What does ‘Lutheran’ mean?

I have often wondered about other “Lutherans” (not those “other Lutherans,” though I wonder about them, too) in the world today. Aside from the obvious and eponymous Dr. Martin Luther, I wonder if the modern-day Lutheran has ever considered the label he or she received at Baptism or (perhaps unwittingly) through membership… Some years ago, in my former life as a high school teacher, a church discussion ensued during a Russian History lesson on Prince Vladimir’s acceptance of the Christian (Orthodox) Church in the 10^th century, during which I confessed (!) to my students that I was a practicing Lutheran. One kid pondered aloud “What is the difference between Lutherans and Christians?”

Christians and Lutherans are one in the same, reading from left to right; however, many today mistakenly perceive a change in direction when reading from right to left, particularly in doctrine (Catholic lite, legalistically creedal, etc.) and practice (infant baptism, cannibalistic sacrament, etc.). So why do we Lutherans even bother anymore?  Why not just free ourselves from the titles, labels, categories, and simply go forth, Bible in hand, to do God’s Gospel bidding as we interpret it?

Lutherans are confessional—not the prie-dieu or Rosary kind, the subscribing kind. We subscribe to (that is, accept) the ten documents or Symbols known together as the Book of Concord, our 440-year old Confession of the doctrines of Scripture (we believe and teach that Holy Scripture alone is to be regarded as the sole rule and norm by which absolutely all doctrines and teachers are to be judged). Our Symbols don’t make us Christian, our faith in Christ Jesus does; however, our Symbols—our Confessions—definitely retain the flavor of the Protestant Reformation and they alone are what makes us Lutheran.

Dr. Robert Preuss said it best in his piece Confessional Subscription: “Confessional subscription is an act motivated and determined by the Gospel. A Lutheran’s attitude toward the confessions will indicate his attitude toward the Gospel itself.” Our Confessions—our Symbols—are not doctrine (even The Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod website states: “Since the Christian Church cannot make doctrines…”), but an exposition of the Church’s doctrine, the Word of God. Confessional subscription is not engaging in symbolatry, a word I have read more than once; nor does confessional subscription have “the aroma of an empty bottle,” a phrase meant to connote the persistence of creedal/confessional churches in this day and age. 

Dr. C.F.W. Walther stated in 1858 in his essay Why Should Our Pastors, Teachers and Professors Subscribe Unconditionally to the Symbolic Writings of Our Church that a solemn declaration of acceptance of the doctrinal content (not “doctrine”) of the Confessions as the divine truth to be preached “without adulteration.” It is that without adulteration part that keeps our Confessions relevant in a world of watered-down, feel-good, or downright perverted truths, both in and out of church.  Like our church fathers, we rely on our Book of Concord and those Confessions within to judge that the Truth (as delivered by God’s Word) is preached and taught correctly, that our understanding of Scripture is not unorthodox or adulterated, and that those who are Lutheran Christian (left to right) make a claim on these labels unconditionally. 

I look at the dissent within the ELCA, the recent advent of the so-named Lutheran CORE (“a community of Lutheran Christians seeking to mobilize confessing Lutherans for evangelical renewal”), the mainstream Protestants caving on the question of same-sex clergy and marriage, and the sheer number of non-denominational churches professing a grass-roots orthodoxy that meets the needs of befuddled church-goers in a world in which “tolerance” is the magic word and I’m more convinced than ever that without a doubt, today’s Lutheran is still in need of an apology.

Our Confessions are not outdated. We need them just as much today as the Augsburg Confession was needed in 1530. At the end of last month’s newsletter, I asked you to consider what “Zion Lutheran” means. This month, consider what “Lutheran” means to Christians, non-Christians, and, yes, even to Lutherans! I encourage you to learn more about our Confessions!

(And look for a “Confessions 101”-type study to happen once the plague lifts and Sunday school returns...)

Until next month…

Peace be with you all,

Pastor E.B.

What does 'Zion Lutheran' mean?

The following article was published in the Advance News Journal (weekly newspaper serving Hidalgo County) on September 23, 2020. I’d like you to read it from the perspective of someone from the community we serve, of no particular age, gender, or demographic; someone looking for a church home; someone who is not Lutheran.

In the three years I’ve had the privilege and pleasure of serving at Zion Lutheran Church in Alamo, it’s become clear to me that our church—in particular, our church building—on South Alamo Road may be losing its identity. I often wonder what, if any, impression our building makes on passers-
by. There’s no spire, no bell tower (well, there’s an aging one near the front doors, a sentinel from another era), only a big blue cross holding an electric sign with ZION LUTHERAN CHURCH across the top in letters that you’d swear weren’t there the first time you looked (like the bell tower, this cross is a sentinel guarding a different time). Our present building, opened in 1967, was a departure from its original, early 20^th-century small-town church design.

Our name has a distant ring to it from nearly a century ago, when our congregation was established in 1927. Once upon a time, there were hundreds of Zion Lutheran Churches scattered about the U.S., each with a name not unfamiliar to the communities they served. Today, however, in English (or even Spanish: La Iglesia Luterana Sión) such a name may seem almost cult-like.

Yes, it’s possible that in this era of bicultural and bilingual neighbors, as well as spiritual ambivalence, our church may be experiencing something of an identity crisis. Folks with only a cursory knowledge of the Bible might think “Zion” is a surname. And I’ve found that amid a predominately Catholic population, the name “Lutheran” may or may not be familiar; I’ve been asked if Lutherans are Christians and heard more than once “We’re not Christian, we’re Catholic.” Our building’s somewhat ambiguous façade and our cryptic-sounding name echoes, but may also obscure, a heritage of Christ-centered church life built around family, fellowship, and community service in a city that’s barely older than the congregation itself.

Our founders weren’t alone in their choice of a parish name that was not only pious, but identifiably Protestant; Zion appears in the Old Testament 152 times meaning Jerusalem and in the New Testament has come to mean the Church, as well as the heavenly city in Revelation. And there aren’t too many churches with “Zion” and “Catholic” in the name, due to the Roman Catholic tradition regarding parish names.

As for the name “Lutheran,” that belonged to Martin Luther, a 16^th-century Roman Catholic priest and theology professor in Germany who found himself at odds with the church he loved over, among other issues, the sale of forgiveness of sins (called “indulgences”) and was excommunicated by the pope. This explains why Lutheran pastors wear robes and stoles in (pardon the pun) Catholic fashion, and why Baptism and Communion in our church are considered sacraments.

Does this mean we’re some strangely named branch of Protestants with Catholic underpinnings? Not quite. In 1522, Luther wrote “I ask that my name be left silent and people not call themselves Lutheran, but rather Christians.” The fact is, we believe that we are saved by God’s grace alone, through faith alone in Christ alone. We teach that Jesus is the focus of the entire Bible and that faith in him alone is the way to eternal salvation. Nothing more, nothing less.

A church is not its name and building, but its people. A new era is dawning at Zion Lutheran Church—maybe it is time for us to address our identity, to remind folks in our wonderfully bicultural community that our doors are open, as they have been for the past 93 years. I personally invite you to visit us online at www.zionalamo.org. Then consider visiting us in person. Become part of our history. Be part of our future!

I believe that future growth and outreach success will depend on our ability, resolve, and desire to put ourselves in the shoes of our neighbors in order to better meet their needs. What they look like or where they come from is immaterial; that they need a Savior is a fact. A new dawn is rising in the wake of the coronavirus pandemic and the future is bright!

Consider the question that so many others beyond the church doors may already be asking: What does Zion Lutheran mean?

Until next month…

Peace be with you all,

Pastor E.B.

theo-pneus-tos

One of the very few fears I have in life—particularly as a pastor—is the loss of inspiration, the motivation for self-expression, the urge to create. Even worse—to no longer be able to find sources of inspiration, to begin to intellectually, emotionally, and creatively flatline. One look out the window into the reality of 2020, a year of pestilence, political upheaval, natural disasters, racial tension, loss of livelihood, closed schools, empty ballparks, mask-shaming, and it’s easy to understand the metastasizing grief and fear that can hijack our senses and our inspiration (not to mention our faith).

The Ancient Greeks believed they were inspired by the Muses (from where we get the verb to muse, as well as the noun music), nine goddesses on whose mercy the creativity, wisdom, and insight of all artists and thinkers depended. I read that poets like Homer, Virgil, and Ovid were thought to have no talent of their own. They received their inspiration—from the Greek inspirare, meaning to breathe into—from the only beings who held the power to create anything: the gods. I would agree whole-heartedly, though only after changing “the gods” to “God.”

The word inspiration is rooted in the Latin spirare (“to breathe”) and is directly related to spirit, from Latin spiritus (“breath”). But there is another curious word, right out of Scripture that translates, quite literally, to “given by inspiration of God”—a word so unique that it appears only once in the New Testament (2 Timothy 3:16): theopneustos.

It’s very possible that Paul may have actually invented this word (inspired by the Spirit), which breaks down into three parts: theos (the Greek word for “God”), pneus from pneo, the Greek verb meaning “breathe” or “blow” and also the root word for pneuma, the Greek word for “wind” and “spirit”), and tos (a suffix that describes something done by God). It’s very easy to see the connection between inspiration and faith, even in everyday life. Even in 2020.

I very often draw inspiration from others—people I know, historical figures, and certainly from the Bible. I find muses in the unlikely, but hardly accidental, heroes of Joseph, Moses, Joshua, Jonah, Paul, etc., as well as other real-life heroes, such as Martin Luther, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and another who popped up on my radar a few days ago, a man whose courage and faith under trying, life-threating circumstances should serve as an inspiration for Christians the world over. This man is the subject of a 1959 film entitled Molokai, La Isla Maldita (“Molokai, the Damned Island”).

Belgian priest Jozef De Veuster, Father Damien, was ordained in 1864 at the age of 23. His first assignment was to the island of Hawaii. At that time, the Hawaiian government decided to stop the spread of leprosy by deporting those thought to be infected to the island of Molokai. Father Damien volunteered to be the first priest to visit the colony and seeing the living hell among those banished to it, he stayed for 16 years, bandaging patients, washing them, and digging their graves (he also built houses, churches, orphanages, coffins, and a system for clean water). In 1889 he died...of leprosy.

Without suffering there would be no need for faith. This year, so far, has brought suffering, to be sure; however, the same faith that helps us endure suffering can also serve as a conduit for inspiration and courage. We can choose to succumb to the grief and fear or respond in faith, to keep that inspiration alive, intellectually, emotionally, and creatively—secure in what Paul writes in Philippians 4:3, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

My faith keeps my fears at bay, and any inspiration a theopneustos (that is, something God-breathed). My Muse is the Holy Spirit, through whom I can see God’s hand in my life and in the world around me. In fact, I feel inspired right now. Time to get busy...

...there’s much to do! :)

Until next month…

Peace be with you all,

Pastor E.B.

The Impossible Dream

“Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty; You corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor; I cast you to the ground...You have become a horror, and shall be no more forever.”
(Ezekiel 28:17a,19b NKJV)

Suppose there existed a device—a gadget, say—that would give its owner—you or me, say—certain god-like abilities, such as the instant (or near-instant) eradication of evil (or an evil-doer)? What if it could fix things on that laundry list of grievances for God we keep in our back pocket? What if such a thing could work miracles, such as cleaner skin, hair restoration, clear vision, whiter teeth, weight control, a strengthened immune system, arrested addiction, reconciled relationships...even a greener lawn?

I just finished reading the second book of a trilogy about such a “button box,” a small wooden box adorned with colored push-buttons. Stephen King co-authored Book 1 of the Gwendy's Button Box Trilogy with Richard Chizmar, in which a 12-year old girl is chosen to be the guardian of this button box thingy—the red button can be used at the whim/discretion of the person who possesses it. As I started reading, I got to thinking that if I were to have such a device... Well, as I got thinner, better looking, and less crotchety, I could busy myself with fixing this planet’s wrongs (as I see them). I might even get around to rebooting the One Holy and Apostolic Church. Sooner (than later) my world would be restored to the perfection I meant it to be. Or would it?

There are plenty of things, in my opinion (and I’m certain in yours), that need change in our culture and society. Isn’t the dream of Man to become god-like, to find all the answers, to become invincible, to somehow, some way, someday accomplish what God cannot (or will not)? Yet, we’re stymied by two insurmountable obstacles; the first is sin...we’re selfish, error-prone, incorrigible sinners who continue to make a mess of things—even those of us with good intentions. And we’re contagious (not necessarily in the corona virus sense). Just turn on the tv. The second obstacle is that the Man with a plan is God; we don’t have one...throughout history, Man has never had any kind of plan, other than to conquer in the name of his cause, at any cost. Just turn on the tv.

My daughter sent me the following text message:

I have realized that I won't be able to fix any of these huge issues in my lifetime. I won't ignore them, I will choose to care and do what I can to make my piece of the world just a little bit better. I will show some love and grace to those around me. I will be a part of conversations for change and do work in my community. When I do all those things to the best of my ability, then I can go to sleep at night knowing I've given God and others the best I have... Our society is full of a lot of noise for a lot of good things but nothing will happen from just being noisy and unorganized...

We are noisy and unorganized! I’m more than certain that a button box in my hands would just add to the chaos. Rather than using the “gift” of such a device to feel god-like, what if we could make better use of the gifts we’ve been imbued with by a loving God with a plan for our restoration to the perfect creations He designed; perfect, but not god-like. Perfect in Christ, whose death on the Cross is the fulcrum for God’s plan to save Man from himself. Perfect in Christ, in whom our faith knows love, grace, compassion, mercy, and unconditional forgiveness.

The Message translation of Jeremiah 29:11 reminds us that there is a plan, a path to follow...and that maybe it’s time to throw away that grievance list (you know, the one in your back pocket).

“This is God’s Word... ‘I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for.’”

Until next month…

Peace be with you all,

Pastor E.B.

The Dawn’s Early Light

"It is the LORD who goes before you.
He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you.
Do not fear or be dismayed."
(Deuteronomy 31:8)

[Note: Most of this post was written in February 2016]

In my present job as a high school teacher I have a collateral duty on the back end of our busy parking lot each morning from 6:20-6:55. I am a reflective human pylon with a flashlight and for the last 10 minutes at my post I dance the side-step like a sailor working a carrier flight deck. However, the first 15-20 minutes are more peaceful, almost serene, especially on a calm, clear, 50° morning like this morning.

As I was watching the dawn creep in from the southeast, I was reminded of another day in February, 15 years ago, when I was stuck in rush-hour traffic on the way home from a job interview on the north side of Dallas, a good 90 minutes’ drive in light traffic. I was at a standstill, so I rolled down my window to watch the last light of the sun disappearing below the horizon on an evening with the same conditions as this morning. As I sat there, waiting, I kept asking myself What are you doing?!

In mid-January 2001 I received my last active duty paycheck from the Navy. The transition from the military to the civilian world was exponentially more traumatic than the other way around. My job search was taxing, increasing my level of despondence with every rejection (why wouldn't a company want to hire a bilingual, college-educated vet with a security clearance, supervisory, management, and real-world experience?!). That particular evening I was sitting there on the highway in a suit and tie, wife and two elementary-age daughters still a good hour away. I had undergone a second interview with the now-defunct Dallas Semiconductor for a position as a shift supervisor in an industry I knew virtually nothing about. But I was desperate. By mid-summer I would be in a full-blown panic, angry at the very God who promised to take care of me and my family.

Things went from bad to worse from that February evening as spring turned to summer. I borrowed money from more than one relative to keep us afloat. In a final act of desperation I arranged a job interview with the National Security Agency in Maryland (where we were before I retired from the Navy) feeling certain I’d be hired, which would mean packing up, selling our house, and returning north...permanently. After two days of interviews and tests, I was offered a position that would more than adequately provide for our financial needs. But the thought of moving again was depressing. I could not understand God's plan for me—for my family!

As I was packing my suitcase for the return trip from Baltimore, my phone rang. It was the principal of a high school in the neighboring town down in Texas who heard that I was looking for a teaching position (public education was one of the many avenues through which I hoped to find gainful employment). This call was a total surprise (with a back story that has God's fingerprints all over it—a tale for another time maybe). He asked me if I could come in for an interview that morning; I told him I was in a hotel room 1,200 miles away, but could come in that same afternoon... He agreed, so I showed up at the school in 100° heat, sweating profusely in a suit and tie...

While on the flight to Texas I tried so hard to get God's take on all of this—the Maryland job offer and this seemingly 11th hour phone call. I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. I felt so guilty for having shaken an angry fist at God, for the feelings of helplessness that caused me to breakdown in front of my wife, for letting my panic overcome my faith. So I figured I would get another "we'll be in touch" after meeting with the principal, then we'd be back in Maryland before summer's end. Instead, I left the school with a classroom key and an assurance that a contract would be in my mailbox within five days (it was). In August I went to work as a humble and very grateful English as a Second Language teacher. I also spent a few months working at a liquor store to supplement my first-year teacher pay, a part-time job that would eventually lead to full-time church work (yet another tale for another time). (It turned out that because I am a veteran, the government paid not only for my certification, but I was at a school that met the free and reduced lunch percentage for a stipend by a fraction, so I received an incentive check each December for the first three years.)

It's seems silly now to think that, 15 years ago, I really believed that out of His 7 billion children roaming this Earth, God chose me to persecute and oppress like Job (see Job 3)! My pity, despair, and anger nearly choked the life out of my faith, saved, thankfully, by a vigilant, much wiser, and benevolent God who sometimes sees fit to drive us to our knees, to lovingly recalibrate us and clear our vision to see what is now, not what was or what we think will be. As I look back over the years, our daughters never went hungry, always had a roof over their heads and clothes on their backs, and they have always been part of an extended loving family that helped us unquestioningly when I thought we might lose our house.

As I looked out at the dawn's early light this morning in the parking lot, I remembered.

I remembered that God has never once abandoned me or my family, that the God revealed to us in Christ has a perfect record of keeping His promises. I remembered that my face-off with God (both wholly and holy one-sided, in retrospect), while exhausting, left me with a stronger faith and deeper resolve to never doubt Him again—that He would provide for me and my family, giving us daily what we need (not what we want). I remembered that, no matter what happens, through faith the story has a happy ending...by God's Grace.

Until next month…

Peace be with you all,

Pastor E.B.

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Life in quarantine has made us all feel like orphans, to one degree or another. We stay at home. We avoid crowds to reduce the risk of either catching the virus or infecting other people. Many of us are dealing with feelings of isolation, depression, boredom, and hopelessness. Lack of social contact and interaction has made us feel, well…alone. We let fear and impatience get a toehold on us. We can even begin to question the God who loves us, Who made us, who promises that he hears the cries from His children, Who promises to deliver us from our sin and suffering…to always be there.

This pandemic has brought about something I call “spiritual orphan syndrome,” a byproduct of “spiritual distancing.” Spiritual distancing is similar in many ways to social distancing; the former adversely affects faith, the latter adversely affects our quality of life. And both impede our relationships with God and our neighbor.

Spiritual distancing is what we do when we intentionally or unintentionally separate ourselves from God’s Word, from church, from our church family, from our neighbor. We spiritually distance ourselves from God when we stop looking for answers, for hope, for peace, in the pages of our Bibles. We spiritually distance when we allow personal, personality, or cultural differences to dictate to whom we’ll say hello, for whom we’ll be concerned, with whom we’ll collaborate, when we put ourselves first.

Some 2,000 years ago, Jesus anticipated the inevitable feeling of abandonment that would wash over his disciples as he suffers and dies on the cross, only to rise again and then return to heaven, leaving them behind as orphans in an unforgiving world. In the Gospel of John (chapter 15), Jesus tells his disciples two very important things, one an expectation, the other a promise—both are just as valid for believers in the 21^st century: 1) “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” and  2) “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” (and he even promises to send them a Helper, the Holy Spirit).

Jesus doesn’t expect us to prove our love to him by keeping the Ten Commandments. Not at all; besides, he knows that we can’t, which is why we need him in the first place. What he means is, if we truly love him as we say we do, we will keep the two commandments sometimes referred to as “Christ’s Law” (see Matthew 22:36-40): Love God. Love your neighbor.

It sounds easy, but it’s really not—to do alone, that is. Jesus means to assure them—and us—that not one of his true followers, who genuinely loves God and neighbor, would become a spiritual orphan!

For so many of us, the strain of being physically separated from church due to this pandemic really can bring about “spiritual orphan syndrome.” Only God’s Word, His promises to us through Christ, can soothe our anxieties and strengthen our faith and our hope—we can open a Bible, can listen to a sermon, we can be part of an online Bible study (visit zionalamo.org to find out how you can participate!).

As the world starts to open up again, social distancing may be still be a part of “the new normal” (man, I dislike that phrase), but spiritual distancing doesn’t have to be. There’s a Light at the of the tunnel—it’s been there all along, the very antidote for spiritual orphan syndrome. The Light of Christ.

We don’t have to be bullied by fear, loneliness, and isolation; life is much more manageable with Jesus, than without him.

Until next month…

Peace be with you,

Pastor E.B.

A Virus Pandemic is FAR from Heaven on Earth

For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. (Colossians 1:16 ESV)

I was thinking the other day about how much I miss worshipers in the pews, for many reasons. But I miss it during this pandemic for one overarching reason, thanks to another pastor who enriched my understanding of the roots of Lutheran liturgy and corporate worship as “heaven on earth.”

I’ve mentioned the Rev. Dr. Arthur Just in a sermon from time to time and more than once in a Bible study. His claim to fame is the two-volume Concordia Publishing House commentary on Luke, but Dr. Just was one of my favorite seminary professors, both online (when I started in 2005) and at the seminary itself, where he lectured on the roots of Lutheran worship liturgy (the elements of which go back to the 4th century and grew out of Jewish house worship). He wrote a book (one of numerous, actually) about Lutheran worship history and practices entitled Heaven on Earth, required reading for my liturgics course, in which he writes the following (my underlining):

Early Christians believed that Jesus, the crucified and ascended Lord, was present with them through Word and Sacrament. This biblical eschatology is missing in many discussions about worship and liturgy today. In our liturgy we join all saints in one worshiping assembly because there Jesus Christ is present both in heaven and on earth. The saints in heaven and the worshiping congregation on earth manifest their unity in the one liturgy. In the liturgy the Church tells the world that its story is an eternal one because the presence of Jesus Christ, the eternal One, now dwells in the world.

The liturgy places us on a historical and eschatological line through God's great, objective, cosmic act of justification in Jesus Christ. We now have the same status in the kingdom of God as both the prophets of old and the saints in glory. We are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses who have gone before us, and, with Christians everywhere, we rejoice in their presence. They are standing with us and joining their voices with ours in one glorious liturgy. 

During one afternoon lecture, Dr. Just spoke of graduating from the seminary in 1980 and during the first year of ministry at a broken congregation, coming to the realization that he didn't have a full understanding of suffering. Folks were bringing him—a young guy right out of seminary— their burdens and he described how he was overwhelmed. Then he spoke of two specific incidents that provided a more personal insight into what he was going through. Only a few months into his call as a pastor, his wife's sister was brutally murdered in Dallas. Months later, the son of one of his parishioners was diagnosed with cancer, which took him at the age of 12. Dr. Just recalled in front of us how he wrote a funeral sermon based on the theology of the excerpt above, hoping that the parents would be comforted by knowing that, as their son was with Jesus and we believe that Jesus is present during the service (along with angels, archangels, and all the saints of heaven), that their son was present, too. He then related how the father appreciated his words, but to him his son was still gone...at only 12 years old. It was all I could do to not excuse myself and step out of the lecture hall to regain my composure.

I think of my time as a seminarian, sheltered behind the walls of the monastery, steeped in God’s Word, our only true doctrine as Christians. Luther said “Doctrine is heaven; life is earth. In life there is sin, error, uncleanness, and misery, mixed, as the saying goes, ‘with vinegar.’" The longer we are to “shelter in place,” “social distance,” move through life in a mask, and be subjected to the fear-mongering of armchair and talking-head prophets, the more I yearn for corporate worship…for heaven on earth.

That particular class session with Dr. Just was my last of the day. On the drive home I seriously pondered what I was getting myself into. And I thanked God.

Until next month…

Peace be with you all,

Pastor E.B.

Why do we celebrate Easter?

Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And some of the bystanders, hearing it, said, “This man is calling Elijah.” And one of them at once ran and took a sponge, filled it with sour wine, and put it on a reed and gave it to him to drink. But the others said, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to save him.” And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice and yielded up his spirit. 

(Matthew 27:45-50 ESV)

The first question ever asked of me in a theological interview (seminary Q&A to test a pastoral candidate's doctrinal integrity) some years back was "Did God die on the Cross?" Rather than reveal my answer, I prefer to pose the very same question for penitential consideration. The answer—whatever it is—automatically elicits a follow-up question about Easter (and that empty tomb). 

A few years ago, while still a public high school teacher, I used to do predawn parking lot duty with a colleague and friend of mine (he's Baptist—we're on the same court, just on opposite sides of the net sometimes). One morning he mentioned to me that he would be teaching a Sunday school class on Easter, on a not-unrelated topic: Matthew 27:46 (Jesus cries out to God the Father from the Cross). We got to talking about how God could have forsaken Himself...

Hopefully, all Christians would agree that Jesus of Nazareth, after suffering beatings, taunting, and other despicable forms of humiliation at the hands of his accusers, was nailed to a cross by Roman soldiers where he languished for 6 hours before finally crying out with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” (“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”). He cried out once more and died.

So. Who died? Jesus the man? Jesus the Messiah? God the Son? God Himself? God Himselves? None of the above? (One of those answers was mine; no, not the last one...)

Lutherans are credal and confessional Christians; that is, we confess what we believe to be the truth, whether from Scripture, our Confessions (Book of Concord), or one of three Creeds agreed upon by the majority of mainline Christian churches as statements of the basic tenets of our faith. With regard to the question at hand, our Confessions, specifically The Solid Declaration of the Formula of Concord, Article VIII. The Person of Christ, speak directly to the answer:

(42-43) And it’s so in reality; for you must certainly answer this, that the person (meaning Christ) suffers and dies. Now the person is true God; therefore it’s rightly said: The Son of God suffers. For although the one part (to speak thus), namely, the divinity, does not suffer, yet the person, which is God, suffers in the other part, namely, in His humanity; for in truth God's Son has been crucified for us, that is, the person which is God. For the person, the person, I say, was crucified according to the humanity...Therefore we regard our Lord Christ as God and man in one person, so that we neither confound the natures nor divide the person.

Understanding the two natures of Christ is daunting. We (Lutherans) teach, and I believe, that on Good Friday God did suffer in His humanity (as evidenced in Jesus' anguish in Gethsemane and his crying out on the Cross) and that since God and man are united in one person, it’s correctly called God's death, when the man dies who is one thing or one person with God. Specifically HOW this could happen is beyond the scope of human intellect.

My answer to the question was "God the Son died on the Cross." At face value a good enough answer, but not good enough at the time. God can’t die, but Jesus did. (Lutheran professor Dr. Gene Veith puts it this way: “No, God the Father didn’t suffer, but God the Son did. He did so by assuming a human nature, which made it possible for Him to suffer and to die.”

Jesus had to die a human death in order to be resurrected from the dead. This is why we celebrate Easter.

I believe in a loving God so powerful and so amazing that He became one of us to save all of us from ourselves, and in the process He demonstrated to us that He is not a God who inflicts suffering UPON the creations He so loves, but actually suffered and died FOR them (in their place). We have a God in Christ who knows what suffering and humiliation feels like on a grand scale! Why, then, should we not believe that this same Jesus who died on the Cross rose again, according to Scripture? This is why we celebrate Easter. (See 1 Corinthians 15.)

What God did for us on Good Friday is truly unbelievable! It’s horrible, but it’s awesome. It’s tough love on steroids. God died on the Cross so that you and I might live. We don't have to understand it.

We just have to believe it.

This is why we celebrate Easter! Christ is risen, indeed!! Hallelujah!

With much love,

Pastor E.B.

Ill-booten gotty?

...but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches
and the desires for other things enter in and choke the word, and it proves unfruitful.
 (Mark 4:19 ESV)

I remember a chilly, gray Saturday morning in Indiana about four years ago. Every possible media outlet, from the TV news to Twitter was lit up with the current Powerball jackpot of about a billion dollars. Hopeful souls across the country were braving, in some cases, weather worse than mine to stand in line for a 1-in-292,201,338 chance at hitting the mother lode—we’ve all heard the rags to riches stories (father of four lost his wife and his job and his car and spent his last dollar on the lottery…now his children have new clothes, he’s got a new Maserati, and no doubt lots of new friends and a new wife) (okay that was way too cynical, I admit, but is that not what tempts us to rub the lamp and hope a genie pops out?).

Popular consensus speaks to God’s silence on gambling, in general; yet I would file this Powerball business neatly under the 10^th Commandment; popular contemporary Christian consensus snorts and mumbles something about how Old Testament that kind of thinking is… Christ fulfilled the Law, didn’t he? So what’s the problem? The problem is coveting, which, along with the other 9 thoushaltnots didn’t disappear or become obsolete in the shadow (better, the Light) of the New Testament. Jesus himself makes this very clear in Matthew 22:36-40.

So how does a Christian solve a problem like the lottery? To run with the herd or to get trampled in the stampede, that is the question. But what about playing the stock market (I have two retirement accounts tied up in mutual funds myself)? Both involve ROI, right? And both bring up the question of “properly placed faith” with arguments for and against… Consider the fantastical find of a buried treasure chest filled with some pirate’s ill-gotten booty; we would instantly invoke the finders-keepers rule and now one person’s ill-gotten booty becomes our ill-booten gotty (a Hawkeye-ism from a M*A*S*H episode), not stolen, really…more serendipitous than felonious. Beauty, riches, and coveting are all in the eyes of the beholder.

It’s a sticky wicket. But could God not use any investment apparatus (from a $2 Powerball ticket to a hedge fund in a retirement account) whether or not it pays out as the investor intended? Of course. So could—and does-- Satan. And there is the true power behind our coveting (and we all do it). I don’t have the answer, but Jesus tells his disciples in Mark (4:19 ESV): “...but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches and the desires for other things enter in and choke the word, and it proves unfruitful.” Will a purchase of a Powerball ticket choke the Word of God and prove unfruitful? That question surely gives the Christian in that long line something to think about while waiting…

I think God is the Great Philanthropist, too, when the mood suits Him or the time seems right. His Church has been gifted financially in many ways, many times (through benefactors known and unknown). Often God's hand is indiscernible in such a frenetic world like the one we live in today, and sometimes what appears to be God's hand may be something wholly and woefully different. Take this example I found in a Mental_Floss magazine article:

As she was nearing graduation from UCLA, Carol Burnett and several fellow drama students were invited to a departing professor’s house to perform at his bon voyage party. She performed a scene from the musical Annie Get Your Gun and later that evening, while she was standing in the buffet line, a man she’d never seen before approached her and complimented her performance. He then inquired what she planned to do with her life. She confessed that she dreamed of going to New York one day for a career on the stage, but seeing that she barely had enough gas money to drive back to Los Angeles that evening, it would be a very long time before she’d make it to Broadway. The man told her he’d be happy to lend her $1000 to get her started, with three conditions: that she repay him without interest in five years, that she was never to reveal his identity, and that once she was successful she must pass a similar kindness along to another person in need. (After pondering the offer over the weekend and consulting her mother and grandmother—who advised her to steer clear of the strange man who was probably involved in human trafficking or something worse—she took a chance and accepted his check.)

Think of similar acts of anonymous beneficence to be committed with nearly a billion dollars, no matter where it came from, as long as it’s not ill-gotten booty…but even then…well, let’s just call it ill-booten gotty, shall we?

In the meantime, Temptation holds my place in line...  ;)

With much love,

Pastor E.B.