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| An early printed edition of "A Mighty Fortress" in German |
“…and
you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.” (John
8:32)
I’m
always amused by the response Jesus’ Judean followers give to the above quote.
These guys must’ve looked at Jesus with their mouths open. “Whaddya mean ‘made
free?!’ We’re the descendants of Abraham. We’ve never been slaves.” You don’t even have to know too much Bible
history to know they’re kidding themselves here. Remember Moses and that Red
Sea thing? The descendants of Abraham were slaves in Egypt, right? They were
also slaves to Babylon, then to Persia, Greece and a whole bunch of little
crappy kingdoms. By the time of Jesus they were a vassal of the Romans. Freedom wasn’t their long suit.
But,
in a sense they were right. To them, “free” meant they were the rightful heirs
of God’s promise to Abraham. No matter who was actually calling the political
shots, the children of Abraham had full personhood in God’s eyes. They weren’t
adopted in nor were they “property.” If their self-determination as a nation
was taken away, they still had their heritage as legitimate heirs to the title
of “Chosen People.”
Unfortunately
for their pride, Jesus had to remind them they were still slaves to sin—something
they had a real hard time recognizing. Let’s face it: the truth hurts some
times. If you’ve ever tried to live in denial, or defensiveness, or behind some
excuse, or in just plain wishful thinking, you know how much it sucks. You want
to keep up the pretense that everything is just groovy. Well, it isn’t. It’s
the old saying, “you’re only as sick as your secrets.” Perhaps the worst form
of bondage is refusing to admit the truth to ourselves.
We’re
all salves in some way, I guess. These days I’d have to say that many of us are
slaves to fear. We fear COVID-19. We fear economic catastrophe. We fear civil
unrest. Most of all, we probably fear change and loss—especially the loss of
things we’ve been comfortable with and counted on. Like the church.
But
the truth is, church attendance in America was declining before the pandemic.
We’re becoming a more secular society. Young working people don’t have Sunday
mornings free anymore. Youth sports, multiple jobs, and the gig economy have
killed the Sabbath. I also fear that, as far as public proclamation goes, the
more strident voices of fundamentalism outshout the voices of Christ’s mercy
and inclusivity in the public media.
I
ask myself on this Reformation Sunday, “What would Luther do?” I wonder what
our tradition and heritage as Lutherans give us to get us through this time of transition
and worry? How would Martin speak to our fears?
First,
I think the brutally blunt reformer would want us to be honest with ourselves.
As a church and as individuals we’ve made plenty of mistakes. Without
confession there can be no absolution. We remember that we are slaves to sin,
but we are also heirs to God’s promise of love and forgiveness through the
blood of Jesus Christ. Simul Justus et
peccator is the Latin phrase Luther was so fond of. It means
simultaneously justified and sinner. The phrase calls us to remember that in
these fearful times we’ve all been doubtful, we’ve probably been
self-righteous, and our opinions have been less than charitable about people
who hold views with which we differ. The good news is that whatever kind of
jerks we’ve been, we’re still loved and forgiven by God’s grace. Like the Judeans
Jesus addresses in our Gospel lesson, we’re both slaves and free people because
we are the legitimate heirs—through no effort of our own—to God’s promise. We
should remember that.
Secondly,
I think Luther would remind us ecclesia semper
reformanda est. That is, the church is always reforming. Our comfortable
little congregations may be going the way of the 8 track, but that doesn’t mean
that something new isn’t rising in their place. “God’s word forever shall abide”
Luther reminds us in that great anthem we Lutherans love to sing (quietly and
through our COVID masks this time!).
Thirdly,
Luther might advise us to take every advantage we can of new media technology.
The world didn’t come to learn of the 95 Theses just because they were posted on
the door of the Castle Church of Wittenberg. No. Before nailing them to the
door, Luther had his theses printed on
the new-fangled machine called the printing press and mailed out copies to a
whole bunch of interested—and some really ticked-off—parties. In our
information age, we have the advantage to bypass the Sabbath and put church
online. If COVID-19 has taught us nothing else, it has forced us to use the new
means available to this generation for spreading the Gospel.
Finally,
I hope Luther would remind us as Christians to get comfortable with the
uncomfortable. Church people, Luther taught, have a duty to civic engagement.
Yes, he believed that church leaders should not run countries or cities and
secular leaders should not dictate theology. That doesn’t mean, however, that the
church should remain unconcerned about the affairs of the world. I think it’s
time we were all a little edgier (kind of like Pope Francis was this week!) Our faith in Jesus can’t just be for Sunday
morning. Love of neighbor needs to be put into practice.
So
take heart, church. As our Reformation hymn reminds us, “The kingdom’s ours
forever.” That’s pretty good news.
God's peace be with you. For a shorter video version of this post, click here.
God
bless. Thanks for reading.
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