The Gottesdienst Crowd

TGC 112 – Seeing the Pastor as a Man

In this episode, Fritz Eckardt (pastor of St. Paul Evangelical Lutheran Church, Kewanee, IL, and Editor-in-Cheif of Gottesdienst: The Journal of Lutheran Liturugy) and I discuss his Easter 2021 Liturgical Observer column: Maskless: Seeing the Pastor as a Man. Scripture is clear that men are to fill the office of the ministry, but Fritz asks the question: Why? Here we look at the lex in search of a ratio. 

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TGC 111 – The Ascension

In this episode, we discuss The Feast of the Ascension of Our Lord. Why do we celebrate it? How is this feast pivotal to our lives as Christians waiting for and eagerly anticipating Christ's return in glory? Why did he go away? And in departing, does that mean he is truly absent? And if not, how is he with us now. You will see just how profound and glorious this feast is as Rick Stuckwisch (pastor of Emmaus Lutheran Church, South Bend, IN, and Departmental Editor of Gottesdienst: The Journal of Lutheran Liturgy) answers these questions and more. 

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[Gottesblog] "Congregation" – Burnell Eckardt

Congregation

Rod Dreher is either a genius or too much of a pessimist.

He writes for The American Conservative, and is also a prolific Christian philosopher. I’ve been reading his recently published Live Not by Lies, and I recommend it. I hope it’s not prophetic, because if it is, we’re in for a rough span of years, such as the Russians endured for some 70 years. I have to admit, I found myself nodding my head and grunting agreement to no one in particular. He has interviewed Russians who remember when the Bolshevik revolution was beginning to foment, and who then endured 1917, the Red Terror, and the ensuing oppressive years of the communist regime. And, looking at our culture, he sees remarkable similarities, while admitting that there are some key differences. I see the differences too, and we can hope they’re significant enough to keep us from sliding into a totalitarian abyss. Theirs was a hard totalitarianism, ours is creepingly soft—and creepy. He put it like this in an article I also recently read: “Unlike the Bolsheviks, who were hardened revolutionaries, SJWs get their way not by shedding blood but by shedding tears.” But maybe, hopefully, enough people today are awake than are woke, and can somehow stem the tide. Russia had suffered through some very real times of dreadful trouble leading up to the revolution, very much greater than the societal crises that we have been wading through of late. Today’s SJWs are manufacturing trouble we might be able to expose, if enough of us are willing. As I said, we can hope.

There are nevertheless some very troubling changes that have marked our society. One thing we have clearly been losing, and nobody seems to notice or care much, is community. The company of other people. Family. Congregation.

It’s been a long, slow erosion. One could say it began when families began to be taught that smaller is better. That goes back to the mid-20th century with the onset of birth control, with which came the great societal deception by which virtually everyone began to believe that if your family got too large, you’d be in for a world of hurt. You wouldn’t be able to afford it; you’d somehow find yourself in desperate need. And so the ideal family size shrank to four. Five was ok, but six was getting out of hand. The baby boom was really nothing of the kind; it was mostly a contrast from what followed. Families had shrunk, and it happened in such a way that large families—of Catholics, mostly—were looked upon with a subtle shaking of the head. That was the beginning.

Then came the sexual revolution of the 1960s. Engineered by widespread birth control, by now people had learned that maybe they didn’t need families at all. A libertine and hedonistic ideal began to grow on young people, though it was imperfect in the sense that sometimes you could get in trouble. Now, as never before, pregnancies were likely to be considered unwanted rather than celebrated. And along came Roe v. Wade, and the abortion floodgates opened. A culture of death had arrived, and it was scarcely noticed. Infants were being massacred, but it was hid in the antiseptic abortion mills that were kept largely out of the news.

And a sense of community continued to flag.

Then along came the Internet. So widely celebrated a thing it was, benefitting everyone, and without any of the strings of immorality attached. We all learned to love the Internet.

But there was a silent price to pay. Soon social media became the replacement for real gatherings, and a new wave of isolation so subtle washed over society that we didn’t even know we were drowning. Today’s electronics and technical advancements have brought us to the place where we enjoy our immersion in them. Not only ubiquitous TVs, but smart phones too.

And then came COVID. Now, somehow by a diabolical sleight of hand, community was suddenly considered immoral, by a soft totalitarianist inculcation in which great swatches of humanity began to believe. You must stay in your home. You must be socially distanced, or you might spread the disease! You might die! And you might be failing to love your neighbor, just by being with him. Yes, now loving your neighbor means staying away from him! And community is stamped out and lost.

I gasped the other day when I read a pitiful rationalization for online communion. We at Gottesdienst have already provided many reasons this is utterly unacceptable, but here’s another: It’s isolationist, if I may coin a term.

Here’s how the argument goes. Online communion can happen responsibly, by Zoom, because everyone is “in the room.” The pastor can see them all. The pastor speaks the words of consecration while you have your own personal bread and wine in your little square, your little part of the computer screen in front of you, and voila! - you can get your communion right there in your home. This is a Christian “gathering,” an internet gathering, don’t you know! It’s a chat room. We’re all together.

Only we’re not.

Everyone is entirely isolated. Everyone is alone. And there’s no congregation at all. And everyone is even fooled into thinking it’s desirable.

We seem to have forgotten what that word means: congregation. It’s a gathering, a real gathering of real people, physically, in the same room. It has to be. Cyber space is not real space. You might even be sitting there in your pajamas, though maybe with a decent shirt on, because that’s the part the other people will see on their screens. But more to the point, look at a Zoom screen. What do you see? Boxes, cubicles, and everyone is separate. Separated, more accurately.

How do we turn back this dreadful trend, this horrid new reality?

First, I’d suggest, by recognizing it for what it is. And then, I’d also suggest, by simply learning to treasure the real presence of real other people. Get off your cell phone and get out into your own backyard, even. Talk to the neighbor over the fence, whom maybe you haven’t seen since COVID began. Disregard the doomsday prognosticators who have fooled you into thinking that isolation is good. And gather.

And remember your family, too. Cherish them. Take time to be with them, physically, really.

Love one another. Live with one another. Even if only subtly, by small increments. Reject the “new normal,” even if only in this small way.

And come back to church.

Remember the marvelous Good Friday collect: “Almighty God, we beseech Thee graciously to behold this Thy family . . .” Whatever it takes, come back. And if the government should oppress you for doing so, then congregate secretly if you must (as they used to do in the first century). At least—at the very least—learn to yearn for this company, especially the company of your fellow Christians. They need you beside them in the pew, and you need them too.

I pray that Rod Dreher is not a prophet. But it’s abundantly clear to me that even without the dreadful depths into which our society could yet fall, we have already fallen in ways we haven’t even noticed. Well, then, let’s notice them. And let’s learn again to want to be together. And especially to believe in the congregation of saints.

[Gottesblog] "The Age of First Communion, Questioning, and the Mouths of Babes" – David Petersen

The Age of First Communion, Questioning, and the Mouths of Babes

We commune children at Redeemer. Some people don’t like that. They think that children aren’t intellectually or spiritually capable of examining themselves before puberty. They think somewhere around the end of 8th grade is the best time the right time for first communion, a time that happens to be precisely the moment when most world cultures have some rite of passage to indicate that children are no longer children.

Some of these critics have explained to me the glory days. In those days, I am told, confirmation really meant something. It wasn’t the sort of thing that a 6 year old could master and recite the way that they do the Catechism. That being said, these critics themselves never seem to be able to recite the Catechism, even though the children are doing it, nor do they ever seem to know more than a few Bible passages by heart and maybe the 23rd Psalm.

I simply tell that however rigorous and demanding their instruction was, it doesn’t seem to have been very effective. After all, they learned other things in those years, like the long division and the capitals of the States, that they still remember, but they don’t remember much from Confirmation instruction except that it was a great feat and serious.

For my part, I have no desire for the children to remember the rigors of their instruction or how stern and demanding I was, or how much memory work they had. I just want them to remember the actual memory work beyond the day after Questioning and I want them to receive the benefits that Christ has promised to His children for their faith in the Holy Communion.

To that end, we held questioning about a week ago at Redeemer. One of the confirmands, who had already been admitted to the Altar in the rite of First Communion, has downs syndrome. Strangely, none of the critics of early communion ever seem to think that a down syndrome child should have the holy communion withheld from him when he reaches the appropriate age, that is, around the end of 8th grade, even though he might only have the spiritual, emotional, and intellectual maturity and capacity of a 6-year old. In any case, this young man stood with his brothers and sister as they recited the entire catechism, word-for-word, even though he never uttered a syllable until the very end when I asked him who, it is that we worship, since his answer to most every question in this context is “God.” This time he simply said: “Me. Tom Brady” as he pantomimed throwing a football.

But before that endearing response, while the other children recited, he stood statue-like and was silent, except for when I asked them what the Words of Institution were. Then, while the recited the words, without any coaching and by complete surprise, he pantomined the ceremony of the celebrant right in time with the words. When the children said “took bread” he moved his hands from the prayer position to point to a couple of places before him. When they said “this is My Body” he made the sign of the cross over those spaces. After they said “in remembrance of me” he pretended to elevate the host. Then when they said “too the cup” he again pointed to a couple of places and made the sign of the cross over them at the words “in My Blood,” and again elevated an imaginary chalice after “in remembrance of me” before he made the sign of the cross over us all.

Does that mean he can examine himself? Of course it does. What else could it mean?

[Gottesblog] The Sacred and the Profane – Larry Beane

The Sacred and the Profane

By Larry Beane

 

From time to time, Lutherans mock other Lutherans for being overly careful regarding dealing with consecrated elements so as to avoid their profanation. In one recent discussion, a Lutheran pastor wrote:

I understand being reverent, but some of the specific piety is overkill, to the point where the point of the meal is missed. Do you really think if a morsel of bread is dropped to the floor, God in heaven is angry?

Of course, it’s revealing that he sought to minimize the offense by describing the “morsel” not as the body of Christ, but as “bread.” As if we were talking about an errant crumb from a Subway Spicy Italian six-inch sub instead of the flesh of the Creator of the Universe - well, if you believe that sort of thing, I suppose. And for the record, nobody suggested that this had anything to do with God’s wrath.

I have often read mockery directed toward fastidiousness regarding the consecrated elements, as if such caution was something to be avoided or held up to ridicule.

How different from our fathers in the faith, including Drs. Luther and Bugenhagen (in an incident quoted by Edward Frederick Peters, The Origin and Meaning of the Axiom: “Nothing Has the Character of a Sacrament Outside of the Use” [Fort Wayne, Indiana: Concordia Theological Seminary Press, 1993], p. 191):

[In 1542, in Wittenberg] a woman wanted to go to the Lord’s Supper, and then as she was about to kneel on the bench before the altar and drink, she made a misstep and jostled the chalice of the Lord violently with her mouth, so that some of the Blood of Christ was spilled from it onto her lined jacket and coat and onto the rail of the bench on which she was kneeling. So then when the reverend Doctor Luther, who was standing at a bench opposite, saw this, he quickly ran to the altar (as did also the reverend Doctor Bugenhagen), and together with the curate, with all reverence licked up [the Blood of Christ from the rail] and helped wipe off this spilled Blood of Christ from the woman’s coat, and so on, as well as they could. And Doctor Luther took this catastrophe so seriously that he groaned over it and said, “O, God, help!” and his eyes were full of water.

I wonder how many modern pastors would mock Luther - or even one of their contemporary brethren - for licking the spilled blood of Christ from the communion rail.

And this was not the only time Dr. Luther licked up the spilled blood of the Lord. As Fr. William Weedon wrote back in 2007, referring to a sixteenth century account by Johann Hachenburg:

Or consider how, when he spilled the chalice and it fell to the floor, he carefully set the chalice back on the altar and got on his hands and knees and lapped it up off the floor like a dog - upon which the congregation burst into tears.

I believe that our sense of the separation between the sacred and the profane has degraded since the days of our fathers in the faith. And this is understandable. For us 21st century Americans, we routinely see churches that look less like churches and more like strip malls or concert halls. Church music is increasingly secularized. Vestments are often downplayed, and the sense that worship is “set apart” from the common, ordinary life is increasingly minimalized and marginalized, if not outright combined and conjoined.

It makes one cringe to hear pastors and well-catechized laity refer to the consecrated elements as “bread” and “wine” instead of what they are by virtue of the miracle of encountering our Lord’s Word: the very body and blood of Christ. Of course, they are also bread and wine. It is a both/and and not an either/or. But in the same way that one would speak of one’s own child as one’s “son” or “daughter” as opposed to describing him as “some kid.” Of course, your own child is “some kid,” but what would cause a parent to speak in this way, ignoring the more sublime reality to settle on a technically-true generality?

But I believe that we are seeing a much more general trend in the failure to discern the sacred from the profane.

I recently had a commenter on my Facebook timeline use a certain expression of profanity that was very crass and vulgar. When I asked him to refrain, given that I’m a pastor and that I do have ladies and children who will see it, he was rather agitated.

What I found most amazing is that he is a proud Southerner. And traditional Southern culture is one of chivalry. Southern men of every socioeconomic level are traditionally raised to show deference to ladies and to children - especially by a desire to assist and to refrain from giving offense. Southern men can indeed curse with the best of their Yankee counterparts - and they do. But it has always been a hallmark of our region to make a distinction in matters of speech and manners. And when a man doesn’t make such a distinction, it is supposed that he “wasn’t raised right.” And of course, I’m being a bit tongue-in-cheek, as all regions of the country used to display such deference. It has always been stressed in Southern culture.

And this sense of distinction is what holiness is - to set apart, to remove one’s sandals on holy ground, to bow to the ground before God, and to adorn the places where God physically appears differently than one would decorate a common, ordinary living area.

The distinction between the sacred and the profane has been muddled in our modern age, and especially in the last couple decades. Words that used to be off-limits on broadcast television are routinely used. Topics addressed in commercials are now wide-open, with no sense that some things should not be discussed in front of children.

My Southern friend worded his defense of using any level of profanity whenever and wherever he liked in a curious way. I asked him if he would use such language in front of his mother, or his children, or in church, or at Bible class. His response was telling:

If I had children I would encourage them to speak how they feel not what is excepted [sic], freedom of speech is freedom of speech there is no exception and I would expect my children and grown adults to be comfortable speaking their minds freely!! I’m not for everyone and as far as church is conscerned [sic] wherever my feet are planted is my church and God is always my guide.

Of course, if he had children, he might see things differently, but then again, maybe not. I often hear parents saying the most vulgar things in front of even very small children, and it is distressing that from a young age, children are not learning boundaries. They are taught that the way we conduct ourselves in the gym, the playground, or the locker-room is the same as we carry ourselves in church, at a funeral, or at a formal dinner.

Interestingly, he openly makes no distinction between a holy place, like a church, and “wherever [his] feet are planted.” In his worldview, God doesn’t make such distinctions either.

Moreover, in the larger culture, the way we treat women is the same way that we treat men - because after all, there is no distinction between the sexes. All religions are also the same. To most people, bread that has been consecrated is just like bread that hasn’t been. A church building is no holier than a parking garage (because God is everywhere).

On a side note, this downplaying of, and opposition to, distinctions is a hallmark of Gnosticism. This point is driven home in the Fr. Peter Burfeind’s book: Gnostic America: A Reading of Contemporary American Culture & Religion according to Christianity's Oldest Heresy.

We are increasingly unable to make distinctions and to discern between that which is common and that which is holy. For us Lutherans, as sacramental Christians whose confession is that Christ is physically present in the blessed elements, we really need to double down in what we say and do with regard to that which is holy, lest we contribute to the trend of profanation, and thereby give the impression that we don’t believe what our Lord clearly told us in the Words of Institution.

And if we’re not going to be cautious with the holy things - as much as we would be cautious with caustic chemicals or high voltage electricity - then what do we really believe about what holiness is? Or more basic than that, what do we believe regarding what Jesus teaches us?

Maybe that is the question we really need to be addressing: What do we believe?

[Gottesblog] "Wrestling With the Saints" – Larry Beane

Wrestling With the Saints

In a discussion about praying to the dead, a Roman Catholic FB friend was critical of a Protestant FB friend. They went back and forth while I scooped popcorn into my mouth and enjoyed the show. Full contact theology is way more entertaining than MMA fights that inevitably become grappling on the floor, and you don’t have to pay for cable. Real theological debate is more lively, like the old Big Time Wrestling that my cousins and I used to watch on Saturday mornings.

The Roman Catholic guy went for the takedown:

The Catholic [sic] Church endorses both prayer for the dead to get into heaven and to the righteous dead to make our case before God. I know this is anathema to you because it is not in your Bible. It used to be, but Luther kicked Maccabees out of the Protestant Bible and called it a nasty name --- Apocrypha--- thing about which there is doubt. It was part of scripture at the Time of Jesus. It appears to me that Luther did that because he disagreed with its teaching. Can a murderer get rid of the 7th commandment? No. So, I have Maccabees. You have Luther kicking it out. Not sure what else you have saying Maccabees is bad. I am confident we will find out who is right on the last day.

At this point, I threw down my tub of popcorn with yellow grease, grabbed a folding chair, and jumped into the ring. For a moment I was back to my childhood with my aunts and cousins in a smoke-filled Akron Armory, watching men in tights pretend to fight each other to the roar of the drunken crowd.

But I didn’t fight dirty, unless telling the truth is considered out of bounds. I replied:

2 Maccabees is quoted in our Confessions three times, and is explicitly called "Scripture." Our confessions also quote the Book of Tobit (four times). The Apocrypha was published in all Lutheran Bibles until they began to speak English and bought Bibles from the Protestants. Russian Lutheran Bibles also include these books, and the Russian Lutherans refer to them as deuterocanonical.

Moreover, the passage you are referring to (2 Macc 15:14) says that the dead pray - not that we pray to them. We Lutherans certainly confess that the dead pray for us (Apology 21:9). Our issue is that there is nothing in Scripture indicating that we are to pray to them or that they can even hear our prayers.

The early church - and indeed the Roman Church until Trent - made a distinction between the Greek Old Testament books (which we call the Apocrypha, and which you call Deuterocanon) and the Hebrew - just as the early church (as do Lutherans) distinguish between the New Testament books known as the Antilegomena and the Homolegoumena. The early church did not draw doctrine solely from the witness of the Antilegomena or the Greek OT books (Apocrypha/Deuterocanon), whether from the Old or New Testaments, but required additional witness.

It was only at the Council of Trent - which the papal church refused to call until after Luther's death - that the deuterocanonical books were received as equal witnesses to the rest of Scripture.

And so it is the Lutherans whose treatment of Scripture aligns with the fathers, and it is Rome who changed and innovated.

I get that we are in disagreement, but as Christians we are called to be honest in stating what our opponents believe. The great St. Thomas Aquinas is a stellar example of this kind of precision in argumentation.

And then, after making an appeal to fight fair, I cracked him over the head with my chair, smashed his face into the turnbuckle, and held him down for the pin - but of course, the referee was distracted, and I only got a two-count. Some guy called “The Inquisitor” climbed into the ring, snuck up on me, and knocked me out cold. That’s the last I remember.

But my aunts and cousins thought it was a good show.

TGC 110 – Rogation Days

In this episode, we discuss Rogation Days. We look at the history and practice of Rogation Days. We listen to Luther's advice on observing them rightly, and talk about how one might in our current context bring this practice back so that our people are instructed in prayer and faith to ask God for mercy, help, and protection from every calamity of body and soul and where we find this mercy, help, and protection. Mark Braden (pastor of Zion Evangelical Lutheran Church, Detroit, MI, and Departmental Editor of Gottesdienst: The Journal of Lutheran Liturgy) joins us for this discussion.

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[Gottesblog] "Apostolic Succession in the Roman Catholic and Lutheran Churches" – Larry Beane

Apostolic Succession in the Roman Catholic and Lutheran Churches

I ran across an interesting website: https://www.catholic-hierarchy.org/.

It is actually a database of all Roman Catholic bishops, past and present, with their histories. What is really fascinating is that their chain of consecrations are listed, their “family tree” of having hands laid on them by bishops. For Roman Catholics, this unbroken chain of apostolic succession of bishops is considered to be absolutely necessary in their theology for the confection of the sacraments. Or so it seems.

Here’s the problem: their records of consecrations don’t even go back as far as the Reformation.

I looked at the episcopal lineages of popes Francis, Benedict, and John Paul. Their consecrations find a common “ancestor” in Pope Clement XIII - who was consecrated in 1743. I looked up the local Roman Catholic archbishop of New Orleans, Gregory Aymond. His “ancestry” also runs through pope Clement XIII. Ditto for his predecessor Alfred Hughes. And his predecessor Francis Schulte. And his predecessor Philip Hannan. As a random exercise, I plugged in the bishop of Owensboro, Kentucky: William Medley. Yes, him too.

Just for kicks, I looked up the bishop of Mombassa, Kenya (Martin Musonde). Yes, his lineage also runs through Clement XIII, and in fact, he shares a closer link with Abp. Aymond of New Orleans, going back to Pope Pius X (1884). They’re practically kissing cousins.

Here is what is interesting: Pope Clement XIII’s lineage (and thus, it seems, all modern Roman bishops) hits a dead end with Scipone Cardinal Rebiba, the titular Roman Catholic patriarch of Constantinople, who was consecrated as a bishop in 1541. But we have no idea who consecrated him. The line of records stops here. Thus, the oldest recorded history of episcopal lineage for modern Roman bishops is more recent than the Reformation!

Interestingly, there are also no lineages for the first several hundred years of popes. The second bishop of Rome, Linus (served 68-79 AD), has no known lineage. Neither does Gregory the Great (590-604). John XVII - pope in the year 1000 - has no known lineage. Pope Julius III - pope in 1500 - has only two known generations. Leo X (of Reformation fame) has a whopping four generations. That’s it.

So Rome, who ostensibly bases its entire validity on canonical episcopal consecration cannot even trace its own clergy back to the Reformation. Roman Catholics simply have to take it on faith that their bishops (and thus the priests they ordain) are legitimate.

Scandinavian Lutheran bishops - and their “descendants” in the Baltics, Russia, and Africa - are likewise consecrated in apostolic succession (though not recognized as such by Rome), as the custom of traditional polity (bishop, priest, and deacon) and episcopal ordination were retained by the Scandinavian Lutherans as salutary traditions in accordance with the desire to do as so stated in our Book of Concord (Ap 14:1).

German Lutheran pastors after the Reformation were not ordained by bishops - but rather by other pastors - in a kind of presbyterial succession - which has indeed happened in antiquity and in the middle ages. This is so because Lutheran pastors do not ordain themselves, nor are they ordained by the laity. Our confessions speak of the church ordaining pastors “using their own pastors for this purpose” (SA 3:10, Tr 72). Dr. Arthur Carl Piepkorn referred to this as a “de facto succession of ordained ministers,” and he points out that Jerome considered not only bishops, but presbyters as well, to be “successors of the apostles.”

Piepkorn cites several historical instances of presbyters ordaining other presbyters and deacons, including in second century Alexandria and Lyons, as well as the Council of Ancyra (314) that includes a canon (13) that speaks to presbyters carrying out ordinations. Piepkorn also points out that John Cassian (360-435) records the fact that the Egyptian presbyter-abbot Paphnutius ordained his succesor both as a deacon and as a priest, and also that while before their episcopal consecrations, Sts. Willehad and Liudger, in the eighth century, were carrying out ordinations. Piepkorn also cites historical records from the thirteenth and even the fifteenth centuries - including papal bulls - recognizing presbyterial ordinations as valid (see “The Minister of Ordination in the Primitive and Medieval Church,” page 80 of The Church: Selected Writings of Arthur Carl Piepkorn).

It seems that the Roman Catholic rejection of Lutheran orders based on our lack of canonically-consecrated bishops as ministers of ordination (as we find in the Papal Confutation in response to AC14) is not based on consistent theology and practice in the Roman Church.

Piepkorn participated in “Lutherans and Catholics in Dialogue” - which yielded some surprising conclusions (see Volume IV on Eucharist and Ministry). One of the Roman participants (Fr. George Tavard) concluded that presbyterial successions are a matter of history, and said:

I would be prepared to go further, and to admit that episcopal succession is not absolutely required for valid ordination…. The main problem, in our ecumenical context, does not lie in evaluating historical lines of succession, but in appreciating the catholicity of Protestantism today.

Fellow participant Fr. Harry McSorley concluded, after a thorough study of the Council of Trent:

We can say without qualification that there is nothing whatever in the Tridentine doctrine on sacrament of order concerning the reality of the eucharist celebrated by Christians of the Reformation churches. Catholic theologians who have maintained that there is no sacrament of the body and blood of Christ in Protestant churches because Protestant ministers are radically incapable of consecrating the eucharist are incorrect if they think this opinion is necessitated by the teaching of Trent.

Of course, we Lutherans don’t really care whether or not the papal church recognizes our ordinations or our eucharists as valid (though they do as a matter of course recognize our baptisms). But when examined in light of both actual history and the history of their theology, their exclusive claims regarding apostolicity come unraveled, even by their own pronouncements.

And here is the final irony: while modern Roman Bishops cannot prove their line of consecrations even as far back as the Reformation, Lutheran bishops consecrated by means of the Swedish line, can indeed trace their lineages back further. This paper includes an appendix showing the succession of Swedish bishops back to its Roman Catholic “ancestor” who was consecrated in 1524. This means that confessional Lutheran bishops in various church bodies around the world have a greater claim to apostolic succession in the historical sense than even the Roman pope.

Here is the episcopal lineage of the Church of Sweden from the paper “Den apostoliska successionen i Svenska kyrkan. En studie av den apostoliska successionens roll i dialogen med Church of England.”

6. Appendix: Svenska kyrkans historiskt dokumenterade vigningslinje

Paris de Grassi, biskop av Pesaro, vigde 1524 i sitt hus i Rom
Petrus Magni till biskop för Västerås stift som 1531 vigde
Laurentius Petri till ärkebiskop för Uppsala stift som 1536 vigde
Botvid Sunesson till biskop för Strängnäs stift som 1554 vigde
Paul Juusten till biskop för Viborgs stift (1563 Åbo) som 1575 vigde
Laurentius Petri Gothus till ärkebiskop för Uppsala stift som 1577 vigde
Andreas Laurentii Björnram till biskop för Växjö stift (1583 Uppsala) som 1583 vigde
Petrus Benedicti till biskop för Västerås stift (1587 Linköping) som 1594 vigde
Abraham Angermannus till ärkebiskop för Uppsala stift som 1595 vigde
Petrus Kenicius till biskop för Skara stift (1608 Strängnäs, 1609 Uppsala) som 1601 vigde
Olaus Martini till ärkebiskop för Uppsala stift som 1608 vigde
Laurentius Paulinus Gothus till biskop för Skara stift (1609 Strängnäs, 1637 Uppsala) som 1641 vigde
Jonas Magni Wexionensis till biskop för Skara stift som 1647 vigde
Johannes Lenaeus till ärkebiskop för Uppsala stift som 1668 vigde
Johannes Baazius d.y. till biskop för Växjö stift (1673 Skara, 1677 Uppsala) som 1678 vigde
Olaus Svebilius till biskop för Linköpings stift (1681 Uppsala) som 1695 vigde
Mattias Steuchius till biskop för Lunds stift (1714 Uppsala) som 1726 vigde
Eric Benzelius d.y. till biskop för Göteborgs stift (1731 Linköping, 1742 Uppsala) som 1742 vigde
Henrik Benzelius till biskop för Lunds stift (1747 Uppsala) som 1757 vigde
Carl Fredrik Mennander till biskop för Åbo stift (1775 Uppsala) som 1781 vigde
Uno von Troil till biskop för Linköpings stift (1786 Uppsala) som 1787 vigde
Jacob Axelsson Lindblom till biskop för Linköpings stift (1805 Uppsala) som 1809 vigde
Carl von Rosenstein till biskop för Linköpings stift (1819 Uppsala) som 1824 vigde
Johan Olof Wallin till biskop för Kungliga Serafimerorden (1837 Uppsala) som 1839 vigde
Hans Olof Holmström till biskop för Strängnäs stift (1852 Uppsala) som 1855 vigde
Henrik Reuterdahl till biskop för Lunds stift (1856 Uppsala) som 1864 vigde
Anton Niklas Sundberg till biskop för Karlstad stift (1870 Uppsala) som 1890 vigde
Martin Johansson till biskop för Härnösand stift som 1904 vigde
Olof Bergquist till biskop för Luleå stift som 1932 vigde
Erling Eidem till ärkebiskop för Uppsala stift som 1948 vigde
Gunnar Hultgren till biskop för Visby stift (1950 Härnösand, 1958 Uppsala) som 1959 vigde
Ruben Josefsson till biskop för Härnösand stift (1967 Uppsala) som 1970 vigde
Olof Sundby till biskop för Växjö stift (1972 Uppsala) som 1975 vigde
Bertil Werkström till biskop för Härnösand stift (1983 Uppsala) som 1986 vigde
Gunnar Weman till biskop för Luleå stift (1993 Uppsala) som 1995 vigde
Anders Wejryd till biskop för Växjö stift som blev ärkebiskop för Uppsala stift 2006

As an appendix to the appendix, Paris de Grassi, also known as Paride de Grassis (the bishop of Pesaro Italy who consecrated the first Swedish bishop), has a few more “generations” in his lineage:

Achille Cardinal Grassi † (1506)
Bishop of Bologna

• Pope Julius II (1481)
  (Giuliano della Rovere †)

• Pope Sixtus IV (1471)
  (Francesco della Rovere, O.F.M. †)

• Guillaume Cardinal d’Estouteville, O.S.B. †
  Cardinal-Bishop of Ostia (e Velletri)

Cardinal Guillaume was consecrated a bishop in 1439.

Thus modern Lutheran bishops have historical documentation of their successions dating back to 1439 - more than a century earlier than Roman bishops, whose records dead-end at 1541.

[Gottesblog] "Pastors: Be Comfortable in Your Own Skin" – Larry Beane

Pastors: Be Comfortable in Your Own Skin

When I was a first-year seminarian, one of our professors told us that we had to become comfortable in our own skin. He advised us to buy a clerical shirt and go walk around the mall. Of course, it’s awkward to do this for the first time. People look at you. You feel weird. But it’s an important rite of passage to begin to see oneself leaving the secular world and being formed into a pastor, leaving behind the old life, and becoming a fisher of men.

The reactions that one gets varies, depending on time and place.

My first time wearing a clerical shirt was more than 20 years ago, and culturally-speaking, it might as well be a hundred years. In the present, the Church is increasingly pressed to the margins. Christians are more and more hated. Pastors are targets of the devil’s wrath as much now as in any time in recent years.

Of course, it’s easy to bury one’s talent and cover up one’s vocation. It’s a simple thing to hide one’s discomfort in one’s own skin, which is to say, to lurk around like Peter in denial of who one is, as one who is linked to Jesus in hostile times: to just dress like everyone else and fly under the radar.

One of our professors who was retiring (an ordained man who never wore clericals) even mocked pastors and seminarians who wore the collar as he preached a final sermon at chapel. Men of his generation really seem to have a hang-up about it. Of all the things to say in his final proclamation of Jesus to seminarians, he just felt compelled to take that swipe.

Early in my ministry, the older pastors mocked their typically-younger colleagues who wore the black shirt outside of the Sunday service. The older pastors were generally well-heeled and sported the suit and tie, or perhaps a polo shirt and khaki pants. I even had a lay church worker on one occasion joining the fun by mocking the “blackshirts” as well.

I attended a district convention a couple years out of seminary, and I remember being in the minority as a pastor wearing a clerical shirt. I left the elevator, and a gaggle of my “brothers” mocked me on the way out with a snarky comment and laughter. Cowards. They literally waited until the door was closing to take their Parthian shot. I suspect there were low testosterone issues. Somebody, after all, is buying the product from Pfizer that is not a Covid vaccination.

I remember older pastors, and even district presidents, who insisted on dressing like the laity and introducing themselves by their first names. It was an affectation of the Woodstock and Casual Friday generation. It certainly gave the impression that these men were not comfortable in their own skin, but sought to blend in with the salesmen, bankers, and CEOs, not desiring the target on the back or the burden of everyone knowing that they were supposedly Jesus’ called servants, fishers of men.

Thankfully, as pastors of a certain age have been riding into the sunset, heading to the glue factory, and being replaced by younger pastors, this kind of nonsense is going the way of the rotary phone and bell bottoms. But there are still a few of these insufferable types in circulation.

Not too long ago, I was out of town and attended a congregation that was recommended. Unbeknownst to me, the pastor took a call, and the parish was then being served by a baby-boomer interim. My wife and a friend were sitting with me in the pew. We were dressed for church. I was in my clericals. The pastor came to our pew and right away started with the clerical jokes: “You wear your clericals on vacation? Do you sleep in them?”

OK Boomer.

Next, he explained that he had served previously in a southern state where if he wore clericals, people would think he was an exorcist. He crossed his index fingers as if warding off a demon. I wanted to say, “Well, you are an exorcist.” But I opted for politely smiling instead.

Thanks be to God that this kind of buffoonery and cluelessness is on the wane. Younger pastors are indeed more comfortable in their skin. Unlike their retirement-aged colleagues, they have read the passage in Bo Giertz’s Hammer of God in which the older pastor addresses a younger colleague who desires to be seen just as an ordinary person, and was refusing to wear his clericals. He said:

Would you respect an officer who as a matter of principle appeared at maneuvers in mufti? Or a Salvation Army soldier who doffed his uniform when his corps was assembled in the market square?” Torvik was becoming irritated. “You must certainly understand that I want to come as an ordinary human being.” But the rector continued his argument. “Then you are sailing under false colors. You are no ordinary person. You have been ordained by the Church as a servant of the Word. You have been elected and called by the Christian congregation at Ödesjö to be its pastor. You get support from the fields which godly forbears donated for the pastor’s upkeep. It is pure dishonesty to take the money, if you want to be just an ordinary person.”

Clerical garb, whether a clerical shirt and collar or a cassock, is a kind of uniform. It identifies the office that the man holds. Can you imagine a United States Marine who would be embarrassed to wear his dress blues? Can you imagine a pilot in the Air Force who would be ashamed to sport his wings? Even Muslim women are comfortable enough in their own skin to wear an identifying mark of their religious beliefs - even while eating at a fast-food restaurant or shopping. One would think that Christian pastors - especially those of us who come from a tradition of a “uniform” - would be comfortable enough in our skin to be identified as one of Christ’s men, a shepherd of the church, one who is under holy orders to preach, teach, absolve, and administer sacraments.

I’m being a bit rough on the boomers here, and I want to acknowledge that there are exceptions to the insufferable nature of their generational culture. That generation had (and has) its own rebels and non-conformists in the ranks. Many of our editors at Gottesdienst took on their contemporaries at a time when it was very unpopular to do so, when defying the general culture in Lutheran circles caused pastors to pay a price, whether it be personal or professional. These men paved the way for those of us who came along later, even as many of us are now seen as “elder statesmen” by confessional pastors currently coming out of seminary.

We are grateful for the guys who took the slings and arrows of a culture formed by Vatican II, by Roman Catholic priests in suits and ties and nuns in blue jeans, by the dumbing down of liturgy and hymnody, and the uglification of church architecture. It took courage to stand up to the pietistic and bureaucratic powers-that-be before they started walking with canes and inserting hearing aids.

The pendulum is thankfully coming back in the other direction. Younger Lutherans generally don’t want non-liturgical worship, nor do they want pastors who are not comfortable in their skin. We are living in dark times. Being identified as a pastor is often uncomfortable. And this is exactly why the members of the ministerium need to be courageous and comfortable in their own skin. We need to be easily identifiable to Christians everywhere. We need to be willing to be identified as one of Jesus’ men, to be clearly marked as such, to friend and foe alike.

We are at war. And we are the shepherds, the officers, the ones charged with putting our hat on our sword and riding to the sound of the guns. This is not a time for timidity. We must put on the whole armor of God, which for us pastors, includes the insignia of our office. And in the words of the old song:

With our front in the field, swearing never to yield,
Or return like the Spartan in death on our shield.

Of course, I’m not trying to set a law and say that we should never dress causally at any time. But increasingly, we are being called to be pastors everywhere - not just on Sunday morning in the chancel. And so when we are going to be in public, whether at the grocery store, the restaurant, or the airport, we would do well to consider putting on the uniform and being comfortable in our own skin. And as for those respectability-seeking haters and hiders, they are increasingly dropping out of sight, and even those who remain are increasingly impotent. Let their casual culture die off with them. And instead, may our young (and not so young) pastors gird up their loins, be comfortable in their own skin, and be prepared to hoist the black flag and go into mortal combat against the devil, at any time and in any place.

TGC 109 – Racism and the Church, Part 2

Racism has become a household word, dividing our country, our churches, and our families and friends. In Part 1, Larry Beane and I discuss the postmodern roots of the modern race and culture debates, and how they are influencing the voice of the church. In this episode, we look at what the Bible says about racism and what it has to say about the modern usage of the charge "Racist." 

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