Rev. Christopher Raffa
“On the glorious splendor of your majesty, and on your wondrous works, I will meditate” – Psalm 145:5
Many things coalesced and urged Martin Luther to write his catechetical material. As early as July 1516 Luther preached on the catechism, i.e., Ten Commandments, Creed, and Lord’s Prayer. By 1522, the practice had been established in Wittenberg of preaching on the Catechism four times a year. In 1524, Pastor Nicholas Hausmann had requested catechetical material from Luther to be used with the common folk. Luther also sought to settle a dispute that had arisen between John Agricola and Phillip Melanchthon concerning the place of the law in the Christian life (see A Reader’s Edition of the Book of Concord, p.521ff). Indeed, the greatest reason for Luther’s writing of the Small Catechism was to address the maladies diagnosed in the Saxon Visitation of 1528. In his preface to the Small Catechism, Luther writes, “The deplorable, miserable conditions which I recently observed when visiting the parishes have constrained and pressed me to put this catechism of Christian doctrine into this brief, plain, and simple form. How pitiable, so help me God, were the things I saw: The common man, especially in the villages, knows practically nothing of Christian doctrine, and many of the pastors are almost entirely incompetent and unable to teach. Yet all the people are supposed to be Christians, have been baptized, and receive the Holy Sacrament, even though they do not know the Lord’s Prayer, the Creed, or The Ten Commandments and live like poor animals of the barnyard and pigpen. What these people have mastered, however, is the fine art of tearing all Christian liberty to shreds.”
Thus, it is undeniable that Luther’s Small Catechism arose out of a specific historical context and it reflects that context in many ways. Yet, the pattern of sound words, the teaching of Christian doctrine, which is God’s Word alone, never grows old or outdated in its killing and making God’s people into a holy and forgiven people. Simply put, the Small Catechism in its explanation of the Christian faith and life remains a relevant text for all times and all places. It matters little whether you learned its language by heart from the 1943 or 1986 edition. It’s of little significance whether you learned its language of Law and Gospel in your early years, your middle years, or your sunset years. But what is of great significance is that in your journey as a catechumen of Christ in this life you continue to receive God’s Word of Law and Gospel to teach you over and over again, to remind you that the begging and receiving of Christ’s gifts is the rhythm of the Christian life-the seasick voyage of repentance and faith that will finally end in the harbor of God’s eternal salvation.
It is this reality of the Small Catechism and its importance for the Christian’s life that makes it such an important tool for teaching of God’s people. Yet, I fear that what Luther saw in 1528 in the Saxon Visitation is, at least in some way, what we now experience. In the dawn of the 21st century the Small Catechism is losing the vital role that it has played for many centuries. Often it is the case that adults who come to the church know very little, if anything about Christian doctrine, nor do they have a desire to be catechized, to sit at the feet of Jesus, to learn from the pastor as from Jesus who sent him into midst of His flock. The church has a mountain to climb as it surveys the dissonance that exists between child and parents. For how can the church expect, when parents have never really engaged the basics of Christian doctrine, that the children of these parents will be formed in the faith at home. At the same time, the breakdown of a biblically literate and catechized church falls on the pastors who downplay, supplant, and replace the Catechism as the primary text for catechetical instruction-especially for adults. James A. Nestingen sums up nicely the barren catechetical landscape, “It (Small Catechism) is no longer the working paradigm, encompassing the witness of the Scripture in the language of daily experience to serve preaching and reflection on the church’s faith and mission.”
At the same time, I must say that there are signs of catechetical life in the church. There are those in our church who resolutely continue to teach the basics of Christian doctrine; to form a Lutheran mind that it centered in the basics of confession of sin and the reception of Christ’s gifts through bible, hymnal and catechism. The church and its teaching are never contemporary, for it deals in that which has stood the test of time, fights against the gates of hell and draws its strength and resolve from Christ who is its body and life and who confesses, “This is most certainly true.” This certainty is given and sustained by Christ, whose sanctuary we inhabit so as to receive daily the comfort of sins forgiven and a blessed death granted by His death and resurrection. Catechesis is a lifelong endeavor. Martin Luther knew this and so he placed within the Small Catechism all that we must hear as unbeliever and believer, as sinner and saint. In recitation of the Ten Commandments we come face to face with the sinful nature that resides in our hearts and minds. In the recitation of the Creed we are given the Savior who has redeemed us, that is to say, bought us back from the devil’s grasp, “not with gold or sliver, but with his holy precious blood and His innocent suffering and death.” In the recitation and reception of His holy sacraments we are given the gifts of forgiveness life and salvation purchased and won by our Lord Jesus Christ so that we would one day rise from the dead, “just as He has risen from the dead lives and reigns to all eternity.” Nestingen summarizes it concisely, “The Small Catechism, in chart and pamphlet form, quickly became one of the most important documents of the Lutheran Reformation. It moved the village altar into the family kitchen, literally bringing instruction in the faith home to the intimacies of family life.”
Rev. Christopher Raffa is the associate pastor of Pilgrim Evangelical Lutheran Church in West Bend, Wisconsin. You can email him at revcraffa@att.net.
We journey through a world full of lies. Though we sometimes think we are on the right path, it pulls us into a trap of deception and veils its own ugliness as we fall for Satan’s lies, time and time again. Satan tells us, “You can hide your sin. You don’t need the Gospel. You can climb to reach God everywhere. Truth is relative. Follow your heart. Wealth leads to happiness. Man is worth more through success and glory. You can worship God by your work. You can also find Him in your mind, heart, or hands.” And the list of lies goes on and on.
Hiding behind the mask of tolerance, the old Adam bullies people on social media. He kills conversations with that dreaded four letter accusation: hate. If you’ve ever posted anything about God’s design for marriage, sexuality, or male and female, the old Adam has probably pounced on you. But, you are a Christian. The Holy Spirit has given you His Word. He’s made you-the new man in Christ-ready for this.
St. Vincent (2014) is an American comedy-drama film. It stars Bill Murray and Melissa McCarthy. The movie is not for everyone. It has material that is not suitable for young children. And it certainly doesn’t conform to the popular and pietistic belief that a “saint” is a wonder worker, flawless human being, or a super-human intercessor. Vincent is a Vietnam War veteran and retiree living in Sheepshead Bay, Brooklyn. He is a grumpy alcoholic who smokes and gambles. His wife, Sandy, developed Alzheimer’s many years ago and no longer recognizes him. Yet he still cares for her, doing her laundry and visiting her weekly. Maggie and her son, Oliver, are his new neighbors. Maggie, forced to work long hours, has no choice but to leave Oliver in the care of Vincent. A strange friendship develops between this odd couple. Vincent brings Oliver along on all his routine stops: race track, strip club, and the local dive bar. Vincent helps Oliver to grow to become a man, while Oliver beings to see in Vincent something that no one else sees: an ordinary saint.
When Jesus encountered a Roman Centurion with a sick servant, we learn a bit about authority. “For I too am a man under authority,” says the Centurion, “with soldiers under me. And I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it” (Matthew 8:9). When he speaks, things get done. He recognizes this same authority in Jesus. “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof, but only say the word, and my servant will be healed” (Matthew 8:8).
I admit it. I was born into a Cubs family. At least four generations of them. My great-grandfather was eight-years-old when they won their last World Series. And while my sister is a diehard Cubs fan, my affiliation has been looser. They are “my” team, but I can’t quote you statistics, and many years I would be hard pressed to tell you very many names of players. I attend about a game a year, and enjoy the atmosphere, but don’t often have the game on TV or radio. I guess I’m kind of a “Chreaster” baseball fan; fairly inactive.
Forgiveness in Christ is the call of the church. After the resurrection, Jesus tells the church to preach “repentance and forgiveness of sins” (Luke 24) and “if you forgive them they are forgiven” (John 20). This call is defined as the “Office of the Keys” which Christ has given to the church-the special authority to forgive sinners like you and me.
I wasn’t raised in the church. Sure, I went to Vacation Bible School a couple times when I was little; my parents drug me to a few Easter Sunday services and a couple Christmas Eve services at the local Methodist Church (but we weren’t even Methodist; that’s just where most of the people in town went). Twice I went to the local Church of Christ to impress a girlfriend. But I wasn’t raised in the church.
I am not entirely comfortable in unfamiliar situations or in situations where I don’t know exactly what is going to happen.
“How was worship?” It’s a question that sounds fairly innocent. Most of us have probably asked our friends this question on a Sunday afternoon. We ask, “How was church,” sort of like we ask, “How was your day?” We want to know what happened. We want to know what they think. What songs did the musicians play? Was the sermon good? How many people were there? How did the service make you feel? Did the pastor that you like preach? Were the hymns easy to sing? Was it “authentic”? Did you connect with it? These are all genuine questions, but they bring up two problems with the way we view worship. What happens in church isn’t about your actions, and it isn’t a surprise. It’s unbelievable, but it isn’t a surprise.