That's the question on everyone's mind when he comes into a Lutheran church for the first time. Rightly so. Here are some answers to different variations of that question, even if you're not asking it. More of these will be posted as they become available. If you have questions you'd like answered, feel free to ask.
Our Lord comes to us as He has promised to do. Because of that, He probably wouldn’t “fit in” to our pop spirituality very well. It’s a popular thing nowadays to be “spiritual” without being very religious. While everyone who uses the word means something slightly different by it, it generally refers to something ethereal, emotional, or otherwise elusive. The more spiritual you are, the less you can explain it.
Fortunately for us, God hasn’t promised to work through lofty, “spiritual” means. Instead, He promises to work through very down-to-earth means. In fact, all that we know about God comes to us from His down-to-earth-ness when the Son of God took on human flesh and dwelled on earth. It’s the opposite of “spirituality” that calls us to move above our flesh to higher, “spiritual” things. God descends to earth and takes on human flesh. And, after His ascension, the Lord promises to continue to work through very concrete, “fleshy” means.
While God is everywhere, He has promised to be in very specific places. Three of those places are in front of you: the Font, the Pulpit, and the Altar. God has promised to make disciples of those whom He baptizes, those upon whom He places His triune name (Matthew 28:19). And He promises to give forgiveness of sins through the waters of Holy Baptism combined with His holy Word (Acts 2:38). This happens at the Baptismal Font, the place where God, through His appointed servant, the pastor, claims us as His very own dear children. Because in Holy Baptism, God “recreates” us, Fonts were traditionally 8-sided. In 7 days God created the world. And the 8th day of creation is the Day when He renews His creation through Jesus. Sometimes Fonts are located toward the entrance of the church because it is through Holy Baptism that the Lord makes us members of His Church.
God also promises to create faith wherever and whenever His Word is preached (Romans 10:17). This happens all throughout the Divine Service as the pattern of the Liturgy is God’s Word to us followed by our speaking His Word back to Him. But it happens intentionally in the reading of the Scripture lessons from the Lectern and the preaching of the sermon from the Pulpit. Through the movement of particles in the air, the vibration of your eardrum, and the rattling of inner-ear bones, God literally sticks faith into your ear. It’s hard to spiritualize that.
The whole service builds to a climax in the Lord’s Supper, where Jesus promises to give us His Body and His Blood under bread and wine for the forgiveness of our sins (Matthew 26:26-28). This happens at the Lord’s table, the Altar. Because it is here Jesus is physically present—not in spirit but in flesh and blood—the Altar is the focal point of our worship, the place of God’s promised presence with us.
Because we trust in the Lord’s promises to work through these means to give us faith and forgive our sins, our churches are built around these three places, the places where our Lord continues to be for us.
You’ve heard the statement: “If these walls could talk, I wonder what they would say.” Well, in the architecture of a church, the walls do talk. They are intended to proclaim the Gospel and tell the story of salvation. Two architects once sait, “Architecture for churches is a matter of the gospel. A church that is interested in proclaiming the gospel must also be interested in architecture, for year after year the architecture of the church proclaims a message that either augments the proclaimed Word or conflicts with it.”
The main part of the worship space, where the congregation is seated in the pews is called the Nave. From the Latin word navis, meaning “ship”, the nave recalls early Christian imagery that described the Church as a ship that carried her members to salvation through the waters of Holy Baptism.
The Nave is separated from the Chancel by the Altar Rail, signifying something unique that happens in this particular space. As the church building itself separates the sacred time of the Divine Service from the secular time of the rest of our lives, so the Chancel separates the space for the Lord’s Supper from the rest of the service.
Since Christianity became a legal religion in AXD 313, church buildings have been used to tell in ways that words cannot the significance of the story of salvation. Most churches are built on an east-west axis with the Altar being at the east end. In this way, worshippers were facing toward the direction of the rising sun in anticipation of the day of the Lord Jesus Christ’s return. For churches not built facing the east, this tradition is retained by referring to the Altar as “liturgical east.”
Unlike most other buildings, churches have tall roofs that aim to elevate the thoughts of the worshipper beyond his everyday life. Windows in churches are also usually vertical for this same reason. In order to teach the truth of the story of salvation to those unable to read, churches employed stained glass windows that showed with pictures and bright colors the events of salvation.
There’s a practical purpose to church architecture, as well. High ceilings, stone or wood floors and walls, and long, narrow naves aided the proclamation of the Gospel, as well. Without electronic means to amplify sound, churches were designed to echo sound all the way to the back of the space (this is a very practical reason for the church’s song and chant, as well).
The Lord’s Church preaches both with words and without words. Without words, she uses symbols, pictures, and architecture to aid the proclamation of the Gospel.
As the expression goes, “repetition is the mother of learning.” So, the readings that change weekly, according to the Sunday of the Church Year, repeat in a cycle. The order of assigned readings is called the lectionary.
When Lutheran Worship (the blue hymnal) was introduced, it offered a new option in lectionaries: a 3-year cycle. This was loosely based on a 3-year series devised by the Roman Catholic Church during the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965). One year focused on the Gospel according to Matthew, one the Gospel according to Mark, and one the Gospel according to Luke. (Conspicuous by its absence is a year for the Gospel according to John.) The goal of having three years was to expose people to more of the Bible and improve biblical literacy. You might make the case that that experiment has failed; there is arguably less biblical literacy (even in churches) than there was 40 years ago.
With the introduction of Lutheran Service Book and the start of a new Church Year, it gives us the chance to try something old. Instead of a three-year lectionary with more readings and less repetition, the one-year lectionary offers more repetition. Repetition enhances your familiarity with a text and aids in memorization. In addition to offering greater familiar with the lessons (you hear the same ones year after year), the one-year lectionary is more historic.
This is close to the same lectionary that the early Church Fathers used. It’s also close to the same lectionary that Lutheran Fathers like Luther, Chemnitz, and Walther used.
Another change you'll notice in the one-year lectionary is that there are more special Sundays and even special seasons in the Church Year. In additional to the big seasons you already know (Advent, Lent, Christmas, Epiphany), there is more movement in the one-year lectionary. For instance, the 3 Sundays before Lent are recognized as a season of "light repentance." They’re often called the "gesima" Sundays because the days are called Septuagesima (roughly 70 days from Easter), Sexagesima (roughly 60 days), and Quinquagesima (roughly 50 days). The one-year lectionary retains some of the Latin names for the Sundays. These names are the first words of the Introit, the chanted responsorial Psalm that changes with the readings of the day. Today, the first Sunday in Advent is also called "Ad Te Levavi" (“To You I lift up…”). When the service began the congregation would remember, “Hey, this is ‘Ad Te Levavi’ Sunday, the beginning of Advent!” Although this old way of doing things may be new for a while, it will be more familiar to you when the cycle begins again next year.
The one-year lectionary is thus good for the Church gathered to hear the Lord’s Word and to receive His gifts as it makes it easier to be familiar with the Church Year and the readings.
Follow along: the one-year lectionary is on pages xx-xxi of the new hymnals.
As it belongs to Him and He preserves it, the Lord’s Church needs no reformation. The people within His Church, though, from time to time, need what they teach, preach, and believe to be reformed to be brought back into alignment with Holy Scripture. Such was the case 490 years ago.
On October 31, 1517, the relatively unknown German monk Martin Luther posted his now infamous 95 Theses on the Power of Indulgences. Luther’s chief complaint in the Theses was the selling of indulgences. In order to finance the reconstruction of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, Pope Leo X authorized the selling of indulgences. An indulgence was a piece of paper with the Pope’s seal that authorized forgiveness of a person’s temporal punishment. In other words, the Pope reallocated some good works of “Saints” who had more than enough to those who needed more works in order to lessen one’s stay in purgatory. The slogan “Every time a coin in the coffer clings, a soul from purgatory springs,” was used to get people to buy indulgences for themselves or for family members. Luther watched Germany’s poor putting their money and confidence in these indulgences. He also watched them lose confidence in the Lord’s word of forgiveness in Holy Absolution.
So Luther posted ninety-five theses to be debated on the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg Germany, where he was a Doctor of Theology at Wittenberg University. Posting on the door of the church was roughly equivalent to posting on a town’s bulletin board; and Luther wanted to invite other theologians into a debate and discussion on the topic of indulgences. Luther had been lecturing through the Psalms, Galatians, and Romans, leading him to doubt Rome’s teaching that one could earn the forgiveness from the Lord by appeasing Him with good works. Luther did not deny the authority of the Pope to forgive sins in the stead of Christ. What he objected to was the notion that that forgiveness must be earned by works rather than received by faith. Luther supposed that the Pope would hear of what those selling indulgences were doing and would call them to repentance.
By the Lord’s guiding, a handful of conditions came together to allow the Reformation to succeed. The advent of the printing press made public dissemination of Luther’s writings possible. The close relationship between Luther and the prince of Saxony, (Frederick the Wise, who, before Luther attacked relics—supposed fragments of bodies of apostles and saints or pieces of their clothing and other articles—as well, had one of the largest collections of relics in the world) kept Luther relatively safe from imprisonment and joined other secular princes with the theology of the Reformation.
The celebration of the Reformation is not the celebration of the founding of a new church. It’s not the birthday of the Lutheran Church. It’s not when the Protestants broke from the Roman Church. It’s the celebration of the Lord’s work to restore the purity of His Gospel within His Church. And we, as recipients of that life-giving Gospel, properly celebrate the Reformation.
What good are ceremonies and rituals? “Catholic” isn’t a word we try to avoid. It’s a good word, meaning “universal,” and indicates the faith confessed by the Lord’s Church throughout all time. Unfortunately, the word has become associated in most people’s minds with the Roman Catholic Church, which, inasmuch as she teaches contrary to Scripture, isn’t all that “catholic,” after all. When the Roman theologians accused the Reformers of abandoning the Mass and its ceremonies, they responded, “Our churches have been falsely accused of abolishing the Mass. The Mass is held among us and celebrated with the highest reverence. Nearly all the usual ceremonies are also preserved, except that the parts sung in Latin are interspersed here and there with German hymns. These have been added to teach the people. For ceremonies are needed especially in order that the uneducated be taught.” (Augsburg Confession, XXIV, 1-2) Ceremonies are good. The Church has used ceremony as a means to teach. So when the Reformers called the papal church to repent of her false teaching, they only got rid of ceremonies that were teaching falsehoods. Ceremonies that were good were retained. While Protestant churches have historically rejected ceremonies simply because they were practiced by the Roman church, Lutherans have not.Consequently, sometimes things look similar in Lutheran and Roman churches. But the Lutherans did not take any traditions from the Roman church. Similarities in ceremonies are simply because Rome continued to use these ceremonies in spite of her poor theology.
In a few upcoming What’s Going on Around Here issues, we’ll examine some of these ceremonies, including genuflecting, elevating the host and chalice, the pastor communing himself, consuming all the elements, and rinsing the chalice and paten. Meanwhile, inasmuch as ceremonies are designed to teach, feel free to keep asking questions about ceremonies in the Divine Service. And, as you learn what these ceremonies are designed to teach, use them to teach those around you (in the Divine Service or in your daily service) the fundamental truth of God’s love for sinners shown in Christ’s death on the cross.
In German, Lent is called “Fastenzeit,” which means “fasting time.” The Church has historically used Lent as a time for fasting.
What is fasting? Fasting as refraining from food is spoken of throughout the Old and New Testaments, sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. Moses fasted 40 days atop Mt. Sinai. Jesus fasted 40 days in the wilderness. Jesus taught the days after He was taken away would be days of fasting (Mark 2:18-20). But when fasting was seen as a work pleasing to God regardless of one’s motives, it was condemned (Isaiah 58).
Thus, fasting is not a way to earn God’s favor, nor is a work that is beneficial in itself. The self-inflicted suffering of fasting gains us nothing, but the physical hunger makes us aware of our spiritual hunger that can only be satisfied by the Lord. As Lent is a season for repentance and sorrow over one’s sins, it is proper that Lent also be a time of fasting. We fast in order to discipline our bodies and to heighten our sorrow over our sins.
Lutheran theologian Martin Chemnitz lists three components of fasting: “voluntary abstinence from food all day until evening; renunciation also of other delicacies and comforts, by which the body is accustomed to be cared for, cherished, and refreshed; and affliction or castigation of the body and humbling of the mind through abstinence from food and renouncing of delicacies or pleasures by which one is otherwise accustomed to do good to the body and the senses” (Examen, IV, 263).
How should you fast during Lent? Proper fasting involves hunger. Even if you give up something for Lent, if you nevertheless gorge yourself on food and other bodily pleasures, this is a self-righteous, impious fast. During a time of fasting, meals should be smaller than usual. Food and other pleasures are ways we have taught ourselves to satisfy what we suppose we need. Hunger disciplines us. As the body endures physical hunger, we become more aware of what we truly need: faith in Jesus.
The fast of Lent begins on Ash Wednesday and concludes after the Easter Vigil service. During this time I challenge you both to give up delicacies from your diet (sweets, alcohol, etc.) and also to stop eating at meals before you are full. Use this season for increased prayer and reflection on your sinfulness. On days like Ash Wednesday or throughout Holy Week (particularly Good Friday), you might intensify the fast by giving up one or more meals altogether and devoting this time to prayer and meditation on Scripture. Heed the advice of the writer of Hebrews speaking of Jesus: “Consider him who endured from sinners such hostility against himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted. In your struggle against sin, you have not resisted to the point of shedding blood” (Hebrews 12:3-4). Jesus has. He shed His blood to pay for your sins completely. Fasting from food and luxury sharpens our focus on Him.
Why genuflect during the service?
To genuflect is to bow profoundly. Many of you “double genuflect” when receiving the Lord’s Body and Blood in His Supper because it is proper to worship the Lord in this meal. As your representative to the Lord (and His representative to you), the pastor genuflects at particular times in the service. To genuflect at the mystery of Christ’s incarnation (taking on human flesh), particularly in the second article of the Nicene Creed, is the practice of the Lord’s Church. When Our Lord’s Body and Blood are truly present with bread and wine on His altar, it is also fitting to genuflect in adoration.
There was a false teaching in Lutheranism around the turn of the turn of the 20th century called Receptionism. This was the belief that Jesus body and blood weren’t truly present until they were received in a person’s mouth. The problem with this belief is that it fails to trust in the words of Christ, who says, “This is my body,” not “Once you eat this, it will be my body.” The other problem is that Receptionism places the burden on making Christ’s words effective on the recipient of the elements, not on the Giver of the gifts. So, partly to guard against Receptionism, and greatly to worship Christ where He is present, we genuflect.
We don’t worship the bread or wine, only Christ. As the Confessions say, “No one except an Arian heretic can or will deny Christ Himself, true God and man, should be adored in spirit and truth in all places but especially where His community is established” (Formula of Concord, Solid Declaration, VII, 126). While genuflecting may not be practical (or even possible) in the pews, a profound bow from the waist at these times is a good substitute.
Why does the pastor elevate the host and the chalice?
The Lutherans carried on this practice handed on from the Medieval Church of elevating the host after the first consecration and the chalice after the second consecration. This is continued primarily so that the people may behold their Lord, “given for you.” Of the elevation, Luther said, ”We do not want to abolish the elevation because it goes so well with the German Sanctus and signifies that Christ has commanded us to remember him.” (Luther’s Works, v. 53. p. 82) It is customary and appropriate to pray Thomas’ prayer quietly at the elevation, “My Lord and my God.”
As Lutherans we know that what we do cannot save us. We observe certain ceremonies to confess and teach what we believe. Because these ceremonies are opportunities both to worship Jesus as He is present and also to teach against false beliefs, the Church retains them.
Why does the pastor commune himself?
The practice of the celebrant communing himself can be traced all the way back to St. Paul who broke bread (a term for the Lord’s Supper) and ate it (Acts 20:11). The pastor serves in two roles at once. He is both the celebrant and the recipient of the Lord’s gift. In the same way, as he preached God’s word in the sermon, he is both the Lord’s mouthpiece and a hearer of the sermon (no one stands up after the sermon to deliver a sermon to the pastor; the sermon was for him, as well). Luther carried on this practice, as well, saying “Let [the celebrant] administer the sacrament to himself first and then the people” (Luther’s Works, v. 53, p. 29).
One of the “abominations” of the Mass that the Reformers rebuked was the private Mass, the celebration of the Lord’s Supper by the priest alone without anyone but him to receive the Lord’s Body and Blood. In rejecting this abuse of the Mass, however, the Reformers did not abandon the practice of the celebrant communing himself as the first recipient of the Lord’s Body and Blood before distributing it to the congregation.
While the Roman priest receives the sacrament on behalf of the people (in fact, his reception is the end of the sacramental action), the Lutheran pastor receives not as the representative of the people, but as one of them.
Why consume all the elements after the Lord’s Supper?
Our Lord gives us these imperatives with regard to the sacrament: “Take…eat…drink…do this.” Every action of ours is an attempt to do these things given to us to do with the utmost reverence. Because He says “eat…drink” with no provisions for leftovers, we eat and drink all He has given us to eat and to drink.
Luther described the Lord’s Supper being an action that “makes its beginning with the start of the Lord's Words and that it continues until all commune, after the drinking of the cup, the Host having been eaten, the people have been dismissed, and everyone has departed from the altar. In this way, we will be certain and free from heavy-consciences and the annoyance of endless questions.” This is distinctly different from the Roman Catholic Mass, after which, consecrated hosts will be kept in a tabernacle in order to be adored, contrary to Jesus’ institution to “eat…drink.”
Why rinse the chalice and paten?
Same reason. Lest we carelessly and impiously dispose of our Lord’s Body and Blood down the drain of a sink, we rinse (“ablute”) the chalice and the paten so that we simply eat and drink all of our Lord’s Body and Blood and so there may be no “annoying endless questions.” If our Lord saw fit to use these humble vessels to carry His body and Blood, we can treat them with reverence in how we handle them.
Showing reverence to our Lord in His supper is not meant to burden consciences but to confess that Jesus is truly present in this Holy meal, giving us His very Body and Blood for the forgiveness of our sins.
Lutherans have always understood the Lord’s Prayer prayed in the Divine Service to have a unique relationship to the Lord’s Supper. In the order of the service from The Lutheran Hymnal, the Lord’s Prayer was prayed by the pastor and the congregation gave their acclamation, their “Amen,” by saying “For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen.” With the publication of Lutheran Worship in 1982, the Lord’s Prayer was prayed by the whole congregation. Now (at least for Setting Three of the Divine Service), Lutheran Service Book has restored the Lord’s Prayer to it’s unique position within the liturgy of the Lord’s Supper by having it prayed by the pastor.
Why? Because in the Lord’s Supper, everything is different. Just like the Collect of the Day, the Lord’s Prayer belongs to the whole Church. All Christians are priests and may pray to the Lord without anyone to intercede for them. But in the Divine Service, the pastor plays a dual role. Sometimes he speaks with the voice of Christ to His people. Sometimes he speaks with the voice of the people to their Lord.
In the Service of the Sacrament, the Lord’s Prayer is the last thing before the Words of Institution. In this context, it takes on a nuanced meaning. Suddenly, the 4th petition (“Give us this day our daily bread”) means more than just what has to do with the “support and needs of the body.” Now we pray for “the Living Bread from heaven,” Jesus Christ. And praying that God’s name be hallowed, His kingdom come, and His will done on earth as it is in heaven is a prayer for the real presence. God’s name is hallowed by the presence of Jesus in, with, and under bread and wine. His kingdom comes as heaven descends to earth and the One who sits at the right hand of God is the One given into our mouths for the forgiveness of our sins. And His will to reconcile sinners to Himself happens in this holy meal. He answers our petition to “forgive us our trespasses” in concrete, tangible means of bread and wine. And the Lord uses His Supper to defeat the devil, the world, and our sinful flesh, thereby keeping us from temptation and delivering us from evil.
This is how the Lord’s Prayer was prayed historically in the service of the Lord’s Supper. (Fun fact: this liturgy had become so familiar to people that the congregational response to the Lord’s Prayer was written in the margins of many manuscripts of the Bible. Eventually, even when prayed outside the Lord’s Supper liturgy, the congregational response to the Lord’s Prayer became a part of the prayer itself.)
In every service where we do not receive the Lord’s Supper, the whole congregation prays the Lord’s Prayer. But when these words are a part of the liturgy of the Lord’s Supper, by having them prayed by the pastor, the Church confesses that this prayer is uniquely answered in the Lord’s life-giving Supper. Just as the Body and Blood of Jesus in the Lord’s Supper are a unique gift to us His people, so the Lord’s Prayer in this liturgy is a unique prayer, uniquely answered in this meal.
It is a statement of profound Christology to call Mary the “Mother of God.” That is, by calling Mary the Mother of God, we confess that Jesus Christ was the mysterious union of God and Man together. Mary bore God, the Second Person of the Trinity, in her womb and gave birth to God. God became man! Thus the Church throughout history has called Mary the Mother of God.
Our talk of the Virgin Mary is never an end unto itself. We don’t honor Mary because of Mary. We honor her in order to praise Christ and His work. Luther said, “One should honor Mary as she herself wished and as she expressed it in the Magnificat. She praised God for his deeds. How then can we praise her? The true honor of Mary is the honor of God, the praise of God's grace.” (Commentary on the Magnificat)
The Lutheran Confessions, a true summary and faithful exposition of Holy Scripture, speak highly of Mary. “We grant that the blessed Mary prays for the church. But she does not receive souls in death, conquer death, or give life, does she? Even though she is worthy of the highest honor, nevertheless she does not want herself to be made equal with Christ but instead wants us to consider and follow her example.” (Apology, XXI, 27)
Elsewhere, the Latin of the Smalcald Articles calls Mary “always Virgin,” assuming the long-held belief in the Church that Mary remained a virgin until her death. Was she? Luther and the rest of the 16th-Century Reformers clearly believed Mary remained a virgin. In fact, this was the belief of Lutheran theologians through to the first president of the Missouri Synod, C.F.W. Walther. Walther zealously defended this belief in Mary’s perpetual virginity. Francis Pieper, chief theologian of the Missouri Synod at the beginning of the 20th Century, said, “If the Christology of a theologian is orthodox in all other respects, he is not to be regarded as a heretic for holding that Mary bore other children in a natural manner after she had given birth to the Son of God.” (Christian Dogmatics, v. 2, p. 309) (Noteworthy is the fact that reformers with whom Lutherans have obvious disagreements, such as Calvin, Zwingli, and Wesley, also spoke of Mary as ever-virgin.)
What Lutherans rightly reject is the worship of anyone other than God Himself. Lutherans do not believe Mary was immaculately conceived (declared by Pope Pius IX in 1854) or that she was assumed into heaven without dying (declared by Pope Pius XII in 1950). Mary is not to be worshipped. Neither is she a necessary mediator between men and God.
So how may we think of Mary? If she is the mother of Christ, and we are His brothers and sisters by God’s gift of faith (Luke 8:21), then Mary is our Mother, as well. As such, she becomes a picture of the Church, our Spiritual Mother. As we speak of Mary, we speak of her Son Christ as our Redeemer. As we honor Mary, we praise God for the gift of faith which has made us members of His Church.
Do you ever wake up with a song in your head that you don’t think you’ve heard for years? Do you ever hear a tune and swear to yourself, “I’ve heard that somewhere”? Have you ever heard a song in a language you don’t speak and nevertheless understood what it was about simply from the music?
In the history of Christian worship, music serves two roles: glorifying God and teaching people. For Luther, music was second only to theology in the hierarchy of disciplines. Music, Luther said, was “the living voice of the Gospel.” He said, “I am not pleased with those who, like all the fanatics, despise music. Music is a gift of God, not of men. Music drives away the devil and makes people happy; in the presence of music one forgets all hate, unchastity, pride, and other vices. After theology, I accord to music the highest place and the greatest honor.” Elsewhere, he called music “the mistress and governess of the emotions of the heart.” Song is speech adorned with the beauty of music.
So hymns play a significant role both in the Church’s liturgy and in a Christian’s individual life. Music has a potent way of teaching theology in ways that mere words cannot. Singing hymns joins the voices of the congregation together in teaching one another the truths of God’s Word. Hymns are undeniably didactic; they teach. But they don’t just teach facts; they teach the very story of salvation, the Gospel. This is what distinguishes hymns from other songs. A hymn tells the story of God’s intervention in creation to save humankind from the perils of sin, death, and the devil. All hymns ultimately, like all sermons, like all of sacred Scripture, teach Christ crucified.
And hymns are useful for the Christian in his devotional live, as well. Memorizing a hymn both teaches a person the truths of God’s Word contained therein and serves as a weapon to wield against the devil in times of temptation. Having the vocabulary and poetry of hymns at one’s ready disposal arms a person against the devil’s trickery. Music inscribes the good news of Christ crucified for you even into your subconscious.
So, sing. Join with the Lord’s Church throughout all time, the saints who have gone before you, who have preserved for the Church such a rich treasure of hymns that she might continue to sing the truth of salvation for ages to come. She will sing until the day of her Lord’s return. And then she will join her voice with those of the heavenly choirs of angels to sing her Groom’s praise forever.
Ever wonder why we have both a chalice and individual glass cups at the Lord’s Supper? Is one preferable to another? Does it matter?
St. Paul says, “[Jesus] took the cup after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me” (1 Cor. 11:25). St. Matthew records, “And [Jesus] took a cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them saying, ‘Drink of it all of you, for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Matt. 26:27-28). Even at a meal when the apostles would have had their own cups, Jesus had them drink from His cup. The use of a single cup confesses the “communion” of the Lord’s Supper. By drinking from one cup, we participate together, Paul says, in the one Blood of Jesus (1 Cor. 10:16).
Individual cups are a recent innovation in the celebration of the Lord’s Supper. Throughout the history of the church, at the celebration of the Lord’s Supper, all communicants received the Lord’s precious Blood from the same chalice. Not until the 20th century were individual cups introduced.
Why? Some suspect fear of germs to be the driving cause behind the introduction of separate glass cups. But their origin may come from different theological understandings about the Lord’s Supper. Those who sought to deny the real presence of the Body and Blood of Jesus in the Supper preferred individual cups. If there is no real blood of Jesus in the supper, then there need be no “one cup” from which we all drink.
So, scripturally, theologically, and historically, the chalice is preferred to individual cups. But what about hygienically? Can’t drinking out of the same cup spread germs? Probably. But a report in Journal of Infectious Diseases notes, “Experiments on the transmission of organisms from one person to another by common use of the chalice showed that 0.001% of the organisms transferred even under the most favorable conditions and when conditions approximated those of actual use no transmission could be detected” (emphasis added). And the part of your body that carries the most germs is not your mouth; it’s your hands. In fact, you stand a greater chance of catching someone else’s germs from touching pews, hymnals, and glass cups, as well as shaking hands, than you do from drinking from the chalice.
Pastors and priests for centuries have been consuming the remaining wine in the chalice after everyone had communed. If there were a risk of getting sick from the chalice, there would be accounts of pastors falling victim to every epidemic that swept through a town. No such reports exist. Moreover, communing from the chalice is partly an act of faith, trusting that Jesus will not poison you with His Blood. “What God ordains is always good: His loving thought attends me; no poison can be in the cup that my physician sends me” (LSB 760, v. 3).
So, if you’re used to communing from individual cups, I encourage you to try the chalice. If nothing else, it saves the ladies of the altar guild a considerable amount of work the fewer cups they have to fill and wash.
Jesus summarizes the commandments: “Love the Lord your God” and “love your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). There is nothing holier that you can do. To love God is to receive the faith He gives as a gift, to “fear, love, and trust” Him alone. To love your neighbor is to place his needs before your own.
You are called to serve others. You do this in many different vocations. The word “vocation” comes from the Latin vocatio, which means “calling.” “Every Christian occupies a multitude of offices at the same time, not just one: the same man is, for instance, father of his children, husband of his wife, master of his servants, and officeholder in the town hall” (Wingren, 5). “God has chosen to work through human beings, who, in their different capacities and according to their different talents, serve each other. This is the doctrine of vocation” (Veith).
What’s the holiest work you can do? It depends on your place in life. If you are a spouse, you are called to be a loving, self-giving spouse. If you are a parent, you are called to be a caring, responsible parent. If you are an employee, you are called to be a hard-working, trustworthy employee. Whatever your positions in life, you are called to labor at these as best as God has given you the ability. A boss, a teacher, a child, a student: whatever calling you have that puts you in relationships with others, you are called to do this in service to them.
Vocation is selfless. The idea of working for the good and benefit of others runs counter to our free-market sensibilities. We’re taught by the rest of society that we’re to work hard to ensure our own health and prosperity. But the Christian is called to work hard to ensure the health and prosperity of others.
Perhaps it’s a remnant of medieval monasticism, but, somehow, people in the Church got the impression that working in the church is somehow the holiest thing a person can do. Want to do God’s work? Volunteer for a committee, or sign up to work in the nursery, right? Wrong. The highest callings God gives us are to be spouses and parents. If “working” in the church keeps a person from these holy vocations, it’s not God’s work; it’s sinful. It’s a delicate balance, to be sure. A congregation has jobs that need to be done, but we cannot encourage people to do these things at the expense of family time.
Ultimately, a proper understanding of vocation sets us free to serve one another in love, even as our Lord continues to serve us through the work of those around us.
The pope was well received during his recent visit to the United States. He held Mass at Yankee Stadium and was welcomed into the White House. Even the St. Louis Post-Dispatch ran a story on the color of Pope Benedict XVI’s shoes (red, not brown like those of his predecessor). All the papal pomp begs the question, though: “What do Lutherans think of the pope?”
Contained in the Book of Concord is a relatively short treatise called “The Power and Primacy of the Pope.” In this treatise, Philip Melanchthon, also the author of the Augsburg Confession writes, “Even if the bishop of Rome did have the primacy by divine right, since he defends godless services and doctrine conflicting with the Gospel, obedience is not due him. Indeed, it is necessary to resist him as Antichrist. The pope’s errors are clear, and they are not small” (57). How can the reformers make such a bold statement as to call the office of the papacy antichrist? And do Lutherans today still hold such a belief?
Rome argues that Jesus made St. Peter the head of the Apostles and this particular headship of Peter’s office is transmitted directly to his successors. Historians can argue whether Peter ever even presided in Rome, and exegetes can debate what Jesus precisely meant when he said to Peter, “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven” and whether Christ’s Church is built on the rock of Peter or of Peter’s confession (Matthew 16:13-19).
While the “Power and Primacy of the Pope” argues that Christ did not give the Keys particularly to Peter (Jesus gave all eleven apostles the authority to forgive or retain sins, to celebrate the Lord’s Supper, and to baptize and teach) and the bishop of Rome has no claim to divine primacy, this is not the crux of the argument. The crux of the argument is the Gospel. Even if the pope has divine primacy, if he teaches contrary to the Gospel, if he adds one human work to Christ’s work, he is opposed to Christ (Galatians 1:8).
The problem is not a hierarchical church structure. The structure for the government of the Lord’s Church is neither prescribed nor described in Holy Scripture. There’s nothing wrong with having a pope or bishops, per se. If they would teach in accordance with Scripture, Lutherans would gladly submit themselves to the humanly-created structures of church hierarchy.
There’s a difference, too, between the office of the papacy and the man who occupies that office. Benedict XVI has not committed many of the atrocities of the popes during medieval and reformation times. In fact, while rebuking the papacy for the errors it teaches, we can still commend this pope for his good teachings (on issues of life, poverty, liturgics, etc.).
The point is not to be controversial for the sake of controversy. The point is to defend the Gospel at all costs, against any assailants, even the bishop of Rome. But we still pray fervently for the unity of Christ’s Church. As such, should the pope ever repent of teaching a false gospel, he can come home to the catholic, orthodox, evangelical Church, found only where the Gospel is purely preached and the sacraments rightly administered.
Many Lutheran congregations take their names from saints prominent in the history of the Christian Church: St. Paul, St. John, St. Matthew. (And those are just the ones in Calhoun County!) But for all our congregations being the namesakes of these saints, Lutherans don’t characteristically talk much about saints. Maybe we should.
What is a saint? The Apostle Paul begins many of his letters to churches addressing his recipients as saints (Romans, 1 & 2 Corinthians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians). In other words, a saint is one who has been placed into a restored relationship with God, having had his sins forgiven for Jesus’ sake. All Christians are saints. But usually when we speak of saints, we mean something more particular than that. Usually, we mean those Christians who have preceded us in death. And, more particularly than that, we usually mean those who have set an example for us to follow. That’s why churches are named after well-known saints, not after Grandma Schickelgruber, who, having faith in Jesus, is indeed a saint.
Just like many other traditions in the church at the time of the Reformation, Lutherans always speak of saints with a word of caution. In the Roman church, remembering saints and seeking to emulate their faith and good works were being replaced by worshiping them. This is sinful. “The Scriptures do not teach that we are to call on the saints or to ask them for help. Scripture sets before us the one Christ as the Mediator, Atoning Sacrifice, High Priest, and Intercessor [1 Timothy 2:5-6]. He is to be prayed to. He has promised that He will hear our prayer [John 14:13] (Augsburg Confession, XXI).
In the false works righteousness of Rome, saints were only those whose good words were enough to earn them salvation (and who were later beatified and canonized). Because they were holy, saints were thought to be mediators between God and sinful men. And if they did more good works than were necessary for their own salvation, saints were thought to be able to allocate these “extra” works to those in need of more grace. But there is, as St. Paul says, “one mediator between God and men, Jesus Christ” (1 Tim. 2:5). And His work of dying as the Sinless sacrifice for sinners is the only work that will earn us God’s undeserved favor.
Remembering saints, naming churches after them, celebrating their feast days: these are all good practices if they call us to emulate their faith and good works. Telling the stories of saints gone before us always points us to Christ crucified for sinners.