This was published June 8, 2015. — Ed.

Here is a remarkable 30 minute, exquisitely beautiful video about restoring the sacred in Chicago's St. John Cantius Church.

In a decaying culture that celebrates death, embraces mediocrity, and revels in the perverse and ugly, this is a refreshing and inspiring respite.

Continue reading…

The Gottesdienst stallion surges out of its gate! That is, here comes the Trinity issue, fresh off the presses, to a mailbox near you. If, that is, your subscription is up to date. If not, click here. And here’s what you’ll find when it gets to your house:

And here’s what’s inside . . .

This was published June 21, 2009. — Ed.

So, as I said at the eighteenth annual Concordia Catechetical Conference in Waukesha, Wisconsin last Thursday, there is such a thing as Dionysian music, as Dr. Daniel Reuning proposed some twenty-five years ago, and that it is to be discouraged, even disallowed in the Church.

Continue reading…

This article was published in the Trinity 2013 issue of Gottesdienst..

There’s a new false doctrine afoot in the 21st century, at least according to certain guardians of orthodoxy in our midst.  This so-called false doctrine doesn’t quite have a simple name.  It’s called something like “holding that the Sacrament of the Altar is more important than the Word of God.”  Unfortunately, there isn’t much research available on the history of this particular false doctrine—actually, I don’t think there’s any.  Never in my historical studies have I ever come across a controversy in the Church, whether in the ecumenical councils, or in other regional councils, or in the Reformation, or in the annals of controversies among Lutherans since, have I ever run across this heresy.

But in fairness, perhaps it’s a new one.  New heresies do sometimes arise, though generally they can be seen as re-workings of old heresies.  In any event, the allegation of false doctrine is not one to be taken lightly, and as it happens, I have been personally charged with this false doctrine more than once, so I do claim a certain right to provide a defense.

As to the charge itself, “holding that the Sacrament of the Altar is more important than the Word of God,” it must be properly understood before a plea can be entered.  This charge is made against those who, like me, believe that a Divine Service with the Sacrament is better than a Divine Service without the Sacrament.  The charge here is not quite an allegation that we are denying all the power that is due the Word of God, though that might be the intended appearance of the charge.  It seems to be a matter of logic: if the Word of God is infinitely powerful, then nothing can be greater.  So therefore since we have alleged that something is greater, then we have denied that the Word of God is infinitely powerful.  Of course that’s not what we’re saying at all, but rather that the Word of God itself directs us to the Sacrament of the Altar.  It is in submission to the Word of God that we uphold the importance of the Sacrament.  

But the charge is actually, if not intentionally, pitting the Word against the Sacrament, something we would never do.  But this charge is almost an allegation that we are attributing to the sacramental elements some power apart from the Word, which would be as much as to charge us with superstition or witchcraft, and this would amount to a subtle shift of the charge, not to say a clever sleight of hand.

For, to be sure, our churches do have some very clear confessions on that matter.  In the Small Catechism alone, we are told of Baptism that it is not the water indeed that does great things, but the Word of God which is in and with the water, and faith, which trusts such Word of God in the water, and that without the Word of God the water is simple water and no Baptism. And regarding the Sacrament of the Altar, similarly “great things” are done by the words “Given and shed for you, for the remission of sins.”  The Large Catechism makes this even clearer: “It is the Word (I say) which makes and distinguishes this Sacrament, so that it is not mere bread and wine, but is, and is called, the body and blood of Christ . . . The Word must make a Sacrament of the element, else it remains a mere element” (LC, V, 10).

But if this is the true charge, then it’s a straw man, for no one here is denying these things.  Straw man arguments are typically used to trump up charges that might otherwise not amount to anything worthy of consideration. In this case, however, it may be that what lies thinly veiled behind the accusation is something that does merit careful consideration and response.

The real basis of the charge, that which makes it a charge at all, is the fact that we truly do insist that a Divine Service with the Sacrament is better than a Divine Service without the Sacrament.  To that accusation I plead guilty as charged.  To use the old TLH parlance, Page 15 is better than Page 5.

In the first place, I’m not the only guilty one.  In fact the historic participants at Holy Mass bear this out.  There is not only a celebrant, but there is also a deacon and a subdeacon.  The presence of a deacon to the celebrant’s right and a subdeacon to his left gives a Trinitarian portrayal to the High Mass that is quite evident in a carefully choreographed celebration.

There is also much more to the historic vestments of these ministers than to the officiant at a non-sacramental service, at least as they have come down to us from about the thirteenth century.  By that time the evolution of the Eucharistic vestments was fairly complete (for details and a brief bibliography, see New Advent online: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/15388a.htm).  But in the Missouri Synod this matter has been blurred and disregarded, which is telling, and perhaps symptomatic.  Technically the alb and even the stole are Eucharistic vestments, to be worn with amice, cincture, maniple, and chasuble.  Interestingly, the matter of Eucharistic vestments has also been pretty much blurred and disregarded among Protestants across the board, which is also telling, since Protestants across the board have also historically denied the Real Presence in the Sacrament, but perhaps that’s another matter.  Missouri Synod pastors with their ubiquitous albs, stoles, and cinctures tied at one side have unwittingly introduced a new trend in liturgical garb; and, truth be told, the trend is not all that flattering, especially if the officiant is overweight; the flowing chasuble for mass or surplice for prayer offices does a much better job of literally covering the man.  Technically the wearing of an alb without the chasuble at Mass or the cope for other functions, is really an incomplete vesting of the sacred minister. 

But of course vestments alone don’t settle the matter.  The real question is whether there’s a legitimate cause to insist that the Sacrament is greater than the word. It’s hard to say just what might lie behind someone’s objection to the claim, and perhaps that doesn’t matter as much as the claim itself, and its defense.

To repeat, the Sacrament is more important than the Word.  That is, a Divine Service with the Sacrament is better than one without it. 

And incidentally, to put the matter more pointedly, and bluntly, the absence of the Sacrament on a Sunday morning is really a travesty.  To want to withhold this inestimable gift from the people of God on that day, the day of the Resurrection, ought to be unthinkable.  I’ll grant that there are a great number of pastors who are seeking to move in the direction of correcting the error, and more power to them.  But we cannot correct what we do not recognize, and we cannot be drawn to the urgency of the correction if we do not see it for what it is: unacceptable.  This is because it is actually better to say not merely that the Sacrament is more important than the Word, but that the Sacrament is, as it were, the completion of the Word, the fulfillment of the Word, the end point of the Word.  It is the Visible Word, and therefore that to which the Word always ultimately directs us.

This may be demonstrated by a number of Biblical references.  To mention a few, God did not merely promise to take care of Abraham; he promised him land.  The provision of land is significant because it is a provision of material substance.  Or again, God did more than merely to stay his hand from sacrificing Isaac; he provided a ram caught in a thicket.  Why was this necessary?  Why would it not have been sufficient for the Lord merely to call to him out of heaven, and to say, “Now I know that thou fearest God, seeing thou hast not withheld thy son, thine only son from me” (Genesis 22:12)?  He passed the test, after all.  Why kill the ram?  The importance of material substance is suggested in this and, for that matter, in all the sacrifices of Israel.  Why, speaking of sacrifices, was it necessary to sacrifice the Passover lamb, and spread its blood on the door posts?  Surely the angel of death could have discerned which houses were Jewish without this ritual.  We note in all these things a kind of Christological prolepsis.  They foreshow Christ’s coming; and since they do, they bring us to the most important question of all, namely why it was necessary that he become a sacrifice for sin.  Or why was it necessary that he become man?  Cur Deus Homo?, as St. Anselm put the question some 900 year ago.

One way of answering the question is to say that John Calvin was wrong.  God is not quite as utterly sovereign as Calvin famously held.  Calvin, we recall, held that even the merit of Christ ultimately lies in the will of God: “In discussing Christ’s merit, we do not consider the beginning of merit to be in him, but we go back to God’s ordinance, the first cause” (Institutes of the Christian Religion, 2.17.1; Library of Christian Classics, Vol. 20, Ed., John T. McNeill [Philadelphia: Westminster, 150], 529).  Francis Pieper also noted Calvin’s ascription to this “acceptilation theory” according to which Christ’s opus “has no redeeming value in itself, but redemptive value is imputed to it only by God’s decree” (Christian Dogmatics [St. Louis: Concordia, 1950] 2.265).  For Calvin, then, the question of the incarnation remains essentially an unanswered one, inasmuch as the incarnation was not really absolutely necessary at all, since even its value is only seen as sufficient by virtue of God’s decree; ultimately God could as easily have decreed to attach sufficient value to anything else, or to have made his decree without an attachment of value to anything, since he is sovereign. 

The Lutheran dogmaticians have rightly rejected Calvin’s view (ibid., 277-8) as a failure to grasp the full meaning of the incarnation. What is important to note for our purposes is that the question of the need for the incarnation does not depend on the will of God, but on the essence of God.  Luther’s emphasis on God’s divinity (Gottes Gottheit) likewise affirms that God cannot not be himself.  He is who he is, and he must be who he is, or he would not be God.  As Luther put it, “God’s omnipotence does not consist in having the power to do what he actually does not do, but in the ceaseless activity with which he works all in all” (WA 18,718, quoted in Paul Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther, transl., Robert C. Schulz [Philadel­phia: Fortress, 1966], 110n). 

The very fact that he is the Creator of the world bears this out: he created physical substance.  So we can actually say that he bound himself to the physical substance of creation not only when he became incarnate, but already when he made it.  It was then that he committed himself to carrying out this project, as it were: he committed himself, as in, he put his entire being behind its ultimate success, even if that would mean making personal atonement.  It is not only because of the Biblical witness that it is important for us properly to confess the two natures of Christ—though it is because of that—but because of what this tells us about God’s utter, irrevocable, substantive, and eternal dedication to mankind.  This is not a matter of God’s will so much as it is a matter of God’s heart.  God has always been bound to his creation, precisely because it is his creation.

The Christian Church has had to affirm this reality for a very long time, against the philosophical heirs of Plato who held that the true substances are not physical bodies, but the eternal Forms of which bodies are imperfect copies.  As it turns out, those heirs themselves became imperfect copies of Plato.  There were the Gnostics, who put creation in the hands of a much lower deity than the highest one (there were many deities for the Gnostics), so that the highest deity who would not have to sully himself with creation.  There were the Docetists, who held that matter and spirit are antagonists and that therefore Christ only appeared to have been made flesh, to say nothing of his actually suffering in the flesh.  There were the Arians, who insisted that Jesus was a mere creature and not the Creator himself.  And there were the Nestorians, who posited the assumption of a complete man by the second Person of the Trinity, with the result that there were in effect two Christs, the one human and the other divine, the latter of which could not possibly have a mother, nor possibly suffer and die.  There has always been a strain of heresies that will not allow the flesh of Jesus Christ to get too close to his divinity.

To suffer any of them is to give away the very essence of what we believe.  That is, to whatever extent these heresies, in whatever form they come, could keep the flesh of Jesus from touching his divinity, it is to that extent that will have robbed the Church of her most precious faith. 

Consider how the Fathers have affirmed this with such emphasis, even in the Creed we say every Sunday.  The Creed doesn’t even have the word credo in the second article, but only et.  That is, it begins with “I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, Maker of Heaven and Earth, and of all things visible and invisible,” but does not go on to say, “and I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ,” but rather, merely, “and in one Lord Jesus Christ.”  The single credo—the “I believe—goes with the Father and with the Son.  This binds the Father and the incarnate Son together inseparably, one God.  This is important because of what is affirmed next about Jesus, that he is the Son of God.  Not, that is, a lesser being, but in fact the same being, who, though he is begotten of the Father, is begotten from eternity.  And lest there be any doubt about what the fourth century bishops assembled at Nicea meant, they went on to say more, especially in view of the fact that they were contending with the heretic Arius. Arius had already said, blasphemously, that there was a time before Jesus came into existence.  So against him they saw fit to affirm, in his face, both figuratively and literally (since he was present at Nicea), that they in no way meant to allow that the being of Jesus is somehow lesser or other than that of the Father, but rather that Jesus is God of God, Light of Light, Very God.  And then, just in case anyone had any doubts about what being “begotten” meant, and what it did not mean, they reaffirmed it more precisely: begotten, not made.  And still they were not finished with their unanimous affirmation here, though one might have thought enough was enough.  Yet the pummeling of Arius continued: being of one substance with the Father, and then finally, the coup de grace: by whom all things were made, expelling every whiff of Arian odors from the room. 

It bears repeating that this is the Creed we confess every Sunday.  It is meant to expunge also from our minds all hints of a nascent dualism, because it ties Jesus to the creation, not as creature but as Creator.  He wears the flesh of the creature, but he is himself the Creator.  In fact, the original text of the creed had these words added at the end, rather obviously against Arius:

But as for those who say, There was when He was not, and, Before being born He was not, and that He came into existence out of nothing, or who assert that the Son of God is of a different hypostasis or substance, or created, or is subject to alteration or change - these the Catholic and apostolic Church anathematizes.

http://www.earlychurchtexts.com/public/creed_of_nicaea_325.htm

Whatever the reason, it has always been difficult, to say the least, to comprehend or accept the idea that God would attach himself to earth, much less that he would become incarnate.  The incredulity of Jesus’ disciples is itself testimony to the historicity of the Gospel accounts.  Philip’s question, “Show us the Father” (St. John 14:8) belies a failure to grasp what Jesus had been teaching all along: “Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip?” (9), and is perhaps a fitting paradigm for the failure of all rationalism to fathom the joining of heaven to earth in the Person of Jesus Christ.

It now remains for me to make the connection between this truth—that Jesus is true God in the flesh, in two natures as one indivisible Person, as the church catholic maintains—with the truth that the Gospel comes to us sacramentally, rather than simply verbally, and so to demonstrate that the Sacrament is, in fact, greater than the Word alone. 

Those who wish to maintain otherwise are likely worried, as I have opined above, that our declaration takes some power away from the Word, or somehow pits the Sacrament against the Word, or seeking to ensure that no superstition attaches to the Sacrament.  But if this is the case, then it is in fact they who are guilty of the very things that they allege.  For just as the divine nature of Christ invests his human nature with divine attributes—a doctrine our dogmaticians call the genus maiestaticum—so also, the divine Word of God invests the Sacrament with the heavenly power given to the humanity which is the Body of Christ.  For he did not say, “This is my Spirit,” but “This is my Body,” and therefore this, this bread, because it is the Body of Christ, is invested with the divine honor and glory of him who sits at the right hand of the Father in heaven.

The Word indeed makes the Sacrament what it is, as Augustine put the matter: “Accedit verbum ad elementum et fit sacramentum, etiam ipsum tamquam visibile verbum – the word is added to the element and makes a sacrament, that is, so-to-speak, a visible word” (Jaques Paul Migne, Patrologia Latina (1815-1875) – Vol. 35, Col. 1840: In Evangelium Joannis Tractatus CXXIV), and this quote is, as you may know, referred to with approval by Melanchthon in the Apology (Apol. 13:5).  And since the Word does this, therefore, the Sacrament is what it is: a visible Word.  Just as the divine nature of Christ makes his body what it is, the very flesh of the Incarnate God, so also the Word makes the Sacrament what it is: this very Body of Christ.

So if we were to say that a Divine Service without the Sacrament—whether it be a “Page 5” or one of its offspring, or a matins or vespers, or other prayer office—is just as important for us as Holy Mass with the Sacrament, then not only would we be failing to grasp the intent for which those prayer offices were historically crafted, namely to prepare for the celebration of the Mass, and not only would we be disregarding the profoundly greater attention historically to the rubrics and vestments attending the Mass, but most importantly of all, we would be saying ultimately that the incarnation of God is of little significance.  The incarnation and the Sacrament are bound together, rather obviously and, in this context, ironically, by the very word the naysayers call so great, the word that declares, “This is my Body.” 

So therefore, in short, it is without question that we must maintain that the Sacrament is that toward which we must always move in Christian life, for it is the Sacrament toward which the Word ultimately directs us.   To this “heresy” I gladly subscribe, and I bid every Christian to do the same.

June 16–17 

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church in Lincoln, NE

Questions of confessional integrity, theological clarity, and ecclesial life remain perennial concerns for the church — particularly in times of institutional strain and cultural fragmentation. How does a synod faithfully uphold its doctrinal commitments while preserving unity, order, and mutual accountability? What correctives do Scripture and theology provide when language, priorities, or practice begin to drift? These questions carry significant implications not only for governance and discipline, but for the church’s shared confession and common life. How we engage them will shape our life together, both now and in the years ahead. Please join the ACELC June 16th-17th for their upcoming conference entitled “Walking Together – Next Steps. Visit acelc.net to register.

By Chris Streeper

The doctrine of the Real Presence asserts that in the consecrated elements of the Eucharist, Jesus is truly and actually present, in body, blood, and full divinity. This teaching is based upon a number of passages from Scripture, including 1 Cor. 10:16-17 & 11:23-29, and especially John 6:32-71. Many of the Church Fathers interpreted these passages in this way including Ignatius, Cyril of Jerusalem, Tertullian & Justin Martyr. Clement of Alexandria wrote the following on the topic; “Eat my flesh,” [Jesus] says, “and drink my blood.” The Lord supplies us with these intimate nutrients, he delivers over his flesh and pours out his blood, and nothing is lacking for the growth of his children. [Instructor of Children 1:6 (c. A.D. 197)]. Since its inception the Church has regarded the Real Presence of Christ in the Sacrament of the Altar in this way.

During the Reformation, Luther found no disagreement with this concept, and because of this Article X of the Augsburg Confession states the following;

[1] Our churches teach that the body and blood of Christ are truly present and distributed to those who eat the Lord’s Supper, [2] They reject those who teach otherwise.

Where Confessional Lutherans differ from Rome & the Orthodox is on what I affectionately refer to as “the magic in the mouth.” Rome calls it transubstantiation while the Orthodox call it metabole, or simply “the change.” Outside of this however, we are in agreement that Christ is truly and actually present in the elements.

To be clear on the matter, this mystical mastication does not discount the validity of the verba, or the reception of the properly consecrated elements of bread and wine, but it proposes something else entirely; that is they cease being bread and wine and are transformed into something else. Transubstantiation suggests that God is playing tricks with our minds and senses; the “magic in the mouth” being that He simply fools us into thinking we see and taste bread and wine, or that he somehow divinely abracadabra’s them into being the flesh and blood of Christ. This is not what Lutherans believe, teach and confess, and is certainly not the understanding of the Lord’s Supper described in the Large Catechism by Luther.

[10] It is the Word (I say) which makes and distinguishes this Sacrament, so that it is not mere bread and wine, but is, and is called, the body and blood of Christ. For it is said: Accedat verbum ad elementum, et fit sacramentum. If the Word be joined to the element, it becomes a Sacrament. This saying of St. Augustine is so properly and so well put that he has scarcely said anything better. The Word must make a Sacrament of the element, else it remains a mere element. [11] Now, it is not the word or ordinance of a prince or emperor, but of the sublime Majesty, at whose feet all creatures should fall, and affirm it is as He says, and accept it with all reverence, fear, and humility.

I make this distinction specifically so I may not be accused of attacking our Roman and Eastern brothers of making an improper consecration, because I am not. I, like our Reformation forefathers as well as St. Augustine, am merely pointing out what is added to the reception of the consecrated elements… that is to say that our Roman brothers take the incorrect position that once received, the cease being bread and wine. This would be akin to saying that by some mystical intervention, the Word attached to the water of Holy Baptism somehow changes it into the actual waters of the Jordan River that were present circa year 30, when Christ himself was baptized. The Reformation critique of the Supper was never that it the elements were improperly consecrated, but that the plain words of Christ were mysticized to change the reception of them into something else entirely.

That being said, there is another view regarding the Lord’s Supper which arose from Reformation piggy backers Calvin & Zwingli. Calvin believed that there was a spiritual presence that was real, but not physical. Zwingli’s idea of the Supper was that it was memorial in nature and merely symbolic. This Reformed view on the Lord’s Supper is derived from the belief that “the finite does not possess capacity for the infinite” (finitum non capax infiniti). They argued because Christ’s humanity was finite and since He was now physically located in heaven, he could not be omnipresent in the elements on earth. This is where we find the historical root for regarding Communion as an Ordinance of the Church, which is what is practiced by most Evangelical traditions today.

While I didn’t grow up in the Church, I did attend frequently with friends when I was younger, so I was not unfamiliar with Communion. When I eventually came to faith at the age of 31, I found myself attending a very large, non-denominational church near where I lived in Texas. We took Communion out of these little disposable cups which contained a bit of grape juice and a wafer smaller than a Tic-Tac. When I moved to Ohio a few years later, this church also practiced communion in a similar way. Sometimes we’d come up to the stage near the front of the Sanctuary and take plastic cups from a tray, but usually we used the little pre-packaged cups. Nothing really felt strange about it until I was ordained into the ministry and began attending Seminary. (It was there I learned much of the information shared above.)

Reading Scripture a bit deeper, reading the Church Fathers, and learning about the differences between Sacraments and Ordinances; I began to wonder… “Is there something more to Communion?” I asked the question, “Is Communion an Ordinance, or is it something else… is it actually, a Sacrament?” I began to feel uneasy as I heard the cellophane pulling back from the top of the cup. I felt squeamish as I watched people crumble the empty cups in their hands and toss them into the trash. When I brought these concerns and questions to my lead pastor, I was told that I was over thinking things… “It’s an ordinance,” he told me… “It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just symbolic.” My reply of, “But Scripture says…” was met with a politely phrased ultimatum to either stop asking questions or find somewhere else to worship.

My family moved to the Baptist church across town, and after a few months in attendance we took our first communion. I was saddened when the ushers passed around a basket full of the little “Jesus jiggers” as I’d come to call them. Needless to say, my feelings surrounding Communion had changed, but I didn’t fully understand how or why. Flash forward a couple years and my wife & I were going through Adult Confirmation at the LCMS parish where I serve now. It had been three years since I’d had Communion. I understood what it was now. I knew I needed it. I desired it. I could almost taste it each time I went up to the altar rail and received the blessing from the pastor.

When the day of my confirmation arrived, I knelt before the altar and received the host from the pastors’ hands before sipping wine from the chalice. And when I received the Sacrament for the first time as a confirmed Lutheran, I cried. (Sometimes I still tear up when I receive it.) Imagine my confusion when I learned that other congregations within our Synod practiced the Sacrament differently. No altar. No reverence. No concise verba.

Imagine my confusion when I saw a pastor at one of our churches, dressed in street clothes, sitting on a couch up on a stage, lift up an empty chalice as a prop, only to pull from it those little disposable cups. (I’ve seen numerous other congregations utilize those little cups as well, albeit less egregiously.) As a newly made Lutheran I thought Synod meant that we “walked together” in doctrine and practice. But what I saw was the physical display of the words spoken by my former pastor… “It doesn’t mean anything, it’s just symbolic.” At least, that is how I understood it.

As I’ve entered into ministry within the LCMS through my role as an SMP pastor, I’ve learned all sorts of things… and one of those things is the term, “adiaphora.” This seemingly profane distribution of the elements I was told was simply a matter of adiaphora. While it contained a bit of Evangelical style, it retained the Lutheran substance, and that was alright. But I’m not entirely sure… I’ll set aside for a moment the comfy couch setting of that particular “divine service,” and I’ll not make too much an issue that they contain grape juice and not wine (an issue the CTCR has already handled), so that I can focus simply on these little disposable, single use, prepackaged communion cups. What does their usage teach and confess regarding what we believe about the Sacrament?

There are at least two accounts of Luther expressing such concern over spilled wine during the Supper that he reportedly fell to his knees to lick it from the ground. This action confessed the extreme reverence he held for the consecrated wine and the Real Presence of Christ’s blood within it. Many of our parishes take great care to properly dispose of “leftover” elements. Pastors often drink the last few sips from the chalice. The altar guilds carefully wash out the cups. They don’t pour consecrated wine back into the bottle, and when necessary, they pour it directly onto the ground and returning it to the earth. Why? Because we believe that Christ’s blood is truly present in the wine, and we treat it reverently. By how are these prepacked elements disposed of? From what I’ve witnessed, most often they are tossed into the trash. How scandalous!

Those who utilize them usually justify their usage for expediency’s sake, meaning that it speeds up distribution for their large congregations. (Far be it for anyone to have to wait patiently for a couple minutes and be given time to reflect on their sins or the nature of the Sacrament.) They will incorrectly call the mode of distribution a matter of adiaphora. But what it confesses is that they regard the Lord’s Supper not as sacramental in nature, but as an ordinance. It confesses that they do not believe Christ is truly present in the sacred elements of Holy Communion, but that He is a disposable Jesus, who can simply be tossed into the trash when they are finished with him. What a calamity this is!

I would contend that there is no room for the usage of these prepackaged communion cups within a church body that confesses the Real Presence of Christ in the elements of Holy Communion. Not only is the usage of such things frivolous, but it also profanes everything about the Sacrament we hold dear as Confessional Lutherans. Evangelicals use the “Jesus jiggers” because they believe incorrectly about the Sacraments. We, however, believe, teach and confess the same things about the Sacraments which have been held for nearly two thousand years. It is important that we remain vigilant regarding this practice, so as not to give the impression that we are in agreement with the ordinances of the Evangelicals. If “is” truly means “is,” then this is not a matter of adiaphora! This I believe is a matter of confessional unity & practice. Christ’s body and blood never belong in a trash can… ever! Oh Lord, have mercy on us.

Where are these single serving disposable cups being utilized within our Synod you might ask? They are exclusively used at congregations which have abandoned the liturgical services and jettisoned the hymnals in favor of “Contemporary worship.” The usual suspects are discussed on this blog frequently, so I need not name them… but suffice it to say, along with many other Evangelical elements, it seems they’ve also imported the Evangelical understanding of Holy Communion being merely a symbolic ordinance. This disposable Jesus pairs quite well with the non-therapeutic, moral, self-help life coach Jesus that is preached in their weekly inspiring hope filled messages. They will tell you that they uphold the Lutheran Confessions, and they believe in the Real Presence, but their actions speak louder than their words. The Sunday services at these congregations are indistinguishable from nationally televised megachurches like Steven Furtick’s Elevation Church or even the local “Community Church” of undercover Baptists. As the theologians say, Lex Orandi Lex Credendi.

The disposable Jesus found in these little cups is only a symptom of the larger problem; the bigger issue is having a disposable Confessional doctrine & Lutheran identity.

Building on my previous article, I have a few more thoughts regarding the epidemic of open communion in our synod.

Of course, it is practiced in the name of being hospitable, and is treated as an adiaphoron. But open communion is really hostile, as well as self-contradictory. It is not inclusive, it is exclusive. It is the spiritual version of adultery, and worse yet, it is a form of abusive cuckoldry, complete with gaslighting and shaming of the one who is being wronged (the one who is remaining faithful). But it has become so common that aside from anemic and impotent resolutions at conventions that everyone who wants open communion simply ignores - it is just overlooked with impunity. We just accept this abomination as normal, and the ones who complain about it are told to close their eyes and think of church growth.

Meanwhile, its practitioners assure us that they really are in fellowship with us, that we are walking together, and that we shouldn’t let a little thing like this interfere in our relationship with each other. After all, we all have our own “contexts.” And those who treat practitioners of open communion as if we are truly in a state of unimpaired fellowship, by going on their podcasts and engaging them as if nothing untoward were going on, are sending a message that they probably don’t intend or believe - but they are sending it nonetheless. They are being used and cuckolded, and are making cucks out of the rest of us.

Closed communion is the very reason we have a synod. As I pointed out earlier, it is why many of our “Old Lutheran” forbears left the German states for America. Fellowship (koinonia) is both inclusive and exclusive: it includes the circle of those who partake in it with one another, and it excludes those who are outside of it. It is a border that unites us with some, and separates us from others. An open border is no border at all. The same is true of “open marriage.”

And in today’s culture that holds equality and inclusion above all things, in a worldview where we don’t want to exclude anyone, in a churchly paradigm where we are desperate to bolster flagging numbers - the temptation to fling the doors of communion fellowship open to all is not only alluring, but easily justifiable under the rubrics of “evangelism” and “growth.” Besides, it’s uncomfortable for pastors to practice closed communion. Better to just look the other way and congratulate ourselves for our virtue.

But what is communion? What is fellowship?

It is like a marriage. In Holy Matrimony, a man and a woman are called by God to unite and become one flesh. It is inclusive, as the individuals open themselves up to intimacy the other. But it is also exclusive, since godly marriage involves one man and one woman - thus excluding the other eight billion people on the planet. Moreover, it excludes an entire sex from even being in the running. This kind of godly exclusion is anathema to our postmodern culture. It is seen as elitist and exclusionary - anything but hospitable and loving.

A couple years ago, I read the autobiography of Roger Daltrey, the now 82 year-old singer for The Who. In many ways, he led a clean life for a rock star - eschewing the drugs and alcohol abuse that plagued the rest of his bandmates. He wouldn’t even smoke cigarettes because of the effect on his voice. In many ways, he was the adult voice of reason that kept the band intact for now over six decades - even through the overindulgence of the 60s and 70s. But one thing struck me as extraordinary. Although he remains married to his (second) wife of 55 years, they had an unusual arrangement. When the band was on tour, he was permitted to enjoy the conjugal company of other women. I don’t think the agreement was reciprocal. I suppose Mrs. Daltrey benefitted by being Mrs. Daltrey, and felt the infidelity was simply a price worth paying. Their arrangement is their business, but it does go beyond the biblical and natural law definition of marital intimacy and fellowship. And the “context” argument that the normal rules don’t apply to Roger Daltrey (because of his context of being a rock star) - just rings hollow.

Perhaps we in the LCMS see communion fellowship the way Mrs. Daltrey saw her married life. Maybe the benefit of not splitting up outweighs the cost of simply looking the other way. Maybe sacramental infidelity has become so ubiquitous that we simply accept the lowered bar and count our blessings that it is only this and not something worse, like being physically abused. Maybe we just do the ecclesiastical version of just smiling and looking happy for the pictures, playing our role, and then maybe popping a few pills and putting away a few martinis afterward to cope.

Of course, there have always been those who reject the divine paradigm. Sometimes they engage in extramarital affairs in the shadows, so as to avoid the embarrassment among those who still cling to the older traditional arrangement. Some in the church have become more openly “progressive” about it. This “modern” approach to marriage is reflected in the character of Gunnar Schenstedt in the final novella of Bo Giertz’s Hammer of God:

To me all that Jesus taught is summed up in the commandment to love. Isolated Bible verses, disconnected commandments and laws, they are all relative and human. Only love is eternal and divine. It may very well appear in a way that seems to be absolutely contrary to the moral concepts of times gone by. And yet it is the love of Jesus that is expressed in the new ways, and if one does not want to act against the love of Jesus, then one must go the new ways. It is my firm conviction that all those old taboos that the church has fenced around marriage now are ready to be dispensed with. Just think about it: They all are based on the idea that the man owns a woman as his property. But now she has fully come of age and can no longer be treated as an investment. She now has her freedom. And a Christian relationship is characterized by love alone. The spirit of Jesus demands that we should be good and considerate, not hurting one another but making each person as happy as we can. Applied to marriage…

Of course, in recent decades, the biblical paradigm has been challenged by those who simply no longer believe it. They may engage in various forms of self-justified extramarital sexual license. Today, it has been normalized by a clinical-sounding name that has political punch: “polyamory.”

Open communion is ecclesiastical polyamory. It is to adulterate our fellowship. It is intimacy beyond what we have all promised to do. For the synod is not supposed to be simply a means to employment benefits. It is, by definition, a communion. LCMS congregations have “altar and pulpit fellowship” with other LCMS congregations. And that fellowship extends to partner churches both here and abroad with whom we share our confession of Biblical inspiration, infallibility, and inerrancy, and a quia (unconditional) subscription to the Book of Concord. In the ecclesial sense, synod is a marriage. And in marriage, fidelity is both vowed and expected.

And that fellowship, being extended to LCMS churches and pastors, as well as to those with whom fellowship exists outside of the LCMS, by definition, excludes those outside of that same fellowship. Though we do confess one church (una sancta), and in a broad sense, we have fellowship with all Christians, we do not have “altar and pulpit fellowship” with Roman Catholics, Eastern Orthodox, non-Lutheran Protestants, nor with heterodox or heretical bodies that use the name “Lutheran” (such as the ELCA and the LCMC). Nor are we even in communion fellowship with other confessional Lutherans with whom there are still remaining impediments to fellowship, such as the WELS and the ELS.

In a very real sense, we in the LCMS excommunicate most Christians in the world: all those outside of the LCMS and its “partner churches.” But when a church’s communion statement is something that literally every Christian - or at very least every Christian that confesses the Real Presence (according to his own subjective standard as to what that means), that church has essentially unilaterally extended “partner church” status to potentially every Christian and every congregation on the planet. One example of such an open communion statement that is used in some LCMS congregations is the “Four Questions:”

1) Are you baptized in the name of the Triune God?
2) Do you believe in the Real Presence?
3) Do you need God’s grace and mercy [i.e. the forgiveness of sins]?
4) Do you desire to walk in step with the Holy Spirit [i.e. sanctification, the new obedience]?

There is no mention of church affiliation in such communion statements. That has been replaced by a vague, subjective bar that is so low, adherents of any Christian church body can be welcomed at these altars.

There is great irony here, since we in The Gottesdienst Crowd are often slanderously called “Romanizers.” The reality is - and I am especially speaking for myself and my congregation - we don’t commune Roman Catholics. But the communion statements of some of our non-liturgical megachurches are so loose that they have essentially restored fellowship to nearly a billion and a half Roman Catholics around the world, anyone who visits their congregation and wants to commune. So who are the actual Romanizers?

This opening up of sacramental fellowship negates all the work and dialogue between church bodies forging church-to-church agreements of koinonia. It is to destroy the very idea of church fellowship. This is also why it is a scandal when LCMS churches - usually of the megachurch, non-denominational ilk - bring in non-Lutheran pastors or laity to preach in their services. It is also a scandal when such churches have Lutheran laity (rostered or not) preaching in their services. For that also violates the “marriage” vows that we all took at our ordinations. If a pastor from another LCMS church, or the pastor of a church from the Lutheran Church - Canada, or another one of our partner churches, is preaching in our pulpits, this is fitting and proper. For that is what fellowship is. But if our pulpits are opened up to ministers (or non-ministers) who should not be there, that is like cheating on your wife.

The argument that maybe the non-LCMS pastor is more faithful than the LCMS clergy, or that the non-LCMS communicant’s beliefs are more in line with our confession that many LCMS members is a hollow-ringing canard. For a man can just as easily attempt to justify adultery by saying that Smith might take better care of his mistress than Jones does his wife. The sinful flesh can always find a workaround.

As a fellowship, we share the Sacrament of Holy Communion within the confines of our fellowship. Members of LCMS congregations are welcome to commune at other LCMS altars. This is because we are extending trust to one another that we are examining and absolving those to whom we admit to communion fellowship. This is why trust is so important. This is also why pastoral oversight and catechesis are so important. This is why pastoral formation is so important. For when that trust is broken, it threatens to destroy the relationship - like a marriage that has been stretched to its limits by adultery.

Just as we don’t invite the local Roman Catholic or ELCA pastor into our pulpits, neither do we invite Roman Catholics or members of ELCA congregations to commune at our altars. That said, faithful closed communion recognizes rare pastoral exceptions. But those are indeed exceptions, and they serve to prove the rule. Obviously, this is a very real difference between the fellowship between churches and that between spouses: a place where the analogy falls short. But it only falls short at the extreme margins.

Open communion, like open marriages, is often practiced, well, openly. You can read the communion statement in the bulletin, or sometimes the pastor announces it during the service. Often, open communion is partially closed, such as limiting it to those who confess the Real Presence, or those who are “sorry for their sins” or some such. Hopefully, baptism is at least a requirement. But the open communion that is most common is to remove church affiliation from the equation. In other words, communion statements often make no mention of being in fellowship with the LCMS. Usually, the communion statements are self-administered, with no pastoral oversight. It becomes a subjective statement of beliefs, a do-it-yourself pastorless self-stewardship rather than something objective, such as membership in a sister church.

So based on a lot of churches’ communion statements, there is nothing to prevent a Roman Catholic or even a lady ELCA ‘pastor’ from participation in the body and blood of Christ at an LCMS altar. And if a person sees no sinfulness in cohabitation or in a sexually-deviant lifestyle - not to mention doctrinal errors such as confessing the pope as the head of the church, or denying baptismal regeneration - such a person can judge himself to be in fellowship with the LCMS.

Again, this is like a husband tomcatting and telling his wife that he’s just being nice to all the other women. Of course, he still loves her too. His contextual inclusivity with other women is not a reason for her to be resentful or jealous. In fact, Jesus told us “judge not” and that we should “love thy neighbor.” “Love wins” and all that. We Christians need to “love on" everybody. If the wife isn’t willing to share, she’s the problem. If the cuckolded husband is jealous, he needs to just grow up. This is not your grandfather’s marriage.

I don’t know of any LCMS non-liturgical megachurches that practice faithful closed communion. Maybe there are some. But I have yet to see it online. However, this is not to absolve liturgical congregations. For they too have their share of eucharistic promiscuity.

I argue that such adultery and cuckoldry breaks the fellowship. Yes, we have a “marriage” on paper, but the vows have been shattered. This calls for repentance, and a restoration of fellowship by renouncing the adultery and recommitting to fidelity. And this may well be a tricky, long-term project for a pastor who has walked into such an arrangement. But the first step is admitting that adultery - marital or ecclesiological - is a wrong to be righted instead of a virtue to be celebrated or a context to be encouraged. And I do believe that candidates for synod president who go on podcasts of pastors who practice open communion ought to have the stoneware to raise the issue with their interlocutors.

If you cheat on your wife and gaslight her, don’t expect her to have dinner waiting on the table for you when you come home from your latest tryst. Don’t say we are all “walking together” when we can all see you out for a stroll with your mistress.

There is a repeated lament among the podcaster-elites in our synod: that we don’t trust each other. As soon as you hear that complaint, check the communion statement of the congregation of the person making that statement, and see if that pastor and that congregation practice open communion. Yes, nothing destroys trust faster than promiscuity. If there is any hope of restoring trust, there has to be repentance and a restoration of the fellowship that was broken. Walking together with some means not walking together with the many.

There can be no trust until closed communion is restored.

This was published October 21, 2015. Note that this style of worship in the chapel is a thing of the past, Deo Gratias! — Ed.

In response to my last post about the use of Entertainment Worship at the chapel of Concordia Seminary St. Louis, there have been some misleading assertions.

I've seen some of them.

Continue reading…

So called “Contemporary Worship” - or as it is often called today “modern worship” - employs pop songs instead of hymns. There are several problems with this. Part of it is that the sources of much of this music are writers who believe in the NAR heresy - or at very least, those who deny the Real Presence and replace the objectivity of sacraments with the subjectivity of emotions. But even with Lutheran songwriters, there are still issues. One of these issues is that tastes in pop music run the gamut from soft rock and so-called “adult contemporary,” to jazz, rock and roll, techno, rap, heavy metal, country - and a host of subgenres. So which pop music will the congregation of diverse ages subcultures and preferred musical tastes sing in their corporate worship?

Perhaps because of this “lowest common denominator” dilemma, in the practical sense, there is the undeniable reality that pop “worship music” gravitates to effeminacy, to a soft and airy sound, with no rough edges. The singers are often young, emotive women, which adds to the genre’s “Boyfriend Jesus” vibe. Unlike many of our hymns and chorales, there just isn’t a sense of manly gravitas, majesty, or the expression of the epic, powerful, and glorious. This stuff is just uninspiring. This contrast is especially clear given the combination of the robust lyrical tradition of our chorales and the fact that many of our greatest hymnwriters were themselves pastors ministering during the times of the brutal Thirty Year’s War and outbreaks of the plague. Some of our greatest hymnists officiated at thousands of funerals. These men knew the Theology of the Cross through living it. The contrast is at times stark.

This is particularly an issue in the Easter season and after Ascension.

Now, to be sure, not every hymn used in worship has to be testosterone-laced and triumphant. There is a time and place for sadness, confession, tenderness, and lament. That said, the usual CoWo praise song just comes across as whining - even when it is a time to celebrate the victory of the Lamb.

The traditional hymns of the church bypass the issue of diversity of tastes by not siding with one ephemeral style or the other. This was beautifully illustrated to me one service when I reflected upon the sight of two parishioners heartily singing the same hymn: one of whom was a 93 year old man and the other was a 3 year old girl. Pop music, by its nature, cannot do the same thing. Nor do songs without staying power become part of the long and timeless tradition and metaculture of the church universal.

The organ, in addition to being a simulation of the human voice (allowing for pitches to be easily matched, including the singing of harmonies), is known as the “king of instruments.” It is capable of a wide range of expression, from the soft and meditative, to the epic and thundering. There is indeed a time for pulling out all the stops and letting the organ confess, say, the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, with chest-rattling volume and power.

So while I believe that pop music of any kind is not appropriate for worship, especially for liturgical worship that confesses the miracle of the Real Presence, there are other occasions where Christian pop music can be quite edifying. Sadly, a lot of Christian pop music apes the popular neo-Evangelical megachurch “worship” genre of wispy, breathy, soft whininess instead of an inspiring and potent expression more fitting to the occasion of the triumph of a victorious general. It is yet another example of a culture that has been tamed and gelded, a retelling of the narrative of Jesus as the exemplar of niceness rather than as the conquering Hero who redeems us militantly by His blood. It is not only to reduce Aslan to the status of a safe (oh, that word!) and tame lion, but even to the point of being a neutered and declawed housecat.

Here is an example of an Easter song that is not typical of Christian pop “worship music.” YouTube won’t allow me to embed it, so you’ll have to click the link.

I realize that it is AI. The human author of the project uses AI to bring his vision of such compositions to life. Nothing would prohibit a human band from playing and performing his songs. This particular offering is called “The Strife is Over” which pays homage to the Christian hymn “The Strife is O’er, the Battle Done” (LSB 464) a translation of Finita Iam Sunt Praelia, originally published in 1695 (though it may be much older). In addition to the title and the first line, the song, like the hymn, includes the motif of the “Alleluias,” the thematic element of Christus Victor, the descent into hell, and the resurrection itself. The song begins with our Lord’s victorious Tetelestai! (“It is finished!”) from the cross. It also picks up the line “Christ the Lord is risen today” near the conclusion - which is the title of the hymn on the opposite page in the hymnal (LSB 463), a translation of Victimae Paschali Laudes, attributed to Wipo of Burgundy (d. ca. 1050).

“The Strife is Over” represents a break from the usual genre of “praise and worship” songs that one hears in so-called “modern worship” in lieu of our traditional hymnody.

A few years ago, my wife and I took our teenage son to see his favorite band Skillet. They are Christians, and much of their music reflects their faith. They were part of a large line-up of Christian bands. They were the only ones from the hard rock genre. We endured the several warm-ups that played the usual bland CoWo fare - including a chanteuse named Kari Jobe - a Non-Denominational “worship pastor” who once headlined a Texas District event. It was painful for the entire family. But it was worth the wait. When Skillet took the stage, my son rallied like a plant after being watered for the first time in a week. Without exception, all of the earlier performers were simply insufferable, low-watt, and uninspiring. They all sounded the same, and did not artistically portray the epic nature of our Christian faith or of our triumphant King.

This following offering, recently produced by LCMS Lutherans, is very good in terms of musicianship. There is no heresy or false doctrine in the lyrics. Like the above “The Strife is Over,” it begins with our Lord’s Tetelestai! (“It is finished!”). It is intended to be a celebration of Easter. But it lacks any whiff of the epic. There is no sense of triumph. It sounds more like a lament of defeat. I realize that I bring my own biases to the table (which is part of my argument as to why pop music doesn’t belong in the worship). But there is clearly an objective lack of potency, of the triumphant confession of Christus Victor. Compare it to the above offering. To be clear, I’m not disparaging the faith, sincerity, or musicianship of anyone involved in this video. I’m expressing my opinion that the typical CoWo artistic genre is artistically incongruent with the glorious sublimity of the cross and the resurrection. This is my opinion. Others are free to disagree.

By way of another anecdote, an old friend took me to a Korean War monument. The statue portrayed an American soldier hanging his head in his rain gear. This motif annoyed my friend (a fellow ethnic Scottish Highlander). He said something to the effect that if this were a statue of a warrior in Scotland, the soldier would be holding aloft the bloody severed head of his enemy. It goes without saying that we of Highland heritage know all about defeat and lament. We have our share of songs and poems and historical memory of suffering and loss. But we also have a stubborn warrior ethos, and our folkways lionize men like my kinsman Major Gillies MacBean, who, while trapped against a wall during the Battle of Colloden, mowed down thirteen Englishmen with his broadsword before being mortally wounded by the enemy. While much of our Western tradition of strong heroes and warriors is being ground down by subversion and defeatism, the architype of the warrior and the celebration of manly courage and virtue still refuses to go quietly into the night. And this is true especially among young men - the same demographic that is surprising its elders by marching its way back into the Church Militant.

The imagery of a victorious warrior holding a severed head aloft is a fit descriptor of Christ the Victor. David, the Shepherd-King and our Lord’s royal ancestor, is a type of Christ. He not only slew Goliath the giant, but severed his head and carried it around as a trophy (1 Sam 17:51, 54). Our Lord Jesus Christ smashes the head of the serpent (Gen 3:15). Far from being wispy and effeminate, our Lord is the archetypal Warrior-King who destroys His foe, and even takes a victory lap in hell itself.

So if we are going to have Christian pop music to enjoy outside of the Divine Service - and there is no reason we shouldn’t - there should be room for the epic, the triumphal, the glorious - as befits our Christus Victor, our “Rex regum et Dominus dominantium,” the one who crushes the head of the serpent for us, who decapitates evil on our behalf, and who hurls the demons into hell.

As our forbears of long ago intoned triumphantly: “Christus vincit! Christus regnat! Christus imperat!”

By Asher McCall

Yield praise, O Earth and all that is therein,
     To Him Who made you, gave you life and light,
     Who laid your firm foundations with His might—
That fruit you were intended for give Him!
The hope which by neglect you let wax thin
    Renew; unto the Lord return your sight
    And let you strength be rescued from the night
Which, all around you, you are steeped within.
This praise was won by God the Father's power
Which all creation wrought by day and hour,
And by the Son, Who on th'accursed tree
Died bitterly to set all people free,
And by the Holy Ghost, Who dwells within
To bring to all men faith.  Praise Him!  Amen.

Asher McCall is a young Lutheran poet and writer. He is the author of What are the Depths of Art? A Collection of Narrative and Lyric Poetry.

This was published May 25, 2019 — Ed.

One of the things that I like about the Gottesdienst Crowd is that we are not advocates for the liturgy because of personal taste or effete sensibilities, or an intellectual devotion to historical marginalia. Pastors and laypeople involved in the life of the church understand that as the blood of Christ is the lifeblood of the Church, Sunday morning Divine Services are the vessels that carry the blood of the Lamb to us.

Hence our name Gottesdienst.

Continue reading…

The following originated as an unreasonably long Twitter/X thread, but is better suited to paragraph form.

Last week, word broke that Schlitz, “The Beer That Made Milwaukee Famous,” has been discontinued after more than 175 years. Many of you may never even have heard of Schlitz, which is exactly why you should know their story.

Schlitz is iconic. Or, rather, was iconic. It was a beloved beer that, at its height, passed Budweiser in popularity. But the brand collapsed in the span of a couple of decades because of short-sighted management decisions, many of which are not so different from the questions that bedevil the LCMS pastoral formation conversation.

Schlitz found its origins in 1848 as the proprietary beer at a Milwaukee tavern brewery. By 1902, it was the largest brewery (by volume) in the US, and was responsible in 1912 for introducing the now-standard brown beer bottle in order to protect their beer from the deleterious effects of light exposure. They were at the forefront of American brewing, and quickly growing. They weathered Prohibition, and in 1934 Schlitz became the top selling beer in the world — and held that distinction for decades. They were only decisively surpassed by Anheuser Busch after a 1953 brewery workers strike in Milwaukee, but remained highly competitive with Anheuser Busch for another 20 years.

So…what happened?

Greed reared its ugly head, and Schlitz decided to increase their profit margins by changing their ingredients. But they didn’t do it all at once, they tried to ease into it little by little, assuming that their customers wouldn’t notice the slow and gradual changes. First a small amount of cheaper corn syrup started to replace some of the more expensive malted barley, and hop pellets started to replace fresh hops. Not all of it, not all at once, but a slow and undetectable increase in the proportions of the cheaper ingredients by a little bit, and then a little more. And then a little more. And more.

The owners were right, in the beginning. No one noticed the changes, and their profit-to-sales ratio soared. All seemed to be going just as planned. But over time, as the easier and cheaper ingredients and processes were introduced more and more, people did notice. While the changes over a few months might have escaped notice, the changes over several years were unmistakeable. This wasn’t the same beer that had once been number one in the US.

In an effort to get more product out the door more quickly, Schlitz also tried shorter, faster fermentation times, which proved to be a disaster. Chemical additives were required to remove the haze of proteins that would typically settle out naturally during a longer brew time, and one such additive had an undesirable side effect — a protein precipitate that looked like snot. Schlitz’s response was to say that it wasn’t a matter for concern, and that it was perfectly safe to drink. Needless to say, nobody cared, and Schlitz slipped from second place to third, and just kept dropping.

In 1981, the same brewery that once produced the top-selling beer in the United States had to be sold because it was much too large for the current rate of production, which had dropped dramatically in response to the crash in Schlitz’s popularity. You can still see the old brewery complex today — it’s an office park, with the arch and the cream brick buildings bearing the name “Schlitz.”

And did I mention that it was beautiful? The former tasting room boasts plaster ceilings, dark wood panelling, , chandeliers made of antlers (long before it was cool), and magnificent carvings imported from Europe, including a centuries-old carved oak door that was (to the best of this author’s recollection) brought over from a German hunting lodge. The walls were covered with photos of celebrities and dignitaries who had visited, like Lucille Ball and President Harry S. Truman. This is the world of Schlitz as it once was. It was finally sold to Stroh in 1982, but Schlitz’s enormous debt subsequently caused Stroh to collapse, and Pabst bought Stroh (and what remained of Schlitz) in 1999.

In 2008, forty years after Schlitz first started tinkering with their formulation, Pabst launched a recreation of the original formula with the marketing slogan “our classic 1960’s formula is back.” And it was pretty good. Definitely better than anything AB/InBev was offering. As a result, Schlitz had a mild resurgence in popularity — especially in its home of Milwaukee — but nothing compared to its former ubiquity.

And now, this month, the last batch is being made.

So….what does this have to do with LCMS pastoral formation?

The temptation for the LCMS is not so different from the strategy that the Schlitz leadership took in the 1970s. We want to get more clergy trained and sent out into parishes more quickly. And the answer being proposed is a reformulation of its own. Cut the languages here, reduce the overall instruction hours there, and speed up or eliminate altogether the time spent on a seminary campus, the time in which ideas and gifts and abilities and relationships ferment and develop and grow.

Yes, more graduates can go out the door more quickly, and it seems like a great solution in the short term, but what are the long term effects? Will people notice in the first few years if another 10% or 20% of clergy are trained online or largely at a distance? Probably not.

But will the changes be unmistakable over the decade or decades to follow? Without a doubt. What do you think happens to a church that formerly had 90%+ of its graduates trained in the Biblical languages (however imperfectly), but then the number slips to 80%, then 70%, 60%, 50%?

Well, some places are already at that mark. 50% of clergy with no residential seminary education and no languages means that circuit text studies become impossible. It isn't just one person who needs a little extra help, which has always been the case, it's half or more of the room that never even learned the Greek alphabet, and can’t begin to decipher the text on the page. But it isn't just about the niceties of meetings studies and iron sharpening iron, though you can quickly see how much of that becomes impossible. The pastors who are tasked with teaching Holy Scripture are entirely at the mercy of commentaries and commentators, of translations and translators. They are no longer able to take up the text of Holy Scripture in its original languages and read, and it must instead be interpreted for them by someone else.

And it isn't just about the Biblical languages, though that's a primary presenting symptom. The overall effect is to create a more shallowly rooted body of clergy that are all the more easily "carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, in the cunning craftiness of deceitful plotting."

But, some will say, you can actually have much better learning outcomes online than in person. It all depends on the quality of the instructor. The test results can prove it.

But is that all seminary education is? Downloading data like a computer so that you can regurgitate it at will when assessed? Or is it also intended to form a solid foundation that will not give way easily, to form a habitus of prayer and devotion, to create and strengthen bonds of social and spiritual cohesion that hold clergy together? Any seminary graduate will tell you that education and formation don’t end at the classroom door, but continue out through the rest of the day and week as students argue and discuss and go back and forth. Iron sharpening iron, and all that. But online seminary education can’t really do any of those things very well.

The ugly truth, though, is that for some in the LCMS, that isn't a bug, but a feature. Seminary graduates without deeply rooted experience in exegesis, without deep training in systematics, confessions, historical, and pastoral theology more broadly are easier to push around, to manipulate, and will kowtow all the more readily to their superiors, whether district presidents, senior pastors, or whoever. They will more easily go along with the absurdities that are foisted on them, because a core part of distance education is that while seminary classes are taken online with the occasional intensive, the students are, in reality, primarily shaped by one or two other pastors who supervise them on a day to day basis. Which, I ask you, has more impact in this model — the faraway professors that you rarely interact with in person, or the senior pastor and other clergy who are there day after day after day for years? The answer is obvious.

The appeal of the SMP program for some seems to be the relative ease with which congregations or districts and their senior pastors or district presidents can shape clergy in their own image and likeness, without being bothered by impediments thrown in their way by a deeply rooted theological education that will not be so easily swayed.

“Open communion? That’s the way we’ve always done it here, you can just ignore what those seminary professors have to say, they don’t understand our context. It’s nice in theory, but we live in the real world.”

“Unionism and joint worship with other denominations? No problem, don’t worry about it. Our context is really different and the rules don’t really make sense for us.”

What's more, the move to increased emphasis on distance seminary education means that individual clergy are more isolated — it means that you no longer have a thick, dense network of mutual support. You are trained at a distance, have limited interaction with your peers, and simply cannot gain the lifelong brothers that are only formed by living and studying side by side for years. Which, again, means that you are all the more easily manipulated and pushed around. It means that you don't have all of those fellow seminary colleagues to call on in times of trouble, to ask for advice, or to tell you that you're being an idiot. Instead, you are — as is increasingly the case across in our time — alone.

Is an isolated and atomized body of clergy a group that holds together when the adversary is walking around like a roaring lion? Does such a pastoral education system produce clergy with deep roots, or are they left to be “reeds shaken by the wind”?

While the reformulation of pastoral may seem like a good idea in the moment, a quick solution for a pressing problem, the consequences will be — not to put too fine a point on it — dire. What seems like an expedient solution today is sowing the seeds of destruction for tomorrow.

If you, like me, are a millennial, you're becoming increasingly aware of what previous generations have sown that we now have to reap. Why in the world would we knowingly do the same for the generations that will follow after us?

Don't let the "Schlitz Mistake" become the "LCMS Mistake." Read the whole sad Schlitz saga here.

Lo, the apostles’ holy train
Join Thy sacred name to hallow;
Prophets swell the glad refrain,
And the white-robed martyrs follow,
And from morning to set of sun
Through the Church the song goes on
— LSB 940:3

As a postscript to my earlier piece about liturgical deracination, I have some reflections on the Te Deum Laudamus.

This magnificent hymn of the church, with Luther rightfully considered creedal, is part of our Lutheran and our catholic Christian identity. Perhaps as a kind of silver lining to the less-than-ideal practice of intentionally scheduling certain Sundays to deny all of the faithful the opportunity to take Holy Communion, many Lutherans in the TLH era became familiar with the Office of Matins, and with the ancient hymn often attributed to Bishop St. Ambrose of Milan (339-397), the Te Deum Laudamus, sung in English and set to a form of Anglican chant (LSB 223).

Because of the antiquity and popularity of this hymn, originally sung in Latin in Gregorian chant, it has been translated into many languages and paraphrased and set into different musical settings (e.g. LSB 939, 940, and 941). Luther’s German Te Deum - which was also translated into English, but didn’t make the LSB cut - is a beautiful antiphonal chant.

And given that the early Lutherans retained Matins and Vespers from the monastic orders for use in church and home, the Te Deum is part of our Lutheran identity. Sadly, it is yet another casualty of the CoWo deracination, one more severance from the roots of our history.

For once again, this hymn connects us to Ambrose and Augustine, to centuries of Christians who sang God’s praise having learned, and passed on, this hymn one link at a time throughout the centuries. Or as one of the Te Deum paraphrases puts it: “Through the Church the Song Goes On” (LSB 940:3).

One example of this song going on that is part of our Christian heritage involves the attempted deracination of the church during the French Revolution.

At the tail end of the reign of terror, shortly before the terror’s architect Maximilien Robespierre would meet his own end on Madame Guillotine on July 28, 1794, there were two groups of martyrs who went to the guillotine singing the Te Deum.

The Martyrs of Orange

Between July 9 and 26, 1794, 32 nuns were beheaded in a Roman theater in Orange France:

During the troubles of the French Revolution, 29 Sisters, expelled from their convents, found refuge in a house at Bollène. During their eighteen months there, they shared their life of prayer and total poverty. Arrested in April 1794 because they refused to swear the oath required by the city officials, an oath their conscience condemned, they were jailed on May 2 at Orange, in the Rectory’s prison, near the Cathedral, where 13 other Sisters were already imprisoned.

They organized themselves in a single community and consecrated the essential part of their time to prayer. Condemned to die by the Popular Commission, then commanding in the actual Chapel of Saint-Louis, they were transferred to the ancient Theater, where they awaited to climb the guillotine erected in Saint Martin’s Court. They all went up to the scaffold joyfully, singing and praying for their persecutors, who admired their courage : “These bougresses are all dying with laughter!” Ten other jailed Sisters were saved by the fall of Robespierre on July 28, and liberated in 1795.

The bodies of the Martyrs were thrown in mass graves in the field of Lapolane (at Gabet), 4 kilometers from the town, on the edge of the Aygues River, and a Chapel was built there in 1832.

One of the hymns sung by the sisters on the way to the scaffold was their beloved Te Deum Laudamus - which specifically mentions the “noble army of martyrs.”

Martyrs of Compiègne

Almost at the same time, on July 17, 1794, another group of nuns was being executed in Paris. They were also courageous, and went to their deaths not only laughing (to the awe of their executioners), but also singing hymns, including the Te Deum. While awaiting execution, they also sang Veni Creator Spiritus (LSB 499), as well as the offices of Vespers (LSB 229) and Compline (LSB 253).

As the sixteen sisters mounted the scaffold one after another, they chanted Psalm 116 (which is also in our LSB hymnal), each one singing until the blade dropped, and the next picked up where the previous sister left off.

Obviously, these sisters are not from our Lutheran tradition, and nobody is denying the differences that we have with Rome that inhibits communion with them. But that said, these women were martyrs because of their confession of our Lord Jesus Christ. They were strengthened by knowing these ancient Psalms and canticles that rooted them into the church’s ongoing story: “through the church the song goes on.” How impoverished are those in our synod who have gotten rid of the hymnal and its treasures. One can only wonder what they would sing were martyrdom be foisted upon us in our day.

Do We Follow In Their Train?

Another hymn in our hymnal that non-liturgical and non-hymnal congregations have cut themselves off from is "The Son of God Goes Forth to War” (LSB 661) from the “Church Militant” section. I suspect that even many of our liturgical churches don’t sing this inspiring hymn that connects us to the martyrs. For the same theme is in there: our collective memory and praise of “the noble army of martyrs” as we sing in the Te Deum. Movie aficionados may recognize the hymn (though sung to a different tune) from the 1975 Sean Connery film (based on the Rudyard Kipling novella) “The Man Who Would Be King.” This text, written by Anglican Bishop Reginald Heber (1783-1826) - the favorite hymn of General George S. Patton, sung at his funeral - certainly seems inspired by the Te Deum Laudamus as well. We do well to sing this hymn and remember the cost of discipleship, including the Christian heroines who sang the Te Deum as they made their way to the scaffold at the bloody end of the Reign of Terror. May we never forget our history through the decoupling of the train and self-deracination. And where we have been severed from our past, let us seek to restore that which was taken from us.

A glorious band, the chosen few,
On whom the Spirit came,
Twelve valiant saints — their hope they knew
And mocked the cross and flame.
They met the tyrant’s brandished steel,
The lion’s gory mane;
They bowed their necks their death to feel —
Who follows in their train?

A noble army, men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around the Savior’s throne rejoice,
In robes of light arrayed.
They climbed the steep ascent of heav’n
Through peril, toil, and pain.
O God, to us may grace be giv’n
To follow in their train. (LSB 661:3-4)

Postscript

Just a few days after publishing this, the LCMS-based Center for Worship Leadership (The Songwriter Initiative) made my point by taking the inspiring, ancient, rousing, militant Te Deum and subjected it to this stylistic interpretation. Can anyone imagine the sisters mounting the scaffold for decapitation singing it like this? Is this genre capable of the militant, inspiring, majestic, and epic? Must every song sound like this?

Evidently some people are squeamish about the idea that the Office of the Ministry carries authority with it. Ascension Day seems a good time to set things straight on that score.

Dr. Jeffrey Kloha, formerly a professor at the St. Louis seminary, is now part of the Institute of Lutheran Theology and its creation of an online-only M.Div. program known as the Center for Missional and Pastoral Leadership (CMPL), whose aims, as I have indicated previously, are in rather sharp contrast to the residential seminary training for which the LCMS has historically been known.

It turns out, not surprisingly, that Dr. Kloha has also demonstrated a flawed understanding of the authority of the Office of the Ministry, in an article he recently posted, entitled, “Ministry,” “Congregation,” and “Authority” (including all those quotation marks). The opening words present this flawed understanding, so you needn’t read the whole thing to find it (though if you want to, here it is). The flaw may be seen right here:

My church body, the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod, is in its three-year cycle of convention, elections, and various overtures from across the church body. The overtures are now published, so I will be commenting on items from my background and interest in New Testament and its interpretation. The LCMS confesses the “plenary verbal inspiration” of the Scriptures and declares that the Scriptures are the “only source and norm of faith and life.” So it is worth exploring what this actually looks like, in practice, in the overtures presented to the convention.

This is a piece that a [sic] wrote, apparently, in 2012 and posted on a then-functioning blog site of the institution where I was teaching at the time. I refer to a specific article in an official publication of my church body (for a popular audience), but that article is no longer online, I don’t remember the author, and it doesn’t really matter. What I’m trying to get at in this piece is the false pitting of “office of the ministry” against—and especially over—the congregation. There is also a helpful reminder that “authority” is a word reserved (in the NT anyway) for Jesus Christ. I think any reasonable reading of the New Testament would cause a follower of Jesus to flee from having any kind of “authority.” (emphasis mine).

As it happens, the article in question is in fact still available online (scroll to page 7). “The Lord’s Office” was written by Rev. Seth Clemmer and it appears in the November 2012 issue of Lutheran Witness (LW). And it really does matter, because Dr. Kloha’s claim that it falsely pits “office of the ministry” against the congregation simply isn’t true. The LW article is a short piece, and it’s a well-written explanation of the kind of authority the ministry has and exercises. I find nothing false in the article, and in fact there’s no indication of the office being exercised against or over the congregation, but only for the congregation’s benefit.

Dr. Kloha has attacked a straw man, and he’s done so by referring to an article that supposedly promotes an oppressive kind of authority over people (it doesn’t), and then himself claiming, falsely, that followers of Jesus ought to flee from having any kind of “authority.” 

What an odd thing to say. Although there are certainly some kinds of authority from which followers of Jesus ought to flee, it would be wrong for them to flee from any kind of authority. Indeed Dr. Kloha’s own prior sentence refers to the authority of Jesus Christ! While Christ’s authority is not a dictatorial or lording-it-over kind of authority, it is most certainly authority, of another kind. What kind? Jesus himself defines it over against the wrong kind of authority, when he says, “Ye know that the princes of the Gentiles exercise dominion over them, and they that are great exercise authority upon them. But it shall not be so among you: but whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister;  And whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant: Even as the Son of man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister, and to give his life a ransom for many” (Matt. 20:25-28). But Jesus also commands certain things: “[Teach] them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you” (Matt. 28:20). And so it was that the Apostles went forth teaching with this authority, insisting upon the teachings they received from him. Not only are the preachers sent forth with authority, but with the knowledge that he who sent them did so immediately upon declaring, “All power has been given to me in heaven and in earth” (Matt. 28:18). That word power (Greek ἐξουσία) is also commonly translated authority. What Jesus is saying in his final discourse—which happened to be on Ascension Day; in fact this saying seems to be St. Matthew’s only reference to the Ascension—is this: since all authority in heaven and on earth, therefore I am authoritatively sending you to preach the Gospel: “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen” (Matt. 28:20). Lest anyone think these preachers have no authority, Jesus says that he is with them when they exercise their office of baptizing and teaching, meaning this: not only authority, but all authority in heaven and on earth is attached to the preaching of the Gospel.

That is exactly the authority the Office of the Ministry exercises, and whose holders are responsible for exercising in their teaching; they aren’t exercising earthly authority here; they aren’t ordering people around; the authority of Christ is embedded in the Gospel they preach, which is precisely why we are to hold this preaching sacred and gladly hear and learn it. This is also explained in the LW article Dr. Kloha finds odious: “Therefore, the pastor is the Lord’s servant to His Church, speaking His words of forgiveness and delivering His gifts, all under the authority of Jesus.” Indeed the key feature of this authority is spelled out succinctly in the Small Catechism: “What is the Office of the Keys? The Office of the Keys is that special authority which Christ has given to His church on earth to forgive the sins of repentant sinners, but to withhold forgiveness from the unrepentant as long as they do not repent.” And this authority is carried out by the ministers: “when the called ministers of Christ deal with us by His divine command, in particular when they exclude openly unrepentant sinners from the Christian congregation and absolve those who repent of their sins and want to do better, this is just as valid and certain, even in heaven, as if Christ our dear Lord dealt with us Himself.” That’s a pretty clear exercise of authority, and it brings me back to Dr. Kloha’s claim that “any reasonable reading of the New Testament would cause a follower of Jesus to flee from having any kind of ‘authority.’” Well, here’s a reasonable reading of the New Testament, upon which the claim of the catechism is based:  “St. John the Evangelist writes in chapter twenty: The Lord Jesus breathed on His disciples and said, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive anyone his sins, they are forgiven; if you do not forgive them, they are not forgiven.’ (John 20:22–23)”

But Dr. Kloha says an emphasis on this reading is due to “picking” John 20 over Matthew 18:

Pick your passage? John 20 or Matt 16 or Matt 18? Sasse points out this is the starting point of the problem. If you only take Matt 18, you have church but no pastors; only Matt 16 or John 20 you have pastors but no church. Unfortunately, this is one of the shortcomings of the November, 2012 Lutheran Witness article. The only bestowal of the Office of the Keys cited is from John 20. Granted, the piece is short, not exhaustive, and aimed at a popular audience. Nevertheless, there is a danger (which the article flirts with) in removing from the church (the baptized) the gift of forgiveness given to all the baptized to share. 

In addition to its leveling of another unfair slight against the LW article, there appears to be some obfuscation here, since the Matthew 18 passage (“Tell it to the church” as the last tribunal of jurisdiction) is not opposed to John 20, as he seems to suggest. Rather, the Matthew 18 passage needs to be interpreted in light of John 20, which is to say, the people in the congregation cannot be seen as authorities over the ministers. Besides, if that were so, the ministers would be their hirelings, a relationship against which Jesus warns (John 10:12-13).

Perhaps what Dr. Kloha believes, falsely, is that every Christian is a minister, as is claimed by those who want to remove the comma from Ephesians 4:12 (against which removal I have previously argued). When he says that “the gift of forgiveness [is] given to all the baptized to share,” he shows his hand. The gift of forgiveness is for all the baptized to receive, and in which to rejoice, but in saying it’s for all the baptized to share—something they must do, as opposed to something  they should believe—he deemphasizes the gift itself, and it is he, not the LW author, that “flirts with” removing from the church (the baptized) the gift of forgiveness. To be sure, the baptized are taught to pray for forgiveness as they also forgive one another, but there’s a difference between the word of absolution spoken by the pastor and the forgiveness a Christian offers his neighbor. The pastor authoritatively announces forgiveness for sins against God, while Christians learn to forgive one another, as they should, for sins against themselves. When authority is removed from the Office of the Ministry, so is the authoritative guarantee of God’s forgiveness, which we are to regard “as valid and certain as if Christ our dear Lord dealt with us Himself” (Small Catechism, Office of the Keys). Instead of having pastors who preach the Gospel of forgiveness for Christ’s sake, the churches get pastors whose emphasis shifts from the comfort of the Gospel to equipping the people for them to do “ministry” (again, there’s the result of the mischievous removal of that comma!).

Rightly does the Lutheran Church forbid a layman, when of necessity conducting a service in the absence of a pastor, from pronouncing the absolution. It must be a pastor who says, “Upon this your confession, I as a called and ordained servant of the word announce unto you the grace of God, and in the stead and by the command of my Lord Jesus Christ I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” That’s authority in spades.

This was published May 22, 2012 — Ed.

Someone recently observed that I am significantly interested in adiaphora.  It's true.  Thinking about adiaphora has occupied much of my time and attention for the past decade or more, and that continues to be so; not only from a theoretical perspective, but with very practical consideration.

Continue reading…

The time comes when ever pastor must travel. It might be for business, like a conference or convention. Perhaps, though, it is for fun, and you get away for a few days of vacation. My family and I were recently traveling for a bit of both, and unfortunately, that travel was going to cause us to be gone over a Sunday. Thankfully, my own pulpit was covered, but the question became, “While we’re on the road on Sunday, where were we going to stop for the Divine Service?” And it wasn’t an option. My older son had just been confirmed the week before. Even if I had thought of skipping or getting by with hotel Matins, he assuredly wasn’t going to let me. He is still freshly zealous for the vow he had made, thanks be to God!

But that was the issue. We were traveling through the South, South Carolina to be exact. Not only are Lutherans few and far between in our parts, it was one of those dreaded “second Sundays,” and you know what that means! If it’s not 1st, 3rd, or 5th, no Sacrament for you! On top of that, we have a reputation down here of not having very historic, liturgical congregations in large numbers. So I began the search for a place that would celebrate the Sacrament of the Altar as our Confessions say we should while also not scandalizing my boys (and my wife on Mother’s Day!).

That’s when I found it. As we were eating breakfast on Friday of that week, it was right there in the locator. (And yes, I’m aware of the other locators for liturgical congregations, but not everyone who should be on them is actually on them.) Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in Columbia, South Carolina, popped up. My first thought was, “It cannot be. Could there exist a faithful, historic LCMS congregation within a stone’s throw from the Gamecock campus?” Sure enough, it exists, and more people need to know about it, especially if your children are looking at attending college besides Luther Classical College or one of our Concordias (Nebraska for the win).

Last Sunday, we stopped at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in Columbia. It is a small congregation, but it is not a dying congregation. The amount of young families is what caught my eye right away. We were greeted right away by a young father of four. When we made our way into the nave, there before our eyes was an amazing stone crucifix that hangs to the right side of the altar. What a sight to see!

Then the Divine Service began, and even though Holy Trinity is a smaller congregation, there stood by the Presider a Deacon and Subdeacon who were well prepared and reverent. A Kantor stood in the balcony and led the Introit, Gradual, and Sequence. The Sacrament was celebrated reverently and in order. I was also shocked to not see an individual cup in sight. Everyone communed from the Pastor’s hand.

Now, of course, this is not the way all of us do things, and that’s OK. Despite all of the headaches that often come with travel, I’m glad we stopped where we did. If you’re ever traveling through that area, be sure to stop in at Holy Trinity. If you live nearby (and even if you have to drive a ways) it’s well worth it.

“Remember, therefore, that it is no joke to take sides against the devil and not only to drive him away from the little child, but to burden the child with such a mighty and lifelong enemy.”
— Martin Luther

A writer on Substack, whom I believe to be a Reformed Christian, expressed amazement that “ancient baptismal liturgies” included a renunciation of the devil and the recitation of the Apostles’ Creed. He very much liked the idea of renouncing Satan at baptism, and expressed dismay that this was not being done in his own church.

While the Holy Sacrament doesn’t require anything other than a celebrant, a candidate, water, and the Words of Institution, baptisms in Lutheran churches typically and ordinarily include, and have always included, the renunciation of the devil and the reciting (or confession) of the creed by the candidate. In fact, I cannot remember ever personally conducting a baptism without these liturgical words and acts. My own baptism (as an adult) included them. And in fact, following the alternative rite as found on page 14 of the Pastoral Care Companion (based on Luther’s 1526 rite), I always include the exorcism.

But what about non-liturgical Lutherans?

To be sure, they conduct proper, valid baptisms. Some LCMS megachurches put their baptisms on YouTube. But as one might expect, there is no renunciation of the devil, nor confession of the Apostles’ Creed - let alone the exorcism.

In fact, a recent example of an LCMS non-liturgical congregation’s baptismal service was widely circulated online because of some of those baptisms actually being “rebaptisms,” with one of them involving a man identifying as a woman (and there were other issues as well). The rites were confusing, with some of their baptisms being done by pouring, while others were done by immersion in a kiddie pool. The “transgender” individual appeared to have been (re-)baptized by a lady layman - though that does not seem to have actually been the case. When liturgical orders are abolished, quite often, disorder and confusion fill the vacuum. And the big question is “Qui bono?”

But it is also troublesome that this congregation, like some other LCMS congregations, also did away with the renunciation of the devil. One can only ask “Why?” I mean, who would want to abolish such a thing, besides Satan and his demons, that is?

In these dark days where evil runs rampant, why would any of our churches seek to cut out the renunciation of Satan, or the opportunity for a candidate to confess his faith? Why would they forego the giving of the sign of the cross to the candidate, and the opportunity to lay hands on the head of the candidate and pray the Lord’s Prayer? And what could be the rationale to ditch Luther’s “flood prayer,” which our churches have prayed together at Holy Baptism for more than five centuries now? What do they gain in return?

Obviously, these ceremonies are not essential to a baptism, but what is the rationale for their abolition? Does anyone other than the devil benefit?

And similarly, it’s my understanding that some of those who worked on the LSB project wanted to include the exorcism (as found on page 16 of the Pastoral Care Companion) in the standard baptismal liturgy that appears in our hymnal (LSB 268), but were opposed by some, and and the exorcism was removed. Once again, Qui bono?

I have to admit, I find it a bit creepy that we had men making liturgical decisions for our church body who opposed the inclusion of an exorcism. Again, the only beneficiaries of this omission are demonic.

Well, at least these rites are still available - and still commonly used by our pastors and congregations - by those who still believe that the church (including baptismal candidates) still ought to renounce the devil, all his works, and all his ways.

You can learn more about the traditional Lutheran ceremonies of the Sacrament of Holy Baptism from this helpful article by LCMS pastor, the Rev. Dr. Mark Birkholz: “Luther’s Baptismal Rites.”