On Being Lutheran but not "Lutheran"

A (belated) sermon for Reformation Sunday

Most semesters I get to teach a course called "Dynamics of Christian Faith and Life." Like most of my classes it's usually populated with a good mix of 19 and 20-year-olds, all of whom are at this incredibly important point in their development, exploring who they are, what they believe and what earthly good they might be in the world. About three times a semester in that class we play a fun game called "Stump the Professor." Students get to put me on the spot by writing down anonymous questions on slips of paper, and I get to try answering. It never fails that one of these fresh-faced young adults, looking for a place to be in the world asks the denomination question. "How do I know which church is the best when they all say they have the truth?" I know what's appropriate in a classroom, so I say, "Well, my family and I are members at Faith Lutheran Church, the Best Buy church on University. But you need to figure out what it is you're looking for and land where it's the right fit."Standing in front of you today, though, I can come clean. I'm Lutheran. I can't help being Lutheran. Being Lutheran is like breathing for me. It keeps me alive. And I'll tell you why.

I'm Lutheran because of what I believe. And boy do I ever believe a bunch of stuff. I can believe 30 things before I crawl out of bed in the morning. I believe that I can accomplish anything, if I just want it hard enough. I believe that I'll be able to stave off a miserable death from colon cancer if I eat a fiber-rich diet that gives me happy poop. I believe my future is in my own hands. I believe my wife has stuck with me for 19 years, because I'm lovable, likable and still have most of my hair. I believe that the little bit more in consumer goods that I accumulate every week, every month, every year, is a good thing – sure to make my life happy, because, as I also believe, more is better. I believe that we're in good enough shape financially to be able to have the church do an automatic withdrawal from our account each month. I believe my son is so talented, handsome and bright that there's nothing but glory ahead of him after high school, thanks to my genes. I believe in the aw-shucks cuteness of puppies, in the beauty of trees at the height of fall color and in a piping hot bowl of red beans and rice – all of it a sign of the existence of a glorious, marvelous, awesome God who accepts me just as I am. Oh, I believe. I really do. In all of it. And much, much more. I expect I'm not much different than you on that count. I believe that all of this is true.

And the reason I'm Lutheran is that what I believe, everything I believe, every last single thing I believe...is wrong. I'm Lutheran because not only is all that stuff wrong, it's dead wrong. None of it's true, and believing it has all kinds of possible consequences, but only one that is inevitable, certain and sure. What I believe will get me only one thing – a hole in the ground big enough to lower my body in when my power, glory and potential are over with. I'm Lutheran because day after day, when I look honestly at myself, what I believe in is me. And I want you to believe in me, too.

At first glance that's a pretty fine place to be. Look at me. I'm free to choose the life in front of me. Let's hook elbows and go forward into progress. It'll be sunshine, rainbows and lollipops. Well, there's that ache I get in my right knee when I walk too long. Yes, I know. There's also that time I took my son on a college visit to LA and stood at a car-rental counter at midnight with an expired driver's license. That wasn't my best moment of having my poop in a group. I know I'm not perfect. But the life I believe in will still be good, won't it? At least I've got my intentions rightly placed. I want to get better. I'm planning for my retirement. I got myself tenured at a good school, which means there's a tuition benefit for my kid. And I still have my potential. What's that you say? You want me to remember what the past month has been like? A wife and son sick in bed with colds. And then my son with a five-day fever and a another week of school missed. And my wife healthy one day and then in the hospital for a week with a staph infection. I can't wait to see that hospital bill. Even though I believe we'll be able to deal with it, thanks to our monthly insurance contributions, it's put some fear deep down inside me. I'm just a breath away from disaster. Maybe it'll be deeper cuts in state government that force a lay-off for my wife. Or an illness that hits my son that NyQuil, Tylenol and Mucinex can't handle. Blood coming from a place on my body that hasn't been cut. A lump that wasn't there before. A phone call from a family member that says, "I came home and she was dead." Or the doctor who says to me, "It's cancer and it's a fast one." Or how about the late-night drive home on the freeway and the lights that suddenly come across the median toward my lane. I believe. I believe. I believe. I really believe. I really do. But what will believing in my potential, my value, my promise, my good intentions or myself do for me then?

I'm Lutheran because of what I believe and because of what little good it does me. In our gospel reading today, Jesus says, "You will know the truth and the truth will set you free." I'm Lutheran, because the first part of knowing the truth is knowing what is not the truth. Ever since Luther's first hammer-fall on the nail holding up the 95 Theses in 16th Century Germany, we've been reminded of the world's most important distinction. To use Steve Paulson's words, God slices our reality in two, into what is Christ and what is not Christ. There's all kinds of stuff at work in the world, all kinds of intentions, all kinds of talents, gifts and powers, and, no matter how good or powerful any of them are, they are not Christ. They don't have the power to save me. I'm Lutheran because I'm so dang-blasted weary of what I believe, because I'm so tired of having to confect my days, invent my future and secure and protect what is rightfully mine. Once the truth gets told that what I have and hope to be is simply nothing, well, there's nothing to grab onto and keep safe anymore. Sure, my life, my family, my stuff -- it's all a good gift. But in the long run, it's nothing if it isn't Christ. If I keep grasping after my illusions of control and contentment, my actions begin to look like flailing at thin air.

I'm Lutheran because getting that truth out is crucial. It's the crux of everything. The literal cross road. I remember that I am dust and to dust I shall return. I confess that I can't believe enough. I confess that I don't believe. I confess that I won't believe in anything less than myself unless I'm forced to do it. And I finally let go when my powerlessness is clear. When exactly have I ever prayed to God, trusting in more than myself? When has it been that I've resorted to God's Word as the one place I could find hope? When have I ever been able to admit the truth of something like "Footprints in the Sand," which religious sophisticates love to mock? It's only when the bottom has dropped out – when I'm worn down to nothing and the only thing left to believe is that I'm being carried along by the one who carried his own cross. I'm Lutheran because I know the narrow nothingness where I, too, hang crucified with Jesus, with a voice too hoarse to speak my final plaintive cry, "My God. My God. Why have you forsaken me?"

I'm Lutheran because once there's nothing left I can grasp, work toward and assert, there is a Word that comes. One little Word that is not a what but a who. One little Word who has the power of eternity in his little finger and who subdues the devil, the world and my sinful self. This one remaining Word is the gospel that has been preached for nigh these 500 years since Luther, the 2000 years since Paul wrote Romans, and the timeless eons since God first looked at creation and said, "Tov me'od. Way good." Now that I know what is not Christ, what is Christ comes as glorious good news. Jesus is God for me. Jesus is my Lord – not a wimpy God who merely nods and accepts me but one who takes my disastrous attempts to conjure a life and makes the dead, old me new. My being Lutheran has so very little to do with a structure, institution and denomination that carries Luther's name and everything to do with Jesus' death and resurrection – and mine.

I'm Lutheran because Jesus is the one, the only to whom Luther, Paul, Peter, Mary Magdalene and the Ethiopian eunuch could point. I'm Lutheran because when I was a skinny little bed-wetter, my Sunday school teachers June Aldrin and Bob Lee gave Jesus to me, made sure I knew he was for me. I'm Lutheran because even when every attempt at being more religious and spiritual in college, from wanting to speak in tongues to reading my Bible every day, came to naught, I could go to worship and hear my campus pastor Mark Jerstad bring the truth back. I could confess my sin and hear an absolution that broke open a future with forgiveness as its linchpin. I'm Lutheran because if all I had to go on was the potential and power the world says I have inside me, then I would be lost, most to be pitied, and without a shred of hope. I'm Lutheran because the truth sets me free. I'm Lutheran because this is the proclamation given to me. Jesus Christ, true God from eternity and true human being, born of the virgin Mary, is my Lord. I'm Lutheran because it's not something I have to believe. It's not something I can ponder and nod assent to. It's not something I'm called forward to choose and turn my life over to. I'm Lutheran because Christ has made himself my Lord, pulling me out of the drowning waters of baptism and the death that is my life, with no choice or surrender of my own. I'm Lutheran because Jesus wants to feed me the flesh and blood he's given up for my sake. I'm Lutheran because he's not a belief, but the one person, the only one I can fully trust. I'm Lutheran because my Lord promises that where there is trust, I have a future that is better than any I could create. It's eternal. It's rich. It's true. And it keep setting me free.

So that's why I'm here. I'm Lutheran, galdernit, because what I believe is wrong as wrong can be. I'm Lutheran because the only one who is right and just is giving me new life. And how about you? In the face of his truth, are you also done believing, crafting, grasping and creating yourself and your future? Are you also not now drawn into trust and faith? Are you not also his, forgiven and set free? That's not just true. It's life itself. Amen.