Glory and the cross

A Lutheran student at a Baptist seminary wrote me about a statement of faith she had been asked to write. Her professor wanted to her to include something about glorification, an unfamiliar concept to her as a Lutheran. She asked for my input. Here’s my response:

In 1518 Luther presented his teaching in the form of a disputation at a gathering of his fellow Augustinian monks in Heidelberg. In the theses of the Heidelberg Disputation he makes a distinction between a theologian of glory and a theologian of the cross:

18. It is certain that a man must completely despair of himself in order to become fit to obtain the grace of Christ.

19. The one who beholds what is invisible of God, through the perception of what is made, is not rightly called a theologian.

20. But rather the one who perceives what is visible of God, God’s “backside,” by beholding the sufferings and the cross.

21. The “theologian of glory” calls the bad good and the good bad. The “theologian of the cross” says what a thing is.

Luther’s take is that our active righteousness (perhaps we could call it visible glorification) is actually dangerous, because it allows us to fall under the illusion that our spiritual success is an indication of our standing with God. Thus, God's work in us is hidden under the sign of its opposite, that is, righteousness, glory, success and victory come to us under the guise of sinfulness, brokenness, defeat and loss. Christ himself, and his suffering and death, are the clearest place God operates that way. Yet it works that way for me individually as well. It is in my own loss, suffering and death that I am finally able to admit my own inability “to obtain the grace of Christ.” In my failure I see that my only hope lies in him crucified.

Thus, a theologian of glory sees these things and regards them as proof positive of my being neither saved nor sanctified. Instead, the theologian of glory would push me to advance my religious life, become more moral and ethical, seek out glorious, mystical, spiritual experiences, and every day in every way become better and better. So a theologian of glory sees something (all these religious, moral activities) and calls it what it is not, that is, salvific and sanctifying.

The theologian of the cross, on the other hand, regards what the theologian of glory lifts up as not much better than manure. These so-called sanctifying activities lead me away from Christ and into my own self-continuity project. The theologian of the cross regards as holy any moment when I’m captivated by my Lord’s cross, over against my captivation to my own self, my victory, my visible righteousness and glory. If Christ alone is the way, the truth and the life, then it is his suffering and death that are my glory. And whenever and wherever I am shaped to his same cross by the circumstances of life that work to kill my self-sustenance and reliance, I am already glorified.

This is the essence of faith, that we look away from ourselves to Christ for our salvation, and past ourselves to our neighbor’s needs for the real work we’re called to be engaged in. Thus, where faith points to Christ justification is in place and, with it, sanctification. Luther hits this in a couple more theses in the Disputation:

25. The one who does much “work” is not the righteous one, but the one who, without “work,” has much faith in Christ.

26. The law says, “Do this!”, and it never is done. Grace says, “Believe in this one!”, and forthwith everything is done.

In the end, true glory on Christ’s part is active not passive: He does the work of dying for a sinner like me. True glory on my part is completely passive and not active: As Luther says in the Catechism, “I confess that I cannot by my own understanding or effort believe in Jesus Christ my Lord, or come to him. But the Holy Spirit calls me through the gospel, enlightens me with his gifts and sanctifies and keeps me in the one true faith.” If Christ has attained my salvation by his work, there simply is nothing left for me to do than trust what’s promised. My nothingness is his glory, because it honors him as the Lord who takes on my sin and is truly able to bring me into the comforting bosom of God’s mercy and forgiveness.

If I’m pushed into any activity aimed at achieving some glory (whether it’s a certain level of religious commitment, engagement in spiritual exercises, buying the right deodorant or showing up at the Jordan Creek mall at midnight on Black Friday), I simply have to reject it as the same proposition Satan offered to Christ in the wilderness. My glory is to take what comes at me in this life, even tremendous loss, and serve faithfully in my various vocations as husband, son, dad, friend, neighbor, professor, citizen, pastor. In fact, my glory becomes visible in those places where I am called to give myself up to those whom Luther called “die Nächste,” the neighbors. In short, when I no longer need to seek after my glory, it’s given to me on a plate in these plain, humble, earthy callings.

(For the full set of theses in the Heidelberg Disputation, check out Clint Schnekloth's blog: http://lutheranconfessions.blogspot.com/2006/10/heidelberg-disputation.html.)