Random Thoughts Triggered by a Month of Reformation

I carry a notebook and jot down thoughts continually, half formed thoughts that are more like questions then answers.  Sometimes I work them out more completely, other times I just think them and leave them for someone else to work.  Here are some that I want to record because I lack the time just now to whip them into any type of fuller coherency.  Most deal with concepts related to the month of celebrating the Reformation in our church (which strained a little at my former Roman Catholic upbringing).

Why do we hate silence in our church services?  There is never a moment to be quiet before God.  In our church we always have to sing.  We sing to enter, we sing to worship, we sing at the offertory, we sing at communion, we sing when we leave.  And consider prayer, when was the last time you heard the pastor call you to prayer and then had a silent church for ten minutes as each soul wrestled inside itself.  Nature abhors a vacuum, and church congregations abhor silence in prayer.  After thirty seconds of silence, someone is guaranteed to pray.  My soul needs silence in church, places where I can appropriate what I have heard, what I have done.  Places where there are no longer the distractions of the spiritual cacophony that often fills our sanctuaries.  I am reminded that it was only in the silence that Elijah heard the still small voice of God speaking to Him.

Why are Protestant robes black, and Roman Catholic robes white?  For as much as we Protestants like to lean on scriptural warrant, it seems from on-line sources that the Protestants chose their robe color because they placed a high emphasis on trained and educated clergy, and black was the color of the academic robe.  Who can tell from the internet whether anything is really true nowadays, but this one sort of rings true in my ears.  The Reformation aftermath saw a significant shift in the understanding of ministry as a calling to that of a profession.  And it always seemed to me that one of the legacies of the Reformation was the constant reminder that all of our righteousness is as filthy rags.  Perhaps that’s why we prefer black to the white that the saints of God are always clothed in.  Sometimes we put too much emphasis on our depravity, and not on the image of God in which we are created.

I recently attended a wedding at a church where there was no altar or table at the front, just an elevated pulpit that dominated the entire front center of the church.  There was no cross, there were no adornments of any kind, and there was this strange scripture verse displayed across the front, “Remove not the ancient landmark, which thy fathers have set.” Proverbs 22:28.  I wondered if the church had ever seen true spiritual life in its sanctuary.  It was typical New England style, with pew boxes and austerity.  No room for a choir, little room for any instruments of worship, just the stark reminder of truth, forever set as a plumbline, and always condemning.

I remember the part in the movie about Martin Luther where his confessor Staupitz counsels him to pray simply to God from Psalm 119:94, “I am yours, save me.”

Staupitz:   “Martin, what is it you seek?

Luther:     “A merciful God.  A God whom I can love.  A God who loves me.”

Staupitz:  “Then look to Christ.  Bind yourself to Christ and you will know God’s love.  Say to Him,

                 “I’m yours.  Save me.”

Luther:     “I am yours.  Save me.  I am yours.  Save me.  I am yours.  Save me.

How great a difference that simple confession is, how much more compassion and comfort it brings, then the most robust theological discussion of the doctrines of salvation, justification, and sanctification.  I am yours.  Save me.

Last one for today.  We have been discussing the Great Commission in church for some weeks now, but I find one disagreement in me regarding the initial premise of the whole thing.  I don’t think the thrust of the Great Commission is to make disciples, with the emphasis again on “teaching” and the underlying assumption that this is doctrine, truth, and right belief.  I think the entire purpose of the Great Commission is to bear witness to Jesus, His person, His message, His actions, His calling.  At least for me that is different then teaching right doctrine.  It is also interesting that the account in Mark is never mentioned as the Great Commission, even though it records the same historical occurrence.  Then again Mark says “Preach the gospel” as his rendition of the commission.  Luke’s account is broken up between his gospel and the first chapter of Acts, but even he says “You are my witnesses…”  I have been known to strain at a gnat and swallow a camel, but to turn the Great Commission into a command to teach right belief seems too Reformation to me.  Bearing witness to the work of God through His Son seems to be the starting point.  But we surely do like our doctrinal or propositional faith.

Reformation and Revival

 At the end of October our church celebrated Reformation Day.  I participated in it, but frankly with mixed feelings.  I am a follower of church history and can tell you why the Reformation was needed, in fact, why it was necessary, set in motion by the plan and purposes of God Himself.  But history is first and foremost factual, and facts need to be presented understandably if they are to be understood. I was manning the 95 Theses booth with a dog eared and stained reproduction of Luther's invitation to debate laid out on the table, looking much the way you might have imagined it being talked about and handed from person to person in the common rooms of inns and taverns.  What I found was that  many people had never heard of the Reformation, or Martin Luther, or the 95 Theses.  A whole section of their spiritual heritage and foundation had never been poured.  And of those that had some inkling of what those things referred to, no one had ever read the 95 Theses.  They had no opinion on them because they had no idea of what their content was.

The kids who came up to the table just wanted to know what they had to do to get a piece of candy.  At least they cut to the chase quicker than the adults.  But the fact of the matter is that you can't make the Reformation understandable by pinning the 95 theses on the wall while blindfolded, or fishing in a pond for fish cutouts that have the Solas of the Reformation written on them.  The bottom line was candy, not understanding.  Frankly I'm not sure you could ever make the Reformation anything but boring except to those with a scholarly or historical bent.  And that leads me back to what I was thinking about as I sat at the table and answered questions about Martin Luther, or his theses.  What is the difference between Reformation and Revival, and what does the church need?

Questions, questions, questions, and no complete answers seem to stand up and challenge them.  While I do not dispute the importance of the Reformation in the life of the church, I do wonder about its legacy, what we have made it to be.  At its hearts it was about restoring the centrality of Jesus to the church, retelling with power the story of grace received by faith, of restoring the liberty won for each believer at the cross, and making the very word of God available to each and every follower of Jesus.  What we have fashioned it into, in my thinking however, is the hammering out of each point of doctrine, finely honing it and expounding it so that a strong wall against error in thinking and behaving is hedged around us.  In my mind that's been tried once by a man named Moses who received the words of God on a mountain, written by the very finger of God.  And those that came after compiled instructions and elucidations on what those words meant, how they were to be interpreted, how they were to be lived.  And the law killed those who tried to serve it.  I am not saying that this is the rule, but it has proved itself time and time again, those that follow strict reformed teaching end up turning into grumpy old men.  Their life and joy is drained out of their soul.

That's why I wondered about Revival, rather than Reformation.  Revival seems solely to be the work of God's spirit, changing things from inside the human heart.  And maybe that is why we are so suspect of it.  We can never control the human heart, it is unpredictable, it it spontaneous, it appears to act without reason or forethought.  It moves on the wind of the Spirit, turning wherever the Spirit wills.  Two final scriptural thoughts.  First, Job 34:14  "If He (God) should determine to do so, if He should gather to Himself His spirit and His breath, all flesh would perish together, and man would return to dust."  And Psalm 104:29. "You hide Your face, they are dismayed; You take away Your spirit, they expire and return to their dust.  You send forth Your Spirit, they are created, and You renew the face of the ground."  Reformation and Revival....God removes His spirit and we die, He breathes and we are renewed.  God removes doctrine and dogma and what happens?  Interesting thought at least.

The Old, Old Story

It seems that the older I grow, the less sure I am in my assessment of life, in my spiritual faith.  I recognize this tendency because I find that I ask more tentative questions that I offer certain answers.  And recent questions as I sat in church include these.  Why did we invent liturgy?  Why do we have lectionaries of ordered scriptural readings to guide us through the church year?  And the simple answer is that we are selective beings, and left to ourselves we will surround ourselves with that which makes us comfortable, or content, or secure.  We will edit and redact until the spiritual story and setting suits us perfectly.  And in that comfort zone we will stagnate or decay; worse yet we will solidify and become set in concrete, unchanging, and losing the ability to effect change in our world.

Liturgy insures that each time that we gather in the name of Jesus, we do those things that are important to our spiritual wellbeing and growth.  Paul told the church that "all things must be done properly and in an orderly manner."  (I Corinthians 14:40).  Without a sense of what should be present, what priority it holds, and how it should be participated in our church services could become a hymn fest, or an all-night preaching service, or extended silence and contemplation, or concerts of prayer...whatever suits our fancies.  We see the hints of liturgy  in Acts 2:42, "They were continually devoting themselves to the apostle's teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer."   The elements of liturgy unfold in that passage, the word, shared life, the sacraments, corporate prayer; a skeleton around which diversity and variety can still be accommodated so as to be fresh, meaningful, and relevant.

 Liturgy is the moment in time in which we express our spiritual reality, Lectionary is the context. Using a lectionary helps us to avoid telling only part of the story of God's threefold action in our world, creation, providence, deliverance. And it guards us against losing the center of the story, Jesus. As the old hymn tells us, the repetition and cycle of the lectionary help us to tell the old, old story of Jesus and His love.  

And in that hymn we find the key elements of why lectionary preaching remains, in my opinion, one of the most powerful tools to fostering life in our church congregations, and raising up the next generation of churchmen and women.  Simply put,
Tell me the old, old story of unseen things above....
Tell me the story simply, as to a little child...
Tell me the story slowly, that I may take it in....
Tell me the story often, for I forget so soon....
Tell me the story softly, with earnest tones and grave....
Tell me the story always....
Tell me the same old story....
Tell me the old, old story, Christ Jesus makes thee whole.