Should the Christian stand all day long at the grave of all joys which he enjoyed in past years?  Through Holy Baptism a great stream of joy has been conducted in his heart, which does not drain away, but streams forward with his life until its waves carry him into the sea of a blessed eternity.  Should the Christian be reminded all day long that the flowers of his youth fall more and more?  He stands planted by God in the water of his Baptism as a palm tree which becomes greener and greener and whose leaves never wither.  Yes, his Baptism makes death for him like a short winter’s nap, out of which an eternal spring – an eternal youth – follows.

For Baptism is a bath that washed me not only once when I received it – washed me pure with Christ’s blood – but it continuously washes me clean even daily for as long as I hold it in faith.  For just as that same water of the flood drowned the sinners, but Noah with his relatives were brought to salvation and carried to Mount Ararat, so also did the water of my Baptism drown my sins, but my soul was brought to the eternal mountain of divine grace.  And just as once those same waves of the Red Sea, which swallowed up Pharaoh and his army, were a protective wall for Israel, so also has my baptismal water swallowed up all of my damnation and is for me a sure wall before God’s wrath and punishment….

Now then, all of you who believe in God’s Word, let your watchword for entering the new year be this: “I am baptized!” Although the world may laugh at this comfort, the enthusiasts vex its confidence … nevertheless, abandon any other dearly held pledges and speak only throughout the entire year to come, in all terrors of conscience and necessity through sin and death: “I am baptized!  I am baptized!  Hallelujah!”  And you shall prevail!  In every time of need, you will find comfort in your Baptism; on account of it Satan will flee from your faith and confession; and in death you will see heaven opened and will finally come into the joy of your Lord to celebrate a great year of jubilee, a year of praise, with all the angels forever and ever.  Amen!

From the Treasury of Daily Prayer, Concordia Publishing House, 2008, pp. 1077-78.

-Pastor Jonathan Fisk, Worldview Everlasting 9/3/10

In this episode Pastor Fisk gives the best and most concise explanation of the differences between Calvinism and Lutheranism that I’ve ever heard (or seen). It basically comes down to how the two groups view reason – and how they handle paradox.

The following is a hymn that wonderfully captures the truths expressed in the passage above. I want this sung at my funeral!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God’s own child, I gladly say it: I am baptized into Christ!
He, because I could not pay it, gave my full redemption price.
Do I need earth’s treasures many?
I have one worth more than any
That brought me salvation free,
Lasting to eternity!

Sin, disturb my soul no longer: I am baptized into Christ!
I have comfort even stronger: Jesus’ cleansing sacrifice.
Should a guilty conscience seize me
Since my baptism did release me
In a dear forgiving flood,
Sprinkling me with Jesus’ blood?

Satan, hear this proclamation: I am baptized into Christ!
Drop your ugly accusation; I am not so soon enticed.
Now that to the font I’ve traveled,
All your might has come unraveled,
And, against your tyranny,
God, my Lord, unites with me!

Death, you cannot end my gladness: I am baptized into Christ!
When I die, I leave all sadness to inherit paradise!
Though I lie in dust and ashes
Faith’s assurance brightly flashes:
Baptism has the strength divine
To make life immortal mine.

There is nothing worth comparing to this lifelong comfort sure!
Open-eyed my grave is staring: Even there I’ll sleep secure.
Though my flesh awaits its raising,
Still my soul continues praising:
I am baptized into Christ;
I’m a child of paradise!

Text: Erdmann Neumester (1671-1756), Tr. Robert E. Voelker (b. 1957)
Tune: BACHOFEN – Johann Caspar Bachofen (1695-1755, alt.)
Christian Worship Supplement 737:2-5/Lutheran Service Book 594:2-5
(HT The Shepherd’s Study for the lyrics, HT Lutheran-Hymnal Online for the audio)

Do this, whenever you drink it, said Jesus the night of His betrayal, in remembrance of me. And we, like Israelite children before us, ask: “What is the meaning of this service?”  Is it simply kneeling at the Communion rail and thinking back about the deliverance God won for us at Calvary?  Is it digging into our memory for an event out of past?  Is it remembering Jesus, as we would reminisce about a departed loved one?  What, really, is the meaning of the Communion rite?

Here Jesus helps us out.  Take and eat; this is my body, He says of the Communion bread.  And regarding the Communion wine, He says: Drink of it, all of you.  For this is My blood of the last will and testament, which is being poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins (Matt. 26:26-28 NET).  This is no mere exercise in memory recall.  This is the real thing.  This eating and drinking is the meal of our deliverance.

As it was in the Passover, so it is in the Holy Supper.  Time and space are transcended.  Israel was delivered from bondage in Egypt only once; and yet the annual Passover was its repeated participation in that climactic deliverance.  So too, Jesus gave His body and shed His blood only once on the cross.  And yet in His holy meal He distributes that very same body and blood again and again for us Christians to eat and drink.  Do this, invites Jesus, in remembrance of me (1 Cor. 11:24).

In remembrance of me cuts in two directions.  In this sacramental eating and drinking we remember Jesus, and He also remembers us.  At the center of this remembering is the very body and blood once given for the forgiveness of sins.  The “remembrance” in this meal is far more than just a memory exercise!

For this sacred meal is a living memorial in two distinct and yet inseparable ways.  In this supper we continually recall our redemption.  It is the sign of our deliverance from certain death as we eat the body of the true Lamb of God who takes away our sins.  Yet in this holy meal God the Father also remembers the new testament in the blood of His Son, the sign and seal of His redeeming love.  This testament stands forever sure, founded on the incarnate body and blood of the Son of God.  In His instructions, Jesus Christ Himself points out for His church the benefit of this eating and drinking: given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.

In this supper Jesus preaches a powerful sermon for us.  Each time we eat and drink His body and blood once given and shed we participate in all the benefits He earned for us on His cross.  Here the forgiveness of sins is personally applied.  Not only did Jesus die for the sins of all the world, but in this sacred meal through His called servants He hands us the actual body and blood He once gave and says, for you for the forgiveness of sins.

This is a powerful public testimony.  It is personal testimony, direct from God, addressed personally to us.  This Sacrament offers, gives, and seals the same forgiveness as a Gospel sermon.  The difference is that in the eating and drinking it’s applied to us individually and personally: for you for the remission of sins. And sometimes a personal address makes all the difference in the world.  Think for a minute which kind of mail you prefer; a third-class flyer addressed to “occupant” or a first-class letter with your name on it?

Our living Lord hasn’t left anything to chance.  Because we are inclined to doubt the forgiveness of our sins, Jesus presents us with the tangible results of His death on our behalf.  Just as a canceled check is evidence of purchase, so His body once broken and His blood once shed is the sign of sins forgiven.  Under the bread and wine of His Holy Supper, Jesus Christ hands us the sign of our deliverance from sin and death.  Take eat, He says, … my body given for you….the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins (Luke 22:19, Matt. 26:28). Here there is encouragement for faith.  Here there is reason to rejoice.  For this is the meal of our deliverance in the forgiveness of our sins.

- From Dying to Live: The Power of Forgiveness by Harold L. Senkbeil, Concordia Publishing House, 1994, pp. 97-99.

Here’s an excerpt:

The logic of Luther’s doctrine of justification supports a faith that is unreflective, not in the sense that believers cannot have any idea at all of whether they believe (for of course they do) but in the sense that they do not have to.  Knowing you believe is possible for Luther but not obligatory, because nothing important depends on it.  This is the import of Luther’s saying that “I cannot build on the fact that I believe.”  Christians must not rely on their faith but on God’s word and sacraments, and therefore are free not to worry about whether their faith is real or sincere enough.  Pastorally speaking, it does not matter whether I am strong or weak in faith, because in either case the word of promise refers to me and is true.  So strong or weak, confident or doubtful – even sincere or insincere – what is required of me is the same: I am to hear the Gospel promises, believe them and take them to my comfort.  Things are quite different in most varieties of Protestantism, for which the promise of the Gospel does not take the form of an external, sacramental word.  For this creates the problem of knowing whether the promise really refers to me.  When the Gospel takes the form, “whoever believes in Christ is saved,” then I cannot tell whether the promise of God is about me until I am confident that I really believe in Christ.  Reflective faith therefore becomes essential in Protestantism.

But it turns out there are reasons why those who believe they are justified by faith alone might want to have a reflective faith, reasons that are operative even in Luther.  To discern them we can return to our imaginary American revivalist asking Luther whether he is a born again Christian.  “Of course – I have been baptized,” comes the answer.  We can imagine the revivalist responding, in puzzlement or indignation: “What do you mean?  You think you’re saved just because you’re baptized?  But surely, Dr. Luther, you can see that there are plenty of people who get baptized when they’re babies but don’t get saved in the end!” Here Luther is usually inclined to give the standard Augustinian answer that Catholics would also give: “Well of course none of us are saved yet; for while we are in this mortal life we are not saved in reality (in re) but only in hope (in spe).” This answer divides Catholics from Protestants.  We can imagine the revivalist at first trying to interpret it in Protestant terms: “You mean to say you can lose your salvation?”  This is a distinctively Protestant question, which no Augustinian Catholic would think to ask.  We can imagine Luther clarifying.  “No, I said I am not saved yet.  I cannot lose what I do not yet have.  You see, to be born again is not yet to be saved.  Through mortal sin – by which I mean unbelief – we lose the new life that is given us in Christ.  That is why it is called mortal.  So baptism is only the beginning of the Christian life, and salvation belongs only to those who persevere in faith to the end of their lives.”  This clarification raises the issue that divides Luther not just from most Protestants but specifically from Calvin.  At this point indeed Calvin’s doctrine marks a radical innovation in the Augustinian tradition which is fundamental to the origin of the Protestant tradition as we now know it.

You can read the rest here.

According to its substance … the mass is nothing but the aforesaid words of Christ: “Take and eat, etc.” [Matt. 26:26], as if he were saying: “Behold, O sinful and condemned man, out of the pure and unmerited love with which I love you, and by the will of the Father of mercies [II Cor. 1:3], apart from any merit or desire of yours, I promise you in these words the forgiveness of all your sins and life everlasting.  And that you may be absolutely certain of this irrevocable promise of mine, I shall give my body and pour out my blood, confirming this promise by my very death, and leaving you my body and blood as a sign and memorial of this same promise.  As often as you partake of them, remember me, proclaim and praise my love and bounty toward you, and give thanks.”  From this … nothing else is needed for a worthy holding of mass than a faith that relies confidently on this promise, believes Christ to be true in these words of his, and does not doubt that these infinite blessings have been bestowed upon it….Who would not shed tears of gladness, indeed, almost faint for joy in Christ, if he believed with unshaken faith that this inestimable promise of Christ belonged to him?  How could he help loving so great a benefactor, who of his own accord offers, promises, and grants such great riches and this eternal inheritance to one who is unworthy and deserving of something far different?

From the Treasury of Daily Prayer, Concordia Publishing House, 2008, pp. 317-318.

The Sacrament is a sign, but at the same time it is more.  It conveys to us God’s grace.  That is what Luther had learned in his fight against the ‘sacramentarians’: only in the Real Presence of the true body and blood of Christ do we have that assurance which the Lord’s Supper gives us.  Luther himself never doubted this Presence.  It was the silent presupposition of everything which he had said in his early writings on the Sacrament as a sign and seal attached to Christ’s promise.  He had seen then where the figurative understanding of the sacramental words was bound to lead.  If ‘This is my body’, ‘This is my blood’ were understood figuratively, then there would be no assurance that ‘given for you’, ‘shed for you’ were to be taken literally.  Then the proprium of this Sacrament would be lost, the eating and drinking of what Christ had sacrificed for us, and with it the Real Presence of the whole Christ, according to his divinity and humanity, in his Church on earth, here and now, as an anticipation of our eternal union with him.  No one who knows Luther can assume that he would have been satisfied with Calvin’s doctrine, which, in spite of all realistic language, did not admit of more than that spiritual manducation which all Reformed churches teach.

From This Is My Body by Hermann Sasse, Augsburg Publishing House, 1959, p. 267.

Some of this actually sounds very familiar.

Mysticism has been practiced and promoted in American evangelical circles for years now. Thus the fact that certain segments of that population are now openly promoting Roman Catholic monastic mysticism is not terribly surprising to me. When I was an evangelical, mysticism was a big part of my spiritual life. I would have never in a million years have called it that. But looking back it seems clear and obvious.

When I was a young Christian in my late teens/early twenties I heard stories told by people in my church about their experiences of God speaking directly to them, and of the experiences they had of feeling the presence and love of God.  Various teachers that I listened to (which were looked upon with favor by my church) promoted the practice of reading the Bible in order to receive a direct message from God (while bypassing its meaning in context) – read until you come to a passage that pops out at you, and then meditate on it to see what God is saying to you personally.  The “Practice of the Presence of God” is something I am entirely familiar with because it got favorable mention at my church. I practiced journaling in such a way that I believed God was speaking to me directly through those means.  I used my imagination and my feelings in order to hear God speak to me.

An interesting side-effect of my discovery of the Reformation was that I stopped being a mystic.  The reasons why became clear later – reasons which make more puzzling and disturbing the fact that certain corners of the LCMS are now promoting such practices.

The beginning of the end of my mysticism came sometime back in the summer of 2008 when I read a particular article in Discipleship Journal.  Earlier that year, before discovering the White Horse Inn, I had subscribed to the evangelical magazine because of an ad that had promised to revitalize my walk with Christ and cure my spiritual dryness.  At the time I had never heard the word “pietism” but a few months later, devouring everything by Michael Horton and Rod Rosenbladt I could get my hands on, I realized that what I had been taught all my life could be described as a form of pietism – stressing inner experience above external promise.  And I discovered that “pietism” was a good word to describe much of what I was reading in this journal.

The author of the article wrote about how she felt like she was in a “spiritual wilderness” and how she longed for God to speak to her.  The Spirit supposedly led her to the Song of Solomon so that He could speak to her heart directly in what I would describe as a mystical experience.

Whereas previously I probably would have sought a similar sort of experience – such things weren’t foreign to me at all – now I found myself rather disturbed.  Where in Scripture does it promise that God will speak directly to our heart if we ask Him? And where in Scripture does it tell us that the Holy Spirit gives us “spiritual dry spells” so that He can lead us to be alone with Him in mystical experiences rather than convicting us of sin and leading us to repentance and faith?

The misuse of Scripture became rather obvious to me at this point.  It wouldn’t be long before I walked away from those kind of practices and never looked back.  When I discovered the external Word and Sacraments in Lutheranism it was the end of my mysticism.

All this made me wonder – why did I – or why does anyone – turn to mysticism in the first place?  What’s the appeal of it?  What drives a Christian to seek a direct experience of God?

At first I thought it was the a-sacramental nature of my evangelical beliefs. God did not have any objective means of coming to us, so naturally one might turn to mystical means in order to experience Him. But Roman Catholicism is replete with sacraments and still produces mystics galore.

The more I think about this, the more I think at least a large part of it has to do with assurance of salvation. For me the reasoning went something like this: if I can experience God directly, then I can know for sure that I am really His child and that He really has forgiven me.  If I can experience God directly, I can know that I really do have a personal relationship with Him and that He loves me personally.  I really believe that was my motivation for seeking God in such a manner.  In fact, many of my journal entries from that time bear that out.

The answer to the question of “how do I know I am a true believer?” became “because I felt God’s love and He speaks to me directly through His Word.”  It sounds innocuous but when evangelicals say “God spoke to me directly through His Word” they don’t necessarily mean “through the plain sense of the passage.” They often mean “reading my own experiences and feelings and desires into the words of Scripture, regardless of the context or plain sense of the passage.”  I vividly remember “hearing God speak directly to my heart” once using 2 Timothy 1:3-7.  I read this as a personal message from God.  Never mind that the passage was really about the Apostle Paul encouraging the young pastor Timothy – none of that mattered.  Mystical eisegesis was a small price to pay for gaining some glimmer of assurance that I was a true and sincere believer.  It must have been only the grace of God that kept me from more serious forms of error.

Like seeking such assurance through my daily obedience, such a method was bound to be a dead-end – and I inevitably discovered this.  The question always came up in my mind – how do I know all this isn’t just me talking to myself?  I grew increasingly uncomfortable using the Bible as a crystal ball.  The God that spoke to me through my journaling sounded suspiciously like me and didn’t know anything that I didn’t know.  And when I did not “hear” from God in this way it was personally devastating.  When I felt like God was speaking to me everything was fine.  But when I didn’t I wondered what God really thought about me and all the old fears about whether I was a true and sincere believer came flooding back.

When I discovered that the Gospel was entirely outside of me – and that He comes to us where He has promised to be, in the hearing of His Word and in the receiving of His Sacraments – everything changed.  I hear God’s Word confident that He is speaking plainly and that the Holy Spirit will use it to convict me of sin and point to Christ.  How do I know that I am really God’s child and that Christ’s perfect life and sacrificial death on the cross is really for me?  I am baptized into Christ and the name of the Triune God is upon me.  In my Baptism I have been buried and raised with Christ, washed in water with the Word.  How do I know that God forgives me even that sin? Because I hear from the lips of His called and ordained servant “I forgive you all your sins in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”  How do I know that God wants me to be saved?  “Take, eat.  This is My body, which is for you.”  “Take, drink.  This cup is the new testament in My blood, shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.”

So I can only think that those who promote mystical practices within the LCMS have lost confidence (if they ever had any to begin with) in the objective promises of God’s Word and Sacraments.  They are embracing and promoting a form of what used to be called “Enthusiasm.” Lutherans need to be aware of the dangers of such practices.  We need to cling to the words of Christ above our own feelings and experiences, regardless of how “spiritual” the latter may seem.

It was highly necessary to instruct the people that the true worship and honor of Christ and of His Holy Sacrament does not consist in such external gestures or services alone, also that our dear Lord Christ did not institute this venerable Sacrament for the sake of seeing and worshiping or being present there for that purpose, but so that we would partake of it, as the Lord’s words say, “Take, eat; take, drink,” etc.  These words have power and avail so much as to say, “This is My body; this is My blood; this do in remembrance of Me.” … Therefore the Word is most important, through the power of which, from the institution of the Lord, the true body and blood of Christ are there.  The Word teaches us what kind of treasure we have there, so that true invocation and spiritual worship are enkindled in us.  Now, here we are not saying that one should not worship our dear Lord Jesus Christ in this Sacrament, being present, or that one should not hold this Sacrament with all honor and reverence.  On the contrary, since these divine, almighty, true words are believed, all of this follows of itself, and not only in external gestures but also both externally and, first and foremost, in the heart, spirit, and truth.  On account of this, such adoration of Christ is not thereby cancelled, but much rather, confirmed.  For where the Word is rightly seen, considered, and believed, the adoration of the Sacrament will happen of itself.  For whoever believes that Christ’s body and blood are there (as there is plenty of evidence so to believe, and it is necessary so to believe), he cannot, to be sure, deny his reverence to the body and blood of Christ without sin.  For I must confess that Christ is there when His body and blood are there.  His words do not lie to me, and He is not separate from His body and blood.

From the Treasury of Daily Prayer, Concordia Publishing House, 2008, pp. 1179-1180.