Radical Lutherans/Lutheran Radicals

Mahn

• Publisher: Cascade Books
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781498234924
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Christian Denominations

Can a Lutheran be sociopolitically radical? Can a radical be theologically and faithfully Lutheran? This book answers yes.Written by teacher-scholars from five ELCA colleges,Radical Lutherans/Lutheran Radicals follows Martin Luther, Soren Kierkegaard, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Dorothee Soelle, and others as they sink deep roots in the Lutheran Christian tradition while simultaneously resisting the status quo with their words, their deeds, and sometimes their very lives.Each chapter shows how the Lutheran theologian returns to the roots of Luther's life and writing and puts them toward radical social and political ends, including critiques of cultured Christianity; resistance to state or market; preferential options for the poor and suffering; deep commitments to peace, justice, and ecological sustainability; and direct nonviolent resistance.The book highlights theological themes popularized by Luther (justification by grace, two-kingdoms thinking, theology of the cross, and vocation) and then shows how these theological staples--when deeply and creatively retrieved--can inform political protest, intentional living, and other countercultural movements.The compelling claim throughout is that Luther's theology at itsroot has resources forradicalpolitical participation and social transformation, as exemplified by the writings and lives of these radical Lutherans/Lutheran radicals.

1

Martin Luther

The Forgotten Radical

Samuel Torvend

Who was this man known throughout the world as the “father” of the Protestant Reformation? The answer to that question depends, of course, on the person answering it. To Lutheran pastors, Martin Luther (1483–1546) has served as the first minister in the Christian community that bears his name. To others, he is considered a biblical scholar whose intense study of Scripture led him to question the teaching and practices of late medieval Christianity, a questioning that contributed to the division of western Christianity. Professors in universities and seminaries see in Luther a theologian who dramatically changed the landscape of Christian faith and life, who offered a liberating view of God and God’s relationship with humanity. Christian musicians have found in Luther the imaginative blending of ancient texts with contemporary tunes and have cherished his commitment to music as the greatest art. Pastor, biblical scholar, theologian, and musician: these are the images that have shaped the public perception of Luther and have guided that school of Christian spirituality called Lutheranism. Indeed, the many publishers of books on Luther tend to focus on his sermons, biblical commentaries, and vast theological writings. The colleges and universities associated with the Lutheran church carry the musical tradition of choral and instrumental works that sprang from the reformer’s desire to create a community united in song.

What has remained on the margins of classrooms and worship spaces over the first five hundred years of Lutheran reform are the ways in which Luther’s experience of life contributed to the revolutionary social reforms he animated: reforms that have changed and continue to influence public life in profound ways. That leaders in Lutheran churches and schools may be unaware of Luther’s economic, political, and social reforms is not surprising. In a recent survey of Lutheran congregational leaders, only 8 percent were aware of the fact that Luther had written about or promoted radical reforms in ecology, the economy, education, financial institutions, government, political leadership, and social assistance. While they were familiar with some of his sermons, his writings on two or three letters of St. Paul in the New Testament, his most famous hymn, “A Mighty Fortress,” and a number of theological works, they had not been tutored in his life and the social reforms that sprang from his reflection on his life in light of the Scriptures. While Luther is hailed as the reformer who championed the Bible as the only trustworthy guide for Christian faith and life—sola scriptura (“Scripture alone”)—isn’t it possible that his life experience also served as a potent force in animating the powerful currents of reform that flowed from a small university far removed from the centers of financial, political, and religious power? If so, then let us consider his life and how his encounters with those who lived on the margins and those who exercised considerable social power converged in reforms that animate contemporary commitments to social justice.

A Father’s Ambition Rejected

We have no way of knowing what went through the mind of Hans Luder as he rushed his newborn son to the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul only a few hours after his birth. We do know that the infant was baptized on November 11, the feast of St. Martin of Tour, and given the name Martin in honor of the fourth-century soldier who resigned his commission and eventually became a Christian bishop. Luder, like many others, believed that the Christian practice of water-washing an infant in the name of God would protect the newborn from evil spirits. In a time when large numbers of infants died within the first year of life, Christian baptism could offer solace to heartbroken and grieving parents; their child was somehow protected in the afterlife and waiting for them in what medieval artists portrayed as a heavenly city filled with light, joyful reunions, and happiness.

We also know that Martin’s father was ambitious for his first-born son, an ambition that had transformed Luder from a poor man into a person of ample financial means. As the younger son raised on a farm, Luder could not inherit the family land and thus needed to leave home in order to find his way in the world. This left him close to impoverishment. Nonetheless, he was able to marry Margarethe Lindemann and start a family as he toiled in a copper mine. The ambition of the father fueled his desire to excel in business and send his son to school. Luder needed to be financially secure in order to do this, since education was reserved only for those who could pay the school fee. In time, Luder became a mine owner with prospects of expanding his successful enterprise. The young Martin was sent to school in Mansfeld, then Magdeburg, and finally Eisenach. While he studied hard and was viewed by his teachers as a bright student with a beautiful singing voice, Luther viewed his early education as “a taste of hell” devoted to rote memorization and the threat of punishment if he misbehaved or raised a question.

From uneducated poor man to laborer to mine owner, Luther’s father had broken through the barrier of class, an astonishing achievement at the end of the fifteenth century. And yet economic security was not sufficient; he wanted more, especially for his son. Would it not advance the standing and fortunes of the family if Martin became a lawyer? And would not a career in law gain access to the nobility who were among the few who could pay legal fees? Wouldn’t Martin the lawyer have connections to persons who could support his father’s growing copper business? And in a world that knew nothing of pensions or state-supported social assistance for the elderly, wouldn’t Martin’s status and hoped-for wealth sustain his parents in their old age? While we have little idea what Luther wanted to study, we know that his parents were eager for him to enter a lucrative career that would bring them honor and security.

The young man entered the University of Erfurt in 1501 and completed a master’s degree (“at that whorehouse of a school,” as he called it). Bending to his parents’ pressure, he prepared to enter studies in law. Then the unexpected happened: two of his closest friends died suddenly and terribly of the plague. And then Martin had a close brush with death when he accidentally wounded himself with a knife. These two experiences may well have caused him to reconsider the direction of his career path. Experiencing grief and its disorienting power, he was then easily alarmed by a thunderstorm as he returned from home to the university. Lightning struck close by and he found himself cowering on the ground, praying to St. Anne, the patron saint of miners, his prayer a desperate bargain: if you save me from death, I will enter a monastery and give my life to the church. As Martin would tell his father later in life, he was terrified of death and feared the judgment of God, a fear prompted by the belief that he had not been sufficiently spiritual to merit God’s favor and eternal life. Did he have second thoughts about the vow he made to the heavens? After all, it was a promise made in fear. But Luther, having made the vow, was convinced that he could not break it.

To the utter surprise and frustration of his parents, he abandoned law school and entered the Congregation of the Observant Hermits of St. Augustine, a community of friars who were committed to the reform of their religious order. The Augustinians, one of many religious orders in late medieval Christianity, were guided by a rule of life written in 400 by Augustine of Hippo, a bishop and theologian. Like Luther, Augustine had also experienced a dramatic change in life, a change popularized throughout the Middle Ages in his autobiography, Confessions.28 With considerable zeal, the earnest Luther dedicated himself to the practices of his reforming order, practices that were intended to distinguish the reformers from other Augustinians who were lax and lived in comfort. Not only did Luther fast on Fridays (in imitation of the hunger Jesus experienced on the day of his crucifixion), but also on other days during the week. Convinced that he had broken or would soon break the laws of God and the Church, he frequently sought a priest to whom he would make a thorough confession of his sins. He was especially attentive to the poor who requested food and drink for themselves and their children at the friary’s door. He was fervent in prayer, spending many hours in the congregation’s chapel, kneeling before the altar. In all this he was inspired by the words of Jesus: “Whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you . . . whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father . . . and whenever you fast . . . put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret ; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Matt 6:2, 6, 17–18).

In all these practices, the young Luther was guided by the teaching of the late medieval church, a teaching that guided the Christian from this earthly life to union with God in heaven. Medieval theologians taught that the presence of the risen Christ was available to Christians through the sacraments: through the words and gestures inspired by the New Testament or directly commanded by Christ. These words and earthy rituals mediated the invisible but potent grace of God to those who desired to receive or be in favor with God. Rather than a static object that one possessed, the grace of God the Father or Christ the Son was considered a powerful energy that animated a Christian’s life. But the theologians also taught that this divine energy should not be ignored or rest dormant in the Christian’s life. Rather, one was responsible for using, for acting upon, the energy received in order to demonstrate one’s commitment to Christ and the church—the people of God—and thus, in the end, be rewarded with eternal life. Through a life devoted to daily prayer; to attending church services; to receiving the sacraments of Holy Communion, Penance (confession and forgiveness), Healing, Marriage or Ministry; to giving alms to the poor; to going on a pilgrimage to a sacred site; to signing up for a crusade; to becoming a priest, monk, nun, friar, or sister, the Christian would gain merit in the sight of God and demonstrate his or her good use of the grace freely given. All this was from the hope that in the end he or she would receive what the Scriptures called the “crown of glory,” or everlasting union with God, with the saints and martyrs, and with one’s family and friends in heaven. Grace was given freely but one had to work hard to merit God’s favor.

Is Christ a Judge or Advocate?

Luther grew up in a religious atmosphere in which Jesus Christ was frequently portrayed as the judge of the living and dead. Indeed, every Christian at every Sunday Mass would confess his or her faith in “one Lord Jesus Christ . . . who will come in glory to judge the living and the dead.”29 Such words struck terror in Luther’s heart because he did not know if he would pass muster on the Day of Judgment. Indeed, he was surrounded by paintings in which “the blessed” were directed to the heavenly city and “the damned” to a fiery pit filled with monsters. Perhaps his imagination was stirred by the ongoing presence of the Black Plague—which most Europeans perceived as a terrible punishment for human sins. When Luther reflected on the failings of his life and the image of Christ the judge, he fell into despair. Indeed, late medieval church teaching claimed that a Christian must work hard “spiritually” to gain Christ’s favor. This teaching troubled Luther, for when he asked ...

Table of contents

• Title Page
• Contributors
• Abbreviations
• Introduction
• Chapter 1: Martin Luther
• Chapter 2: Søren Kierkegaard
• Chapter 3: Dietrich Bonhoeffer
• Chapter 4: Dorothee Soelle
• Chapter 5: You
• Bibliography