Men and Angels Sing

There are moments no camera, microphone, canvas, or poetry can capture. They must be lived.

One such moment of transcendent wonder was the night of Jesus' birth which must have been etched forever in the minds of anonymous shepherds who first received the great and joyous news that their Savior was born in Bethlehem.

Glory shone around them, but the glory "of the Lord" is a singular grade of splendor not reproducible through an artist's brush or poet's pen.

Thomas Kindade, the popular "painter of light" has portrayed on canvass a Jerusalem sunset and a sunrise on the Sea of Galilee. Another, called "The Good Shepherd's Cottage" is described in brochures as "utterly comfortable" and "radiant with light." But should he attempt to capture the field of Bethlehem washed with the glory of the Lord, I imagine the shepherds would politely decline it as nothing near what they saw. The splendor of the Lord was neither soft nor mellow.

Rather, this glory unnerved and overwhelmed the shepherds --- and, mind you, these were not men easily upset. The Bethlehem shepherds were not delicate fellows. They earned a masculine and wearing livelihood. They weathered the elements. They drove away predators. Familiar with sling and staff they clearly were not shy or timorous men.

Yet the presence of one angel made them faint of heart, and the glory of the Lord filled them with fear. Hard-edged men, tough, veteran fellows quaked with fear. We usually don't dwell on this part of the Christmas story. In fact, perhaps too hastily we picture ourselves in their sandals and think how enchanting to be visited by an angel.

It must be remembered however that any emissary from Almighty God is not someone to meet casually. Yes, the angelic declaration is gladsome, but it is also sobering. I've wondered about our ordinary greeting of "Merry Christmas." To me the word merry suggests a cheery joviality of wassail and spiced punch.

However, let us never be casual or cavalier with the awesomeness of Christmas. The scene of trembling shepherds reminds us no matter how rugged, practical, or composed a man may think himself to be, no matter how sure of himself, unflappable, levelheaded, or cool, the bare glory of the Lord reduces all men to jelly.

One may be a roughneck, but coming face to face with the glory of the Lord is a seriously seismic moment.

For angels also.

Bear in mind, as this was no ordinary night for the shepherds, neither was it for the holy angels. I don't think it adequate to call them "merry." They were jubilant. As sacred ambassadors with a message of overwhelming importance to the world, they delivered it in the exultant strains of an anthem echoing ever since, "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!"

There is nothing routine in this holy night for the angels. Even though they had witnessed great events from creation to the giving of the Law, even though a cherub was stationed at the entrance of Paradise armed with a flaming sword, even though angels of light guided Hebrews in the desert, contended with Satan for the body of Moses, and fill prophetic literature nothing rivaled this night. They had long sung His praises and adoring His holiness, but this night is the superlative hour.

This night is God's magnum opus, a divine tour de force. In Bethlehem is revealed an act of God so amazingly beautiful that it must bring forth the full choirs of angels to sing the heavenly song of peace and goodwill even to an audience of lowly shepherds.

Here was not jolly news to jingle about, but the universal Gospel. Here were momentous tidings of great joy for which the world had waited thousands of years. It was the glorious and magnificent information that told of God and His care and love for mankind. The battle for the salvation of all people from sin and death would not come through legions of angels or by the ranks of tough and sturdy men. It would be waged by a single baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

The angels can only watch with awe. The shepherds can only go and see this wonder. Neither light-invested angels nor strapping men familiar with hard toil will be able to do what this newborn Christ will do. In this child is God's ultimate commitment of Himself. He has made His eternal Son a man-child. He has made the Son of God not only lower than the angels but lower even than these earthy shepherds.

God has humbled Himself and exchanged His glory for the gore of a cross to come. This too, no pen or paintbrush, no human word or wisdom can fathom.

It must be lived.

And Jesus Christ lived it. He lived our life. He took on our nature and our burdens. He lived our sorrows and assumed our sins. And then He endured our death. He came and completed what choirs of men and angels will sing about for all eternity -- the gladsome truth that the Savior of the world is Christ the Lord.

It Ain't Easy

1 Corinthians 9:24-27

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.

The Christian vocation calls for maximum exertion of thought, speech, will, and endurance along with plain guts. To say the least, it is difficult to live by faith in Jesus Christ. The hard work of a Christian is too frequently ignored by arm-chair Christians and, I’ll admit, not often enough preached.

Of all human callings the most difficult is a profession of Christ. It has nothing to do with talent. Whether one is clever or clumsy, whether mentally challenged or excels, the demand is the same. Let me be blunt: self-governance of thought, speech, and will is not just difficult, it is impossible. None of us has mastery of the tongue (James 3:8), of unruly thoughts, or of a flaccid will?

I have tried to picture even one day perfectly lived in Christian faith and discipline, a day without regret or shame. If I can't even imagine such, how shall I achieve it? In all my years I have yet to boast of one hour of reaching righteousness let alone a day. No Christian can manufacture perfection.

In sports one may hope one day to bowl a perfect 300. The amateur may accidentally heave a full court basketball into the hoop -- once. The no-hitter in baseball is rare but isn't impossible. But reaching moral perfection and righteousness before God by talent, effort, or luck is hopeless. To imagine otherwise is delusional.

In his letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul does not promote a “zone” of Christian action by which to earn God's praise and achieve a little private satisfaction. It is said of athletes that being "in the zone” is an exhilarating experience. The truth is that being a Christian is most often wearisome hardship, persecution with continual struggle and strain. (2 Tim. 3:12)

Of his record-setting performance in Game 1 of the 1992 NBA Finals, Michael Jordan said, "I couldn't miss. The threes were like free throws; they just kept dropping. I was in a zone. It's like it doesn't matter what they do [to stop me]." The ”zone” seems to be a charmed place where mind and body work in perfect synchronization and seemingly without conscious effort. You can be sure this doesn’t describe the Christian life of which St. Paul writes.

“Without conscious effort,” “perfect synchronization,” and “charmed” don’t describe Christian faith and duty. The Christian life is hard-charging discipline of thought, effort, and will.

Paul doesn’t picture Christians as a gaggle of runners all competing to see who is better, but of spiritual athletes striving to live out that best of all lives given us in Christ.

It’s not about scoring higher or accumulating better statistics. The Christian is anyone who lives by faith in Jesus Christ, and the person who thinks that’s easy doesn’t know what faith is in actual practice.

The discipline and struggle of the Christian, the enormously difficult self-control and exercise of love is not what makes someone a Christian. Rather, it exemplifies Christ, confesses him, and reflects His living presence in us.

Our Christian life, for now, is here on earth where the life of faith is a cycle that begins with the gift of the Holy Spirit, concentrates on reception of grace and mercy through meditation on God's word, and results in spiritual attack. This in turn leads a person back to further prayer and intensive meditation. It is rigorous spiritual labor.

A Christian must not be a sofa spud or deadbeat. A Christian must not be aimless or worthless. Anyone who contributes nothing, volunteers nothing, tries nothing, changes nothing, and never takes a stab at living by faith is not a Christian -- NOT because he has to do something hard to become one but because a living faith in Christ dares to believe. We believe that for us Christ contributed everything, volunteered everything, endured the consummate struggle, and redeemed the world through His own sacrificial life, death, and resurrection.

If someone believes this, then the new life must, of necessity, will oppose with every fiber a flabby, carnal, and meaningless existence.

The Christian disciplines himself. He works and serves and struggles because he has not been called to be a bystander or mere spectator. He has been called into life -- robust, vital, and gusty life in Christ.

When it is so easy to be limp, baggy, or wilted, let us confess our puny faith and give thanks that living out the Christian life isn't easy.

“Enter by the narrow gate,” Jesus said. “For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.” (Matthew 7:13-14)

Hear, hear!

Sound Fit for a King

Death Sentence Sermon

Genesis 3:15

I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel.”

In Genesis 3, God preaches an Advent sermon to Satan. With no cute or clever delivery, God simply preaches the Advent of His Son, Jesus Christ, the woman’s offspring and Satan’s doom.

God speaks to the essential point which must be resolved. What is to be done about sin and it mastermind?

The Word of God is unambiguous. He makes no concession to demons who stir God's children to transgress His Word. Not for a moment will He endure sin without answer.

Here is God's counter-blow. There will be enmity; there will be hostility because no agreement can exist between darkness and light.

“For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness? What accord has Christ with Belial? Or what portion does a believer share with an unbeliever? What agreement has the temple of God with idols?” (2 Cor. 6:14b-16a)

The first Advent sermon was a death sentence. Satan didn’t come away bewildered by a wrong impression. God unmistakably set down what He would do and endure to redeem His people.

God conclusively declared that He would give over His Son, born of a woman, to bear the poison of death for each of us.

There would be fatal conflict between the evil one and the pure beloved Son of the Father. There would be no middle ground.

All Christ-centered preaching is direct address. It is not give and take, negotiable nor elastic. Preaching is divine monologue which, without compromise or concession, proclaims Christ alone as God and Savior.

Ever since this investiture of the Gospel Satan has sought to bleach and neuter Advent. Short of having his crushing defeat annulled, and unable to conquer Christ, the devil haggles for parity, still to make a fight of it. But God preached the conquest of Satan, sin, and death by the coming of Christ. The preaching of Christ in Genesis 3 was not a set-back for Satan. Rather, it was his shattering.

Without Christ’s Advent, there would be no life for us, no future and no joy.

I often hear Christians lament how Christ is being taken from Christmas by substitution of “holiday” trees or the safer “seasons greetings.” But I believe Satan is far more interested in taking Christ out of Advent and Advent from you.

Christmas is subsequent to Advent. Advent delineates Christmas. Without Advent there is no Christmas. Without Genesis 3 there is no Luke 2. Without the witness of God's incarnate Son to the woman in Eden, there is no Son of God in the woman’s womb at Bethlehem. Without God's ultimate first Word there is no ultimate final hope.

God came to our rescue. Genesis 3:15 is the proto-Gospel, the direct antecedent of “good news of great joy that will be for all the people; for unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”

The pulpit is for Christ alone. The mighty Advent sermon of Genesis 3:15 disallows anything other than Christ-incarnate, Christ-sacrificed, and Christ-victorious.

The Son of God has devastated death and sin. He has crushed Satan's head and in so doing borne all the damage of our iniquity Himself. The coming of Christ to have done this for us -- to have endured all this for us -- this is the incomparable Advent Gospel.

No Debate Health Care

Health care is divine care, not Pelosi-care, Obama-care, Covenant-Health Care, Humana-Care or any other. Life and health derive from Christ. Well-being and health care are divine gifts. All nursing, guardianship, doctoring, vigilance and mothering are extensions of Jesus who tends the needs of all. Health care is a kinsman to ministry.

The leading reason we have such exceptional medical care in the United States is because God moved conscience-bound Christians to initiate hospitals, sanitariums, and rest homes as indispensable extensions of the love of Christ.

All healing in hospital rooms, care facilities, or M.A.S.H. units is God's work although He does not need these. They need Him. No person recovers from so much as the sniffles without God in Christ. Because of Christ we see a leukemia patient go cancer free. It is sheer divine marvel when victims of heart attack live robust lives years after. When the battle-scarred return home eventually to lead vigorous, fit, and productive lives it is credited only to one cause -- the attention and treatment of God.

Yes, not all are made instantly well. The crippled man by the pool of Bethesda whom Jesus "immediately made well" suffered his unbearable infirmity for thirty-eight years. But does this mean God is tardy or indifferent to have waited so long? Is God inequitable in His care?

Yes, He is - if the answer is sought statistically. To submit God to statistical analysis is to critique and judge Him. Test God's success rate, and He fails, for many die and will spend the forever of hell insisting the data was in their favor and God didn't care. The fact is, statistics are not, and never have been, in our favor. There is only one favor -- the favor Dei, the undeserved mercy of God toward all the world for Jesus' sake.

Here is an irony. The fight in Congress today is over statistics and fairness. Wealth redistribution by whatever means is regarded by some as non-discriminatory when it is, in fact, entirely discriminatory. "Universal" health care and single-payer insurance are meant to provide blanket coverage where no one is preferred and no one sick falls through the cracks. The aim is admirable, but it's ultimate bigotry is the statistics. Statistics will decide that a patient with a two percent survival rate will be left to die whereas an ailment with better statistical prospects is treated.

God has never behaved in this way with us and never should the church.

Focusing on "receptive" populations, counting numbers of conversions, measuring outcomes to determine what means and methods the church will employ (so called "church growth" principles) to improve statistics is contrary to the Gospel. Jesus instantly heals when and where He will by the power of His Word. That is the only power of the church and the only source of true and lasting healing. The potency of this medicine is Christ Himself.

Only grace in Christ is unbiased. The man at Bethesda's pool had no chance-- zero, nada, zip, none without Christ. He had no chance whatever, not even the thinnest statistical odds. And Jesus didn't give him a chance. The Gospel is not the offer of a chance or some lucky coincidence. The Gospel is Christ's announcement of healing. It is deliverance of life against all odds.

This is what the man at the Pool of Bethesda received. He was healed fully and completely. No therapy. No recovery period. No recuperation. No consideration of those decades of incapacity. No medical assessment or treatment protocol. He had been doomed. "I have no man ...." the cripple confessed. But Jesus discounted all of that. He considered no basis beyond His own compassion and gracious will. "Rise," he said, "Take up your bed and walk."

Often the first question to a physician who delivers a difficult diagnosis is "What chance do I have, Doc?" The inclination to grasp for statistics resides in our fallen nature. But the power of Christ does not rest upon nor become dashed upon statistics. Osteosarcoma of which my mother died in 1976 once had a five-year survival rate of 20%. God was not less merciful to her because today that rate has risen to 65%. Rather, Jesus Christ gave her in His body and blood the wholesome, resurrected, healthy and undying life. That KOs all statistics. Christ didn't give my mother odds. He gave her life everlasting.

Of course Christians desire all people to receive health care because it is consistent with the Gospel. But what does that mean? It means Christian ministry is undaunted by statistics and impervious to the impossible. Through Christ we know the sinful are pardoned, the sick are made well, the hopeless are revived, and even the dead are raised.

By Christ this man was made well, took up his bed, and walked. It happened on a Sabbath, and it continues to happen as our Sabbath Lord, the God in whom we found rest, supplies without ending the curative water of Baptism, the medicinal gift of Holy Communion and the unction of forgiveness in Absolution.

"Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed; save me, and I shall be saved,"Jeremiah declared (17:14).

We were without a chance, without a prayer, without an excuse, without a claim, and without a hope, but Christ has come. He didn't beat the odds because He had zero probability of survival. Even though He was the incarnation of perfect health, he bore our griefs; he carried our sorrows; he was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities. (Is. 53)

In this whole-life health care of body, soul, and spirit there is no debate.

With His stripes we are healed.

Can I Possibly Be Wrong?

Can I possibly be wrong?

If I read an article that emphasizes the Christian’s sacrificial life, love, zeal, and generosity as vitally important for the future of the church, can I possibly be wrong in thinking something is missing?

When others talk about how important it is to get people active, to discover their gifts, and to carry out their responsibilities as Christians, and until we accomplish that, the church will be ineffective, irrelevant to our times, and unsuccessful, can I possibly be wrong in feeling a lead lump in my stomach?

If I hear a glowing report about a church that is going “great guns,” increasing in every measurable way far beyond what we see in our church, and every appearance is that their people are happy, involved, mission-minded, and multiplying, and they appear to have an approach which works with people, can I possibly be wrong in not trying to adopt their methods?

If an expert sincerely and knowledgably says certain modifications have to be made to accommodate the changes we see so rapidly happening in our world, can I possibly be wrong in clinging to things which not only appear weak, dated, foolish, and ineffective, but actually are puny, old, irrational, and hopelessly contrary to the standards, ideals, and measures of success in this world?

Can I possibly be wrong?

It is a question I ask myself every day. With even a shred of honesty, I have to acknowledge that I have no end of questions to which the answer is, “You’re wrong!” Fact is, I was born wrong. The familiar nursery rhyme has applied to me from day one.

There was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile.
He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together in a crooked little house.

The “book” on me is not whether I can possibly be wrong, but that I am continually so. I am wide of the mark. “For there is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23) My being wrong is not a possibility; it is the unavoidable.

Is there no hope then for me and the church except to work on love, zeal, and generosity? Am I to get out putty and fill in the gaping holes in my character and conduct? Am I to hope other Christians will cheer me on, tell me how I can do better, and hold up for me examples of folks who have overcome the things over which I have continually fallen?

Am I to exhort myself to get active, discover more thoroughly my gifts, and buck up to my responsibilities as a Christian? Am I to be convinced that until I accomplish this, my congregation, the church that I love will never be effective, relevant, or successful? Can I possibly once get it right and turn the lead lump in my stomach into satisfaction and composure? Can I finally do something of which to be proud?

Should I take the common and accepted advice and begin to think positively and dig until I find a workable approach to finally make ministry “click”? Must I no longer cling to what I held as a child? Is it indeed time for me to grow up, make up my mind to live victoriously, or as the Nike slogan urges -- "just do it!”

I’ve tried.

My critics (most notably myself) would say I haven’t tried enough. And they’re right.

If I promise to try harder, will that do? I’m sure there are many who are patient with me, but patience isn't what I need. It only delays the inevitable—the unavoidable, eventual failure.

Could I possibly be wrong against the Niagara which pushes me to change myself, get the church to change, and finally make something worthy because I'm not looking too good right now?

Yes, I can always be wrong.

My only hope is that God's Word and the assurance of His mercy from the cross is never amiss.

But why should anyone hold to this belief when there is nothing new about it or ground-breaking? The Gospel of Jesus' death and resurrection hasn’t been updated in two thousand years. If our world has seemed to change so much from just a hundred years ago, let alone from Bible times, can the untouched Word of God and the ancient promises it contains make any rational claim to be relevant?

Society has modernized, paradigms are overhauled, values have been given fresh interpretations. And haven’t we just celebrated the Reformation? That sounds like even five hundred years ago the church was given a tune-up.

The Reformation, however, wasn't to upgrade the Gospel but return to it. It was a homecoming, a reception once again of what the institutional church had lost as it tried to progress and grow and be effective and powerful. The Reformation found refuge in justification by grace as a gift through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. That can't be wrong.

I can be frail and flawed. I am frail and flawed. But the Gospel of Christ can never be. Therefore, if it is through the Gospel alone; if the core and character of the church is Christ alone; if the unchangeable truth of salvation through the cross is the beginning and end of our preaching and our practice, then we can never be wrong.

The sober question should be asked, “Can I be wrong?” The Law (including rules, standards, examples, warnings, advice, codes, judgments, paradigms, prescriptions, models, formulas, regulations, tactics, and methods) will always tell me I am. Oh, may such thing then never, ever, ever supercede the Gospel which declares us right and righteous before God.

It is Christ’s sacrificial life, love, and grace which are vital for the future of the church. Confession of Him cannot go wrong.

Whether the world judges God's means of grace to be effective, relevant, successful, or not is beside the point. By Word and Sacrament we receive Christ, and He is never wrong. Even when He appeared weak, dated, foolish, and ineffective; even when He died without followers in apparent shameful failure clinging to the will of His Father, Jesus was never wrong.

Here then is my hope and yours.

Christ. Christ. Christ.

To believe Him and rely on His everlasting mercy can never be wrong.

"The Other is Gold"

Perhaps it is more or less true that pastors have many friends but not as many outside the congregation because work and contact are most often with the families, children, and individuals of the parish. For example, pastors obviously don't interact with the business world as frequently as those who work in it. It's a little more difficult to “get out of town” or develop familiarity with a wider circle in the same way you do.

I say that with no regret because the wonderful members of congregations I’ve gotten to know over the years are deeply appreciated for their friendship, warmth, and trust.

But there is something very special about someone who is a friend, not because of you being their pastor, but simply for the sake of friendship alone.

I mention here two friends of mine, both of whom, coincidentally, I met at convalescent homes, and both of whom are women.

Betty Poellet and I met many years ago at Stratford Pines. Occasionally I would lead chapel services on Sunday afternoons for some of the seniors there. Most all were in wheelchairs. Most all had ailments of old age among which included falling asleep. But back in the early 90s, one lady would walk across from the apartments to join those devotionals. After two or three such occasions, we struck up a conversation. Betty, now in her 90s, lives in an apartment in Frankenmuth, and every week for the last several years she has written me a note. In our day of diminishing personal correspondence by mail, her weekly card is the only hand written letter I ever get. She tells me about the chapel services they have there, about her favorite crafts, what she may have had for dinner, and a word or two about her family.

Sometimes when I am in Frankenmuth, and I'm not pressed for time, I stop and see Betty. She tells me it means so much to her, but she doesn't know how much it means to me. We really don't have a whole lot in common. She usually favors me with some small ceramic she has made to add to the others. We make small talk. But the friendship is precious. You see, she doesn't give criticism or advice. She just gives herself which I have come to realize is the best definition of a friend.

Jesus gave himself, and none of us has a better friend.

The other lady is Clare List. Some old-timers from around here probably know her. She is a member of Zion, Bay City, actually. But like Betty, I got to know Claire when taking a turn leading Sunday afternoon worship services at the Carriage House on Midland Road. Claire is a dear person, always appreciative, eminently considerate and faithful. Earlier this year, Claire’s husband, Fred, after many years suffering from Alzheimers disease, passed away.

He lived a dozen years or more at the Carriage House, and not a day went by that Claire was not there at his side. She was also the one responsible for the establishment of consistent worship occasions for residents there who can't get to church. Claire would ask pastors if they would come and lead a service.

Today, her age and circumstance make it difficult to be away from the small apartment where she now makes her home. I sometimes stop and see her. She is a reminder to me of what the loyalty and love of Christ in someone effects. She always acts so appreciative, but I know it is more for myself that I visit, because most of us have too few of such friends who take us as we are, dismiss any idea that there could be faults in us, and are simply glad to call us their friend.

Jesus is like that. He regards us as faultless because He has imputed his righteous to us. He said in John 15, “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends…. I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you … “

When someone befriends you in the manner of Christ, that is a true fortune of greater worth than gold. Or as the timeless lyric says, "Make new friends but keep the old; one is silver and the other gold."

The Side Door

In 2006, I had the pleasure of visiting Wittenberg, Germany. I arrived by myself on the early train from Leipsig, and from a station near the Elbe River I walked a few hundred yards to Lutherhaus which had been the Augustinian monastery where Martin Luther lived, first as a monk and later as owner with his family.

The early summer morning was peaceful, and the cloister was empty. I could explore undisturbed and had little trouble imagining the place as it must have appeared in the 16th century. Then, with backpack and camera, I walked the two kilometers from Lutherhaus to the Castle Church where, 492 years ago today, the great Reformer posted on the church door his 95 theses regarding repentance, confession, and against indulgences and false satisfactions.

Luther's first statement was, "Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, when He said, repent ye, willed that the whole life of believers should be repentance." He also declared in Thesis 62, "The true treasure of the Church is the Most Holy Gospel of the glory and the grace of God."

He was so exactly right. The greatest prize and treasure you and I possess as baptized believers in Jesus Christ is the glorious news of justification for sinners by the life, death, and resurrection of Christ. Jesus gave Himself that we may live. It was the truth of Christ that Luther continued to defend and proclaim for the remaining 30 years of his life, and it is the legacy bequeathed to us in the Gospel. We must never forget it.

Even though the Reformation is celebrated today, it is really only rightly observed through a life of repentance in which we daily confess remorse for our offenses against God and hold by faith to the Word He has spoken. We come in contrition and with dependency upon God's mercy alone for the sake of Christ. Repentance and forgiveness of sins through the Gospel is the seminal reality for every Christian.

Contrary to my imagination, the church door on which Luther posted his famous theses was the side door of the Castle Church. Not having visited Wittenberg before, I naturally thought the 95 Theses were posted on the church front doors, but Luther, certainly not knowing then the impact his actions would make, considered it no consequence which door was used as a public bulletin board.

Which door is still immaterial, just as which pew you occupy on a Sunday is inconsequential to the glory of the Gifts you receive in the holy means of grace.

And yet, I have reflected on that minor detail of the door. The side door (or what we used to call the "back door" where I grew up) was not where you received important guests. The side door was never elegant or stylish. That's where a drifter would come for a hand-out or the neighbor for a cup of sugar. The formal entrance, the proper entry would have been the front door into a foyer and reception area. That's where the genteel company would arrive. The side door, the unsightly door was, by contrast, beside the garbage cans and dog dish.

And yet, the side door was always the door used by the family. It was the door my father used to go back and forth to work past the shed. It was the door my mother, in her house dress, would use to take laundry to the clothes line. It's where I would leave muddy galoshes. Remember those rubber boots from the 50s with the side clasps? You never wore those in the front door.

It just seemed poignant to me that the Lutheran Reformation began at the side door. It seemed fitting to me somehow that the restoration of the evangelical truth to its rightful place would begin at the side door.

Some artwork depicting Luther unremarkably nailing up his parchment shows him observed only by a vagrant or two. I seem to remember the old movie having one of these itinerants get up to see what Luther had posted only to shrug his shoulders at the Latin or because he couldn't read.

This was the side door. An aristocratic elector, the nobility, or the monarch would have processed through the front doors, but this side door was the bulletin board. It was where someone would tack up a message.

But isn't the Reformation all about a message? Not a message for the peacock or the prosperous, not a message for the braggart or the vain, but for the beggar. The Lutheran Reformation was all about the message of Jesus Christ who entered this world by the back door. Turned from the door of an inn, he was born by the dog dish and the rubble of a shed. He came and went in humility as a workman to his ministry. By this means he also laundered the unmentionables of the family and welcomed both grimy vagabond and solicitous neighbor.

492 years ago today, Martin Luther nailed the 95 Theses to the Castle Church door. A church with the name "Castle" sounds impressive, and it is. A tall, substantial tower rises above it, inscribed today with the words, "Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott" (A mighty fortress is our God). The original door is gone, weathered or burned no doubt, and replaced in 1858 by a double brass door with Luther's theses written on it which people see today.

But it is still the side door, the door which, if you look closely, leads directly into the sanctuary, to where the real action takes place, where God's family gathers to rejoice in the message of His Gospel and to receive the gifts of Christ. Ironically, the front door is farthest from the chancel. So, let us humble folk be satisfied with the side door. That's the family's door, the Father's door, the Message door, and the beggar's door where anyone and everyone is welcome.

Have a blessed Reformation.