Concordia Journal | Winter 2009 by Concordia Seminary

COncordia Journal

Winter 2009 volume 35 | number 1

The Churchâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;Voices and Structures A Church Caught in the Middle

Does It Take a Village to Raise a Synod?

Toward an Ecclesiology of Catholic Unity and Mission in the Borderlands Appraising Polity

Forming Pastors for the Whole Church

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COncordia Journal

Introducing

(ISSN 0145-7233)

publisher

Dale A. Meyer President

Executive EDITOR

William W. Schumacher Dean of Theological Research and Publication

EDITOR

Travis J. Scholl Managing Editor of Theological Publications

EDITORial assistant

Melanie Appelbaum

assistants

Carol Geisler Theodore Luebkeman James Prothro Travis Sherman

Faculty

David Adams Charles Arand Andrew Bacon Andrew Bartelt David Berger Joel Biermann Gerhard Bode James Brauer Kent Burreson William Carr, Jr. Anthony Cook Timothy Dost Thomas Egger Jeffrey Gibbs Bruce Hartung

Erik Herrmann Jeffrey Kloha Robert Kolb Reed Lessing David Lewis Thomas Manteufel Richard Marrs David Maxwell Dale Meyer Glenn Nielsen Joel Okamoto Jeffrey Oschwald David Peter Paul Raabe Victor Raj

Chemnitz’s enduring works Paul Robinson Robert Rosin Henry Rowold Timothy Saleska Leopoldo Sánchez M. David Schmitt Bruce Schuchard William Schumacher William Utech James Voelz Robert Weise Quentin Wesselschmidt David Wollenburg

All correspondence should be sent to:

Rev. Travis Scholl

CONCORDIA JOURNAL 801 Seminary Place St. Louis, Missouri 63105

Issued by the faculty of Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, Missouri, the Concordia Journal is the successor of Lehre und Wehre (1855-1929), begun by C. F. W. Walther, a founder of The Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod. Lehre und Wehre was absorbed by the Concordia Theological Monthly (1930-1972) which was also published by the faculty of Concordia Seminary as the official theological periodical of the Synod.

The Concordia Journal is abstracted in Internationale Zeitschriftenschau für Bibelwissenschaft unde Grenzgebiete, New Testament Abstracts.Old Testament Abstracts, and Religious and Theological Abstracts. It is indexed in Repertoire Bibliographique des Institutions Chretiennes and Religion Index One: Periodicals. Article and issue photocopies in 16mm microfilm, 35mm microfilm, and 105mm microfiche are available from University Microfilms International, 300 North Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, MI 48106-1346.

Books submitted for review should be sent to the editor. Manuscripts submitted for publication should conform to a standard manual of style. They will be returned to authors only when accompanied by selfaddressed stamped envelopes.

The Concordia Journal (ISSN 0145-7233) is published quarterly (Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall). The annual subscription rate is $15 U.S.A., $20 for Canada and $25 for foreign countries. Periodicals postage paid at St. Louis, MO and additional mailing offices. Postmaster: Send address changes to Concordia Journal, Concordia Seminary, 801 Seminary Place, St. Louis, MO 63105-3199

Cover art: “The Risen Lord” by Dr. He Qi (www.heqigallery.com)

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COncordia J ournal CONTENTS

EDITORIALs

5 8

ARTICLES

Editor’s Note—About the Cover

The Church—Voices and Structures William W. Schumacher

A Church Caught in the Middle

Does It Take a Village to Raise a Synod?: Structural Observations from the Emerging Church

Toward an Ecclesiology of Catholic Unity and Mission in the Borderlands: Reflections from a Lutheran Latino Theologian

Dale A. Meyer

Anthony A. Cook

Leopoldo A. Sánchez M.

Appraising Polity: Theological Lenses for Evaluating Structural and Governance Proposals for the LCMS

Forming Pastors for the Whole Church: Thinking Together About Pastoral Certification

GRAMMARIAN’S NOOK

BOOK REVIEWS

Erik Herrmann and David Schmitt Andrew H. Bartelt

HOMILETICAL HELPS on LSB Series B—Gospels Winter 2009 volume 35 | number 1

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editoRIALS

COncordia Journal

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Editor’s Note—About the Cover

We are absolutely thrilled to feature “The Risen Lord” by Chinese Christian artist Dr. He Qi (www.heqigallery.com) on the cover of this issue of Concordia Journal. I first encountered the art of He Qi a few years ago in an exhibit sponsored by the Overseas Ministries Study Center and Yale’s Institute of Sacred Music. I was stunned by it then, and I continue to be enthralled. His bold use of color and shape, his drawing on multiple art traditions, his faithful interpretation of biblical narrative—it all creates a total greater than the sum of its parts. Much like his older Japanese counterpart Sadao Watanabe (a familiar artist to those familiar with Concordia Seminary), He Qi draws deeply on the folk artistic and cultural traditions of his native land. But he is also drawing on western traditions, including modernist Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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art. His evocations go farther back into history, but his use of color and depiction of the human figure are reminiscent of Max Beckmann and Marc Chagall, particularly the latter’s stained glass work. In many ways, He Qi’s work reads like stained glass and is as luminous. Of course, what you see on the cover is a detail from the larger work. You can see the larger work in its full-color glory at www.ConcordiaTheology.org and www.heqigallery.com. At www.ConcordiaTheology.org and on the Seminary’s iTunes U site (itunes.csl.edu) you can also expect to find much more soon, including a kind of virtual exhibition of He Qi’s art. We are also planning to feature an interview with the artist in an upcoming Concordia Journal Currents podcast. The more one encounters He Qi’s art, the more one encounters the creative tension between the vernacular and the universal, the local and the global, what Robert Brusic calls the “synthesis between artistic indigenization and proclamation.” He Qi’s pictorial vocabulary is thoroughly Chinese, but the message is nothing less than the Gospel itself. Again, Brusic: He Qi presents us with art that connects us to the biblical story in a fresh, even a surprising, way. He is both storyteller and evangelist in his art. He is not only preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ, but he is also conveying a message that transcends cultural types. In seeking to dewesternize the Christian story, he is trying to open our eyes to the universal implications of the larger and all-encompassing narrative of God’s love for all creation. (Arts: The Arts in Religious and Theological Studies 9:3 (1997), p. 10)

This tension reveals itself in “The Risen Lord” by the placement of figures within the artwork, the balancing act that exists between the work’s center and its margins. At the center is the resurrected Christ himself. At the margins are groupings of Christ’s disciples. At the center is the Gospel, embodied in the One the Gospel proclaims. At the margins are the Gospel’s vernacular expressions, embodied in the persons of all those who profess him as Lord. And yet, Christ’s cruciform body extends from the center into, even beyond, the margins, his very vestments becoming the eucharistic table of those who gather as his body in the world. This makes “The Risen Lord” an illuminating artistic expression for this particular issue of Concordia Journal, which follows up on the July 2008 special issue on ecclesiology. Will Schumacher’s “The Church: Voices and Structures,” which immediately follows this Editor’s Note, sets the context for this issue and why the faculty felt it necessary to continue the conversation. In a sense, this issue continues a conversation that has been with the church since its birth. As The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod contemplates changes to its structure and governance, it does so within the creative tension between vernacular and universal that has followed Christ’s disciples wherever the Spirit has driven them. We are seeking to 6

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answer the question of what it means to be a confessional Lutheran fellowship in a particularly complex North American context. At the same time we are envisioning how we can be so within the one, holy, catholic, and apostolic church, the universal fellowship of God’s people in Christ in all places and through all time. This is a tension filled with challenge. The theological observer editorials by President Dale Meyer (“A Church Caught in the Middle”) and Anthony Cook (“Does It Take a Village to Raise a Synod?”) comment incisively on the shape of those challenges today. This is a tension filled with centers and margins. Nothing exemplifies this fact better than Leopoldo Sánchez’s article from “the Borderlands.” He speaks frankly and perceptively from his explicit position as a Latino immigrant and a systematic theologian of The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod. His questions arise from the margins, but address the center of what it means to live in a culture and society that will become only more diverse, and more diversely Latino. This is a tension filled with promise. Erik Herrmann and David Schmitt’s article (“Appraising Polity”), which seeks to provide theologically holistic ways to evaluate structural proposals, puts it plainly: “Shifting from the homogeneity of a German immigrant community to a church that has begun to reflect the diversity of its context has been arguably a positive development, intrinsic to Christianity’s ongoing task of translating the Gospel’s message in its proclamation” (p.36). Emphasis here on begun. Likewise, Andrew Bartelt speaks to the possibilities for the “whole church” to interact on an issue very important to the LCMS’ seminaries, the certification of candidates for pastoral ministry. Of course, Lutherans should be accustomed to living in creative tension. The trick, like it always has been, is whether the tension will produce fruit in the kingdom of God. That trick is God’s to play. But toward that end, we pray this issue of Concordia Journal supports the church to bear fruit that will last. On a final note, as we are preparing this issue for press, news comes of the passing of Father Richard John Neuhaus. Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, was his alma mater, and he often commented on Concordia’s role in his spiritual, pastoral, and theological formation. In our next issue, we will pay our respects by reflecting on his own legacy as pastor, theologian, and public leader. Travis J. Scholl Managing Editor of Theological Publications

Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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The Church—Voices and Structures

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With the beginning of a new year, the Synodical wheels have started to turn. District conventions are underway. The call has sounded forth for nominations for The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod’s national convention in 2010. In the midst of all this, a vital conversation is emerging, one that was initiated and encouraged by the Blue Ribbon Task Force on Synodical Structure and Governance (BRTFSSG). The Task Force has provided significant leadership to all of us in the Synod in this regard, yet the conversation which they have helped spark is by no means limited to their work. Part of that ongoing conversation will be the discussion of the specific BRTFSSG proposals for changes to the way The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod structures and governs itself. But the conversation necessarily extends beyond the details of those proposals, and certainly far beyond the next Synodical convention, as the church is remembering who she really is. The faculty of Concordia Seminary has been taking part in these important conversations about the church, both “in-house” among ourselves and as participants in events such as the Synodical Theological Convocation held last August in St. Louis. In that participation we see ourselves as learners as well as teachers, as listeners as well as speakers. We are particularly grateful to members of the BRTFSSG who have taken time to meet with our faculty for study and vigorous discussion on more than one occasion. Yet we are also happy to offer some of our insights and thinking as resources to the church, with the prayer that they may prove helpful to our Synod. Some of the fruits of our faculty’s study and reflection were published in the July 2008 special issue of the Concordia Journal. That issue was rather well received—we had to print additional copies!—and numerous readers let us know that they found it helpful for their own thinking and study. Now with this present issue we offer “The Church—Voices and Structures,” a “sequel” of sorts on the topic of ecclesiology, although these pieces can certainly be read on their own. Most of our readers will recognize that this issue interacts in various ways with other voices in this conversation about the church. The BRTFSSG has published Congregation—Synod—Church, which articulates theological principles underlying our Synod’s structure and polity. Additionally, the Task Force released Walking Together—The LCMS Future: Proposals and Possibilities for Consideration and Discussion (which is available online at www.lcmsfuture.org), and we understand that an important revision of those proposals is in the works as this issue goes to press. So the conversation, of which the essays here are a part, is ongoing. And yet, these contributions are not simply intended as reactions to, let alone critiques of, the specific BRTFSSG proposals. There will be plenty of discussion of 8

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the specifics and details at this year’s district conventions, not to mention the 2010 national convention. Our faculty is not interested in laying out some kind of agenda or platform with regard to these questions. What we are trying to do here is to provide some theological “lenses” through which church leaders, both clergy and lay, can consider and constructively discuss the proposals for themselves. In that sense, we expect that our common discussion of what it means to live together as the church in the twenty-first century will continue long after the next convention, no matter what decisions are made concerning our Synodical structure. Of course, when one looks through lenses, the view is shaped in specific ways. Our theological lenses will lead to certain specific conclusions. As just one example, Leopoldo Sánchez, working from his perspective as a Latino systematic theologian, sees some specific proposals in certain distinctive ways. But such specific assessments are meant to enrich and encourage further discussion, not to preempt it. A reader who reads this issue, the July 2008 issue, and the resources provided online (at www.ConcordiaTheology.org) in search of “the” St. Louis seminary position on a range of specific proposals will probably be disappointed. Frankly, our faculty does not have, and has not tried to develop, a singular position or a unified political agenda with respect to the restructuring proposals under discussion. And that, we believe, is as it should be. The church can expect us to bring to bear careful and fair-minded study, theological skill, and faithfulness to the Scriptures and the Lutheran Confessions as we do the work entrusted to us as theologians of and for the church. We want to do that work as good churchmen, in respect and mutual accountability, for the sake of Christ’s mission and the life and unity of his church. In short, we are all in this together. Which means that for constructive and truly generative conversation to happen, we must do the hard work of engaging one another in thoughtful discourse and meaningful action. This is work of both heart and mind. For what is theology if not fides quaerens intellectum, “faith seeking understanding”? As we pursue our part in that work of heart and mind, we welcome your responses to and reflections on the material we here contribute to the church’s conversation. Theology informs practice and vice versa, and in every age the church has been blessed when the Spirit has enlivened both in the name of the Son to the glory of the Father. William W. Schumacher Dean of Theological Research and Publication

Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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A Church Caught in the Middle

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When I was appointed Lutheran Hour Speaker and thereby became an itinerant weekend preacher throughout The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod, my wife gave me a large wall map. Coming home from each weekend trip, I stuck a pin into that map to track where I had preached. Now that I’m at Concordia Seminary, I continue to put pins in the map. Where is the biggest concentration of pins? After over 20 years of speaking on the road, the biggest concentration is in the Midwest. While that is not surprising for a church that hangs onto the name “Missouri Synod,” it is also a stiff challenge as we discuss restructuring our church. True, we have hundreds of thousands of members outside the Midwest but the “heartland” is still our center of gravity. Most official publications and pronouncements are issued out of St. Louis. District offices are located throughout the country, but presidents and executives make dutiful pilgrimages to St. Louis. Of our 12 institutions of higher learning, seven are in the Midwest. Five are outside the Midwest but include Selma, Alabama, a place that deserves more attention than we have given it. We talk much outreach, but the pins on my map show the day-to-day reality. We are a reflexively Midwestern denomination. Caught in the Middle, written by Richard C. Longworth and published last year by Bloomsbury, convinces me that restructuring has to ask how we can take the synod’s Midwest center of gravity and somehow disperse it throughout the country. Keep the headquarters in St. Louis, fine, but somehow our members from coast to coast, especially on the coasts and in the South, need to feel that synodical institutions are closer to them to serve them in their own unique regional contexts. Twenty years of traveling tells me they don’t feel that way now. I wrote “somehow” in two of the last three sentences because I don’t think the answers to the real challenges before us can be met simply by organizational restructuring. Somehow we have to disperse our institutions more evenly. Longworth doesn’t write about church things, but what he writes implies a challenge to an unquestioning continuance of our synodical center of gravity in the Midwest. An award-winning journalist who used to work for the Chicago Tribune, Longworth says, “Most of the Midwest remains in denial about globalization,” which he defines as “a revolution in communications” (pp. 6, 12). A few cities like Chicago, Minneapolis, Peoria, and Warsaw, Indiana, have adjusted to globalization, but most have not. By the way, he is hopeful about St. Louis, in part because of Washington University, a close neighbor of Concordia Seminary, only a few blocks away. But generally the Midwest picture is bleak. “Look close and you’ll see that the towns are shrinking, the factories are empty, the main streets are half-vacant, the fields are farmed now by one family where once a dozen families made their living” (p. 226). Have you taken a Sunday drive through Detroit or Cleveland lately? Or how about getting off the interstate and driving through our dying small towns? 10

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Can The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod, declining in membership, grow from this decaying Midwest? In the past, yes, but now it’s a question the restructuring of the synod must wrestle with. Let me share one sign of decline. Going back to 1974, entering residential classes at Concordia Seminary have averaged 109 first-year students. In the next three years we project the number of new residential students to be in the 70s or 80s each year. It is not that they are going to Ft. Wayne; fewer and fewer are going to both seminaries. Concordia, St. Louis, also has contextual programs toward ministry, like the Specific Ministry Pastor program, the Ethnic Immigrant Institute of Theology, the Center for Hispanic Studies, and the Center for Cross-Cultural Ministry, distance programs that prepare students for pastoral ministry while they continue living in their own contexts. Concordia Seminary’s 2008 entering class was roughly 60% residential and 40% contextual. Something is going on with these numbers, and one thing is that the Concordia University System is sending fewer and fewer residential students to the seminaries. Remember those universities and colleges are predominately in the Midwest. We are asking the wrong question when we debate whether a clergy shortage exists or not. That reveals a non-growth attitude. The real question is this: Where will our future clergy come from and what will they look like? The composition of the Seminary’s student body will be one of the most important indicators for or against future synodical membership growth. If we sentimentally assume that the seminaries will continue to draw students from traditional LCMS demographics, we’re in trouble. Longworth: “Towns with immigrants are growing. Towns without immigrants are shrinking.” (p. 138) “Great Gothic institutions rooted in proud histories, these universities cannot be nimble enough to function in a fast-changing economy” (p. 184). My promise is to work so that Concordia Seminary proves itself nimble enough to provide the right kind of pastors who reflect the demographics of America so that the Synod can do its mission in this new era. With that, we will also provide the theological support for our graduates and for their parishioners, the baptized who welcome the Seminary faculty delivering faithful insights on demand and in real time to this “priesthood of all believers.” My predecessor John F. Johnson talked about a “seminary without walls.” I assure you Concordia Seminary has begun the institutional transformation. Spreading out the synodical center of gravity requires innovations from institutions, some innovations already known and others yet to be revealed, some relatively easy to accomplish but others daunting. With this volume of the Concordia Journal, our faculty is pleased to constructively contribute to the ongoing discussion about restructuring The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod. Let’s live a more deeply examined life. Somehow—there’s the word again—the pins in my map need to be more evenly distributed in years to come. Dale A. Meyer President Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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Does It Take a Village to Raise a Synod?

Structural Observations from the Emerging Church While surfing the Internet, I came across a press release from Emergent Village—a significant contributor to the American emerging church movement— detailing significant structural changes approved by the organization’s board of directors. The press release stated that after “an 18-month period of discernment that included focus groups, a vision retreat, and an online survey completed by over 2,000 interested persons, the Emergent Village board of directors…decided to take a significant step away from institutionalization, ‘gifting’ the organization back to the grass-roots networks that birthed it.”1 As a result of this decision, the role of national coordinator held by Tony Jones since 2005 would be eliminated in order to “flatten” the organization’s structure. The board of directors, which includes a number of well known emerging church figures such as Brian McLaren, Karen Ward, and Mark Oestreicher, hoped that discontinuing the national coordinator position, combined with a significant reduction in the organization’s fundraising efforts, would result in a structure more akin to a social network than a traditional 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization. For those not familiar with Emergent Village, it began in 1997 with a coordinating group known as the “Group of Twenty.” The group’s desire was to facilitate generative conversational friendships between missional Christians interested in exploring what many would define as an emerging expression of Christianity. For over a decade, Emergent Village has enriched the emerging church conversation through annual events, a Web site (www.emergentvillage.com), and numerous resources published by its leaders through its three publishing partners. Friends of Emergent Village meet in “cohorts” to participate in small local conversations about faith and life. The local cohorts are entered into a searchable database so that those interested in participating can find a cohort in their area. As I reflect on the press release, I cannot help but compare Emergent Village’s structural changes with the proposed structural changes emerging from within my own cohort of Christian friends—The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod. While I find a strange sense of comfort in knowing that we are not the only group of Christians dealing with organizational issues—even a group for two or three Christians must establish a time to meet and who will bring the refreshments—I wonder what would happen if we followed Emergent Village’s lead. What would a flattened Missouri Synod organizational chart look like? What would it mean for our official leadership to gift back the organization to the members who birthed it? What if the LCMS was more open-source and less Microsoft? What would happen if we, like our postmodern emerging friends, turned a critical

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eye toward modernism and its resulting nonprofit organizational structure in search of a more relational social-networking alternative? While it is historically accurate to say that our LCMS forefathers were more interested in maintaining orthodoxy than establishing generative relationships within conversational social networks, maybe we can do both. In order to do this, however, we would need to avoid the pejorative use of words such as “missional” and “confessional” as if they were binary opposites and, instead, see ourselves actually as friends in respectful conversation. While it is sometimes fun to be a reenactment theologian or pretend to be the pope in Rome pronouncing judgment on the impostor in Avignon, the Church of God is larger than any one individual, congregation, or even denomination, and the unity of the social network that is the body of Christ seems a worthy goal. While engaging in conversation that honors God and protects our neighbor’s reputation, we can devote our newfound time seeking the transformative tension between missiology and ecclesiology. This, I believe, is not unlike the tension Emergent Village is attempting to maintain in its proposed restructuring. It makes me wonder if the key to our structural issues is not in promoting a change in the number of circuits, districts or votes, but in promoting open and honest Christian conversation both inside and outside our organizational walls. As I reflect on the goal of the Emergent Village leadership in changing their organizational structure, I must admit that my goal for LCMS restructuring is the same: to maintain the original intent of the organization’s structure. So it seems reasonable that if I still believe that the original intent of our organizational structure of the LCMS is that the Gospel is preached in its purity and that the sacraments are administered rightly, then it is of the utmost importance that the conversation continues. As someone who has studied both sociology and computer engineering, both of which address the importance of maintaining stable networks, I learned that maintaining the integrity of any network by protecting the individual nodes and their numerous connections is vital in facilitating open and effective communication while avoiding fragmentation and isolation. Could it be possible that a lack of “network integrity” is to blame for the radical congregational autonomy and rampant individualism that is often blamed for the decline of the organizational church? Is communication the key to promoting trans-local accountability in the church of God that many are beginning to desire? Could simple words communicated through conversations of hope actually have the power to mend relationships and restore lives? I was once told a story of a Father who saved his entire family by means of one single Word—I know there is hope. And in the end, when the convention is over and our press release is placed on the Internet for other Internetsurfing Christians to find, I hope it tells the story of a struggling group of

Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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Lutherans who, regardless of their past differences, put their differences aside—not in order to save their institution through organizational restructuring, but to dedicate themselves to saving people through generative relationships and conversations of grace. Anthony A. Cook Assistant Professor of Practical Theology

Endnote

1 Tony Jones. “Emergent Village Makes Significant Changes in Structure,” Emergent Village. (November 2008).

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ARTICLES

COncordia Journal

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Toward an Ecclesiology of Catholic Unity and Mission in the Borderlands Reflections from a Lutheran Latino Theologian

Leopoldo A. Sánchez M.

Recent discussions on synodical theology and polity have focused on the language of “unity” and “mission.” Members of the faculty of Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, have raised key issues related primarily to the unity of the church, arguing in particular for a stronger commitment to the translocal dimension of our life together, our accountability and responsibility to one another as congregations of Synod.1 On the other hand, Dr. Robert Newton’s main plenary essay in last summer’s theological convocation, where the Blue Ribbon Task Force for Synodical Structure and Governance (hereafter BRTFSSG) also unveiled its preliminary proposals for walking together as Synod, argued for our Synod’s missional identity in an increasingly pluralistic world.2 Historically, unity and mission discourses are nothing new in our Synod’s self-definition and understanding. C.F.W. Walther, our first synodical President, lists as the Synod’s “primary duty” faithfulness to the Lutheran Confessions, but also as one of its “major duties…the growth of Christ’s kingdom and the salvation of souls.”3 As its first two objectives, the Synod’s constitution lists the conservation and promotion of “the unity of the true faith” and the extension of the “Gospel witness into all the world.”4 Moreover, unity in the faith can be portrayed in our synodical tradition as both the presupposition for, and a servant to, God’s mission. C.F.W. Walther can call Synod to “promote the growth of its members in the knowledge of the truth in every possible way,” and to “strive for peace and unity in the truth;” at the same, he can remind Synod about “being intent not so much on its growth but rather on the growth of Christ’s kingdom and the salvation of souls” and therefore to “be intent on using the Gospel in all its purity and fullness to win souls and keep them.”5 Like love and marriage, unity in the Word and mission that delivers the Word go together like a horse and carriage. Having said that, in the context of the current synodical debate on unity, structure, and governance, I want to suggest that stand-alone discourses on unity Leopoldo A. Sánchez M. is the Werner R.H. Krause and Elizabeth Ringger Krause Chair for Hispanic Ministries, Assistant Professor of Systematic Theology, and Director of the Center for Hispanic Studies at Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, Missouri. Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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and mission as interpretive lenses for understanding ecclesiology have their strengths and weaknesses in terms of their productivity for answering certain pressing problems. More concretely, I hope to show that, in light of the increasingly ethnocultural diversity of our future, unity and mission language in synodical ecclesiology will need to be broadened and deepened critically and constructively with language that fosters the catholicity of our Synod’s identity and task in the church, the world, and the marginalized areas between the two. To that end, I propose to make room for an understanding of confessional unity and practice that is open to being enriched by a catholic diversity of faithful confessional perspectives on our common Lutheran theology and practice—one that is inclusive of Lutheran voices who represent the future ethnocultural make-up of the United States. In the process, I hope to make space for a more comprehensive look at mission to the “lost”—discourses that, in addition to the “non-believer,” include a broader spectrum of marginalized peoples who are in need of the Gospel and often walk a gray line between the spheres of church and world; namely, the uncommitted, the religious, and the poor neighbors in our midst. Finally, based on the two principles of catholic unity and mission in the borderlands, I will offer some preliminary reflections on potential forms of structure and governance that might best foster Synod’s work in the United States of the future.

I. Church Ain’t Done ’Til the Fat Lady Sings: Setting the Stage for the Uninitiated A growing choir of voices across The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod (LCMS) has ventured to sing opening themes of a yet unfinished opera. In a pastoral letter to Synod, President Kieschnick commissioned a work on “Synodical unity, structure, and governance,” or as he put it, a work “regarding how we can and should function together in love as brothers and sisters in Christ.”6 As a critical step in the process of composition, the President’s appointment of the BRTFSSG to facilitate and guide “a thorough and fundamental review of what our Synod is, how it is organized, and how it functions” has so far yielded three documents for study, consideration, and discussion.7 Thus the increasing number of voices (from laity to pastors to district presidents to seminary professors)—with all the wonderful harmony and complex dissonance such a group of voices suggests—has sought to contribute to the theology concerning Synod and the potential corresponding structure(s) that might best serve it in our twenty-first century. What the end product might sound and look like is still being negotiated in the court of ecclesial dialogue and debate. Amid the diversity of voices, two dominant themes have surfaced repeatedly in shaping a theological agenda for our life together. Voices from various quarters have privileged singing to the tunes of “unity” and “mission,” assuming the need for and inseparability of both (no one argues against this!), but often the relative priority of one quality of the church 18

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over the other. Some tend to argue, for example, that unity in faith and practice must be more firmly grounded among us before Synod can speak of structural proposals that foster mission.8 Others tend to argue that, in spite of our sins, need for repentance, and disagreements in how doctrine is applied, doctrinal unity is more or less already in place among us; therefore, we must be bolder in mission and move on to review structures that may or may not be facilitating such mission.9 Where one stands on the issue of relative priority depends on how one reads the current state of Synod and what problem(s) one is actually trying to address. We cannot predict the final outcome of any evolving proposals for reviewing Synod’s structure and governance until the current dialogue bears some fruit.10 Beyond the most immediate and current discussion in our Synod, sustained reflection on a confessional Lutheran ecclesiology for the twenty-first century still remains on the docket. Recalling the heavy-set woman’s solo in the final aria at the ending of Wagner’s lengthy opera Der Ring des Nibelungen (a.k.a. The Ring Cycle), an old southern saying best describes our present situation: “Church ain’t over ’til the fat lady sings.” Yet we must begin somewhere, and our present climate gives us that opportunity. In general, the unity vis-à-vis mission tone of the debate so far is instructive because it indicates the dominant sphere from which the main melody and variations in the yet unfinished piece are being conceived. But there is a contextual nature to these arguments which needs to be carefully considered and profoundly broadened in our reflection and action as we look towards our future walking together.

II. Putting My Cards on the Table: A Lutheran Voice Who Happens To Be a Latino Immigrant and a Professor of Systematic Theology Since we all bring our own serious concerns to the theological task, I want to put my cards on the table right away and admit that I come to my reflections wearing two hats. First, I teach systematic theology at Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, and do so joyfully and with a profound sense of gratitude to the Lord for his gifts of theology, wisdom, and scholarship in the service of forming confessional pastors, deaconesses, missionaries, and leaders of our Synod who are one in their commitment to the Word and their learning to be accountable to one another in their theology and practice. As a systematic theologian, for the purposes of this essay, I am also especially interested in how current arguments on the church’s unity and mission are constructed or framed, and how productive or useful such discourses are for answering some crucial contemporary issues. So that’s one hat. Second, I am a Latin American who has made the United States my home. Having been born in Chile, raised in Panama, and living now in the U.S. for over 15 years, I have officially become a first-generation immigrant to this country. In Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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North America, I am categorized nowadays for census purposes as a Hispanic or Latino minority-soon-to-be-majority person. More on that later. More importantly, for our present purposes, it was also in the U.S. that I made the LCMS my home church through the witness of a family of farmers in Iowa and their pastor’s family. Since those high-school days in the heartland of North America, the Lord has put me in situations where I have had the opportunity and privilege to work with, advocate for, and represent Hispanics/Latinos as a Lutheran college student, seminarian, vicar, graduate student, and pastor. Given the school of experience in which the Holy Spirit has had his way with me through the Word of the Lord, I have become an advocate for mission—especially among, and with, Latinos in the United States. So that’s my other hat. Somewhere in the middle of these two dimensions of my ecclesial identity, I am the current Director of the Center for Hispanic Studies (formerly, the Hispanic Institute of Theology) of Concordia Seminary, St. Louis. Along with a dedicated group of faculty, staff, regional coordinators, and partners across the nation, the Center provides ministerial formation in the Spanish language leading to certification for pastoral and deaconess ministry and offers leadership to Synod at large on various issues related to theology and missions in and with U.S. Latino communities. As a Latino systematician who regularly teaches in both English and Spanish, and as a Seminary faculty member with administrative duties who seeks to work with willing districts and Synod to identify, recruit, form, and place Latino church workers in an increasingly non-Anglo nation, I am faced with some big demographic realities and questions. Among LCMS constituencies, one of the voices that has yet to sing more boldly and be heard more broadly is the voice of the future—or better yet, the near future. In August 2008 the U.S. Census Bureau projected that by the year 2042, minorities will have become the majority in the nation.11 Even earlier, by 2023, more than half of all children in the U.S. will be from current minority groups; moreover, in 2039, the working-age population (18 to 64) is projected to be more than 50 percent minority. In particular, Hispanics/Latinos are expected to triple in numbers between 2008 and 2050 from 46.7 to 132.8 million. In other words, by 2050, about one out of every three people in the U.S. will be Hispanic/Latino. Demographics raise some questions in the context of other relatively recent synodical happenings. In June 2006, the President of Synod appointed a Blue Ribbon Task Force for Hispanic Ministry with the charge “to study and determine the best methodology for the Synod to move aggressively in its mission to Hispanics (Latinos).”12 Among various recommendations in its final report, this Task Force called Synod to “hear the Hispanic voices in forming the church’s future” and work towards “cross-pollination in leadership structures.” Given these recommendations, and in light of the dialogue on synodical structure, I ask myself: What does it mean for our Synod to be and function as church in an evermore eth20

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nically diverse U.S., and more specifically, in an increasingly Hispanic/Latino U.S.? What does the monumental demographic shift in the nation mean for the future existence of Synod—the Synod of our children and grandchildren—and the shape of its structure and governance at a time when current LCMS membership is less than 0.4 percent Latino (far behind the current 15% Latino population in the U.S.)? As we think about “Walking Together” and “the LCMS Future,” to quote the title and subtitle of the recent document for discussion on Proposals and Possibilities from the BRTFSSG, I ask myself: How promising are ongoing unity and mission discourses in ecclesiology that are not significantly deepened by the minority-soonto-be-majority voices of the future? Let me offer some preliminary critical reflections towards an answer to these questions and some constructive proposals.

III. Wearing the Systematic Theologian Hat: A Conversation with a District President and a Seminary Faculty on the Contextual Nature of Discourses The BRTFSSG has been open to conceiving and laying out proposals and possibilities on synodical structure and governance through a process that has sought consideration and discussion from various constituencies. I have had the privilege of participating in discussions among my Seminary colleagues in St. Louis on the questions raised by the BRTFSSG and broader ecclesiological issues.13 At last summer’s theological convocation, I also had the honor to be one of five respondents to Dr. Robert Newton’s main plenary essay “He Opened Their Minds: The Missio Dei as Interpretive Lens for God’s Word and World.”14 As a systematic theologian, I am interested in how their various arguments are constructed or framed, as well as how these arguments are productive or useful for answering particular questions that are seen as crucial today. First of all, I am intrigued by the hermeneutical question that Dr. Newton’s essay raises. He is asking a “church” question: What are the biblical sources through which we understand or interpret what the church is and what she does in the world? Citing Luke 24 as a starting point, Newton argues that “our Lord Himself identified His Mission as the hermeneutical key that unlocks the treasures of Old and New Testaments.” In other words, Christ and his mission to save the lost helps us read Scripture as the grand narrative of the Father’s establishing of his kingly rule through the Son’s redemptive work and through the Spirit-breathed proclamation of the Gospel by his co-workers and co-priests throughout the world. Newton goes on to argue that “the Missio Dei is likewise required for a proper reading of our Lutheran Confessions” precisely because justification by grace through faith flows out of and rests solely on God’s disposition to save the world on account of Christ’s merits through the church’s preaching of forgiveness to the whole world. Mission is, one might say, the cosmic implication and ecclesial orientation of the central doctrine and trinitarian reality of justification. For Newton, therefore, it is both biblical and confessional to see the church Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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as missional not in an ancillary way but in an essential way. Mission is, therefore, of the esse (or “being”) of the church. Such a statement should not be interpreted to mean that membership in the Una Sancta is jeopardized by one’s failure to evangelize. It goes without saying that only the Gospel makes us worthy to stand forgiven before God. What Newton calls for is a basic recognition that Scripture and church are concerned with the proclamation of the Gospel to the lost at a fundamental and defining level. It is tempting to make ecclesiology (or for that matter, all theology) a corollary to missiology, especially when the missio Dei is grounded in the justifying activity of the Trinity and the centrality of salvation in Christ, which are constitutive mysteries of the Christian faith. But is there more to the church than mission? Or rather, are there other qualities that are at least in some sense of the esse (or “being”) of the church? In contrast to the missiological trajectory of Newton’s essay, one of the immediate concerns at the Seminary has been primarily—although not exclusively—questions dealing with the unity of the church. For sure, we confess to be an apostolic church that proclaims to the nations the Christ to whom the apostles and their associates bear witness. But we also confess the “one” Christian church. This orientation towards speaking for the unity of the church (especially, in regards to the unity of our Synod) is evident in the special July 2008 issue of Concordia Journal. Among faculty members in St. Louis, such an argument for unity as constitutive of the church goes something like this: while we LCMS Lutherans, following C.F.W. Walther, typically see the local congregation as “church,” and even the Evangelical Church everywhere in the world as “church,” we seem to have a harder time thinking and acting as if “Synod” is, in some sense, “church.” In a North American context that privileges individualism, it is argued that local congregations tend to see themselves as too autonomous in relationship to other congregations and even to the communal reality of a “Synod” in general. Moreover, in a North American context that privileges consumerism, it is argued that congregations tend to see “Synod” primarily as a provider of goods and services that one may or may not choose to use. In this line of argumentation, carving out a trans-congregational space for Synod (a space that sees Synod not only as an entity that performs “churchly functions” but as “church” proper) would make room for individualistic and marketdriven congregations to show more responsibility or accountability to one another in their Lutheran confession and practice. A number of biblical sources where ekklesia denotes a group of churches that relate to one another are advanced in order to establish the trans-congregational nature of the Synod as church, along with corresponding responsibilities that church members from individual congregations might have to one another as a result of trans-local Synodical identity. In response to these North American problems, one gathers that the pressing issue is 22

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church unity. Understandably, biblical narratives that point to the fellowship of the church in its trans-congregational aspects are seen collectively as an interpretive lens for discussing the esse and practice of the church. Robert Newton is concerned primarily about the mission of the church, a central dimension of her apostolicity. Members of our Seminary faculty have raised unity issues. Their arguments in favor of mission and unity as interpretive lenses for ecclesiology are quite instructive. Just as the issue of unity or fellowship through accountability to one another is raised by faculty at Concordia Seminary in response to specific questions and challenges, so also the missional focus in President Newton’s essay grows out of a desire to offer answers to some pressing problems not unlike what we might expect from a district president working with pastors in the trenches of ministry and mission fields. Newton reminds Synod that in a post-Christian era, an un-churched society, and a pluralistic religious landscape, we can no longer think of the church as the privileged sphere of religious values or assume people will be directed to the church for the answer to their spiritual questions. As Newton put it in the recent past, we are no longer living in Jerusalem (churched society, as it were), but rather in Babylon (or un-churched society, as it were). Unity… Mission… The BRTFSSG has listed as two of its goals in its current work both “the development of a higher and deeper church-consciousness and mission commitment.”15 Such a deeper church-consciousness has been listed, although in passing, in response to the challenge of North American individualism. It is at this point that the Seminary faculty’s recent reflections on the Synod as church have contributed to deepening this goal of the BRTFSSG. Robert Newton’s reflections on the missio Dei from a confessional Lutheran position that privileges justification as the center of God’s missionary activity in the world have contributed to deepening the Task Force’s desire for mission commitment throughout Synod. Unity…Mission… As a systematic theologian, I am interested in going a bit more deeply into the relationship between the two. These are both dimensions that are part of any serious Lutheran ecclesiology. Obviously they should go together. Perhaps there is a logical priority of one vis-à-vis the other depending on the particular problems of our present contexts that have to be addressed. Practically speaking, synodical structure proposals must be sensitive and conducive to both concerns. If individualism is the problem at hand, then the question of fostering unity takes some logical precedence over the question of mission. If religious pluralism is the challenge at hand, then the question of promoting mission takes some precedence over the issue of unity. However, logical priority does not mean excluding one concern in favor of the other. Neither Dr. Newton nor the Seminary faculty is guilty of elevating one quality of the church to the exclusion of the other. We do Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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pastoral theology in response to pressing issues. Yet we must still be careful as leaders and doctors of the church that our hermeneutical claims are framed in a way that we do not provide eager factions across Synod with ammunition to divide the church. In the context of current Synodical debates on structure and governance, we must remember that unity and mission are only our tasks insofar as we are called to be good stewards of what God has given us. In this sense, we work in every era, in spite of our sins and in the face of various challenges, towards expressing ever more faithfully in our words and deeds what God has given the church. Any absolute claims that we cannot be missional until we are truly one, or that we cannot be the church until we are missional, stress too much unity and mission language as pressing tasks and ultimately miss the giftedness that is the church as God’s own creation through his Word. As tasks of the sanctified life of God’s justified people, the truth of the matter is that neither unity nor mission is of the esse of the church. It is only as gifts of God that unity and mission are of the esse of the church. They are a given among sinners simply because they have been given to the church in every age by the Spirit of Christ who guides the church into all truth in spite of her sins and her failures to be united and missional. It is also the case that mission and unity are deeply linked to one another and often face the same challenges. Mission and unity discourses must foster their solidarity with one another in a common confession of Christ. For example, consumerism affects both our tendency to view Synod as a provider of goods (the faculty’s concern) as well as society’s view of the church as one among many options in the pluralistic religious marketplace (Newton’s concern). One can also affirm that a church body cannot deal justly or adequately with the problem of religious pluralism unless it is committed to a unified confession of Christ in the world of religions and gods, and even to some sort of unified witness to the world in its practices. Finally, the problem of lack of accountability across congregational boundaries will require not only their willingness to hold to a unified confession and practice, but also their desire to work together in God’s mission and become accountable to one another as they do so. It is precisely in the trenches of life—in the mission fields, as it were—that people from various congregations often learn to depend on each other, think as one, and be one. IV. Wearing the Latino Immigrant Theologian Hat: Broadening and Deepening Unity and Mission Discourses from a Bicultural Location Now let me wear my Latino immigrant hat without quite taking off the one of the systematic theologian. I mentioned that I come to the table as a first-generation U.S. Latino immigrant. To quote Cuban-American theologian Fernando Segovia, “One of the features of an immigrant’s social location is one’s bicultural identity, namely, the sense that one is neither fully from the country of origin nor 24

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fully from the adoptive country.”16 At the same time, precisely because of their bicultural identity, first-generation immigrants can become bridge-persons between two cultures, and thus people who can critically look at the good, the bad, and the ugly in both cultures and in their values and theological priorities. There is much good that first-generation Hispanic/Latino and other immigrant cultures can learn from the critical and constructive use of “trans-local church” and “missio Dei” language in current Synodical discussions. The influential political and economic role of the U.S. in an increasingly globalized world—however positively or negatively one might choose to construct such influence—has undoubtedly brought with it the spread of “American” values, such as individualism and consumerism around the world. Moreover, in the process of assimilation— however positively or negatively one chooses to interpret that reality—the children of first-generation immigrants to the U.S. are likely to face capitulation to the same priorities in their outlook on life over a period of time. For these reasons, no church-going immigrant can or will be completely immune from these external pressures from North American culture. It is also true that the move towards living selfishly apart from community, or living large without concern for the other, are not the exclusive properties of North American society. Otherwise we would never have seen the rise of liberation theologies in Latin America or other parts of the two-thirds world where the church felt compelled to speak boldly to oppressive and powerful sectors of society concerning justice and the priority of love for the poor. It goes without saying that no romantic or utopian visions of Latinos or other immigrants being naturally family-oriented and/or peacefully communal peoples will ever fix challenges to the church’s unity and fellowship. We must be willing to do honest, self-critical analysis of any culture, and be watchful of individualistic impulses from any culture that might mitigate against the church’s unity. The incredible ethnocultural diversity of people in the United States today and their ability to live and work together in a relatively stable society, where the ongoing exchange of ideas is typically fostered without fear of imprisonment or death, remains quite unique and unparalleled in the world and perhaps even in world history. In spite of its history of civil-rights struggles and sporadic fear of immigrants, and without minimizing the ongoing task of making historic victories in these areas into everyday commitments and practices, the U.S. must still be seen as a relatively welcoming and promising land for the migrant even if not necessarily the promised land where all dreams come true. Latin American and other immigrant societies bring their own historic national prejudices with them and often bear witness to painful and subdued histories of intra-discrimination that are still taking time to collectively accept and improve upon. We must be honest. Now, the U.S. is not only a religiously pluralistic society (other immigrant groups also come from such societies) but also a pluralistically tolerant society. Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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There is, of course, an advantage to such tolerance in a civil society insofar as people of various religions are free to express their views without fear of modern day forms of inquisition. As the theology of the two kingdoms (realms or governments) holds, Lutherans have always recognized that it is not the punishment of the sword but only the proclamation of the Gospel that brings sinners of all religious persuasions into a right relationship with God. Yet the challenge in North America has become the privileging of religious tolerance for its own sake. More than plain unwillingness to share the Gospel, a certain subtle capitulation to the non-confrontational nature of tolerance is perhaps one of the many competing reasons why North American Lutherans have lost their backbone and become silent about Christ and the Gospel in the world. Such an “American” value has also spread to Latin America and other places around the world. Like individualism and consumerism, bestowing ultimacy to some notion of religious tolerance is likely to creep, over time, into the homes of immigrants and their children. In this context, the call to be missional, to recapture this dimension of our Synodical identity, has its definite place. Having looked critically at the potential usefulness of unity and mission discourses in a U.S. context for immigrants to the U.S. and their descendants, I now move to the other side of the cultural border in order to challenge and enrich the same discourses. More to the point: as a U.S. Latino theologian, from a bicultural hermeneutic or lens, I now bring questions about what “unity” and “mission” mean when we use those terms in a North American context. What is the intended scope of these terms? Let me begin with the issue of unity. As the Director of the Center for Hispanic Studies of Concordia Seminary, I am not only interested in the question of access of Latinos/as to Lutheran theological formation programs, but also in the question of what Latinos/as in the LCMS bring to the table as contributors in our common theological reflection as Synod, especially as we begin to behold an increasingly minority-soon-to-be-majority nation—and more specifically, over time, with God’s help, an increasingly Latino LCMS. In an increasingly Hispanic/Latino nation, we need to reflect more on what “unity” means and what it does not mean. Their bicultural lens makes immigrants more sensitive to the dangers of confusing unity for hegemony, an unhealthy uniformity, or conformity. In the face of unity discourses, Lutheran immigrants ask: when does “unity of confession and practice” language become effectively a rigid cultural uniformity dictated by a majority group’s questions, theological interests, and/or preferences in theological articulation and practice? When does a somewhat abstract but pious enough term such as “church culture” become confused with only one of a variety of cultural expressions of the church’s catholicity that are all equally faithful to the Scriptures?

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Other questions follow: Does confessional unity allow for a rich diversity of faithful biblical and confessional perspectives that allows Lutherans from other cultures to contribute to the expression of our one Lutheran confession without harming such unity? Does unity in practice allow for a diversity of faithful practices that do not attempt to go against the unity of the church, but enrich it in all its catholicity? These questions get at the heart of what, a few years ago, at the first LCMS Hispanic National Convention, Dr. J.A.O. Preus III, president of Concordia University–Irvine and a former professor at Concordia Seminary, referred to as the need for a Lutheran “theology of difference” that does not go against our confessional unity in the faith but sees its inexhaustible richness from a diversity of faithful angles and perspectives from all around the globe.17 To put it in another way, we must think through a Lutheran theology of “catholicity,” still part of the larger task on the path towards a Lutheran ecclesiology. Preus has been somewhat hesitant to see diversity in theological terms, emphasizing rather the diversity of languages, gifts, ethnicities, and cultures. Of course, he has in mind the danger of ending up with two “different” theologies in opposition to one another. At this point, it could be that the term “difference” does not lend itself to the deeper, classic language of “catholicity,” which can include complementary theological, liturgical, and pastoral ways of expressing the one true faith—as long as these are faithful to the Holy Scriptures—in response to various challenges and in the context of various cultures. Without such catholicity, it is tempting to see Latino Lutherans or other immigrants as the Lutheran church’s token diversity in some stereotypical way. Latinos do not only bring their nice songs, their fun fiesta, delicious foods, or some gifts of service to the table. Latino Lutherans are the church proper, too. They bring theological reflections and practices for the whole church to embrace over time that can give us all—if we are humble enough to accept it—access to what it means to be one, to have one rich catholic confession and practice. Unity can stand while also affirming a faithful diversity that sees the contribution of immigrants not as ancillary to the theology and life of the church, or as a nice entertaining or interesting “ethnic” thing in an already built edifice, but rather as a constitutive dimension of the church’s identity. As a U.S. Latino systematic theologian, I find it indispensable to complement and shape unity discourses with catholicity as another defining and indispensable quality of the church. In other words, catholicity too, as God’s gift, is of the esse of the church, and any discourse on synodical unity that does not take stock of the catholicity of the church past and present is saying too little. Such catholicity takes various ethnic, cultural, and linguistic forms, but also contributes to the church at large through liturgical expression, pastoral practice, and gifts of theological reflecConcordia Journal/Winter 2009

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tion proper. As a task in response to what God has given us, one can foster catholicity through a basic openness to hearing what the Spirit of Christ has to say through the Word spoken in the margins of the church, from various constituencies that are often seen as the weakest or least powerful in our midst. Without romanticizing “the little guy,” the often-marginalized immigrant, it is also true that God often calls the church to repentance and speaks the Gospel quite clearly away from centers of institutional power. St. Paul’s reminder to the Corinthians that the seemingly weaker parts of the body and their gifts are actually indispensable to the whole church makes that point clearly enough. Moreover, the apostle’s additional statement that these seemingly weaker brothers and sisters ought to be treated with special honor so that there might not be division in the church but only concern for one another stands as a perennial reminder to the church of the catholic character of her unity and fellowship. Now let me move on to mission discourses. As a U.S. Latino theologian, I also bring some questions about what “mission” means when we use that term in a North American context. From a critical bicultural angle, the immigrant theologian asks: What exactly does “mission” entail? How do we conceive of the “lost” among whom we are doing missions? When might theological narratives on mission, and their interpretations, miss the boat in our understanding of missions to, among, and with Latinos or other immigrants? Newton’s argument for mission as essential to the esse of the church has its biblical support, but is also filtered through a matrix where mission is placed in the framework of the contemporary shift in North American culture from churched to unchurched societies. It is argued that we are no longer in a churched society (in Jerusalem, as it were) where people come to the Christian church for spiritual leadership, but rather in an unchurched society (or in Babylon) that is typically hostile to the Gospel and where people look to a plurality of competing gods for their deepest questions. This paradigm is, in many ways, helpful and even biblical—one thinks, for example, of the Johannine conception of the “world” in terms of its hostile opposition to Christ and his words of eternal life. But perhaps the presentation of the paradigm is also a bit too “Americanized,” in a cultural sense, to fully understand Hispanics and reach out to them in terms of their own social locations. In some ways, the churched/unchurched matrix or bipolarity for framing the need for “mission” today does not fully allow for a more nuanced understanding of a significant number of first-generation immigrants and their descendants (insofar as the descendants share in the cultural-religious worldviews of their relatives through experiences at home and community). Such a matrix fits well in a North Atlantic context where arguably a broader societal move towards atheism, agnosticism, and secularism has to some degree predominated. In such milieu, the “lost” neighbor the church reaches out to is primarily the “non-believer” or “unbeliever” of the secularized first-world. 28

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Without denying that there are indeed secularly inclined “non-believers” in Latin America, or even various forms of New Age and pagan spiritual renaissance in North America, one must also understand that the Latin American religious landscape often shares characteristics of churched societies. There is an historic, cultural Roman Catholic presence in the region, which in some cases fosters respect for the church (even at times a sense of the “sacredness” of the church), or at least some openness to religion as a central dimension of life, and the overall idea of “Christianity” as a relatively privileged place for seeking spiritual answers to life’s problems. This is quite different from a Babylonian (unchurched) society. Likewise, the rising presence of Pentecostalism in the region’s major urban centers and rural areas, often as a Christian option outside of official Roman Catholicism, obviously does not represent a move towards a post-Christian, unchurched, or Babylonian society. At least in terms of the Roman Catholic and Pentecostal pieties, one could argue that the “lost” neighbor the church must relate to from Latin American origins is not, always and exclusively, the “non-believer” of the secularized North Atlantic world. In some cases, the Latino other is also the “uncommitted” who never went back to the Catholic church after baptism or first communion, or the former Pentecostal who left the church bitterly after some bad experiences with some forms of so-called prosperity and health-and-wealth gospel. Perhaps the more subdued Ablaze! “uncommitted” category fits a churched society better. In other cases, the “lost” from the Hispanic/Latino world the church must relate to is the “religious” person from a place where the world of spirits and everyday life intersect with each other. I do not want to romanticize popular religiosity in the Latino world, but I am also aware that the “lost” are not only the “unbelievers” of the world conceived of in materialistic terms. The lost are also the “religious” people of the sacralized world, that is to say, the world where there is space for the sacred. For sure, such recognition of the sacred could be seen theologically, apart from the Gospel of Christ, as both a dimension of the natural knowledge of God and as idolatry. Recognition of the sacred as such is not salvific. But it does provide a different starting point for God-talk in a way that is more foreign to secularized societies where a more materialistic conception of the world shapes everyday life. With a cultural foot in the sacralized two-thirds world and another in the secularized first-world, the U.S. Latino Christian immigrant theologian, who sees mission from a bicultural location, can constructively call for a broader discourse on who the “lost” are and, therefore, on what “mission” is and how mission strategies should proceed on the basis of a serious understanding of the various cultural realities that are and will be represented in the United States. From a U.S.-Hispanic bicultural location, discourses on the “lost” will broaden and deepen the Jerusalem vis-à-vis Babylon dialectic with a paradigm that can Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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include mission in and from Galilee. Being from Galilee is, in short, being and living in the borderlands, in the fringes of churched and unchurched societies, in the gray spaces between church and world, neither here nor there, neither in Jerusalem nor Babylon, and yet in both places at the same time. Since the borderlands are places of marginality, not only in a geographic but also a social sense, a Galilean location brings to our view of the mission of the church a concern for the marginalized. This adds a deeper dimension to our notion of the “lost” and our conception of mission. Here again the “lost” are not mainly the “non-believers” of the secularized and material world in the North Atlantic, but as Chilean theologian Segundo Galilea might say, the “non-persons” of the twothirds world.18 Theologian Virgilio Elizondo has done a thorough study of the Galilean location of the Christian message and suggests that Jesus’ social location is like that of Mexican-Americans in the U.S.-Mexico borderlands.19 “Nothing good comes from Galilee!” Galilee is a marginalized place, the region where Jesus came from. As a Galilean Jew, Jesus is not fully seen as a pure Jew by the Jerusalem Jews. Of course, neither is Jesus seen as a pure Gentile by the Romans. He is ultimately rejected and killed by the Jews and the Romans, by Jerusalem and Babylon. Similarly, the Mexican-American lives in a place of double marginality, for he/she is neither Mexican enough for the Mexicans nor North American enough for the North Americans. A Latino bicultural location can bring a critical perspective to both churched and unchurched societies, to both Jerusalem and Babylon (or Rome, to extend the analogy). At times, both types of societies have failed Latinos. In Latin America, for example, both churched and unchurched societies have openly taken the side of corrupt and oppressive governments. Not only Babylon, but even Jerusalem looks suspicious! In the U.S., unchurched society in its worst form wants immigrants for their cheap labor, sees them as “ethnics” who are culturally inferior to them, and marginalizes them institutionally in various ways vis-à-vis mainstream society. Churched societies, on the other hand, talk about reaching out to Latinos but at the same time fight over sharing the kitchen, facilities, and church space with them in local congregations. Synod as a churched society of sorts talks about reaching out to Latinos, but at the same time some of its districts suddenly cut Hispanic mission subsidies, or its national leadership cuts the position of national coordinator for Hispanic ministries or the funding for the former Hispanic Institute, without consulting with Latino/Latina leaders in the matter.20 For all these reasons, Latinos in the U.S. can be—and indeed often are—suspicious of both unchurched and churched societies alike. This is imperative to know for doing missions among Latinos in the United States. From a Galilean perspective, the “lost” the church relates to is the “non-person” of the marginalized world, of societal and even ecclesial borderlands. As the uncommitted, the reli30

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gious, and the poor, many immigrants in our midst are marginalized peoples in need of the Gospel who often walk a gray line between the spheres of church and world because they are suspicious of both. Thankfully, in the sphere of the church, I have seen such suspicion frequently yield over time to the Gospel, but also to the church’s holiness which, as a gift from God flowing from the Gospel, adorns her unity in the faith, apostolic mission and proclamation, and catholicity.

V. The Principles of Catholic Unity and Mission in the Borderlands: Preliminary Reflections on the Future of Synod in the United States I hope I have shown adequately that any stand-alone discourses on “mission” and “unity” as interpretive lenses for understanding ecclesiology represent only one dimension of a broader ecclesiology and, as contextual proposals, have their strengths and limits in terms of their usefulness for answering some issues. I have also attempted to show that, in an increasingly Hispanic nation, unity and mission language needs to be broadened and deepened critically and constructively with language that fosters the catholicity of the church’s identity and task in the world. To that end I have made room for an understanding of confessional identity that can be enriched by a variety of faithful expressions on our common Lutheran theology and practice. I have also made room for a broader look at mission to the “lost” that, in addition to the “non-believer” of the agnostic, secularized, and materialistic first-world, can also be inclusive of the “uncommitted,” the “religious,” and the “poor” neighbors who often live in the Galilean borderlands between churched (Jerusalem) and unchurched (Babylon/Rome) societies and therefore tend to be suspicious of both church and world. What then are some potential forms of structure and governance that might best foster Synod’s work in the increasingly immigrant and minority U.S. of the future? What ideas might our discussion offer for the future of our walking together as Synod? As a sort of suggestive theme to our unfinished opera, I humbly offer some preliminary ideas for consideration in light of the principles of catholic unity and mission in the borderlands. First, a strong commitment to the catholic expression of our Synod’s unity will promote collaboration between neighboring districts on issues related to doing ministry among and with (not simply ministry to) immigrant and minority groups— the future face of the nation—regardless of the number of districts or how they choose to organize themselves. This suggestion is congruent with the Task Force on Hispanic Ministry’s recommendation to Synod to use and live according to ecclesial language that would encourage inclusion of Hispanic voices in forming the church’s future by learning “to speak of ‘ministry with’ rather than…‘ministry to’ Hispanics and other ethnic groups.” The principle of catholic unity will not foster the formation of circuits by geographic location, by affinity group, or by size of congregation if this move leads Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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national Synod or district leadership to essentially delegate to other groups their primary responsibility for making sure that ministry among and with immigrant and minority groups in an increasingly diverse nation actually happens. In other words, Hispanic ministry is not only a Hispanic task, but the church’s task. We are all in this together as peers. Moreover, the formation of such circuits should not be promoted if such a move leads to the isolation and marginality of some ethnic groups in Synod, which could ultimately silence their voices and prevent them from contributing to broader sectors of the church at district and national levels. This sentiment parallels the Task Force on Hispanic Ministry’s recommendation to Synod not to marginalize any future Director for Strategic Development of Hispanic Ministries—a position that amazingly does not currently exist in an increasingly Latino nation!—under LCMS World Mission. The report stated that, “while mission is a critical component, the task force also sees great need to teach and affirm ministries of leadership development, stewardship, evangelism, parish education, fellowship, worship, and parochial schools.” In other words, Hispanic ministries must not be tucked away in a mission department but rather engage the whole church in all areas of our life together. Second, a strong commitment to the principle of mission in the borderlands, in the spaces of marginality where the suspecting uncommitted, religious, and poor live, will promote the deployment of relatively influential units of national and district leadership to work and live in close proximity to congregations in the field. Deployed leadership will move away from the centers of privileged power to the margins in order to share in the struggles and joys of God’s people, understand the challenges of their particular ministry and mission fields, and find ways of helping them collaborate with other congregations nearby in order to enhance their ability to impact their neighborhood with the Gospel and the works of mercy. Moreover, some deployed staff will work and live in areas with a critical and growing mass of often forgotten immigrant and minority groups where the Lutheran church has not had an impact and/or has had a weak presence and response. Finally, the principle of mission in the borderlands will not promote a proposal for greater representation based on number of members per congregation, but rather continue the current practice of providing each congregation of Synod the same voice at the table. Keeping this practice in place will guarantee that smaller congregations—in particular, those of already underrepresented immigrant and minority groups in Synod—will still have a voice like everyone else and, moreover, will prevent any minority-soon-to-be-majority church body to lord it over minority voices of Synod in the United States of the future. Endnotes

See the articles by Arand, Kloha, and Schumacher in the July 2008 issue of Concordia Journal 34:3. Available online at http://www.csl.edu/Img/Publications/WebCJJuly08.pdf 1

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2 The August 2008 Convocation was entitled “Carrying Out God’s Mission in the 21st Century: The Relationship Between Theology and Polity.” The main essay by Dr. Robert Newton, CNH District President, former seminary professor of missions, and missionary to the Philippines, was appropriately entitled “He Opened Their Minds: The Missio Dei as Interpretive Lens for God’s Word and World.” Available online at http://www.lcms.org/graphics/assets/media/CTCR/The%20 Missio%20Dei-Newton.pdf 3 Theses from Walther’s Duties of an Evangelical Lutheran Synod, in Congregation–Synod–Church: A Study Document on Basic Theological Principles Underlying LCMS Structure and Governance (April 2007, 37–38). Available online at http://www.lcms.org/pages/internal.asp?NavID=13865 4 Constitution of The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod, Article III, 1–2. Available online at http://www.lcms.org/pages/internal.asp?NavID=13004 5 Ibid. 6 President Gerald B. Kieschnick, Pastoral Letter regarding Synodical Unity, Structure, and Governance, Office of the President, March 1, 2005 [hereafter Pastoral Letter]. Available online at http://www.lcms.org/pages/internal.asp?NavID=7582 7 The documents are Congregation-Synod-Church: A Study Document on Basic Theological Principles Underlying LCMS Structure and Governance (April 2007), Walking Together—The LCMS Future: Proposals and Possibilities for Consideration and Discussion (August 20, 2008), and Who Is The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod? Congregations Walking Together (August 20, 2008). All documents are available online at http://www.lcms.org/pages/internal.asp?NavID=13865 8 Arguing for the trans-local character of Synod, as members of the faculty of Concordia Seminary have done, assumes more work needs to be done in cementing a greater sense of fellowship and accountability among congregations that tend to think of themselves too individualistically (see note 1 above). The relative priority of unity vis-à-vis mission can be seen in the general tone of a recent manuscript where the current executive director of LCMS World Relief and Human Care expresses his own personal views on the current Synodical discussion on structure. Matthew C. Harrison, It’s Time. LCMS Unity and Mission: The Real Problem We Face and How to Solve It (October 2008). Available online at http://www.scribd.com/doc/7861853/Its-Time-LCMS-Unity-and-Mission 9 This is the general tone of President Kieschnick’s 2008 address to the LCMS Council of Presidents, where he defends the remarkable unity in doctrine across Synod while also acknowledging some divisions in the application of doctrine. Gerald B. Kieschnick, Theological Unity and Division in The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod (April 21, 2008). Not surprisingly, the President’s Pastoral Letter already cited speaks of internal disagreements in how we function effectively for the sake of our mission as the reason for rethinking Synod’s structure and governance. The 2008 address is available online at http://www.lcms.org/graphics/assets/media/Office%20of%20the%20President/ Theological_%20Unity_and_Division_in_the_LCMS.pdf 10 Overall, the discussion has focused on the Proposals and Possibilities document and/or the preliminary presentation of its contents in 2008 to various constituencies such as the LCMS Council of Presidents, the LCMS Board of Directors, and a broader group at a Theological Convocation in August. All Convocation papers, responses, and proceedings are available online at http://www.lcms.org/pages/internal.asp?NavID=506. Responses from boards of directors of all 35 LCMS Districts have now been received. Next the Task Force plans to give presentations on their refined proposals at 2009 District conventions in preparation for a final report for action at the 2010 LCMS convention. See “Structure task force gears up for presentations to districts,” LCMS News 68 (November 21, 2008). Available online at http://www.lcms.org/ca/www/enews/ messagetext.asp?MsgId=6968 11 “An Older and More Diverse Nation by Midcentury.” Available online at http://www.census.gov/Press-Release/www/releases/archives/population/012496.html 12 In preparing its recommendations to Synod, the Task Force gathered input from both

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Hispanic and non-Hispanic constituencies in a national “Hispanic Summit” held in St. Louis on Jan. 16–18, 2007. For the document see Blue Ribbon Task Force on Hispanic Ministry Report: Una Misión, Un Mensaje, Un Pueblo. Available online at http://www.lcms.org/graphics/assets/media/ Office%20of%20the%20President/2007%20BRTFHispanic%20Ministry%20Report.pdf 13 The faculty of Concordia Seminary has dedicated significant attention and energy to ecclesiological questions for the past two years, especially in the form of two annual theological symposia and two theological journals with corresponding commentary on the Web by stakeholders on the issues. For the Writers’ Roundtables on the latest issues on Synodical structure and governance, see the Concordia Journal Currents for July and August 2008 online at http://www.concordiatheology.org; a variety of essays from the past two theological symposia (2007, 2008) are available online at http://itunes.csl.edu 14 For access to Dr. Newton’s essay, see note 2 above. My essay is a revised and expanded version of my remarks at the Convocation, which were actually shared in summary form on my behalf by Rev. Eloy S. González. For the original response, see note 10 above. 15 Congregation-Synod-Church, cf. principle 6, p. 6. 16 See Fernando F. Segovia, “In the World but Not of It: Exile as Locus for a Theology of the Diaspora,” in Hispanic/Latino Theology: Challenge and Promise, ed. Ada María Isasi-Díaz and Fernando F. Segovia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996): 195–217; see also Segovia’s “Towards a Hermeneutics of the Diaspora: A Hermeneutics of Otherness and Engagement,” in Reading From This Place: Social Location and Biblical Interpretation in the United States, vol. 1, ed. Fernando F. Segovia and Mary Ann Tolbert (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 57–73. 17 For Jacob Preus’s reflections, which were presented originally as a response to the opening Hispanic Convention essay by renowned church historian Justo González, see J.A.O. Preus, III, “A Reflection on ‘Ayer’ por Justo González. Bajo la Cruz de Cristo (Hebrews 13:8),” in Under the Cross of Christ – Yesterday, Today, and Forever: Reflections on Lutheran Hispanic Ministry in the United States. Monograph series no. 6. Concordia Seminary Publications, 2004, 51–64. 18 Segundo Galilea, Teología de la Liberación: Ensayo de Síntesis. Colección Iglesia Nueva (Bogotá, Colombia: Indo-American Press, 1978), 17. 19 Virgilio Elizondo, Galilean Journey: The Mexican-American Promise. 2nd Edition. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis, 1983. 20 Such synodical decisions have been clearly documented in a recent article by Eloy S. González, “At the Edge of the Nation Reprised: On Marginality and the Hispanic Church,” Missio Apostolica 16:1 (2008): 22–34.

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Appraising Polity

Theological Lenses for Evaluating Structural and Governance Proposals for the LCMS

Erik Herrmann and David Schmitt

In 2005, President Kieschnick appointed a special Blue Ribbon Task Force on Synodical Structure and Governance because of growing discord in our Synod. Such discord continued to undermine both the unity of our confession of faith and our work together in ministry and mission. In his Pastoral Letter announcing this decision, President Kieschnick said, We in the LCMS are not of one mind regarding how we can and should function together in love as brothers and sisters in Christ. Throughout our Synod’s history, its system of structure and governance has been discussed and disputed, revised and reorganized, altered and amended. With honorable intentions, we continue attempting to enhance, simplify, clarify, or rectify the way we live and work together in carrying out the purposes of the Synod. Yet we still have significant confusion and disagreement about what the Synod really is, what it does, and how it most appropriately functions. These issues concern me deeply. Under Scripture and the Lutheran Confessions, we must ensure that the Synod, a humanly designed organization, carries out all its objectives, especially the first one, to ‘Conserve and promote the unity of the true faith (Eph 4:3-6; 1 Cor 1:10)…’ (LCMS Constitution Article III). Agreements on how we live and work together must not foster division, but serve to build unity. … There is a great need for a thorough and fundamental review of what our Synod is, how it is organized, and how it functions.1

Presently, our church is deeply involved in this “thorough and fundamental review.” On August 20, 2008, the Blue Ribbon Task Force on Synodical Structure and Governance called for discussion of proposals it made public in the document, “Walking Together: The LCMS Future.”2 During the coming months, the synod Erik Herrmann, left, is Assistant Professor of Historical Theology at Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, Missouri.

David Schmitt, right, is the Gregg H. Benidt Memorial Chair in Homiletics and Literature and Associate Professor of Practical Theology at Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, Missouri.

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will engage in such public discussion. Presently, these proposals are being presented to 35 district conventions where the task force is gathering feedback. Then, in the fall, these proposals will again be presented, only this time to circuit counselor conferences where the districts have invited such participation, and the task force will again gather feedback. Through such mutual conversation and synod-wide participation, the task force will revise the proposals for a convention report to be completed in October. For many, attention is focused on the nature of the proposals, the choices that we as a synod are about to make. Such attention is certainly appropriate. But, in addition to attending to the choices we are making, we will also want to attend to the way in which we make them. The present synod-wide conversation about church structure and governance could easily mirror the ways of the secular polis, devolving into a political debate, where one lobbies for one’s own advantage, special interests, privileges, or power. Instead, we desire it to be a conversation that expresses our calling by God into his one holy people, the body of Christ, the church. How do we, as members of the church, speak to one another in love as we consider the challenges that face us in mission and ministry? How do we confess the doctrine of the church and embody it in our dialog and decisions as we seek to form a faithful expression of that doctrine in our “walking together” in days to come? Answering these questions will not so much change the nature of the proposals as it will change the nature of our discussion of them, inviting us intentionally to resist the cultural forces that pull us apart and to embrace the working of God that holds us together and finds expression not only in our decisions but in the ways we go about making them. In terms of the cultural forces that pull us apart, various factors have contributed to the fragmentation we now experience, some that stretch back decades or more. Yet probably no single factor has been more significant than the process of Americanization. This is not to say that enculturation is of itself inimical to the Gospel and the church. Shifting from the homogeneity of a German immigrant community to a church that has begun to reflect the diversity of its context has been arguably a positive development, intrinsic to Christianity’s ongoing task of translating the Gospel’s message in its proclamation.3 Nevertheless, there are certain American values that have had a negative impact, gradually eroding our sense of being church. The theological study document produced by the appointed Task Force, Congregation—Synod—Church, stressed this in its conclusion, “… the individualism and anti-institutionalism of our contemporary society have taken their toll on our sense of being the church in mission—and of being and acting as a synod. … one of our highest priorities needs to be the development of a higher and deeper church-consciousness and mission commitment in all our members, congregational and ministerial.”4 One cannot overestimate the significance of these influences on our contem36

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porary situation, many of which have grown out of the pluralism that is in the warp and woof of our Western society.5 In a pluralist society, the claims of various religious beliefs are no longer regarded as a matter of truth but of perspective. Differences are not differences of fact, rather they are to be tolerated as issues of personal choice. Faith is the private matter of the individual, separate from the public sphere. To assert otherwise is regarded as an expression of dogmatism and arrogance. Such a handling of religion is due in large part to the assumptions of the Enlightenment which have allowed only that which can be grasped and interpreted by the senses as “fact.” Consequently, truth claims about God or the nature and purpose of human beings are outside of the scope of what is knowable. The truth of faith can only be personal opinion, i.e. what is “true for me.” This is especially true in the American context where the separation of church and state has only exacerbated the privatization of faith and an individualist approach to church membership. One implication that has been observed is the parochial orientation of mission. Having largely acquiesced to the culture’s privatization of faith, the church has concerned itself primarily with forms of self-preservation, whether that be in larger “denomination-building” or in congregational “church growth.”6 The result is a domesticated gospel that appeals to the private tastes of consumers and an expression of an ecclesiology that reflects the culture’s individualism. At both the denominational and congregational level, activities of the church appear driven by principles of self-interest and entrepreneurialism rather than a vision that sees the life of the church beyond the immediacy of its particular community or institution. It is especially the American celebration of individual rights and autonomy that has impacted our own lived ecclesiology in the LCMS. To be sure, an American assertion of individualism has led to a lively embrace of the church’s mission at a congregational level. Rather than restrict mission to something being done by others in places other than one’s own context, individuals have become much more actively engaged in mission at a congregational level. Congregations think seriously and deeply about their own context, immerse themselves in the challenges and opportunities of their particular community, and take responsibility for their mission and ministry in that place. This contextualization of mission is wonderful. Unfortunately, however, such congregational fervor for localized ministry can produce, in the American context, what might be called a practical congregational individualism. Rather than thinking and acting corporately, pastors and congregations may conceive of and engage in ministry independently from other congregations, almost as “free agents.” In this case, the level at which individual congregations work together and are accountable to one another would be left to the personal preference of pastors and congregations that otherwise operate as autonomous entities. Typically, such relations would be marked by apathy and indifference or, worse yet, attitudes of rivalry and competitiveness. In some cases, congregations Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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and pastors may simply isolate themselves entirely, or form unions and networks disconnected from the whole, compromising our larger fellowship and identity as church. To be clear, this has never been the genuine theological position of our synod.7 Such a view is in many ways a caricature of the congregation’s evangelical freedom of self-governance. Nevertheless, it is a caricature increasingly found throughout our church “on the ground.” Of course, it is important for congregations to take responsibility for their mission and ministry in the place wherein God has gathered them. But our churchly responsibilities extend further than our own neighborhood and zip code. The New Testament and our Lutheran theology urge us to consider a broader vision of the church that obligates us to nurture meaningful ecclesial relationships that reach past the boundaries of the local congregation. This was the theme of the special July issue of the Concordia Journal on ecclesiology. The essays there stressed how the Scriptures, our Lutheran theology, and our own synod’s history encourage us to articulate and embody a doctrine of the church that includes theological and ethical relationships that are not only part of the life of the local congregation but are also “trans-local” or “trans-congregational.”8 This means that our identity and work together as synod ought to be regarded as more than simply an amalgamation of so many independent, autonomous congregations—a kind of federation of churches that together form an American denomination. Synod is rather one expression of the church’s trans-congregational life and ministry as the body of Christ.9 In a sense, then, our synod’s present considerations of polity are timely, giving us the opportunity, in the midst of a culture that pulls us apart as congregations, to witness the work of God that holds us together in the body of Christ. To be sure, our present considerations of polity are driven by “significant confusion and disappointment.”10 Such problems are real and only exacerbated by current financial trends and difficulties. But difficulties should not be the only cause of our conversation, lest such difficulties join forces with cultural trends and only pull us further apart. Instead, while acknowledging that we talk in the midst of real difficulties, we also want to confess that we converse in the presence of real strength— the power of God in the gospel that has called us and equips us to be church in this time and place. Can this work of God that gathers us together also hold us together in mutual conversation with one another as we consider proposals for our “walking together” in the world? The writers of this article believe so. To that end, this essay seeks to clarify how theology influences practice, how what we believe about the church influences how we converse with one another as we consider what it means to be the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod in the twenty-first century. Challenging the pervasive cultural trends of autonomy and individualism, our theology gives us a different framework in which to consider the proposals of the Blue Ribbon Task Force and to converse with one another about how we might more faithfully work and walk together as members of Christ’s body, the church. 38

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Theologically, some clarity on terminology and concepts is in order. When we speak about the trans-congregational church, we are not really introducing a new concept into Lutheran ecclesiology. It is, however, something that Lutheran theologians have traditionally assumed rather than emphasized. Greater attention has been given to the church as it is known through its center, namely the Word of Christ and the faith that this Word evokes. This makes sense, given the context of Luther’s sixteenth century (and Walther’s nineteenth century!), but also because it evinces a method that is intrinsic to all Lutheran theology. When approaching theological concepts, Luther and the Confessions often attend to what they call their “proper” definitions and relationships.11 What is “proper” in theology is what lies at its core and foundation, its center. Such “proper” definitions do not exhaust their subject matter, but they do order and orient theology rightly.12 Thus, for example, God’s “proper” work (opus proprium dei) is his gracious work of salvation. God also has other works, such as his wrath and judgment, but these are “strange” and penultimate works (opus alienum dei) that stand in service to his work of the Gospel.13 Likewise, in his commentary on Psalm 51, Luther defines the “proper” subject of theology (proprie sit subiectum Theologiae) as the justification of the sinner by God in Christ. Theology may overlap into other areas like that of philosophy and ethics, but no other subject or sphere of knowledge touches on man as sinner and God as the justifier of the sinner—God’s relationship to his sinful creatures through the Gospel is theology’s unique topic.14 So it is that when speaking of the church, Luther and the Confessions focus on its “proper” definition. Over against Rome’s hierarchical claims, the reformers stressed that the church, properly or strictly speaking (proprie dicta), is the assembly of true believers, the one holy church (una sancta ecclesia), the body and bride of Christ.15 A creature of the Word, the church exists as a spiritual fellowship of all who believe the Gospel, a “unique community” (sonderliche Gemeine; singularem communionem)16 extending throughout the world and throughout the ages. This is the church as it exists coram deo, in the presence of God. Passive—the object of God’s gracious work, the church receives its identity, its righteousness, from the Gospel of Christ.17 When Lutherans speak of the church according to its “proper” definition, they ground it in the doctrine of justification and the righteousness of faith. On the one hand, the church, like the righteousness of faith, remains hidden from our eyes. Only God can see the faith of the heart, only he knows who are the true members of the church. As the Creed indicates, the church is an article of faith. Yet this one, holy, catholic church is also a visible, empirical reality—a real community of people, with a historical existence that one can, in fact, “find.” Whoever would find Christ must first find the church. How would one know where Christ and his faith were, if one did not know where his believers are? … Now the church is not wood and stone but the group

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of people who believe in Christ (hauff Christglewbiger leutt). One must join himself to them and see how they believe, live and teach. For they certainly have Christ among them. For outside the Christian church there is no truth, no Christ, no salvation.18

While there are various visible indications of this community, Luther and the Confessions agree that its presence is certain wherever the Word of Christ is preached. “If the Word of God is present in its purity and is active, the church is there.”19 One finds the church precisely at the source and center of its life. Here in the proclamation of the Gospel and the administration of the sacraments the church’s unity is manifest throughout the world (AC VII). Of course, it is in the local congregation that one encounters the preached Word, but in no way does this definition intend to circumscribe the visible communion of the saints by individual “churches.” The proclamation of the Gospel and the celebration of the sacrament are never “private,” the single act of an individual congregation, but they are “public”—ministerium publicum—an act in concert with the church catholic. These are signs that indicate the whole Christian church on earth.20 So this is to speak of the church “properly”—the church viewed entirely from the perspective of the Gospel preached and believed, “the little sheep who hear the voice of their shepherd.”21 But this does not exhaust all of what we can and ought to say about the church. The reformers’ definition is intent on the church’s center, not its boundaries. From the spiritual fellowship of faith in God’s promise, the church radiates outward from Word preached to Word enfleshed and lived, faith incarnate in love. The images of the New Testament are striking in this regard: a vine in which are grafted branches that stretch forth and bear fruit; a body of many members joined together working and caring for one another and growing up into the head which is Christ. In these images we see a church that lives from identity to activity. When we shift our focus from identity—the church, “properly speaking”—to activity, this is not to shift from talking about the church to talking about something else. The church that believes (coram deo) and the church that loves (coram mundo) is still the church.22 Even a cursory reading of the New Testament reveals that the Scriptures not only speak about what the church “is,” but it also says a great deal about what the church “does.” Indeed, one begets the other. The indicative of who we are in Christ goes together with the imperative of how we live and labor together as members of his body. Paul is especially relevant here, where the apostolic exhortation and paraenesis persistently appeals to the corporate identity and activity of the church as the body of Christ. While Paul’s ecclesiological ethic is never conceived as the source of the church’s identity, it is not a matter of adiaphora either. Sharing diverse gifts for the common profit of all, striving to attain and maintain the unity of faith in the bond of peace, shouldering one another’s burdens—these are not 40

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just practical means for coexistence and cooperation, they are the inevitable fruit of a community gathered and fashioned by the Spirit of God.23 It is precisely here where the trans-congregational dimension of the church needs to be acknowledged and expressed. Paul is not just talking about local congregations, but concrete, lived relationships that extend into the life of the whole church.24 One cannot attempt to embrace the implications of being part of the body of Christ and yet express only parochial manifestations. To be sure, local congregations that gather in faith around the Word are truly church, bearing all the spiritual authority that the Word affords. Still, no congregation ought to see itself in isolation as the sum total or even as a microcosm of the visible church. It is interdependence, not autonomy, that characterizes the members of Christ’s body. This is important, then, for when we speak about “walking together” as a synod. Often we speak of “synod” as a human organization, an adiaphoron—something neither commanded nor prohibited by the Scriptures. But this of course depends on what we mean by “synod.” It is true that there is no prescribed form for church structure or governance. The manner in which we bind ourselves to one another and order ourselves is free and can change. “Synod” as such is therefore a matter of adiaphora.25 However, that we bind ourselves to one another in mutual accountability and love, that we express our unity in Christ through common confession and mission—this is not adiaphora; this is, in fact, what the church does because of what it is. In this case, there is something of a moral, indeed theological necessity standing behind our coming together as synod. When the Missouri Synod’s constitution cites such passages as 1 Corinthians 12 and Ephesians 4 as reasons for forming a synodical union, it is citing passages that describe how the church is to live out the reality into which it was baptized. When congregations bind themselves to one another in order to share diverse gifts for the common benefit of all, this is not just an exercise that makes good, practical sense. It is, in fact, the life of the body of Christ. Refusing opportunities to come together in order to remain independent and isolated from one another would contradict what the church has been called to be. Similar expressions can be found in Walther’s writings on synodical fellowship. William Schumacher’s most recent essay, “Thinking with Walther about the Church,” has already called attention to aspects of Walther’s doctrine of the church that included trans-local relationships and responsibilities.26 Though Walther always placed heavy emphasis on the evangelical freedom of congregations in their relationships with one another, he also wanted to make the case that congregations and pastors ought not exercise their freedom in order to remain independent from one another. Congregations had something of an “ecumenical responsibility,” indeed the duty to “seek the unity of the Spirit and the bond of love and peace with the orthodox church outside itself.”27 To express Christian unity in a synod was to be regarded as a God-pleasing work. In The Duties of an Evangelical Lutheran Synod, Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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Walther’s language is even more emphatic:

Every Christian is always dependent on other Christians, and every congregation is always dependent on other congregations, but without the interdependence being an absolute necessity. … [God] gave various gifts to various people, and all these varying gifts are to be used for the common good of all. However if this divine purpose is to be achieved, it is essential, that Christians band together, mutually sharing and benefitting from these many gifts. That is what happens when you have a Synod.28

While an individual congregation may have the “external right” to be entirely independent, to do so “would have been committing a terrible sin against the law of Christian love.”29 In no way does Walther wish to compromise Christian liberty with these statements or assert that such works of love are the source of the church’s identity. Nevertheless, he does indicate that when congregations see no need for one another they are not acting in harmony with the will and purpose of God. What then does this mean for decisions of polity? It means that though such decisions have no particular scriptural mandate, many of them are deeply important, moving beyond matters that are entirely neutral or merely a matter of pragmatics.30 Our choices of structure and governance reflect what we believe about the church as the body of Christ and need to express the theological relationships that God has created in calling the church into existence. When those relationships begin to erode, it becomes critical that our polity decisions do not exacerbate the problem by orienting us away from one another. Of course, polity is ultimately not the answer. No changes to our structure or governance will in themselves solve the problems or meet the challenges that face our church. But polity and order, when they arise from our theology, do have the ability to reflect and to encourage the way we ought to live, work, confess, and witness together. Just as the formation of the human body enables certain activities, indeed coordinates those activities for the good of the body and its life in the world, so too the formation of our synod encourages a way of being church, coordinating our walking with one another for the good of the church and for the sake of godly service in the world. Careful consideration of polity is therefore important and it is even more important for the church at this time. While, at the moment, “significant confusion and disagreement”31 coupled with financial difficulties impel us to examine our polity, greater theological reasons lie in the background. Ecclesiology is counterintuitive. It is fundamentally counterintuitive to all of us because of our sinful nature. But it is also contextually counterintuitive because of our North American environment. On the one hand, this environment encourages individualism, entrepreneurialism, and the commodification of 42

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Christianity, thereby forming churches that stand alone as self-serving organizations marketing religion to individuals formed to be consumers of religious resources, supporting the work of these organizations. On the other hand, this environment encourages the politicization of communal interactions, fostering party-consciousness, lobbying for special interests, and doing what needs to be done to win elections, thereby forming churches that are gathered together as people from different political parties are gathered together in a democratic nation, being ruled for a time by one who has been duly elected but meanwhile working to establish relationships that will either continue the present leadership or elect one’s own candidate in the future. These challenges are more aggravated and apparent now than earlier in our history and, for this reason, the work of the Blue Ribbon Task Force on Synodical Structure and Governance is important. It offers us the opportunity to think through how we might address this situation with a polity that is both theologically informed, reflecting our ecclesiology, and contextually sensitive, honoring and supporting the ways in which faithful congregations embody God’s mission in their particular contexts. More importantly, it offers us the opportunity to consider how we might work with one another in mutual respect, humble service, and Christian love. Part of that work begins now, even as congregations and districts consider the proposals set forth by the Blue Ribbon Task Force on Synodical Structure and Governance. At first glance, the “Proposals and Possibilities for Consideration and Discussion” appear scattered and diffuse. Rather than offering one single recommendation for re-organization that can be accepted or rejected in convention, the proposals survey a spectrum of choices detached from the rationale that would privilege one choice over another. For example, under the heading “Congregations and Districts,” the proposals include the following mutually exclusive ideas: increasing the number of districts from 35 to 100, decreasing the number of districts from 35 to 20, or leaving the number of districts the same.32 What is one to do with such contradictory proposals? One option would be to choose whichever proposal benefits one’s congregation the most. In this case, rather than foster conversation, the proposals offer choices and one selects that choice most amenable to one’s congregational ministry and mission. Self-preservation rules. Discussions over polity devolve into lobbying for special interests, advantages, or issues of power. The language of walking together, serving one another in mutual respect, humility, and Christian love remain words on a page, neither describing our conversation with one another nor being translated into our votes on a ballot. Another option, however, is to bring the language of walking together to fruition in faithful conversation—conversation that begins to flesh out a theologically faithful and contextually sensitive rationale for choosing one proposal over another. The task force has asked that the Synod’s members and leaders participate “as valued and active partners in this work-in-progress.”33 In this case, one would Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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suppose that this listing of proposals is not a listing of options to be ransacked for those that appeal to one’s self-interest but, rather, a spectrum of possibilities set forth by the task force inviting serious reflection and sacred conversation. Their variety is intentional. It extends the boundaries of our conversation, asking us to pray and to think seriously about the possibilities of our work together. In this way, their contradictions provoke conversation so that, as a synod, we converse with one another about the best ways in which we can walk together for the good of the church and for the sake of God’s mission in the world. Having such a conversation is essential to the work of the task force, for only through such conversation will a clear rationale be offered that explains why one might choose one proposal over another. Without such public discussion of the theological and contextual issues that shape one’s decisions, any decision that is made could be misread as part of a culture of special interests engaged in a struggle over power. The conversation and its public transparency are therefore essential. Yet, how does one engage these proposals in a way that promotes such faithful and formative conversation? Our suggestion is to read these proposals through three specific lenses of our churchly activities: (1) expressing unity; (2) enacting mutual accountability; and (3) engaging in Christian service by sharing diverse gifts for the common good and bearing one another’s burdens. When the print on a page becomes blurry, the use of a lens brings it into focus. When discussions of these varying proposals become blurry with issues of power and politics, using these lenses might bring certain topics into focus, topics reflective of our ecclesiology. The diverse and diffuse nature of the proposals could prompt discussion that divides us into special interest groups and struggles for power; these lenses, however, focus attention upon matters that embody a theologically faithful and contextually sensitive ecclesiology in which congregations join with one another in an expression of unity, for mutual accountability, and for Christian service, sharing diverse gifts for the common good and bearing one another’s burdens. It is our prayer and earnest hope that such conversation will lead to greater clarity and transparency in the purpose behind choosing one proposal over another as our synod considers restructuring in the future. What follows then is a listing of the three lenses, with a brief definition of each lens and then an example of what it would be like to use this lens for reading these proposals. The examples are descriptive and not prescriptive, geared to engaging conversation rather than answering any questions or making the case for one proposal over another. Our hope is that such theological reflection will be not definitive but exploratory, not programmatic but experimental, not closed but open-ended, as members of the church interact with one another in a dialog that manifests our Christian character and guides our work toward restructuring. At present, the work of the church lies in sustained sacred conversation with one another so that when proposals are chosen they will be chosen in a light of a faith44

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ful and transparent articulation of why this proposal has been chosen and not another. In order to promote and clarify that faithful confession, we would encourage the use of these three lenses in mutual conversation.

Unity

By uniting together in a synod, congregations express their unity in Christ. This unity is not achieved by our action of forming a synod. Rather, this unity is given to us in Christ and expressed by us in forming a synod. Having a God-given unity in Christ, we now seek to declare and share this unity with others by our work together in both word and deed. In reading the proposals through the lens of unity, one might ask the following question: “How does this proposal enable a faithful expression of our God-given unity in Christ?” Asking this question will focus one’s attention upon our desire to encourage through our relationships with one another the expression of the unity that has already been given to us by God in Christ. Example: In the discussion of “Congregations and Districts,” one proposal encourages “flexibility in providing access of pastors to one another.” It is suggested that “circuits could be formed geographically, by affinity group, by size of congregation, or by any other method deemed most appropriate by the congregations of the district.”34

Blurring In discussing this proposal, it would be easy for conversations to become blurred so that questions of unity are lost. Note how the proposal encourages congregations of each district to choose that approach which is most appropriate for them. As different congregations desire to organize the circuit arrangement of the district differently, one district in the church might be divided into circuits according to affinity groups, another according to congregational size, etc., with as many different organizations as there are differing desires. While this proposal allows for great freedom in congregational efforts to organize with one another—by affinity, by size, by location, etc.—the question of the purpose for such freedom in organizational arrangements and how such arrangements manifest and encourage an expression of unity remains unanswered.

Focusing In Acts 15, the easiest solution to the Jew/Gentile question that faced the early church would have been to separate the churches from one another, grouping them by affinity, namely Jewish churches and Gentile churches. But this would have run counter to the “truth of the gospel” (Gal 2) and the significance of Christ’s work that has made “one new man” out of “two” through his one body crucified Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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(Eph 2). The theological understanding of the body of Christ expressed especially in Ephesians 2:11ff, therefore, informed the way the apostles approached the Jew/Gentile question in Acts 15. The gift of unity in Christ prompted action that manifested that unity in ecclesial relations and confessed that unity in deed to the world. So, too, it may be helpful then to ask questions regarding the confession of unity as we recognize how we are called together in one mission but with different gifts in different locations in the kingdom of God. Using the lens of unity, one might ask the following questions of a structure that creates space for such organizational freedom. How does this organizational freedom best serve the expression of unity in the church both at the district level (wherein these groups of congregations are walking together) and at the synodical level (wherein the districts themselves may greatly differ in terms of how congregations are organized into circuits)? How will this greater freedom for circuit organization best serve confession of unity as congregations holding something in common (place, size, or practice) work together in common mission? How might it prompt a greater degree of disunity as circuit organizations manifest divisions between various congregations or practices of ministry? How will this organization facilitate mutual discussion of common purpose, and mutual support of theologically faithful and contextually sensitive practices of common mission? These are all questions of unity that allow for faithful reflection upon how ecclesiology is reflected in such matters of polity.

Mutual Accountability Gathered together by God in one confession and one mission, congregations also desire to manifest their mutual accountability by their organization into a synod. Mutual accountability is not a technique that we use in order to achieve unity but rather an expression of the unity that we have already been given. It is not a theory of co-existence but a practice of ecclesiology. God has called us to be members of the same body and given us interdependence for the good of the body. This unity and interdependence are made manifest as members submit to one another and build one another up in love. Contextualization of the faith raises complex issues not only for the congregation, in the faithful embodiment of a Lutheran identity within their cultural setting, but also for the district and synod, in the responsible articulation to one another of the theology that norms and guides those congregational practices. Dialog with one another provides the opportunity to clarify such confession, repent of any errors, and through reconciliation and reformation grow in the faith. Mutual accountability, however, can easily devolve from dialog into division where no one is willing to be held accountable to the common faith but rather each one does what is right in his own eyes, never submitting in love to another. In the politicized American environment, such a situation can create doctrinal disunity and 46

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struggles of power, wherein some members seek to use matters of polity to force other members into unity with them, rather than allow the matters of polity to serve us all in promoting the mutual conversation and means of reconciliation that clarifies our confession and unifies our witness in word and deed. When reading the proposals through the lens of mutual accountability, one might ask “How does this proposal facilitate mutual accountability, enabling conversation and reconciliation among members, as we engage in our God-given confession and work?” Asking this question will focus attention upon fostering that conversation which clarifies our common confession and mission, even as our work in various ministry settings calls us to a variety of practices of contextualization. Example: In the discussion of “Congregations and the National Synod,” one proposal encourages us to “determine which boards and commissions should be retained at the national level and which would more effectively resource congregations if located at the district level” so that we might “deploy staff and resources accordingly.”35

Blurring In this case, the document offers a two-fold rationale for this proposal: the desire to be both “faithful to our mission” and “good stewards of the resources God has given us.”36 Yet how do faithfulness and good stewardship relate to one another? As financial difficulties continue to impact both our culture and our synod, it would be easy to allow fiscal concerns to blur our conversation so that matters of fiscal responsibility generate more discussion than matters of faithfulness to our mission. As everyone knows, fiscal responsibility does not guarantee faithfulness. Sometimes, in fact, faithful practices may actually cost more rather than less. In terms of this specific proposal (i.e., looking at the boards and commissions operating at district and synodical levels), a purely fiscal reading would identify overlap and seek to reduce duplication in activities. So, for example, having mission executives at both district and synodical levels could be seen as poor stewardship and lead one, in the name of fiscal responsibility, to call for an elimination of the duplication and a streamlining of such services. Focusing Asking the question of “mutual accountability,” however, changes our vision. It causes us to look at the structure a bit differently. Before evaluating boards and commissions operating at district and synodical levels on the basis of cost, we evaluate this structure on the basis of how well it fosters practices of mutual accountability.

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For example, consider the case of mission executives at the district and synodical levels. How well does this arrangement facilitate mutual accountability, enabling conversation and reconciliation among members, as we engage in our God-given mission? The church’s efforts in evangelization are varied as individual congregations contextualize the Lord’s mission in different ways appropriate to their resources and settings. One congregation may send out a church planter to develop and deploy a coffee-house evangelistic ministry within an urban setting. Another congregation may join others in supporting a pre-school as part of a multi-congregational mission plant in a suburban area. Such variety is valuable as it allows congregations to be theologically faithful and yet contextually sensitive in their mission. The churchly practice of mutual accountability, however, means that such theologically faithful contextualization is not merely assumed but mutually considered in dialog. Such dialog clarifies how these activities are contextually faithful, and that clarification serves both the congregations engaging in mission and the other members of the district and synod with whom our Lord has united these congregations in service to one another and to others in love. While a wide constellation of various mission practices might threaten synodical unity, the practice of mutual accountability gives opportunity for formative dialog so that our God-given unity (rather than our individual rights) is expressed in the midst of diverse practices. To foster such serious and intentional dialog, it may be helpful to have mission executives at the district level, managing dialog within the district between congregations, and at the synodical level, facilitating dialog within the synod regarding matters of theology and context in the practice of mission. While certainly more is done by these boards than fostering dialog among congregations in mission, and certainly other matters are important in examining the relationship between synodical and district boards and commissions, this small example does demonstrate how asking questions regarding practices of mutual accountability can sharpen our focus and shape our conversation about structure in significant ways. It allows us to articulate our rationale for such organization in a way that expresses our intent to be accountable to one another as we walk together in the faith. Christian Service Having a God-given unity in Christ, congregations manifest that unity not only in dialog with one another but in deeds for one another, sharing their diverse gifts for the common good and bearing one another’s burdens. In the American context, such selfless love for the other seems strange. Rather than compete against others to increase one’s market share or delight in the demise of those deemed weaker competitors, the congregation acts in selfless love for the good of others. This Christian service involves sacrificial love both for the sake of the body as a whole and for the sake of its weaker members. These two ways of selfless love (i.e., for the sake of the body and for the sake of weaker members) create two different 48

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horizons within which to see a congregation’s Christian service as it participates in the trans-congregational church. For the sake of the body: When congregations share diverse gifts for the common good, the perspective is broadened. Mutual Christian service occurs for the sake of the body. Congregational acts of love are understood within the larger horizons of synod as congregations join together in common service for a common good. Although the gifts the congregations contribute are diverse, the work that they do serves all. The scope of such Christian service is far-reaching, both in its foundation and its fruition. In its foundation, this Christian service arises from diverse gifts gathered together from various congregations; in its fruition, it addresses a common good that extends over the various contexts of the trans-congregational church. For the sake of a weaker member: When congregations bear one another’s burdens, the perspective is narrowed. Mutual Christian service occurs for the sake of those members of the larger body in need. Congregations again are pulled out of service to themselves, only this time they join together that they might offer particular service to particular members of the larger body who are in need. Here, our God-given unity is manifest in how we love one another: with Christian service that is mindful of the needs of the weaker members of the body and that honors selfsacrificial love poured out for the least. Thus, Christian service names the congregation’s ways of loving within the larger body of the trans-congregational church. Such love flows in two directions: it reaches out with diverse gifts for the sake of the common good of the body and it reaches out by bearing one another’s burdens for the sake of weaker members of that larger body. When reading the proposals through the lens of Christian service, therefore, one might ask the following questions: “How does this proposal foster the sharing of diverse gifts for the common good?” and “How does this proposal enable congregations to bear one another’s burdens in Christian love?” Asking these questions will focus attention upon matters of Christian service, both as it extends broadly in common service to the body and yet also as it extends specifically in particular service to weaker members of that body. Example: In the discussion of “Congregations, Membership, and Conventions,” one proposal encourages allowing “congregations with more than 750 members to be represented by two additional delegates for each additional unit of 750 confirmed members.”37

Blurring In discussing this proposal, it would be easy for conversations to become blurred so that questions of Christian service (sharing diverse gifts for the common good and burden bearing) are obscured by the American politicization of the lanConcordia Journal/Winter 2009

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guage of representation. Representation could be understood not as a means for serving the other but as a means for serving oneself, getting one’s voice heard, and thereby being able to make sure that one’s needs are met by the decisions and actions of the body as a whole. Such a way of thinking about representation comes naturally to those familiar with recent American politics, where entities lobby for special interests and seek a voting majority so that public institutions further one’s private interests.

Focusing “Church affairs are radically different from worldly affairs,” Walther wrote in his Duties of an Evangelical Lutheran Synod. In the kingdom of God, “the smallest congregation is just as important as the largest one, and the largest one is no more important than the smaller one, because every congregation is great only because Christ is present in its midst.”38 God’s presence and work in Christ in every congregation create a radically different context for thinking about matters of representation; God’s presence and work in Christ through every congregation for the good of the body and its weaker members create a radically different context for thinking about the work of the synod in convention. Using the lens of Christian service, therefore, changes our conversation about representation. It raises questions about the nature and purpose of representation and the nature and purpose of work done in convention. How does our method of representation embody congregations sharing diverse gifts for the common good and bearing one another’s burdens? How does a representation that focuses upon the size of a congregation embody and encourage such Christian service? Why focus upon the size of a congregation and not upon something else (for example, the size of a congregation’s financial contribution to synod as a percentage of the congregation’s budget)? How do congregations represented in convention use that representation for service not to special interests but to one another, honoring self-sacrificial love for the good of the body and for the sake of its weaker members? Articulating proposals for representation through the lens of Christian service will clarify the connection between our polity and ecclesiology, encouraging adoption of a particular form of governance by the way in which that form relates to fundamental churchly activities. Conclusion Indeed, this is the purpose of offering this article on ecclesiology and polity: to foster mutual conversation about the relationship between ecclesiology and the proposals of the Blue Ribbon Task Force on Synodical Structure and Governance. Such consideration has not been omitted from the work of the Blue Ribbon Task Force on Synodical Structure and Governance. Indeed, this consideration is at times transparently embedded within its work. So, for example, in the discussion of “Congregations and Districts,” the Task Force sets forth possibilities for restructur50

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ing districts. In its listing of mutually exclusive proposals, notice how different lenses are operative at different times. As the Task Force highlights a proposal to increase the number of districts from 35 to 100, it highlights how such an arrangement “would allow district presidents to become well acquainted with each congregation,”39 a rationale that attends to the churchly activity of mutual accountability. As the Task Force highlights a proposal to decrease the number of districts from 35 to 20, it highlights how such an arrangement would form districts “large enough to provide staff and resources to support the congregations,”40 a rationale that attends to the churchly activity of Christian service, particularly sharing diverse gifts for the common good. As one can see, different lenses result in different proposals for arrangement. Using these lenses, therefore, will not enable the synod to arrive at the best proposal by some process of elimination. That is not our purpose in offering this article. Rather, what using these lenses will do is clarify the rationale behind the proposals that are offered. Such transparency in the faithful reasoning behind the proposals will enable congregations to make more informed decisions about the proposals. They will be able to articulate why they are supporting certain proposals over others and how such support relates to the nature and work of the church in its practices of expressing unity, enacting mutual accountability, and engaging in Christian service by sharing diverse gifts for the common good and bearing one another’s burdens. In a culture that fosters individualism and the politicization of communal interactions, such a conversation is not only beneficial for our members but also a witness to the world of the way in which our structure relates to our being called and formed by God to be church for service to him in his kingdom. Endnotes

President Gerald B. Kieschnick, Pastoral Letter, March 1, 2005. It can be viewed at the LCMS website: http://www.lcms.org/pages/internal.asp?NavID=9005. 2 These proposals can be viewed on-line at: http://www.lcms.org/graphics/assets/ media/structure%20and%20governance/Walking%20Together%20-%20White%20Paper.pdf. 3 See Lamin Sanneh, Translating the Message: The Missionary Impact on Culture (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1989). 4 Congregation—Synod—Church: A Study Document on Basic Theological Principles Underlying LCMS Structure and Governance, (April 2007), 15. Available at http://www.lcms.org/graphics/assets/ media/communications/BRTFSSG%20Report%20–%201.pdf 5 Lesslie Newbigin’s well-known observations on these challenges are worth recalling here. See especially, The Gospel in a Pluralist Society (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1989). 6 This observation ought not be limited merely to the so-called “Church Growth Movement” of the 1980’s and early 1990’s, which is only the most overt form of the tendency to elevate the statistical “health” of the institution as a major component or goal of evangelism and mission efforts. On trends and challenges in mission see especially, David Bosch, Transforming Mission: Paradigm Shifts in Theology of Mission. (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis, 2005), and Darrell Guder, ed. Missional Church: A Vision for the Sending of the Church in North America, (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). 7 For example, George Wollenburg, no stranger to service in the Synod, argued forcefully 1

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against what he saw was a growing tendency in the LCMS: “The right of the congregation to call and ordain pastors does not make it exclusively the church. Such a perception of the church is not biblical or confessional. … The idea that the local church or congregation is an autonomous entity with no relationship to the larger whole (tota ecclesia) is inconceivable according to confessional church polity.” See “An Assessment of LCMS Polity and Practice on the Basis of the Treatise,” in Concordia Theological Quarterly 49 (April–July, 1985), 106. 8 Charles P. Arand, “What are Ecclesiologically Challenged Lutherans To Do?: Starting Points for a Lutheran Ecclesiology,” 157–171; Jeffrey Kloha, “The Trans-Congregational Church in the New Testament,” 172–190; William Schumacher, “Thinking With Walther about the Church: Congregation, Synod, Church,” 191–206, in Concordia Journal 34:3 (July 2008). 9 Naturally, these trans-congregational relationships are bigger than our synod, which is only one expression of how the members of Christ’s body relate to one another. Its implications for structure therefore are larger than simply how congregations relate to one another on local, district and national levels. There is an ecumenical, catholic dimension to these relationships that likewise needs to be expressed. Yet how should this be done? The Missouri Synod has articulated positions on altar and pulpit fellowship, but are there other dimensions to our unity that need more active attention? What gifts do we, as the Lutheran Church, share for the common profit of the whole church? How do we place ourselves into relationships that foster dimensions of mutual accountability? There is more thinking that needs to be done here. Unfortunately, the focus of the proposals and our conversation on polity has been only on inter-synodical relationships rather than how our structure might better order and direct our efforts in an ecumenical, global Christian context. 10 Kieschnick, Pastoral Letter, March 1, 2005. 11 Appreciation to Ralph Bohlmann, whose encouragement to explore the reformers’ proprie dicta statements on the church stimulated the following approach. 12 This was especially necessary because the theology of the day often defined concepts according to the methods and logic of Aristotelian philosophy which deduced the essence from the empirical. But Luther argued that theological concepts were normed not by what man could see and experience, but by what God sees and thus reveals. See, for example, Luther’s Heidelberg Disputation, 1518, LW 31: 35–70. 13 Although the distinction is used by Luther in various places, see especially LW 14: 335. 14 See LW 12: 311: “The proper subject of theology is man guilty of sin and condemned, and God the Jusifier and Savior of man the sinner.” Cf. Luther’s early statements on Johannes Tauler and mystical theology, WA 9, 98, 14f. 15 For example, AC VIII, 1, “…the Christian church is, properly speaking, nothing else than the assembly of all believers and saints”; and Ap. VII/VIII, 28, “… the church is, properly speaking, the assembly of saints who truly believe the gospel of Christ and have the Holy Spirit.” 16 Large Catechism, Creed, 42; Book of Concord, 436; BSLK, 655. 17 See Arand, “Ecclesiologically Challenged,” 163f.; idem, “A Two-Dimensional Understanding of the Church for the Twenty-First Century,” Concordia Journal 33:2 (April 2007): 136–145. 18 WA 10I/I, 140, 8–16. 19 Martin Luther, Lectures on First Timothy, 1528, commenting on 3:15, “church of the living God”; LW 28: 302. 20 See Edmund Schlink’s comments on article VII of the Augsburg Confession in Theology of the Lutheran Confessions, trans. Paul F. Koehneke and Herbert J. A. Bouman (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1961), 202–203: “Though the Gospel is always proclaimed in a local fellowship of believers, A.C. VII looks beyond the size, large or small, of local assemblies to the whole Christian church on earth. … Like the Christian church on earth the Christian congregation at a special place, being an assembly of believers, is the church of Jesus Christ in the most real sense. The definition of A.C. VII does not deny this but from the beginning precludes an independentistic concept of the church which wrongly isolates the individual congregation.” 52

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Schmalcald Articles, III, 12, 2–3; Book of Concord, 324–25; BSLK, 459. As the works of the individual are regarded “Christian” only because of the faith that produces them, so it is for the works of the church—the deeds of the body of Christ are such because of they flow from the head. Cf. Martin Luther’s Sermon on Good Works, 1520, LW 44:21–114. 23 For a very helpful description of Luther’s twofold understanding of the church as communion and community see Paul Althaus, Communio Sanctorum: Die Gemeinde im lutherischen Kirchengedanken (Munich: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1929). 24 See Kloha, “The Trans-Congregational Church,” Concordia Journal 34:3 (July, 2008), 172–190. 25 Cf. Walther, The True Visible Church, trans. John Theodore Mueller (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1961), thesis 18 D, 107–111: “The Evangelical Lutheran Church distinguishes sharply what God’s Word commands and what it leaves to Christian liberty (adiaphora, ecclesiastical organization).” See also the Task Force, Congregation—Synod—Church, principle 5, p. 9. 26 Schumacher, “Thinking with Walther,” Concordia Journal 34:3 (July, 2008): 191–206. 27 C.F.W. Walther, The Form of a Christian Congregation, trans. John Theodore Mueller (St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1963), 163f. Cf. Schumacher, “Thinking with Walther,” 199f. 28 Idem, Duties of an Evangelical Lutheran Synod: First Iowa District Convention - 1879, trans. Everette W. Meier (Casper, Wyoming: Wyoming District Memorial Library, 1988), 83–84. Cf. his remarks on page 57, “We must never lose sight of the fact, that two churches must always maintain the same faith, teach the same doctrine, and on the basis of that doctrine must maintain the same practice. That is a matter of divine law, for God says, ‘Make every effort to keep the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace … (Eph 4:3-6).’” 29 Ibid., 111–112. Walther continues, “We cannot say, of course, that a pastor who refused to join a Synod, is disobeying a clear commandment of God. But one thing is clear: namely, that such a person either has no real love for the kingdom of God, or that he has no insight into how God builds His kingdom.” 30 As in the old adage lex orandi lex credendi, there is the issue of “semiotics,” namely that external forms can convey theological meaning with significant consequences. This is the position of the Formula of Concord, Article X, which recognizes that adiaphora can cease to be a matter of indifference when in a particular context they convey a meaning that can harm consciences or give the impression of false doctrine. 31 Kieschnick, Pastoral Letter, March 1, 2005. 32 Task Force, “Walking Together,” 2. 33 Ibid., 1. 34 Ibid., 2. 35 Ibid., 3. 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid., 4. 38 Walther, Duties, 51. 39 Task Force, “Walking Together,” 2. 40 Ibid. 21 22

Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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Forming Pastors for the Whole Church

Thinking Together About Pastoral Certification

Andrew H. Bartelt

It just seemed so self-evident. Of course, things were simpler then. The president of synod was the president of the seminary. But it was the will of the church—the church corporate, or at least that part of the body of Christ that confessed the faith of the Evangelical Lutheran Church and identified itself as in unity with the Die deutsche evangelisch-lutherische Synode von Missouri, Ohio und anderen Staaten— to come together, work together, and even walk together in the preparation and certification of those who, in the church’s usual order, would be presented for call and ordination into the office of the public ministry. It was certainly not about the right of the seminary and its faculty, or its special privilege. It never was. And it never will be about turf protection, or about power and control. It’s really about the church, its definition and its determination, and a theology of the church that is holistic, organic, and more about the organism than the organization. But it is about the organization of the organism, too, as form follows function, and both flow from foundational theology. And so the responsibility (not the right!) of certification was entrusted to our seminary faculties. In a sense, this was because they carried a certain theological acumen, a depth and breadth that collectively were greater than any one part of the church or even any one member of the faculty. But in a greater sense it was because they represented something larger than any one part of the church. Even today the election and call to the faculty of our seminaries follows a procedure that is structurally representative of the whole church. In sum, the role of seminary faculties (as well as the synodical Colloquy Committee) is but one example of the trans-congregational nature of the church working together as a whole, in a way even greater than the sum of its parts.1 It is often noted that the one thing specifically assigned to our seminaries is the responsibility to certify candidates for the holy ministry. There is a whole lot that surrounds that, of course, built on the assumption that those who are to be called and ordained servants of the Word are, in fact, qualified for the personal and Andrew H. Bartelt is Professor of Exegetical Theology and Executive VicePresident for Academic Affairs at Concordia Seminary, St. Louis, Missouri.

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pastoral characteristics, including the attitude, knowledge, and skills requisite for the parish ministry. From the LSB Agenda, the Rite of Ordination begins [substantive changes from LW noted], Beloved in the Lord, (name) has been called by the Lord of the Church into the Office of the Holy [LW, public] Ministry of the Word and Sacraments. He has been prepared [LW, prepared himself] for this ministry by careful study and prayer. He has been examined and declared ready and prepared to undertake this sacred responsibility, and, by the guidance of God the Holy Spirit, he has in the Church’s usual order been called to be [type of ministry] of/at [name and place]. According to apostolic practice, he is now presented to be ordained and consecrated to this office established by God.

It is noted in the rubrics that “this rite is administered, according to the Church’s usual order, by those so authorized for such candidates as have been adjudged by the Church to be ready and prepared to enter the office of the public ministry and have received a regular call to minister in the Church.” We then read and remind ourselves what Holy Scripture says concerning the office of the public ministry. Nowhere in Scripture is there a specific curriculum, of course, and even the well-crafted list in 1 Timothy 3:1–7 has a far greater focus on personal and spiritual characteristics than on an academic course of studies. “Apt to teach” implies a lot about knowledge, skills, attitude, and aptitude, which are fleshed out less in Scripture and more in the academic catalogs of our seminaries. This is not a bad thing, and the way we have come to do theological education certainly reflects a tried and true, tested and tempered way of pastoral preparation that has served our church well.2 Is it the best way? Is it the only way? In a church that exhibits far greater local diversity than ever before, is there a sense in which the local context and variables carry an increasingly greater weight over against the universal and universalizing context of a seminary community? Or might the same observation about local diversity actually suggest a greater need than ever before for a universal and universalizing context that generates a foundational unity? And might the diversities within the current culture now call for an even greater level of theologically appropriate adaptability, grounded in theological thinking and application formed within the highest levels of learning (cf. Blume’s taxonomy). This would be especially critical in the fundamental areas of hermeneutics and interpretation, which have as much to do with “reading” culture and context and personal spiritual needs as they do with reading and properly understanding the biblical and theological texts themselves. Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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These are extremely relevant and important questions that go to the nature, form, substance, and even location of pastoral education and formation.3 And, consistent with recent focus within education generally and a very wholesome thing to do in any case, both our seminaries are taking curriculum assessment very seriously these days.4 But our primary interest here is the role of the seminary faculties in certification, which is a due process “according to the Church’s usual order, by those so authorized for such candidates as have been adjudged by the Church to be ready and prepared to enter the office of the public ministry.” And such interest lies in some connection to the current discussion of structure and, alongside that conversation, whatever contribution might be made regarding the theological foundations of structure as informed by our ecclesiology. Regarding the latter, it would seem that this question is another that is well informed by the “trans-congregational” nature of the church, so well articulated and grounded in biblical exegesis by colleague Jeff Kloha.5 Certification for ministry, as prerequisite for call and ordination, is certainly done in the name of the whole church, with ecumenical and catholic implications. Indeed, those “adjudged by the Church to be ready and prepared” are, according to the rite itself, ordained and consecrated to the Office of the Holy Ministry of the Word and Sacraments in the one, holy, catholic [or Christian] and apostolic Church.” All this is to say that, while any congregation could call and ordain whomever they want and wish to be their pastor, any congregation with a biblical ecclesiology that extends beyond the congregational level will do so with a sense of the larger church with whom it is in fellowship. There is a reason that our seminaries are, in fact, synodical seminaries. They are not regional, district, “diocesesan,” or independent. They function on behalf of, in the service of, at the request of, and with the support of the whole church, at least, in our circles, that part of the body of Christ that is the Evangelical Lutheran Church instantiated in the LCMS. Not only is this sound ecclesiology, it is also good order. Augustana XIV speaks to both, and the constellation of activities that surround rite vocatus certainly includes certification. In fact, the concern of Augsburg XIV deals with a proper and churchly (i.e., corporate, catholic, ecumenical) “public” and “official” recognition of those who would serve publice in the name of Christ as mediated through his church. While we often focus on the hendiadys pair of “called and ordained,” the larger issue engages a whole process that includes several more related pairs: identification and preparation, education and formation, qualification and certification, call and ordination, and then also installation and even preservation (!) in the one office of the public ministry. One could summarize that all this is for the sake of the certainty, clarity, consistency, and catholicity of the public ministry. First, those who speak God’s word of law and Gospel, including the specific words of absolution, are to be those of 56

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whom it may be said that their words are as valid and certain, even in heaven, as if Christ our dear Lord dealt with us himself. Further, those who would preach and teach the publica doctrina affirmed in ordination vows do so with a clarity and consistency that bespeak the unity of doctrine and practice so fundamental to a corporate ecclesiology. If it is taught among us (einträchtiglich gelehrt und gehalten; ecclesiae magno consensus apud nos docent), then it is indeed so taught among us—in all the congregations amongst us, not one doctrine here and a different version there. Finally, there is a regularization and reciprocity inherent in the catholicity of the church that assumes a common recognition of pastoral acts as acts of the corporate church. No pastor or congregation (or circuit or district, for that matter) acts of its own accord. Its actions and even activities are those of the church corporate, localized in one particular place and time. Most importantly, the sacramental worship of any congregation is the worship of all those in altar and pulpit fellowship, something assumed by the “shorthand” of admission to the sacrament on the basis of being a communicant member in good standing of a congregation or church body within such church fellowship. In like manner and in ecclesial reciprocity, it is also to be confidently assumed by the communicant that the doctrine and practice so professed in another congregation is that of one’s own congregation and pastor. All this has significant implications in our conversations about being the church, and about being the church together, as well as in being about the mission of Christ with a single-minded sense of purpose, far beyond the single issue of certification for the pastoral office. But certainly the unity and consistency of our confession, still heralded as a hallmark of our dear synod, is grounded in a common process of preparation and certification for the public ministry, as entrusted to our seminaries. And it could well be argued (and it is!) that this is as critical as ever in an age of increasing individualism and localization, where the factors and forces on the edge are pulling with increasing strength against the gravity of the center. Of course, it is to the edges where Christ, as the heart of the church, pumps his lifeblood and through our hands and feet, gives expression to his body into all the world. It is not only at the edges, but it is on the edges, where the kingdom of God intersects and interacts with those who do not yet confess the faith of the body of Christ. Like politics, the church is always local, as it is also always universal. And it could well be argued (and it is!), that the local church, represented by district, circuit, congregation might have a very significant role in the pastoral preparation, formation, and even certification that connects the unity of the whole to the particularity of the part. And for the same reasons that we dare not neglect the centripetal force of the center in the face of the forces on the edge, we must also recognize the centrifugal force of the spirit’s power sending us from the center (but it is indeed from the center!) into all the world, both generally and into every local nook and corner, even to the tax collectors and sinners of our day. Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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Frankly, this may be another instance where we simply need to keep our balance, working together for the sake of the best preparation and then practice of pastoral ministry. A generation ago, there was more uniformity in our congregations. A generation ago, there was inherent respect for the pastoral office, often quite apart from the person. A generation ago, institutions and their ambassadors were still generally trusted. A generation ago, our pastors usually came from a long formative process within a church whose congregations, for the most part, looked the same, worshiped the same, and were structured and organized the same. Students arrived at the seminary already formed in a church culture and tradition, many of them together already for several years of study and formation (which included a lot beyond “studies!”). Congregations received them as first-call pastors and, along with brothers in the circuits, helped them hone both pastoral and relationship skills. A generation ago, there was less urgency about getting the right “fit” between pastor and congregation. A generation ago, there were few issues in pastoral formation that recognized distinctive factors of language, ethnicity, and culture, not to mention general “cross-cultural” awareness and skills.7 Things are much different these days, theological education and pastoral formation are much more complex and multi-faceted. There are a myriad of issues in which we as church and seminaries are already engaged and which merit some thoughtful discussion, far beyond the scope of the survey just rehearsed. Both of our seminaries are very intentional about the larger issues of “formation” and curriculum as “everything that is experienced within the seminary community and process.” As noted already, articulation and then assessment of outcomes have become the focus of curriculum evaluation. And all these discussions are taking place within a broader base of the whole church (again, consistent with a corporate ecclesiology), with seminary and field listening to one another and working together for the sake of a whole that is greater than any one, or even the sum of its parts. Our focus here is on certification, but we have digressed a bit into the larger complex of issues to argue that there is much more to the discussion than certification. This is extremely critical if somehow it is assumed that the process of certification is the essential problem and that a change in the way we do certification is the first, and maybe only thing we might do, or at least a simple and straightforward way of addressing whatever the problem is. This also suggests that we might do well to identify more clearly and precisely the problem or problems we are trying to fix, including the increasing need to get a good personal and relational “fit” between pastor and congregation (and, one could suggest, also the district or regional culture). And it is likely that both the problems and the solutions are also much more complex than we might have thought. We have already noted that the way we have come to do theological education certainly reflects a tried and true, tested and tempered way of pastoral preparation that has served our church well. But we also asked whether it is the best way 6

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or the only way. We agree that the changes in culture and even in church lead to extremely relevant and important questions that go to the nature, form, and substance of pastoral education and formation. It is often observed that not only the Scriptures but also our own history and polity have not defined and determined only one pattern or program of study. Although the original constitution of the Missouri Synod did not stipulate specific educational programs or curricula, it did speak of “two classes” of candidates for the ministry: To the first class belong those who lay claim to full theological training. These, as a rule, are to be examined in Latin, except in certain practical disciplines, for which German is to be used. They are to be examined especially about their knowledge of the original languages of Holy Scripture. To the second class belong those who have received a predominantly practical training for the holy ministry. They are to be examined in German.8

This arrangement clearly reflected the different sorts of pastors who originally became members of the Synod, the Loehe men whose training was generally modest and basic, and the Saxon pastors who had the advantages of a full university education from Germany. The Saxons had started a seminary already in December of 1839, and despite its humble beginnings in a log cabin, its program was to be modeled as closely as possible on the university theological curriculum with which the Saxon pastors were familiar. Loehe had recruited and sent much less-educated men into the North American mission field, and had eventually created a “practical seminary” in Fort Wayne to provide a basic theological program for such men, who generally would not have been qualified for university study in Germany, especially since they lacked the Gymnasium-level training in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. Despite these two very different forms of pastoral education operating in parallel in the early Missouri Synod (even before the Synod’s actual organization), the constitution simply considers the men produced by the different systems as “candidates” — and once accepted, called, and ordained they were all simply “pastors.” It would be naïve to conclude from this that all pastors were somehow “interchangeable” or that no one paid any attention to their widely differing qualifications. In fact, once candidates of either academic “class” had passed their examinations, “a detailed certificate of their abilities is to be prepared for them.”9 That is to say, there was not a generic form for certification, but the strengths, weaknesses, and varying abilities of each candidate were included as part of their certification. This might be compared to the SET and PIF forms which are routinely used today, which provide some texture and detail about individual pastors as well as candidates. Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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This historical observation suggests some flexibility in the way we approach the whole question of pastoral formation, preparation, readiness, contextualization, and, of course, certification.10 It also suggests that we need to be clear about what we mean by certification. To what extent does it imply a general readiness for ministry, based on our unity of doctrine and practice, with the knowledge, skill, and attitudes necessary for the contextualization of ministry, “incarnate” into the specificities of real people in space and time? (The formulaic wording used by our seminaries is carefully crafted and specifically references a readiness for “entry level competency and qualification for a first call.”11) To what extent does it imply a certain “provenness” or even prowess for ministry, already tested in the realities of pastoral experience? To what extent does it imply an initial “imprimatur” of the whole church, as mediated by whatever structure it deems most effective, such as the sanctified judgment of a theological faculty called and supported by the whole church specifically for this purpose? To what extent does it imply an ongoing need for professional growth and maturity, even a need for regularized “re-certification?” These are important issues about very critical matters, at the heart of which is the ministry of our Lord Jesus Christ. They require thoughtful reflection and discussion that include the voices and vision of us all, anchored in God’s Word but prepared to deal with the changes, challenges, and complexities that define the contemporary culture. But this much is clear: it is about the whole church, particularly the decision of our church to locate certification within her seminary faculties as expressions of the corporate church and of the theological unity and expertise to which we are all committed and in which we are all engaged. It is about the transcongregational and trans-parochial, and even trans-regional nature of the church “catholic.” It is about unity of doctrine and practice, preaching, teaching and pastoral care, in which the Word of God is taught in its truth and purity and the sacraments rightly administered. It is about the pattern of sound words, even amidst multiple patterns of pastoral formation. It is about a unified sense of mission and purpose, including a burden for all those for whom Christ has already died and risen. It is, in sum, about being the church together, as the body of Christ in and into all the world. Endnotes

1 This is a major theme of the various articles in the July 2008 Concordia Journal. See especially the exegetical work of Jeff Kloha in “The Trans-Congregational Church in the New Testament” (172–190). 2 It is often noted that many of even the strongest critics of our traditional model are themselves beneficiaries of the depth and breadth of theological thinking which that same model of pastoral education inculcated in them. 3 Consistent with the very positive trend and tendencies within theological education to attend to far more than purely academic learning, Concordia Seminary has been using the term formation to describe the entire seminary experience of spiritual, personal, and professional growth for over ten

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years now, really since the development of the institutional mission statement following the years of curriculum review initiated in 1991–1995. 4 Over the past three years, and in consultation with various points of contact and input from the church-at-large, Concordia Seminary has developed a draft of outcomes and performance indicators to delineate the attitudes, knowledge, and skills (as habits of heart and mind) determined to be goals of pastoral formation, in light of the needs and challenges of carrying out Christ’s Great Commission in the “rapidly changing, pluralistic, post-modern, and increasingly non-Christian world of the 21st century” (quoted from the preamble to the “Pastoral Formation Outcomes, Concordia Seminary, St. Louis”). These are now being used for curriculum assessment within the ongoing process of curriculum evaluation and review. 5 Jeff Kloha, op. cit., see endnote #1. 6 See Andrew H. Bartelt, “Keeping Our Balance: Maintaining Unity in a World (and Church!) of Diversity,” in Concordia Journal 30:3 (July 2004), 137–155. 7 This is not the place to rehearse the pros and cons of our attempts and approaches to ethnic ministry in the past, including the significant history and role of the Greensboro seminary. But even today, the tension between the need for specialized programs and a more integrated approach remains a critical issue in the strategic thinking about theological education for those who would serve in the pastoral office amidst those of every nation and tribe and people and tongue (Rv 7:9). 8 Carl S. Meyer, ed, Moving Frontiers: Readings in the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod (St. Louis: Concordia, 1986), 155f. 9 Ibid., 156. 10 Ironically, in the past generation, at a time when we might have anticipated a much more diverse, multi-faceted and technologically facilitated spectrum of approaches and delivery systems, we essentially moved from two tracks to one. Originally, our two seminaries (at St. Louis and Springfield) were generally, collegially, and cooperatively defined and distinguished by the distinct programmatic niche that each one filled for the church. Since the 1970s and especially the 80s, the distinction has changed into a single model, focused on the M.Div. degree and carried out by both seminaries. Purportedly, this would provide a sense unity of purpose and program, but it has also generated the need for our seminaries to define themselves in relationship to and also in distinction from (and even competition with!) one another. It has also raised questions about the uniformity and regularization of pastoral formation, qualification, and even certification. It is worth noting that, in the 2008 placement process, slightly more than two-thirds of the candidates from the St. Louis seminary received specific requests from the field by name (predominantly for team ministry). Ironically, such a positive testimony to the process of formation in light of the needs of the church actually negatively affected the placement of those candidates not entering team ministry and thus not so requested. In an effort to provide parity in placement between the two seminaries, the majority of the remaining placement calls were assigned to candidates from our sister seminary in Fort Wayne. 11 The formal motion presented to the faculty is as follows, “Moved, that the faculty express its satisfaction that each of the following men will meet all personal, professional, and theological requirements for the office of ordained minister, declare each of them to be of entry level competency and qualified for a first call, and recommend each of them, subject to the satisfactory completion of the appropriate course of studies, his receipt of a Theological Diploma or Certificate, and his receipt and acceptance of a call assigned to him by the Board of Assignments.”

Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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homiletical helps

COncordia Journal

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Grammarian’s Nook

Editor’s Note: This is a new feature of the Concordia Journal, a “little brother” as it were, to Grammarian’s Corner. It will alert the reader to a small point of grammar, one which is of interest to anyone working seriously with the biblical text. Because this “Nook” regards the Gospel of Mark, we thought it very appropriate as a lead-in to the Homiletical Helps.

It is common to say that the authors of the NT, especially Mark and John, write a simple, even “common” and low-brow, Greek. There are many pieces of evidence that this is not so, but in this column we will look at one with theological implications. The evidence is an older, classical, verb form. Specifically, it is e;fh,1 the imperfect indicative active, third person singular of the verb fhmi,, “I say, declare.”2 This verb indicates formal speaking, a making of an assertion, and it occurs a half dozen times in Mark, from chapter 9 onward (9:12, 9:38, 10:20, 10:29, 12:24, and 14:29). Note that its morphology is like the imperfect of }isthmi in the third singular, }isth with the long h being part of the stem and no connecting vowel or ending added.3 (The verb itself occurs almost 70 times in the NT, with the vast majority of the forms being precisely the one under discussion, e;fh.) But here is the fascinating thing. Whenever a human being makes an assertion characterized by this verb in Mark, it is vain and an empty boast. But, whenever Jesus makes such an assertion, it is the truth. In 9:12, Jesus asserts that Elijah will come to establish all things, indeed, that he has already come (9:13). In 9:38, by contrast, John boasts that the disciples saw someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name, and they forbade him to do so. In 10:20, the rich man asserts that he has kept all the commandments from his youth. In 10:29, by contrast, Jesus asserts correctly that those who have left family and creaturely things for him and the Gospel will receive a hundred fold in this life and in the coming age. In 12:24 Jesus makes the pronouncement that the Sadducees are deceived because they do not know the scriptures about the nature of the resurrection. In 14:29, by contrast, Peter vainly utters the boastful declaration that even if all will stumble, he will not. It must be noted that this form occurs in what I have elsewhere4 characterized as manuscript B (Vaticanus) and the manuscripts normally aligned with it (a, L, D, Y, 565, 579 [+ C, 33]) and is not generally found in other manuscripts, so it might be objected that e;fh is not actually characteristic of Marcan Greek. However, it must be noted that the set of manuscripts detailed above does preserve what seems to be a strong text of the Gospel of Mark,5 when all characteristics of the gospel are considered. James W. Voelz

Concordia Journal/January 2009

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Endnotes

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Cf. James W. Voelz, Fundamental Greek Grammar, 3rd edition, St. Louis: Concordia, 2007, 263. Cf. Voelz, Fundamental Greek Grammar, 262. 3 Voelz, Fundamental Greek Grammar, 220. 4 James W. Voelz, “The Text of Codex Vaticanus in the Second Gospel and Marcan Greek,” Novum Testamentum, 47 (2005), 209–249, here 227, 245. 5 Voelz, “Text of Codex Vaticanus,” 243–45. 1 2

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Homiletical Helps on LSB Series B—Gospels Epiphany 4 • Mark 1:21–28 • February 1, 2009

The Epiphany season highlights the revelation of Jesus as Savior to the world. The Gospel reading for this Sunday continues the identification of Jesus as God’s own Son and the promised Messiah, with a focus on Jesus as one who speaks and acts with divine authority. At the same time Jesus’ authority also points to what he has come to accomplish. A brief overview of the opening chapter of Mark’s Gospel reveals an interesting note about the recognition of Jesus’ identity. God has sent the prophet John the Baptist to proclaim the coming of the Messiah, Jesus Christ. Clearly, John knows who Jesus is, and this identity is reinforced when Jesus is baptized in the Jordan as the Holy Spirit descends on him like a dove and God the Father announces to Jesus: “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased” (1:11). Afterwards, Satan tempts Jesus for forty days in the wilderness; Mark provides no details, but without question the devil knows who Jesus is. Then, the fishermen simply follow Jesus when he calls them; it is unclear how they regard him at this point. In the present text, Jesus’ teaching in the synagogue astonishes the people; he is not like the scribes they know, but is one who teaches with “authority.” They are not quite sure who this is or what he is all about. Finally, the unclean spirit enters the scene; it knows not only that this is Jesus of Nazareth, but also “the Holy One of God.” Those “in the know” (God and his prophet; Satan and his demons) recognize Jesus for who he truly is. The others are still more or less in the dark. The first miracle of Jesus recorded in Mark’s Gospel is an exorcism, making clear that Jesus has come to destroy sin and the power of the devil. In a sense, Jesus has invaded the devil’s territory, and the demon responds to the threat that Jesus represents. Jesus’ teaching in the synagogue and his exorcism are both testimonies of his authority and both are connected with his word. Jesus speaks, he teaches, he commands and his words are authoritative in a manifest way. His authority is God-given, like a prophet’s; his word self-authenticating—it is God’s Word. The demon recognizes Jesus and even knows his name, but he has no power over him. More than that, the demon knows both who Jesus is—the Holy One of God, God’s Son—and what he has come to do—to conquer sin and death, and in so doing to destroy Satan’s dominion over sinful humanity. Jesus rebukes the demon, silencing him and commanding him to come out of the man. Through his word,

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Jesus acts to defeat the demon. Thus the revelation of the person of Jesus also makes clear the power of his words. His rebuke of the demon indicates that Jesus did not yet want others to know fully who he was. Similarly, in 1:34 Jesus does not permit the demons to speak, because “they knew him”; also in 1:44 after healing the leper Jesus told him not to say anything to anyone, but simply present himself to the priest. It seems clear that, at this point, Jesus wished to be the one to reveal himself, rather than allow demons or others to be the messengers. Key to Jesus’ authority is his word, but it is also an authority over the demon and a word against the demon’s master, Satan. Illustration: For centuries, the ancient city of Fengdu was known throughout China as the city of the dead. According to legend, the gates of hell were located there, and thus, Fengu was also believed to be the home of the devil. The city sat on the banks of the Yangtze River and several years ago it was completely submerged as part of the Three Gorges Dam Project. After relocating the city’s people, the Chinese government opened the floodgates to make way for the world’s largest hydroelectric power station. But before the city was flooded, citizens placed large signs around the city counting the days until the town would be destroyed. Many of these signs portrayed the image of the devil as symbolic of the city. The days of Fengdu were numbered and so were the days of the devil himself. The flood would wash over the city as well as obliterate the gates of hell and its lord, the devil. The revelation of Jesus means the beginning of the end of the devil’s hold on sinful humanity. Jesus has come to bring forgiveness of sins and eternal life. In doing so, he conquers sin’s death and breaks the devil’s grip, destroying forever his demonic dominion over God’s people. Jesus’ victory over Satan is a battle won for us. How has Jesus accomplished this? Certainly through his death and resurrection he was victorious for us, but he also gives us victory now through his powerful word—in our Baptism, in Absolution, in the Gospel itself. The Gospel is the means of destruction of the power of the devil just as at the same time it is indeed “the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes” (Rom 1:16). Gerhard Bode Epiphany 5 • Mark 1:29–39 • February 8, 2009

The season of Epiphany is about the self-revelation of God in Jesus Christ, and the texts of the season relate in various ways how Jesus Christ shows himself to us and to the world. And so, in this Epiphany season, one question we always

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bring to texts is, “What does Jesus show us about himself—about God—here in this text?” This reading from Mark’s Gospel (Mk 1:29–39) falls in the middle of a threeweek sequence in which a long section of the first chapter of the gospel is included. The preacher may want to consider linking these three texts into a short series of related sermons, for the themes are closely related. The series begins with the exorcism in the Capernaum synagogue (fourth Sunday after Epiphany) and concludes with the dramatic account of Jesus who is willing and able to both touch and cleanse a leper (sixth Sunday). In the middle comes this present text, which shows us Jesus healing both privately and publicly, exorcising demons, praying alone, and preaching throughout Galilee. The healing of Simon’s mother-in-law may count as a more or less “private” act of healing, both in the sense that Jesus healed her of her fever in Simon and Andrew’s house with only a few disciples present, and also because the results or effects of the healing were not public or obvious. In fact, the picture is of the woman being instantly and miraculously cured, and then returning immediately (one of Mark’s favorite words!) to the simple, mundane tasks of housekeeping and hospitality. The healing ministry of Jesus restores ordinary human lives of service. The people he touches are not freed from their human responsibilities or relationship. On the contrary, Jesus’ touch removes everything which damages or obstructs our human lives of service. The focus of the narrative in Mark is never on the striking miraculous nature of the healing itself, or other miracles. The way Mark tells the story, Jesus seems intent on keeping both his healings and his victory over demons as quiet as possible. Thus, when the crowd gathers at the house in the evening, and Jesus heals many and exorcises demons, he does not permit the demons to speak. It is, of course, rather remarkable that Jesus is known and recognized for who he is by the evil spirits but not (often in Mark’s gospel) by Jesus’ own disciples. But it is also worth noting that Jesus commands those demons to be silent precisely “because they knew him” (v. 34). One gets the distinct impression that Jesus is not at all interested in creating a high profile public stir! The same impression is reinforced in verses 35–38, as Jesus withdraws from public view and finds a quiet, lonely, and uninhabited place to pray by himself. When Simon and the others come and find him, they seem to urge him to return to the crowd who are now looking for him. But Jesus says instead that his path lies elsewhere: to those who have not yet heard his preaching. Incidentally, it is worth noting that Mark’s grammar seems to spotlight the brief exchange between the disciples and Jesus in verses 37–38. The switch from the aorist tense of the general narration to the present tense is usually not captured in English translations, and its exact significance is hard to define. The effect of Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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Mark’s use of the present tense in narration might be compared to a close-up shot in a movie, and it adds a subtle but distinct emphasis to this bit of dialogue. Why is this little exchange placed in the foreground and brought to our attention in this way? Because here the disciples’ idea of what Jesus should do is contrasted vividly with what Jesus himself says his mission and purpose are. Simon and the others have seen the favorable response of the people in Capernaum, and think Jesus should continue to build on this promising beginning. Jesus knows that his purpose is in another direction, namely to preach to and serve those who do not yet know him. The phrase Jesus uses to describe his purpose and mission is somewhat unusual, and deserves attention. The ESV renders it, “for that is why I came out,” but a more literal translation of eis touto gar exelthon might be “because for [or into] this I came out.” It is not immediately clear what is meant by “come out” in this context. Possibilities include “coming out” of Capernaum to this remote place (cf. the use of the same word in v. 35), so that Jesus is explaining his secretive departure from the crowds in the village. It is tempting to associate Jesus’ word here with a statement from John’s gospel: “I came [out, exelthon] from God” (8:42), in which case Jesus is making a much more profound assertion about the purpose of his whole ministry. It may not be necessary to choose between these options, since each step of Jesus’ ministry of preaching and healing aims toward that for which the Father sent him—and that road leads to Jerusalem, to the cross, and finally out of the tomb. We listen carefully—and help our people listen—when Jesus tells us what he is doing and what he came for. William W. Schumacher Epiphany 6 • Mark 1:40–45 • February 15, 2009

Mark gets right into the story. Immediately in chapter one, John the Baptizer is introduced and Jesus is baptized. He is tempted for forty days in the desert and then begins gathering his disciples. He drives out an evil spirit from a man on the Sabbath in the synagogue. Then, he goes to the home of Simon and Andrew and he heals Simon’s mother-in-law. After sunset, when the Sabbath is over, the whole town gathers at Simon’s door where Jesus heals many and drives out demons. Early the next morning, Jesus goes to a solitary place to pray. When his disciples find him, he leads them to other villages so he can preach and heal. The chapter ends with Jesus healing a man with leprosy. Without debating the severity of the disease, we know that this man is an outcast, living outside the community. He is considered an untouchable and is not supposed to touch anyone else or they will also become unclean. Yet he has heard 70

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about Jesus and he has faith that if Jesus wants to, he can heal this disease. “If you are willing, you are able, you can make me clean.” There are some text variants concerning the emotions that Jesus showed. Did he respond in indignation or in compassion? Or both? It is possible that Jesus responded with compassion toward the leper as he did toward many others whom he healed, and at the same time responded with indignation toward the leprosy and the devastating results of sin. Jesus responded by reaching out and touching the leper. Ordinarily such an action would have caused the uncleanness to transfer to Jesus, and he would have become unclean, but there is nothing ordinary about Jesus. With the words, “I am willing, be clean,” Jesus heals the man. The cleanness of Jesus is stronger than the uncleanness of the leper, therefore the cleanness of Jesus passes to the leper, and he is healed. A picture of this process is found in the story “Ragman” in the book Ragman and Other Cries of Faith by Walter Wangerin Jr. As the Ragman meets various hurting people he exchanges his “new” rags for their torn rags. As he does the Ragman takes on their hurt or infirmity and the individual leaves whole. Jesus was able (and willing) to give physical healing to the man with leprosy, but he did not declare him ceremonially clean. That was still the job of the priest, and Jesus sternly commanded the healed man to show himself to the priest and offer the sacrifices commanded by Moses (Lv 14). This would be a testimony to the priests concerning the one who had provided the healing. We do not know if the man followed these instructions. Jesus also commanded the healed man not to tell of this healing to anyone else. The man did not obey Jesus. Instead he talked freely about Jesus and his healing to everyone. As a result, Jesus was no longer able to enter the towns and villages to preach, as he had desired to do, but instead stayed in lonely places. Jesus took the illness of the leper and gave him healing and wholeness. Like the Ragman in Wangerin’s story, Jesus takes our hurts, infirmities, sin, and sickness into himself and carries them all to the cross, giving us forgiveness, healing and wholeness as we trust in him. There are at least two other themes that present themselves. The first is that though Jesus is able, and in his compassion, certainly is also willing, why are so many of our prayers for healing for self or a loved one, even though offered in faith, not answered with physical healing as they were for the leper? We can all offer examples from within our families or our congregations of times when prayers for healing were offered fervently and in faithful trust, but the person died. We can often find consolation in the witness offered by the dying person and the testimony to the goodness and love of God that many get to hear and witness through the death of a faithful servant of God. We can draw on the example of St. Paul himself who was told by God that his suffering, his thorn in the flesh, was to be born in patience that God’s strength is made perfect in our weakness. Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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God certainly is able, but we do not know the mind of God, to know his plan and purpose in the situations of life that we face. He may choose to heal and bring glory to his name through that healing; or he may choose not to heal, but choose to give strength to bear the affliction, and to bring encouragement and hope to others through the faithful witness of the one who is afflicted. Because of God’s compassion shown in Jesus, and because Jesus took our place in death on the cross, death no longer has the victory over us, so that when we do die, death becomes the passageway to heaven and the total healing that we shall receive when we see Jesus face to face. The person who dies in the Lord receives the ultimate healing from Jesus in heaven. That is also an answer to our prayers. The second theme that could be followed is our response of obedience to the instructions we have received from the Lord in His Word. The leper’s disobedience did not nullify the healing. God did not take away his gift of grace to him. The leper’s disobedience did, however, hinder the work that Jesus wanted to do in that area. Jesus was no longer able to enter the towns and villages to do his work as he wanted to. How does disobedience in our own lives hinder the work that Jesus wants to do within us, and through us in the lives of those around us? Examining our lives, our attitudes, and our actions; turning from those areas of disobedience in repentance and receiving the forgiveness Jesus purchased for us; and asking for the help of the Holy Spirit to amend those areas of our lives, need to be a regular part of our spiritual exercise. Jesus certainly is able to do far more than we could even imagine, and his will is to finally bring all things together under Jesus as head (Eph 1:10). In the meantime, we cannot always discern God’s will for us in a specific circumstance. Faith places the situation in God’s hands, and trusts him for the best way through the circumstances. Wally Becker The Transfiguration of Our Lord • Mark 9:2–9 • February 22, 2009

Transfiguration Sunday has some similarities to Christmas and Easter in the sense that the assigned Gospel reading is one of those very familiar texts that can be difficult to preach in a fresh and new way. The details of the account are familiar to us. The decision is whether or not to preach on Jesus’ identity as the Son of God revealed, the Law and Prophets testifying to Jesus, or some combination thereof. The Three-Year Lectionary offers the opportunity to view the transfiguration through Mark’s eyes in Series B, and thus a fresh look at this familiar text. 72

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The Gospel of Mark, likely authored by Peter with Mark as his scribe, offers the only eyewitness account of the transfiguration in the Synoptic Gospels. The placement of the text in the context of Mark, and several of the subtle details in the Markan account suggest potential themes for homiletical development. Within the context of the Gospel of Mark, the transfiguration account immediately follows Peter’s confession of Jesus as the Christ at Ceasarea Philippi and Jesus’ teaching about his death and resurrection. The transfiguration account is uniquely linked in Mark to the preceding events by a timeline of “six days.” Mark is only this explicit with time here and in the Passion narrative, linking the two closely. This link demonstrates that Jesus is in fact the Son of God who will be able to accomplish the work of salvation which he has foretold. The period of “six days” may also suggest that there was time for the disciples to have considered Jesus’ teaching about his death prior to the transfiguration event. Moses and Elijah are often viewed as representing the Law and the Prophets of the Old Testament. They are those who heralded the coming of the Messiah and appear at the Transfiguration to attest to the fact that Jesus is he. While this is a helpful interpretation of Moses and Elijah’s role at the transfiguration, the Markan account may suggest something more. In both Matthew 17 and Luke 9, Moses is listed before Elijah suggesting the Law and Prophet interpretation; however, in Mark’s account Elijah is listed before Moses, which may suggest an eschatological emphasis. Elijah’s presence suggests the fulfillment of all things completed in Jesus, and Moses’ presence suggests that Jesus is the eschatological prophet spoken of in Deuteronomy 18:15–19. The Father’s command to “listen to him,” echoes the words of Deuteronomy 18:15–19. This eschatological emphasis follows Jesus’ discussion of judgment at the eschaton in Mark 8:38. Peter’s request to build the booths points to a lack of understanding on the disciples’ part, as is often the case in Mark. Peter, despite his confession of Jesus as the Christ, seems to lack the full understanding of who Jesus is and what he is doing. Calling Jesus “Rabbi,” rather than “Lord,” as in Matthew, or “Master,” as in Luke, likely illustrates Peter’s failure to fully recognize who Jesus is and what it means that he is the Christ. The construction of the booths or tents may indicate that it is the early fall and the time for the Feast of Tabernacles; however, it also illustrates that Peter may believe that Christ’s glory is now present, that his reign has begun, and there is nothing more to be done. Peter is focused on the present glory, but Jesus will not be detoured from the Cross. Jesus knows that the Cross must come before the Glory. The words of the Father from the cloud confirm the need for the Cross. The words echo not only Deuteronomy 18:15–19, but also the words spoken at Jesus’ baptism. This is still the same Jesus; he is the Son of God. The Father also echoes the language of Genesis 22:2 spoken to Abraham regarding Isaac. The Father will Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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take his “beloved Son” and he will be sacrificed as the atonement for sin. The Father commands that they “listen to him.” This may speak to Jesus’ authority as the Son of God and assert that the disciples should listen to what he has said of his death and resurrection. This may also speak to Peter who has just confessed Jesus as the Christ and affirm that Peter was correct and thus ought to listen to Jesus. The transfiguration in Mark points to the completion of Christ’s work at the Cross and in the Resurrection. The Cross must precede the Christ’s Glory revealed in the transfiguration. As Christ descends the mount of transfiguration, he is moving directly to the Cross and takes his disciples with him. By doing so, he is completing the purpose for which his Father sent him and thus the glory of the Resurrection and his eternal reign, glimpsed at the transfiguration, are made certain. Suggested Outline

I. Mistaken—Misplaced Focus on Glory II. Eschatological Glory By Way of the Cross III. Glimpses of Glory Now in Word and Sacrament

Lent 1 • Mark 1:9–15 • March 1, 2009

Paul Philp

This is the second time in this liturgical year we have encountered Mark’s account of Jesus’ baptism by John. The first was on the Baptism of our Lord, January 11. There, the baptism ends the pericope, preceded by John the baptizer’s ministry in the wilderness. Here, it prefaces Jesus’ own journey into the wilderness and the beginning of his ministry in Galilee. This makes the whole narrative sequence a kind of chiasm, centered in Jesus’ baptism, and on either side of it, the wilderness. As was pointed out in the first part of the Concordia Journal Currents roundtable discussion on preaching Mark (www.ConcordiaTheology.org), the liturgical year’s sequence does not follow Mark’s own narrative sequence. Year B inserts Mark’s account of the transfiguration from chapter 9 in between the chapter 1 accounts of Jesus’ baptism and temptation. This is a point worth noting, since it is a disruption in the flow and telos toward which the beginning of Mark’s Gospel is taking us. Of course, this being the first week of Lent, the season foregrounds Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness. The Gospel of Mark spends only two verses on an

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event that takes 11 verses in Matthew and 13 verses in Luke. The narrative sweep, like so much of Mark, is swift, and the details are sparse. But what details are (or are not) there are significant. Mark initiates the action with urgency, the baptismal Spirit driving Jesus “immediately” into the wilderness. Mark does not care at all to mention the three specific temptations from Satan. Mark’s Jesus encounters what appears to be a vague 40-day torment. But only Mark mentions the “wild beasts,” and only Mark gives the impression that the angels attended Jesus during the entire wilderness encounter, rather than only at the end of the temptations. And what are we to make of those “wild beasts”? Are they part of the wilderness temptation, part of the demonic battle? Or, is Jesus here enjoining solidarity with his Father’s creation, groaning together with the whole of nature that is awaiting the redemption he comes to bring (Rom 8:22)? Or, is Mark perhaps signaling a tension here, where Jesus is simultaneously wrestling and blessing the wild wilderness, an echo of the angel wrestling the wild Jacob (Gn 32:22–32)? I prefer this last option, but Mark loves to leave us ruminating on the possibilities while he’s moving on to other things. What is significant here is that Mark’s Jesus has crossed a border between what is tame and what is wild, between “civilized” society and the wilderness. He is, to borrow from American mythology, the Delta bluesman standing at “the crossroads.” Jesus will continue to cross such borders—commanding demons, touching lepers, speaking and listening to the Syrophoenician woman—throughout his ministry, culminating in the tragic drama of the cross, where Jesus crosses the ultimate cosmic and human border of death. Even there he won’t stand still for very long. The Rev. Héctor Hoppe recently led the Seminary community in an En Conjunto Table Talk podcast (in English at “Hispanic Studies” at the Seminary’s iTunes U site, itunes.csl.edu) on “Crossing Borders,” particularly the borders Christ crosses in the gospels, from a Latino perspective. It is a vital and timely discussion. And it would make for excellent homiletical preparation not only for this text but for Lent as a whole. Because, in a sense, to experience the Gospel of Mark during the season of Lent and Holy Week is nothing more than to risk crossing ever more dangerous borders with Jesus Christ, the Son of God (1:1). Foremost among these borders is the crossroads of repentance and forgiveness. As such, “Crossing Borders” would make a worthwhile Markan theme for Lent. Nothing summarizes such Lenten border-crossing better than Jesus’ own first Gospel proclamation upon his return from the wilderness. “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news” (1:15). The rest of Mark’s Gospel is a living out of that proclamation, and an urgent call to discipleship with the One who proclaims it. Travis J. Scholl

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Lent 2 • Mark 8:27–38 • March 8, 2009

This second Gospel reading in the season of Lent begins with a significant geographic border-crossing. Jesus has left the friendlier confines of Galilee, heading north to Caesarea Philippi. The name itself suggests the heavy hand of the Roman Empire, and the city was a significant site of pagan worship. Jesus has left behind the crowds and is walking alone with his disciples. Along the way comes the question: “Who do people say that I am?” This episode occurs near the very center of the Gospel of Mark, and this is Mark’s central question. Who is Jesus? Peter gives the only life-giving answer: “You are the Messiah.” It is the answer that becomes the bedrock of the church’s first confession: “Jesus Christ is Lord” (Phil 2:11). Although here again it is important to note the details Mark does not include, no talk of name changes or of rocks to build a church on. The rest is left as another of the great messianic secrets of Mark’s Jesus: “And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him” (8:30). This is in stark contrast to the revelations that come immediately after, those things that he then speaks of “quite openly” (8:32). This is Jesus’ first prediction (of three) of the Passion in Mark, that “the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected…and be killed, and after three days rise again” (8:31). With this prediction, the tragic vortex of Mark is set into motion. Of course, Jesus’ prediction cuts against the grain of Jewish expectations of the Messiah’s mission. Hence, Peter’s rebuke, so hushed Mark doesn’t bother to record his words. Notice Mark’s “stage directions” to this part of the narrative. Jesus speaks of the Passion out in the open, center stage. Peter “took him aside” (8:32) to rebuke him, stage right. Jesus then turns and looks back to his disciples, stage left, and exclaims, “Get behind me, Satan!…” (8:33). Jesus’ wilderness wrestlings with the demonic continue in his very interactions with those closest to him. In this case, the temptation enters through the misunderstandings and naïveté of the disciples, who in Mark never do seem to get it all together. Despite how well we know the story, Jesus’ words still cut against the grain of our own expectations. Perhaps that’s why Jesus directs his next words not only to his disciples but also to the returning “crowd” (8:34). “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me…” (8:35). Mark’s radical call to discipleship could not be any more clear than here in verses 35–38. This talk of how to save and lose, profit and forfeit, a life is oft-quoted. And indeed, these are days when many have lost much of their lives, or at least that part of their life that is expressed in their “life savings,” through hardly any fault of their own. Yet, what is it that we have lost? And by losing it, what have we gained?

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Anytime we have lost some of our own misunderstandings and naïveté about what life is about and, more importantly, what the Gospel is calling us to, we have gained. To lose our illusions is to gain the truth. The key to gaining a clearer understanding of reality lies in the lowest common denominator that Jesus points us to, the reality of death. If Mark’s narrative form is indeed (as many suggest) tragedy, this is the ultimate tragic trajectory. It is only the tragic hero who has the courage to ask, “For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life?” (8:36–37). Such is the apparent contradiction—the paradox of discipleship—that Jesus would point us to. No, Jesus is more than pointing. He will bear up and become that contradiction on a hill outside Jerusalem. Here is where the tragic vortex of Mark will spin into its inevitable end. And that is where the divine paradox takes hold. The loss of Jesus’ life is the gaining of ours. His forfeit is our profit. To those who would stake their lives with his, the return is a life that can stare death in the face and laugh. We can only know this life (his and ours) by faith. Mark’s call to discipleship is ultimately a call to faith, to trust the Son of God with all that we are despite our misunderstandings and naïvete. Our faith is rooted in what Jesus will do on that hill outside Jerusalem. And what he will do even more miraculously three days later. Travis J. Scholl Lent 3 • John 2:13–22 • March 15, 2009

Thoughts from the Text The number of midweek Lenten series with at least one Wednesday devoted to a meditation on the scourge is probably beyond number. “Jesus and the Scourge” is a title that makes sense and you know the basic outline: our innocent Lord is made to suffer excruciating pain at the hands of a heartless Roman soldier and his fearsome weapon—Jesus feels the scourge so that you may escape the scourge. But, the same title could easily apply to a sermon with an inverted outline: Jesus’ scourge inflicts unprovoked pain and suffering on peaceable businessmen who were providing a legitimate service sanctioned by the religious authorities. Sermons following this angle on the scourge of Jesus don’t enjoy much popularity. The whole incident raises too many troubling questions and challenges too many cherished notions about our Lord. Yet, with no apparent pangs of conscience about shattering quaint ideas of an irenic and gentle Jesus, John gives us Jesus with a scourge, herding the shopkeepers along with the livestock they were hawking.

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Yet more threatening to our portrait of an inclusive and welcoming Jesus is the realization that instead of inviting people into his temple, Jesus is driving them out. It will not do to claim a motive other than the one revealed. There is no hint from John that the sellers were dishonest, or corrupt, or charging airport or stadium prices to a captive audience. To insist that Jesus’ is doing what he does out of love for the common man or to thwart avarice is to go beyond the text and supply answers that prop up a preconceived and tottering image of our “ideal Jesus”. John makes it clear that Jesus is compelled to action simply out of love for God’s truth (doctrine) and disgust over the world of business claiming a place in God’s house (practice). Of course, this raises not a few more uncomfortable questions about the church’s usual enthusiastic willingness to adopt “proven” insights, strategies, methods, models, and missions, from the world of business. One wonders how Jesus might respond, today, were he randomly to attend an ordinary congregational or synodical meeting—perhaps it would be wise first to insure that no cords were lying about within reach of the guest. By far, the most arresting aspect of this narrative, however, is Jesus’ claim regarding the temple—the audacious assertion that he could rebuild a destroyed temple in three days scandalized his first century audience, but this is not the real temple scandal. The stunning climax of this account is the revelation that the sacred temple of Jerusalem has been eclipsed and made obsolete. Jesus has come. Jesus is the temple. Jesus is the place where God and man are reconciled. Jesus is the place where one goes to meet God. Jesus is the place where God makes himself known to his people. The temple is irrelevant. Jesus is the only temple anyone needs. When Rome destroyed Herod’s temple in 70 AD, it was of little consequence to the community of believers—Rome had already destroyed the Temple decades before…but as predicted he rose, and he lives. Finally, after Jesus’ sign of authority had been conclusively demonstrated with the Easter dawn, the disciples remembered and believed (exactly which Scripture they believed is left unspecified, though context would point to Psalm 69:10). Jesus had said it, they had seen it: he was Lord—authority to cleanse, redefine, or raise a temple clearly belonged to him. The uncomplicated faith of the disciples is the only right response to Jesus. Suggested Outline

“Bringing Down the House” Intro: ABC’s Extreme Makeover Home Edition could provide a nice launching point for the sermon, which would be tracing God’s work of Extreme Makeover Temple Edition.

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I. God’s house: the temple A. God gives it. 1. It is his means of establishing his relationship with his people. 2. The people corrupt and pervert God’s house. B. Jesus has authority over it. 1. The scourge cleanses it. 2. He determines who is welcome. 3. He is zealous for God’s truth (doctrine!). II. God’s house: the church A. God gives it. 1. It is his church, not ours. 2. It is his means of delivering grace to his people. B. We insist on having it on our own terms. 1. Unlike the disciples, we struggle to believe Jesus’ authoritative word. 2. Try to manipulate it to meet our agendas and ideas. 3. Impose business models on its operation.

III. God’s house: the Christ A. Jesus is God’s final and full self-revelation. 1. He is the temple. 2. God and man meet…literally…in Jesus. B. He comes to us in Word and Sacrament. 1. This happens through the means of the church. 2. This happen on his terms. 3. We receive grace.

Joel D. Biermann

Lent 4 • John 3:14–21 • March 22, 2009

Although the reading begins with verse 14, the context from the start of the chapter is helpful. Nicodemus, a learned man, an expert in the law, and a leader of the religious community (Sanhedrin), came by night to see Jesus—to see but not be seen. Darkness provided cover, giving Nicodemus hope that what he did would not be seen. And that was for good reason, for while others sought out Jesus in public to put him in a bind and discredit him (cf. John 8 where the adulteress is brought to Jesus in the open forum of the temple), Nicodemus seems honestly to want Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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answers and to understand. Yet as the chapter unfolds, it is apparent he still hangs on to his pre/misconceptions with a mindset that turns out to be mistaken. But he was at least interested in what this Jesus was all about, and he begins on a positive note: what he has seen and heard to date smacks of things of God. What follows is as well, though it would scramble his thinking, also for good reason. Logic, not to mention cultural/social standing, weighed on Nicodemus’s misperception of how God operated. Israel might think its efforts at keeping the Law in whatever form (moral or ceremonial) were a necessary contribution to salvation. In fact, as Luther noted, throughout God’s salvation history from Adam on, people were always saved the same way, namely, by faith in God’s promises. Rightly speaking, Israel’s conduct was witness to its trust in the covenant God himself had made. So when Jesus spoke of starting over, of being born again, Nicodemus should have thought of circumcision of the heart, of attitude, of faith—but that is, humanly speaking, a risky way to live and does little for the ego. But Jesus was not through. Turning salvation logic on its head again, he points to Moses and the serpent and then to himself. In the Exodus, as Israel was dying from the poisonous snakes, it was promised life by looking to the embodiment of that death lifted high by Moses. What sense did that make, to escape death by looking at death made large? But it was God’s promise that brought life in faith. That Jesus whom Nicodemus came to see soon would be lifted up as the sum, the embodiment of rejection, sin, and death itself, and yet people were told to look there for life. Deuteronomy 5 (cursed is one hanging on a tree) not to mention what people would see before them on Calvary said otherwise, but nevertheless life was there because of God’s promise. It was an irrational way to show love, but then this was no ordinary love. Luther emphasized the difference in his 1518 “Heidelberg Disputation” where, explaining his theology to fellow Augustinians, he wrote in Thesis 28, “God’s love does not find its object but rather creates its object; human love finds its object.” We are drawn to and love what we find lovable (e.g., we order Brussels sprouts because we like them, not hate them), and we think we can do something God also will find lovable and accept. In fact, by ourselves we have and are nothing. But God, in His love, creates what He wants to love, making new creatures out of the nothing we are or have to offer. As with the Son lifted up on the cross, how God operates is counter-intuitive. “Nothing in my hands I bring; simply to the cross I cling.” There is no getting close or being in the neighborhood, no existing on the fringe. It is darkness or light, and the two cannot coexist. But this is far from terrifying: Christ came not to condemn the world. The world has done a good job of doing that to itself on its own. Rather he has come to save all. Heinrich Schütz, in a motet on John 3, underscores that the Son comes “so that that all, all, all, all who believe in him will not be lost.” And he has not failed: no limited atonement, but 80

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light for all—yet some prefer to stay in darkness. Nicodemus came in darkness. We don’t know how things ended for him personally. The chapter concludes with Jesus’ discourse on the light of salvation. What of us and others? This is not to suggest a choice we make. We love darkness. But the Spirit blows in God’s promise, so the point is to make sure light is shed, and then, when we live in that light, to pray God keep us despite all logic and because of his love. In Lent, a season devoted to re-examination and change, that’s a radical change for life. “God’s Radical Way with Radical Love”

I. Nicodemus as Everyman A. We prefer our logic, our perspective B. Groping in the dark gets us nowhere and God still sees all

II. God’s radical way in Sinai (v. 14) A. The circumstances that brought punishment B. The illogic of the brass serpent: the promise of life in the image of death

III. God’s radical way in Christ and cross (vv. 15–17) A. Nicodemus-like logic; God’s creating the lovable B. The illogic of God’s infinite love: life in the Son’s death C. No existing in twilight; rather darkness or light D. Empty hands clinging to promise/cross in faith and joy

Robert Rosin

Lent 5 • Mark 10: (32–34) 35–45 • March 29, 2009

The Slave of All

The Passion Prediction (Mark 10:32–34) This is the third time Jesus predicts his death and resurrection in Mark. The first time, Peter takes him aside and rebukes him (Mk 8:31–32). The second time, the disciples do not understand and are afraid to ask him about it (Mk 9:31–32). The third time, his prediction is followed by James’ and John’s request to sit at his right and his left in his glory. Mark does not specify that this request happens immediately after Jesus’ passion prediction, so it is hard to know whether James and John are proceeding in callous disregard of what Jesus just said. Nevertheless, Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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the juxtaposition of Jesus’ words with the request of James and John follows the same pattern as the first two passion predictions: Jesus predicts his death and the disciples respond without comprehension.

The Request of James and John (Mark 10:35–45) James and John want to sit on Jesus’ right and left in his glory. The point of this episode is Jesus’ response that they are not to behave like the Gentiles, lording it over people, but “whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all” (ESV). At first glance it may seem that the Greek of verse 43 should be translated, “whoever would be great among you will be (e;stai) your servant,” and similarly in verse 44, “whoever would be first among you will be (e;stai) slave of all.” The problem is, this translation would make being a servant and slave of all into a punishment for one’s grandiose desires—hardly an encouragement to be a servant. The passage makes a lot more sense if e;stai is taken as a future indicative functioning as an imperative, as in the fifth commandment, “you shall not murder” (ouv foneu,seij in Mt 5:21). This is how the ESV arrives at “must be your servant” and “must be slave of all.” In this translation, service is not a punishment, but service is itself greatness. This turns the worldly idea of greatness on its head. It is as if the world and the kingdom of God are parallel universes with different laws of physics. In the world, life is about getting. If I am great, that means that I am higher than you and I have more for myself. In the kingdom of God, on the other hand, life is about giving. If I am great, then I serve you. Jesus’ words are a severe indictment of the world. There is a sense in which his words can be gospel as well, however. What if we imagine God operating according to the world’s principles? In that case, he would demand what is coming to him. He would seek glory for himself and demand that his lowly creatures give it to him. But in fact, God operates according to the kingdom’s principles. He is more concerned to give than to get. He calls sinners, not the righteous. He seeks to be the servant of all. That is why, in the final verse of the text, Jesus shows himself to be the model of the kind of life he is urging for his disciples. The Ransom Saying (Mark 10:45) “For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve (diakonh/sai), and to give his life as a ransom for many.” There is perhaps a bit of irony here since at the beginning of the gospel, the angels served (dihko,noun) Jesus (Mark 1:13), and Peter’s mother-in-law served (dihko,nei) him as well (Mark 1:31). His main reason for coming, however, was to serve humanity by giving his life as a ransom. 82

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This ransom saying is significant because it is one of the few places in the gospels where Jesus gives an explicit interpretation of the significance of his death. The saying raises a number of theological issues. Since a ransom (lu,tron) is a payment for the release of those in captivity, one may naturally ask to whom the ransom is being paid. There were some in the history of the church who said that the ransom was paid to the devil, but this view is unsatisfactory because it suggests that humanity’s ultimate problem is the devil. A more profound theology recognizes that humanity’s ultimate problem is with God himself. Our sin has separated us from God, and that is far more terrifying than captivity to the devil. Therefore, most theologians, especially since Anselm, have recognized that the ransom is paid to God.1 Another point of theological significance in the ransom saying is the phrase “for many” (avnti. pollw/n). The preposition “for” (avnti.) means “in the place of.” Thus, it indicates the substitutionary character of Christ’s death. He suffered in our place. The fact that his death is for “many” does not exclude anyone from this substitution. “Many” can be a way of referring to an unspecified multitude and so need not conflict with the statement that Christ “gave himself as a ransom for all” (1 Tm 2:6). In this sacrifice, Christ exhibits the truth of his own saying, “Whoever would be first among you must be slave of all.” David R. Maxwell Endnote

1 The classic treatment of this question, which is more sympathetic to the idea that the price is paid to the devil than my remarks are, is found in Gustaf Aulén, Christus Victor: An Historical Study of the Three Main Types of the Idea of the Atonement, translated by A.G. Herbert (New York: Macmillan, 1977), 47–55.

Palm Sunday/Sunday of the Passion • Mark 15:1– 47 • April 5, 2009

As seems the case every time we encounter a pericope from the Gospel of Mark, we can start by noticing what is not there. The “Palm Sunday” in Mark isn’t triumphal, at least not with the same sense of triumph that we find in the other gospels. But Mark does give us another Passion initiation rite of sorts. It begins the longer reading that is an option for this Sunday (14:1–15:47). Jesus is in Bethany, at the border-town threshold of his death march into Jerusalem, and “a woman came with an alabaster jar of very costly ointment of nard, and she broke open the jar and poured the ointment on his head” (14:3). The significance of the act is lost on everyone else. But not on Jesus: “…she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial” (14:8). Mark’s equivalent to a triumphal Palm Sunday parade is a kingly Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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anointing for death, made by a woman whose name is unrecorded but whose act will be remembered forever (14:9). This is perfectly in keeping with Mark’s foreboding sense of tragedy. Now the tone is set for the Passion of the Son of God. (It is significant to reflect on Mark’s Passion this day, since the readings for the Three Days will be another disruption from the Gospel of John.) The coronation of this king is completed in the pericope proper by the satire of soldiers: “And they clothed him in a purple cloak; and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on him. And they began saluting him, ‘Hail, King of the Jews!’” (15:17–18). Of course, “King of the Jews” is the title given Jesus by Pilate, a name imposed upon him by an antagonistic and incredulous empire. This is part of Mark’s irony. Jesus fulfills this title, despite the fact that it is a title he never claims for himself. But he fulfills it in a way that subverts every attempt by the “principalities and powers” of this world to put words in his mouth. (Quite literally for Mark, both trials subsist in charges about things Jesus supposedly said.) The irony is signaled by Jesus’ deafening silence, a silence so profound it leaves Pilate “amazed” (15:4). Of course, Pilate leaves himself in more of a bind than when he started when he is outsmarted into releasing a murderous rebel in the stead of an innocent man. It really is no different in our time. Words are put in Jesus’ mouth all the time. And all our attempts to get at the heart of what Jesus really is all about leave us in more of a bind than when we started. “But who do you say that I am?” (8:29). If we are listening at all to Mark’s Gospel, we can only now answer Mark’s central question with any sort of accuracy. We answer with the amazement of the centurion: “Truly this man was God’s Son!” (15:39). Everything else is either silence or noise. Of course, in Mark’s Passion, Jesus’ silence seems to consume all. The only words Mark records from the cross are Jesus’ most haunting. Mark is so haunted to record them that at first he can only recite them in a language we can’t understand: “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” Then, the translation: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (15:34). The haunted evangelist remembers a haunted Messiah remembering a haunted psalmist (Ps 22). Everything else, from Jesus’ perspective, is silence. The Palm Sunday liturgy can signal this deep moment of silence. There is always that brief moment in the Palm Sunday liturgy when the cheer of the grand procession turns, the moment when we realize that this king enters his city to be rejected and scorned, to suffer and to die. It is the moment of recognition at who this Jesus really is, and what it means for him to be the Christ, the Son of God. How you, as liturgist and preacher, enact this silence is your decision. But it should be attended to with forethought and care.

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Silence and noise. If we listen to what we read in Mark’s Passion, we hear a reverberating between silence and noise. Mark 15 is a veritable soundtrack to the Passion of the Christ, and the sounds seem to constantly move back and forth between hushed tones and loud cacophony, between Jesus whispering “You have said so” and a crowd shouting “Crucify him!” This horrifying dialogue refuses to be resolved until the phonên megalên—the “loud cry” of the Son of God breathing his last (15:37). Literally, this is the mega-phone that signals that the tragedy of the Passion is now complete. There is much drama here and in all the details of Mark’s Passion, drama that can be enacted liturgically in word, sound, song, and gesture. Indeed, it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Now, though, the stage has emptied but for a small circle that has gathered to watch and listen. Simon of Cyrene and Joseph of Arimathea. The centurion. All the women who “provided for him when he was in Galilee” (15:41). We are among them, watching and listening “from a distance” (15:40). But in a final irony that is not lost on Mark, the Christ will soon return to Galilee, where he will provide for us. Even this day he will provide, in a morsel of bread and a sip of wine. Travis J. Scholl The Resurrection of our Lord • Mark 16:1–8 • April 12, 2009

Introductory thoughts: These women appear to be bewildered, to be sure, and somewhat befuddled and bungling. They apparently had just not thought of how they would get to the body, behind that massive stone that blocked the entrance, behind those Roman guards. They could not know, of course, that theirs was a mission in vain because the body had come to life again and was not in need of their spices. And then they encountered the angel—always an encounter that makes for trouble and change (just ask Zechariah or Mary). They fled the scene, filled with fear that stopped their mouths. I.

The fact remains: the tomb had no body (the documentary evidence for this is stronger than for many events of ancient times: the event is, to be sure, more unusual than most)... Jesus had really risen from the dead. Fear or no fear, their Lord had left the grave, had reclaimed life, for them and for all who trust in him. What might their reaction have been had they been there when he rolled the stone away and started walking toward Jerusalem? His resurrection has determined the new reality of human possibilities. No more limited by our sinfulness and by the Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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veil of death it brings, we can enjoy the fullness of life because he has set us free from fears and placed us securely in the kingdom and family of our God. He is truly risen— indeed! II.

The fact remains: Jesus had risen, even though they did not have the courage to do the most natural thing to do when there is good news: tell someone. The angel told them to tell others, but they were filled with fear. We know the feeling, precisely in the situation where we know we should be telling someone of the Lord’s resurrection and the reality of new life in him. III.

The fact remains: Jesus, who had bled on the cross and died with the words of Psalm 22 on his lips, “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (the most mystery-filled words in all Scripture), had reclaimed life, for himself and for all others under its oppression. That is the way a gospel writer prepared his readers for the end of his recital of God’s delivery of sinners from their bondage and guilt. We do not know for sure how Mark ended his gospel. Even if the earliest manuscripts we have do not have our traditional verses 9–20, even earlier manuscripts might have contained them. Whatever the origin of these verses, ending a gospel with the natural fears of those who had no idea what kind of future God was unrolling for them seems not quite right. The church early on resolved that the gospel had to end in another way. The custodians of the manuscripts knew that the angel had given the commission (v. 7); they knew that Jesus had completed his activity on earth by sending his disciples to tell the message and baptize those the Holy Spirit was drawing into God’s family (vv. 15–16). They knew that Christ propelled them into the world with the message of his resurrection (v. 20). IV.

Jesus is risen, and he has given us both the comfort and power of living life apart from the fear of death and all other fears that cast their shadows over our lives. Against every kind of discouragement and despair that causes us to stumble, the angel’s reminder that Jesus lives protects us, so that we may truly live freed from all fears, free to carry out Jesus’ commands for our lives. Vital to living in the fresh breezes that descend from heaven through Christ’s empty tomb is the joy we have when we carry out the command of the angel to go and to tell the good news of the resurrection. That is doing what comes naturally, e.g. to children, who cannot keep a secret but must tell good news to all within shouting distance. We have to overcome excuses and fears to give witness to our Lord’s resurrection. But we are messengers (aγγελοι), who also disrupt people’s lives with the good news of Jesus’ resurrection, which does sound so strange—and is, 86

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for sinners, so threatening to their old way of life—that people resist our message. No matter: we cannot help ourselves. We cannot do other than to let them know: the fact is, Jesus is risen. He is risen indeed. Robert Kolb Easter 2 • John 20:19–31 • April 19, 2009

Among the many themes clearly evident from this text, e.g., doubt and faith using the experience of Thomas (20:24–29), belief in Christ fostered by the telling of the life, death, and resurrection of Christ (20:30–31), this sermon help will focus on the theme of fear and peace (20:19–22, 26). For sermon helps focusing on the theme of doubt and faith see Richard Warneck’s “The Man Who Missed Easter” in the Concordia Journal, January 1998, pp. 96–98. For sermon helps focusing on the theme of the fostering of belief in Christ, see Paul Raabe’s discussion in the Concordia Journal, January 1990, pp. 56–57. Fear blocks productive living. The sermon can begin there in the context of a feeling in a person’s experience with which everyone can identify. The initial exploration is of the nature of fear. As examples, there are many specific fears: scopophobia is the fear of being looked or stared at; phobophobia is the fear of being afraid; triskaidekaphobia is the fear of the number thirteen; ecclesiaphobia is the fear of churches. (Thanks to http://professor-howdy.blogspot.com for these examples.) Everyone has anxiety about something or experiences fear in relationship to something frightening. Time could be taken to ask people to think about that which is frightening to them or the preacher can share some of his own in personal way. (3” X 5” cards could be distributed for people to write down those things about which they are most afraid.) Fear gets in the way of living life to its fullest. The beginning of the text paints a picture of the disciples behind closed doors “for fear (phobos) of the Jews” (20:19). This is the third time in the Gospel of John such a phrase is used, and each time it is clear that the fear got in the way of something positive. At the Feast of the Tabernacles (7:13) “no one spoke openly about him (Jesus) because they were afraid of the Jews”. Here fear inhibits conversation, discussion and witnessing. After the crucifixion, “Joseph of Arimathea, secretly a disciple of Jesus for fear of the Jews, asked Pilate if he could remove the body of Jesus” (19:38a). Here fear fosters secrecy, although Joseph found a way to deal with it well enough to get done what he wanted to do. In the text, the disciples are behind locked doors (20:19, 26). Here fear Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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restricts activity and causes a certain amount of “circling the wagons” and creating barriers to the outside world. In these second and third resurrection appearances of Jesus as recorded in John’s Gospel, Jesus greets the disciples and “said to them, ‘Peace (eirenen) be with you’”. While this is a common greeting, it also points back to John 14:27, “Peace I leave with you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.” Kittel (Theological Dictionary of the New Testament, Volume II, p. 412) states: “As regards the material use of the term in the NT three concepts call for notice: a. peace as a feeling of peace and rest; b. peace as a state of reconciliation with God; c. peace as the salvation of the whole man in an ultimate eschatological sense. All three possibilities are present, but the last is the basis. This confirms the link with the OT and Rabbinic usage.” Here Christ’s peace is connected to the OT “shalom” and is a sense of inner peacefulness based on a newly formed right relationship with God through Christ and assurance of God’s presence with us both now and in eternity. In a real sense, we are “saved” and “at peace”. Yet even Jesus’ coming to the disciples did not calm them completely, for the next week they were still behind locked doors. In the real world we struggle, not always either comprehending or experiencing in its fullness the peace of God that passes all understanding. (Returning to the 3” X 5” cards if used, invite the hearers to write a cross over the fears that are written down and also write over them the word “Peace”. The pastor might have these cards collected and receive them, placing them on the altar where they can be seen as brought before God. Prayers for God’s peace in relationship to all the fears expressed on these cards would be quite welcome.) That Christ brings his peace does not mean we every receive it fully in this life lived in this fallen world. Yet the assurance is that as we live in our fear behind locked doors the Christ comes into our midst and says, “Peace be to you”. He comes to us in Sacrament and Word; he comes to us as we are bearers of his peace to each other. “Peace be to you.” Bruce Hartung Easter 3 • Luke 24:36–49 • April 26, 2009

To Seek Him 1. One must look for the right Jesus 2. One must find him where he may be found 88

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For them, for Jesus’ followers, something had been and so still was sorely lacking. And the effect upon them was profound indeed. “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” declare the angels clothed in dazzling apparel to the unsuspecting women there in the tomb, perplexed at its emptiness, and more than a little startled by the sight of the angels (24:1–5). “Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified and on the third day rise” (24:6–7). This, of course, they had heard before. But this they had never comprehended, neither the women nor any of Jesus’ other followers. So when the time came for it all to take place, they all were more than just caught unsuspecting. They were caught unbelieving. So Jesus says it again to the two on the road to Emmaus: “Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory? And, beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself ” (24:26–27). And for a third time he says it again and finally to the eleven: “’These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms must be fulfilled.’ Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead’” (24:44–46). So he teaches them (again and again). For, if all this continues to fail them, the moment of his most glorious triumph will likewise fail them. For not to comprehend such things is not to know Jesus at all, is to be deaf, dumb, and blind to him, even when he’s standing there right in front of them. Under no circumstances can he allow such a thing. For great is his love. Great is his devotion. Great is his reason for coming in order that he might suffer, die, and on the third day rise. So he acts, he teaches (and two heavenly heralds do also), that none may be lost. For lost are they without him. Lost. So when the women go to the tomb early in the morning, they are the first to indicate this, for they go fully expecting that they will find not a risen Jesus but a “dead and gone” one (an “all hope is now lost” one). He who lives (but they do not yet know this) they seek among the dead, because that’s all that they are initially prepared to know about him. He’s dead. And when they return from the tomb and speak of their experience to the eleven and to all the rest, all that the apostles themselves are initially prepared to know about him too is that he is dead and gone. So “these words seemed to them utter nonsense, and they did not believe the women.” (24:11). Peter rises and runs to the tomb. He stoops and looks in. He sees the linen cloths by themselves. But all he can do thus far is to to marvel over it all, is to wonder what in the world has happened (24:12). But for him there are no answers. And when two of them are on their way to Emmaus, and they are talking and discussing together all that has happened, and Jesus himself draws near and goes with them, their eyes are incapable of recognizing him” (24:13–16). For all Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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they know at the moment about Jesus of Nazareth is that he was “a man” (and no more), “a prophet mighty in word and deed” (24:19), one whom they had hoped “that he was the one to redeem Israel” (24:21). “But we were wrong about him,” they say (to Jesus!). “Our hope in him died with him.” “Some women of our company amazed us,” they say. “They were at the tomb early in the morning, and … they came back saying that they had seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive” (24:22–23). “But we checked on this,” they add, “and did not find any corroborating evidence to support their claim. Therefore, naturally we did not believe them.” “O foolish ones,” responds Jesus, “and slow of heart to believe” (24:25). Finally, later, after the eleven have heard both from the women and from the two who have returned from Emmaus, Jesus himself stands in the midst of them, and says to them, “Peace to you!” But instead of being elated and joyful, they are startled and frightened and first think that they are seeing an incorporeal spirit. So Jesus acts first to demonstrate to them that he is no such thing. He invites them to look upon his hands and feet, to touch and see. But still they hesitate to believe it. And so he says to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” They give him a piece of broiled fish, and he takes it and eats it before them. For first they must know that it is really him. He is risen! So much fails them (all day long!), but he will not. So he teaches them (“and they remembered his words,” 24:8), and he teaches them (“Did not our hearts burn within us … as he opened to us the Scriptures?” 24:32), and he teaches them (“Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures,” 24:45). And, yes, he eats with them (“When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened, and they recognized them. And he vanished from their sightl.” So later they told the others “how he was known to them in the breaking of the bread,” 24:30–31, 35). For those intent upon seeking him where he may be found must find him in these things, must look for the right Jesus in the right place, in the fellowship of the word and the meal, in the light of the things concerning Christ’s passion that his followers are caused to see. He departs, but he is not absent. “You are witnesses of these things,” he declares (24:48), “that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in [my] name to all the nations.” For “the stranger who walked with them on the road, who became a guest at their home and then host at their meal, is a stranger no more. He is now the host who gives himself for food every time the Church gathers in fellowship around the table to celebrate the presence of the eschatological kingdom through the teaching of his words and the breaking of his bread” (Arthur Just, The Ongoing Feast, p. 261).

Bruce G. Schuchard

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book reviews

COncordia Journal

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EARTHEN VESSELS: Hopeful Reflections on the Work and Future of Theological Schools. By Daniel O. Aleshire. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008. 177 pages. $20.00.

You could say that The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod is a “seeking” synod. We know the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, but in our sanctified life together as institutional church, we are seeking after better ways to serve him, better ways to grow, better ways to live in harmony, and better ways to “do church.” Daniel Aleshire’s Earthen Vessels leads some of us to conclude that our seeking synod may be speeding past an obvious part of the solution: our seminaries. For some 20 years Aleshire has worked with the Association of Theological Schools, the accrediting agency for the more than 250 theological schools in North America. In Earthen Vessels, Aleshire makes a researched and reasoned case for theological schools, presenting their unique role in vocational formation and in advancing the church through teaching and research. His insights on governance and administration carry the weight of his experience. Because Aleshire has invested himself in theological schools (to be distinguished from theological education, which does not necessarily require a campus and school), one would expect him to be for seminaries, and he is. “What is the future of graduate, professional education for ministry? Many have a dim view of what the future will or can be. Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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I am more hopeful than worried and, every once in a while, unreservedly optimistic” (169). Written from the panoramic view of theological schools throughout North America, Earthen Vessels also raises and responds to criticisms of seminaries that I regularly hear in the LCMS. Here are three examples: Criticism: A student goes to seminary on fire for the Lord but the seminary beats it out of him. Aleshire: “The idealism and initial commitments of new seminary students typically change during seminary, and this change can be perceived as a crisis, or even, loss of faith. Most typically, this ‘crisis’ is a normal developmental aspect of maturing faith. Intellectually informed Christian belief differs from popular belief. Ministry is a complex and difficult form of work. It requires faith that has encountered difficult questions and learned to live through them and with them” (15). Criticism: You do not need to go to the seminary to be an effective pastor. Aleshire: “The work of ministry…needs schools because ministry is an increasingly complex task, because the education level of parishioners is rising, because the world is an increasingly complicated place, because the religious and moral dilemmas in this age are increasingly demanding, and because schools are the best setting in which the knowledge, skills, perceptions, and dispositions that are needed for this time can be learned” (19). Criticism: In this day and age we 93

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simply cannot afford the cost of maintaining seminaries. (Whether the LCMS should have two seminaries is a topic for another time.) Aleshire: “Is the work that these schools do worth the price tag? If theological education is a commodity to be produced at the least expense for the most recipients, then the question is legitimate. If the goal, however, is the preparation of religious leaders who are deeply formed in an understanding of faith, who can guide congregations in a culture that is less than convinced that religion is a cultural asset, who can lead in the context of significant change in congregational practice, and who both know the tradition and can teach it to the increasing percentage of people who do not know the tradition or understand it, then theological education is not a commodity. The question about cost is really a question about value. If seminaries fail in the future because of inadequate financing, it won’t be because there is not enough money available. It will be because there is an inadequate commitment to the essential contribution that theological schools make to the Christian project and religious leadership” (145). Seminaries, and our LCMS seminaries to be sure, are not above criticism, and so Aleshire lays out challenges that theological schools must address in this new century. Seminaries and denominations need to recognize anew their dependence upon one another. Seminaries need to develop “multiple patterns of theological education” (138), which include contextual 94

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programs as well as traditional residential programs. Seminaries need to improve access to their programs, recognizing in our case that not every one is going to up and move to the Midwest. Access includes delivering the benefits of seminary to racial/ethnic minority students, something LCMS residential programs are not doing as well as our contextual programs are. Seminary education needs to be affordable, and to that Houston resolution 4–09A has spoken, yet it remains to be seen if the whole church will own the costs of forming its future pastors and deaconesses. Another challenge is accountability. Seminaries have to show that their programs are providing the church with the workers it needs, and also show that they are good stewards of donor dollars. The list of things the seminaries need to do is longer than what you have just read, but the fact that you are reading all this in the Concordia Journal should encourage you that we are working on it. The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod has a great heart for mission and evangelism. Are seminaries vital to that mission of the church, or only incidental and sometimes impediments? “Theological schools can contribute to the apostolic mission of the church in several ways. The first is by educating students and the church for the racially changed world that North America is becoming. The second is by engaging constructively with global Christianity. A third is by helping the church address the growing presence of world religions in North America, and finally

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by doing what schools can most uniquely do: bear public witness within academic settings” (156). So why take our seminaries into more account as our synod seeks a better future? There are two words that Daniel Aleshire uses only a few times in Earthen Vessels but the two words describe why The Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod should look more to its seminaries as essential partners for the future. The two words are “institutional capacity” (e.g., 160). Today the seminaries of the LCMS are strong institutions. These seminaries are enduring institutions, anchors which the church needs in a culture that tosses people, and many churches, to and fro. The seminaries are increasingly supplying the church with the theological resources pastors and people need. Most pastors, people, and church officials are too busy to do the deep intellectual study that seminary professors do and offer to the church (which is why tens of thousands of people visit the Seminary’s iTunes U site at itunes.csl.edu). And while funding is always a challenge, LCMS donors step forward for their seminaries because they recognize the church’s intrinsic need for seminaries. All these are examples of “institutional capacity,” and our seminaries have this capacity and have it in depth. Aleshire sums up, “I am hopeful because it is the nature and gift of institutions to find ways to change to meet what the future needs, whatever that turns out to be” (169). Concordia Seminary is all about the Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and we are convinced his Spirit can serve this seeking synod through us. Dale A. Meyer THE GOSPEL OF MATTHEW: The New International Commentary on the New Testament. By R.T. France. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007. 1233 pages. Cloth. $60.00

This reviewer has waited many years for the New International Commentary volume on Matthew to be published. When I learned that R. T. France was the author, I was both surprised and immensely pleased. I was surprised because as recently as 2002, France had published his major commentary on Mark in the New International Greek Testament Commentary series. Having purchased that volume, I assumed that some other scholar would be responsible for the NIC volume on Matthew; how could one author produce so much quality work in so short a time? But I was pleased to discover that France has now authored this recent Matthew commentary. His work on the Synoptic Gospels goes back to the publication of his dissertation in 1971 (Jesus and the Old Testament [Tyndale, 1971]), and his scholarly work on Matthew had issued forth in an earlier work on introductory and thematic issues that still has no match in English, Matthew: Evangelist and Teacher (Zondervan, 1989). Many will also be 95

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aware that France has authored a smaller volume on Matthew in the Tyndale New Testament Commentary series (1985). Major commentaries on books of the Bible are reference books; in a review of a reference book, one simply cannot emphasize all the strengths and (any) weaknesses of the work in question. Let me begin with some general observations about this marvelous commentary. In the first place, it is careful historical grammatical exegesis from a top-rank scholar who has a high view of Scripture. Though there would be some aspects of Frances scriptural hermeneutic with which readers of the Concordia Journal will disagree, his overall approach is conservative and respectful of Scripture’s historical and theological claims. Secondly, as is the case with most of the volumes in this important commentary series, France’s work focuses on historical and exegetical matters somewhat more narrowly, and eschews extensive theological reflection. This is in line with the purposes of this commentary series. While some readers might view this as a weakness, I have always regarded it as something of a strength. In the case of France’s own work, he provides substantial grist for the theological mill; his reader will be able to take what is offered and translate it for use in the pulpit and Bible class. Turning to smaller observations, I might just give a small sample of the kinds of conclusions regularly on display in France’s magisterial volume. The significance of Matthew’s genealo96

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gy is especially found in its character as a theological reflection on the working out of God’s purpose for his people. It shows that the stage is set for the dawning of the time of fulfillment in the coming of the promised Messiah (29). On the meaning of the Greek term parthenos as a translation of the original Hebrew almah in Isaiah 7:14, France takes a helpful middle road. He writes, “Isaiah’s choice of this unusual [Hebrew] word in connection with childbirth therefore draws attention; it does not explicitly mean virgin (the Hebrew for which is b etûlâ), but it suggests something other than a normal childbirth within marriage. . . . Matthew is following the LXX, but the Hebrew underlying it is sufficiently unusual to suggest that it was not an arbitrary translation” (56). On Matthew’s application of Isaiah 7:14 to the birth of Jesus, France is once again careful and helpful: “If then Isaiah 7:14 is taken as the opening of what will be the developing theme of a wonder child throughout Isaiah 7–11, it can with good reason be suggested that it points beyond the immediate political crisis of the eighth century B.C., not only in Matthew’s typological scheme but also in Isaiah’s intention” (57, my emphasis). With regard to Jesus’ words in Matthew 11:29, “You will find rest for your souls,” France suggestively observes that Jesus’ saying “echoes the Hebrew text of Jeremiah 6:16 . . . where it is the reward Yahweh offers to those who find and walk in the good way. That Jesus now issues the same

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promise under his own authority says much for the christology underlying this extraordinary pericope” (450). When interpreting Jesus words in 16:18, “You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church,” France wisely avoids easy extremes that do injustice to the text’s actual words. On the one hand, then, he cannot agree that the rock in no way refers to Peter, for if that was what Jesus intended, he has chosen his words badly, as the wordplay points decisively toward Peter, to whom personally he has just given the name (622). On the other hand, however, France refuses to ignore the wider testimony of Scripture, and concludes, “In principle all the apostles constituted the foundation, with Jesus as the cornerstone, but as a matter of historical fact it was on Peter’s leadership that the earliest phase of the church’s development would depend, and that personal role, fulfilling his name Rock, is appropriately celebrated by Jesus words here” (623). To be sure, I do not find myself agreeing with every conclusion or exegetical trajectory in France’s work. One wonders whether the worst possible reviewer of a major commentary on Matthew is someone who is not yet finished with his own commentary! There is no doubt in my mind, however, that France’s new commentary on Matthew is the best major work on the first Gospel available in English; the readers of CJ would do themselves a favor to purchase it, and use it often. Jeffrey Gibbs Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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CHRISTIANITY AND ITS COMPETITORS: The New Faces of Old Heresy. By James McGoldrick. Fearn, Scotland: Christian Focus, 2006. 206 pages. Paper. $15.99.

The Lutheran Confessions practiced the definition of public teaching not only through positive presentation of biblical teaching and the catholic tradition of the church but also through the examination of negative views, both ancient and contemporary, that threatened that teaching. In formulating our public teaching for the twenty-first century, when our congregations increasingly are composed of people whose formation in the faith is built upon previously-held religious convictions and worldviews from quite different sources, the clear-cut expression of what we do not believe, teach, and confess is more important than it has been, perhaps, since the early church. In this volume James McGoldrick has authored a popular exposition of the fundamental concerns and teachings of the Christian faith against the backdrop of ancient heresies which, he shows, return in new guises in our day, and even in our own heads. McGoldrick, for many years professor of history at Cedarville University, Cedarville, Ohio, and now professor of church history at Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary in South Carolina (author of Luther’s English Connection and Luther’s Scottish Connection, among others), presents summaries of four ancient here97

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sies that challenged the biblical faith of the early church, Ebionitism or Judaizing Christianity, Montanism, Arianism, and Pelagianism. He then goes on to label and analyze the religious forms of thinking that they reveal, as they are repeated in Christian churches and in non-Christian religions that compete for the attention of the North American public today. While it is true, as Joel Beeke, president of Puritan Reformed Theological Seminary, states in an introductory word, that “on a few occasions one may fear that the author draws his lines too confidently,” it is also true, as Beeke says, “in the main his exposure of ancient and contemporary errors is scriptural, clear-headed, challenging, and makes for a fascinating read.” Those qualities make the volume a natural for pastors to use in thinking through Bible class instruction on how to deal with the welter of confusing competitors for the allegiances of members and prospective members of our time. The book is not heavy reading at all as it sketches the nature and religious dynamic of these four ways of thinking. McGoldrick then portrays how, for instance, Judaizing Christianity challenged Paul and his approach to bringing Christ to the Gentiles with its dependence on legalistic performance of God’s law and its attendant ritualism. He sees elements of this false focus on Christ’s message in the ritualism of Christian groups, such as

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Eastern Orthodoxy, and he examines elements of official Roman Catholic teaching and the practice of some fundamentalist churches as examples of legalism in contemporary Western Christianity. His chapter on Pelagianism sketches ancient anthropology briefly and then summarizes the dispute between Pelagius and Augustine along with the development of Semi-Pelagianism in the fourth and fifth centuries. Roman Catholic views, from the Council of Trent to the Catechism of the Catholic Church of 1994, are set alongside Arminianism, in its origins around the turn of the seventeenth century and in later manifestations in the English tradition (especially among Baptists and Methodists). These positions are contrasted with the Synod of Dort and McGoldrick’s Presbyterian tradition; readers of Concordia Journal can use the Lutheran confessions to present the biblical position when creating their own classes from the book. The chapter ends with a treatment of “Modernism, the Consequence of Humanism,” perhaps too brief in its overview, but suggestive of the much broader possible discussion. The author might have used the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification (1997) to illustrate how subtle the differences can become, for that document shows how broad agreement on God’s grace can still result in a focus on human performance in completing the gift of righteousness or providing whatever

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form of assurance this focus permits. The chapter on “Arianism” provides modern-era examples in Socianism, Unitarianism, Universalism, the Mormons, and the Jehovah’s Witnesses; that on “Montanism” addresses expressions of the reliance on new revelations, personally addressed to charismatic leaders, in the movements around Oral Roberts, Pat Robertson, Jim Jones, David Koresh, Marshall Applewhite, as well as Mormon teaching and that of the Christian Scientists—obviously, the author makes clear, dissimilar in many ways but all claiming special revelations or encounters with God. In so short a volume readers will always find gaps that they wished the author had filled, and the inevitable shortcuts may seem to create oversimplifications. Nonetheless, as a model for cultivating a critical sense in our congregations Christianity and Its Competitors provides patterns and resources for an important aspect of teaching that is essential for Christians in the early twenty-first century to develop, so that they can navigate contemporary winds of teaching that spring from human craftiness and ingenuity for devising error. This skill is crucial for our own clear thinking about the biblical message and for speaking the truth in love for the salvation of those outside the faith, particularly those entrapped in new forms of old error. Robert Kolb Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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PRAYERS FROM THE EAST: Traditions of Eastern Christianity. By Richard Marsh, editor. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2004. 160 pages. Paper. $15.00.

Another prayer book? Well, yes and no. This compact little book is a selection of liturgical and personal prayers from six distinct religious bodies which have their roots in the Eastern Catholic tradition. The Rev. Canon Dr. Richard Marsh, while serving on the ecumenical staff of the Archbishop of Canterbury, was introduced to the liturgies and subsequently to the spiritual lives of the Ancient and Oriental Orthodox Churches. This book is a small way in which he shares his interest and excitement about these unique and often unknown or unrecognized Christian groups of the East. Giving voice to over six dozen prayers or portions of liturgies from Armenian (19), Coptic (22), Ethiopian and Eritrean (3), Indian Malankaran (1), and Syrian (22) Christians is certainly a labor of love. The diversity yet unity of their expressions of divine devotion is incredibly moving. A commonality across the ages and cultures and denominations is given clear evidence in the various forms of the anaphora (communion preface). Numerous biblical allusions which fill the prayers in many of these pages artfully reflect both the personal piety and the corporate consciousness of these Christians, with their strong ties to ancient apos-

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tolic articulations of the faith. One wishes the book had an index of terms or that the editor had taken the time to locate the scriptural sources for the many biblical phrases. Eastern Christians demonstrate a strong sense of the community which goes beyond their ethnic and cultural distinction of each church. They articulate in a profound way that which we confess as “the communion of saints” by their frequent references to those believers who now worship “with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.” Angelic assistance is often invoked. A strong Trinitarian theology is iterated thorugh the thrice holy or the triple “it is meet and right” in several Coptic anaphora (46). Consider this angelic-oriented introduction to the Lord’s Prayer from Syria: “O God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who are blessed by the Cherubim, hallowed by the Seraphim and exalted by thousands of thousands and myriads of myriads of the spiritual hosts; You who sanctify and make perfect the offerings and the ripe fruits, which have been offered for a sweet-smelling fragrance, sanctify also our bodies, souls and spirits so that with a pure heart and a face unashamed we may call upon you, O God, the heavenly Father, and pray, saying: Our Father, who art in heaven” (119). Richard Marsh added brief, yet insightful comments after each selection through which he draws his readers to consider the usefulness or uniqueness of the prayers. On several occasions he points out that “the 100

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niceties of doctrinal theology are never ignored, but drawn upon to enliven the spiritual life of the believer” (19). Some of his comments provide contextual explanations and therefore would have been more appropriate as introductions to the readings rather than as seeming afterthoughts. He notes, for example, that “...the Church that is doing the praying is not confined to the experienced world of the here and how. The Church is much bigger and more interesting than that.” And then he concludes in a very positive and almost amazed tone, “History and tradition are the bedrock of present faith, not its shackles” (128). In an intriguing exchange of peace in the Armenian tradition, Marsh describes how a person extending the greeting says, “Christ is revealed among us,” and the reply is “Blessed is the revelation of Christ” (32). He suggests that this greeting is much more substantive than the simple, “Peace be with you.” Similarly, an Ethiopian prayer which comes at the end of the eucharistic liturgy, he notes, is worthy of consideration as an alternate postcommunion prayer which remind God’s people of their continuing presence with Christ: “Pilot of the soul, Guide of the righteous, and Glory of the saints: grant us, O Lord, eyes of knowledge ever to see You and ears also to hear Your Word alone. When our souls have been fulfilled with Your grace, create in us pure hearts, O Lord, that we may ever understand Your greatness, who are good and a lover of men. O our God, be gracious to our

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souls, and grant to us, Your humble servants who have received Your body and blood, a pure and steadfast mind, for Yours is the Kingdom, O Lord, blessed and glorious, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit” (93). Knowing that this book is intended to open avenues of ecumenical conversation, this reviewer wonders whether another format would have been more helpful. The arbitrary selections of portions of these liturgies give a somewhat disjointed perspective on these churches and their worship practices. As a Lutheran reviewer, this book also shows the continuing difficulties with contemporary ecumenism as reflected in the ample Marian devotion and theology along with the language of an unbloody sacrifice which remains so strongly rooted in the hearts and lives of these non-Roman, yet very Catholic Christians. Enriching one’s devotional life is always beneficial and this book is no exception. While not useful as a personal devotional tool or even for sample liturgies as such, the theological perspectives and the reality of other ways of worshiping is valuable. Several ideas may also be generated for creative worship, such as the Armenian Blessing of the Wedding Rings (39–40). All in all, this book provides a stimulating survey of contextual worship material from a completely different and, for the most part, unknown traditions of this Ancient and Oriental Orthodox Christianity. Timothy Maschke Mequon, Wisconsin Concordia Journal/Winter 2009

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THE MESSAGE OF ISAIAH 40–55: A Literary-Theological Commentary. By John Goldingay. London: T & T Clark, 2005. 578 pages. Hardcover. $59.99.

John Goldingay is the David Allen Hubbard Professor of Old Testament at Fuller Theological Seminary in Pasadena, CA and coauthored, with David Payne, two volumes on Isaiah 40–55 in the International Critical Commentary series. Whereas these ICC commentaries largely focus upon textual and philological issues, The Message of Isaiah 40–55 consists of Goldingay’s theological analysis of the text. His thesis is that “historically Isaiah 40–55 was addressed to people in the sixth century, [so] it must have had its origin then, and the main focus of study must be the way it functioned in that context” (3). As such, Isaiah 40–55 traces the prophet’s message of Yahweh’s plans to restore exiles in Babylon as well as those still living in the destroyed city of Jerusalem. Goldingay writes: “Isaiah 40–55 holds together departure from Babylon and homecoming to Jerusalem, as the Pentateuch holds together departure from Egypt and arrival in Canaan, though, like the Pentateuch, it incorporates no arrival in the land” (7). Yahweh has heard the cry of the exiles therefore Isaiah 40–55 intends to get the people ready to leave and come home. But this gospel (40:9; 52:7) is met with disbelief. How dare Yahweh employ the pagan king Cyrus to accomplish his purposes? How can 101

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Cyrus be the shepherd and messiah (44:28; 45:1)? The community does not respond in faith, neither does it function as Yahweh’s servant. Goldingay believes that Second Isaiah decides to function as a servant, even though this will bring him great suffering (50:4–9; 52:13–53:12). His embodiment of servanthood is so the exiles might experience the restoration of Jerusalem and with it, the renewal of their relationship with Yahweh. Isaiah 40 is the theological introduction to chapters 41–55. Seen in this way 40:1–11 is closely related to Isaiah 6; for example, both chapters begin in the heavenly council, Yahweh’s splendor is compared with human frailty, and the “this people” of 6:9, 10 becomes “my people” again. The thrust of 6:9–10 is Israel’s inability to see and hear, whereas 40:12–31 (esp. vv. 21, 26, and 28) imply that this curse has been lifted and the people are once again able to understand and perceive Yahweh’s plan. Goldingay understands that chapter 40 is Second Isaiah’s reentry into First Isaiah’s first commission in Yahweh’s temple. In 40:28 Yahweh is called “the God of eternity” which is better expressed by the adjective, “the eternal God.” He is permanent and lasting. Before creation he was there and he will be after the world ceases to exist. Unlike the Babylonian deities, Yahweh is neither limited by time, or by space as he is also the one who created the ends of the earth. This promise is the foundation of his everlasting word in 40:8, his everlasting salvation in 45:17 102

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and 51:6, his everlasting righteousness in 51:8, his everlasting loyal love in 54:8, and his everlasting covenant in 55:3. This is set in contrast to the Babylonian claim in 47:7 that she will exist forever. The verb go’el is a prominent title for Yahweh in Isaiah 40–55. It denotes a near relative who may “avenge the blood” of someone in the family who had been murdered (Nm 35:12–27), “buy back” the property or person enslaved (e.g., Lv 25:24–54), or “restore” a childless widow (Ru 3:13). Because of his commitment to his family, the go’el marshals his superior power and resources to assist those in need. “Much more often it denotes a near relative as one who is under moral obligation to act on behalf of someone in need, in order to restore the situation in the family to what it was before and what it should be” (p. 114). The vast majority of the theological uses of go’el in the Old Testament are in Isaiah 40–55. The noun is in 43:14; 44:6, 24; 47:4; 48:17; 49:7, 26; 54:5, 8; the verb in 43:1; 44:22, 23 48:20; 52:3, 9; the passive participle in 51:10. Goldingay suggests that the term “restorer” is better than the more common “redeemer” (p. 116). Goldingay is to be commended for reading Isaiah in his context before reading it Christologically. For example, he first reads the suffering servant poem of 52:13–53:12 in light of the restored woman in chapter 54. “As the servant is to be exalted, the woman is to be beautified. As the servant will see offspring, so will the woman. As the

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servant will confound the nations and gain them as spoil, the woman will dispossess nations and settle towns they abandon. As the servant brings about šalôm [wellbeing], the woman will enjoy a šalôm covenant” (466). Throughout chapters 40–48 Babylonian deities are called to’hu (“chaos” = an anti-creational force; e.g., 44:9; 45:18–19) which is the opposite of šalôm. Goldingay thoroughly investigates the fourth servant song. He notes that it “makes considerable use of sacramental language, but never in quite the same form as it appears in the Torah (see vv. 4a, 5b, 6b, 10a, 11b, 12b). The effect is to make links with the procedures of worship but at the same time to draw attention to the fact that the sacramental language is being used in a metaphorical way” (493). Perhaps the most prominent sacramental language is in 52:15 where the servant spatters the nations who are implicitly critiqued for attacking Jacob-Israel (e.g., 41:11–12), associating themselves with foul things (41:24), trusting in images (e.g., 42:17), raging at Yahweh (45:24),

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lacking mercy (47:6), being furiously distressing (51:13), tormenting Zion (51:23), oppressing Yahweh’s people (52:4), and boasting and despising Yahweh’s name (52:5). And they are, of course, uncircumcised (52:1). If they are to come to recognize Yahweh in the way the prophet envisaged they need to be spattered with blood just as Israel once was at Sinai (cf. Ex 24:8). Jesus and Paul looked to Isaiah 40–55 as foundational to their ministries, yet the average Christian only knows snippets of these chapters thanks, in large part, to George F. Handel’s Messiah. But there is so much more than just what Handel puts to music! I have not come across any commentary on Isaiah 40–55 that even comes close to Goldingay’s depth and insight. Granted, his understanding of Isaianic authorship and dating is off, but his attention to the text is second to none. If you believe it is time to have more than just a passing knowledge of this section of Scripture then Goldingay is your guide. Reed Lessing

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COncordia Journal

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Erik Herrmann Jeffrey Kloha Robert Kolb Reed Lessing David Lewis Thomas Manteufel Richard Marrs David Maxwell Dale Meyer Glenn Nielsen Joel Okamoto Jeffrey Oschwald David Peter Paul Raabe Victor Raj

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