The Grammarian, XV

Chaste and decent, if you please.

Just yesterday as I was teaching my young catechumens the meaning of "Thou shalt not commit adultery" it occurred to me (again) that I even had to be careful about how I explained this sin to them. The coarseness of our society has numbed our sense of decency even with regard to the way we talk about things we should not be doing.

The catechism's old explanation of this commandment indicated that we should "lead a chaste and decent life," but the newer (well, 1986) version altered it slightly thus: "lead a sexually pure and decent life," an unfortunate alteration. There's something untoward about parents and clergymen having to use the word "sexually" at all, particularly with younger children.

Whatever were they thinking? That "chaste" is too obscure? Or rather, too out of date. Precisely so: and we need to learn the meaning of chaste and decent lives, all over again, and it starts, boys and girls, at the level of word (i.e., what we say and do, in that order).

Over the years our culture has been increasingly sagging, by almost imperceptible increments. And in the church, we would do well to begin to retrace those steps and perhaps, bit by bit, begin to recover what we lost.

We could start, grammatically, by resisting the unnecessary use of provocative terms.

(which leads me to wonder, now just what am I supposed to do with the '86 catechism? 86 it, after all these years? There I go again, thinking too hard . . .)

For I Will Consider My Cat

Though I suspect that the eighteenth century poet Christopher Smart might quite possibly have been a little off his rocker, I find something compelling in his poem about his cat, which Benjamin Britten set to music. "For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry" is worth a read, and not only for amusement's sake. I detect some rich theology embedded in the fascinating images of God and godliness which the poet has linked to his cat:

"For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way . . .

"For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger. . . .

"For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things. . . .

"For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom. . . .

"For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements. . . ."

The poem in its entirety can be accessed here.

I was brought back to thinking about this poem because last Saturday we put our fourteen-year old cat in her grave, feeling a little odd about the whole enterprise, particularly because we euthanized her. Her kidneys were failing, she was losing weight, and we can't handle cat pee all over the house. So according to a long-standing and sensible rule, we determined that family pets must not be recipient of heroic measures. She was, after all, just a cat.

Nevertheless going through the motions of having her put to sleep is, well, a morbid enterprise, even if it was only for a cat. I'm not sure, was that a quirky and irrational kind of guilt I felt? Maybe. I'm actually not sure.

Her eyes wouldn't close. She just peacefully gazed at me, as if to say, Huh?

Are cats like God? Mr. Smart thought so, and he may have a point. They certainly are from God. On the other hand beasts of the earth die every day, some even for our nourishment. I have no qualms about eating hamburgers, and I am fully aware that any qualms I have about the Chinese practice of eating catburgers are really nothing more than a cultural thing.

Maybe it's just me. Once, years ago I shot a blackbird, just for the sport of it. I felt awful afterwards.

But I have no qualms about someone shooting the enemy on a battlefield.

Maybe it's an embedded respect for life that I'm sensing. Maybe that's why there are Hindus who won't even kill bugs. Such senses must be kept from becoming unfettered, of course, and there are Hindus with none of the fetters they need.

Ah, well. I know: she was just a cat, the garden variety. Big deal.

And yet I will consider my cat. Tina Babe. 1995-2009. R.I.P. (can we say that for a cat? Maybe not. Oh well . . .)

The Grammarian, XIV

Today's lesson:

"This Is the Feast" is not the victim of bad grammar or shoddy theology.

Boys and girls, Rev. Lincoln Winter is absolutely right on this one, and I am pleased to throw my hat into his ring with kudos. I've been wanting to say something about this for years, and just never got around to it. Since he did it, I'll just recommend to your reading his recent post (click here). It's spot on, and expresses pretty much my exact sentiments. You can't go griping about the theology of This Is the Feast on the basis of the preposition ("of victory for [as opposed to of] our God."

What you can gripe about is its use as a replacement for the Greater Gloria, which many of our churches have provincially taken to doing, of all times, during Eastertide. Good grief, we had to observe the entire Lenten fast by omitting the Greater Gloria. Finally at the Easter vigil we get to begin regularly singing it again, and we ring the bells and let the organ rip. But some of you want to snatch it out of our mouths with "This Is the Feast."

Class, that's a hymn, not a canticle, in spite of the expressed intentions of its composer. To be sure, it's based on a canticle, viz., the Dignus Est Agnus, but that's really the nature of all hymns: they're based on something like a canticle or Biblical reference.

But as hymns go, it's not all that bad (although, truth be told, the melody is a bit sing-songy for me, in spite of my own proclivity for the melodic sound of some Anglican hymns), and, as Fr. Winter has pointed out, is theologically perfectly acceptable.

And those of you who have tried to "correct" the theology by replacing "for" with "of," are instructed to close your books at once, and go sit in the corner. Changing a few words of someone else's material to make it acceptable to you is not permitted, and is contrary to the spirit, if not the letter, of copyright laws. If you don't like something as it is, by all means don't use it, but you dasn't go twisting it to your whims. That is the very essence of "contemporary worship," and is right out.

Besides, as Fr. Winter has definitively pointed out, it turns out in this particular case that there's nothing at all wrong with the grammar or the theology.

Just don't go putting it or any other hymn where the song of the angels goes.

Simon, Son of Jonas, Lovest Thou Me?

The threefold question Jesus asks Peter (St. John 21) is curious, since it contains two different terms for love (agapao and pheleo) which are evidently so closely related that they are not distinguished from each other in the English translation.

Many have suggested interpretations for this remarkable exchange, and here's the one I gave yesterday at midweek mass.

First, a very rough paraphrase of the three questions and their answers might be:

Jesus: Simon, do you love me?
Peter: You know that you are my dear friend.

Jesus: Simon, do you love me?
Peter: You know that you are my dear friend.

Jesus: Simon, am I your dear friend?
Peter: You know that you are my dear friend.

Peter was "grieved" the third time, not merely because he was exasperated, but no doubt because he remembered his three denials and was remorseful.

But we note his newfound sense of deference here. No longer is he the brazen and bold, who boasts that he will go into death for his Lord; now he is reticent about any sort of self aggrandizement at all, so answers the 'agapao' question only with 'phileo'.

And finally Jesus condescends to 'phileo' himself in his question. But here Peter still declares his brotherly love for his Lord, for he knows it is born of the Spirit.

Something's haywire with the upload function, so I can't get the audio file posted here. Still trying.

Admittedly I'm uncomfortable with fundies, a.k.a. "born again Christians," but I must say that Carrie Prejean deserves strong kudos for taking her stand in the Miss U.S.A. pageant. This young lady, Miss California, with her simple and clear answer on the same-sex marriage question, has done as much to expose the hypocrisy of the loony left than a year of the best writing from the likes of National Review, the Wall Street Journal, Rush Limbaugh, and a host of the best of conservative commentators put together.

They asked her what she thought about same-sex marriage, not what they thought. But Perez Hilton and others are now complaining that she's a dumb blonde? The clear and evident truth is that she was not being a dumb blonde, but fearlessly giving her opinion about it (that marriage should be between a man and a woman--an opinion shared, incidentally, by virtually all traditional religions of all the history of the world).

This lady is one class act, and smart, too. If she had given the "world peace" answer to that question, she would have won, and nobody would have noticed. Now, the world is all paying attention, and everyone can see for themselves how ludicrous the wild and wacky loons truly are.

Quasimodogeniti

The Sunday after Easter finds Thomas with the disciples, inspecting the hands and side of Jesus (St. John 20:19-31). We have something in common with him, for neither he nor we were present in the upper room on the day of the resurrection. So Thomas would not believe until he received proof. And the fact that he believed is a clear indication that he received the proof he sought; and this in itself is proof for us, that we might also believe. Thomas not only believed the resurrection, but that this meant Jesus is the Almighty himself. His confession of faith is even clearer to us than Peter's was: my Lord and my God. Thus may we also believe. Moreover, we, like Thomas, are invited to touch Jesus, when we are invited to the Holy Sacrament.

There was also a vespers Sunday night, with a sermon on the Epistle from I John 5:4-12. Both sermons are included here:

Easter Monday

The Emmaus road: the disciples are sad because of what they do not yet know. So also we become sad because of what we do not know, or understand: the Lord is risen indeed. Unspeakable joy then replaces all gloom. St. Luke 24:13-35. The sermon:

Easter Day

The Feast of the Resurrection of our Lord. The sermon:

The Vigil of Easter

I'll try to get some excerpts from the Great Vigil up as soon as I can.

Good Friday

Behold the man! Pilate unwittingly said something we will do well to heed, for Christ is the man Adam was not; indeed there is no man on earth who is as much a man as he, who endured the cross willingly, only because he wanted to be our Redeemer. The sermon for Good Friday:

Maundy Thursday

As we enter the triduum sacram (the holy three days), we hear readings of the institution of the Passover, of the institution of the Supper, and of Jesus' washing of his disciples' feet (also called the maundy). These things are related, for he is himself our Passover Lamb, and his blood marks our door; so he serves and helps us. By this Supper we remember his great Exodus wherein he delivered us by his death on the cross. But more importantly, by this supper God remembers us, even as, when he saw the blood on the doors of the Israelite houses, he remembered his covenant and the angel of death passed over without harming them. Now Christ's blood marks the door of our lips, and so we may be confident that the plague of death, and all lesser plagues as well, shall not visit our homes. The sermon has been recorded, but for some reason the site at which it's parked isn't cooperating tonight. I'll try again tomorrow.

Holy Wednesday

The Gospel for Holy Wednesday is the Passion according to St. Luke. Our custom is a traditional one, to read it by parts. The subdeacon reads the narrator's parts, the celebrant reads Jesus' parts, and the congregation reads the other speakers' parts. The sermon was, as a consequence of the lengthy reading, a short one, highlighting the fact that Jesus is our Passover. The evangelist declares at the opening of the reading that it was the time for the passtover: "Now the feast of unleavened bread drew nigh, which is called the Passover. And the chief priests and scribes sought how they might kill him; for they feared the people." In typical Lucan fashion we are given here a subtle indication of who Jesus is. The antecedent of the pronoun (him) is the Passover. Hence we find throughout this Passion subtle indications of the Passover being fulfilled: they prepare in the upper room (and the Supper is the fulfillment of the Passover meal, as we feast on the Lamb of God); and as the Passover is to be roast with fire, so Jesus in Gethsemane was in agony, and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood; and as the people were to eat the Passover in haste, dressed for travel, so Jesus instructed his disciples to take a sword, their scrip, etc. And, of course, as the Passover was killed, so Jesus was crucified.

Something went wrong with the recording, so the sermon was not recorded this time, but it was short.

I thought of mentioning another factor but decided against it. The words of institution in St. Luke do not have "Take, eat / take, drink." Perhaps the reason for that is this emphasis on the Passover. It is roast first, and eaten afterwards, of course. So the emphasis in the words of institution as Luke records them is on the "doing" of this, and the perpetuation of it. The death of the Passover, Christ, results in the feasting in the Passover meal, the Sacrament.

All these are also considerations in preparation for Maundy Thursday, coming up next.

Holy Tuesday

The Gospel for Holy Tuesday is from St. John 12:24-43. Reason cannot comprehend the mystery of the Gospel, as Isaiah says, "Who hath known the mind of the Lord?" The revelation of God is required, namely, the word of Christ. He is the light that shines in darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it. So it was literally dark for three hours of His crucifixion, but here He shines, from the cross, drawing all men to Himself, while He is lifted up. But it is the Gospel which reveals Him, for without it, we would never see that He is the Son of God there. So also, the Gospel reveals that He is the meaning behind all things living. In Him alone, death produces life, for it is His death which produces life. This is embedded in all nature: the corn dies, and produces much fruit. The sermon:

Holy Monday

The Gospel for Holy Monday is St. John 12:1-23. "Sir, we would see Jesus," say the Greeks, but the "son of man is glorified" in His holy passion; therefore grace is required for us to learn of Him, as the disciples did, as it says here, they "remembered" the meaning of His triumphal entry afterwards. The sermon:

Palm Sunday

Today's Palm Sunday sermon is based on the Passion Gospel from St. Matthew 26 and 27, and the triumphal entry Gospel (which was read before the opening procession) from St. Matthew 21:1-9. The recording included the hymn of the day with choral stanzas, and the sermon is followed by a solo and an anthem sung during the distribution (both spliced in, the solo from the collection of the offerings, and the anthem during the distribution).

A New Commandment of Love

Today's (Saturday) Gospel, from St. John 13, records Jesus' "new" commandment to His disciples to love one another as He has loved them. In this Gospel this account replaces the institution of the Supper in the first three. It is the fourth evangelist's coloring of the Sacrament, providing of an imagery by which Jesus means to tell what the Sacrament provides, namely the "new" testament in the blood of Christ, which provides the unity of love to God and to each other. The sermon:

Some Said that It Thundered

Today's (Friday) Gospel is from St. John 12:27-36, in which the Father's voice sounds like thunder, reminiscent of the thunder and earthquake on Sinai, and foreshowing the earthquake at Jesus' death and resurrection, as it is written, The lightnings lightened the world, the earth trembled and shook. But where is the lightning at His death and resurrection? He Himself is the lightning and thunder of God, as He says, Walk while ye have the light. Now is the prince of this world cast out, that is, by the wondrous work of Christ. The sermon:

Jesus Dines with Lazarus whom He had Raised from the Dead

The difference between St. John's gospel and the other three is that the fourth Gospel is more sacramental in its imagery, in spite of its lack of record of the institution of the Supper. Evidently the Evangelist did not see need of repeating that which the first three Gospels had already done; rather, he provides imagery for meditation on sacramental realities. Thus he alone recounts the raising of Lazarus, and omits the raising of the little girl and of the son of the widow of Nain. The raising of Lazarus is of special significance because afterwards Jesus also dined with him as His body was anointed by Mary for His burial. So also do we dine with Him in the Supper, in connection with His death (we receive His body and blood), and as those whom He raises from the dead with Lazarus. The sermon for this (Thursday) morning, from St. John 12:1-11:

Gethsemene Teaches Us to Pray

Jesus repeated the same prayer three times in Gethsemane, which teaches us that repetition of the same prayer is not useless; we also learn that although God's will was that He suffer the cross, nevertheless it was good: it redeemed the world on Good Friday, and resulted in resurrection and life. So too, we learn that when we must suffer or bear trouble or take up our cross and follow Him, ultimately none of this will redound to evil for us, but to immeasurable good. Yesterday's (Wednesday evening) sermon, from St. Matthew 26:36-46:

Jesus' Cry of Dereliction

The cry of Jesus, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" is indicative of an incomprehensible breach in the Holy Trinity; there is a correspondingly incomprehensible repair of the breach between God and His fallen world, which is the result of this. Today's (Wednesday) sermon is on St. Mark 15:33-40:

Beck Bites Connecticut Attorney General

Wow, did Glenn Beck school the Connecticut AG over the government's handling of the AIG bonuses. The government goes after AIG for the bonuses they gave, and while we may raise an eyebrow about the size of those bonuses, on the other hand a contract is a contract, and AIG was following the contract, in accordance with the law. Now they are being punished by the government for this, and it turns out it's the government which is being lawless: AIG did nothing illegal; how can they be punished by the government? I worry that a tyranny is developing before our eyes. Beck is right: the Attorney General is an insult to George Washington. Here's the exchange:

Two Trials

Jesus was arrested by the chief priests, scribes, and elders, and tried before them, whereupon he was handed over to Pilate, and tried again, in a Gentile court, since the Jews were under the thumb of the Roman empire. Thus He was tried twice, once by His people, and again by the Gentiles, to whom He was handed over. Why? Both Jews and Gentiles are responsible for His death, thus all the world is represented in this injustice; moreover, as the Jews handed him to the Gentiles, so also, upon the rejection of the Gospel by the Jews, the Gospel is handed over to all the world, from Pentecost. Today's (Tuesday) Gospel is St. Mark 15:1-15. The sermon:

Jesus in Gethsemane while the Disciples Sleep

Today's (Monday) Gospel is from St Mark 14:32-42. Jesus chides His disciples for sleepeng when they should watch and pray, but when He returns the third time, He says, "Sleep on now and take your rest," while in the same breath saying, "Rise, let us be going." It seems clear that the rest of which He speaks here is the rest which He gained for us by His perfect obedience. See, He watched and prayed; He endured His great Passion, for us and for our salvation.

Jesus Hid Himself

The Fifth Sunday in Lent is the first day of Passiontide, the last two weeks in Lent. We veil the images and statuary (this photo shows another church which has done the same), as a grim reminder of the fact that when the Jews resisted and opposed Jesus, unwilling to hear His rebuke, He "hid himself, and went through the midst them, going through the temple, and so passed by." Thus we are warned to take to heart His rebuke, and the pricks of conscience, to repent, and turn again unto Him who is Himself the Almighty, who here identifies Himself as the "I am." The Gospel is from St. John 8:46-59. Today's audio file has the choral stanza of the Hymn of the Day spliced between the Gospel reading and the sermon:

The Woman with the Alabaster Box

The Gospel for today (Saturday) is from St. Mark 14:3-11, of the woman who breaks the alabaster box to anoint Jesus with the costly ointment. She is scorned for this by some, but Jesus defends her, saying that what she has done (anointed His body for burial) will be told wherever this Gospel is preached in all the world. A comparison of this to two accounts in St. John's Gospel and one other reveals that this woman is Mary of Bethany, sister of Martha and Lazarus, and is herself none other than Mary Magdalene, out of whom Jesus had driven seven demons. She loved much because she was forgiven much. Contrast this against those who scoffed, which, according to the parallel accounts, included Judas, and Simon the Leper, at whose house this event occurred. Possibly this Simon is the father of Judas, since the latter is called the son of Simon in the Johannine version. The sermon:

The Fulfillment of David's Cries

Today's (Friday) Gospel was from St. Matthew 27:39-49. His enemies blaspheme, wag the heads, and mock, and Jesus cries, My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me," all in fulfillment of the experience of David against his foes, recorded in the 22nd Psalm. The sermon:

The Good Counsel of Pilate's Wife

Pilate does not heed the good counsel of his wife, and we see a reversal of the evil counsel of the woman in Eden, which her husband wickedly obeyed. But the greatest reversal is the redemption won for us by the innocent Man condemned, and our fault is undone. Today's (Thursday) sermon, from St. Matthew 27:11-26:

The Annunciation

Today we celebrate the greatest miracle of all, the binding of the eternal God to His creation in the flesh of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Two masses, two sermons:

Seeds of Betrayal; Bitter Herbs Fulfilled

This (Tuesday) morning's Gospel, from St. Matthew 26:14-25, contains Jesus' announcement that one of His disciples will betray Him, and each of them, sorrowful, asks, "Lord, is it I?" Such honest introspection is needful for all of us. But more than that, we note Jesus' awareness of Judas' treachery, which is a great bitterness to Him (cf. Psalm 55), as it is written, eat the Passover with bitter herbs. In spite of this He does not thwart it, but causes it to be parcel of His plan of our redemption. The sermon:

Weep for Yourselves and For Your Children

This (Monday) morning's Gospel is from St. Luke 23:27-31. The vindication of Jesus against the atrocity against Him is not only seen on Easter, but expected at the Day of Judgment. Since this day is coming, all must repent, in order that His blood, rather than being the cause of their judgment, may cover them against judgment.

The Feeding of the Five Thousand

Neither the manna for the Israelites in the wilderness nor the bread which fed the 5,000 (John 6:1-15, today's Gospel, Lent IV) were ends in themselves. Both were divine illustrations wanting fulfillment, which Christ gave on the night when He was betrayed. Now there is no manna (which means "what is it?"), but Christ Himself, the very Bread of Life, who says, "This is my body." Whoever eats His body and drinks His blood has eternal life, and will be raised up at the last day, as He said. The sermon:

Happy Inference

Today (Saturday) the Gospel reading was from St Luke 23, the portion of the passion in which Pilate seeks to have Jesus released, but the crowd asks Barabbas. It is implied that there is a double injustice here, both of Barabbas' pardon and of Jesus' sentence. So also, we may take a double inference from this Gospel, namely, that Jesus the innocent is condemned, and we sinners, the guilty, are recipients of mercy.

I also reloaded yesterday's Gospel, which failed when I tried to get it up yesterday. This time, success. So here are both:

Sleeping for Sorrow

Today (Friday) the Gospel was from St Luke 22, Jesus praying in Gethsemane. Something went wrong with the recording, so I'll just recap.

Why did the disciples fall asleep? For sorrow. But after the resurrection, they never so sorrowed. Hence their knowledge of the resurrection changed things for them. After the resurrection there was no betrayal, no denial, no flight in the face of danger. There was only unflinching courage, in persecution, and even unto death.

So let the knowledge of the resurrection bolster your own prayers in the midst of challenges, trials, and sorrows. For this knowledge changes everything. It means Christ was victorious in all his trials, which were for our redemption. None of it was in vain; nor, therefore, are any of your struggles in vain.

St. Joseph, March 19

Kudos to the people responsible for bringing back to Lutherans the Feast of St. Joseph, now restored to its rightful place, March 19, in Lutheran Service Book. Though I still find The Lutheran Hymnal a superior hymnal in many respects, it's hard to excuse the glaring omission of St. Joseph, not only from its calendar, but from the hymns. In all the 660 hymns of TLH, there is but one reference to Joseph, a passing nod in #84.

At St. Paul's, we actually celebrated twice, once last night (since we get a larger crowd then), and again this morning. Hence I preached two (different) sermons:

The God of the Living

This (Wednesday) morning's Gospel, from St. Luke 20:27-44:

On Lazarus and St. Patrick

Sermon on the Gospel from this (Tuesday, St. Patrick's Day) morning's mass, St. Luke 19:1-10:

What It Means to Receive the Kingdom as Little Children

This (Monday) morning's Gospel, St. Luke 18:15-17. Applied to the words, "This is my body," the faith of little children simply believes:

The Strong Man Undone

Today's Gospel, for Oculi, Lent III, is from St. Luke 11:14-28, on Jesus' healing of the mute, the accusation that he does it through Beelzabub and his reply, and his discourse on the overcoming of the strong man.

As a bonus, I've spliced the choir's rendition of "Jesus, Refuge of the Weary" between the Gospel reading and the sermon. They actually sang it during distribution today, but it serves well here as a segue, as if it were the hymn of the day. The arrangement, incidentally, is my own, a chorale setting.

He Will Avenge Them Speedily

This (Saturday) morning mass, the Gospel (St. Luke 18:1-8) and sermon:

Why Jesus Sent Apostles

Today's (Friday) Gospel, from St. Luke 17:1-10, preached at mass:

On Prestige. Wealth, and Power

This (Thursday) morning's Gospel and sermon at mass: Luke 16:10-18. "That which is highly esteemed among men is abomination in the sight of God."

Jesus Casts out a Violent Demon

Tonight's Gospel and sermon, from St. Mark 9:17-29. The demon Jesus' disciples could not cast out of a man, whose father replied to Jesus' rebuke, "Lord I believe, help thou my unbelief."

The Prodigal Son

From St. Luke 15, this (Wednesday) morning's Gospel, on the prodigal son:

Sorrow and Patriotism

This article is also posted at Gottesdienst Online, and appeared in the Kewanee Star Courier this morning. The funeral of Sgt Schuyler Patch was held in Kewanee on Saturday.


On Thursday afternoon I stood among those lining the street waiting for the motorcade which brought the body of Seargeant Schuyler Patch back home.

Gathered at Veterans’ Park, several hundred strong, we waved our flags and made small talk as we waited. People milled about as the KHS band came out to play, and some TV newscasters from the Quad Cities showed up.

Finally, when the long motorcade came down the street, all the chattering stopped, and there descended a sudden and thick quiet upon the multitude. We watched as the family emerged in silence. No chatter, no shuffling of feet, not even the twittering of birds. The air was still, and the sun hid behind the clouds. The gravity of the moment descended like thick darkness upon us, and we stood speechless as our hearts heaved, ready to burst.

The band began to play some patriotic music, which seemed to brighten the day for a moment, but when they ceased, and a lone bugler in the distance began to play taps, the family broke down and began to weep for their son; and so did Kewanee. All around me I heard sobbing, and saw red eyes, on the faces of young and old alike. The Apostle Paul bids us to weep with those who weep, and all at once it seemed the entire town was doing just that, willing the Patch family to know that they were not alone in their sorrow.

This was Kewanee embracing her own.

And yet what I thought I saw, or felt, in this moment of grief was something more. People die every day, some of them young; and we grieve their losses too, when we know them. But the feeling of emotion felt that hour, at the loss of this soldier serving his country was more than simply grief. It was a palpable recognition of honor and loyalty, and a swell of patriotism. This was America.

And this, I’d suggest, revealed the beating heart of Kewanee. This town is a mix of varying political persuasions, as the voting patterns indicate. But there are no debates among us about the nobleness and valor that attends military service. Death on the battlefield somehow takes on an additional meaning, and when we gather in droves to honor one who has died in this way, though we certainly do so in sympathy with the family that has suffered so great a loss, we also do so because in this we are brought to terms with the reality that this great nation requires sacrifice, and we find ourselves in the perpetual debt of those who have made that sacrifice.

A rare and wonderful outpouring of community solidarity, sorrow, and love has emerged, because we all seem unquestionably to know that Schuyler Patch has become, at the age of 25, a hero, for no other reason than that he gave his life for his country. In the midst of our grief we know that there is something very inspiring and enduring in that. Kewanee at her best is America at her best, standing shoulder to shoulder, one nation under God. The value of this nation soars when it is measured in sacrifice, and words can scarce express our gratitude over those whose lives, like the life of Schuyler Patch, have been weighed in that measure.

The Canaanite Woman

The Gospel for the Second Sunday in Lent, on the Canaanite woman of St. Matthew 15:

On the reason for tragedy

This (Monday) morning's sermon was on St Luke 13:1-5:

There were present at that season some that told him of the Galilaeans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.And Jesus answering said unto them, Suppose ye that these Galilaeans were sinners above all the Galilaeans, because they suffered such things? I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish. Or those eighteen, upon whom the tower in Siloam fell, and slew them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt in Jerusalem? I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish.

And the sermon:

Receptionism on the Run, II

Perhaps I ought simply to relent.

Perhaps I should say,

"The authors of the Solid Declaration Article VII 87 went into some detail to point out the abuse of consecrated bread and wine in adoration. I wonder if they would as silent as our theologans (sic) are today toward the practice of left over consecrated wine settled in plastic cups setting (sic) in parish sacristies in garbage bags waiting to go to the dumpster. Does the Synod defend this practice?"

And then perhaps I should answer:

"First, to clarify the point of the Formula of Concord, Article VII, paragraph 87, we do well to include paragraph 86 (and interested readers will benefit from going back farther than than, at least to paragraph 83). The primary point is that consecrated elements are not to be separated or diverted from the rest of the 'usus' or 'actio' that includes 'distribution and reception or oral eating' that Christ commanded when instituting the sacrament.

"The so-called 'nihil' rule or principle is being presented, namely, that no action or emphasis (nihil= "nothing") that is beyond the sacramental practice (consecration, distribution, reception) is to be regarded as part of the sacrament.

"'Left-over consecrated wine' that remains in used vessels and to be discarded is thus wine that is beyond the sacramental practice. It is not going to be received or orally drunk by the communicant. It no longer has the nature of the sacrament and is comparable to elements that were being misused by the medieval Catholic Church as stated in paragraph 87. (We do note an important difference, of course: having left-over elements is not a sinful departure from Christ's institution, but simply an inevitable outcome of valid sacramental practice). We really do not know how much bread and wine were left over in the Upper Room when Christ instituted the Lord's Supper, nor do we know how it was disposed of. Scripture is silent on this. It is beyond the sacramental focus.

"So, to put it plainly, the left-over wine is considered and treated differently than during the sacramental practice because we are now beyond the sacramental practice. It would be unnecessary speculation to say much more about the nature or qualities of such left-overs. Our theologians . . . do not normally say much about the disposal of left-overs (sometimes called the reliqua or reliquae) for that reason."

Would that be acceptable? Examine the quotation, which comes from our friends at the Wisconsin Synod, and you might be able to see some rather glaring deficiencies for yourself. For starters, take note of how the Confessions seem to have become a norma normans here.

In other words, to return to the original notion: No. Perhaps not. I still see no reason to relent on the question.

On the leaven of Pharisees

This (Saturday) morning's Gospel, from St. Luke 12, wherein Jesus warns his disciples of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy:

On Jesus' Condemnation of the Pharisees and Lawyers

This (Friday) morning's sermon, from St. Luke 11: Woe unto you Pharisees, etc.:

Two sermons: on self-exaltation and on repentance at the sign of Jonah

Last night's (Wednesday) midweek mass had as its Gospel the dissension among the disciples in Luke 22, which of them was greatest, and Jesus' consequent rebuke. This morning's (Thursday) mass had St Luke 11, Jesus' warning regarding the sign of Jonah. Both follow here:

A friend needing three loaves

This is one of my favorite Gospels, from St. Luke 11. It comes immediately after the Our Father, and is, I believe, a parable about the Our Father and its function in the canon of the Mass. The three loaves, the friend of the friend, the midnight hour, the children in bed, the door closed are all details not to be missed. Preached this (Wednesday) morning at St. Paul's:

Receptionism on the Run

Who says this conversation has come to an end? My own involvement in the discussion is sometimes limited, but it seems to me that in the course of its ebb and flow, it has been developing right along. The number of comments now exceeds 200. I've been posting some audio files of sermons meanwhile, but that ought not discourage the continuation of this important topic.

Now, as Venkman has astutely pointed out, we have begun to surround and hem in the error of receptionism, which, I hasten to remind you, happens to have been a major impetus behind the building of a tabernacle here.

I have long suspected that there are many whose reason for consuming everything is so they would not have to face their own refusal to believe that the simple words of Jesus abide forever. They may not have monstrances, but they do seem to have hours of adoration, not of the Sacrament, but of Melanchthon and his eucharistic errors (q. v.).

Evidently they have deleted from Galatians St. Paul's warning, "though we, or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed." Either that, or they believe the Book of Concord carries more weight than the apostles and angels. Don't get me wrong, I don't think the BoC is guilty of the Melancththonian error, but they do, though they call it a truth. But if I did interpret the BoC as they do, I would sooner reject it than the words of Christ.

Verbum Dei manet in aeternam.

Satan Falls from Heaven

Sermon from this morning's (Tuesday) mass, on St. Luke 10, the sending of the seventy who returned with joy, and Jesus said, "I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven . . .":

The Disciples Want to Call Down Fire from Heaven

This morning's (Monday) mass had as its appointed Gospel the reading from St. Luke 9 in which Jesus tells his disciples not to forbid a man for casting out demons in his name ("He who is not against us is for us") and rebukes them for wanting to condemn the Samaritans who did not receive him ("because his face was set to go to Jerusalem").

I forgot to turn on the PA system today, so no recording. Oops.

The sermon, briefly, explained that neither the man who was independently casting out demons nor the Samaritans had it right. The independent exorcist was wrong, even as those who were not Levites who attempted to offer sacrifices were wrong, and the Samaritans were wrong for rejecting Jesus.

But the disciples misunderstood him because they had yet to grasp the truth that his coming was divided in two, which no one expected. Divided in two: once in mercy, and the second time in judgment.

And this fact is wonderful, for had he not divided his coming in two, no one could be saved. Not only the independent exorcist and the Samaritans, but we ourselves are beneficiaries of the lovingkindness of Jesus in coming first in mercy. And so merciful is he that he absorbs the divine wrath of which the Scriptures so frequently speak, and of which the disciples were so acutely aware. He absorbs it, and the very means by which he absorbed it, his crucified body and the blood he shed, are given to you here from the altar, against the day of judgment which is to come.

Invocabit, Lent I (Jesus in the Wilderness)

Sermon at St. Paul's this (Sunday) morning, with Gospel reading spliced in before it:

On being ashamed of Jesus

Sermon for Sat. after Ash Wednesday, on St. Luke 9:

On Kissing Jesus' Feet

The weeping woman of St. Luke 7: the sermon for mass on the Thursday after Ash Wednesday.

On Repentance, II

The second of two Ash Wednesday sermons at St. Paul's.

On Repentance

The first of two Ash Wednesday sermons at St. Paul's.

The Father of Receptionism

The comments are now at 205 in the continued discussion, all of which can be accessed under the label "reservation of the elements."

It is undeniable that receptionism was afoot in Lutheran circles from the start. Not only is it possible that Andrae had receptionist leanings, and that the tension between those leanings and Chemintz' aversion to them is reflected in the Formula of Concord itself; it is clear that the tension existed a generation earlier, between Melanchthon and Luther. Jurgen Diestelmann has recently provided some compelling data on that tension, though his work is only available in German.

But even without that data, Luther scholars have long pointed to a fundamental difference in orientation between the Reformer and his closest compatriot, a difference of which he may even have been naively unaware.

The language of Luther in connection with the Sacrament tends to focus on what it is, while the language of Melanchthon tends to focus on what it does. This difference cannot be overestimated.

Hence we see from Luther the Small Catechism's first question on the matter: "What is the Sacrament of the Altar?" But from Melanchthon we see a whole host of meanderings culminating in the Variata of the Augsburg Confession, which could only go as far as to say that the body and blood of Christ are "shown" to the recipient: "Concerning the Lord's Supper our churches teach that with bread and wine the body and blood are truly shown to those who eat in the Lord's Supper." This statement is true as far as it goes, but the tragedy here is that it is Melanchthon's "improvement"; what it replaces is a confession "that the Body and Blood of Christ are truly present, and are distributed to those who eat the Supper of the Lord."

What resulted was much ado about Something. Friedrich Bente aptly described the fallout from this little change in his historical introduction to the Book of Concord, "The changes made in the Augsburg Confession brought great distress, heavy cares, and bitter struggles upon the Lutheran Church, both from within and without."

You can say that again. Not only in our history, as Bente reports: "Church history records the manifold and sinister ways in which they were exploited by the Reformed as well as the Papists; especially by the latter (the Jesuits) at the religious colloquies, beginning 1540, until far into the time of the Thirty Years' War, in order to deprive the Lutherans of the blessings guaranteed by the religious Peace of Augsburg, 1555"; but also right down to the moment: receptionism is arguably the most salient controversy among us today, and is at least partly responsible for the 205 comments and counting on this thread.

Luther was dedicated to his friend Melanchthon, and as far as I am concerned, his dedication to him is the primary reason he was not more forthright in recognizing and dealing with the man's receptionism. Melanchthon was, in Luther's estimation, a Greek scholar second to none, a brilliant thinker and writer, and, most importantly, a close companion and confidant in the midst of some life-and-death theological struggles which were very personal. One does not easily part ways with someone in whom so much personal approbation is invested.

Hence we may attribute a certain blindness on the part of Luther to the true leanings of his partner.

But there was no blindness in him regarding the Sacrament. None of the ambiguities in Melanchthon can be found in Luther. His well-known insistence at the Marburg Colloquy on the meaning of "is" in the Sacrament may be contrasted with his consternation over the fact that Melanchthon, who was sitting right next to him, would not do more of the talking.

Luther's death in 1546 prevented him from learning of the degree to which Melanchthon desired to form alliances with the Calvinists, which is now a matter of record.

In short, receptionism never arose in the heart of Luther. The birth of that dragon may be traced to Melanchthon.

Several years ago I paid my respects at Luther's grave before the pulpit in the Castle Church at Wittenberg. The church was filled with pilgrims and distractions that day, which may explain why I neglected to remember that Melanchthon's grave is there too, on the other side of the nave, before the lectern. Or perhaps it was Providence which kept me from Melanchthon's side. It certainly is Providence which has kept my heart stayed on the words This is my body which, evidently, are farther from Melanchthon's side than we might have thought.

The Difference between a Tabernacle and a Monstrance

The discussion continues.

We're now up to 185 comments on, I think, four posts. Click on the "reservation of the elements" label for all the relative posts.

Let's consider now the difference between a tabernacle and a monstrance.

Aside from the obvious, the monstrance allows for a perpetual elevation of the host. The monstrance essentially does what the celebrant does when he holds the host aloft immediately after it is consecrated. With its gilded rays, it also silently confesses that the host is the Body of Christ.

All in all, a monstrance is certainly preferable to a wastebasket!

And yet, as one ponders its use over against the use of a tabernacle, the question of abuse does inevitably arise, which we will do well to define carefully.

What is the abuse against which the Formula warns? I would suggest that the abuse is twofold, when one attempts to use the elements for a purpose for which they were not intended. We could all agree that using the host as an amulet or charm is an abuse. Placing it into the coffin of a loved one, or on one's mantle, is an abuse. What about a Corpus Christi procession? What about a monstrance?

The nature of possible abuse here is, it seems to me, one of two kinds, or both. It's either in expecting the Sacrament to do something it has not been instituted to do--we'll call this the abuse of questionable expectations--or in keeping it from doing what it has been instituted to do, namely, forgive sins when it is received in faith. We'll call that the abuse of impediment. And the abuse of questionable expectations may have the potential of giving rise to the abuse of impediment.

In itself, the nature of the former abuse, of questionable expectations, is somewhat forgivable. The woman who came up behind Jesus to touch the hem of His garment was certainly not chided for expecting something good to happen to her where Jesus had not promised it, and yet, in that case, something good did happen to her, and Jesus certainly did not rebuke her, though she feared He might. Similarly the people who expected something good to happen to them by the shadow of the Apostle Peter passing by were not reproached for this expectation, either by the Apostle, or by St. Luke the writer.

In a curiously similar way, people who expect good to come from proximity to the Sacrament, though it is not specifically promised, may perhaps be forgiven for this (especially the uninformed). They might even benefit from it, for all we know, though we have no promise that they will, and we become uncomfortable with the idea that people might turn to this kind of thing rather than to blessing where blessing is specifically promised and given. That would become the second abuse--I have called it, for lack of a better term, the abuse of impediment. That abuse is certainly the abuse of greatest concern. In fact, the primary difficulty with the abuse of questionable expectation may well be that it leads to the abuse of impediment.

So the matter of the use of a monstrance might be said to fall within the category of questionable expectation, though not necessarily.

Elevation of the elements prior to their reception is certainly not an abuse; yet it is specifically for adoration alone that the elements are elevated. It is a confession that what we are about to receive is truly Christ. No false expectation there, and no impediment. It is a laudable thing to elevate the host and cup.

Hours of adoration before a monstrance seem to fall within the category of questionable expectation, since people come to the church for no other reason than to pray there, before the exposed Sacrament. Put together with the faulty view sometimes promulgated within the Church of Rome that there is more benefit to be gained from merely witnessing the Mass than from receiving the Sacrament, this can be a problem, an abuse of the impediment variety.

Hence, the tabernacle seems a better receptacle for the reliquae than the monstrance, though not necessarily. We certainly would not want to discourage oral reception of the Sacrament. I suppose there might conceivably be a setting in which a monstrance would be understood as the fit receptacle for reliquae waiting to be carried to the sick, though I'm certainly not convinced of it. For my part, I think a tabernacle is preferable, since it is more clearly a place whose intention is reservation for the intended use of the Sacrament, in addition to which it is a safer place, when there is no one keeping guard.

Interestingly, and in spite of this, a recently uncovered reference in Luther indicates that he seems to have thought a monstrance acceptable, believe it or not. German scholar Jurgen Diestelmann has some new evidence which needs to be considered, of which you may expect a review to come forth from the pen of John Stephenson, in the next issue of Logia. Now if Luther recommended a monstrance, whatever else that might mean, it certainly adds weight to the already substantial mound of evidence that he believed that the real presence was not a temporary thing.

And that, of course, is something I am eager to confess. And this was the reason I determined the tabernacle to be ultimately a better thing than a pyx and cruet kept in the sacristy.

So We're A Little Behind

. . . which, as I always say, is better than being a big behind.

Still, it would be nice if the problem of a Gottesdienst balance below where it really needs to be could be alleviated with a little here, and a little there, from our loyal subscribers and friends of Gottesdienst. Anyone who can spare a little extra, say five or ten bucks even, please click here:

We do have a record of using all our donations efficiently and knowing how to operate well on a shoestring. Thanks in advance!

St. Paul's on the Air

Here are all the programs we've put up on the web since January. The most recent, which is last on the list, is for Quinquagesima (February 22) and the coming of Lent. Have a listen:

Why Reserve the Reliquae?

The discussion continues unabated, and I am pleased to find that some even find it edifying. It started, I think, over a post I rather offhandedly made in late January, at Gottesdienst Online about my desire to return to the historic historic readings. This was quickly picked up at HistoricLectionary.com, and some folks offhandedly remarked that I was all about innovation. I replied, huh? It turned out that some were a bit uncomfortable about my use of the tabernacle, and so I pulled the discussion in here, at my own blog, first with this post, and then with this one. In all, I count 144 comments made on this matter, in the space of about half a month. As Venkman has noted, it's about as much writing as some M.Div. theses.

Fr. Skillman has recently provided a nice summary on the nature of the entire discussion:

"This and the last major post have constituted a great discussion. Would you agree?

"The questioners are usually thoughtful, kind, and direct. The answerers (yourself included, of course) are thought provoking. I still have some confusion on this subject, but I have been edified by the discussion.

"I trust no one here thinks that this is keeping them from their 'real ministry'. I believe that discussions such as these are part of the 'real ministry'.

"Anyway, what a wonderful discussion. Thanks to you, our host, and the other participants."

I agree, Fr. Skillman, and thank you, too.

Fr. Messer, I alao appreciate your fine impersonation of me in my brief absence yesterday; I am truly flattered. Thank you. And you are right, of course; I couldn't have said better myself what you said:

"Thanks much [to interlocutor Michael Francis] for clarifying your logic. I now understand where you are having trouble with Fr. Eckardt's practice, although I'm confused about your assertion that the only inference you can make regarding Fr. Eckardt's desire to always keep something in reserve is that he does so for the sake of adoration (so that he might always have something to which he might genuflect).

"The reason for my confusion here is because I thought he already gave answer to this above when he stated that he always keeps something in reserve in case an emergency arises and he needs to distribute the Sacrament. His answer was not, 'I always keep something in reserve so that I might have something to adore and something to which I might offer my genuflection'. Why, then, must the only inference at which you can arrive be that he always keeps something in reserve for adoration? It seems to me that another possible inference (indeed, even a solid conclusion) is that he always keeps something in reserve so that he might have the Body and Blood of Christ available for distribution. Thus, where you see a 'glaring contradiction', I see a faithful consistency in his practice.

"Nevertheless, I should probably bow out and allow Fr. Eckardt to speak for himself."

Fr. Messer, you saved me the trouble and time of figuring out how to say the same thing. Again, thanks.

Honestly I have been a bit mystified by Michael Francis' continual allegations that I am being evasive. Rev. McCain makes the same claim, of course. It's a clever ploy to say someone's being evasive rather than to say either that you don't understand what he's saying, or that you simply don't agree with it.

What's puzzling to some is the fact that Mr. Francis is calling me inconsistent because I said that if I were called out to an emergency on a Saturday night, and only one host remained, I would still break it in half and leave half behind. Now the practical answer to that should be self-evident. What if, on returning, say, at 11 p.m. and going home, I should be called out at 2 a.m. on yet another emergency? Responsible reservation dictates perpetual reservation, for this expressed reason: the nature of an emergency is that one never knows when it will happen.

In addition, however, this practice also prevents the awkwardness of having to indicate to parishioners arriving on a Sunday morning after an emergency in which the last host was used, that there happened to be no Sacrament in reserve today, so be sure not to genuflect, for if you did so, you'd be doing so accidentally. To which most would look quizzically and say, huh? Much easier, and more effective, to teach that the elements are in reserve, the eternal light is always lit, and therefore be advised that it is appropriate to genuflect when you enter.

But actually, I'm slightly amused by the allegation that I'm being evasive. Evasiveness implies sneakiness, or having something to hide. Let's see, what could I have to hide? The fact that I desire to adore the body of Christ? But clearly I am not hiding that desire! Would that all the world knew of it!

But no, it's not really that, is it. It's the thought that I would only consecrate them to adore them, even though I made it clear that I meant to consume them (or have them consumed) at some point after adoring them. I guess that would mean it's the thought that I would mainly want to adore them, even more than wanting to consume them.

Well, let's suppose, just for the sake of argument, that that were true.

So what?

Would that constitute abuse?

I trow not. For I suggest that someone whose main desire, even during communion, is to consume, more than to adore, is the one who's really being abusive. Consider St. Paul's problem with the Corinthians: "For in eating every one taketh before other his own supper: and one is hungry, and another is drunken. What? have ye not houses to eat and to drink in? or despise ye the church of God, and shame them that have not? what shall I say to you? shall I praise you in this? I praise you not."

For if we consume without adoration--by which we must mean at least some form of acknowledgment of the Incarnate One--we have certainly become guilty of abuse of the Sacrament: "For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord's body."

Now just so nobody gets all rankled, I am not accusing anyone here of taking things that far; but I am seeking to draw out some questioning threads so that we might venture to see where they may logically lead.

Join Us at the Table

Every week we have this little radio Program, St. Paul's on the Air, which for the past two years or more has been going out on the local radio station every Sunday morning at 7:30, and, ever since Issues, Etc. was kicked out of the Missouri Synod and launched an internet based station, Pirate Christian Radio, has been appearing there at, I think, around 7:30 a.m. on Wednesdays.

Well actually, if you'd like to have a listen, you can do so any time you want, by going to our own website. In fact, if you want, you can listen right now.