Litrgical without ceremony. . .

While reading of the decision of a former head of an Anglican seminary to enter Rome, I came across his apt description of how he was raised.  He said his upbringing in a Christian home was that of "using the Book of Common Prayer, liturgical without ceremony, earnest and lengthy in its preaching, sacramental but Protestant.”  It occurred to me that you could remove the Book of Common Prayer and insert The Lutheran Hymnal and it would exactly describe my own childhood in the faith.  I suspect that there are many who might agree.  

While I am not saying that this is awful or the worst context in which Lutheranism is expressed, I must admit that it ended up not being all that compelling.  "Liturgical without ceremony" was exactly how the Divine Service was conducted growing up Lutheran in the 1950s and 1960s -- at least the four times annually when the full Divine Service was held.  Of course, the "dry" Mass hastily concluded after the offering and prayers with a benediction and dismissal was conducted in exactly the same "liturgical without ceremony" manner.  It was decent and in good order but it was also clear to me that this was a form which was followed because that was who we "Lutherans" were but not because this was essential or flowed from our Confession.  We simply did what was in the book with little fanfare.  Again, it is not that this was terrible but was it really who we were as Lutherans?

"Ernest and lengthy in its preaching" was what I heard from the pulpit.  The sermons were generally based on a series of preaching texts popular at the time and thus distanced the sermon from its context within the liturgy and encouraged it to stand on its own, apart from the rest of the Divine Service.  Indeed, it was as if the rest of the liturgy was either unrelated to the sermon or simply the preparation for it but, in any case, the sermon was clearly the main deal.  The preaching was generally very earnest.  It may have lacked some in passion and delivery but not in content or form.  I was regularly preached into the faith in very large forty minute segments each Sunday.  They were Biblical and confessional yet often oblivious to the liturgical year (except in the high and holy Sundays).  They were doctrinal and expressed to, if not convinced, the hearer of what we believe, teach, and confess.  Notably absent were sermons about baptism, the Eucharist, or confession and absolution.  These things, presumed by our Confessions to be the realm in which the Christian lived out his life of faith and his calling in Christ, were largely treated tangentially -- even when the text mentioned them explicitly.

"Sacramental but Protestant" also resonates with me.  It was obvious that we held to Sacraments but more in theory than in practice and life.  We were not expected to cling to the promises made in water, bread, wine, and a voice in confession the way we clung to the Word of God but we did believe in those things.  Sort of like those who believe alcohol consumption is not bad and might be fine but who drink seldom.  We agreed in theory to their worth and value but Sundays were meant for preaching and the Eucharist was always an "add on" to the Service of the Word.  Again, this is not the worst one could experience but it was not exactly the faithful vision confessed in our formative documents or even in Luther (overall).  Protestant was clearly who we were.  We would stand with the Methodists and Presbyterians and Evangelical Covenant people but we were noticeably uncomfortable around Roman Catholics.  We envisioned ourselves less as the evangelical catholics of the Augustana than a type of typical Protestant who had a peculiar Sunday morning habit.  We were warned against going to a Roman Catholic Church but we were also cautioned against going anywhere that was not us (the jurisdiction included here).  Yes, we did regard ourselves as the original and most authentic Protestants but Protestant just the same.  

The problem with this is that it lacks a compelling identity.  Worship simply becomes worship, divorced from Confession and maybe even at odds with it.  Doctrine becomes theory that is held rightly in the mind but not prayed in the liturgy.  Protestant means that we can be other kinds of Protestant and not sacrifice what we believe, teach, and confess -- like the Lutheran who becomes a Baptist and consoles himself that their high view of Scripture and inerrancy balances out their rejection of baptismal efficacy.  And that is why so many Lutherans who marry Protestants assume that their conversion to another form of Protestantism does not mean all that much.  I fear that this is at least part of the reason for the many defections from Lutheranism over the years although not entirely responsible for them.  At least that is the view from one who grew up "liturgical without ceremony, earnest and lengthy in its preaching, sacramental but Protestant.”

Let us die with Christ. . .

Sermon preached for the Fifth Sunday in Lent, March 22, 2026, at Grace Lutheran Church.

Every now and then the disciples actually stumbled upon the truth.  When that happens, it is wise for us to pay attention.  So when the sisters send word to Jesus that Lazarus whom He loved is ill but Jesus appeared to do nothing, they were relieved.  After all, by this time everyone who was anyone knew that there was a price on Jesus’ head.  Jesus Himself appeared to minimize the seriousness of the illness by saying that “this will not lead to death.”  Everyone was happy.  Nobody had to die – not even Lazarus.  Until he did.

Then, when Lazarus had already died, Jesus got a wild hair about heading to Bethany to be with Mary and Martha in their grief and being glad He die not go earlier but now will wake the dead.  In exasperation, Thomas mouths off with the most profound statement he had ever made.  “Let us also go that we may die with Him.”  Now just maybe Thomas had gotten a shot of the Holy Spirit in that moment because what Thomas said became a promise in the mouth of Jesus: “I am the resurrection and the life.  Whoever believes in Me even though he die, yet shall he live.”  And they have become a litany in the words of St. Paul.  “If we have died with Him, we will also live with Him.” And, “To live is Christ and to die is gain.”  

Lets take that one step further.  These words must be your own confession as well.  They are the words of a people brought to baptismal waters to surrender the life that is marked for death so that they may take up the life that death cannot touch.  They are the words of a people who meet God first at the step of the altar to confess their sin and unworthiness before approaching the altar with anything to give to or ask of Jesus.  They are the words of a people who come to a table set with bread and wine to eat of Christ’s flesh and blood, proclaiming His death until He comes again.  These are the words of a people who go to the cemetery watching the body be planted in the earth and truly expect to see the dead again.  ndeed, that is why we are here – to die with Christ.

It may seem an odd thing to say but it is the most profound prayer of the faithful.  Let us die with Christ, let us die for Christ, let us die in Christ.  The whole shape and purpose of Lent is to proclaim that there is life only for those willing to die with Christ, to die for Christ, and to die in Christ. In a world filled with  people who want to be spiritual without being religious it makes no sense.  In a church with crucifixes and crosses everywhere, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
We are here to die with Christ.  It begins in our baptism in water when quite apart from anything we say or do, the Lord claims us as His own, complete with all our sins and flaws.  He even claims our sins and failings as His.  He cleanses us not symbolically but in water that really washes clean to the soul.  His blood has become the fountain with the power to cleanse what no amount of good works and good intentions could ever do.  Lent is traditionally a baptismal season – a time when those to be baptized are instructed and a time when those already baptized are refreshed in what it means to be the baptized people of God.  We have died the fearful death with Christ so that the terror of death is over.  Death is not a friend but it has become a tool in the hands of our Savior, a door through which those whom He has made righteous may enter into eternal life.  Baptism may not be a necessity for those who never have the opportunity to be baptized, but it not optional for those who do.  We are baptized with Christ, His presence in the water like a magnet to draw to Him all our sins and even our death.

We die with Christ every day.  The baptismal life rising up from the waters of the womb of our birth from above gives us a new identity.  Every day we die with Christ and rise with Him to live the new life of holiness, righteousness, and purity.  Every day we surrender to Him the sins for which our blood cannot atone but His blood has, once for all.  Every day we fight against the desires of the flesh, the temptations of the world, and the enticing schemes of the devil.  It is not easy.  It would be far easier to go with the flow and fade into the background of the world, accepting its values and purpose over that of Christ.  It is not easy and we will certainly fail but His forgiveness lifts us up from the dust of that failure and gives us hope to try again, living the sober, upright, self-controlled lives a people who have been set free from their bondage to others to live only for Christ.

Let us die for Christ.  That means counting the cost of discipleship.  That means not running when we discover the momentary pain of denying our whims and desires and beating down the flesh to be faithful to Christ alone.  No one said it was easy and Jesus did not ever say it would be anything but a fight and a struggle to walk worthy of Him.  But that is what we do.  Let us die for Christ.  Sometimes that is not even metaphorical.  Christians die for their faith.  They die because they stand too close to Jesus in a world that loves all things in moderation – even faith.   They die because we have real enemies who can take our lives but not our soul. The world is not our home or our friend.  It can offer wonderful gifts, blessings, and comforts but hidden within is too often the cost of discipleship.
There are martyrs for the faith every day who give up something more than a favorite food for Lent.  They surrender their lives for the sake of Him who surrendered His for them.  We dare not as if this does not happen anymore.  It happens for most of us in the home, in the workplace, in the marketplace, on the internet, in the public square, as well as the heart.  But for some it still happens when death is the cost of discipleship.  Let us die for Christ.

Let us die in Christ.  At some point in time the Church stopped talking about a Christian death.  It was conveniently forgotten from our prayers and so it was hidden from our life as well.  The prayer was to die well, to die a Christian death, to die in Christ.  When we stopped praying like this, the inevitable happened.  Death became something we thought we might tame, something we might welcome, and something we might even control.  Let death hold off long enough so we can do all the living we want and it might not be so bad.  Let death come to relieve us from suffering it might be a friend.  Let us choose death when living becomes too much for us and it might be the answer.  Thanks be to God that Jesus does not think like we do.  He came to swallow up death for us so that we would never befriend death or try to tame it or even choose it when we are tired of living.  He came to die so that we who live in the valley and under the shadow of death might have death overcome for us once and for all.  

Let us die in Christ.  That is our prayer.  A lifeless child in a weeping mother’s arms or a father buried by his wife and kids or someone cut down in the prime of life or one whose faith shows the marks of age and the scars of many battles in life.  We die in Christ by dying in the faith, trusting that death is not the end, and with the hope of Christ’s resurrection to spur us on toward our own joyful resurrection.  The Church manifests this hope by putting a body in the ground and telling the mourners that it will not stay.  Christ will raise that body and transform it like unto His own glorious body and death will be erased forever.

This is what Mary confessed to Jesus.  “Yes Lord, I believe You are the Christ, the Son of God, who is come into the world.”  Dying with Christ, for Christ, and in Christ.  That is our only hope.  What happens to those who die with Christ, for Christ, and in Christ?  A voice booms, “Lazarus, come forth.”  This was the miracle to prefigure the greater miracle of our Lord’s Easter triumph.  But hidden in the man whose hands and feet were bound with linen and whose face cloth wrapped around his features is the prototype of Christ’s resurrection and ours.
So let your prayer today be with Thomas.  Let us die with Christ, for Christ, and in Him.  The Lord’s expedient death to tie up loose ends has become the powerful death to end the reign of death itself.  The enemies of God made their plans more urgent to kill Jesus and He taunts them, “Bring it on.”  He knows that to kill death He must die.  What are we to do?  As the baptized people of God, forgiven of their sins, and fed upon the bread of life, we are not afraid of what the world can do to us.  “Bring it on.”  For you know that for you to live, you must die with Christ, for Christ, and in Christ.  In the end you are losing nothing and gaining everything.  Thomas got it right.  Let us die with Christ.  

    If we have died with him, we shall also live with him;
    if we endure with him, we shall also reign with him;
    if we deny him, he will also deny us;
    if we are faithless, he remains faithful – for he cannot deny himself. 
    (2Tim 2.11-13)
Amen  

Beware. . .

Matthew's section of the Sermon on the Mount chosen for Ash Wednesday has always troubled me.  Oh, I get it.  I am not as stupid as some might assume.  But is that the text we need to hear on Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent?  “Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven." (Matthew 6:1)  Here we are plastering ashes in the shape of a cross on the forehead on the foreheads of God's people and Jesus is warning us against it -- or so it seems.  Certainly there is enough in Jesus' words to fuel those who do not like the practice.  Is practicing our righteousness or piety really a problem today?

I fear that piety and righteousness are exactly the things that are missing from Christianity today.  Even in Rome, not eating meat on Fridays, fasting, making confession, giving alms, the rosary, and a host of other historic practices that once were nonvenomous with being Roman Catholic are on the decline and have become remarkably absent from the faithful.  Lutherans have always been accused of having an invisible piety and seem to accept nearly everything in moderation -- perhaps even sin.  We have lacked some of the historic practices we inherited from Rome and in our haste to prove we were not Roman have distanced ourselves even from some of the things that Jesus commended and even Luther thought good.  If we fast has replaced when we fast and you could say the same about a host of other practices of our piety.  So do we need to hear words of warning against a public piety on Ash Wednesday?  I wonder if we need to hear the opposite.

It has become amazingly easy for us to separate what we believe about Jesus from what the Scriptures say about morality.  We live in such compartmentalized lives in which faith lives conveniently in a box away from want, desire, or much of everyday life.  Perhaps we need to hear something else from Jesus.  Maybe we need to hear Jesus call us to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Him.  Maybe we need to hear Jesus call us to hear and heed the voice of the Law and to honor, respect, and obey the order God established for our lives.  I am not sure we are as much in danger of believing our good works or piety saves us as much as we are in danger of lacking any real piety at all.  We no longer presume that the Bible has much to say about our choices and we presume that God is less the counter of good works than the senile old Santa who will give us everything in the end.  

The words of Jesus are not wrong.  Nobody but a fool say that (or a heretic).  The question I am raising is about what we need to hear now, at this point in the scheme of things.  Piety is not our problem.  Good works are not our problem.  Our problem remains connecting the faith we profess with our lips to every aspect of our lives.  We need to find a piety and some righteousness worthy of the faith we confess.  We need to rend our hearts, to be sure, but a little rending of our garments in our world of accommodation to desire in all its forms and a presumption that truth is only as big as our preference or judgment would not hurt.  We struggle to find a Christian lens to see the world, a Christian worldview worthy of the faith that is so easily on our lips.  We love to tell God how much we love Him but we struggle to let that love order our desires and our days.  

This Lent is almost over.  I know I am late.  But the whole of Lent is heralded by the readings of Ash Wednesday.  At least part of those words ought to be a reminder how important piety is to faith.  It can never pay the price for our salvation or contribute anything to our redemption but it can demonstrate to the world that we do not speak with words only but also with works that testify to those words.  Jesus warns us against doing the right things for the wrong reasons but we need to be encouraged to do the right things as well.

Unsocial meals. . .

Eating was once a most cherished social event.  You ate and drank with people.  You did not eat or drink alone.  It was that way so long I cannot point to its beginning and it has survived through all kinds of ruptures in our social fabric -- including wars.  But it is on the decline.  Oh, we still eat -- just not together and often from bags of food we pick up on our way home or have delivered to us in our solitude.  There is the state of things.  We tend to live rather solitary lives and it is evidenced in the one thing that is almost universally seen as a communal act, something shared with family and friends except when it is impossible.  Food is love, after all.  We all know that even if it is more in memory than in personal experience.

The food is not simply fuel needed for the body but an occasion for us to connect with others.  Babies receive not only the nourishment from their mothers but a life connection that is no less important than their mother's milk.  Meals tend to be the place where most conversations in the family take place.  Parents talk to each other and their children and children talk to their parents.  Questions are raised.  Interests explored.  Advice sought.  Encouragements given.  Information shared.  The communal state of the meals extend beyond the family table but the family table is the most central place where these things take place.  Eating is supposed to be a social act.  The fact that it is increasingly a solitary activity may illustrate why worship is also less a place where we are together than simply a place where we plug in to get what we need from what is offered.

If we no longer feel the need to eat together with family or friends, then the social dimension of worship is also probably something we no longer think we need.  Instead we want it brought to us.  Uber Eats may not deliver Word and Sacrament but it seems the online mirrors of what takes place in person in the sanctuary is doing just fine in bringing to us what we used to go together to get.  Indeed, the communal acts of speaking together the words of the liturgy and singing together the songs of the ordinary and the hymns of old are no longer as essential to our lives as Christians as they once were.  We seem to prefer listening to opening our mouths.  We have become spectators even at the meal that begs us to be there and to join in the eating and drinking.

Though never primary, Church was always a place for friendship and relationship.  Boys found prospective wives and girls found prospective husbands among those who gathered with them in the pews.  Families knew each other and supported and nurtured their sons and daughters as they began to form their own new families.  In days gone by people's lives and friendships were centered in the Church.  It was that way for me and it is still that way.  The deepest friendships of our lives revolve around the Church where I served for more than 32 years.  It is not that they are the only relationships we have but Church means friendships and relationships that extend beyond the pews.  Perhaps that no longer the case for some -- even for many.   There is something sad about this.  Tragic.  But there is also something wrong with this.  Our solitude is not healthy.  

Everyone knows how important family, friendships, and friendly relationships are to our physical and mental health.  If this is true for adults, it is true in spades for children.  Eating together around the dinner table with family, friends, co-workers, and acquaintances is important.  There is nothing more helpful to the social needs we have than an occasion in which we are gathered around a meal, lovingly prepared, with conversations as rich and fulfilling as the food itself.  We have chosen not to eat together and we have forgotten how to talk to each other.  It is no reason that we have problems.  For what it is worth, Uber Eats is experimenting with remote control deliveries which will further isolate us from one another.  Figures.

Feeding the Papal Trump-like ego. . .

I have had occasion to listen to a recent debate between Elijah Yasi and the Eastern Orthodox apologist Alex Sorin over the claims of the papacy and the witness of the early fathers.  The gist of it all is signaled in the opening salvo by Alex Sorin who claims that much of what was said of Rome and popes was also said about other major sees and their occupants was “empty honorifics.” I cannot resist the way that some seem to feel the need to stroke the ego of Donald Trump with the same kind of empty honorifics that Alex Sorin says were employed to stroke the Roman ego.  As a Lutheran I would love if such a thing could be proven.

Anyway, Alex Sorin has rather boldly said that, “for almost every quote [in the early Church] exalting Rome, there’s a corresponding quote to other major Sees.”  Let me unpack that.  In other words, for every church father or church council that seems to interpret Matthew 16, John 21, and Luke 22 as referencing St. Peter and his successors in Rome, you can find the same said about Antioch or Jerusalem or some other ancient see and its leaders.  So what Rome claims to apply to them exclusively until the end of time, there is the same kind of language applying to some other see or leader.  If it were true, this would kind of prove the Lutheran claim (as well as the Orthodox one) that all of the ancient councils and fathers were merely stroking an ego and not insisting that Rome had a unique claim to primacy.  This would imply that their words were mere flowery flattering language that was, for all intents and purposes, without any real meaning at all.  As one commentator put it, if everyone is the supreme and divinely instituted head of the Church, then no one really is.  It would certainly help the idea of a conciliar structure over a papal one.

As much as I would like to believe this, I am not really convinced that this is the case.  I certainly do believe that the claims of Roman exclusivity and the papacy are overblown by Rome and that these developed over time and were not there or even hidden there from the beginning and yet I do not quite believe that every ancient see and its bishops were spoken of in exactly the same way.  It is pretty clear that Rome became the first among equals in a way that other ancient sees did not.  That said, as a Lutheran I would emphasize the equals part more than Rome every would.  

Although it is not an uncommon thing to say, Rome today is centered in the papacy far more and very different from previous eras in history.  Francis spoke a good line about synodality but never actually practiced it and appeared to this Lutheran to be far more the dictator who neither sought nor paid much attention to the bishops or the cardinals who were supposed to advise him.  Vatican I and the aftermath of Vatican II have mightily elevated the papacy to the point where bishops have become mere lackeys of the pope rather than occupants of an office with some authority.  Those who have used the authority they have today have used it mostly to be an irritant to everything traditional in doctrine, worship, and practice rather than to be the guardians over the flock in their care (a certain Bishop Martin of Charlotte seems to be a fair example of the kind I am talking about).  It is this that I wish more would focus upon today.  Bishops have become more functionaries of the pope and administrators than teachers and shepherds.  Popes the same except to the ninth power.  

Having a bishop is no guarantee of orthodox belief or practice.  Only an idiot says otherwise.  But neither is not having a bishop a guarantee of anything (except perhaps disdain for apostolic custom and Biblical order).  Having a pope is no guarantee of orthodox belief or practice either.  Francis is our most recent teacher of this truism.  Yet again, not having a pope does not guarantee more orthodoxy either.  My own longing is not for a pope who might be a convenient symbol for Christianity and the Church but for real teaching bishops who act truly as shepherds and who value orthodoxy not as a hindrance or constraint but the pure freedom that the Church was meant to enjoy.  At this point, those arguing for or against Roman primacy or the papacy might at least admit that Christianity continues to bleed because we have had too few of those kind of leaders and suffer the continued want for men of courage and integrity and a catholic identity, rooted in Scripture and living tradition that has and always will surround it.  So it seems to me that all the effort put into trying to prove or disprove Roman primacy and the papacy might be better spent raising up better than administrators but true bishops and shepherds to oversee the flock of God.