Lutheranism: An Evangelical Catholic Way to Follow Jesus

/2 Comments/in , /by

      In order to articulate Lutheranism’s approach to following Jesus, we need to sort out the Lutheran self-image (at least its historical image) and appreciate the diversity within the Lutheran family.  Of course it is well known that Lutherans did not originally name themselves  Lutheran.  That title is a function of their critics naming them, rather like Christians and Methodists got their name from their critics.  The original name for the followers of Luther was Evangelical, even Evangelical [Gospel] Catholics.  Thus built into the very fiber of Lutheranism is a commitment to embrace what is truly catholic in the Christian heritage, but in such a way as to highlight the Gospel of grace.     

     As a result of these commitments Lutheranism has been characterized by several distinct strands.  Its catholic orientation permits and even mandates the presence of this diversity.  Although any characterization in terms of typology can distort, I think that most students of Lutheranism would agree that we can distinguish between its Pietistic strands and its more Confessional strands (referring to adherence to the teachings of the Lutheran Confessions, The Book of Concord).   

     Although virtually all Lutherans pledge fidelity to the teaching of the Lutheran Confessions (esp. the 16th-century document The Augsburg Confession), the Pietist strand tends to focus so much more on the spiritual life with a program for following Jesus.  This strand is also less focused on the role of the Sacraments and liturgy in Christian nurture, and is more inclined to identify Lutheranism with Protestantism.  A latter-day development of this strand, which we might call Liberal Protestantism, is in line with these overall commitments, though with more stress on apologetics and making following Jesus relevant to our context, with a little less focus  on spirituality.  My sense is that although there are regional differences, the Liberal Protestant view (combined with a conservative view of Biblical authority) is probably the dominant viewpoint in the American Lutheran pew today.  I would be bold to make the claim that the Lutheran majority in American pews is comprised of a coalition of this group with the relatively smaller group of remaining Lutheran Pietists.                                      

     The Confessional side of Lutheranism is likewise diverse.  First we think of Lutheran Orthodoxy, a strand which demands total fidelity to the Lutheran Confessions.  This approach has more of an appreciation of the Sacramental heritage than does Pietism, and it may emphasize salvation by grace more than Pietism does, but adherents tend to think of themselves as Protestant and embrace ways of following Jesus akin to most Protestants.  Proponents of this model probably dominate in The Lutheran Church – Missouri Synod and in the Wisconsin Synod.   

     The other Confessional model of Lutheranism might be termed Neo-Confessional or Evangelical Catholicism.  This group of Lutherans reads both the Lutheran Confessions and the Bible critically, but still in a manner compatible with more liberal, open elements of the Evangelical Movement.  Proponents of this model share the Lutheran Orthodox model’s commitment it the centrality of the justification by grace, but place more focus on Sacramental and liturgical dimensions of Christian nurture.  Indeed this commitment is so strong, along with the associated Christology and ecclesiology (or polity) that proponents of this model of Lutheranism often tend to reject identification with Protestantism.  Rather, the Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Anglo-Catholic heritages are regarded as the closest allies of Lutheranism.     

      The stress on grace also leads Lutherans who operate with this model to emphasize freedom from God’s Law and a Situational Ethic, claiming to be the true heirs of Luther.  This is my own impression, but since I identify with this strand, the preceding judgment about which strand is the true heir of Luther is certainly worthy of challenge. I can note that this is certainly not the dominant version of Lutheranism in the American Lutheran pew, and yet its unique perspectives on following Jesus warrant the attention of the Church catholic.   

     The interesting thing about these different strands and their different views of following Jesus is that historically they have usually lived together under the rubric Lutheran.  To be sure, in some cases these disagreements have led to denominational divisions, but only in extreme cases is the Lutheranism of those from whom a group separates questioned.  This is one of the senses in which we may say that Lutheranism at its best is a catholic tradition.  

LITURGICAL-SACRAMENTAL SPIRITUALITY    

     Let’s begin with what most Lutherans can agree concerning following Jesus.  First and foremost is the conviction that the Christian life must be rooted in God’s grace, that we are justified by grace alone (Romans 3:21-28; Galatians 3:10-14; Luther’s Works, Vol.26, p.106; Apology of the Augsburg Confessions, IV.2-3).  Following Jesus is a gift of God, for even faith is a Work of the Holy Spirit (Small Catechism, II.6).   

      It is at this point that we can best understand the Lutheran preoccupation with the role of liturgy, Sacramentology, and the communion of saints in nurturing Christian life. Of course liturgy cannot have a sacrificial connotation (Apology of the Augsburg Confessions, XXIV.79).  But this style of worship, the ancient character of the Communion of Saints and a Real Presence understanding of the Sacraments (Christ coming to us and changing us [Small Catechism]) are essentially related for Lutherans to the prioritizing of salvation and living the Christian life by grace alone!  They are means through which God makes us people who want to follow Jesus.  In worship, the benefits of God are received (Apology of the Augsburg Confession, IV.49), in Baptism we are born again and begin to live out our baptism (Romans 6; Large Catechism IV. 27), and in The Lord’s Supper forgiveness is not only received, but in our bodies we actually receive Christ Who transforms the recipients into people who are linked to all the faithful, their strengths and their needs (Large Catechism, V.22,70 ; Luther’s Works, Vol.35, pp.50-52,58,59).   

     There is an openness in Lutheran teaching to accepting all 7 Sacraments (Apology of the Augsburg Confessions, XIII.2).  And each of these rites is understood as changing the believer or at least putting him/her in a new context which nurtures new ways of behaving.   

     With regard to the Church’s role in nurturing Christian spirituality, Luther calls it our Mother, who begets and bears every Christian (Luther’s Works, Vol.51, p.166).  Again note how Christian life has a passive element, is a life acted on by grace, born and nurtured by God through the Church.  Of course we are not alone in following Jesus.  In addition to support from the Church and Sacraments Luther was open to invoking angels and Mary (whom he called the Mother of God) (Luther’s Works, Vol.42, p.113; Ibid., Vol.21, pp.328-3  29).  All the saints may pray for us, he claimed (Smalcald Articles, II.25f.).         

     The Sacraments, the liturgy, and the communion of saints all aid Christians in following Jesus.  Along with preaching and Bible study they contribute to making such a lifestyle not something to aspire to, but make it a gift, transform us into people who joyfully, spontaneously live as the kind of people God wants the faithful to be.                                                

FOLLOWING JESUS IN ACCORD WITH ECUMENICAL CONSENSUS 

    As I’ve noted in my previous two responses, a lot of the ways of following Jesus posited by the Pietist and Liberal Protestant strands of Lutheranism correspond to Orthodox and Catholic visions of following Jesus.  And these strands also share commonalities, along with Lutheran Orthodoxy, with most Protestant denominations.  Certainly the Catholic or Orthodox heritage is reflected in the qualified openness to Synergism one finds affirmed in official Lutheran documents.  With warnings, the synergistic joining of our will with God’s grace is not rejected (Formula of Concord, SD II.90).  Of course this openness is endorsed along with the strong Lutheran commitment to prevenient grace (the belief that grace precedes any synergistic cooperation), for   the Holy Spirit is given credit for our faith and for the surrender of the will to God (Romans 3:21-28; Galatians 3:10-14; Luther’s Works, Vo.26, p.106; Small Catechism, II.6).  In this context, even embracing theosis would raise no problems from the Evangelical Catholic wing of Lutheranism, as Luther himself seems sometimes to have endorsed the concept (Complete Sermons, Vol.4/2, pp.279-280).  And the theme of being united with Christ, a theme also typical of Mysticism, is prominent of much Lutheran literature, though not widely known in the pews (Smalcald Articles, III.13;  Apology of  The Augsburg Confession, IV.72 ). 

     In accord with the Catholic and Orthodox heritage, along with most Protestant denominational traditions, there are times when Lutherans express openness to measuring how well we follow Jesus by the keeping of the Commandments (Formula of Concord SD VII; Large Catechism, I.Con), even measuring growth in the Christian life this way (Formula of Concord, SD IV.31-33).  In fact, the idea of striving for perfection (implied in striving to live in purity and in accord with the process of theosis) is embraced in segments of Lutheran Pietism (Philip Spener, Pia Desideria, 2).   

     Although Luther himself was critical of Pentecostal experience (Luther’s Works, Vol.40, pp.83,90), and some Lutheran denominations discourage the practice (esp. The Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Church), increasingly many American Lutherans have come to embrace the validity of speaking in tongues – as long as insights gained through the experience do not outweigh Biblical authority and the experience of the gift of tongues is not  privileged over other spiritual gifts (1 Corinthians 13-14; Paul Opsahl, ed. The Holy Spirit in the Life of the Church).  But not only do Lutherans have a strong doctrine of the Holy Spirit, giving the Spirit credit for working all things pertinent to salvation and following Jesus (Small Catechism, II.6).  As we’ll note below, they also seem open to experiencing something like the ecstasy (losing oneself in the Spirit) that Pentecostals claim when in following Jesus the faithful simply do so spontaneously without prodding or calculation.              

     Lutherans also join with most Protestants in embracing the idea that all who are baptized, all who follow Jesus, are priests.  Christians who follow Jesus are priests, for they have been dedi- cated to living lives in which they perform the sacrifice of dying to their sin and rising to serve Christ and the neighbor (Luther’s Works, Vol.31, p.53; Ibid., Vol.36, p.145; Apology of the Augsburg Confession, XXIV.26).  Lutherans do this in living their baptisms as people now born again in the baptismal waters (note the Sacramental orientation at this point) (Luther’s Works, Vol.35, p.31).  Another affirmation that Lutherans share with many Protestants (esp. Baptists and Holiness Christians) is to regard following Jesus in terms of the need to repent (Weimar Ausgabe, Vol.12, p.591; the first thesis of The Ninety-Five Theses calls for daily repentance).        

     An additional aspect of the Lutheran version of following of Jesus which converges with many traditions pertains to Social Ethics.  Although it is not just followers of Jesus who are expected to do this (as per the Lutheran Two-Kingdom Ethic, see Complete Sermons of Martin Luther, Vol.3/2, p.319), Lutherans think Christians are people who will always have a concern about justice for the poor (Luther’s Works, Vol.9, p.19; Large Catechism, I.7; Amos 8:4ff.).  There are a lot of areas in which most participants in this conversation can find agreement with the Lutheran heritage.  But the Lutheran emphasis on freedom in the Christian life may be problematic for many, at least if dialogue partners do not try to cut through stereotypes and really try to empathize with what is at stake in these distinctively Lutheran commitments.       

CHRISTIAN FREEDOM: ARE LUTHERANS UNIQUE IN THESE WAYS OF FOLLOWING JESUS?   CAN OTHER CHRISTIAN HERITAGES ENTERTAIN THESE PROPOSALS?  

     Freedom from the demands of the Law was the crucial agenda associated with Luther’s stress on justification by grace through faith (the most important of all Christian teachings according to Lutheran theology [Apology of the Augsburg Confession, IV.2-3]).  Another commitment which makes being set free from the Law’s demands absolutely essential is Luther’s contention that we sin in everything we do (Romans 7; Luther’s Works, Vol.25, p.375; Ibid., Vol.33, pp.67,115, 

176.).  For since he understands sin as concupiscence/selfishness, it follows that it is impossible to stop sinning on this side of the Fall (Ibid., Vol.31, 9,10,13).  Scientific research on the human brain seems to bear out this Augustinian insight.  It seems that one of the reasons we do good or love is because our brains are rewarded for such activities with the flow of the good-feeling brain chemical dopamine (David Brinn, “Israeli researchers discover gene for altruism”).  In short even the best human behavior is selfish.   

       With this awareness that everything we do is a sin, it follows that the best Christians can be is simul iustus et peccator (100% saint and 100% sinner) (Romans 7:14-18; Luther’s Works, Vol.32, p.111; Ibid., Vol.27, p.230).    This is a freeing insight, as it entails the awareness that we are loved by God, even despite all our sin and selfishness.  Lutherans know that all humanity is affirmed, that we can all “come as we are” to God.  This insight also led Luther to refer to an awareness that the best the Christian can do is “sin bravely”  (1 Timothy 1:13; Luther’s Works., Vol.48, pp.281-282)!       

        At this point, we need to clarify precisely what the first Reformer meant by this phrase. This is not the “cheap grace” Bonhoeffer (The Cost of Discipleship) worried about while in dialogue with a Lutheran Orthodox theology in his day prone to separate Justification and Sanctification almost like the Holiness Movement does.  Rather, for Luther you only sin bravely when you do not give into concupiscence, when you boldly live a sacrificial, sin-denying life (live your baptism), but do so with the awareness that even then you are still sinning, that all good done is a function of God working in and through you (Complete Sermons, Vol.4, p.367).  This sort of humility about what you can do on your own entails that God must be given all the credit when it comes to our following Jesus.                       

     These commitments lead the first Reformer and his tradition to avoid exhorting the faithful how to live with guidelines, commands, or discipline (though as we have noted especially the Pietist and Lutheran Orthodox segments of the heritage allow for it).  The concern is that if you direct someone how to live you lay more guilt on them, and since we are sinning in all we do you set them up for failure.  Christians are free from the Law (Galatians 3:13; 5:1; Romans 7:4ff; 
Luther’s Works, Vol.31, pp.333-377).  No need for it for those who already know their sin, for good works are spontaneous (Ephesians 2:10; Luther’s Works, Vol.31, pp.367-368; Complete Sermons, Vol.1/2, p.316).  Freedom from the Law also entails the possibility of a Situational Ethic (Genesis 22; Luther’s Works, Vol.5, p.150; Complete Sermons, Vol.3/1, p.61).   

     Followers of Jesus are often said to be caught up in the loving arms of our Lord.  Although it is true that like most Protestants, Lutherans often refer to justification and salvation merely as the proclamation of forgiveness (Formula of Concord, Ep III.7; Ibid. SD III.9), Luther and his tradition also refer to justification as being united with Christ (Smalcald Articles, III.13;  Apology of  The Augsburg Confession, IV.72 ).  To be in Christ is like being married to Him (Galatians 2:20; Ephesians 3:17; Song of Solomon; Luther’s Works, Vol.31, pp.351ff.).  In a good marriage the qualities of your mate begin to rub off on you.  Thus to be married to Christ is to share His goodness and love.      

     When you live in a family, with a lover whose love works on you, the loved one does not have to tell you what to do to please him/her.  You just sort of know.  True human love is spontaneous.  Imagine then what God’s love can do to you.  In fact, when you are in love (fall in love – note the passivity) it is like an ecstatic experience.  You lose yourself.  Should we not expect it to be that way in the arms of Jesus?  This is another reason why Lutherans claim that there is no need to teach Christians how to follow Jesus.  It will just happen spontaneously when you are living with Jesus.  And likewise a Situational Ethic makes sense in a family context.  You love each of your kids and your spouse differently than you love others, and no one else loves their families in precisely the same way as you love yours.  Indeed sometimes telling a lie to boost a lover’s confidence is the right and loving thing to do.  Are there not times when the right thing to do is to break the Commandments (like Bonhoeffer’s efforts to kill a human being [Hitler])?   

     Research on the brain seems to bear out Lutheran insights about the spontaneity of good works.  It seems that when the brain is engaged in spiritual exercises, the front part of the brain is activated (the prefrontal cortex).  And the brain facilitates the exercise of this cortex and the new neural connections which emerge as a result of its activity by secreting the good-feeling brain chemicals dopamine and oxytocin.  It also seems that these brain chemicals are especially conducive to stimulating social behavior (Andrew Newberg and Mark Waldman How God Changes Your Brain, pp.55-56; Patty Van Cappellen, et al, “Effects of  oxytocin administration on spirituality and emotional responses to mediation;” Marcello Ceboroio, “Trust, Generosity,   Affection: The Benefits of Oxytocin”).  In short, neurobiology teaches us that faith inclines human beings to do good works spontaneously!   

     The good feelings of joy and contentment that these faith-related brain chemicals afford fit nicely with the Lutheran emphasis on joy in the Christian life (Luther’s Works, Vol,44, pp26,29; Ibid., Vol.17, p.258).  This joy permeates all the activities Lutherans identify with following Jesus, Bible study, prayer, and evangelism.  They are not serious, weighty duties, but just plain fun!  And the dopamine which comes with faith also affords energy, the kind of energy required by the Lutheran expectation that action in the moment is urgent, for Lutheranism reminds the faithful that every moment can be a moment in which the Kingdom of God is realized (Small Catechism). 

   We have noted that Lutherans can at least provisionally embrace most everything other churches say about following Jesus.  Can the rest of the catholic tradition also embrace the freedom, spontaneity, and fun which Lutherans often associate with following Jesus?                         

A Different Path into Another Ancient Church

/0 Comments/in , /by

Dear Christina,

Thank you very much for your heartfelt and forthright recounting of the journey into traditional Roman Catholicism that you and your family have made.  And thank you also for your frank assessment of social justice efforts on the part of the contemporary Roman Church.

Since you’ve told us your basic story, I’ll share mine, in a nutshell, with you.  I also was raised and nurtured in various non-traditional expressions of Christianity, until, in the midst of the spiritual fervor and excitement of the Charismatic Movement (Neo-Pentecostalism), I found myself in the newly formed Master of Divinity program at Oral Roberts University, in the mid 1970s.  Since Rev. Roberts wanted to help spread the Charismatic Movement into all the different Christian denominations, the faculty at his new seminary represented quite a few denominations, including an Orthodox professor teaching Systematic Theology, which he taught historically (chronologically), beginning in the early centuries of the Christian era.  On the first day of class, with no words of introduction, he started the class by praying the Trisagion Prayer (“Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us!”); and I remember thinking to myself, I’ve never heard anyone pray like this before!  Then, again with no words of introduction, he read to us the story of St. Pelagia the Harlot from around the year 500 A.D., which begins with the words, “This is a story of a great repentance.”

This professor gradually opened up to us the history of the Early Church, emphasizing the Apostolic Fathers, the Apologists, the early heresy of Gnosticism and its refutation by St. Irenaeus, the persecutions and martyrdoms; and then into the fourth century with the conversion of Constantine, the first Christian emperor, and his calling of the First Ecumenical Council, which was so crucial in condemning the heresy of Arianism; with the writings of St. Athanasius the Great and the Cappadocian Fathers; and with the rise of monasticism in the deserts of Egypt.  Through all this, it dawned on me that the Christian Church was alive and well in those early centuries—that the Lord Himself had actually kept His two crucial promises about His Church: 1), that He would build His Church, and the gates of hell would not prevail against it (Matt. 16:18); and 2), that He would send the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Truth, Who would lead His disciples, and all those after them, into all Truth (John 15:26 and 16:13).

As our professor continued to guide us in our study of the Lord’s Church through the centuries and up to the present day, many of us came to understand that the spiritual ethos, the doctrines and spiritual practices, the liturgical/sacramental life, and the conciliar/hierarchical structure of the Church of the 4th century—when the Church could express its life openly after the era of the persecutions—are in all essentials the same as those of the Orthodox Church today.  With that realization, we found ourselves, like Peter, saying, “Where else can we go?” (John 6:68).

And we also realized that we had to come to the Church on our knees, humbly, with the prayer that the Lord would change us through the life of His Church—and not with any presumption that we were joining the Church with plans to change it.  We had become so convinced that indeed the Lord, just as He promised in the Gospel, had preserved the fullness of Truth in His Church continuously through the centuries, that we could fully trust that Jesus, through the life of that same Church, would lead us safely into the heavenly realm – both in this life, and in the next.

So I can definitely relate to various aspects of your story, although seeking for the fullness of the sacramental life, and especially the Eucharist, and thirsting for majesty and awesomeness in worship, were not central themes in my journey into the Church.  Rather, all the richness and splendor and power of the sacraments and the liturgical life of the Church unfolded their beauty and glory after the facts of history brought me there.

And I can relate to your frustrations with typical Roman Catholic worship since Vatican II, and your finding majestic worship mostly only in the TLM congregations.  But I can’t help thinking how sad it is that you don’t have that enriching worship in your native English language.  And how sad and ironic it is that the current Pope is now trying to seriously restrict and weaken the TLM congregations—the very ones that are the most flourishing!  That must be very painful.

From my Orthodox perspective, I’m immensely grateful that the Divine Liturgy never changes. At the same time, what has happened to the Roman Church after Vatican II is a powerful object lesson for us of what can happen when the traditional patterns of worship are radically altered.  I’m also very grateful to have the liturgical life in my own native language, which is the traditional Orthodox way—although admittedly, some Orthodox churches in North America still use much Greek or Slavonic or Arabic or Serbian, and so on, due to patterns of immigration from the Old World.  But the use of English is gradually becoming more and more prevalent.

I also appreciate your additional comments about social justice efforts in the Roman Church.  I especially appreciate your inclusion of the abortion issue in your comments.  Perhaps you wonder, along with me, how it is that so many people who care so much, and rightly so, about the health and welfare of those who are marginalized in our society—the ones who are very much at risk of being treated unjustly—are not also concerned about the health and welfare of the ones in our society today who are the most at risk of being treated unjustly, and indeed cruelly—the ones who are the most fragile, innocent, and helpless humans in our midst—the unborn children in the womb.  For the Orthodox Church in America, protecting life in the womb is the most pressing social justice issue of our time.

Thank you again, Christina, for your heartfelt, insightful, and eloquent comments.  I hope this reply is helpful!

Yours, in Christ,

David Ford

Thinking Through Catholic Understandings of the Social Ethic, Eucharist, and Male Leadership

/0 Comments/in , /by

When considering the post about following Jesus from the Roman Catholic perspective, I was struck by three things – the Catholic social ethic, the Eucharistic practice, and the role of the priest in the worship experience. While the particular manner in which many Catholics process and live out their social ethic (as well as the obstacles with said ethic) and the Eucharist were enlightening, instructive, and drew some parallels to Black Church traditions, I was challenged to think more deeply about the role of the priest. More specifically, I wonder how the primacy of the male priest in the Roman Catholic tradition might make it difficult for Catholic women to grow and develop their own relationship with God.

To begin, Ms. Wassell’s articulation of the Catholic social ethic as something rooted in the words of Jesus in Matthew 25, and the modern difficulties facing this ethic, resonates with me as a Black Church adherent. I am somewhat familiar with this ethic, as it draws strong parallels to the ways in which Black churches have attempted to imitate Jesus’ concern for the least of these. The Black Church has a long and rich history of serving and supporting the “poor, the sick, the uneducated and the under-served,” as Ms. Wassell notes is the case in Catholic tradition. For many years following the emancipation of American slaves and context of Jim Crow and legalized segregation, the Black Church was the primary, if not only, institution that would take care of Black people in a world that constantly questioned or disregarded their very humanity. The Black Church was a place of refuge, providing African-Americans with food, economic support, transportation, and countless other needs that the larger society was unwilling or unable to offer. There is some variation in the Black Church experience – not all congregations are committed to serving the material needs of their parishioners and larger communities. Whether it was because of a lack of financial resources, a fear of white violence, or a staunch belief that the primary focus of the Christian faith should be the afterlife, some Black churches have chosen not to be as engaged in addressing the concerns that make it difficult for people to live right now. However, for those Black churches that have heeded Jesus’ call in Matthew 25, following Jesus means, as Ms. Wassell writes, serving people. The church that I am a part of even has a social service ministry named “Matthew 25” to fulfill Jesus’ command in this passage. To follow Jesus in parts of the Catholic and Black Church traditions means to be concerned for and serve those are on the margins.

However, while I was aware of the Catholic social ethic, I did not know of the struggles facing Catholicism at large in its implementation. Ms. Wassell’s comments about the drastic decrease in the number of religious sisters, brothers, priests and Catholic schools, hospitals, and orphanages is alarming because similar trends can be observed in the Black Church tradition. Part of my dissertation research examines the current church landscape, with specific regard to Black congregations, and unfortunately, many Black churches are small or declining in attendance. Most do not have the infrastructure or resources to fulfill this call towards service that many consider vital to following Jesus, even as the needs dramatically continue to expand (i.e. wealth disparities and food insecurity are at staggering levels). Ms.Wassell’s post is encouraging me to think about how the Black Church can fulfill its call of service despite its declining influence because if we are to continue following Jesus, we must persist in taking care of the “least of these” even amid the current challenges.

I also believe the Black Church tradition can gain something from Ms. Wassell’s explanation of the Eucharist. To follow Jesus for many Roman Catholics is to believe that, as Ms. Wassell notes, “the bread and wine becomes Christ as the perfect victim” during the re-presentation of Christ’s Sacrifice at Calvary. While there are some in the Black Church who embody this same belief in the Eucharistic moment (as there are those in the Black Church tradition who identify as Roman Catholic), most Black churches consider the Eucharist (or Holy Communion) as just a symbol of Christ’s sacrifice, not His actual body and blood. There is a deeper meaning to this moment if we consider that following Jesus means we literally take of our Savior in the memory of His ultimate sacrifice. If we truly believe that the Eucharistic moment is one in which we imbue the actual being of our Savior, it no longer simply becomes a ritualistic act that we do as part of church tradition. It takes on more significance and consequence because which of us would be willing to waste the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus?  What would it mean if more believers in the Black Church believed as our Roman Catholic sisters and brothers do? I am grateful that Ms. Wassell named this aspect of Roman Catholicism because the Eucharist becomes an even more tangible reminder of what Jesus gave up for us on the cross, which should spur us to follow Jesus with greater vigor.

Finally, similar to the first reflection on following Jesus from the Orthodox perspective, I am struggling to process the prominence of the priest in Roman Catholicism. I do agree there is a need for some sort of leadership figure – he provides structure to a worship experience, shepherds those in the congregation, and even as Jesus demonstrates, offers leadership to those desiring to serve, love, and follow God. Ms. Wassell makes some critical distinctions in both the Vatican II Mass and the Mass of ages of how the priest, while leading the congregation, performs his role in such a way that redirects the focus on Jesus or the “horizontal experience of faith in a community.”

But what does it mean to follow Jesus when most, if not all, of these priests in the Roman Catholic tradition are male? I am not fully versed in the Roman Catholic Church but between my general understanding and Ms. Wassell’s work, I am not sure if there are many female priests in this tradition. This trend appears to contradict Jesus’ own life, when, according to biblical accounts, both men and women were His followers, women were the first to engage Him post-resurrection, and women became faith leaders who spread the gospel throughout the world. Women have always held a key role in following Jesus, both as His disciples that learned at His feet (in some cases) and leaders that would continue His work after He left the earth. But if women do not see themselves in these types of roles, I wonder how this might limit their imagination of the possibilities available to them as they seek to follow their Savior. In a male-dominated space, women might begin to believe that certain aspects of seeking Jesus are only accessible to men, potentially leading them to question or completely subdue Jesus’ specific call for them. Even still, some might think that without the priest (and therefore men), they do not have full access to Jesus; to them, the priest acts as a mediator between them and God. What perspectives or insights about following Jesus could the Catholic body of Christ be missing as the primacy of male leadership persists?

This reality is not one to consider solely in the Roman Catholic tradition. Ms. Wassell’s post led me to think about how the general over-emphasis on male religious and spiritual authority can cause us to miss the valuable contributions of women across traditions. The Black Church faces similar challenges. While some Black congregations endorse women in ministry, creating preaching and ministry opportunities for them, others still see the pulpit and pastoral ministry as strictly reserved for men. When a woman’s call is affirmed to follow Jesus in the ministry of preaching, the affirmation, in many Black churches, is normally tested and approved once again by men. The severe lack of women pastors indicates that even among those Black institutions and persons that believe women are called to religious leadership, there is a general inclination toward male over female authority.

Following Jesus should be done without restriction or regulation unless Jesus Himself places limits on us. I am just concerned that, with the current male-oriented infrastructure of many Roman Catholic and Black Church spaces, following Jesus could become more of a burden than a blessing for many women who have a commitment to these institutions.

 

 

 

Is the Actual Body of Christ the Wafer? Blood? Community?

/0 Comments/in , /by

In her “Respectful Conversations” post on Roman Catholicism, Christina Wassell (interestingly enough an Anglican convert to Roman Catholicism) foregrounds the Traditional Latin Mass as the hub around which her commitments revolve.

Wasell also underscores the centrality of the Mass when pressed (in the reply section) on having less to say about Catholic social ethics. Concluding a commentary on ethics that values primarily “boots on the ground” service, she stresses that we must meet “our Lord. . . . in the Eucharist first, and our service must overflow from that fount of life if it is to do any good.”

This provides a focus for my Anabaptist-Mennonite commentary on Wassell’s post. Because differences between understandings of “the Mass” versus “Communion” or “the Lord’s Supper” go back to the beginning of our 1500s separation.

Catholics, Anabaptists believed, wrongly affirmed transubstantiation, the actual transformation of bread and cup into Christ’s body and blood, as a kind of divine magic.

Anabaptists, and that sub-stream of them called Mennonites, affirmed communion as an ordinance, a practice taught by Christ to become for his followers a sign of remembering him and being empowered to live in unity as Christ’s body.

The Schleitheim Confession (1527), a very early Anabaptist statement of key understandings separating Anabaptist from other Reform and Catholic precepts, makes no mention of Christ’s presence in the Lord’s Supper (described as “concerning the breaking of the bread”). The focus is on remembrance of Christ and on unity in faithfulness as defined by Anabaptists. Only faithfulness, grounded in the Apostle Paul’s 1 Corinthians 10 teachings, makes one worthy of sharing the bread.

Certainly the Lord matters here. But the key worry is whether those who share the bread are in true community:

So it shall and must be, that whoever does not share the calling of the one God to one faith, to one baptism, to one spirit, to one body together with all the children of God, may not be made one loaf together with them, as must be true if one wishes truly to break bread according to the command of Christ.

The next century, in a classic Anabaptist effort to follow the literal teachings of Jesus, the Dordrecht Confession, a key 1600s Mennonite confession, echoed this. Dordrecht stressed that we are to remember because remembrance is precisely what Jesus taught in instituting communion at that first Lord’s supper.

Then Dordrecht reminds us that if Christ loved us to the point of purchasing through suffering and death our salvation, we in turn are

admonished to the utmost, to love and forgive one another and our neighbor, as He has done unto us, and to be mindful to maintain and live up to the unity and fellowship which we have with God and one another, which is signified to us by this breaking of bread.

From birth on, my Anabaptist-Mennonite family and communities formed me broadly within such views, which remain evident in current confessions of faith.  Communion was then often a source of fear and trembling. If one is to be worthy of communion, one must be in right relationship with one’s Christian brothers and sisters. Otherwise disaster may ensue. Along with many Mennonites, I found worrying indeed Paul’s admonition that

Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty concerning the body and blood of the Lord. Let a person examine himself, then. . . . For anyone who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment on himself. That is why many of you are weak and ill, and some have died (1 Cor. 11:27-30 NRSV).

Communion can make you weak. Ill. Dead. When I was eighteen I learned at last how one of my father’s most precious loved ones had died. He had been hospitalized in the 1950s for depression even as many Mennonites saw depression as entailing spiritual failure. This peace-committed Mennonite farmer then said he felt better, checked himself out, took a shotgun to one of his fields, and shot himself. A family take was that he had a very sensitive conscience.

The Mennonite emphasis on communion as something one had to be worthy of likely brought failure to the fore for him. How would he be good enough to partake? What of the anger at this son? What of that forbidden desire? Failure everywhere, lurking in secret or not even consciously accessible feelings and thoughts.

When I read Wassell against that backdrop, I experience  grace. I see why a significant number of Mennonites have sought to broaden the Mennonite understanding of communion, to treat it as means of grace in addition to remembrance of a sacrifice we must in turn earn the right to recall through right relations with each other.

I see why communion is becoming more common for many Mennonites. Once often reserved in Mennonite churches for rare services involving soul-and-conscience-searching and sometimes reaching out to sisters or brothers in Christ one feared one had sinned against, communion is now practiced in some churches more often, sometimes even weekly. I participated in the decision one congregation I pastored made to shift from communion twice a year to . . . every quarter!

Wassell helps explain such shifts as she speaks to intertwining experiences of personal and spiritual failure such as broke my loved one:

Desperately aware of our need for grace, we pray at each Mass (as the Centurion did), “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” We only receive our Lord kneeling in humility, and on the tongue. Only the consecrated hands of the priest feed Him to us, taking such reverent care not to drop a single crumb, as each crumb is the whole of the body, blood, soul and divinity of the Lord.

On the other hand. Wassell reports seeking the “Transubstantiated Body of Christ.” Her reverent treatment of “each crumb” as “the whole of the body, blood, soul and divinity of the Lord” fleshes out that view. As does this:

All faithful Catholics assert that what happens at Mass is the unbloody re-presentation of Christ’s Sacrifice at Calvary. The priest is there in persona Christi, or as a stand-in for the one true priest, Jesus Christ, truly God and truly man. He offers the bread and the wine, each in turn, to show the separation of body from blood on the cross which resulted in Christ’s death. When the priest says the words Christ spoke at the Last Supper, that bread and wine becomes Christ as perfect victim, offered for your sins and for mine in the mystery of the Eucharist.

I don’t want to take harsh issue with this. Wassell helps me grasp, as a good witness does, the appeal of such faith. I also see why such an understanding takes her to the traditional Latin Mass. I see why she’s disappointed in informal Mass and worship practices that foreground priest as person. I even see why she yearns for the priest’s facing backward in the traditional Mass to spotlight Mystery rather than humanness.

Yet here I also realize how deeply formed by Anabaptist-Mennonite commitments to plain meanings of Scripture and to community I am. I struggle to find Catholic understandings plainly articulated in Scripture, which does seem to me to undergird Schleitheim and Dordrecht emphases.

And though this entails personal idiosyncracies, austere, impersonal sermons and leadership I often experienced among the must-be-worthy-of-Jesus leaders of my youth (always men) left me cold. The more removed from the quotidian and the personal and even the informal faith practices were, the more I found them meaningless.

It was in the embodiment of the holy in the frail, the flawed, even the sinful, the “this-is-who-I-really-am” testimonies of leaders and community members, that I finally felt faith was possible.

I want my tradition to express significant aspects of the treasures Wassell loves. I want more grace in my community of faith. I also want to experience the presence of the Lord along the lines described in a 2003 report on Catholics and Mennonites in dialogue. Amid celebrating much in both traditions, the document affirms for Mennonites the “body and blood of Christ and recognizes again that its life is sustained by Christ, the bread of life.” It adds that

The key lies not in the elements as such, but in the context as a whole, including the communion of the gathered congregation, the prayerful aspiration of each individual, and the spiritual presence that is suggested and re-presented with the aid of appropriate symbols and liturgy.

I want to honor the body and blood of Christ as Wassell helps me to do. I also want to experience the Lord’s Supper as much in the troubled, tormented, yet often lovely relationships and practices of my people, my part of the Body of Christ in which I seek the holy even as grace empowers me to seek the body’s healing when I have helped to break it.

The Transforming Power of the Eucharist

/0 Comments/in , /by

As I read Christina Wassell’s essay, I was reminded of a statement by Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen that I first read in a book written by Scott and Kimberly Hahn entitled Rome Sweet Home: Our Journey to Catholicism (Ignatius, 1993, 1). Quoting: “There are not over a hundred people in the United States who hate the Roman Catholic Church; there are millions, however, who hate what they wrongly believe to be the Roman Catholic Church.” As one who belongs to a church that is rather consistently misunderstood and misrepresented, I identified with the Archbishop’s remark.

I begin my response to Christina’s article in this way to say how much I appreciated her description of her family’s journey to Rome. It’s always fascinating to me to read the accounts of people who are searching to find what religious denomination or movement or spiritual perspective best meets their deepest needs, that satisfies their yearnings for spiritual fulfillment. Christina’s family’s transition—Protestant, Episcopal, Catholic—“moving steadily toward more liturgy as we went” reflects what I have encountered in a growing number of God-loving, Christ-affirming Evangelicals, who are being drawn to a more formal worship through a greater emphasis on liturgy.

My attention was captured by Christina’s simple comment that “It was the theology of the Eucharist and the sacraments that drew us to Rome.” The Latter-day Saint worship service is called the sacrament meeting, although the weekly blessing and passing of the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper in that meeting never takes more than about twenty minutes. For many years, people of my faith sensed that the celebration of the Lord’s Supper was an important part of the meeting, but most of the focus tended to be on the sermons or addresses that were delivered after the emblems were passed to the congregation. Members frequently spoke of partaking of the Sacrament as a means of “renewing our covenants” made with God at the time of our baptism.

In recent decades, however, the leaders of my Church have emphasized that partaking of the Sacrament is the major purpose of the hour-long meeting. They have stressed the need for each of the members of the congregation to spend the moments of the distribution of the emblems reflecting on and remembering Jesus Christ—His divine birth, His miracles, His teachings, His tender and loving ministry, and, most important, His suffering and death on the cross, linked with His glorious resurrection.

I was fascinated by Christina’s description of what takes place during the time that the Eucharist is being celebrated. Two statements stand out to me: “All faithful Catholics assert that what happens at Mass is the unbloody re-presentation of Christ’s sacrifice at Calvary.” Also, “When the priest says the words Christ spoke at the Last Supper, that bread and wine becomes Christ as perfect victim, offered for your sins and mine.” I have had many wonderful Roman Catholic friends through the years, from the time I grew up as a boy in Louisiana until I became involved in interfaith endeavors as a university professor. Over that period of time I have, on a number of occasions, asked my Catholic associates about the doctrine of transubstantiation—what it is and why it is necessary. I ask that in light of the language of Jesus: “This do in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19; 1 Corinthians 11:23-24). Many Christian faiths partake of Communion “in remembrance of Him.” My questions are: What is the purpose of believing that the bread is transformed into Christ’s flesh, and the wine is transformed into His blood? What is the spiritual benefit to one who holds to this belief? this belief? The Savior’s words in His Bread of Life Sermon in John 6 regarding eating His flesh and drinking His blood might lead one toward such a belief and practice, but did Jesus really have this in mind that day in the synagogue in Capernaum?

Christina mentions the trauma and tragedy of the sex scandals involving priests and bishops that were highlighted in 2018. She explained that they “feared like so many families around us, we would fail to keep our children in the Church. We were engaged in a fierce battle against the culture with our dear Catholic friends, but this battle wasn’t truly led by our Catholic priests and bishops.” Today we are witnessing painfully the growing numbers of people (including multitudes of young people) who are forsaking any form of organized religion, who identify themselves as “nones” and describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious.” One can only hope that those conducting the research on this heartrending phenomenon are exaggerating the numbers of such people who have dropped out (the Pew Research organization puts the figure at anywhere from 23-27% of the American population—between 7-8 million men and women). What is the Catholic Church doing to deal with this among their membership, particularly those between the ages of 18-30? What facets of the Catholic belief or practice could help to stem the tide of those who are voting with their feet? I ask this, not just seeking information, but also for very personal reasons: (1) the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is feeling the impact of this waning of belief, just as many other denominations are; and (2) my wife and I have grieved as more than one of our children have been deeply affected by this terrible trend.

I appreciated what Ms. Wassell had to say about the significant place of service to our fellow beings (and, very often, service to “the least of these”) as a crucial component of the Christian life. Two of my favorite New Testament passages are: Jesus “went about doing good” and “I [Christ] am among you as He who serves.” One of the tragedies of our fast-paced, agenda-driven, overly busy way of life today is that far too often the things that are of greatest worth go unattended. If there is anything that could be said of Jesus of Nazareth that would be acknowledged by anyone even slightly familiar with His life, it would be that He loved people. People were His agenda. He was always willing to be inconvenienced. God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, are in the business of people, and they have charged those of us who aspire to Christian discipleship to adopt the same agenda.

I served as a bishop (pastor) of a ward (congregation) in Tallahassee, Florida during the early 1980s. During the Christmas season, the youth leaders felt that it would be a worthwhile experience to have the young people visit a local residential facility for the elderly. That evening, as we met for a few moments before driving away, I explained to the young women and young men what we would be doing. For the first thirty seconds or so, there was silence. Then the complaints began: “Bishop, it’s Christmastime, and we want to have some fun!” Another person cried out, “That sounds so boring. Do we really have to do it?” Similar comments were made, even as we were driving into the facility. We took the youth inside, and the young women leader said: “Go into those rooms and greet these sweet people. Help them to have a Merry Christmas.” We then divided the youth into groups of three or four and assigned them to rooms to meet and greet the people. Timidly the girls and the boys did as they were asked.

An hour and a half later we announced to the group that we would be leaving in a few moments. We didn’t, however, leave in a few moments. It took everything we had to get those kids out of the facility! As the group in my car drove away, nothing was said for about ten minutes. Then one of the rough-and-tumble boys said, with much emotion in his voice, “That is the greatest experience I have ever had.” Several of the young people then made similar remarks and asked when we could return to the facility and meet with their new friends again.

The youth didn’t realize it, but what they were doing was ministering, in a holy way, to elderly children of God. To some extent, the young people, after they overcame their objections, were being inconvenienced. They could have spent their time doing other things—playing video games, scrolling through social media, participating in athletic events, or just watching a movie. For two hours, however, they were involved in the work of the Master, and in the process began to feel the sweet fruits that come from the Holy Spirit. Service sanctifies both the giver and the receiver.

Robert L. Millet

 

P.S. If I may, I’d like to share a humorous personal experience with Catholicism, one from very early in my life. When I had finished the fifth grade in the Baton Rouse area, our family moved to a very small town named White Castle, some thirty miles southwest of Baton Rouge. We were not there very long before I discovered that the population of that town was about 90% Roman Catholic, with a few Baptists scattered here and there. On the very first day in class, our teacher, a Mrs. Tomplet (pr. tom-play) brought the room to order and indicated that she had a matter of business to take care of. She then asked: “Is there anyone in this class who is not Roman Catholic?” (I add that this was a public school.) I panicked and looked around the room and didn’t see any raised hands. I knew there wasn’t a soul in that school (perhaps including the teacher) who had the foggiest idea what a Mormon or a Latter-day Saint was. I began to sweat, and my heart rate increased as I sat wondering what I should do.

I was saved, at least momentarily, by a blond-headed boy on the other side of the room who raised his hand timidly. He seemed to be as nervous as I was. Mrs. Templet then asked the boy: “What are you?” He managed to get control of himself long enough to say, almost in a whisper, “I’m a Baptist.” The teacher grunted and frowned. “Anyone else?” she followed up. I knew I had to say something, and so I managed to lift my hand, just above my head. “And what are you?” she asked rather brusquely. I paused longer than I should have, my faith failed me, and I then found myself blurting out: “I’m a Baptist too.” (My Evangelical associates love that story and usually say, “Bob, it’s very clear that God has had His hand upon you for a long time!”)

Sorry for that diversion. I should add that in spite of my differences in belief and practice from my new friends, I drew close to many members of the class and enjoyed the three years we spent in White Castle. I was able to attend a few masses, walk down the street to the Catholic Church and have a black cross placed on my forehead on Ash Wednesday, and fairly regularly help a friend memorize some matters from his catechism. Through it all, I came away with a bit better understanding of and respect for Roman Catholics.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Political Theology of Traditionalist Catholicism?

/0 Comments/in , /by

Decades ago, on my first visit to Rome, I stood inside the Church of St. Peter in Chains, watching a stream of people, mostly elderly, stuffing their alms into an offering box. How could the pastors of such an ornate palace accept such a thing, my 18-year-old self asked?   It shocked my conscience and I was determined to do something about it.  Looking around, I saw a confessional manned by a priest.  That, too, was a strange site for me:  a pastor sitting inside an ornate wooden booth.  What went on in there, I wondered?  No matter: I marched up to the booth where a discrete sign was posted: “italiano,” “español,” and “English,” indicating the languages spoken by this polyglot priest. I protested what I then considered to be fleecing people of their money. The priest was reading a newspaper. “Reverend! How can you just sit there while those poor old people give away all their money?!  This church doesn’t need it! Can’t you help them?” The priest calmly folded his newspaper, gave me a wearied look, and asked with a sigh, “A Protestant, I’m guessing?”

I chuckle when I tell the story now, even as I am appalled by my own smug self-righteousness. It never crossed my mind that people, as capable ethical actors, might give of their own volition.  I chuckle, too, because the priest could see things about me that I couldn’t yet:  I was speaking from an anti-Catholic framework as old as the 16th century, drilled into me as a student at my fundamentalist church and school: Catholics aren’t real Christians. That day in Rome so long ago was the first time I became deeply aware of an unmarked identity that I later understood was built in opposition to Catholic:  I’m a Protestant!  I remain so today, but with a distinctively ecumenical bent and, I trust, a lot more humility.

I tell you this as a response to Christina Wassell’s posting “Following Jesus as a Traditionalist Catholic” because an important step in respectful conversation about religion is getting real about ourselves, understanding our implicit (and sometimes explicit) biases, and narrating our own pilgrimage in faith.  I eagerly read Wassell because she so eloquently relates her migration through several Protestant churches into the traditionalist wing of Roman Catholicism, where she is so clearly and happily at home.  It’s rare to find such a comprehensive interweaving of family and faith like the one Wassell describes in her biography. I feel a tinge of longing for the rhythms of life she describes – keeping the fasts and feasts of the traditional church calendar, for instance.

Most of us are harried by the demands of earning a living, putting the kids in day care, commuting, fighting over social media usage, anxiously shielding our children from the inanities of commercial culture.  Wassell has fashioned a different kind of life.  Down on the farm. Raising their own food. Hell, even slaughtering their own meat!  It’s an admirable counter-cultural life, in some ways not so different from the 1960s back-to-the-land movement, but with a Christian spin. Mazel tov, Christina, for this counter-cultural move.

Christina, we’ve both traveled through several Christian zones on our way into minoritized spaces within our respective spiritual homes.   You, as traditionalist Roman Catholic and I, as a queer white man in a queer African American Pentecostal movement.  Eager to follow Jesus, your faithfulness and mine is under attack. I can’t tell you how many times my bishop, as a lesbian, and my fellow pastors, have been anathematized by other Pentecostal bishops and clergy for being what God gloriously made us.  There are growing tensions within your church, even talk of schism. Pope Francis has been at odds with traditionalists, very recently curtailing authorization for the pre -Vatican II mass you cherish so.  This is to note the obvious:  the spiritual lives of each of us are lived as minorities within our respective Christian movements. That needs to be said.  And that’s about where the similarities end.

Wassell’s path of following Jesus focuses on liturgical aesthetics – at least it seems so to me. Christina’s love for the Latin mass unfurls only against the backdrop of intense negativity about liturgical differences. She is often dismissive of Catholics whose “new mass” offends her spiritual and aesthetic sensibilities. Wassell finds post-Vatican II ritual “’hokey’,” likening attendance at the new mass to being in “the desert” or  at “campfire singalongs.” Wassell demonstrates little charity in her smackdown with Novus Ordo Catholics. It’s either my way or the highway.

Wassell structures her comments around the Latin phrase lex orandi, lex credenda, lex vivendi:  “The law of praying is the law of believing is the law of living.”  While lex orandi and lex credendi aspects of the post are lengthy, lex vivendi is only one paragraph. Even after Harold Heie’s post encouraging Christina to tell us something about Catholic social ethics, what she offers is yet more defense of traditional Catholicism, and more stinging criticism of post-Vatican II Catholics. Wassell even appeals to an enigmatic saying of Jesus to swat away attempts at structural analysis and transformational change, both characteristics of modern Catholic social ethics: “Our Lord told us that the poor would always be with us.”  Of the many sayings of Jesus, this is your lex vivendi?  This is the word of the Lord that I favor, Jesus quoting Isaiah in Luke’s Gospel:   

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because the Lord has anointed me.

He has sent me to preach good news to the poor,

to proclaim release to the prisoners

and recovery of sight to the blind,

to liberate the oppressed . . .

Back to the Latin mass.  Following Jesus within traditional Catholicism is not just about nostalgia, nor simply personal preference.  It entails a political theology. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  Political theology is at work in any application of Christian ethics to society.   But I’m concerned when we don’t own up to our respective theo-political visions – in this case, what “following Jesus” means for participation in a pluralist society.

There are traditionalist Catholics who are so disgusted by the direction of the U.S. that they’ve withdrawn from public life to build model communities at society’s edge. Yet even some of these withdrawalists, to coin a term, continue to see themselves as engaged in a struggle within the Catholic church and within America’s civic spaces.  Wassell places herself and other traditionalists “in a fierce battle against the culture . . ..”  Wassell never says what she means by “culture, but her words lay bare an “us” versus “them” schema of almost Manichaean proportions – e.g., she speaks of traditionalists as “some remnant of the faithful” here to do penance for a “wayward Bride of Christ.”  I have a feeling that me and the church folks I hang with would be in the “them” category, and so would many of Wassell’s fellow Catholics of the post-Vatican II variety.

Many Catholic traditionalists and their fellow travelers are politically engaged in some of the greatest ethical struggles of our time. Cardinal Raymond Burke, a noted leader of traditionalist Catholics, has agitated against COVID vaccines.  (He was recently hospitalized with COVID.) Then there are fellow travelers who may not identify as traditionalists but are certainly sympathetic.  Steve Bannon and Lieutenant General Michael Flynn are well-known in that category. These leaders and others are determined to curtail if not end women’s access to abortion. They rail against the extension of civil marriage rights to same-sex couples. And they hold a fierce opposition to the civil rights of transgendered persons.  The heat of these battles is tearing at the fabric of American life, and that’s perhaps why Harold Heie has sponsored this respectful conversation. These are matters that send American Christians to the front lines, in battle formation against each other.  It’s helpful to remember that the public square is a dangerous place to enact us-versus-them thinking.

I’ve tried to cultivate the spiritual humility I lacked so many years ago in Rome in my self-righteous quibble with the priest. My many visits over the years to Catholic churches here and around the globe have illuminated, dissipated, and destroyed the knee-jerk anti-Catholicism I was taught as a child.  Not too long ago I attended the funeral of a colleague’s spouse, held in one of those Novus Ordo parishes Wassell so loathes.  At the Eucharist, the priest invited non-Catholics like me to the altar; he did so with the caveat that we come in a spirit of reverence and worship, acknowledging Christ’s presence.  The priest’s invitation might have angered the local bishop, had he known about it, and I’d bet that you, Christina, take this as another indication of the church’s post-Vatican II degradation.  I received the priest’s gesture of hospitality with gratitude and humility. It resonated with my ecclesiology and liturgical theology. As I walked forward to receive, I heard the Holy Spirit’s voice whispering in my ear – how Pentecostal! – a hymn we sometimes sing at communion, “This is God’s table, it’s not yours or mine, come to the table of grace.”

I imagine a church with plenty good room, as the African American spirit song says.  To me, following Jesus means ever-expanding the circle of “we.”  There’s room for you, Christina, in the church I dream about, a church of the third Pentecost where the “least of these” get the front row seats, some of us speak in tongues, and Latin masses and Pentecostal praise breaks are happening at the same time.

What you and I and all of us in the U.S. will have to figure out is how we live together peacefully with such opposing political theologies and nationalist projects. What is it that we hope for?  What is the future we envision? What do we fear?  Whom do we fear? My political theology envisions a multi-ethnic, multi-racial, and multi-religious America, where everyone has the respect they deserve, the right to vote, a roof over their heads, and enough to eat.

In the nation a coming, let there be plenty good room.

A View from a Member of the Common Priesthood

/0 Comments/in , /by

Any Pietist should hesitate to write critically about Catholicism, since anti-Catholicism is so deeply rooted in our tradition. For all his desire for Christian unity and his disinclination to engage in nasty polemics, Pietist pioneer Philipp Jakob Spener was as hostile to the Catholic Church as most other German Lutheran pastors in the era after the Reformation. In Pia Desideria, the 1675 booklet that became a Pietist manifesto, Spener addressed the low state of Protestantism — but only after he first lamented “the distress of those members of the Christian church… who dwell among heretics in the Babylonian captivity of anti-Christian Rome.” In 1842, the Swedish revivalist Carl Olof Rosenius warned that a true Pietist would “not waste time or wear out his weapons by fighting with brothers in faith” — Protestants, that is, whom he likened to the army commanded by Gustavus Adolphus “against the popish retinue” in the Thirty Years War. In the 20th century, the pietistic Baptists who founded and still sponsor my Pietist university were staunch advocates of church-state separation: not only because politically coerced faith contradicted their belief in soul liberty, but because they saw Jefferson’s wall of separation as a bulwark against Catholics gaining and wielding political, educational, and cultural power.

So I approached Christina Wassell’s essay eager to learn about a way of following Jesus that Pietists too easily disdain. Unfortunately, her autobiographical focus left no room for her to discuss types of Catholic piety that have the most obvious resonance with the instincts of Pietism: the spiritual disciplines and intentional fellowship of monasticism (or at least the practices of lay communities like the Brethren of the Common Life or the Franciscans’ Third Order); and mysticism, whose transformative, ecstatic experiences appeal to the Pietist desire for relating to God in ways that transcend intellectual understanding. (One forerunner of my tradition was Johann Arndt, a Lutheran mystic of the early 17th century.) But Wassell’s description of “a robust Catholic life” experienced with family and friends certainly rang familiar to this Pietist, both because we share an appreciation for living out our theological beliefs “‘on the ground’ with our community” and because it’s dismaying to find the intensity of that experience of the Christian life sometimes evaporating into “what happened” on Sunday.

I’m glad, then, that she and her family found their way to a more meaningful experience of sacramental worship. But, much as I wrote in response to David Ford’s essay on Orthodoxy, I can both appreciate the ancient beauty and counter-cultural power of the liturgy in Wassell’s parish and yet still struggle to shed my version of Spener’s concern that “the service of worship that outwardly is correct may still not be a service of worship.”

I don’t want to belabor a problem that I’ve already addressed in some depth, especially since I don’t want to leave the impression that the sacraments are unimportant to Pietists. In his new book on German Pietist leader August Hermann Francke, Peter Yoder points out that Francke preached six times on the Eucharist just in his first full year of pastoral ministry. But as highly as he esteemed that sacrament, Francke also inaugurated a view of worshipful ritual that has never disappeared from Pietism: that communicants ought to take Communion not out of custom or habit — let alone what Francke called “hypocrisy” or “ignorance” — but as a personal expression of repentant obedience to Christ that brings the believer deeper into union with him. 

So even as the religious historian in me reads Wassell’s essay and thinks back to less enthusiastic accounts from Catholics less moved by worship before Vatican II, any follower of Jesus Christ should rejoice to hear Wassell describe her experience of the Traditional Latin Mass as drawing her and her family “deeper into the wonder and mystery of the Eucharist and of following Jesus.” I wish I had had a chance to read her description of what happens during that liturgy before I attended a Latin Mass several years ago with my students. Instead of feeling hurt and frustrated at being left in silence while the priest prayed alone to God, I could have availed myself of a chance for a kind of meditation in which “we learn to unite our own sacrifices to Christ’s on the altar.”

May all our experiences of worship so deepen our experience of Jesus Christ! 

But what comes next? I’ll try to develop this idea at much greater length in my own lead essay, but this seems like a good moment to introduce one key point: even if Pietists find that their “experience of Christ flows out of” a sacrament — and I think most Pietists would more likely say that it flows out of Bible study and prayer, we’d be far more interested in asking what flows out of that encounter into the rest of our life. How does our experience of Christ lead us to follow Jesus into the world, to make disciples of all nations and to love our neighbors whether or not they follow Jesus — healing their wounds, slaking their thirst, feeding their hunger, and rectifying the injustices that create their suffering?

Because of other obligations, I needed to finish writing this essay before Wassell could submit her follow-up comment about Catholic social ethics. But while I can understand the challenges inherent in summing up a Christian tradition in just 1,500 words or so, her original choice of emphasis is itself important. For my part, I expect to say almost nothing about Sunday morning worship when my turn comes — save a few lines about hymnody — and will instead focus on how Pietists try to follow Jesus during the rest of the week.

Before I close, I have to acknowledge that Wassell’s chosen emphasis on the Traditional Latin Mass also points to one more clear disagreement with my tradition, about the nature of what Pietists like to call the common priesthood.

It’s not just that my spiritual forebears were so antagonistic to a magisterial, episcopal hierarchy headed by the bishop of Rome. (A figure unexpectedly unnamed by a Roman Catholic whose parish is affiliated with a religious fraternity that chose the name of the first pope “in order to express their gratitude, filial love, and loyalty to the Supreme Pontiff.”). Pietists’ “antipathy to authoritarian forms” was their “greatest contribution,” concluded Dalphy Fagerstrom, one of my predecessors on the Bethel history faculty, since it helped inspire both religious and political “democratization.” By contrast, as we can see from one paragraph in Wassell’s essay, you don’t have to be a Pietist to recognize the potential for concentrated ecclesial power to be abused.

But even in the best version of an episcopate, it’d be hard for a Pietist to relate easily to a way of following Jesus in which a single person plays such a central role, to the point of standing in persona Christi during worship. For we are all priests, Pietists would argue, with Jesus (as Wassell agrees) our “one true priest.”

Not all of us have spiritual gifts to be honed through professional training in theology and ministry, but Spener thought Martin Luther right to reject the “presumptuous monopoly of the clergy” and instead emphasize a “spiritual priesthood, according to which not only ministers but all Christians are made priests by their Savior, are anointed by the Holy Spirit, and are dedicated to perform spiritual-priestly acts [1 Pet. 2:9].” Some more radical Pietists even rejected Spener’s reservation of public offices (preaching especially, but also the sacraments) to a professional clergy. Historian Jonathan Strom has observed that the German Pietists’ concern for the common priesthood faded after Spener, but it was central to the 19th century Swedish revival that is the chief influence on Pietism as I have experienced it. Those Scandinavian Pietists gave considerable autonomy to lay preachers like C.O. Rosenius and to lay leaders of Bible studies that defied a law requiring clergy oversight of spiritual activities. (Rosenius’ successor as editor of the journal Pietisten, Paul Peter Waldenström, was a priest in the Church of Sweden, but he argued for lay preaching as a hedge against pastors seeing themselves as “a new estate of the clergy, a hierarchy, which is separated off from the laity.”) And even Pietists who share Spener’s concern for “orderly” worship would strive with him to decenter the role played by those few priests who happen to have been ordained, lest “the so-called laity [be] made slothful in those things that ought to concern it,” especially “the office of the spiritual priests to let the Word of God dwell richly among them (Col. 3:16).”

Lutheran-Catholic Sacramental Spirituality: Are We Still Divided Over How We Follow Jesus?

/0 Comments/in , /by

As in the case of the dialogue we have already had with the Orthodox tradition, this Lutheran along with other Confessional Lutherans can wholeheartedly endorse the Sacramental spirituality of the Roman Catholic Church (though Lutheran Pietist elements and Lutheran members reflecting a modernist piety might object). Indeed except for the Catholic teaching of transubstantiation (which when compared to the Lutheran position is nothing more than a disagreement inside the family), Lutherans have a view of the Sacraments virtually identical with Catholics (not rejecting the possibility of there being seven [Apology of The Augsburg Confession, XIII.2]).

A Real Presence vision of the Sacraments like Catholics and Lutheran share (Christ coming to us and changing us [Small Catechism]) is essentially related for Lutherans to the prioritizing of salvation and living the Christian life by grace alone! They are means through which God makes us people who want to follow Jesus. In worship, the benefits of God are received (Apology of The Augsburg Confession, IV.49), in Baptism we are born again and begin to live out our baptism (Romans 6; Large Catechism IV.27), and in The Lord’s Supper forgiveness is not only received, but we also become people who are linked to all the faithful, their strengths and their needs (Large Catechism, V.22,70 ; Luther’s Works, Vol.35, pp.50-52,58,59). How about it, Ms. Wassell (Christina): Is this not in line with the Catholic formula of worship, leading to faith, entailing how we live?

There are other ways in which I see our traditions overlapping/converging when it comes to following Jesus. As you seem to advocate, Luther believed that prayer increases our faith and the practice of the Christian life (The Large Catechism, III.2). I noted that in a previous response you highlight the Virgin Mary’s role in enhancing spirituality. With your Catholic heritage, Luther was open to invoking angels and Mary (whom he called the Mother of God) (Luther’s Works, Vol.42, p.113; Ibid., Vol.21, pp.328-3 29). All the saints may pray for us, he claimed (Smalcald Articles, II.25f.).

There are other ways in which our traditions overlap. Many of the other characteristic Catholic themes which I have noted over the years seem to have affinities to the Pietist strand of Lutheranism and also in some cases to Lutheranism’s Dogmatic Orthodox strands. There is place in the Lutheran heritage for something like the Catholic stress on keeping the Commandments (Formula of Concord SD VII; Large Catechism, I.Con), and measuring growth in the Christian life this way (Formula of Concord, SD IV.31-33). Even the affirmation of a synergistic joining of our will with God’s grace so prominent in your tradition (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1996ff.) is not officially rejected in Lutheranism (Formula of Concord, SD II.90).

I have found another profound overlap in our traditions. Is it not true that even the Lutheran passion for affirming justification by grace through faith (Apology of The Augsburg Confession, IV.2) has been deemed a valid Catholic option by Vatican II when it decrees (in Unitatis redingegratio, 31) that “all who have been justified by faith in Baptism, … have a right to be called Christian”? Insights like this have led our churches to affirm a common statement about how we are saved (Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification). There’s a lot in common in our traditions, and our leaders are starting to recognize this.

I just have a few questions to raise with you now at the conclusion to determine how much celebrating of our unity we might do. You refer to the sacrifice of the Mass. To whom is the Sacrifice paid and how is it paid? This could be a deal-breaker for Lutherans if it entails that we
need to pay more sacrifices to god to get Him to love us, for Christ offered the only sacrifice necessary (The Augsburg Confession, XXIV.30ff). But if the Sacrifice of the Mass is a Sacrifice because Christ the one true Sacrifice is Present or is so deemed because it nurtures the Christian life, a life of sacrifice of denying the self and suffering, then we again have much in common (Apology of The Augsburg Confession, XXIV.34).

I resonate with your stated reasons for preferring the traditional Latin Mass. High-Church Lutherans also want the worship leader to face the altar when talking to God. And there is beauty in the chanting/music associated with the Latin Mass. But must the Mass be in Latin, or is your point merely that the liturgy should be done properly? Lutherans have to object if worship is not in the language of the people enabling them to learn the Word of God (Apology of The Augsburg Confession, XXIV.2). Another non-negotiable for Lutherans is the conviction that following Jesus includes a social concern about justice, not just charity, for the poor (Ibid., Vol.9, p.19; Large Catechism, I.7; Amos 8:4ff.).

The Catholic Church, notably in the Americas since the end of Colonialism, has such a rich heritage of espousing justice for the poor (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2408ff.). I appreciate your rationale for not including this theme in your original paper. But I submit that the Catholic commitment to ending structural poverty is not just a function of Vatican II, but can be traced at least back to the 19th century throughout the church with Leo XIII. Did not his encyclical, Rerum Novarum, direct the faithful to seek economic justice through organized labor and by political means? If you concur with me on this point, then you and I have found another area of Lutheran-Catholic agreement.

Finally I turn to the issue of how much freedom the Catholic vision of following Jesus permits. Give the fact that the Sacraments transform recipients, provide them with a mystical and physical union with our Lord, does it not make sense to think of the faithful as becoming people who want to follow Jesus (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1265-1266)? This opens the door to the Lutheran teaching about freedom from the Law (Galatians 3:13; 5:1; Romans 7:4ff; Luther’s Works, Vol.31, pp.333-377), the spontaneity of good works (Ephesians 2:10; Luther’s Works, Vol.31, pp.367-368; Complete Sermons, Vol.1/2, p.316), and a Situational Ethic (Genesis 22; Luther’s Works, Vol.5, p.150; Complete Sermons, Vol.3/1, p.61)? Are these affirmations which could legitimately be made in a Catholic context? If not, why not?

Old Divisions are Less Divisive

/0 Comments/in , /by

Response to Christina Wassell, traditional Roman Catholic view
By Dr. Wesley Granberg-Michaelson, Reformed Tradition

Old Divisions Are Less Divisive

The moving and illuminating account of Christina Wassell’s spiritual journey to the traditional Roman Catholic understanding of “following Jesus” presents challenges for any response from the Reformed tradition. First, my tradition immediately confronts issues which have been dividing points between Catholic and Reformed traditions for nearly 500 years. Second, Wassell’s presentation focuses largely on an internal dialogue with Catholicism, particularly between the changed practice of the Mass and Eucharist since Vatican II, and the Traditional Latin Mass. That dialogue is very insightful, but the Reformed tradition doesn’t have much theological skin in the game in that ongoing interchange.
To begin with faithfulness to the Reformed tradition, we can note major features referred to in this presentation of Roman Catholicism that immediately raise red flags for Reformed folks and have done so for centuries. For example:
• Transubstantiation, where the Bread and Wine at the Eucharist actually become Christ. The first Reformers, while differing among themselves about how Christ and the Spirit are present in the Eucharist, all rejected the prevailing understanding of the (Catholic) church.
• The priest in the Eucharist becoming “in persona Christi,” acting “as a stand in for the one true priest, Jesus Christ.” The Reformed view, while taking seriously the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, has a less elevated view of the one who presides at the Table. The priest as one who, in the Traditional Latin Mass, stands separate, with his back to the congregation, in persona Christi, is an affront to Reformed sensibilities and collegial understandings of how a congregation embodies its identity as the Body of Christ.
• The sacrifice of Christ as the victim, repeated each time the Mass is celebrated as this moment “steps out of time,” is contrary to the Reformed understandings of the one-time sacrifice of Christ on the cross, and the Lord’s Supper as the time which powerfully remembers this redemptive sacrifice, rather than repeating it.

This brief and certainly inadequate summary refers only to matters specifically mentioned in the carefully crafted paper by Christina Wassell, with its primary focus on how the practice of the Eucharist is understood. Other central issues arise in a Reformed response to a Catholic understanding of how we follow Jesus, such as the nature and embodiment of authority in the church, the number and meaning of sacraments, the understanding of how and through whom God’s grace functions, and the means of salvation, to cite a few examples.
The ecumenical good news is that serious and sustained dialogue at official levels between the U.S. Conference of Bishops and the major Reformed denominations in the U.S. has been undertaken for over 50 years. Differences have been clarified, common understandings have been affirmed, and bridges of relationship and trust have been built. The major historic points of division have been addressed, such as ministry, authority, baptism, the Eucharist, and much else in well-organized rounds of this dialogue with published results. I was privileged to participate in some of the more recent sessions. (These reports can be accessed through the office and website of the U.S. Catholic Conference of Bishops, and through the ecumenical offices of participating denominations such as the Presbyterian Church (USA), the Reformed Church in America, the United Church of Christ, and the Christian Reformed Church in North America.)
Most remarkable, in my view, was the report of the understanding and mutual recognition of baptism, titled “These Living Waters.” Four years of discussion (2003-2007) produced a remarkable, ground-breaking consensus. Then, ongoing dialogue resulted in an official declaration that the baptisms of those in the U. S. Catholic church, and those in the Reformed churches, would be mutually recognized and accepted. This took place in November, 201o. This significant step and its implications are still not widely known, but provide the foundation for a more hospitable relationship between the Reformed and Catholic communities.
Moreover, the historic theological differences held between Catholic and Protestant understandings of the role of grace in the process of salvation were overcome in a joint declaration between the Lutheran World Federation and the Vatican in 1999, sharing “a common understanding of our justification by God’s grace through faith in Christ.” After more years of dialogue, the World Communion of Reformed Churches, representing most of the Reformed and Presbyterian Churches throughout the world, officially affirmed this joint declaration at a ceremony in Wittenberg, Germany in 2017, 500 years after Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in that town.
These ecumenical steps between the Reformed and Catholic traditions over the past 50 years make it impossible for any response to Christina Wassell’s paper from the Reformed tradition to rely on the old stereotypes and judgments of Catholicism that long dominated this relationship. The ground has been shifting. Clear differences remain, but the fruits of this dialogue demonstrate how both Reformed and Catholic traditions are coming to understand far better what it truly means for each of these expressions of the church to follow Jesus, and to accept what is held in common.
One specific premise in Christina Wassell’s presentation requires a further response. If I understand correctly, she asserts that one’s participation in the Eucharist, particularly as experienced in the Traditional Latin Mass, results in such a mystical infusion of Christ’s presence that “following Jesus” simply flows naturally. There’s no suggestion of the need for the teaching of discipleship, nor any mention of how one appropriates Catholic social teaching. A Reformed understanding would differ here. One of its strengths has been its emphasis on how to teach and learn the practices of discipleship in the context of a world and life view centered on God’s purposes of justice and reign breaking into the world. Simply participating in the Eucharist does not automatically produce the fruits of such discipleship.
(Christina Wassell’s response to this matter, just posted, is quite helpful. Yet, it seems t0 maintain the assumption, repeated in her last sentence, that witness and action in the world for God’s justice flows automatically from the Eucharist, and it omits any reference to systemic “structures of sin” which have been clearly identified by Popes even before Vatican II and regularly addressed in expressions of public theology from the Reformed tradition.)
Finally, how can the Reformed tradition be enriched by the traditional view of Catholicism presented in Wassell’s paper? I suggest three ways.
First, the framework she presents is “The law of praying is the law of believing is the law of living.” The personal journey she shares emphasizes how the practice of spirituality is the driving force which then reveals deep beliefs, particularly experienced through the Eucharist, which then flows into a transformed life. The Reformed tradition often wants to start with getting beliefs right, expressed through Confessions and catechetical instruction, which then, hopefully, produces fruitful spiritual practice. But there’s a danger in always starting with the head and assuming that the heart will follow. Wassell’s paper is a helpful corrective.
Second, the Reformed tradition regards the Eucharist, which we typically call the Lord’s Supper, as a celebration of memory, reminding us of God’s work of salvation. It is kept remote, celebrated by congregations sometimes only four times a year, or once a month. Christina Wassell provides a moving portrayal of what it means in the Eucharist to participate mystically in God’s saving activity in Christ through his Presence with us, and not simply to remember this. Our traditions my differ about the technical and theological explanations of what is happening in this liturgical celebration, but for countless Reformed congregations, moving from the “observance” of the Lord’s Supper to a richer spiritual participation in this mystery through the Spirit would deepen our sacramental life.
Third, the resources of spiritual formation in the Catholic tradition, expressed through mystics, the monastic movement, pilgrimages, Ignatian practices, and so much more, were largely jettisoned by the Reformation. While those examples were not included in Wassell’s paper, that dimension is reflected in the journey that she shares. The Reformed tradition can only be enriched by reappropriating practices of spiritual formation, adapted to our own context, but shaped by streams in the Catholic tradition which, for too long, we have ignored and set aside.

i. https://www.usccb.org/beliefs-and-teachings/ecumenical-and-interreligious/ecumenical/reformed/upload/These-Living-Waters.pdf

Eucharist as a Means for Following Jesus

/0 Comments/in , /by

I celebrate Christina Wassell’s account of what the Catholic tradition has done for her and her family. The deeply personal description shows an active, lively faith in following Jesus.

In my response, I will concentrate on the Eucharist that has meant so much to her. My tradition may not be best known for its liturgical and sacramental life, but John Wesley encouraged Wesleyan Methodists to receive the Lord’s Supper (as they referred to Eucharist) frequently. My tradition can affirm with Christina the importance of Eucharist for following Jesus. Methodists initially received the sacrament in their local parishes or when an Anglican priest sympathetic to Methodism was among them.  The sacrament was so important to the people that it became a pressing motivation for Methodists to constitute the movement as a church so they could receive it in the same community where they experienced the presence of Jesus Christ in other ways (many then felt the kind of disconnect in their parish churches that Christina describes in her search for congregational worship that would match the theological riches of Catholicism). My tradition can also affirm the search for authentic worship where all elements work together to present the wholeness of what faith is.

To compare Catholic and Wesleyan Methodist understandings, I will turn to a document produced in dialogue between the Roman Catholic Church and the World Methodist Council (hereafter WMC). The document, titled Encountering Christ the Saviour: Church and Sacraments (hereafter ECS), may be found here: https://www.methodist.org.uk/media/3024/encountering-christ-the-saviour-church-and-sacraments.pdf. This document is neither an authoritative declaration of the Roman Catholic Church nor of any member church of the WMC.  Rather it is a report of the thoughtful and serious understanding arrived at through dialogue over several years that has taken place between these two traditions. Because the WMC has many member churches (several of which were represented in the membership of the Methodist side of the dialogue) it reflects widely held consensus in my tradition.

The dialogue report acknowledges the underlying and interlocking issues that Christina Wassell can only hint at in her posting, namely that how each tradition understands church and ordination greatly affects the understanding of Eucharist. There are differences between the two traditions regarding those underlying questions; nevertheless, the dialogue also uncovered much agreement. I cannot do justice to all the underlying questions in the space allotted, so I will focus on a few matters specific to Eucharist that Christina Wassell’s posting highlights. Catholics, of course, have a long and developed history of understanding the Eucharist. John Wesley encouraged receiving the Lord’s Supper, but he wrote little in sermon or treatise form about the theology of the Eucharist. In ECS, the major documentary source for the Methodist side was Hymns on the Lord’s Supper produced by John and Charles Wesley.

In her account of “what happens” in the Eucharist, Wassell describes the importance of the priest.ECS recognizes that Wesleyan Methodists have no officially formulated understanding of the priesthood and its relation to Eucharist, but both dialogue sides affirmed that priesthood itself is rooted in Christ’s own priestly office (ECS ¶ 169). Methodists, though, stress the “common priesthood of the faithful” and have “rejected the notion of a distinct ministerial priesthood” (ECS ¶161). Despite this difference, the WMC dialogue found agreement that “When the Church exercises its priestly ministry it does so only by virtue of participation in the priesthood of Christ” (ECS ¶162). Although Wesleyan Methodists do not think in terms of ministerial priesthood, our tradition does recognized ordination as “conferral of the particular ministerial charism by the invocation of the Holy Spirit” so ECS draws the conclusion that this understanding suggests “a basic theological agreement that ordination is sacramental” (ECS ¶177) That is, ordination is “a rite that contains and confers the grace it signifies” (ECS ¶179).

As for the potential “showmanship” that concerns Christina when the priest in the new mass faces the congregation instead of the altar, in my tradition, the minister intentionally faces the congregation in order to show that the whole gathered community participates in this event. All are brought into new life with Christ through baptism, and the people’s participation in Christ through the Lord’s Supper is highlighted through the minister and people facing one another. ECS says, referencing the report from a previous round of dialogue: “Taking part in the Eucharist should lead to God’s baptized, priestly people being more transformed by the Holy Spirit ever more truly into the likeness of Christ, and to a more radical following and imitating  of Christ and in all that he has done for us, so that we ‘enter together more deeply into the saving mystery of Christ.’” (ECS ¶110). Receiving Eucharist is a clear invitation for the people to move more deeply into this imitation of Christ.

The ECS found a movement toward convergence between the two traditions regarding the sacrificial nature of the Eucharist, although the language is somewhat different—Catholics refer to “offering” Christ’s sacrifice while the hymns on the Lord’s Supper speak of “pleading” that sacrifice (ECS ¶195). Both Catholics and Methodists recognize that Christ’s self-sacrifice on our behalf calls forth our own self-sacrifice. As the dialogue report states: “We are called to be a sacrificial people, in communion with Christ’s sacrifice in a way that transforms our life into one of humble and self-giving love for God and our fellow human beings” (ECS ¶96).

One matter over which it would seem that there is an important disagreement between Catholics and Wesleyan Methodists would appear to be transubstantiation. John Wesley’s revision of the Articles of Religion (which serve as doctrinal standards for many Methodists) treat this idea rather harshly. Even here, though, the Catholic WMC dialogue has found some common ground. Because Wesleyan Methodists use language of “real presence,” the report can say that both traditions agree that Christ’s presence is “mediated through the elements of bread and wine” so they become the “’sign par excellence of Christ’s redeeming presence to his people’” (ECS ¶81).

Although Christina does not mention frequency, it does seem important to note that Eucharist is not always received by Wesleyan Methodists every Sunday. Many congregations receive monthly, others receive quarterly, while some do receive every week. The reason for this variety is rooted in our history of being a movement with preachers who itinerated, preaching to people outside parish churches. Even after Methodism became a church, pastors, instead of being stationed in congregations, often remained “circuit riders,” serving several churches on a circuit, so it was not possible to be at every church every Sunday. With this history, it has been Word rather than Table that has often been stressed in my tradition. In recent years, though, with ecumenical dialogues that help us look at our own tradition from the perspective of other Christians, some Wesleyan Methodist congregations have been moved to offer Eucharist weekly so that we can follow John Wesley’s advice to receive the Lord’s Supper “constantly,” in order to be formed as followers of Jesus more deeply. At this point in time, the actual practice of receiving Eucharist is quite varied in my tradition.

The understanding of Eucharist that is being articulated by Wesleyan Methodists and the desire to receive the sacrament more frequently shows how much my tradition has already been enriched by conversation with Catholics. It helps us draw from our own past in intentional ways to use the sacrament more effectively to help us follow Jesus.