An Honest Conversation

Imagine you have a pretty daughter who comes home one day and tells you that a boy has asked her out on a date.  She wasn't sure if you'd grant your permission, so she has asked him to stop by the house for you to size him up.  So the bell rings.  You turn the knob.  And upon opening the door, you see that he looks like this:

Then, after this guy leaves to go read Flex Magazine at a 3rd grade level, your daughter asks, "so what do you think?  May I go out with him?"  And because she has not established a relationship with The Abomination, because her pride and identity and heart and future are not bound up in a union with MC Deltoids, then you can answer as honestly as possible.  You can say, "No, my darling.  That guy is the worst human being in the history of the world.  His name should be Broseph Stalin.  Even Jon Gosselin thinks that guy is a jack wagon."

So imagine that.  Then imagine that you ignore her initial request and, a few years later, your daughter brings the same guy home and says, "Hey dad.  Electrolysisized Vinnie Barbarino and I just got married and I'm carrying his child.  So what do you think of him?"

Well, all of a sudden, you can't answer so honestly, can you?  Even though he's still 180 proof moron with spray tanned abs that make the angels weep tears of sorrow, because your daughter is now one flesh with him and carrying his very offspring in her womb, you can't answer as truthfully as possible because you don't want to condemn her for what she's now become.

The point here is that the earlier we discuss things, the less we need to worry about defending ourselves and the more success we have in beginning an honest conversation with each other.  But the longer we wait, the more our own hearts and egos get in the way of true discourse.

So when it comes to issues of controversy in the church, particularly worship practices, I think this is where we run into so many problems.  Instead of addressing the issue when he's standing at the door for the first time, we wait until our daughter is his legally wedded, baby bump sporting guidette before we begin talking.  Instead of pastors and congregations waiting to implement new and novel practices until they've had a collective discussion about them, they dive right in, establishing themselves on the foundation of these very practices and then put themselves in the position where either they need to accept the word of condemnation for having embraced these things or their opponents need to accept that same word for having opposed them.

So, on the one hand, it becomes frustrating for people on my side of the aisle when we are essentially told, "hey, what do you think about importing "Lutheranized" Pentecostal forms of worship into the Divine Service and having ladies read the lessons and distribute the Lord's Supper and reducing the requirements of admission to the Sacrament to four very vague points of belief and preaching sermon series on the seven hidden principles of effective Christian living and, oh, by the way, I'm already doing all these things so remember that I'll take it personally if you oppose them."  And yet, I also understand how it's frustrating for those on the other side of the aisle when they're essentially told, "hey, you know that girl you've been hitched to for 30 years, the one who has raised up an entire generation of Lutheran pastors and laymen and cultivated for them everything they know about Christian piety?  Yeah, you totally shouldn't be married to her."

So there's your problem.  How can we ever objectively determine whether or not we can go on a date with the woman if half of us are already married to her? 

But in an effort to avoid falling into my typical bad habit of pointing out a problem without offering a solution, let me toss out a suggestion.  With the LCMS' renewed emphasis on discussing controverted issues in mind, permit me to theorize a way in which we might wade out of the muddy waters that seem to have immobilized us for the moment.  So here we go:

However we choose to sit down at talk about our disunity, in whatever way we address our conflicts and differences, we treat these "new" practices as though we're talking about going on a first date, as though none of us have already embraced them and married ourselves to them or rejected them and condemned all who support them.  If they can survive the purifying heat that is the Scriptures and the Lutheran Confessions, then great!  Problem solved.  And if they can't, then let us allow the Word of Absolution to do what it does and treat the sin of our brother as if it never took place.

So, again, discuss the practice and not the practitioners.  Treat the controversies as though we're all meeting them for the first time.  No one is allowed to accuse anyone of heresy and no one is allowed to force an accusation of heresy.  No one is allowed to ask, "why does your congregation do this?"  And no one is allowed to say, "but that's what my congregation does."  Anyone who cannot abide by these rules (and it will be many) may not participate in the discussion.  Seriously, kick them out of the room.  Let them go to Cracker Barrel and order the Country Fried Breakfast or something.  Then discuss this stuff.  Get into it.  Pour over every page of the Scriptures and Confessions.  Learn everything about these controversies that there is to learn--where they came from, what they mean and how they ended up on our doorstep.  And, most importantly, learn whether or not the guy standing on your doorstep should have any business taking your daughter to Medieval Times, even if the two of them already have a framed marriage license and seven kids running around their house in Jersey.

My name is Pastor Hans Fiene.  Thanks for reading.

P.S. The last paragraph includes a picture of Don Ameche to remind us that there are very nice, respectable Italians in this world who would make wonderful husbands to our daughters.  Granted, Don Ameche is dead.  But, you know, whatever.

Of Idols, Musicals and Sunday Morning Liturgies

I feel a bit bad for dudes like Taylor Hicks or David Cook or pretty much any American Idol winner who isn't Kelly Clarkson or Carrie Underwood.  After all, it has to feel pretty lousy for bagillions of Americans to know your name and drool over your talent and cry along with your human interest stories and cheer for you and vote for you and think you're the most awesomest thing in the world and then not remember who you are six months after the season is over and you release your first album.

But even though I feel bad for Idol winners when they have to face the harsh reality of no one caring about them before they can even get all the confetti out of their hair, it really shouldn't come as a surprise.  You see, people like it when singers sing songs that they know.  And they get bored when singers sing songs that they don't.  So, in an era of ever-diminishing attention spans, the "Me and My Jealously" guy (five bucks for the first person to tell me whose song that is) will always be the rule and the "Since You've Been Gone" girl will always be the exception.

I've also noticed the same principle at play when it comes to musicals.  Granted, I'm certainly not a theater expert by any means.  But it's probably safe to assume that whatever shows I've heard of in the midwest are the bigger successes on Broadway.  And if that rule is true, then two of the more popular musicals of recent years would be Mamma Mia! and Jersey Boys, shows whose scores are composed (almost?) entirely of the already established hits of Abba and The Four Seasons respectively.  So when it comes to a night out at the theater, it seems people are working along the same lines as they are with American Idol, thinking, hey, let's go see that one show where I already know all of the songs so that my ears don't have to process something new and I don't get bored.

So if this is the way people with evaporating attention spans respond to secular music, it would seem strange to me that they'd operate in a completely different manner concerning church music.  You see, one of the arguments I've often heard in favor of contemporary/creative liturgies is that people like having something new every week.  They like being surprised with the structure and aura of an unpredictable worship service.  Not knowing what's coming next and not being familiar with it keep things fresh and puts them in a better place to worship.  And while I'm sure there is some anecdotal evidence for such a (mystical) position, I have a hard time buying the notion that the same people who don't want unfamiliarity on stage or screen or ipod are somehow clamoring for it on Sunday morning.

My name is Pastor Hans Fiene.  Thanks for reading.

Own Goal: Episode 1

Hey, I invented a new blog series to cancel three episodes in again.  Aren't you excited?

This new series is called "Own Goal."  The purpose of the Own Goal series is to show examples of when advocates of creative/contemporary liturgies accidentally make really good arguments for faithful and exclusive use of the Historic Liturgy.  Just like in sports when a person accidentally scores a goal for the other team.  Hence "Own Goal."

So here we go.  "Own Goal: Episode 1"...

Recently I attended a pastors conference where we were discussing Lutheran worship.  During this discussion, the guy leading it made the argument that those who choose to use creative and/or contemporary liturgies are free to do so, but that they place a heavy burden upon their shoulders because writing a good liturgy is pretty hard to do.  In response to this, a pastor came to the microphone and commented on how true this statement was.  His words were basically as follows: It is a very heavy burden.  And it's not something that I can do on my own.  So we as a church body need to work on this together.  We really need to be raising up people who can learn how to do this.  Our seminaries really need to be teaching students how to do this.

Or, in other words, writing a liturgy that's as good as the liturgy that our church body has been using since forever and a half ago is too hard for your average parish pastor.  In fact, it's such a hard thing to accomplish that it's going to require input from generations of theologians along with massive institutional reform before it happens.

So, uh, you can either first convince the entire Evangelical Lutheran Church throughout the world to be of the same mindset concerning contemporary liturgies, then completely change the focus of seminary education from what it's been throughout its entire history, then raise up several consecutive generations of Lutheran pastors who have both the theological and musical acumen to master every genre of music as soon as said genres come into existence...so you can spend three hundred years doing that.  Or you can just open your hymnal to page 184 today.  You know, either one.

Own goal, dude.  Own goal.

P.S. I Hate You (Part 2)

Dear High Church, Thurible Swinging Guy,

It's come to my attention that you heard about my recent letter to that guy across town who annoys you.  I know it's somewhat common for you to find validation in his failures and embarrassments.  But just so that you don't get your brain turned upside down in all your excitement, let me set the record straight for you as well.  So here goes:

I don't like you either.

Now, you may not want to think that's true.  You may be certain that things will be different if I just watch you get your reverence on.  You may hope that the piety emanating from your vocal chords and pointy fingers will captivate me in a way that I've never been captivated before.  You may be confident that your butter-smooth pulpit prose will soothe the acid burn in my throat that first started when that guy across town started doing a sermon series based on Coldplay lyrics...which caused me to throw up in my mouth a little.

But don't think that the reason barf surged up my esophagus was because I hate bad sermons about Jesus.  It was because I hate sermons about Jesus, good, bad or otherwise.  It's not the level of reverence that I despise.  It's the thing being revered that I can't stand.  

So don't fool yourself.  Don't think that your ancient traditions and unflinching liturgical composure will somehow bring me to the faith.  I hate the Gospel.  I hate it if it's sung from a bed of power chords and distortion pedals and I hate it if it's chanted from gold covered lectionaries cradled in white gloved hands.  I hate Jesus.  I hate Him when His blood is poured into mini Dixie cups and I hate Him when His blood is drunk from ruby encrusted silver chalices.  I'm not interested in the story of salvation if it's poorly told by twirling girls in leotards and I'm not interested in it if it's beautifully told by men who wafted through tufts of frankincense smoke and ascended into hand carved acacia pulpits in order to tell it. 

And even if I think that your way of telling the story has more art and culture than does the story of the guy down the street, don't think this means that I've come to faith.  It just means that I have taste.  Just because I'd love to flash-mob-sing the Hallelujah chorus with you in a crowded mall on Saturday afternoon doesn't mean I have any interest in truly confessing the King of Kings with you on Sunday morning.  I don't.  Because I hate Him.  And as long as that is the case, I'll always hate you too.

Sincerely,

The World

P.S. I Hate You (Part 1)

Dear Low Church, Praise Band Guy,

I just wanted to drop you a quick line and set the record straight on a few things you seem to be confused about.

You see, lately I’ve heard you lamenting how fewer and fewer people are coming to church and how the church herself is really failing to reach these folks.  I’ve heard you talk about how you need to find ways to reach people who wouldn’t be reached in traditional ways, how you need to offer them a form of worship that speaks their language and meets them where they are.  You use words like impact and authentic.  You talk about all this stuff very sincerely and I’m sure you mean well.  But the reason I don’t go to church isn’t that the traditions of the past don’t speak to me.  It’s not that I find organs and old hymns to be boring.  And it’s not that I don’t have the attention span to learn a liturgy that’s not always terribly easy to follow.  When you say things like that, you’re really just embarrassing yourself by doing two things.  Those two things are:

1. Projecting onto me the things you actually don’t like about going to church

2. Revealing that you’ve never actually talked to me about why I don’t go to church.

So since you seem to be quite ignorant of why I’d rather sleep or jog or fornicate on Sunday morning, let me just state things very clearly for you:

The reason I don’t go to church is because I hate the Gospel.  I hate Jesus.  I hate the notion that I was a sinner who needed to be redeemed by God taking on human flesh and shedding His blood on a cross.  I hate the doctrine that Jesus gets every ounce of credit for my salvation.  I hate the idea that God doesn’t dwell in my heart, that God isn’t who I make Him out to be in the religion of my own creation.  And I hate the teaching that the only way for me to know the true God is by hearing and reading the Bible.

So that’s why I don’t come to church.  I don’t come to church because I find the Christian faith to be stupid, irrational, barbaric, sexist, homophobic, outdated, mean spirited, ugly, offensive and any other number of things that are bad.  I don’t come to church because I hate the One who founded her.

So please stop embarrassing yourself.  Stop acting like an insecure college girl who dates guys who treat her like crap because she thinks she can reach the good men inside them that no other girl could reach before.  Stop thinking that you can say something to me that I haven’t heard before.  Stop thinking that you can love me better than anyone else ever has.  You’re supposed to believe in original sin.  Act like it.  Remember that my default position is to hate Jesus.  And as long I hate Him, I won’t feel any different about you.

And stop trying to relate to me.  Stop thinking that your life-application-sermon-skills can do for me what Law and Gospel preaching hasn’t ever done.  Stop thinking that the one thing preventing me from being baptized is not having a sandal wearing pastor to call by his first name.  Stop thinking that I glumly sip my coffee on Sunday morning, saying to myself, “golly gee, I really want to hear the Word of God today, but I just can’t do it in a place that doesn’t have guitars and a light show.”  Remember that, as long as I hate the gift, it doesn’t matter how flashy you think your new wrapping job is.  I’m still not going to open it.

So I hate to be this frank.  But I thought you needed to hear it straight.  I hate the Gospel.  I hate Jesus.  And as long as that’s the case, I will always hate you.

Sincerely,

The World

Face Punch Word of the Week #47

I'm working with a rather liberal definition of week here.  Also, I don't feel like keeping an accurate record of the number of posts in this series.  So get over it.

Face Punch Word of the Week #47:

CALLED (verb)

As in: "I feel in my heart that God has called me to serve His Church."

As a called and ordained servant of the Word, I believe in the divine call.  I am certain that God has called me to be a pastor.  However, the reason I'm certain that God has called me to be a pastor is because God instituted an actual office and calls actual men into that actual office by calling them to do actual things.  Those things being this.  And this.  And this.  And since an actual congregation (and a new one, hence my posting drought during the move) has asked me, according to God's Word, to do those actual things in her presence, I know that God has called me to be a pastor.  So, in a nutshell, my call to be a pastor is based entirely on God's Word and institution and not at all on what I feel in my heart.

But surely you must also feel this call in your heart, some might think.  If God has really, truly called you, shouldn't you have to feel it, even a little bit?

And to this I respond, "No, pietistic and slightly enthusiastic hypothetical person!  In fact, if God has really, truly called me, it's most likely that I will feel the opposite of called.  After all, that's what happens pretty much every time God calls someone in the Bible.

You see, when God called Moses, Moses felt that God was not calling him.  When God called Isaiah, Isaiah felt that God was not calling him.  When God called Jeremiah, Jeremiah felt that God was not calling him.  When God called Jonah, Jonah showed God how much he felt that He was not calling him by running away.  Even Jesus didn't feel particularly great about being crucified, per God's calling.  And this was a smart system to set up on God's part.  Because when You call men to do things that they don't really want to do, it shows that Your Word, and not their heart, is the thing at work.  And, likewise, when those men side with the Word of God over the feelings of their hearts, this shows why they actually are worthy of being called by God in the first place.

And so, when people use the term "calling" today in a way that is completely divorced from any real, actual, verifiable call of God and when they strangely really, really, really want to do the things that God has supposedly called them to do, this reveals that they are in need of a good face punch because they have sided with the feelings of their hearts over the Word of God.

So when the Word of God tells a man that he has been called to endure scorn and rejection and hatred for preaching the Gospel, and he preaches a false gospel that earns him praise and adulation and lots and lots of dollars instead, he does this because he has rejected the true calling of God that says "suffer" in favor of the false calling of his heart that says "I want a yacht."  Likewise, when the Word of God tells a woman that she may not be a pastor, and she pretends to be one anyway, she does this because she chose the calling she felt in her heart over the calling God told her He has not given her.

So whenever people claim that God is calling them to do something that they are excited about doing and when they seek to substantiate that call based upon their own feelings, what they are actually doing is something quite simple.  They are taking the name of God in vain.  They're using the name of God to make their own desires seem holier.  They're trying to sanctify their own will by covering it in the will of God.  And this is always a bad thing to do, even if the things you will and desire are seemingly pure.  Because, as God makes pretty clear, dressing up words He hasn't spoken as His own is a very bad thing, worthy of His own version of a punch in the face.  Which is way worse than any face punches I can dish out.  And not just because I have weak, girl arms.

My name is Pastor Hans Fiene.  Thanks for reading.

Maltese Mission Work

So, I've had two blog views from Malta.  There's no Lutheran Church in Malta.  Let's make this happen, my anonymous Maltese friend!

Also, I haven't posted in a while because I accepted a call to River of Life Lutheran Church in Channahon, IL and have been overwhelmed with the moving stuff.  More posts to come, nerds!

My name is Pastor Hans Fiene.  Thanks for reading.