Text: Romans 3:19-28
Theme: “Who Was Luther before He Was Lutheran?”
Reformation
Sunday
October
29, 2017
Trinity
Presbyterian Church
Denton,
Texas
Rev. Paul
R. Dunklau
+In the
Name of Jesus+
19 Now we know that whatever the
law says, it says to those who are under the law, so that every mouth
may be silenced and the whole world held accountable to God. 20 Therefore no one will be
declared righteous in God’s sight by the works of the law; rather, through
the law we become conscious of our sin.
21 But now apart from the law
the righteousness of God has been made known, to which the Law and the
Prophets testify. 22 This
righteousness is given through faithin[a] Jesus Christ to all who
believe. There is no difference between Jew and Gentile, 23 for all have
sinned and fall short of the glory of God, 24 and all are
justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came
by Christ Jesus.25 God
presented Christ as a sacrifice of atonement,[b] through the shedding of his
blood—to be received by faith. He did this to demonstrate his righteousness,
because in his forbearance he had left the sins committed beforehand
unpunished— 26 he
did it to demonstrate his righteousness at the present time, so as to be just
and the one who justifies those who have faith in Jesus.
27 Where, then, is
boasting? It is excluded. Because of what law? The law that requires
works? No, because of the law that requires faith. 28 For we maintain that a
person is justified by faith apart from the works of the law.
Rest
assured, you are in reasonably good hands.
Pastor Hunter didn’t let the proverbial fox into the hen house. Although I’m not a “child of the
congregation”, my wife – Diana Cheek – most definitely is. The same goes for her mother, Pat. If I get out of line, I’ll hear about it! When
the history of Trinity congregation – indeed, the history of Denton, Texas! –
is written, there ought well to be an entire chapter devoted to the Cheek
family! When it comes to divine love in action, to peace, justice,
reconciliation, standing up for the downtrodden and supporting them even when
it’s not popular or politically expedient, they have been and remain on the
front line. I’ve just been along for the
ride for nearly twenty years!
You
all have something special here. Each time
among you, I’ve felt at home – be it for a holiday service, a wedding, a
memorial, a regular Sunday in the church year. I felt a sense of sanctuary in
all the best senses of the term. It was an honor to be asked by Pastor Hunter
to help out today, but I can’t help but think that he didn’t quite think things
through.
The
fact is, you may not be in reasonably good hands from the pulpit; you may not
be in good hands at all. After all, I am
a former Lutheran, and this is Reformation Sunday! Besides, it’s not just any old garden variety
Reformation Sunday; it’s the 500th anniversary of the Reformation
this year. Yes, five hundred years ago,
October 31, 1517, Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the Castle
Church in Wittenberg, Germany. At the
time, he had no idea what he started.
I
am, at least in part, an heir to the tradition that bears his name. I guess you could call me a “Lutheratyrian” –
one who endeavors to keep the best elements of both traditions. So, as Doc
Holliday said to Wyatt Earp at the end of “Tombstone”: “Oh, I’m not as sick as I made out!”
More
recently, from Presbyterianism, I developed a deeper appreciation for the
sovereignty of God, God’s in control, etc.
Yet that’s comforting only up to a point. Hallelujah!
God’s in charge! But
nevertheless, what does God think about you, about me, about us? We’re getting much more personal now; we’re
getting warmer. This is where the
Lutheran emphasis on the grace of God comes into play – that utterly pure,
sheer, gift of God in Christ, coming to us in the means of grace, that makes of
us beloved, free children –and not human robots marching lock and step to the
dictates of religion.
Of
course, being full bore Presbyterians; you’d expect to hear from John
Calvin. Throw in a little John Knox for
good measure. Ulrich Zwingli was kind of
a biggie. He and Luther had it out over
the Lord’s Supper. Maybe there ought to
be a nod of the head to the Scottish roots of Presbyterianism and the impact of
the same on American democracy. I apologize for disappointing you on that
score. No worries, though. Craig will be back soon,
and today we’ll say the prayers and prepare to head out for Sunday brunch. “Egg and I” is pretty good, by the way. What
time do the Cowboys play?
But
before that, we’ll sing “A Mighty Fortress”; it’s woven into our confession of
faith. It was Martin Luther, the
Lutheran, who wrote the text and authored the lurchy tune that was actually
included (the tune, that is) in the second to last Presbyterian hymnbook. The tune was fine – authentically
Lutheran. The text was not so
authentically Lutheran! Old #259 that employs Luther’s own tune offers
these words:
Behold
what wondrous deeds of peace God does for our salvation;
God knows
our wars and makes them cease in every land and nation.
The
warrior’s spear and lance are splintered by God’s glance;
The guns
and nuclear might stand withered in God’s sight;
The Lord
of hosts is with us.
Luther
– who was born in 1487, who died in 1546, and spent nearly all his life in
Germany – knew nothing about splitting the atom or anything related to nuclear
power and weaponry, and so on and so forth.
What
Luther did know about was the massive conviction – yes, the sheer gift -- that
is called faith. Here’s an authentically
Lutheran verse:
Mit unsrer Macht ist nichts getan,
With our might it can’t be
done.
wir sind gar bald verloren;
Soon were our loss effected.
es streit’ für uns der rechte Mann,
There fights for us the right
man!
den Gott hat selbst erkoren.
That God has personally
chosen.
Fragst du, wer der ist?
Ask you who this is?
Er heißt Jesus Christ,
His name is Jesus Christ.
der Herr Zebaoth,
The Lord of the heavenly
armies
und ist kein andrer Gott,
There is no other God.
das Feld muss er behalten.
The battlefield belongs to
Him!
Speaking of this verse, one of my
mentors, the late Dr. Oswald C.J. Hoffmann, declared: “There’s a depth of theology in this that’s
nearly impossible to explain.” You see,
once you’ve explained it, you can move on.
Sadly, much of Christianity – in the
west in general and in America in particular – has moved on. We’ve explained the Gospel that Luther and
the other reformers sought to extol, or so we tend to think. It’s yesterday’s news. Everybody knows it. Reformation theology and even Christian theology
itself belongs in the dustbin of history.
Now we have bigger fish to fry.
Now we have a country to “make great” again. Now we must take to the field promoting a
kind of Evangelical nationalism. If a
little Christian theology can help return America to her former greatness, so
much the better. The ends justify the means.
Keep Jesus, but drape him in the flag.
I must say that I regret the loss of
the native meaning of the word “Evangelical”.
That native meaning has been hijacked and kidnapped during my
lifetime. Martin Luther, five hundred
years ago, didn’t want to be called a Lutheran.
Rather, “Evangelical” was a-okay.
Then, an Evangelical was one, first and foremost, who believed and bore
the “evangel”, the “gospel”, the blessed message that God freely forgives,
fully loves, completely adores you, me, all of us. But nowadays, “Evangelical” has a far different
definition: anti-abortion, anti-LGBTQ,
pro-conservative, America first, with a militant Jesus leading the charge. One retired military general fully expects
the second coming of Jesus to include an angry Savior coming down from the
heavens armed with an assault rifle.
Such millennial overtones and smells bring me no comfort.
Only the sweet gospel brings
comfort, brings life, to the parched and dead landscape of the human soul.
I ask: “Who was Luther before he was a
Lutheran?” I did mention that he didn’t
like being called that. He preferred
“Evangelical” in, of course, its native meaning. Before he Evangelical, he was Roman
Catholic. If you want to go way back
before the 29 year old Luther posted the theses, you would find that he was not
only a Roman Catholic, he was an Augustinian.
He was a monk at a monastery. He
was not of the Franciscan order. He was
not a Benedictine. He was an Augustinian
monk at the monastery in Erfurt. Noting
his devotion to God, one colleague called him Philosophus Sacrificulus: the little philosophical priest. He did engage some philosophy. Humanism was in vogue at the time and had
infiltrated the world of theology a bit.
But mostly, Luther – with his sacrifices, his prayers, his rituals, his
practices, his denial of self – tried to be the best monk he could be for God,
for others, for himself.
The Augustinians were named for that
great church father, Augustine.
Augustine was big on the power of divine love. God’s love was there to make you divinely
loveable. Follow those spiritual
practices to the best of your ability, and chances were good that you would
become loveable – for yourself and even for others. Then all would be well with you both here and
in the hereafter.
But the harder Luther strived, the worse
it got. He would only see how
imperfectly he practiced his religion.
He pleaded this with his father/confessor Staupitz, but all Staupitz
could do was give him faltering reassurance that he was doing well and that God
loved him.
Later, as a young professor of
theology at Wittenberg University, Luther was aghast at the Roman Catholic
practice at the time of selling sheets of paper called indulgences. The proceeds would help build the basilica in
Rome, and the faithful could be reassured that their dearly departed loved ones
could spend less time in purgatory having their un-confessed sins purged out of
them so they might be perfectly loveable and translated into eternal
bliss. Hints of this can even be seen
today. When my father died over a year
ago, we received sympathy card from a couple of Roman Catholic friends. They made a donation to their church so that
a number of private masses could be said for the “blessed repose” of the soul
of my dad. It was essentially that kind
of practice “on steroids”, to borrow a phrase, the drove Luther, in part, to
pin the 95 Theses to the door.
Luther was on his way; things were
getting warmer. Later, the monk turned
professor discovered more. Salvation was
not a process worked out in human beings.
Being a Christian was not about living and dying in conformity with
Christ’s living and dying. Making yourself loveable to God to earn his full
favor was disaster. Only when the cross became Christ’s alone,
with no substitutions or additions or strivings provided by Luther or anyone,
did things come clear. Then the trumpets
sounded. Then, as he said, “the gates of
heaven were open to me”. “The just shall
live by faith”.
I cannot say for sure whether you
believe or feel that the “gates of heaven” are open for you as they were for
Luther. I know little of your triumphs
and tragedies. I know, for the most
part, that we all strive at something, for something. We’re all little Augustinian monks in that
regard. We see the world; we watch the
24 hour news cycle; we age. We rearrange our priorities. At times we doubt our own faith and
piety. Many times we question what is in
our head and in our heart. What can we
do? What must do? Sometimes some sort of Staupitz comes along
with only faltering reassurance. A pat
on the shoulder comes with a “There, there now!
It’s alright. You’re doing the
best you can.” But something inside us
says we’re not.
If that’s you, then you know
something of Luther before he was a Lutheran.
When the love of God became a given, a sheer gift that was entirely
Christ’s doing, then, well, we had us a reformation!
I know I need my heart reformed
today. Maybe you do to.
Before Luther died, his own pastor
asked him whether would die trusting only in Christ. His last word was a firm “yes”.
Another professor and formative
influence in my life, Norman Nagel, says more:
“The last words he (Luther) wrote,
‘We are beggars; that is true” are important, for beggars live only by what is
given them, that is by faith alone.
Faith’s content Luther never brought to more strong and simple
expression than in the explanation of the Second Article of the Small
Catechism.
I believe that Jesus Christ, true God, begotten of the
Father from eternity, and also true man, born of the Virgin Mary, is my Lord,
who has redeemed me, a lost and condemned creature, purchased and won me from
all sins, from death, and from the power of the devil, not with gold or silver,
but with his holy, precious blood and with his innocent suffering an death,
that I may be his own, and live under him in his kingdom, and serve him in
everlasting righteousness, innocence, and blessedness, even as he is risen from
the dead, lives and reigns to all eternity.
This is most certainly true.
Amen.
