October 28, 2007
Pastor Julie Eileen Ryan
Jeremiah 31:31 – 34
Romans 3:19 – 28
John 8:31 – 36
Reformation 101A: We’re saved by grace, apart from works of the law.
A couple of years ago, a close friend who also likes to read the funny
papers was asking me what my favorite “Sylvia” cartoon was. I
thought we were just having a casual conversation about comparative cartoon
strips; I didn’t realize she was engaging me in a conspiracy about my own
birthday present. I mentioned the cartoon announcing that the
Which then came to me some months later, as a free gift.
First panel:
Bird: “What if the things we do, that we think are good deeds, are not
the ones that count in heaven?”
Person A (to person B): “Sure is nice of you to invite me and my awful
family to your house for the weekend.”
Person B: “I’m delighted to have you” (thinking to herself,
“This will count double”).
Second panel—“Much later, in heaven”:
Person B (to recording angel): “Did I get in because I was a cub scout
leader?”
Recording angel: “Actually, it was on your cat’s
recommendation.”
Justification isn’t our doing! It’s a free gift of grace. From
our Halloween cats. Or—if you prefer—from Aslan, the lion of
Part 2
Today is not only Reformation Sunday, but two other observances. First, we remember Saints Simon and Jude, Apostles—about whom we know almost nothing except that their names are included in lists of the disciples. Hence, “Jude the Obscure.” Also known as the patron of hopeless and difficult causes (like not being mixed up with Judas Iscariot).
But in the gospel of John, during the last supper, Jude asks Jesus, “How is it that you will reveal yourself to us?” And Jesus begins his answer, “Those who love me will keep my word…” (nice Reformation Day tie-in). [John 14:22 – 23]
Second, we commemorate three of the great Lutheran hymn-writers: Paul
Gerhardt, who wrote the passion and Easter hymns, “O Sacred Head, Now
Wounded,” and “Awake, My Heart, with
Gladness”; Johann Heermann, who wrote Good Friday’s “Ah, Holy
Jesus”; and Philipp Nicolai, who wrote both text and tune to the Advent
and Epiphany classics, “Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying,” and
“O Morning Star, How Fair and Bright!”
The following reflections are predicated on the assumption that what we really come to church for on Reformation Sunday is the music. That, despite what we actually do preach, teach, and confess concerning the proper administration of Word and Sacrament in all their purity, for the sermon I could stand up here and read the phone book; but if we didn’t sing “A Mighty Fortress,” it wouldn’t BE Reformation Day! The great hymns are what make the day. “This is most certainly true.”
“The days are coming,” says the LORD, when I will make a new covenant with the houses of Israel and Judah. … No longer shall they say to one another, “Know the LORD,” for they shall all know me: every last one of them.
Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”
Halloween is coming. Among the scariest beings on the planet are people who are dead certain that they alone know the truth, and are divinely mandated to impose it upon everybody else. Such “truth” allows no room for discussion or negotiation. Indeed, among such scary creatures there seems to be an inverse proportion between knowing truth and being “free”—as though Jesus had said, “The truth will make you unpleasant, at best, and—at worst—intransigent, even violent.”
But, of course, he didn’t say that. No; it was, “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” So, how might we understand that in a way that’s more “evangelical”? Not in the sense of evangelical/“fundie,” but in its original sense: gracious, bringing good news?
Consider:
I walk out of the kitchen into the living room because I need to get something; but then, here I am in the living room, and I can’t remember why. So I retrace my steps. If I go back to the kitchen, where I first had the idea, probably the idea will return.
You haven’t ridden a bicycle in years; so when you first get on, you’re pretty wobbly. But soon you find your balance, and you’re fine. Your muscles remember.
A faithful Christian survives a terrible auto accident and suffers brain damage that puts him in a nursing home. He enjoys visits from the pastor, but conversation is difficult; he can’t follow two thoughts in sequence. Then the pastor takes out his communion set and begins the liturgy; and suddenly, the patient is right there, intent on every word, making every response.
We come to know things by heart. Know them in our bones. Know them so deeply that our bodies remember even when our minds cannot. “You will know the truth.” In the gospel of John, Jesus himself is the truth: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Knowing the truth is knowing Christ. “Truth” is less a concept than a person. [John 14:6]
In the words of Scripture scholar Sandra Schneiders, “The knowledge of Jesus that the disciple gradually achieves is not, therefore, primarily intellectual or informational. It is the knowledge one has of a friend that makes one say, ‘We know each other intimately.’ It is, quite simply, a deep sharing of life with Jesus. And sharing in the life of Jesus is participation in the life of God.” 1
Jesus says, “I have called you friends, because I have make known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.” “Knowing” is familiarity, connection; not only abstract, but embodied. Kinetic. The Word became flesh and lived among us, full of grace and truth: what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands. (That’s not to say that it doesn’t matter what you believe as long as you’re sincere; doctrine matters. Lives have been laid down for its sake. But before doctrine is the relationship.) [John 15:15; 1:14; 1 John 1:1]
“My people and I were married!” says the LORD. We were partners! Lover and beloved. But my beloved trashed the covenant—broke faith. It was all over. Nevertheless (says the only one who truly can), I will take the initiative to create a fresh start between us, a new covenant.
A new covenant, God promises us, to be written—engraved—tattooed—on our hearts. “And all shall know me.” When the metaphor is marriage, “knowing” is union. Close as can be. Direct. At once tender and tightly joined, inside and out. Body and spirit. A “knowing” that is never finished; a commitment that has to grow and deepen or die. The mystery is that the better you come to know your beloved, your partner, your friend, the more you realize there is that you don’t know—and it’s all right. More to discover, together. “Now we see in a mirror, dimly; then we will see face to face. Now [we] know only in part; then [we] will know fully, even as [we] have been fully known.” [1 Cor 13:12]
“If you continue in my word,” Jesus says, “you are truly my disciples.” “Continue in my word—my word that surrounds you, embraces you. Continue in my word of acceptance, grace, absolution; in the new covenant of Holy Baptism; in the church, the risen Body of Christ in the world; continue swimming in the word-graced waters, sheltered in the folds of your baptismal garment, clothed in me.
“Those who love me,” Jesus says, “will keep my word”: my word that lives within: commandments, covenant, inscribed on hearts—Word made flesh, body and blood, true food and drink. Holy communion. “O taste and see how gracious the Lord is.” The Word that surrounds and supports us, the Word that nourishes us from within—the Word outside and inside, we come to know by heart—like the beating of our heart, like the rhythm of our breath.
A setting-free word is a word that sings!
In 1931, E. Y. Harburg wrote the lyrics to what became the theme song of the Great Depression: “Brother, Can You Spare A Dime?” He wrote the lyrics to the Wizard of Oz songs, including “Over the Rainbow,” and wrote the songs for the socially-conscious musicals, “Bloomer Girl” and “Finian’s Rainbow.” Harburg said, “Words make you think. Music makes you feel. Songs make you feel thoughts.” Again: “Words make you think. Music makes you feel. Songs make you feel thoughts.” 2
Today—the Sunday closest to Halloween—we celebrate the anniversary of All Hallows’ Eve 1517, when Martin Luther nailed his list of 95 theses for church reform to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenberg. Halloween, because it was peak sale time for indulgences: avoid that All Saints’ Day rush! Spring loved ones free from purgatory with a simple cash donation!
Luther wasn’t trying to start a new church, just to re-focus, re-form the church that had shaped him. But he liked to write songs. To feel thoughts.
Early on in the Reformation, if you were to attend a Lutheran church service, it wouldn’t be that different from the Roman Catholic mass you were used to. Luther’s revisions to the Latin mass weren’t that radical; and when he translated the liturgy into German, he kept the basic form. But back in—let’s say—the 1520s, what you might find startling about the Lutheran church service is that the entire congregation was singing hymns! (Feeling thoughts.)
This is what Roland Bainton says of Luther’s hymn-writing in his classic biography of Luther, Here I Stand:
“The last and greatest reform of all was in congregational song. In the Middle Ages the liturgy was almost entirely restricted to the celebrant and the choir. The congregation joined in a few responses in the vernacular. Luther so developed this element that he may be considered the father of congregational song. This was the point at which his doctrine of the priesthood of all believers received its most concrete realization. This was the point and the only point at which Lutheranism was thoroughly democratic. All the people sang.” 3
And again:
“Luther’s people learned to sing. Practices were set during the week for the entire congregation, and in the home after the catechetical hour singing was commended to the family. A Jesuit testified that ‘the hymns of Luther killed more souls than his sermons.’” 4
Cool! Dead souls, right in time for Halloween! But, nearly 500 years later, we tend not to accuse each other any more of soul-killing. Indeed, if you were to attend a Roman Catholic mass today, you wouldn’t find it that different from a Lutheran Eucharist. In the 1960s, the second Vatican Council implemented many of the early Lutheran movement’s reforms.
Meanwhile, here’s a fraction of what Luther himself says, concerning music:
“Music is a fair and lovely gift of God which has often wakened and moved me to the joy of preaching. St. Augustine was troubled in conscience whenever he caught himself delighting in music, which he took to be sinful. He was a choice spirit, and were he living today would agree with us. I have no use for cranks who despise music, because it is a gift of God. Music drives away the Devil and makes people gay; they forget thereby all wrath, unchastity, arrogance and the like. Next after theology I would give to music the highest place and the greatest honor. ...Experience proves that next to the Word of God only music deserves to be extolled as the mistress and governess of the feelings of the human heart. We know that to the devils music is distasteful and insufferable. My heart bubbles up and overflows in response to music, which has so often refreshed me and delivered me from dire plague.” 5
Continue in my word, and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.
As the Reformation started and gained steam, congregational singing was revolutionary. Today in America it’s countercultural: where else but in church (and at Wrigley Field during the Seventh Inning Stretch: “The days are coming”—“Wait ‘til next year!”); where else but in church do we gather together to sing? Do we join, as one, to feel thoughts?
We let the words and melody have their way with us, and they become inscribed upon our hearts, encoded in our consciousness, part of our embodied knowing, enjoyed by all from the greatest to the least. (Hear the babies, singing along!)
And as music, God’s fair and lovely gift, sets us free from all manner of dire plague, as the people of God find their voice and their song floats through the air, taking on a life of its own, just so the church—God’s fair and lovely gift—continues in every age to discover its need and its power to reform.
1.
p. 53 in her
Written That You May Believe: Encountering Jesus in the Fourth Gospel. NY:
Crossroad, 1999.
2.
Harburg quote
found on front page of JSTOR-archived article, “Using Popular Songs to
Teach Sociology,” 1983.
3.
4,, 5 : Here I
Stand: A Life of Martin Luther. Nashville: Abingdon, 1950; Festival Edition reprint
1980; respectively, pp. 269 – 270; 271; 266 – 267