This October 31st marks
the 500th anniversary of Martin Luther nailing his Ninety-five
Theses to the church door in Wittenberg Germany; an event often seen as the
beginning of the Reformation. I’ve been
surprised at the attention the event has received in our somewhat secular
culture—even PBS has recognized it with a well-done biography of Luther.
Of course, as is often true, so
simple a statement as my first sentence cannot be made without some
qualifications.
To begin with, some historians
question whether Luther actually nailed the theses to the church door. They don’t doubt the theses were written and
became a focal point for discussion in 1517/18, they doubt Luther would have
used that means to announce what he saw as an abuse of indulgences. I quickly surveyed five of the several
general church history books I own: four mention Luther posting the theses on
the church door and the fifth just mentions Luther publishing the theses
without reference to a venue.
In the end, I’ll treat the matter
like the story Colonel William Travis using his sword to draw “the line in the
sand” at the Alamo. Travis giving his
soldiers an opportunity to leave and the fact none took the opportunity to get
away is part of Texas folklore. You
guessed it. Historians debate whether it
happened. One prominent historian—a
Texan—summed up his opinion this way: “I believe the line was drawn in the sand
whether the line was drawn in the sand or not.”
That’s how I feel about Luther nailing the Theses to the church door.
A more significant question concerns the
propriety of thinking those hammer blows marked the beginning of the
Reformation. There had been cries for
the church to change or reform for years before Luther was born. Luther knew this. One of the charges made against him claimed
he was reviving ideas spread by Jan Hus who had been burned as a heretic about
a century before Luther drove those famous nails. Still, while recognizing other reform-minded
Christians came before him, Luther’s act is significant. Others had ignited small, quickly doused
fires. Luther sparked a blaze that
couldn’t be extinguished.
Swiss-born Philip Schaff spent
almost half a century, from 1844 to 1893, teaching church history in the United
States. Schaff begins his volume on the Reformation with these
words: “The Reformation of the sixteenth century is, next to the
introduction of Christianity, the greatest event in history. It marks the end
of the Middle Ages and the beginning of modern times.”
Some historians insist we shouldn’t
speak of the Reformation but of the Reformations (plural). They are correct in pointing out Luther
wasn’t the only reformer in the early sixteenth-century and correct in pointing
out those other reformers had very different assumptions about what a reformed (small
“r”) church should look like. Without
being pedantic, we can speak of the magisterial reformation with the Lutheran
and Reformed (big “R”) branches, the radical reformation, and the Catholic
reformation (once called the Counter-Reformation, a term seldom used
today). Both the magisterial and the
radical reformations had sub-categories that were sometimes very different from
each other. For instance, some of the
radicals were willing to take up arms against the state while others were
committed pacifists. Those who took up
arms, including some led by Luther’s former colleagues, were often overrun and
slaughtered—with Luther’s approval—by the civil authorities. Despite facing intense persecution, the
ancestors of the committed pacifists survived; we know them today as the
Mennonites and the Amish.
Of course, the Reformation was not
just about how to do church but what those churches should believe and
preach. For all their differences, the
reformers generally agreed the church should be where “the word of God is truly
preached and the sacraments are rightly administered.” But saying that is so
easy. Indeed, the greatest divisions
among Protestants involve the varied answers to the questions: “What happens
when the sacraments are rightly administered?” and “What do you say when the
word of God is truly preached?”
The deepest and longest lasting divisions
among the Protestants involve questions about what happens during baptism and
the Lord’s Supper (or the Eucharist or Communion). Protestants disagree about the proper
recipients of baptism and, honestly, how much water should be used. Protestants don’t even agree about the term
to use for the latter rite.
When you notice there are well over
a hundred Protestant denominations in America, you could be forgiven if you
imagined Protestants don’t agree about anything at all. By the way, the oft-quoted claim there are
33,000 Protestant denominations in the world is just plain wrong; it’s based on
a wonky definition of denomination.
There are lots of Protestant denominations but nowhere near 33,000. I prefer to think of families of Protestant
churches. Naming these families isn’t a
precise exercise but the effort has some use in managing the seemingly
disparate groups. Most Protestant
denominations belong to one of these traditions: Anglican/Episcopal, Baptist/Congregational,
Pentecostal/Holiness, Presbyterian/Reformed, Adventist, Restorationist, and
Lutheran. There are other configurations
but this helps us see how the broad spectrum of Protestantism links some
denominations with others. Yet,
intra-family conflicts still exist; Baptists and Congregationalists may agree
on church government but they still differ over the crucial issue of baptism. While many denominations trace their roots
back to the Reformation, other denominations—like the Assemblies of God—are new
to the church scene; these are still considered to be Protestants. They share the key characteristics marking the
Protestant groups all the way back to the Reformation.
Though we might speak of different
“Protestantisms” in the early sixteenth century, though each group had its own distinctives,
all shared common affirmations traceable to Luther’s revolution.
· The
Bible alone is the foundation for Christian belief and practice. Historically,
Protestants have termed this as sola scriptura.
· Salvation
is the free, unmerited gift of God, available to all. Sola
gratia Protestants say. Salvation is by “grace alone.”
· The
way to this gracious salvation is through “faith alone,” sola fide.
· Each
believer may enter a relationship with God, enjoying communion and forgiveness,
without any other human mediator, a principle the Protestants called “the
priesthood of believers.” Protestants would insist there is no distinction
between priest and laity.
Let’s focus on the first Protestant
hallmark, sola scriptura.
Years ago, in a seminar taught by
Neils Nielsen, we began discussing the fundamental differences between
Protestants and Roman Catholics. In an
almost offhand manner, Professor Nielsen said the difference could be stated in
one word: “Authority.” Too simple?
Not if we consider how the traditional points of conflict between the
two groups concern notions drawn, in the case of the Protestants, from “the
Bible;” or, in the case of the Roman Catholics, from “the Bible and….”
The word “tradition” usually follows the “and,” referring to the teachings of
the church fathers, the rulings of the consistory, and papal opinion. Granting “tradition” the same authority as
the Bible inspired some of the Reformer’s most virulent attacks.
Claiming to take “only what the
Bible says” as their source of “faith and order” would seemingly lead to unity
among Protestants. But agreeing on what
the Bible says is not the same as agreeing on what the Bible means. Disagreements occur when interpreting both
simple passages and complex passages. In
I Corinthians 11:6, Paul says, “…it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair
cut off….” Some small American denominations and many independent churches
insist women should always wear their hair long. John R. Rice even wrote a book in which he
scathed against Bobbed Hair, Bossy Wives,
and Women Preachers. Other
denominations, equally committed to the Bible, insist Paul was talking about
propriety and decorum in worship services; in first-century Corinth prostitutes
were punished by having their hair cut, so any woman with short hair would
immediately be identified as immoral.
Hairstyles change, these modern Christians argue, the need for dignity
in worship does not.
How a woman chooses to wear her
hair might seem to be a minor issue until you consider the attitudes the
disagreement may engender. On the one
hand, those women who keep their hair long, women who sometimes also eschew
make-up and jewelry, are tempted to question the commitment and spiritual depth
of the more stylish women they see entering the mammoth mega-churches on a
Sunday morning. Then, too, those more
stylish women may be tempted to look at the long hair and dowdy dress of the
women entering the little church on the corner and conclude such women are out
of touch. In short, each may look at the
other and—based solely on how the other chooses to dress—scorn women who are
from heaven’s perspective their spiritual sisters.
Of course, the Protestant resolve
to ground belief systems in the scripture leads to deeper differences. For instance, because some scriptures suggest
God acts independently of human involvement in granting salvation, some
theologians insist we can only be passive, unresisting recipients of God’s
grace. At the same time, because some
scriptures suggest we may accept or reject God’s offer of salvation, some
theologians insist we are somehow involved in receiving God’s grace. Protestants have debated the questions
implied by those scriptures from the time of the Reformation until today. Gallons of ink and not a few drops of blood
have been spilt during the debate. I
doubt the dispute will be resolved before “the final trump” and we are called
to our eternal home. Even then I suspect
someone will ask St. Peter, “Who was right the Calvinists or the
Arminians?” I like to imagine Peter will
look around at that glorious place and say, “Really. That’s what’s on your mind right now?”
As a Protestant I believe doctrine
is important. In fact, one of the
results of the Reformation was the conviction all Christians needed to know
something about their faith. Hence we
see the Protestants’ widespread use of catechisms, their massive output of
books and commentaries, their support of education, and their emphasis on
preaching. But—and I say this knowing
some will want to brand me an anti-intellectual—there are some questions beyond
our ability to answer with the resources we have right now. So, unless we were to discover heretofore
unknown letters of Paul, Peter, or some other apostle on matters such as
“Predestination and Election Made Easy,” “The Final Word on Final Things,” or
“Baptism: The Wring of Truth” we would do best to focus on what we believe in common
rather than on our differences.
Speaking of what we believe in
common, let’s return to Luther’s surprising revolt—most people were surprised
anyone would dare revolt against the religious status quo and Luther was
surprised to find himself leading such a revolution. Despite all they believed in common, the
earliest Protestants were unable to work together. Though Protestants of every type were the targets
of papal and imperial wrath, Luther refused to unite with Zwingli in forming an
alliance that many believed would benefit them all. In early October 1529, Luther and Ulrich
Zwingli met in Marburg to discuss a possible coalition. In the end, they failed even though they
agreed on fourteen of fifteen key points.
Difference of opinion concerning the Lord’s Supper kept them apart. Five hundred years later, most Protestants
find they are able to cooperate in shared ministry with fellow Protestants even
though they continue to disagree on various doctrinal issues. Interestingly, the case can be made for this
propensity to cooperate first emerging among the nascent evangelicals.
Early Protestants differed on just
how much the government should be involved in the life of the church. Ultimately, the Anabaptist view prevailed in
most places (the American system seems to have been shaped both by secular
philosophies and religious principles—the admixture varying from founder to
founder). Even nations with state
churches allow rivals freedom to operate openly. A cultural milieu granting each person the
freedom to believe or disbelieve did not emerge quickly. Only after the scandalous “wars of religion”
did most governments and church leaders conclude granting freedom of conscience
was preferred to attempting to coerce faith.
Many kings, queens, and other governors forgot a basic theorem of church
history: no matter how appealing the idea
may seem, when the church and the state are wed the marriage is
disastrous.
If you are a Protestant, you may
celebrate Reformation Sunday 2017 with joy and appreciation for the
Reformation’s accomplishments—the reformers might not have encouraged you
to feel pride. The Reformation forever
changed the church; it changed history.
The face of Christianity at the end of the sixteenth century was
different than the face of Christianity at the beginning of that century. Even the Roman Catholic Church changed. Whether there would have been a “Catholic
Reformation” had there never been a “Protestant Reformation” I will leave to
others to debate. Still, the Council of
Trent (held intermittently from 1543-1565) addressed many of the issues Luther
addressed in his Ninety-Five Theses. The
Council recognized the need for an educated clergy with commitment to high
moral standards, while recognizing average church members needed a firmer
grounding in the faith. The newly formed
Jesuit order would lead the way in making these goals a reality. The Catholic Reformation even concluded the
Bible needed to be available to every Catholic Christian. No doubt, Luther’s hammer changed thing.
If you are a Protestant, you may
celebrate Reformation Sunday 2017 with a new freedom. Luther, who had once despaired of every
finding “a gracious God,” had found that God.
Justification by faith and the related notion of salvation as God’s
gracious gift liberated the individual Christian. No longer did an individual have to try to do
enough good works to win God’s favor; instead the Christian was free to expend
energy to serve others rather than use that energy in an exhausting attempt
increase the balance of some heavenly bank account.
But remember this: despite the
revolutionary character of the Reformation, the reformers did not abandon the
ancient enumeration of the church’s fourfold purpose: Worship, Proclamation,
Nurture, and Service. Protestants
cared for the poor and the weak to express their love for God and humanity, not
in a quest for merit.
If you are a Protestant, you may
celebrate Reformation Sunday 2017 with a sense of worth. Though every Protestant tradition would
insist you are a sinner in need of God’s grace, those same traditions would
recognize you are valued by God as an individual. In affirming the priesthood of the believer,
the reformers did not so much bring priests down as they brought believers up.
As a corollary to this, the reformers
affirmed what Alister McGrath calls “Christianity’s dangerous idea.” The idea, according to McGrath says “all
Christians had the right to interpret the Bible for themselves.” Thus, “Protestantism
took its stand on the right of individuals to interpret the Bible for
themselves rather than be forced to submit to ‘official’ interpretations handed
down by popes or other centralized religious authorities.”
If you are a Protestant, you may
celebrate Reformation Sunday 2017 with a sense of purpose. Born into a world where nearly every person
was baptized at birth and, thus, considered a Christian, evangelism was not
always at the forefront of the reformer’s thinking. Yet, they sometimes addressed the issue. Here’s a statement attributed to Luther, “If
he have faith, the believer cannot be restrained. He betrays himself. He breaks
out. He confesses and teaches this gospel to the people at the risk of life
itself.” In fairness, historian Kenneth
Scott Latourette says Luther and Melanchthon said little about the church’s
responsibility to evangelize because the believed the end of the world was so
near. John Calvin said in a sermon, “If
we have any humanity in us, seeing men going to perdition, …ought we not be
moved by pity, to rescue the poor souls from hell, and teach them the way of
salvation?” Calvinism has sometimes been
charged with undermining the evangelistic and mission impulse; historically the
charge cannot be sustained. While some
Calvinists have opposed “indiscriminate” preaching of the gospel, most have
sided with such thinkers as Jonathan Edwards and supported efforts to bring the
gospel to all.
Anabaptists, since they rejected
infant baptism in favor of believer’s baptism, were more vocal about evangelism
and missions. Franklin Littell says,
No words of the Master were given more serious
attention by the Anabaptist followers than His final command.
[The Great
Commission] seemed to point up His whole teaching in a glorious program
comprehending the world. The pilgrim, familiar figure of the Middle Ages, was
transformed in the fiery experience of the Anabaptists into an effective
evangelist and martyr. His wandering foot-steps and shedding of blood came to
be a determined if not always systematic testimony to the influences of lay
missioners who counted no cost too dear to them who would walk in the steps of
the Crucified.
In right
faith the Great Commission is fundamental to individual confession and to a
true ordering of the community of believers. The Master meant it to apply
to all believers at all times. [1]
While Anabaptist leaders and
evangelists came from all walks of life, some were highly educated.
But they believed the pursuit of knowledge
must not lead Christians at the expense of their more significant calling.
Roger Olsen and Christopher Alan Hall, in
their book
The Trinity, suggest the
Anabaptists believed the medieval church erred in spending so much time debating
the minutia of doctrine to the neglect of the evangelist task.
According to Kasdorf, when an anyone joined
an Anabaptist fellowship
that “… person committed himself [or herself] to Christ as
Lord, he [or she] actually made a commitment to carry out the Great Commission
to the best of his [or her] ability.”[2] I would be negligent if I failed to mention
that some of the most articulate spokespersons for the Anabaptist vision were
women; of the women condemned and executed for their faith in sixteenth-century
Europe, the majority were Anabaptists.
Five hundred years after Luther’s action, the
belief that each believer is somehow a missionary is a hallmark of evangelical
Christianity.
If you are a Protestant, you
should celebrate Reformation Sunday 2017 determined to defend your great
heritage. The notions shaping the
Reformation are under attack.
Obviously, the authority of the
Bible has been undermined even in Protestant denominations. Our confidence in the Bible has been eroded
in the face of “the sure results of modern scholarship.” Never mind how often those sure results have
been proven to be not so sure. The
long-acknowledged presence of anomalies in the surviving Greek texts has been
extrapolated to support the claim nothing in the New Testament can be trusted;
this, even though none of the anomalies impacts any major teaching. Outside evangelical circles, we seldom hear
how textual critics are confident they have reproduced the original text to
almost 100% accuracy.
More prevalent is the view of the
Bible as a time-bound book with little useful to say to the twenty-first
century. Its view of humanity as sinful,
of our need for a Savior, of the reality of true-truth is considered outmoded
and reactionary. Along with this comes the
view of Christian orthodoxy as the product of later Christian thinkers that was
then imposed upon the New Testament.
This view remains popular even though scholars, like the University of
Edinburgh’s Larry Hurtado, have shown how from the earliest days Christians
regarded Jesus as deity and worthy of worship.
Yes, the Bible has been misused and
misinterpreted—as it was by those defending slavery before the American Civil
War. Yet, as a Protestant, you have the
privilege of interpreting the Bible for yourself and the responsibility to use
the best interpretive principles to dig out its message for this age.
Just as disturbing is the assault
on the Reformation’s notion of the priesthood of the believer. On a popular level this happens whenever we allow
a new Evangelical guru to tell us what to believe and how to behave. We turn their books into bestsellers, we
expect our pastors to quote them, and we read the Bible wondering what they
might say about the passage before us.
It is a betrayal of the Reformation’s bequest to us and invites us to
jettison our right and responsibility to be thinking Christians. Luther, it is said, hated the term
“Lutheranism;” he didn’t want to be anyone’s guru. When he stood to preach, Jim Custer, a local
pastor, would occasionally ask his congregation if they had brought their
Bibles, adding, “How will you know if I’m telling you the truth if you don’t
read it yourself.” In Luke’s account of
Paul and Silas’s ministry at Berea, he writes, “… they eagerly received the
message, examining the scriptures carefully every day to see if these things
were so.” The Bereans were eager
listeners and thoughtful questioners, role models for those living out the
Reformation heritage.
Baptists have long felt the
priesthood of the believer is reflected in a congregational form of church
government. Such churches emphasize the
fundamental equality of each member.
Individually, of course, one member may have more wisdom and insight
than another. Though this is the case,
each member has only one vote at business meetings where church members discuss
issues concerning the life of the congregation, whether the issue is the color of
the sanctuary carpet or the percentage of the budget to be given to missions or
which candidate will be the new pastor.
A longtime member might have more influence than a new member but not
more votes. In such churches, even the
pastor has only one vote.
In recent years I’ve seen this
tradition threatened as more and more Baptist churches have adopted a scheme placing
the decision-making authority into fewer hands, as congregations have shifted
from a simple democracy to an oligarchy.
Those wielding the power may call
themselves the deacons, the elders, or the board; this body is often
self-perpetuating, choosing new members without consulting the congregation,
the same congregation which is expected to endorse decisions, policies,
budgets, and personnel changes without the privilege of asking questions or
challenging any phase of the process.
Some pastors insist this is the Biblical way to do church; other
pastors, more candid, admit the change is simply pragmatic since more can be
done if the time-consuming process of consulting the congregation can be
avoided. Most egregious are the claims
those pastors who insist they are Spirit-gifted to be the decision-makers in a
church, thus subtly reintroducing the distinction between clergy and laity
banished so clearly in Luther’s day.
(This claim was birthed in the charismatic churches but has begun to
find acceptance by leaders in non-charismatic churches.)
While I hesitate to promote
disharmony in congregations, perhaps it is time for priest-believers to come
forward and say “Enough.”
Whether you are a Protestant or
not, you live with reverberations of those hammer falls on 31 October 1517,
live with the impact of the Reformation.
Indeed, if you sleep away every
Sunday morning and never enter a church except for weddings, it can be argued you
owe that freedom to the Reformation.
Anabaptists insisted faith cannot be coerced and churches should be free
from state interference and the state should be free from church
interference. Eventually, their
theological/political vision—mingled with that of the Baptists—helped give
birth to notion of the separation of church and state. So, you can hit the alarm and go back to
sleep on Sunday mornings.
Whether you are a Protestant or
not—whether you are a Christian or not—Luther reminds us of the potential power
of one person acting with integrity.
