The “Church Growth” Sermon

I have prepared this sermon to preach tomorrow at my little LCMS church in St. Louis. The text is Luke 5:1-11.

Now it came about that while the multitude were pressing around Him and listening to the word of God, He was standing by the lake of Gennesaret; and He saw two boats lying at the edge of the lake; but the fishermen had gotten out of them, and were washing their nets. And He got into one of the boats, which was Simon's, and asked him to put out a little way from the land. And He sat down and began teaching the multitudes from the boat. And when He had finished speaking, He said to Simon, "Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch." And Simon answered and said, "Master, we worked hard all night and caught nothing, but at Your bidding I will let down the nets." And when they had done this, they enclosed a great quantity of fish; and their nets began to break; and they signaled to their partners in the other boat, for them to come and help them. And they came, and filled both of the boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw that, he fell down at Jesus' feet, saying, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!" For amazement had seized him and all his companions because of the catch of fish which they had taken; and so also James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. And Jesus said to Simon, "Do not fear, from now on you will be catching men." And when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed Him.

Many preachers would borrow any excuse to preach a sermon on the popular topic of “church growth.” As for me, the Scripture lessons of the day compel me to preach a “church growth” sermon whether I want to or not.

Likewise, every congregation has its own expectations when someone gets up before them to talk about “church growth.” Big, bustling, vibrant congregations—churches that fulfill this world’s definition of success—churches that “worship” a thousand, fifteen hundred, or even two or three thousand people a week—might expect to hear a sermon about what we are doing to make the church grow. Congregations poised on the edge of becoming such powerhouses might expect to hear about the plans we are making, or the changes we are considering, to get this kind of “church growth.”

And then, perhaps, there are small congregations where the growth has stalled, or attendance is shrinking. Churches where there are more empty spaces than people in the pews. Churches where the splendor of past years has faded to a gloomy, unpromising present. Places where the culture of “church growth” talk has made folks so ashamed to belong to a church that isn’t numerically growing that they look around with disgust and guilt and believe that their congregation is going to die—or even that it should die. And perhaps they expect a “church growth” sermon to tell them whether or not it’s too late to change things so their church can grow again.

Is there any need to ask which category we belong to? But the “church growth” sermon I am here to preach may not be what you expect. Not your typical “church growth” sermon, the message I bring you today is a message of encouragement and hope from the Word of God, and even from the lips of Jesus Himself. I am here not to talk about the people-driven programs, plans, and changes that have brought an illusion of growth to some churches. I am here to talk about the true “church growth” which Christ accomplishes when, where, and by the means He chooses.

Let’s start with the story of the catch of fish and Jesus calling His first disciples. Is this story a miracle or a parable? When you and I were young, we probably had a little trouble remembering which was which. Sort of like the child who thought epistles were wives of the apostles. Let’s look at what happens in this story. These fisherman, who included at least three of Jesus’ earliest disciples, fished all night and caught nothing. The moment Jesus told them to let their nets down in the deep water, they caught so many fish that their nets began to break, their boats began to sink. That’s a miracle, right? But then again, perhaps it’s a parable. Because Jesus takes what has just happened and makes a point of it. He says: “Do not fear; from now on you will be catching men.” What He means is: “Look at what just happened here. Follow me, and the same kind of thing will happen, only with people instead of fish.” The parable seems to have hit its mark. The fishermen left everything and followed him.

As a miracle, it’s just a story about how great Jesus is, or how He got His disciples to follow Him. But as a parable, today’s lesson from Luke is a “church growth” message that applies to us, here, today. What happened with the fish is what happens with men. When the Gospel of Christ is preached, it does to people what the net did to those fish. And the reason it does so—the power that makes it work—is the same.

Peter, James, and John dragged their nets through the sea all night and caught nothing. Their bait had no effect. Their plans, their techniques, their maneuvers made no difference. Whether they did the same thing all night, or changed their strategy hour by hour, made no difference. By themselves, in and of themselves, they caught nothing. Not one fish! If I myself hadn’t gone out in a fishing boat and come back, hours later, empty handed, I would think these empty nets were a sign from God. But that’s nature. Sometimes you catch fish, sometimes you don’t, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Unless you’re Jesus, that is. Jesus said the word; Peter and his men, who had nothing to lose, let down their nets; and suddenly, where there had been no fish all night long, they caught more fish than they could pull aboard. Of themselves they could do nothing; but by the power of Jesus, by the Word of Jesus, they hauled in a tremendous catch.

“Church growth” stands on the same footing. We could change ever so many things and still see no growth. We could drift along forever and, based on our own efforts and gimmicks and angles, we might score a few new members . . . or we might not. Whether we as a congregation grow or not really isn’t in our hands. The power belongs to Christ. His power is located in His Word. When He decides that the church will grow, it will grow; and it will grow only by the power of His Word.

While it remains in His Word, the church grows. This church is growing, I say, whether or not that growth is apparent to our senses. For not all forms of “church growth” can be measured in numbers of weekly attendance or voting membership. When Peter threw himself at the feet of Jesus and cried, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord,” that was church growth. In that groveling, terrified figure you behold one of the Christian church’s greatest and earliest leaders. Jesus was reeling him in right then and there.

Thus a fisherman became a disciple: not because of a seeker-friendly worshp service, not because of a top-quality praise band, not because of a jumping and shouting preacher—if Jesus had done that, He would have upset the boat He preached from—and not because of a big, expensive church with overtones of a shopping mall. Peter fell down before Christ because the Word Jesus had preached from his boat, and the sign Jesus had shown him, convicted Peter of his sin. He fell down in repentance; he rose up forgiven, encouraged by Jesus’ words: "Fear not."

Your “church growth” is, likewise, powered by Jesus alone. He powers it with His Word and signs. Peter’s “church growth” began with Jesus proclaiming His Word on the water; likewise, your “church growth” begins with a washing of water and the word: the new birth of Baptism. Peter’s “church growth” continued with Jesus performing a miracle, conjuring an overabundance of fish out of an empty net; likewise, your “church growth” continues with the miracle of Jesus’ body and blood taking the place of mere bread and wine: one body sufficient to feed an endless multitude from the cross to the end of time; one sacrifice whose blood is sufficient to cover all mankind’s sins. With Word and sign, Jesus brought Peter to repentance, and with gracious promises He assured Peter of forgiveness. Likewise, by Word and Sacrament, by Law and Gospel, Jesus brings you to repentance and gives you forgiveness, so that by the “pure milk of the Word . . . you may grow in respect to salvation.”

The “church growth” powered by Jesus continues in each of you as you continue in His Word and Sacrament. But it also grows beyond you as He uses you, and all His Word-and-Sacrament-filled church, to catch more people and fill His nets. This does not take anything away from His Great Commission (Matthew 28:19-20). When He tells us to make disciples of all nations, He explains how this is done: by baptizing them and by teaching them all that He has instructed us. And He adds the promise, “Behold, I am with you even to the end of the age,” as an extra-special encouragement as if to say, “You will soon realize that you cannot do this without me. Fear not; I am with you. I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you (John 14:18). I will be wherever you gather in my name (Matthew 18:20). I will continually make you my disciples by my Word, for ‘If you abide in My word, then you are truly disciples of Mine; and you shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free’ (John 8:31-32). And by the same Word, I will make disciples through you. Fear not, for from now on you will be catching men.”

This is not to say you can sit back and be satisfied with hearing the Word, as if that is all that “church growth” entails. But it is a necessary starting place. In and of ourselves, we are helpless to make the church grow. No program, no technique, no method can enable us to catch men, or to make disciples. This is entirely the work of Christ and the Holy Spirit through Word and Sacrament. We can be His instruments as He carries out that work; we have only to trust in His Word and use it.

Paul writes in today’s Epistle: “For the word of the cross is to those who are perishing foolishness, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For since . . . the world through its wisdom did not come to know God, God was well-pleased through the foolishness of the message preached to save those who believe.” This is Paul saying very plainly what Jesus spoke in a parable: human words appealing to current philosophy will fail; human signs, works, healings, tongues, and spiritual gifts will fail; but the word of the cross, the message preached, is God’s power to save. “For indeed Jews ask for signs, and Greeks search for wisdom; but we preach Christ crucified, to Jews a stumbling block, and to Gentiles foolishness, but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. Because the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.”

What you see in today’s “church growth” culture is a widespread loss of faith in the saving power of God’s Word. Oh, how their faith is tested—oh, how our faith is tested by the foolishness of the gospel! How easily we begin to doubt that the simple, clear proclamation of Christ’s teaching will accomplish everything! How quickly we begin trying to add other things, as if simply remaining faithful to His Word and Sacrament cannot make disciples or keep disciples in a living and growing church! How readily we rely on statistics, market studies, and surveys to find out what the unchurched want from us, while ignoring or dismissing the statistics that show the church stopped growing when it began chasing these numbers. What the unchurched really want from us is to know what to expect when they choose to grace us with their presence. And if they can expect to hear the message of what God expects from them—and what Jesus has done for them—this Law-Gospel “message preached” will make disciples. That is Christ’s promise; that is Christ’s power at work; that is what I ask you to trust and believe, both for your personal “church growth,” and so that your church may grow.

What became of the fish, the boats? Peter, James, and John left them behind, as Elisha left behind the field he was plowing. Perhaps we can read the Elijah-Elisha story from our first lesson into this situtation. Perhaps we can conclude that the fishermen-turned-disciples left those valuable boats, and that lucrative catch of fish, in the hands of servants or business agents who forwarded the sale price to them. Perhaps we can draw the conclusion that, like Elisha sacrificing his twelve oxen before following Elijah, Peter and the sons of Zebedee sacrificed their earnings from that miraculous catch to Jesus. We do hear that the disciples had a money box, though unfortunately their treasurer was Judas Iscariot. Things like that can happen in even the best-regulated church.

The simple fact is, Luke doesn’t tell us what became of the goods those disciples left behind. It doesn’t really matter. Your sacrifices to the common money box, your offerings to the general fund, aren’t what make disciples. But being disciples, you make these sacrifices because the thrill of following a master like Jesus is worth it; because the salvation He gives you is more valuable than all; and because everything you give can be used to promote the “message preached,” which is God’s power to save. I do not say to you, “Give so that the church may grow.” I say instead: “Grow in the Word of Christ, grow in His Sacrament, and you will give because Christ has saved you.” I do not say, “Let us do whatever it takes to bring in more people so they can save the church.” Rather, I say: “Let us follow Christ so that, through His Word, He may save us and others.”

Listen to Christ calling you to be His disciple. Abide in His Word; trust in His promises; leave behind, or even sacrifice, anything that stands in the way of following Him. As surely as Jesus has sworn to make you fishers of men, He will preach the message of His cross through you. Perhaps not as an individual, but certainly as one body in Christ, He will use you to catch people and save them.

Irritating Ads

Whenever I check my email online, I risk having the most annoying advertisements in human history forced on my attention. I believe they are made so mindlessly irritating on purpose, so that people notice them. Of course, I can't remember what the ads are for - in fact, one of the reasons I don't dare click on them is that it's never clear where that click will lead. It seems to be a bunch of interchangeable stuff having to do with mortgage rates or car insurance premiums.

The "classic" annoying ad - see how quickly something matures to classicism in this age of rapid information transfer - shows an animated loop of somebody dancing. Sometimes the dancer is a busty young woman; but it has also been, at times, a skeleton, a little green alien, Santa Claus, Merlin, and I forget who else. Whoever it is, dances the same steps over and over while you wonder what a bulletin about interest rates has to do with dancing. I'm not sure what incentive this ad is supposed to be offering to click on it, but I doubt that it outweighs the risk of being taken to some virus-infested, identity-stealing black hole in cyberspace.

Another "classic" is the flashing, blinking image swearing that you're the 100,000th visitor (to your own email???), and offering you a prize if you just "click here." Like heck! How many times can one person be so lucky? This is another case of "Click at your own risk."

More recently, a recognizable individual - comedian Lewis Black - has been featured in an ad in which he is shown having what looks like the mother of all conniption fits. It is a macabre image that reminds me of some of the gruesomer hallucinations depicted in the movie Jacob's Ladder. This bit of animation isn't just annoying, it's disturbing. It makes it hard to concentrate on anything else on the screen. It makes me want to surf to another page as soon as possible.

Those who sell ads on their websites should take note of how irritating some of these ads are. If the ads are causing people to avoid your site, it will impact your income. What a terrible position to be in, relying on advertising to fund your work, only to have the advertising itself make your work less fundable. The only solution I can see is to pay a little more attention to what ads your customers are putting on your site, and if one customer wants to put something there that is going to give visitors vertigo, or gooseflesh, or headaches, or the screaming heebie-jeebies, look for a different advertiser!

Incomprehensible Tackiness

Thus saith the lighted, lettered sign on the nearby street corner with the ELCA church:

OUR WALKERS ARE IN THE PINK

Well, I never. Who would have guessed?

No, really. I'm trying to figure out how tacky this is. It must be off the chart, because I'm getting absolutely no vibes. Not the faintest idea what it pertains to. Did I miss something everybody else saw on TV? A walk-a-thon to raise funds for the cure? A golden girls' cancer survivors' support group? A blessing of the backpacks service for ambulatory seniors? I'm starting to wonder whether this church is still in business. Maybe a shoe store took over the premises and they haven't changed the sign...

Love Pig, Lap Cat

Until yesterday, I've never had a lap cat.

I've shared living space with lots of cats and dogs in my time. I have had lap dogs (whether I wanted them or not): dogs that would willingly climb on top of my legs while I was sitting in a chair, because they enjoyed the closeness and a nice rub-down. I have had more or less dog-like cats, who came when called, obeyed commands, and came running to see me when I got home. In my last six years of uninterrupted catsmanship, I have had two cats who regularly perched on my chest while I was lying down; the third cat (Tyrone) only occasionally does so.

Tyrone, unlike Sinead, will sometimes let me pick him up and hold him in my arms (usually belly-up, so I can rub under his chin). Sinead has only ever let me do this once without immediately struggling (and usually scracthing) to get away; and that only lasted half a minute before I was close enough to the couch to let her jump down without a foul on either side. I'm still trying to train her to be a little more tractable, though there may not be any point to this; she is such a "love pig" that I can almost count on her to cuddle with me every time I lie down to sleep or to read. Plus, she often approaches me while I am working at my desk, or playing the piano, or walking around the apartment, and meows for attention. So it's not as if she doesn't want to cuddle.

Yesterday, however, the "love pig" surprised me. Considering that Tyrone is the cat who lets me pick me up, it's doubly surprising that Sinead was the one who made herself comfortable on my lap. This goes against all precedent. I had long since given up trying to obtain a lap cat by picking the animal up and putting it on my lap. I recognized that it was going to happen spontaneously if ever. But I wasn't really expecting it to happen at all.

Here's how it came about. I was spending the day at my desk (a project for work, honest). Next to my chair is the glider footrest that goes with the glider rocker that pretty much belongs to the cats. I put the footrest next to my desk chair so the cats can sit by me while I work without hopping onto the desk itself. This arrangement has done a lot to break the cats of their bad habit of trespassing on my desk. (I also hate it when Tyrone jumps on my dresser or on the kitchen counter; we're still working on those behaviors.) The cats were pretty much tag-teaming me. One was always guarding me on this footrest while the other went about its business elsewhere. Both cats occasionally used this as a vantage point for demanding attention, sometimes by a simple vocalization, sometimes by putting their front paws either on my leg or on the corner of the desk. I rewarded their affection each time with a brief rubdown.

Sinead was so delighted with the rubdown that she leaned farther and farther over my lap, hesitating only to remove her back paws from the stool. After a couple of sessions like this, she was finally ready to try standing on my leg with all four paws, but the instability scared her and she jumped back onto the stool. So I pulled back from my desk and crossed my legs, creating a wider, triangular place for her to stretch out. And with just a little enticement, she tried it out - and loved it! She stretched right out over my lap and luxuriated in caresses. She couldn't get enough of that lap. I finally had to push her off because I needed to get back to work. From love pig to lap cat! Wow, Sinead!

Reading Haydn's 96th

Joseph Haydn's 96th Symphony in D major, written in 1791, was one of his "London" Symphonies - his twelve last and greatest works of their kind, composed for the first of Haydn's two trips to England. It obtained the nickname "Miracle" at an early date because, as the oft-told story goes, a chandelier plunged from the auditorium's ceiling onto several rows of seats just after its first performance. Miraculously, those rows' occupants had left their seats moments earlier in an enthusiastic rush toward the stage to congratulate the composer.

That lives were saved - miraculously, even - is fairly certain; but there is some doubt whether this was the symphony that saved them. Wiki says it was actually the 102nd, which premiered three years later during Haydn's second tour. Such a serious error is hard to believe. Another pundit claims the 96th was played after the miracle, hence the confusion. An equally plausible explanation is that the publisher guessed. Once No. 96 was printed with the title "Miracle," there was no stopping the legend. The merits of the music are the same whether or not it saved lives.

Time for a confession that you will probably find weird: having heard every one of Haydn's authentic symphonies, I have noticed that I find his D major symphonies especially agreeable. This symphony is one of the reasons.

The first movement begins with one of those slow introductions that, in turn, begin with a strong, unison gesture; in this case, a descending broken triad (D-A-F#), first in the major but repeated in the minor. These powerful gestures touch off phrases of sensitive music that, in the context of their time - one might have to immerse oneself in music of that period to appreciate it now - must have been regarded as deeply touching. As this slow passage winds down you repeatedly hear a pattern of four repeated notes. The first theme of the subsequent fast sonata movement begins with this same repeated-note pattern.

In this movement Haydn joins martial dignity, carefree playfulness, and an all-pervading joy that one can't help catching from the music. During the relatively long and rigorous development, the insistent repetition of notes in groups of three and four begins to build up a sense of drama, if not tragedy, that must have sounded very intense in those pre-Beethoven's 5th times. At the climax of the development, Haydn puts in a long pause, like a deep breath to compose himself, then wraps up the section much more calmly; the atmosphere of joy returns in the movement's concluding recap.

The tripartite slow movement begins with a lilting tune like a slow dance, in G major. This develops into something much more forceful and energetic before subsiding to its original lightness. The minor-key second section is more serious, even passionate; then the first section is repeated, complete with its ascending triad (D-G-B-D) opening that one could analyze as an inversion of the notes that opened the first movement. The movement ends with an extended coda based on this first section, including a charming solo for (unless I mistake) the cello.

Movement III is the inevitable Menuetto & Trio. As in the "Oxford" symphony, Haydn makes the most of juxtaposing phrases of constrasting length and mood to create an effect of wit and variety within a form that could all-too-easily fall prey to a tedious sameness. The Trio features the oboe in a sweet little tune that contrasts well with the overall blusteriness of the surrounding Menuetto; and, again, dynamic contrasts and sudden pauses improve a simple tune to the point of being worthy of a great symphony.

The lively finale begins with yet another tune based on broken chords. For quite a few bars this proceeds quite softly, considering the amount of pent-up energy it contains. This energy does eventually break out, starting with a stormy minor-key episode, though even in this instance the whole movement is based on its opening theme. Haydn puts this tune through considerable revolutions, demonstrating many of the remarkable possibilities of orchestral sonority.

From its opening shades of seriousness and tenderness, through moods of joy, wit, and passion, Haydn's 96th is a beautifully crafted symphony that brings extremes (moderated, of course, by classical restraint) into balance. It may not have saved lives at its first performance, but it does, I think, add to the goodness of life today.

IMAGES: Haydn; London's Hanover Square Rooms, where this symphony had its premiere; a gas chandelier.

Law & Gospel

Judging by Dave's comments on "Scripture Its Own Intepreter," I urgently need to cover more of the necessary principles for interpreting the Bible, a.k.a. "hermeneutics." But first, I need to unpack one that I already proposed, in a big hurry, as a premise for the "sacramental interpretation" of Scripture. In my haste I wrote:

Any act of biblical interpretation that confuses Law and Gospel, blends them, or makes do with one but not the other, stands in contradiction to the analogy of faith. It's a nice rule of thumb that makes lots of false doctrines easy to spot.

In retrospect, I can understand why that brusque statement might not seem to make much sense. So here's what I was talking about.

When the Word of God impacts the conscience of a reader or hearer, it does so in at least one of two ways. The way of the Law is to impose an obligation on you, an obligation to live up to God's religious demands and moral standards. Combined with a sense of your failure to meet this obligation - in a word, sin - the impact of the Law grows into concern, anxiety, guilt, fear, frustration, bitterness, and despair. (Please don't take this as a kind of Kubler-Ross "stages of sin" model.) The way of the Gospel, on the other hand, is to free you from these things by revealing what God has done in Christ, both to satisfy the Law's obligations for you and to pay the penalty for your failure.

This distinction between Law and Gospel - the two faces God's Word presents to our hearts and minds - is not an innovation of the Protestant Reformation. It is a distinction Paul makes explicit in his New Testament writings (see especially Romans 4 and Galatians 3), and Jesus Himself bears witness to it (e.g., Luke 16:16). Properly applied, this distinction can shed light on every book of the Old and New Testaments. But as C.F.W. Walther exhaustively demonstrates in his lectures on this distinction, there are lots of ways to mess it up - so many ways, in fact, that every false doctrine that has ever disturbed the church could be analyzed as a failure to properly distinguish Law and Gospel. For the full scoop, read Walther's book Law and Gospel, which has been published in at least two English translations. I only have space to outline a few of the high points.

First, "Gospel" literally means "good news." But you can't always draw a conclusion about a word's meaning from its linguistic origin. The meaning of "Gospel" is more than the sum of its parts. (The same goes for the Greek word euangelion which we translate as "Gospel.") In a similar manner, the word "Law" in Scripture can sometimes refer to the entire Word of God, the Old Testament, or the Books of Moses, depending on the context; it can even, at times, mean the same as "Gospel." But with regard to the "distinction between Law and Gospel," both words have a narrow, specialized meaning. In this context, "Law" means the commanding and condemning activity of the Word, telling us what to do and accusing us of failure; and "Gospel" specifically means the message that Christ has done all to meet the Law's commands and suffered all that our failure deserves, and that God therefore forgives us.

I emphasize this point so strongly, and beg you to remember it, because few movements have done so much harm to the church's tradition of Bible interpretation as the "Gospel reductionist" movement - which begins its definition of "Gospel" by observing that it literally means "good news," and for all intents and purposes stops there. One result is that every bit of encouragement and positive advice is put on the same level as God's forgiveness (a moralizing tendency). Another result of this broader use of the word "Gospel" (as distinguished from Law) is that moral and doctrinal precepts are reinterpreted as helpful suggestions that are only relevant as long as, and to the degree that, they serve the Gospel. The church that embraces a "reductionist" definition of the Gospel is soon liberated from accountability to biblical teachings (the analogy of faith) and the Law's bracing condemnation of sin. At the end of the process all that remains is a moralistic, sanctification-oriented religion that repeals all of God's injunctions against sinful behavior (since forgiveness makes everything OK!) and jettisons doctrines that people find difficult to believe (since they interfere with the mission of the Gospel). In short, "Gospel reductionism" is a wormhole to apostasy.

Second, anyone who listens to the teachings of any religion can experience, on some level, the impact of the Law. What an open-minded agnostic can deduce about God by observing the nature of His creation will bring him no further than a sense of accountability to One higher than himself. The Gospel can only be heard in a Christian church where the Bible is faithfully interpreted. The Gospel is a message unique to the Bible's written revelation and its proclamation. Nevertheless, Christians always need to hear both Law and Gospel. Why? Because the "old man" (sin) remains in us all our lives, fighting against the "new creature" Christ has raised up in us. We continue to be tempted, and in our weakness we sin daily. The Christian is in constant need of repentance and forgiveness (see Psalm 51; Romans 7; 1 Samuel 2:6).

My middle point: It's amazing how many ways the Law-Gospel distinction can be tampered with. Some teachings blur the line between Law and Gospel, such as the idea that Gospel causes one to tremble in fear. Some turn Gospel into Law, such as interpreting God's gifts of Word and Sacrament as good works we do. Some teachings turn Law into Gospel, such as suggesting if you pray X prayer or support Y ministry you will earn God's favor. Others place obstacles between you and the Gospel (withholding the certainty of salvation), or force you to leap hurtles to get to the Gospel (such as decisions, miracles, charismatic gifts, etc.).

Some teachings soften the impact of the Law (making the prospect of achieving righteousness by works more "doable"); others make it too harsh (burdening people with commands and prohibitions that do not come from Scripture). Some dispose of Law altogether (as if we are completely free to behave as we like), or consider Law the product of an evil god (along with everything material and physical). Some very tempting and practical-sounding teachings find it necessary to dig the spurs of the Law into your ribs after you have heard the Gospel, so when it comes to your sanctification it is not the Gospel but the Law that rides you. Some of these false teachings are subtle, appealing, difficult to spot. But their result is either that the unrepentant feel secure in their sin, or that souls desperate for comfort and assurance find none. Every biblical interpretation that disregards the analogy of faith also fails, in some way or other, to observe the proper distinction between Law and Gospel. And vice versa.

Second-to-lastly, the Law/Gospel distinction as I have defined it is not an assertion about the "intended meaning" of every Bible verse. I am not suggesting one could categorize every sentence of Scripture as either Law or Gospel. Nor am I denying that a single Bible verse can imply both Law and Gospel. While the verse itself has one intended meaning (a principle I mean to clarify in a later installment), it may impact one reader/hearer by the way of the Law and another by the way of the Gospel; or, it may strike the same person one way now and the other way at a later time. For example, the words "Christ died for our sins" (1 Corinthians 15:3) can be a message of reproach (your sins killed Jesus) and a message of comfort (He paid our debt to God).

Lastly, I think Walther is a bit unclear in his instructions to preachers on their responsibility to give their hearers the right balance of Law and Gospel, or to measure out each side of God's Word in proportion to the hearers' need either to be hammered with the Law (to shake them out of false security and self-righteousness) or to be healed with the Gospel. Ever since the first time I read Law and Gospel as a teenager, I was struck by this weakness in Walther's presentation. In effect, he burdens would-be preachers with a hopeless, impossible task. It would have been more helpful if Walther had taken more pains to be clear on this point.

For preaching "Law and Gospel," in due proportion, is not a question of the structure of your sermon or your method of presentation. It is not about whether your sermon outline has two main points or three, or whether you draw a hard line dividing the sermon so that you first speak nothing but wrath and damnation, and then after a clean break you speak nothing but promises and comfort. It is not about whether you dare breathe a single word of exhortation toward the end of the sermon, whether you call that word "the third use of the Law" or a "gospel imperative." It is not about whether you strike a 50/50 balance between the two, either in word count or in intensity, or whether perhaps a 30/70 division might be better.

For no amount of agonizing over your sermon structure or method can overcome the bare facts that the same Word will hit some readers as Law and others as Gospel, and that some in the congregation will especially need to be hammered while others will need to be healed. No amount of care on the preacher's part can ever be sufficient to ensure that every person in the pews gets the right dosage of each. This must be left up to the Holy Spirit. A preacher who faithfully interprets Scripture can content himself with the Lord's promise that the Spirit will instruct those who hear His Word (John 14:26), and will confirm what His ministers proclaim of both condemnation and forgiveness (John 20:22-23).

The distinction between Law and Gospel, therefore, is not a formula for delivering the right amounts of guilt and comfort to each individual. Rather, it is a principle of interpretation that obligates us to apply both "faces" of Scripture to our readers or hearers, as well as ourselves; to recognize and avoid patterns of teaching and application that do violence to this distinction; and, when reading a given Biblical passage, to frankly recognize what it has to say both to rebuke sin and to direct sinners to Christ's forgiveness.

Sign Language

So far in my "hermeneutics" thread, I haven't said much that will surprise anyone who has studied hermeneutics in a Lutheran seminary. But after accumulating 7 principles of biblical inspiration, I find myself at the point where I can propose something - well, if not new, at least off the well-worn trail on which Protestant hermeneutics run. I will try to make it brief, so that you have ample time to gasp in awe afterward. (Ha, ha.)

In my ramblings through doctrinaire, Protestant blogs and online essays, I have repeatedly run into the same poisonous assessment of Luther's theology, particularly where it comes to the Sacraments. The general gist of it is: God says our salvation requires nothing but faith. Luther says Baptism and the Lord's Supper are necessary. Therefore Luther is an evil, antichristian heretic whose teaching contradicts the sola fide (faith alone).

Such a persistent and serious charge - false charge that it is - could be compared to a political problem that cannot be solved by having Congress pass a law; it actually calls for a constitutional amendment. This case can be traced to a basic issue of biblical hermeneutics. So, in my opinion, it demands an answer that can be regarded as a key principle of Bible interpretation.

Let's start with my friend, now a pastor, who came to the Christian faith by reading the Bible. Even he would admit that this is an extremely unusual route from unbelief to belief. In spite of what the Gideons tell you when they make their fundraising spiel, Bible reading alone does not win many souls for Christ. In fact, setting aside statistics on books disappearing out of hotel dressers every year (which do not translate into conversion statistics), and blather about "decisions for Christ" (which some people go through 3 or 4 times a decade), the impact of the printed word of Scripture by itself appears to be negligible.

So we can readily see how important the issue of "biblical interpretation" is. Before the written Word of God reaches most people's hearts, it goes through some type of interpretation. Perhaps it becomes an evangelical tract; perhaps a sermon; perhaps an instruction class; perhaps a discussion around a kitchen table with a Bible open on top. People are constantly being led, and often misled, by somebody's Bible interpretation.

To the extent that these tracts, sermons, lessons, and Bible chats faithfully represent the teaching of Scripture - analogy of faith, context, sedes doctrinae, and all - they are not just the word of an individual Christian; they are God's Word. Before you jump on that statement, take note of the words "to the extent that." As interpretations of Scripture, they are subject to being judged by Scripture. If they contain anything new or troubling, a vigilant Christian will check them against Scripture (Acts 17:11; 1 John 4:1). If the teacher/preacher/songleader turns out to be a bad interpreter of Scripture, he should be corrected and/or dumped (2 Timothy 2:25; 2 Thessalonians 3:6).

My point, before you forced me on the defensive, was that God's Word isn't permanently stuck to the pages of the Bible. It gets up and moves around. The writer of a religious essay processes the biblical revelation and publishes it in a new form. The preacher, evangelist, or catechist ponders it and proclaims it, applying it to the situation, background, and comprehension-level of his hearers. If the interpreter has been faithful, then what strikes the reader's eye or the hearer's ear is God's Word.

If printed and spoken words, above and beyond literal quotes from the Bible, can be regarded as God's Word, the same can apply to more than words. Words, after all, are not the only possible vehicle of meaning. Bodily gestures, visual art, and music can also convey meaning. So liturgical customs, religious imagery, and sacred music - even instrumental music - can communicate God's Word. Actions, garments, pictures, and melodies are often significant because of the words and concepts with which they are associated. They are, in a word, signs. And signs are language - not just for deaf people!

The sacraments are sign language by which God speaks His gospel to us. I am not saying the sacraments are mere representations, in the sense that the water of Baptism "represents" the Holy Spirit, or that the bread and wine "represents" Christ's body and blood. Rather, I am saying the body and blood that Christ gives us to eat and drink are a sign of His death on the cross and what it means for us: "the forgiveness of sins." Our baptimal bath in the Holy Spirit is a sign that our "old man" (sin) is sealed in the tomb with Jesus, and we are now "a new creature," "born of water and the Spirit" (John 3:5; Romans 6:4; 2 Corinthians 5:17).

These are not merely chores that we carry out in obedience to God's command; these sacraments are God's sign language, like the dumb show Jesus used to communicate with the deaf-mute in Mark 7:32 ff. He is communicating to us that all is accomplished for our salvation; that we are forgiven, cleansed, reborn, renewed, adopted as His children and heirs; that we have been removed from the kingdom of this world and transferred into God's kingdom; that we have the Holy Spirit and even the vital flesh and blood of Christ living in us and transforming us; that we live in communion with the Son of Man who is at the right hand of God; and that we worship Him in unison with the angels and saints of all times, in heaven and on earth.

One could go on for ages using words to communicate what God tells us in His Word-signs of Baptism and Communion; and quite possibly, one might never express all of it. Conveniently, God gets over all that in a moment, simply by using these signs. Clearly this is a form of communication purer and more direct than words themselves; though interpretation can make a lot of difference. Also, these language-signs convey more than mere information. Remember what I have already said about the efficacy of the Word; like the spoken Gospel, these signs hook us up on a direct line to the very things they promise. God's Word and Sacraments deliver more than comforting assurances of forgiveness and salvation; they deliver the blessing itself. Scripture teaches of no other way God will give these blessings.

Alas, before I can lay down the Hermeneutical Principle this demands, I have to treat the distinction between Law and Gospel. It is so hard to keep these in order! Hermeneutical Principle 8 is going to trot out a well-broken Reformation warhorse (and not, after all, unique to Lutheranism): Any act of biblical interpretation that confuses Law and Gospel, blends them, or makes do with one but not the other, stands in contradiction to the analogy of faith. It's a nice rule of thumb that makes lots of false doctrines easy to spot. But I have enough interesting stuff to say on this to fill another post, so I'll spare you the details for now.

Now we're ready for Principle 9: Any act of biblical interpretation that fails to locate Christ's presence, forgiveness, help, and comfort in His Word and Sacraments is, at least by implication, a confusion of Law and Gospel. You should be impressed with me for including those words "at least by implication." I know I'm impressed with myself; what else is new? That little phrase recognizes that even a conscientious interpreter can, unknowingly and unintentionally, fail his audience by not directing them to where God's gifts and blessings may be found.

Given the state of American Protestantism today, it's not hard to guess where people will assume you want them to look. By habit and inclination, they will search for Christ in flights of imagination (cf. Peter Marshall's famous "Were You There" sermon), in private meditation, in spiritual exercises, in works of emulation, etc., etc., etc. In Catholic countries the reflex response might be different (e.g. pilgrimages, relics, laps around the rosary, etc.). But while the details may differ, the destination is always the same: inward, on their own religious devotions and works of piety. This impulse is so strong and universal that every godly preacher, teacher, catechist, and tractarian must fight against it in all his works of biblical interpretation, so his audience can be reminded as often as possible where Jesus has told us to expect Him to meet us.