Lutheranism

I don’t imagine most of the readers of this blog are too interested in the doings of the ELCA. That’s the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, or Extremely Liberal Convocation of Apostates; take your pick. Having been Lutheran for nearly the first thirty years of my life, I can’t help but take notice.

In case you haven’t been paying attention, the ELCA has declared sodomy to be okey-dokey with them, and will now ordain sodomites, provided the sodomites in question are committed, monogamous sodomites. Well, yes, of course — you have to draw the line somewhere, after all.

This is all very interesting, in a hum-drum way, because I’ve been watching this happen since I was a wee Lutheran. (My head was still damp when I first heard the word “liberal” applied to those other Lutherans.) What interests me the most is that every time one of these controversies arises, there is always a “conservative” group in the mix that is shocked and dismayed that this could happen, and feels compelled to leave and join or start another denomination. In this case, I believe I read that someone has averred, “We haven’t left the ELCA; the ELCA has left us!” “Really?” I ask, “and exactly where were you standing when they left you?”

(This reminds me of an episode in my youth. You may skip this parenthetic paragraph, if you wish. I was a freshman in high school. I was walking home from somewhere, when a couple of seniors pulled over and offered me a ride. The offer was made with a beer momentarily raised into view, the implication being obvious. Throwing all good sense to the wind — like they really wanted a new drinking buddy in the form of an exceptionally uncool freshman — I got in. To make a long story short, I ended up two miles out of town, hoofing it home. The moral of the story . . . well, I think you get it.)

I began thinking that it might be interesting to do a little study of Lutheran history and draw up a chart (I love charts — and lists, and outlines, and . . .) to illustrate just how long these people were treading water before they noticed the boat had sunk. So I did. The chart that follows is by no means a complete picture of American Lutheranism. It only includes streams that flow into the present controversy. I am sure there are other splinter groups, but I believe all the relevant bodies are represented, and then some. Just don’t cite me in your thesis. I’ve used abbreviations and short forms for the sake of space. If you really need the full names, just ask.

The church in blue is my mother church. The red is the bad news. It’s not the acceptance of homosexuality, female clergy, or even theatre attendance or card-playing. It’s something far more insidious than any failure of orthopraxy. The red represents the introduction of higher criticism, which treats the biblical text as a human product rather than the very words of God (I may not have found all the entry points in my quick study, but that just means the picture could be even worse). That is the real problem. The smart theologians who began questioning authority didn’t intend to put a homosexual in the pulpit. They quite possibly considered female clergy; that idea is quite old. I don’t think they ever intended a wholesale rejection of Scripture; but once they opened that door, there was no reason not to say anything goes.

And you know, it really doesn’t matter. Note this well: God doesn’t care what you think about female clergy or homosexuality. He cares what you think of him. Your views on everything else, from playing the lottery to “marrying” your goat, are only reflections of your view of God. He has revealed himself and his will in Scripture, and when you reject his Word, when you ask, “Indeed, has God said . . . ?” you are rejecting him, and you are in as much trouble as you ever will be.

ELCA Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson, in a September 9th video message on the denomination’s website entitled Invitation to Conversation, asks, “What shall be our witness? What stories shall we tell?” Call me cynical, but I expect they’ll just keep on making up their own, like they always have.

And the good folks who have drawn the line at homosexual clergy? Until they stop creating a god in their own image, unless they turn back to Scripture as the very words of God, and their sole authority, so will they.

Related: Gene Veith, A new Lutheran church, gnosticism, and the Bible

A reader, knowing of my background in the Lutheran church, recently sent me this question (paraphrased):

My daughter and I recently attended a Missouri Synod Lutheran church. During the service, the pastor said something that caught our attention. He made a comment in reference to baptism “giving” faith to someone. I am fairly certain that if I asked a Lutheran if baptism saves, he'd say “no.” But how does that jive with the remark about baptism “giving” faith? My daughter asked me that later, after the service. I didn't have an answer, and I told her I'd look into it. What would you tell her if she asked you?

I can’t speak for the Lutheran Church Missouri Synod. I come from another denomination that is not as high-church as the LCMS, that (I think) does not emphasize the sacraments quite as much, but don’t quote me on that. So I don’t know how a LCMS pastor would explain it. I can only offer the following statement from the LCMS website:

Baptism, too, is applied for the remission of sins and is therefore a washing of regeneration and renewing of the Holy Ghost.

Before offering any of my own comments, I think it would be best to quote the Lutheran confessions, accepted by the LCMS and, as far as I know, all evangelical Lutheran denominations*.

Luther’s Small Catechism:

What gifts or benefits does baptism bestow?

It works forgiveness of sins, delivers from death and the devil, and gives everlasting salvation to all who believe, as the word and promise of God declare.

—The Book of Concord, trans. and ed. Theodore G. Tappert (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1959), 348-349.

The Augsburg Confession:

It is taught that Baptism is necessary and that grace is offered through it. Children, too, should be baptized, for in Baptism are committed to God and are acceptable to him.

—Ibid., 33.

The Apology of the Augsburg Confession:

Baptism is necessary to salvation; children are to be baptized; the baptism of children is not in useless, but is necessary and efficacious for salvation. . . . It is most certain that the promise of salvation also applies to little children. It does not apply to those who are outside of Christ's church, where there is neither Word nor sacraments, because Christ regenerates through Word and sacrament. Therefore it is necessary to baptize children, so that the promise of salvation might be applied to them, according to Christ's command, (Matt. 28:19): “Baptize all nations.” Just as here salvation is offered to all, so Baptism is offered to all—men, women, children, and infants. Therefore it clearly follows that infants should be baptized because salvation is offered with Baptism.

—Ibid., 178.

Luther’s Large Catechism:

. . . since we now know what Baptism is and how it is to be regarded, we must also learn for what purpose it was instituted, that is, what benefits, gifts, and effects it brings. Nor can we understand this better than from the words of Christ quoted above, “He who believes and is baptized shall be saved.” To put it most simply, the power, work, fruit, and purpose of Baptism is to save. . . . To be saved, we know, is nothing else than to be delivered from sin, death, and the devil, and to enter into the kingdom of Christ, and to live with Him forever.

—Ibid., 439.

The Lutheran link between salvation and baptism should be pretty obvious. Returning to the original question, I don’t see a statement in the confessions explicitly saying that baptism gives faith (although I may have missed it); however, Dr. Mueller (an LCMS theologian), in his Christian Dogmatics, explains:

   In agreement with the Romanists are all the Romanizing Protestants who claim that Baptism indeed works regeneration, but without actually kindling faith. They thus regard baptismal grace as conferred without a receiving means on the part of man, whereas Scripture teaches very clearly that there can be no regeneration without faith in the forgiveness of sins secured by Christ, John 1, 12. 13; 3, 5. 14. 15; 1 John 5, 1, and offered and conveyed to men by the means of grace the Lutheran Church, on the other hand, teaches correctly that Baptism is a means of regeneration for the reason that it offers and conveys forgiveness of sons and works and strengthens faith through its gracious Gospel offer. All (Romanists and Romanizing Protestants) who deny that Baptism is primo loco [in the first place] a means of justification by faith in the proffered grace intermingle Law and Gospel by making Baptism a means of sanctification, not by faith, but by works.

John Theodore Mueller—Christian Dogmatics, (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1955), 439.

It seems to me that Mueller is working backwards from the assumption that baptism saves, therefore deducing — correctly, if the premise be granted — that baptism gives faith.

Lutherans are quick to distance themselves from Catholic baptism, saying that the water, administered by a priest, does not save ex opera operato. The sacrament is always spoken of as water and the Word, the Word making the water efficacious. However, this seems to me that they are still teaching baptismal regeneration ex opera operato, with the difference that but the power is in the Word, rather than in the church.†

The straight answer is that you probably won’t get a straight, simple answer from most Lutherans. They do believe in baptismal regeneration, but when asked, most will try to nuance their answer so as to avoid sounding Catholic. Most won’t come right out and admit baptismal regeneration, but will rather say that it works faith.

If you’re left with any doubt as to the importance of baptism to the Lutheran, it should be revealing to note that pastors will rush to the hospital to administer emergency baptisms on babies who might not survive. This is so important that, in the event that the pastor isn’t available, the Concordia Hymnal includes an Order of Baptismal Service in cases of Emergency that includes the following preface:

   When a new-born child is in danger of death, the minister should promptly be called to baptize it. In such case he shall use as much of the common Order for Baptism as the circumstances allow. But where the danger is very great, and no minister is within reach, the father of the child, or some other Christian man or woman, may baptize it. But they shall not do so, except in extreme necessity . . .

—The Concordia Hymnal (Augsburg Publishing House, 1960), 429.

I have, on several occasions, asked Lutheran pastors about this. When asked what happens to the baptized baby who dies, they will, without hesitating, declare that baby to be in heaven. But what happens to the unbaptized baby who dies?

“I can’t say. We have to trust that child to God’s mercy.”

* I do not, in any case, refer to the apostate Evangelical Lutheran Church in America. I don’t know what they would say, nor do I care.

† I don’t mean to imply here that Lutheran baptism is really no different from Roman Catholic baptism, even though, by the language they use, I think they really are asking for it. That would not be fair or accurate.

Following my post earlier this week on the Lutheran doctrine of baptismal regeneration, I thought it would be good to address some of the texts they use to justify it. There really are only two that come to mind: Titus 3:5–7 and 1 Peter 3:18–22. Since I honestly don’t know why anyone would think Titus 3 is about baptism, I’ll go straight to 1 Peter.

For Christ also died for sins once for all, the just for the unjust, so that He might bring us to God, having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit; 19 in which also He went and made proclamation to the spirits now in prison, 20 who once were disobedient, when the patience of God kept waiting in the days of Noah, during the construction of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were brought safely through the water. 21 Corresponding to that, baptism now saves you—not the removal of dirt from the flesh, but an appeal to God for a good conscience—through the resurrection of Jesus Christ, 22 who is at the right hand of God, having gone into heaven, after angels and authorities and powers had been subjected to Him.

Peter has spent the first part of the chapter admonishing his readers to live righteously, not in order to gain any merit for themselves — “by the works of the Law no flesh will be justified” (Romans 3:20) — but for the sake of the gospel. They are to be prepared, so that when they are persecuted for righteousness, the will be able to give a defense, not of themselves, but of the gospel, “the hope that is in you,” the cause for which they are being persecuted.

That hope, that gospel, is that “Christ died for sins once for all, the just for the unjust, so that He might bring us to God, having been put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit; in which he also went and made proclamation to the spirits now in prison, who once were disobedient, when the patience of God kept waiting in the days of Noah, during the construction of the ark, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were brought safely through the water.” This is a rather curious passage. It’s hard to say exactly what Christ said or where he went to say it. But that is hardly the point. We are reminded here of the wickedness of man in the time of Noah (see Genesis 6:1–7) and the catastrophic judgment that came upon them for their wickedness. And we are reminded that a chosen few were “brought safely through the water.”

Now Peter gets to the point: “Corresponding to that,” — or better, “The like figure” (KJV) — “baptism now saves you.”

We need to pause now to consider what the word baptize means. It is a word that, unfortunately, translators have chosen not to translate. So we tend to think of it almost exclusively as water baptism. To baptize means to submerge. A sunken ship is baptized. It can mean to cleanse or wash by immersion. It is not always associated with water. Christ, speaking of his crucifixion and burial, said, “I have a baptism to undergo, and how distressed I am until it is accomplished!” (Luke 12:50) This is exactly the baptism spoken of by Peter.

So, to summarize in the briefest possible way:

The physical salvation of Noah and his family through the flood is an antetype (translated “the like figure” in the KJV) of our spiritual salvation through the death of Christ. The flood is the judgment of God. The ark is Christ. Jesus said, “I have a baptism to undergo.” If we “have been crucified with Christ” (Galatians 2:20), and “raised us up with him” (Ephesians 2:5–6; Colossians 3:1), we have gone through that baptism (flood) with him, in him; he is our ark. Therefore, “a few . . . were brought safely through the water. Corresponding to that, baptism now saves you . . . through the resurrection of Jesus Christ.”

It’s not about water baptism at all. It’s about the cross.

And when He had taken some bread and given thanks, He broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is My body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” And in the same way He took the cup after they had eaten, saying, “This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in My blood.”

—Luke 22:19–20

Memo to Dr. Luther and all my Lutheran friends, whom I love:

There have been several different understandings of what Jesus meant by taking the bread and saying, “This is my body, which is given for you” (Luke 22:19) and by taking the cup and saying, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Matt. 26:28). Was he saying that the cup and the bread were signs of his body and blood, or that they somehow were transformed into the very body and blood of Jesus?
   It was natural then, and it is natural today, to point to a representation of something and say that the representation is the thing. For example, I look at a photograph of our house and say, “This is our house.” It would not enter anyone’s mind to think I mean that the photograph was transformed into my house. If Jesus stooped down and drew a camel in the sand, He would say, “This is a camel.” The drawing doesn’t become a camel. It represents a camel.
   We know he used language this way because in the parable of the four soils, he interprets the images of four kinds of people with these words: “As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy” (Matt. 13:20). He means the rocky ground represents a kind of person. There is nothing modern or strange about this way of thinking, and it is the most natural way to understand Jesus’ words. The cup and the body represent his blood and body.
   Moreover, if we insist on saying that “this is my body” and “this is my blood” must refer to the physical body and blood of Jesus, what becomes of the statement, “This cup . . . is the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:20)? Are we to say that the cup is the new covenant in the same way that the cup is the blood? Surely, “this cup . . . is the new covenant” means “this cup represents the new covenant that will be purchased and inaugurated by my bloodshedding tomorrow morning.” Therefore, it seems wise to understand the words “this is my body” and “this is my blood” to mean: “The cup and bread represent my physical body and blood offered up for you in death as a sacrifice for your sins.”

—John Piper, What Jesus Demands from the World (Crossway, 2006), 347–348.

Yesterday I happened upon the following excerpt from Bavinck’s Reformed Dogmatics (HT). As a Lutheran-turned-Calvinist, I found it particularly interesting, and the more I considered it, the more I saw the truth of it. You might already have seen it, since I liked it so much that I linked to it via Google, Twitter, and Facebook.

The difference seems to be conveyed best by saying that the Reformed Christian thinks theologically, the Lutheran anthropologically. The Reformed person is not content with an exclusively historical stance but raises his sights to the idea, the eternal decree of God. By contrast, the Lutheran takes his position in the midst of the history of redemption and feels no need to enter more deeply into the counsel of God. For the Reformed, therefore, election is the heart of the church; for Lutherans, justification is the article by which the church stands or falls. Among the former the primary question is: How is the glory of God advanced? Among the latter it is: How does a human get saved? The struggle of the former is above all paganism- idolatry; that of the latter against Judaism- works righteousness. The Reformed person does not rest until he has traced all things retrospectively to the divine decree, tracking down the “wherefore” of things, and has prospectively made all things subservient to the glory of God; the Lutheran is content with the “that” and enjoys the salvation in which he is, by faith, a participant. From this difference in principle, the dogmatic controversies between them (with respect to the image of God, original sin, the person of Christ, the order of salvation, the sacraments, church government, ethics, etc.) can be easily explained.

—Herman Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics< /a>, Vol. 1: Prolegomena (Baker, 2003), 177.

Also yesterday, as it happened, I had done something I normally do not do: study a text without reading Calvin. So, with Bavinck in mind, I looked up both Luther and Calvin on Genesis 11:30. Luther wrote:

But Sarai was barren; she had no child (11:29, 30). The Scriptures (here) report that Sarai (Sarah) had no children. This shows that at that time children were regarded as precious gifts of God, for the text represents Sarai’s barrenness as a great affliction. So the almighty God chastened this saintly man (Abraham) with this great tribulation as he lived in this sin-cursed world in which we all (by our sins) are deserving of hell. The wicked (meanwhile) had many children and a large generation, while Abraham’s marriage was without issue. But this was more than a mere trial of Abraham, for it also demonstrated very convincingly God’s adorable mercy, power and faithfulness, for barren Sarai, when she had become old and was beyond the years of bearing children, received a son, from whom there came a great people.

—Martin Luther, Luther’s Commentary on Genesis Volume I, trans. J. Theodore Mueller, (Zondervan, 1958), 203–204.

and Calvin:

   But Sarai was barren. Not only does he say that Abram was without children, but he states the reasons namely, the sterility of his wife; in order to show that it was by nothing short of an extraordinary miracle that she afterwards bare Isaac, as we shall declare more fully in its proper place. Thus was God pleased to humble his servant; and we cannot doubt that Abram would suffer severe pain through this privation. He sees the wicked springing up everywhere, in great numbers, to cover the earth; he alone is deprived of children. And although hitherto he was ignorant of his own future vocation; yet God designed in his person, as in a mirror, to make it evident, whence and in what manner his Church should arise; for at that time it lay hid, as in a dry root under the earth.

—John Calvin, Commentary on the Genesis, Volume I (Baker Books, 2009), 337–338.

This text, at least, corroborates Bavinck. While Calvin interprets it as a mirror of God’s glory, Luther sees God’s purpose for Abraham.