Reformation Sunday

Richard Davenport October 30, 2022 - Reformation Sunday Psalm 34 (Introit) The power of words is something that seems to have a lot of people confused these days. How we talk about...how we talk is sending a lot of mixed messages. On one hand, there's a growing resentment against people who hear about some sort of tragedy or misfortune and say, "I'll pray for you," or "My prayers are with you." Granted, some people say that sort of thing because they don't want to get any more involved and don't want to do anything more substantial to help. Others offer to pray but then never actually get around to praying. That's a valid criticism and a fault we often stumble into. The resentment against prayer more often stems from a belief that prayer accomplishes nothing. It's just words. It doesn't help. It doesn't really do anything. Those offering prayers get criticized, "If you really cared, if you really wanted to help, you'd do something tangible. But you don't. You think prayers do something and that by saying a prayer you're somehow helping." On the other hand, you have groups of people who think certain topics, certain ideas are so upsetting that just hearing them being discussed will produce aneurysms in whole segments of the population. Better to stop up the words, prevent the discussions, censor the ideas to make sure no one has to engage with them or understand them. It seems we as a society are unable to decide what to make of words. Words certainly have an effect. If they didn't, we wouldn't have laws against slander and libel. Words can build up or tear down. They can express love and compassion, anger, or complete disinterest. Most courtroom cases are battles of words. Whatever physical evidence there may be, it's the words used that explain how that evidence should be understood. Each side argues its points and jury listens and decides. Speeches can rally troops to a fight or citizens to a cause. Words can bring people together or drive them apart. The Reformation itself was really all about words. Luther, Melanchthon, and the other Lutheran reformers, writing, debating, engaging in dialogue with the Catholic church and the representatives of Calvinism and other Reformed movements. What does the Bible say? What does the Church say? The Pope and his representatives ordered Luther to recant, to take back everything he had said and declare it invalid. The Augsburg Confession and the Apology to the Augsburg Confession are documents containing what the Lutheran reformers were saying. It wasn't just that they were words on paper, but also that the reformers presented and defended them. Words drove the Reformation from the very beginning. Many historians will argue the Reformation truly began when Luther wrote some words on paper and hammered them on to the chapel door which served as the town bulletin board. As those words got circulated on the recently invented printing press, suddenly you had an uproar and this obscure German monk was now a major person of interest. Other historians or theologians might argue that the Reformation really began when Luther came to a realization that God's grace is a free gift. It isn't earned. In truth it can't be earned. Nevertheless, God gives it freely and without restriction to all who seek it. Good works merit nothing toward salvation. That means all of the debates and such that came before Luther fully realized this were secondary. This is what drove Luther's whole theology and pushed him along the course that eventually led to where we are today. This idea of God's free gift of grace is foundational to everything we find in Scripture. It's the most basic idea in the Lutheran church. Christ died to save you from your sins. Christ rose again to make eternal life possible. Christ gives everything he earned to you and he asks nothing in return. There is no payment you could give in exchange for it because anything you might offer would just be further evidence of the sin that pervades every part of who you are. It has to be God's work and it has to be free or none of it would ever be possible. I agree that the revelation to Luther that God's grace is truly free was far more revolutionary than the nailing of the 95 Theses to the chapel door. The 95 Theses could have been resolved. The Pope could have reached out and smoothed things over. The status quo could have been restored. However, once Luther learned of God's free grace, nothing could truly be the same again. Still, for all of that, there's something that I think is even more important. There's something in here that we gloss over too quickly, something that, without which, the promise of grace means nothing, something that became the foundation upon which even that promise of grace was built and which was truly what Luther was fighting for. There is something here that the world continues and will always fight against until the day the Lord returns. In our world today, truth is a fuzzy thing. I can declare that men can be women or women can be men. I can declare that your value is very dependent on the color of your skin or the type of people you're attracted to. I can tell you human beings came from monkeys, who themselves came from lizards, who came from smaller critters, who eventually came out of the hot sludge that covered the earth. I can tell you families are unimportant, that kids don't need parents to grow up and become productive members of society. I can tell you your best life is found in freedom from all cares and concerns, in seeking prosperity so that no one can have any kind of hold over you. I can tell you that you can be free from all unwanted attachments and that you can be beholden to no one. I can tell you all of this and much more and expect you to believe it. I can tell you all of this and expect you to accept it as true, as if my saying it make it true. I can tell you all sorts of things. I can tell you it will rain cows and chickens this afternoon, but that doesn't make it true. I can tell you tornados can take you to the Land of Oz or that if you close your eyes you can wake up in a world such as the Beatles describe, with tangerine trees and marmalade sky, where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pie, but it doesn't happen. I could tell you just about anything I wanted and it wouldn't matter. Over the course of the Reformation, Luther learned a vital lesson. What is said by someone is not as important as who is saying it. I can tell you anything I want. I can tell you things that are fantastic and beyond belief or I can tell you ordinary, mundane things. I can say any sinful thing you say or do will be forgiven and all of it is meaningless. However, if God tells you these things, suddenly it's a very different matter indeed. Suddenly, no matter how unbelievable or fantastic, everything is different. With mankind, all words are just words. With God, words become reality. If I tell you your sins are forgiven, it is, at best, wishful thinking. If, instead, I say that God forgives you and that it is by his command that I announce that forgiveness to you, words have become reality. When it comes to a difference between what people say and what God says, God's word triumphs every time because it is God who says it. If God says his grace is free to all who want it, then it is. It doesn't matter what anyone else says. It doesn't even matter what the church says. God said it, and that's all that matters. When Luther debated with the other reformers, the argument was first and foremost on who said it. However crazy or unbelievable it sounds, the words, "This is my body," and "This is my blood," mean exactly that because it is God who said it. God declares all those who call on him will be lifted up and all of those opposed to him will be cast down. It has already happened and will continue to happen. God was lifted up on the cross and there he triumphed over his enemies, sin, death, and Satan were robbed of their power. Now God declares that this triumph is yours now too. Not because you could find it. Not because you say so, but because he says so. Over the centuries, the Catholic church had been inserting things into the liturgy that it declared were true, declared on its own authority. When Luther was asked to revise the liturgy, he worked studiously to leave the things that came from Scripture, God's own words and promises. These things were true and would always be true. In the service, the Introit, traditionally one of the Psalms, is the point at which the pastor steps up to the altar. He, as the representative of the congregation, enters into God's presence to offer prayers and praise and to prepare to hear God's Word, God speaking to his people again. When Luther reworked the service, he made Psalm 34, our Introit for today, the standard. We are preparing to hear God's Word and so we repeat his words back to him. We acknowledge the truth of his word and the promises he has made. The Lord redeems and none of those who take refuge in him will be condemn. He has promised, so it is true despite any and all evidence the world may show to the contrary. Because this is true and will always be true, I will bless and praise the Lord continually for the mercy he has shown me. Because this is true, I will teach those who will listen about the power and majesty of our Lord and be grateful for the unmerited grace he gives. Because this is true, I will declare his testimonies, his word before those in authority and the whole world, for nothing they say can compare with the solid foundation found only in God. Because this is true, I humble myself before him and boast in the Lord, "who has redeemed me, a lost and condemned person, purchased and won me from all sins, from death, and from the power of the devil; not with gold or silver, but with his holy, precious blood and with his innocent suffering and death, that I may be his own and live under him in his kingdom and serve him in everlasting righteousness, innocence, and blessedness, just as he is risen from the dead, lives and reigns to all eternity. This is most certainly true."