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14 THE LUTHERAN AMBASSADOR
hat does it mean to be a Lutheran? For years I couldn’t even begin to answer that question. “I just know we’re not Baptist!” is usually the best answer I could find. What about being a Christian? That should be something for which we have some good answers. Still, I mostly just encountered a cricket chorus. At the age of 4, I taught myself to read so I could start to learn the answers for myself. However, I quickly encountered the problem in which all who take a just-meand-my-Bible approach find themselves bogged down: I am just one person—and a severely flawed one at that. Never mind that I was 4; the problem continues still to this day. I simply cannot rightly interpret Scripture as a lone ranger, as much as my analytical, introverted self would love to be able to. We were never made to be lone wolves, rather, to both mentor and be mentors of other believers as the wisdom of the communion of the saints is distilled from one generation to the next. Except—at least for me—this isn’t what happened. Why? Like many, I lived under an anti-creedal philosophy in which I feared the tradition of man infiltrating doctrine. And so, I was left with neither tradition nor doctrine. The first time I encountered the Apostles’ Creed taped to my step-cousin’s refrigerator, I thought, “Wow! This is awesome! Every Christian should know this!” At that moment I stumbled upon what has been an invaluable way of carrying the faith across the generations, namely: confessions of faith. As much as many seek to destroy them entirely, ultimately a belief in life without
