global, catholic spirit to Americans. But if you're American, and you have an awareness that the Church is greater than you are, then maybe you find yourself with a sort of instinctive attraction to people who speak English with a foreign accent.

Of course you'll never admit this to me, but I will admit that I do have a sneaking suspicion.

As for me, I'll satisfy my own similar desire for ecumenicity by using the King James Bible. Do the same, and perhaps you'll save yourself some unfortunate side effects of that itch.

While I'm Gone . . .

I'm on vacation for a week,
But still they're kept, and none may peek:
The door is locked, the hosts inside
Where none may enter, for they hide
The majesty of Christ the Lord
Within their species, by His word
And so they'll stay there several days
Unless emergency should raise
The sudden need for them today
And I will take them right away
To someone sick, who would receive them
By His words (they still believe them)
"'Tis my body and my blood"
And these are given for thy good.

;)

Plan Ahead: Oktoberfest Is Coming

Announcing
The Thirteenth Annual Oktoberfest
and Liturgical Seminar at
St. Paul’s Evangelical-Lutheran Church, Kewanee, Illinois
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, October 12-14, 2008

Conference theme: A Tale of Two Synods

This year we are pleased to welcome four guests who have in recent years taken the walk across the rickety bridge from Wisconsin to Missouri. Several years ago the Reverend Fr. Peter Berg, pastor of Our Savior Lutheran Church in Chicago, having been removed from the roster of the WELS, was received by colloquy into the LCMS. This year his brother, the Reverend Fr. John Berg, pastor of Hope Ev. Lutheran Church in Fremont, California, has taken the very same trek. In the meantime the Reverend Fr. Aaron Moldenhauer, pastor of Zion Lutheran Church in Beecher, Illinois, made the same move during his seminary training. He will be accompanied by his wife Tabitha, a scholar in her own right, who will provide a confessional Lutheran perspective on women’s issues. This year both Berg brothers became associate editors of Gottesdienst, and Fr. Moldenhauer is the recipient of the journal’s Sabre of Boldness award for 2008.

On the following day (Tuesday), a liturgical seminar is again planned for a roundtable discussion seeking uniformity in our worship practices. Informed Lutheran clergy are particularly invited to provide input and exchange of ideas, although all are invited to stay for the day.

The cost of Oktoberfest is $25.00, or $40.00 per couple. Student rate is $20.00. (If you're really strapped, talk to me. We'll work something out.) To register now, send an email to me with "Oktoberfest" in the subject line, and provide your name, title, address, and plans (Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, or parts thereof).

On the Reservation of the Elements: A Second Opinion

Here follows the reprint of my Liturgical Observer column from Gottesdienst, the Trinity edition for 2004. It is offered in view of the hot debate in the blogosphere on these matters, and of an oft-quoted article in the CTQ by Professor Roland Ziegler. This "second opinion" is a reply to his opinion.

A recently published article in Concordia Theological Quarterly entitled "Should Lutherans Reserve the Consecrated Elements for the Communion of the Sick?" (vol. 76, no. 2 [April 2003]: 131-147) caught my eye the other day. Professor Roland Ziegler is grinding an axe against the unseemly practice of sending seminary students or other laymen to the homes of shut-ins to take them the Sacrament, and heaven knows the axe needs grinding. Pastors who think they are just too busy are actually quite right: they are too busy, and a quick reorganizing of their priorities is in order. Anyone who takes the Augsburg Confession seriously (to say nothing of the Bible) must agree: the office of the ministry exists for the administration (hence the likeness of terms) of God's gifts. Pastors, don't send a poor unsuspecting vicar to do what you ought to be doing yourself. It's your duty under God.

Not only, I would hasten to add, ought we to call a layman's carrying of reserved elements to the sick a "definitely inferior" practice, to use Ziegler's term (147), but there ought to be some serious evaluation of the relatively novel and equally disturbing practice of employing laymen to assist in the regular distribution of the Sacrament, at the altar. The practice is usually defended by reference to an interpretation of "administer" in AC XIV ("No one may publicly teach or administer the Sacraments without a regular call") as "have oversight over the administration of." But if that's not a stretch, then why is it a stretch to allow laymen to carry the Sacrament to the sick? I'd rather say that it's a stretch in both cases. We ought not merely to engage the question of the propriety of the layman's carrying of the Sacrament to the sick, but the propriety of his giving of the Sacrament to anyone.

It was really something else that caught my eye, though, in Professor Ziegler's article. He is there calling the reservation of the elements for the Communion of the sick altogether undesirable, in the apparent tradition of Martin Chemnitz, the banner-bearer of late sixteenth-century Lutheranism. And this, in spite of his opening sentence, an admission that "the universal custom in Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy is for the priest to commune the sick and shut-ins with previously consecrated elements." H'mm. Universal? That at least ought to give one pause. The old Vincentian canon comes to mind: "In the Catholic Church itself, all possible care must be taken, that we hold that faith which has been believed everywhere, always, by all" (NPNF 2d ser., 11:132), a fifth-century torpedo against any who might harbor the arrogant notion that suddenly after aeons, he has discovered a better way.

But the author is evidently in agreement with Vincent's adage, since in trumpeting Chemnitz's discouragement of the reservation of the elements, he notes that for Chemnitz "a practice that is not mentioned in Scripture and is not universal must be judged according to Scripture" (Ziegler, 147). So historically, then, the practice was not universal. But what exactly does Chemnitz demonstrate to be less than universal? Chemnitz, as Ziegler rightly notes, points to some documents which show "that the elements were consumed immediately after the end of the divine service," while noting that other "numerous accounts . . . show that the elements were retained for a later communion" (142f., my emphasis).

Yet no single document from antiquity is referenced here, or in Chemnitz, or, so far as I am aware, anywhere, to indicate unambiguously that the priest ever routinely took unconsecrated elements to the sick and consecrated them there. The question open for consideration is not the abuses against which Chemnitz wrote--no one here is arguing for the use of a monstrance for the exposition of a Host for adoration--but simply whether the consecration of new elements at the home of the sick is preferable to the carrying of reserved elements to them.

The reservation of the elements for the sole purpose of carrying them to the sick, as Ziegler is well aware, has widespread supporting references. Indeed:

"Possibly at first the holy Sacrament may have been consecrated in the presence of the sick person, but of this in early times the instances are rare and by no means clear. In fact it was considered a marked favor that such a thing should be allowed, and the saying of mass in private houses was prohibited (as it is in the Eastern and Latin churches still to-day) with the greatest rigour ("Excursus on the Communion of the Sick," Henry Percival, NPNF, 2d ser., 7:30)."

To be sure, there's a host of Lutheran dogmaticians who nevertheless condemn the practice of reservation, and Ziegler's analysis, while referencing them, is commendable in showing the evidence against going that far. He notes that Luther permitted reservation of the elements,"but without superstition, and until one can do it in a better way" (WA Br 8, 623, 55-57, quoted and translated in Ziegler, 139), and Chemnitz, while not in favor of reservation, did not go so far as to call it illegitimate (145).

Chemnitz' Examen does indeed argue against what he calls the "papalist" reservation, but he repeatedly defines it as the practice by which the bread is "put away, inclosed, reserved, carried about, displayed, and put to other uses" (Examination of the Council of Trent [St. Louis, 1978], 2:293; cf. "put away . . . reserve it, carry it about, or display it to others" [294]; "shut them in, reserve them, carry them about, and use them for display" [295]; "putting aside, shutting in, carrying about, displaying, etc." [295]; "shutting in, display, and carrying about" [296]; "shutting in, carrying about, and display" [304]; "carrying about, and displaying" [305]). Chemnitz in fact sums up his argument by reference to the Vincentian canon, thus: "Therefore reservation of the consecrated Eucharist without distribution and reception has not been received, approved, and observed either always, or everywhere, or by all as a catholic dogma and necessary custom" (ibid., 299, my emphasis). In short, what he is demonstrating here is that certain Romanist abuses cannot be supported by reference to catholicity.

A distinction must therefore be made between an outlandish or abusive sort of reservation such as Chemnitz referenced, and a reservation which is made solely for the purpose of carrying the elements to the sick. It appears that Chemnitz himself has made this distinction, as he repeatedly spells out his definition of the "papalist" reservation. Meanwhile he defends the "reservation of the ancients" as something "used simply, without superstition, and without a peculiar worship apart from use" (ibid., 310).

The superstitions and abuses in view for Chemnitz--and for Luther, for that matter--primarily had to do with the displaying of the Host solely for adoration, as in a monstrance, abetted by the granting of "a certain number of indulgences . . . in return for reverence when it was carried to a sick person" (ibid., 310). In addition, he also cites "a legend about Basil [which] invents the fiction that . . . he reserved [the consecrated bread] that it might be buried with him" (ibid., 310). Moreover, he complained about the postponement of Communion of the sick "for days, weeks, months, or years" after the consecration (ibid., 294). But his reference had this in view: "the papalists nevertheless reserve parts from the Easter or some other solemn Communion for the sick for nearly a whole year" (ibid., 310). It does not appear that his criticism was directed against the mere practice of reserving elements between one celebration and the next, or a week at most (not an uncommon practice), for the sole purpose of communing the sick. To be sure, he bristles at the requirement of any sort of reservation (ibid., 296 et passim), but seems well aware of the ancient practice of the reservation of the elements without the attending abuses, and he does not condemn it.

Ziegler acknowledges that Chemnitz permitted the keeping of the elements "for a short time" (Ziegler, 145) to take to the sick, so the conclusion must be drawn that Chemnitz acknowledged the validity of the practice, even if we might quibble about how short the time should be.

He runs through some of Chemnitz's arguments against the reservation of the elements, and they appear for the most part to be arguments for the recitation of the Words of Institution (the Verba) in the presence of the communicants--a sentiment on which we can agree: even when the reserved elements are taken, the Verba need to be repeated, though in this case only so that the communicant can hear them.

As for Ziegler's own arguments against the reservation of the elements (145-147), while they are certainly worthy of consideration, they are also, I hope, open to debate. First, he sees no significant historical Lutheran precedent for the practice, but this is really a minor point, since it dismisses the evidence which does exist as belonging to "a period of transition" and tends toward committing the sectarian error of discounting the whole prior history of Christendom. Second, he calls it preferable not "to separate the community in which the sacrament is consecrated from the community in which it is consumed," but I would argue to the contrary that the practice actually serves to help the sick recognize his connection to the community in which he belongs: he is hereby participating in his own congregation's worship. Third, Ziegler sees a deficiency in the mere repetition of the Verba in the presence of the sick, if the words are bereft of their consecratory effect. But if this is saying that the sick person is hereby missing out on somehow "getting to see" the actual consecration, I'd say there's really nothing to see anyhow (that's why we call it a mystery), and that, well, yes, the sick person did miss the congregation's celebration of Mass (which is the main problem with his being sick or shut-in, after all, but that's another matter). His fourth objection is perhaps the most important, a suggestion that the practice might introduce doubt: the communicant didn't get to see for himself that these elements were truly consecrated. But I have never seen this happen in practice, and the reason is simple: the communicant generally trusts that the pastor knows what he is doing. For someone to doubt that the elements were truly consecrated, he'd have to suppose that the pastor was either lying about the elements, or mistaken, as if perhaps someone had snuck in unawares and placed unconsecrated elements into the ciborium. It doesn't add up. I defer again to the long tradition of Christendom, during which no such doubts ever seem to have arisen.

There are some who have taken the matter a step further, doubting whether the reliquae, i.e., the elements which remain, remain the Body and Blood of Christ after the Benediction has been spoken. Ziegler hints at his awareness of this, indicating that when there is no reservation, "the question of what the elements are apart from their use . . . is avoided" (144).

Here there often arises--I'm grinding my own axe now, quite apart from anything in Ziegler's article--a gaggle of receptionists of one stripe or another, who like to take the Formula of Concord's oft-misinterpreted usus assertion, namely, "Nothing has the nature of a sacrament apart from the use instituted by Christ" (FC SD VII, 85) and misinterpret it. "See," the receptionists want to snipe, "it isn't being used anymore after the service, so it's just bread and wine, because the Confessions say so."

We've been over this ground before, I know, but since the receptionist controversy keeps rearing its ugly head, it bears repeating that the usus clause of the Formula does not and cannot mean that only those elements which actually end up being consumed are the elements to which Jesus was referring when He said, "This is My Body" In the case of "This is My Blood," it borders on sheer looniness to suppose that He was only referring to those molecules in the cup which in His omniscience He knew would end up in the mouths of communicants.

There are not a few references in the Examen which indicate that Chemnitz himself had no doubts about "what the elements are" when reserved. He cites historical references to the "leftover fragments of the body of the Lord" (Chemnitz, 297), to "the parts of the immaculate and divine body . . . left" (ibid., 298), and to Chrysostom's tale of Roman soldiers disturbing the church whereupon "the blood of Christ" was poured out on their clothing (ibid., 303). In none of his citations does Chemnitz seek to correct any affirmation that the elements remaining are the Body and Blood of Christ. Chemnitz was no receptionist. Rather, he shows simply that in these cases they were not reserved beyond a day.

Besides, the Confessions are not, nor were they ever meant to be, the source of doctrine. They confess according to the words of Christ. It is His words alone which must determine what is true. Chemnitz makes this very point repeatedly in the Examen (294f. et passim). The usus clause must then be taken in its context, which, as the references above demonstrate, is a milieu of medieval superstition wherein the Body of Christ was regarded as a sort of good luck charm. "Apart from the use" simply means you can=t go inventing new uses for the Sacrament, and expect Christ to bless them apart from His words pertaining to the Sacrament: "Take, eat." The Sacrament only benefits those who partake, and a new benefit should not be dreamt up for it under false pretenses. This is really the heart of Chemnitz's contention in the Examen.

But now come the receptionists, who like to wave their magical usus wand over the bread to remove the Body of Christ from it after the Distribution. But how is the Body of Christ removed? Because of the usus clause alone. Solus usus! So now, ta da, it's just ordinary bread again! The use is ended! (Let's see, what would be the liturgical expression for that? Ita, usus est?) So you can put it back in the box it came from? Throw it in the trash? Trample it underfoot? Do whatever you like with it? I think not: here's my reply to anyone who wants to justify any such folly by abusing the usus clause this way: "Nothing is a confession apart from the use." You can't wrench the usus clause apart from its intended use and have it mean whatever you want it to mean. And as for doubts, I have none in this matter: what you have discarded, what you have trampled, is the Body of Christ. His words are very clear. Do you really want to pit your usus clause, or any other words on earth, against them?

Why must we question whether or not the Body of Christ remains after the Benediction? Because the use has ceased? Says who? I still have shut-ins who need it. How is carrying it to them an abuse? And besides, where is it written that the Presence ceases as soon as the last hymn is sung? Or to put it another way, if you ask me why I believe that the the reliquae are truly the Body and Blood of Christ, I shall simply answer: because Christ said so. See, right here: "This is My Body."

Although the reservation of the reliquae may be, as Ziegler has demonstrated, a minority opinion among Lutherans, it certainly is far from a minority opinion in all the Church catholic. It was precisely an increased awareness of the history and practice of the Christian Church of antiquity which first led me to consider the practice. Yes, numerous accounts show the reservation of elements.

Moreover, there is a common rule among liturgical churches which requires the celebration of the Mass only from properly consecrated altars (e.g., E. Lamburn, Ritual Notes, 11th ed. [London: Knott, 1964], 3). Chemnitz rejects as an abuse the making of this rule into an obligation (Chemnitz, 310f.), and it is to be remembered that one of the nastiest errors of Rome was to make everything including the Gospel itself an obligation, yet it does not follow that we ought therefore to dispense with the rule entirely. As in all cases of abuse, the likelihood exists that it started out as a good thing. In this case, there's certainly something less than desirable about the use of a portable hospital table as an altar, especially when it's also used for dinner trays, flowers and cards, the telephone, various personal items, and maybe even a specimen bottle. I certainly have no aversion to using whatever is necessary when circumstances do not permit a fully desirable setting for the celebration of Holy Communion (such as on the battlefield), but it certainly seems more befitting the dignity of the Sacrament to carry what has been consecrated at a proper altar to the sickroom than to enlist common furniture for the consecration, if it be at all possible. No wonder, I am thinking, there arose a proscription against the routine practice of using bedstands as altars. The very notion was probably unthinkable.

Maybe what ought to drive this discussion is a renewed consideration of the holiness of the place of consecration, which, after all, is why we like to adorn our churches, isn't it? The place becomes holy because of what is there: the true Body of Christ, the flesh of the Son of God, wherein is all the fullness of the Godhead. Shouldn't this astounding truth say something, anything, about the place where it sits?

Ample Biblical references provide evidence for the salutary practice of regarding as holy the places of God's special revelatory or sacramental presence. Moses was required to put off his shoes at the burning bush. The Holy of Holies was central to Israel's worship. The woman with the flow of blood was healed upon touching the mere hem of Christ's garment. The women at the tomb sought to anoint the dead body of Christ (from which His soul had gone). The list is long.

Since Christian worship is all about the coming of the incarnate God for our salvation, it is also about His adornment of the earth with His abiding presence. In faithful response to this wondrous truth, countless generations of Christians from antiquity, and throughout the early centuries of her history--yes, everywhere, always, and all--have sought wherever possible to adorn their altars and churches, as a confession of their faith and devotion. Granted, sometimes it was not possible, and there will always be emergency situations which supercede this desire, but it is rather debatable whether the routine making of the bedside table into a sort of makeshift altar, and the accompanying ceremony into a personal Mass of sorts, must be counted as one of them. To say the least, such a practice certainly has the downside of missing the significance of the church, the altar, the paraments, the vestments, or the Communion ware. It's hard enough to encourage faith among people so steeped in our culture's rationalistic denials of the sacred truth that the Sacrament is truly Christ's Body, without having to hold Mass in completely unadorned places, especially if we have another option. The carrying of consecrated elements to the sick, on the other hand, serves to extend the ceremony which commenced at the holy place. By no means can we require the practice, but neither should we disparage it.
The Church's current milieu is no longer beset with medieval superstitions, but with notions of a very different kind, namely, the modern world's rationalistic denial of all things holy, a spirit which for the past two centuries and more has been laughing to scorn the very idea that a piece of bread could really be the Body of Christ. The Church does well to confess before the world the foolishness of Christ. The reservation of the elements makes our faith in this matter abundantly clear: these elements are really and truly Christ's Body and Blood, and we do not hang our affirmation about this on the statements of this or that theologian, no matter how venerated, nor on rationalistic suppositions about duration of time or space, no matter how reasoned they appear, but alone on the clear and simple words of Christ. But speaking of theologians and their views, the razor of Ockham does come to mind: the simplest explanation is the best. Christ said it's His Body. Therefore it is. The tradition of reserving some of the remaining elements from the sacred place of their consecration in a dignified manner and place, and carrying them reverently to those who could not be present for the Mass, is not only a venerable and extremely well-established ecclesiastical custom; it is an unmistakable way of showing the world what we believe about them.

Durationism?

Whew, I just got through reading all the blogging going on regarding the matter of when or whether the consecrated elements cease to be the body and blood of Christ.

It takes awhile, but for those wanting to get up to date, I suggest you do so by clicking here and here and maybe also here.

What you'll find, for the most part, is Rev. Paul McCain tirelessly arguing against anyone who might suggest, or hint, that what remains of the elements might continue to be the body and blood of Christ after the service is over. He says no way, no how. Because the Lutheran Confessions say so. We have a number of Lutheran pastors, a few laymen, and even some Orthodox priests in the fray. It's interesting at times, but also a bit redundant. I'm going to spare you the rest of the details. If you're interested, just click on those 'here' references above.

Here's my belated reply to the current discussion. I don't want to belabor anything but a couple of things came to my mind, which I didn't see anyone addressing, so here's my insertion.

What about the body of Christ which has been consumed? When does that cease to be the body of Christ? Talk about a Scholastic question, but there is a point to be made here, methinks.

Secondly, if Rev. McCain wants to be speaking the truth in love, and restoring any 'fallen' brethren (such as I evidently am, who gladly count myself a -- what? - durationist? consecrationist? not sure), then how does he plan to do so if he's going to do nothing but quote the Confessions?

I mean, let's say he convinces me the Confessions oppose my position (he's a very long way from doing so, incidentally). For the sake of argument, what happens then? I must, if I am a man of integrity, I suppose, quit Lutheranism and go East, or to Rome, or somewhere, right? But Rev. McCain has repeatedly chided Fr Hogg for inserting himself into 'Lutheran' debates because it's some kind of sheep stealing technique.

So I'm bewildered. How can Rev. McCain convince me (or anyone) to stay Lutheran if all he can do is quote the Confessions? Isn't that what he wants to do?

More later. I spent all my time simply reading up on this debate today.

The Celebrant Will Kindly Wash His Hands

To this day I am somewhat amazed that they never told me as a seminarian that I ought to wash my hands before mass. Hopefully the seminary has corrected that omission by now. As least I have; to my shame it didn't even occur to me until several years into my ministry that this was more than a mere matter of personal hygiene. Don't ask me why. I'm slow, I'm thick, I take awhile to learn things, whatever. I certainly should have known better.

But since I didn't, I'll wager there are others who don't either.

So let's just get this little matter out there for all celebrants or would-be celebrants to know.

First: wash you hands before mass.

Second: wash your hands before consecrating the elements (that's called the lavabo, and is done over a lavabo-bowl while the 26th psalm is said privately, as the last step of altar preparation during the mass).

Third: wash your hands after the distribution (i.e., take the ablutions).

Why, you ask?

The answer is so simple people miss it all the time. It's the body of Christ we're dealing with here.

So, before the consecration and distribution, washing is done in order to insure that the elements being received are, and are seen to be, pure of any imperfections, dirt, etc.

Afterwards, washing is done in order that any fragments which may remain on the celebrant's fingers may be properly consumed. The ablutions (the last of the washings listed above) are taken by rinsing the thumbs and forefingers into the chalice and then drinking that water.

Of course, much of this is ceremonial in nature; nevertheless it is real. The matter of handling the body of Christ is something to which we tend with utmost seriousness.

Anyone who does not really believe "this is my body" may, of course, ignore these rubrics altogether.

New Lineup

So I just updated my Links sidebar (I'm sure there are many more I should put up there, but I'm just out of time), and will call your attention to a new blog which is the cyber version of our church's newsletter. It has the exciting name "St. Paul's Newsletter" and may be accessed here.

Speaking of new lineups, we--i.e., St. Paul's on the Air, a local radio program which is on our am station every Sunday morning--are now listed as a new audio (streaming) program at the internet station Pirate Christian Radio. I expect regular scheduling will be announced soon.

It Was Ever Thus

A true mark of vanity is someone who quotes himself, so I guess that means I qualify. But actually, I'm just too lazy to write this all over again, so I'm just going to offer it up again for consideration.

I refer to an article I wrote some years ago on the fact that the Church has always, in all her history, struggled with heresy, dissent, schism, and trouble. The article recounts some of the bitter controversies in the early and medieval centuries, and is called, perhaps poorly, "Clergy Support in the Early and Medieval Church." Read it in its entirely here, in pdf format. Here are some excerpts:

Where is the golden age? When was the golden age? In short, there never was one, and the Christian faith has been attacked and placed under siege by the devil and his minions ever since the struggle between Peter and Paul, a struggle seen in every single century since. In every century the Church has been, as the hymn says it, “by schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed.” Our age is no different. . . .

Thus, to sum up with broad strokes, when we look to the Church of the first millennium, we see no golden age, but continual struggles against heresy . . .

. . . let no one say we have never been here before. We have always been here before. This is life in the Church Militant. Get used to it. And let no one deceive you.

[to repeat, you can read the whole thing in pdf here]

Un Be Lievable . . .

Here's a wild one Rev. Ben Harju stumbled onto.

It seems there's a church which calls itself Lutheran that's into consecrating and distributing goldfish crackers to the kiddies who come to the altar.

Folks, I'm speechless.

What next?

Blog Pong, II

The game is evidently still on.

Dan Woodrung has served up a new volley, quoting my reference to the Augsburg Confession (that the Church is present wherever her Gospel is preached and her Sacraments administered rightly), and asking, "Who determines the 'rightly'?"

My reply is that, in the first place that question does not require an answer for the statement to be true. It simply is true, regardless of who determines what about it. This is the ubi question, not the qua; it is a confession of where we may find the Church, not about what the Church is.

And that, as it turns out, does speak to the question of who determines. In the 1519 Leipzig debate, Eck asked Luther a similar question: who interprets Scripture? (this goes back to a recent post of mine) . . . who interprets? You, Martin Luther? To which, if I remember this rightly, Luther replied, Yes.

Similarly, who gets to decide the 'rightly'? I do.

Now before anyone launches into a diatribe about how silly that idea is, let me remind you that I've heard all your replies already, a hundred times. Spare your fingers.

Here is what I mean. St. Paul says, "I know whom I have believed . . ." How does he know? Because Peter told him to say this? Because he was accepted into the apostolic council? Because he knows he is an apostle himself? Does not Paul's assertion here provide a pattern for every Christian to follow? Must we not all learn to say the same? Then how is it that I know whom I have believed?

I do not say "I know" because the bishop told me to say that. I say it because I really do know. I do. No one knows this for me and tells me. It is an existential thing, really. Does that make me a charismatic or an existentialist? Certainly not, no more than it makes the Apostle one.

To be sure, the ecumenical councils, the creeds, the confessions -- these verify what I know, they affirm it. But they do not do my knowing for me. Nor, even, does Scripture.

It's not that I determine the 'rightly', really; it's that I recognize it. I recognize it because I know whom I have believed.

Granted, that's a sticky wicket, but it's true.

Blog Pong

My sons just put a ping pong table in the basement, so perhaps it's fitting that I find myself meanwhile, and surprisingly, occupied with a little game of blog pong.

It seems that Dan Woodrung has taken my previous post as an opening volley, to which he replied, not here, but over on his own blog.

Fair enough, I guess, since I did not reply to his musings about his journey to Rome on his blog in the first place. Fine. So now, in the spirit of blog pong, I'll reply to his blog, yet not there, but from my end of the table.

First, he says he thinks, and then, that at least he "rather hopes" that I did not mean to say that Cyprian said both that there is no salvation outside the church and that the church is where her marks are.

No, sir: I did not mean to say that Cyprian was responsible for the second part; but then, you did know that about me, didn't you. This "rather hoping" of yours seems rather unnecessary.

What I do mean to say is that there is no salvation outside the church. Now if you consent also to the idea that the Church of Rome is the church, then unless there is some qualification you must believe that I am outside the church, and that I am among the damned. And this, though I believe the Gospel, that Christ is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. That's a problem, it seems to me.

Next, Mr Woodrung quotes Cyprian at some great length in an attempt to show that Cyprian must mean that the church may only be found where the Bishop of Rome is.

Now here's where it gets interesting. To my rescue comes my old friend Fr Gregory Hogg, an Orthodox priest, providing some additional Cyprian quotes to provide what he calls "balance": these quotes show that Cyprian is not as monolithic about the authority of the See of Rome as Mr Woodrung was evidently seeking to show.

To this Mr Woodrung cries foul, and says, if I get this right, that because the balancing quotes were (so he thought) merely lifted from another web page, therefore Fr Hogg was behaving in a "shameful" way. What, because he lifted quotes from another site (which he insists he did not do)? But even if he had done so, so what? How would that be shameful? A Cyprian quote is a Cyprian quote. Who cares where it came from?

This caused me for the second time in one sitting to raise an eyebrow. What's going on here? Are we cross?

All of this is really very intriguing to me. Perhaps I should just let Mr Woodrung and Fr Hogg debate the matter while I watch.

I guess maybe all of this would make Fr Hogg the Blog Pong referee? Not sure.

Pssst!: "You (whoever you are) are outside the Church"

Although the matter of Lutheran pastors going off to other church bodies is a serious one -- the latest being the defection by one LCMS pastor Dan Woodring to the Church of Rome -- I confess that one of my knee-jerk reactions to his expressed reasons for doing so was a touch of amusement.

Sorry, sorry . . . it's not a laughing matter, I know. But sometimes I can't help myself. Listen, I'll be glad to admit that maybe the reaction, and, for that matter, this blog, are merely opportunities for some catharsis. It's no fun seeing people leave, and they leave behind people who had trusted them, and etc. etc. . . . yes, I know it's hard to take all that.

So why else might I have grinned?

Well, there's just this. One of the common threads I see in these defections is the claim by those making them that they have finally found the Church. Before this they hadn't yet found the Church. But now they have. Ah, the Church! She is here! I've come home at last! Home at last!

Yet they're not all going to the same place. Generally the two big options are to go to Rome or to the East, though I have in my vague long-term memory some recollections of some who have gone elsewhere with the same notion, viz., the idea that at long last they have found the Church.

And to be sure, today, since it is in vogue to sound irenic in their ecumenical dialogues, people try to down-play something that was once up-front and center among them: we are the Church and you are not. Once upon a time it was stylish even to put heretics on the rack, to set an example by which peasants learned to stay at all cost in the Church. OK, so those tactics have changed, thankfully, but perhaps the allegation itself remains intact.

Anyhow, here's what amuses me: that allegation has always come with an air of great authority and dignity, no matter from whom it came.

And yet, there have been enough people making it, all over the globe, that the bottom line is this: no matter who you are, you can always find somebody of great authority and status who will charge that you (whoever you are) are outside the Church. Most times these days that claim is whispered or implied, but it is unquestionably in the air.

Therefore I propose that the debate over who is in the Church and who is not must begin with this rule: no appeals to sentimentality are allowed. No exclamations of final relief are permitted. Keep your Alka-Seltzer for that.

As for me, I still maintain with St. Cyprian that there is no salvation outside the Church, and that she is present wherever her Gospel is preached and her Sacraments administered rightly. Here is a mystery: sometimes her disguise is thicker than others, sometimes she is less evident than others, and sometimes she is well-nigh impossible to find. Of course, the same may be said of the glory of God, which is why we do well to apply a theology of the cross to the Church as well as to our individual lives.

Who Interprets Scripture?

Today my blog surfing led me to one of those uncomfortable moments in which I found myself feeling the need to provide a bit of a correction to a commonly heard mantra to which confessional Lutherans are sometimes expected to subscribe, viz.,

"We don't use the Scriptures to interpret the Confessions; we use the Confessions to interpret the Scripture."

I understand the principle behind this idea, but I disagree.

Yet not with the first part; only with the second.

Confessional Lutherans rightly reject the idea that one can subscribe to the Confessions only insofar as they agree with Scripture, for by this ruse people have tried to sell themselves as true Lutherans. So they will say, "Sure, we subscribe to the Confessions, just like you." And then comes the asterisk: "insofar as they agree with the Scriptures." By this token one could as well subscribe to the Koran. It renders the confessional subscription meaningless.

I get that, and I agree. We do not subscribe to the Confessions insofar as they agree, but because they agree. Right.

But that doesn't mean the reverse is true, and here we also need to be clear.

To say we use the Confessions to interpret Scripture is in principle the same as someone else saying he uses the Pope or the Councils to interpret Scripture, or the Book of Mormon, or anything else. Rather, we say that Scripture is clear, and we let Scripture interpret itself. Scripture interprets Scripture. Period.

We use the Confessions to express what we believe according to Scripture, but we ought never think of the Confessions as some sort of tribunal giving us the official interpretation of the Word of God, for that would be to place them over the Word of God.

For example, we do not believe that the Sacrament is truly Christ's body because the Confessions have authoritatively interpreted the Scripture on this for us; rather, we believe it because we have Jesus' own word on it, recorded in Scripture. When the Scriptures speak, God speaks. That is His word. On the basis of that word, we then confess our faith. Our Confessions become, then, our own declaration of what we take the Scriptures to mean, especially against erroneous views.

We could say they are our interpretation, or better, our declaration, of what Scripture has revealed to us, but we should not say that they interpret the Scripture for us. The difference here may seem subtle, but it is highly significant.

When the word "interpretation" is used, it carries with it an implication of authority.

We must be careful never express ourselves in a way which even appears to place any authority over God's own authority.

Who are these Morons?

Thank the internet for the lunacy that gets so much press, and even now is getting time on FOX news. I refer to the 9-11 conspiracy theorists who say it was an inside job. This morning on FOX they actually let one of these wierdos blather on for five minutes. Anchor Megyn Kelly was clearly doing her best to oppose his insanity, but I don't think they should even have allowed him on, it's all so goofy.

I decided to check out one of their web sites today, half expecting it to do some damage to my computer, and I read through some of the lunacy. In a way it reminded me of the film JFK, which advances the conspiracy notion regarding the shooting of the President by means of a slew of wild ideas presented as "facts." I guess some people just get off on believing crazy things. If they had a creed, it would probably run something like this:

I believe in the JFK conspiracy theory and all other conspiracy theories regarding especially the US Government. Since the US Government is so utterly corrupt and beyond all reforming, therefore I believe that George W. Bush is the devil himself, but that even the most progressive President would be powerless to undo all the evil in this wicked realm.

I believe in Nevada's Area 51, where all the aliens are being held, alongside their flying saucers, the ark of the covenant, Jimmy Hoffa, and Elvis Presley.

I believe we never landed on the moon, that it was all a hoax.

I believe in the tooth fairy, that she is really an evil demon planting capitalist propaganda in the minds of unsuspecting children. That goes for Santa Claus too.

I believe that 9-11 was an inside job, that the US Government somehow managed to arrange for all the destruction and murder of that day, without anyone leaking any of this to anyone in the media.

These people are really nuts. And now they're getting TV time. Thumbs down to FOX and anyone else who give it to them. I suppose I should be ignoring them too, come to think of it. OK, thumbs down to me too . . .

. . . it's just that they're sooo nuts . . .

The Grammarian, XIII

In St. Luke 15:1-10 (the Gospel appointed for Trinity III), Jesus tells two parables. The first presents the image of a man who, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, leaves the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and goes after that which is lost, until he finds it; the second is of a woman with ten pieces of silver, who loses one piece, lights a candle, and sweeps the house, seeking diligently till she finds it.

Why do you suppose, boys and girls, that we have two parables here? Would not one suffice?

Well, let's see. The parables are very similar, yes; but who can tell me some differences?

The first has a man, the second, a woman.

Ah. Very important.

The first has sheep, the second, coins.

Right.

The first has a hundred, the second, ten.

Right again. Any others?

The man has more sheep than the woman has coins.

Very good.

And the rejoicing of the woman's friends is likened to that of angels.

Good. Now we're getting somewhere. So perhaps we can draw some conclusions, then: the first parable speaks of the very thing Jesus Himself (a man) is doing here, eating with publicans and sinners. And the second? It is surely no accident that the Church is the Bride of Christ. And she carries out the same activity as He does, in each particular circumstance on a lesser scale -- as also ten is less than one hundred. And Jesus sees His people as sheep, while the Church sees His people also as having value (bought with His blood).

And best of all, the rejoicing of the Church with friends and neigbors, what is that? Surely, it is the Holy Mass, the Divine Liturgy of the Church, where, as we are reminded when we hear the Preface, with angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven, we laud and magnify Christ's holy name. The Blessed Sacrament is the Feast of eternal joy.

Now, class, if you wish to do some extra credit, go home and find some other helpful points of comparison between these two parables.

Pirate Christian Radio

The blogosphere has been abuzz with the latest on the demise of Issues, Etc., the confessional radio program that had been the most popular feature on KFUO in St. Louis, until it was nixed by the bureaucrats at LCMS headquarters. This was all exposed, back when, by our friend Molly Hemingway in the Wall Street Journal. (For *ahem* the real reason, click here.)

Anyhow, we're told that Rev. Todd Wilkin and Rev. Jeff Schwartz, the former anchor and producer, are now moving to an independent, web-based show called Pirate Christian Radio. It should be good, and we look forward to it. Check out the promo here.

A Nice Place to Visit . . .

A week in San Francisco was a really nice way to refresh and retool.

My wife and I did just about all there is to do, I think: take in the bridge, the bay, walking the hills of town, Chinatown, downtown, Italian district, Fisherman's Wharf, the Pier 39 sea lions, Muir Woods, Napa Valley wine tasting, Highway 1, Monterey, whale watching, the 17-mile drive, and more.

I heartily recommend it.

Yet it was, as ever, good to get home again, and celebrate mass again, and partake in the mysteries again. Nothing, but nothing, can beat that . . .

Agreement?

Rev. Dr. Gerald Kieschnick, president of the Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod, presented a paper to the Synod's Council of Presidents today, in which he delineated what he thought were areas in which we were united, and then areas in which some disagreement has been expressed. If you want to see the list, click here.

Without debating the success with which this letter, which seems to be yet another attempt to show how very Lutheran the man really is, accomplishes that goal, I'm going to move to a couple of items in the list of matters of agreement that caught my eye.

To wit, first, this:

"That homosexual behavior is contrary to the will of God and, therefore, intrinsically sinful."

True enough, we agree on that. But what about homosexual orientation? It seems to me that, current tensions between us and the more liberal Lutherans being what they are, there ought to be a statement which unequivocally denounces any orientation--sexual or otherwise--which is not in accordance with His expressed will.

And second, and in my view more importantly, this:

"That in, with, and under the bread and the wine of Holy Communion, we receive Christ’s true body and blood for the forgiveness of sins and the assurance of eternal salvation."

Yes, we agree on that too; but my, how the elephant in the room is ignored here. For "in the room," that is, in our LCMS house, are many who deny that the Sacramental elements are themselves the very body and blood of Christ, that is, that "the true body and blood of Christ are truly present in the Holy Supper under the form of bread and wine, and are there dispensed and received" (Formula of Concord VII:9).

Why not convince us that you're really serious about rooting out some real error in our midst by saying a word about the egregious heresy of receptionism, hmmm?

We report, you decide . . .

The Athanasian Creed and the Holy Trinity

After a brief look at a number of blogs on this, I found the expected schizophrenia that descends upon many a confessional Lutheran on Trinity Sunday, myself included.

On the one hand, this great creed gets so little press that we really need to expose our people to it at least once a year.

On the other hand, as the liturgically minded are sometimes wont to say, "there is no authority" for replacing the Nicene Creed with it on Trinity Sunday.

What to do?

The Bishop of Kewanee (that would be your humble scribe) has given the parish here permission to allow that it be confessed in place of the Nicene Creed on Trinity Sunday only.

It is a great thing to say, and always brings the mind to wondering.

To see the entire text of it, click here.

This year I took to wondering about this: "He that would be saved must thus think of the Trinity."

And the left side of my brain began pondering -- right during mass, mind you -- the idea that one must 'think' anything at all in order to be saved. I mean, what about infants, etc.

But then the right side of my brain quickly replied, 'thus think' means essentially this: 'if you're going to go thinking about the Trinity, as thinkers do, you must think of the Trinity in this way. That's what it means. No heretics permitted, you know?

And then the left side of my brain thought, Well, there's also: ". . . which except a man believe faithfully and firmly, he cannot be saved." Seems to me this 'firmly' business suggests that it's a matter of mustering up enough confidence; which it really isn't.

And then the right side of my brain replied, This is really nothing other than what we have in St. James, who says that a double-minded man ought not expect to receive anything from the Lord.

It's all a matter of context.

The Christian faith is not for idle conversations of the intelligentsia of the culture. The Holy Trinity does not belong on page xx of the catechism. He is a consuming fire. He is holy, holy, holy. His train fills the temple.

And that got me musing on Isaiah 6, and thinking, I too am undone, a man of unclean lips, dwelling in the midst of a people of unclean lips, until, as it were, a seraph places his live coal, which he had taken from the altar with tongs, on my tongue, to purge my sin.

[Here's the meaning I take from the vision of Isaiah: on the 'tongs' of the cross, Christ was crucified, and the savor of it rose to the Father's nostrils, a pleasing aroma of sacrifice for the sin of the world; and Christ Himself is now taken from the altar, in the Holy Sacrament, and placed on my tongue to purge my sins]

He is a consuming fire, but in His eternal love He has purged my sin, and delivers that forgiveness to me by the Holy Ghost.

Indeed the doctrine of the Holy Trinity is no matter for idle or disinterested conversation. "He that would be saved must thus think . . ."