Seasonal Living through the Church Year (Guest Post)

I have a very exciting guest post to share with you today! I reached out to Kristen and Tessa of All the Household to see if they would write something for Coram Mundo, and I may have squealed when I read their reply. Kristen and Tessa are a wealth of knowledge when it comes to celebrating the Church year in the home. Their website is full of both theoretical and practical resources to help you consider the why and how of liturgical living.

In today’s post, Kristen and Tessa share fascinating connections between seasonal living and living in the historical Church year. There is so much good information here, so take your time and enjoy the feast–even if you have to break it into bite-sized chunks. I hope it inspires you as much as it inspired me!

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Over the past couple of years, there has been a significant resurgence of seasonal living in popular culture. If you walk around your favorite book store; google the phrases “slow living,” “slow eating,” or “slow cooking;” or follow those advocating for more holistic and natural lifestyles, chances are you’ll encounter any number of people talking about their attempts to pattern life alongside the seasons. This isn’t the type of living that people engage in when they decorate the exterior of their house for Halloween, overbuy gifts for Christmas, or pay for Easter eggs to be hidden around their yard. No, this is a quieter movement, interested in better adhering to cycles of labor and rest, growing food in their backyards to feed their families, spending more time outside, and following the broader gestures of creation.

When you think about it, it makes sense that there has been a swell of interest in this topic. Modernity has ensured that you can do and eat whatever you want despite the time of year you’re living in. Are you interested in playing hockey in the middle of summer in Atlanta, Georgia? Year-round ice-cold air-conditioned rinks make it possible to do so. Do you enjoy ice cream in the middle of January, even though you live in northern Minnesota? All you have to do is go to the grocery store to pick up a pint of your favorite flavor.

St. Mark Rogation Walk, Quasimodogeniti Carrot Cake, St. John’s Eve Fire

Intentional, seasonal living is a refreshing breather from all of this. It serves not only to connect you to those who have gone before you (the ancestors who lived seasonally for millennia) but also to connect you with your body’s patterns, the earth, and the embedded sense of order found in the world around us. You can also view this type of living as a sort of generational rebound or counterculture movement, directly pushing back on the habits, traditions, and common knowledge lost with our parents and grandparents.

All of this is well and good, of course. However, it doesn’t take long once you dive a little deeper into the world of seasonal living to find yourself waist-deep in discussions about earth, animal, and crystal energies, the reincarnation of life, and ways to celebrate the various solstices and equinoxes. If you see it for what it is, a good portion of it is flat-out paganism. So what is an appropriate Christian response to seasonal living and our natural desires to better connect with our “roots?”

Seasonal Offerings of the Church Year

Luckily, the Christian calendar and liturgical cycle of the Church that has been around for thousands of years are interested in the exact sorts of things we find much of our culture drawn to today. When you start learning more about the way that the Church has historically stuck to an annual cycle of the same Scriptural readings, holy days, and traditions associated with them, you’ll find much of the same appeal, customs, and focus that come with seasonal living.

Does it seem like fun to celebrate the peak of summer in June and the dead of winter in December? Look no further than the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist or the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord to have an excuse to throw the biggest parties you’ve ever been a part of.

St. Nicholas Speculaas Cookies, Twelfth Night Star Bread, St. Lucia Lussekatter

Have you ever wanted to garner the health benefits of plant-based eating and veganism or, on the opposite end, wanted to indulge in all your favorite desserts? Have you wanted to learn how to cook new, challenging, or culturally-inspired dishes? There’s a time in the Christian year for all of this, ensuring that you’ll never get bored, or “stuck,” or trapped in the strictures of a boring religion.

Do you desire to stop your tendency to “go, go, go” and to shed the expectations our world puts on us to be constantly on the move? Do you get sick of always cooking the same old foods at home or feeling like you have to plan a four-course dinner every night for a table full of ravenous children? Look no further than the constant ebb and flow that the Church provides in its celebration of high, festive feast days and then in its observance of somber, mundane fasts. Learn more about how there are certain seasons and weeks of the year (like the octaves of Easter, Pentecost, or Christmas) meant for celebration, festivities every night, and feasting on the best foods. Then, on the other hand, there are other times when we are called to become introspective and inwardly-focused, are encouraged to say “no” to outside obligations and desires, to cozy up by the fire with our books and meditations, and to adopt more meager eating, cooking, and socializing habits. It gives us a chance to rest and reset. To “hibernate” for a period before reemerging into the world.

Do you want to get outside more and live your days by the light of the sun? Rogation days, Ember days, and the Ascension encourage you to get outside at all times of the year and to better attune yourselves to the seasonal transitions at play.

Do you crave seasonal foods and want to plan your weekly menu around what is available in your garden and cheapest in the grocery store (which is certainly not a bad idea considering food prices these days)? Follow the wisdom of those who have gone before you and who have created traditions for the Church year that naturally follow the harvesting of foods that are at their peak. You only have to learn more about St. Bartholomew and honey in August, October’s blackberries and St. Michael, and the mulled wine of St. John in December to increase your knowledge regarding seasonally appropriate foods.

St. Bartholomew Honey Cake, St. Michael & All Angels Bannock, St. John Mulled Wine

Do you want to have an excuse to pull out fun decorations for your kids, teach them about holidays and customs, sing songs, hang banners, and recite poems? The Church year is absolutely chock full of this stuff and provides you with more inspiration and ideas than you could possibly execute! And the best part is when you start looking into it, there’s more and more to learn.

Through the Lens of Scripture

Believe it or not, even though the aforementioned ideas are steeped in living in the “here and now,” all of these things can point us (and others!) towards our Lord and better instill in us a heavenly and purposeful focus for our time on this earth. It’s not just our human application and overlay of the Bible upon the ways of the world. No, we see these patterns of seasonal living in Scripture itself.

The themes of End Times as well as St. John the Baptist and his pointing to Christ within the season of Advent in December directly prepare us for Jesus’ birth and John 8:12 revelation that he is “the light of the world.” As St. John teaches, Christ’s birth brought humankind the dawning of a new day—his birth in the absolute darkest of days is the start of the pendulum swinging towards the increase of light. The Baptist said, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). Similarly, one of the most beloved Lutheran hymns, sung in Epiphany during the days right after Christmas, reminds us of Christ, the Morning Star (LSB 395).

Candlemas in early February, which marks the Presentation of Jesus and the Purification of Mary, mimics the instructions God gave the Israelites in Egypt and how he delivered them out of the darkness of slavery. Again, the blessing of candles on this day and the tradition of holding an evening service lit with candlelight remind us of Jesus’ Epiphany to the world and the opening of all Christians’ eyes to his divinity: “for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel” (Luke 2:28-32).

St. Mary Lavender Cookies, Candlemas Crepes, The Visitation Blueberry Heart Shortcakes

The Annunciation in March with the celebration of Christ’s incarnation reminds us that new life blooms in the spring. The angel Gabriel came to Mary nine months before December to tell her the good news of the babe in her womb: “And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bring forth a Son, and shall call His name Jesus” (Luke 1:31). Likewise, Easter and Christ’s Resurrection on the third day are all tied to the end of winter, the rejuvenation of the earth, and the fulfilled promise of life after death: “If Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, yet the spirit is alive because of righteousness” (Romans 8:10).

St. Mary’s other holidays throughout the height of summer, including the Visitation in July and the Assumption in August, allude to her fertility and fruitfulness as the “highly favored one,” blessed among women (Luke 1:28). That is the reason why Mary is called the “Flower of Flowers,” with many plants explicitly named after her (i.e. Rosemary, Marigold, and the Madonna Lily). Hostas were even known as “Assumption Lilies” since a thin stalk with a small and beautiful bluish flower rises out of the leaves in late summer, a reminder of Mary’s transition into heaven that the Church commemorates in mid-August.

Yet with fall comes Michaelmas, Ss. Simon and Jude, and All Saints’ Day in September, October, and November. These days are suggestive of the fight of good vs. evil, the gruesome death that comes to believers, and the eternal sleep that we all fall into. While the world prepares for winter, as the days shorten, and we’re kept busy in anticipation of harvest, we learn from the Church’s year that God is the ultimate reaper: “The grass withers, the flower fades, because the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever” (Isaiah 40:7-8).

Ss. Simon and Jude Soul Cakes, St. Jonah Stuffed Gourd, Holy Cross Day Lemon Pound Cake

Conclusion

When put together and celebrated year after year, these days form the Church’s cycle and her own way of practicing seasonal living. These stories, traditions, and customs remind us of the ways we can be present: how we can be better attuned to nature and the order that God has put into the world. They help us retain and maintain our spiritual footing in an unstable world. They help us remember what’s truly important.

If you’re drawn to these things and want to tap into a different way of living, we encourage you to keep learning more about the Church and her seasons. Together with all those in the history of Christendom—both those living today and the millions who have gone before us in the faith—you can carry on the knowledge of these traditions and Christians’ seasonal wisdom. In the process you’ll surely reap many of the benefits associated with seasonal living. Yes, you’ll regain a slower way of life. You’ll probably connect more with yourself, with others, and with creation. But, most importantly, you’ll connect with God and the legacy of the Church.

Encouragement and Tips for Divine Service with Littles

Recently I had the pleasure of reading and listening to some wonderful encouragement for the challenges of parenting during the Divine Service, and I wanted to share those resources with all of you. I previously alluded to the struggle of standing out in the narthex in my post about Mary, and I discussed God’s acceptance of noisy children in this post. I’ve written about the importance of teaching children the story of the crucifixion. But I’ve never devoted an entire post to attending the Divine Service with babies and toddlers.

Caleb returned to his fieldwork responsibilities a few weeks ago, so now I am navigating this single-handedly with two kids. Micah’s morning nap miraculously coincided with the sermon the last couple of Sundays, which is making for a very merciful transition into this new season. The thing about seasons, though, is that they always change, and I want to be prepared for the next time one of the kids hits a rough patch.

Before I get into the wonderful advice from more experienced moms, I want to share my one tip for bringing young children to church: just do it. You can disregard all the opinions on whether to bring snacks and toys or not, what your noise threshold should be for when to take a kid out, or which section of the sanctuary you should try sitting in with toddlers. But please come. Even if you only get to sit for five minutes of the service, even if you feel like you’re a distraction, even if you think you and your child are getting nothing out of it, just be there. 

You aren’t attending a show where you have to worry about throwing off the performers or distracting the audience. God is the One at work here, and you can’t mess that up. He sees you, and He welcomes your children.

If you’re worried about what the others who see you might be thinking, there’s a good chance they’re actually encouraged by your presence. (And if they disapprove like the disciples who tried to turn away the infants, that’s their problem.) Most people love seeing little children in church, and you may be an inspiration to newer parents. I’m so grateful that I had the example of a family with five young kids at our previous church. Their baby was three months older than Hosanna, so they really set the precedent for me when she was born. The mom seemed so confident and secure. She would take out a child (or more than one) when necessary, but she didn’t jump up and rush out at the first peep. She would nurse in the pews. She encouraged her kids to participate in the service, but she didn’t seem to expect perfection. Without her example, I’m sure I would have been much more nervous about my own baby’s noise. 

^{Playing after Matins with the friends who were such an inspiration in those early days}

I could go on about my own experience with babies and now a toddler in church, but I’d rather jump into these resources. If you only have time to read one or two, the first one is my favorite. 

1. Comfort for Those Tending to the Lord’s Littlest Sheep by Keri Wolfmueller

This is a great three-part series that is full of theological encouragement as well as practical advice, serious reflection and relatable humor. Make sure you stick around to part three to get all of Keri’s tips and tricks, but don’t skip to the end. Her discussion of how excluding kids from the service comes from a belief in the age of accountability is very enlightening. It made me think of how our decision to bring or not bring our kids to church really is a confession of what we believe about original sin and the Holy Spirit’s work. I also really appreciate her realistic approach to age-appropriate behavior. She makes a helpful distinction between positive and negative age-appropriate behavior, while also acknowledging how embarrassment and pressure can make this harder in the moment.

2. Gift of the Liturgy for Those with Toddlers by Bethany Kilcrease

If you’ve never thought about how helpful the liturgy is for seasons when you can’t juggle a hymnal or bulletin along with your kiddos, this is an excellent quick read. The ordinaries of the liturgy really do help you participate even if your attention is divided. This is probably the main reason I’m glad we’re at a church that follows Divine Service Setting 3 every Sunday rather than alternating settings!

3. Tips for Mass with Little Ones by Tori Flattery and Mary Rose Ivey

As you probably guessed from the title, this podcast comes from a Catholic perspective. However, almost all of the practical tips for attending Mass also apply to the Divine Service. One thing I love about this episode is how it shows that different methods work for different parents and kids. It gives you the freedom to try a few things and figure out what suits your family. I also like the emphasis on realistic expectations. (Note: There is some weird stuff about saints in the chatting at the beginning. So if you want to go straight to the relevant tips, you can jump to the seven-minute mark.)

Blessings to each one of you–whether you’re currently wrangling little ones in church, preparing for this in the future, or supporting the parents around you!

^{It really is delightful when they start participating in their own toddler way!}

A Place to Lay Her Young

Psalm 84 became one of my favorites during my senior year of high school and has never lost its place near the top of my list. At the time, it was verse 11 that I found particularly comforting. Throughout the changes and disappointments on the cusp of adult life, it was sweet to know that God was withholding no good thing from me–that anything He did not give must not be good for me. Now, as a mom, I have a new appreciation for the third verse of this beautiful psalm: “Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, at your altars, O LORD of hosts, my King and my God.”

Mothers are notorious worriers. We long to remove perils from the lives of our children, to know that our little ones are safe. I suppose mother sparrows and swallows are much the same. They look for a place to lay their young away from the threat of danger. And, as the sons of Korah record here, they found such a place at the altar of God.

If the mother bird is welcomed here with her young ones, how can I doubt Christ’s reception and protection of my little children? “Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows,” Jesus told His disciples. And when they would have turned away the infants from Him, He overrode their worldly wisdom, telling them that they must become like the children rather than the reverse. “Let the little children come to me,” He said, “and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it” (Luke 18:16-17). The gracious words spoken by Joseph to his guilty brothers ring out from the cross of Christ to my unworthy ears: “So do not fear; I will provide for you and your little ones” (Gen. 50:21).

I look back to my daughter’s baptism, two years ago this Tuesday, when God welcomed my little one in Christ and called her His dear child. On that wondrous day, my daughter became my sister. Apart from any works of her own, according to the pure mercy of Christ, she received “the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit . . . poured out on [her] richly through Jesus Christ our Savior” (Tit. 3:5-6). I look forward to the baptism of my unborn son, when he too will receive this saving grace. And I look forward further to the time when both of them will receive Christ’s body and blood at His altar.

This is the beautiful, breathtaking role of the Christian mother: to give my children physical birth and then to bring them to the font, where they are “born of water and the Spirit” (John 3:5); to feed and nourish their growing bodies and then to entrust them to the Savior who will feed them as I cannot. Like Hannah bringing Samuel to God’s house, I am to bring my children to “to appear in the presence of the LORD and dwell there forever” (1 Sam. 1:22). May they find, in the words of Psalm 84, that “a day in [God’s] courts is better than a thousand elsewhere” (v. 10). They are not mine to keep but rather mine to bring to Christ. The worry, guilt, and desire for control that are all too characteristic of motherhood can melt away at the altar of God, where the mother swallow has found a place for her young.

Happy Mother’s Day! If you want more reading on the topic of motherhood, check out these posts:

He Shepherds Us, Too

The Not-So-Quiet Time

An Alternative to the Proverbs 31 Woman

Motherhood and the Second Commandment

Or, if you’re in more of a poetry mood, check out these:

One More Thing (A Poem and an Update)

2 A.M. (A Poem)

Ash Wednesday Reflections and a Poem about Eve (“Hold Me”)

Advent Tears: A Poem for the Holy Innocents

Mary, Martha, and the Divine Service

³⁸ Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. ³⁹ And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. ⁴⁰ But Martha was distracted with much serving. And she went up to him and said, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” ⁴¹ But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, ⁴² but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

^{Luke 10:38-42}

Mary and Martha: the two sisters who seem to confront every Christian woman with an impossible standard of stillness and service, listening and labor. I’ve heard these women held up as representative of a sort of balance we should seek as women. We should serve others but also give them a listening ear. We should be busy without losing perspective in our busyness. We should ensure that we neglect neither practical ministry nor personal devotions. The balance can feel quite overwhelming, for whenever we feel that we are living up to one sister’s standard, we find that we are failing miserably in comparison with the other. We wonder how on earth God expects us to be like Mary when everyone around us seems so in need of a busy Martha to cook and clean, wash laundry, change diapers, buy groceries, go to appointments and meetings, and generally keep things running.

What was wrong with Martha’s posture? The Lord’s reproof can sound so unfair. Couldn’t He have been a little more appreciative of her effort? Didn’t He realize that all her busyness and anxiety were for Him? But perhaps therein lies the issue. I would like to propose that the problem was not so much in what Martha did but rather to Whom she did it. She treated Christ as any other guest, as one who needed her service.

Lutherans have a beautiful name for what happens when we gather every Sunday morning: Divine Service (German, gottesdienst). The emphasis is not on what we to do for God but on what He does for us. (Pastor Bryan Wolfmueller sums it up well in this short video.) The astounding reality is that the Divine One comes to serve us in Word and Sacrament. We come as poor beggars to receive.

This is how Mary responded to Jesus’s visit in Luke 10. She sat at His feet and received His Word. Martha was anxiously rushing around, acting as if Jesus needed to be served by her. But “the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Matt. 20:28). The One who fed a crowd of five thousand men with five loaves and two fish didn’t need Martha. She needed Him.

I wonder if we miss the point when we try to apply a perfect Mary/Martha balance to our dealings with others. Often the people in our lives do need us to serve them in tangible, menial ways as Martha tried to serve Jesus. We don’t have to beat ourselves up when we find that most of our time has been spent doing the sort of work Martha did, for this may be what our neighbors need. As Luther famously said, “God does not need your good works, but your neighbor does.”

A better application might be our posture toward the Divine Service. Here we come not as busy servants, anxious and troubled by all the things God needs us to do, but as helpless sinners who need His life. Christ invites us to His table and is “among [us] as one who serves” (Luke 22:27). In Word and Sacrament, we receive the “one thing necessary . . . the good portion, which will not be taken away” (Luke 10:42).

^{Georg Friedrich Stettner: Christ at the home of Martha and Mary}

In the Presence of Her Foes

This poem is a reflection on Psalm 23:5a: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” I find it stunning to think about this verse in light of the Lord’s Supper. Here, “tho’ devils all the world should fill,” Christ prepares a table for us. He welcomes His battle-worn bride to come and take of His body and blood. For the other texts that inspired this poem, see 1 Peter 5:7-8 and Revelation 12:7-17.

^{Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com}

In the Presence of Her Foes

A desperate beast in search of blood,

Like a lion prowling,

Seeking to devour the saints,

Hungry, ravenous, growling.

Overcome by blood and Word,

He knows his time is short.

And though his doom is sealed, secured,

He tries God’s plan to thwart.

Ferocious dragon thrown to earth–

Thrown down to where I dwell–

Cast out of heaven but not yet

Confined to fiery hell.

And now he prowls where pilgrims walk

And on the saints makes war

To see what havoc he can wreak 

On a Church so pitiable, poor.

Yet to this Church I come and find

The riches of God’s grace.

For He has not forsaken her

Who looks so weak, abased.

And here He spreads a gracious feast,

Prepares a sumptuous meal,

Bids the battle-worn one come

To rest and let wounds heal.

In the presence of her foes,

This table He prepares.

And here He calls the weary one

To cast her every care.

He feeds her with His body here,

Sustains her in the strife.

The blood that threw the dragon down

Is now the Church’s life.

A Hill to Die On

Pastor: Do you intend to continue steadfast in this confession and Church and to suffer all, even death, rather than fall away from it?

Catechumen: I do, by the grace of God.

***

My Confirmation Sunday

It was July of 2020. After the long months of wrestling through Lutheran theology before starting catechesis followed by more long months of catechesis interrupted by the COVID-19 pandemic, I was finally being confirmed in the Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod. There I stood, confessing before the congregation that I acknowledged God’s gifts in Baptism; that I renounced the devil; that I believed in the Triune God and His work of creation, redemption, and sanctification; that I believed all of Scripture to be inspired; that I believed the Lutheran Church’s doctrine drawn from Scripture and expressed in the Small Catechism to be faithful and true; that I intended to hear God’s Word and receive His Sacrament faithfully, and to live according to His Word and remain faithful; and, finally, that I was willing to die for this Church’s confession.

There are some parts of the confirmation rite, such as the phrasing of renouncing the devil and all his works, that may sound a bit old-fashioned, but I think none rubs against our modern sensibilities more than the question and response above. A church that asks you to be willing to die for its teachings! Is this some kind of cult?

As a child, I heard stories about martyrs who died rather than reject Christ. Their faithfulness in the face of death inspired me. But I didn’t give much thought to how many Christians had suffered and even died for smaller matters of the faith, for what some of us would call “minor doctrines.” John the Baptist was martyred not for his primary work of pointing people to Christ but for condemning Herod’s sexual immorality. A crucial factor in the founding of the Missouri Synod was the immigration of confessional Lutherans who were fleeing the threat of forced unionism with the Reformed. Couldn’t John have shut up about sexual immorality in order to maximize his mission and bring more people to Christ? Couldn’t the original LCMS members have agreed to “round off” and get along with the Reformed? Today, they would probably be asked by other Christians if those are really the hills they want to die on.

The funny thing about the idiom “a hill to die on” is that it is almost always used in the negative. I hear people speaking of hills that aren’t worth dying on much more often than hills that are worth dying on. Often we use this expression to question the strength of other people’s convictions: “I can see why you would believe that, but are you sure that’s the hill you want to die on?” Sometimes this question is appropriate. Sometimes we need to be reminded that we are obsessing over matters of adiaphora (Greek, “indifferent”) that are neither commanded nor forbidden in Scripture. But other times we raise this question because of unbelief in the clarity of Scripture.

For Christians, the question of doctrinal hills to die on largely comes down to which doctrines we believe God has clearly revealed in Scripture. If we think He has spoken clearly on doctrines of Creation and Atonement but left matters ambiguous when it comes to Baptism and the Lord’s Supper, then we aren’t going to die for our sacramental theology. It can be easy to assume that because Christians disagree on a doctrine, it must not be clear in Scripture. But the cloudiness of our fallen human reason does not negate the clarity of God’s Word. We cannot blame Him for insufficient clarity in speaking when the fault lies in our own unwillingness to hear.

The devil will always come to us with the tempting question of Genesis 3, “Did God really say…?” What if Eve had known what God said but thought it wasn’t sufficiently clear? She might have said, “His words were, ‘Of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat,’ but I don’t think we can know for sure what He meant by that. It’s fair to interpret that in a number of ways.” Or what if she had known the truth but thought that it wasn’t a big deal? We can imagine her saying, “Well, He told us not to eat from the tree, but I don’t see that as a hill worth dying on. After all, it’s just a piece of fruit. I’m sure God would rather us focus on more important truths.”

We cannot know what part of God’s Word we will be tempted to deny. We do not know whether we will be tested on the Atonement (“Did God really say, ‘It is finished’?”) or on the Lord’s Supper (“Did God really say, ‘This is My body’?”). Some doctrines may seem more glorious to shed our blood for, but we cannot choose that God will call us to die on those hills rather than on hills that look smaller. Doctrine is a connected whole, and hills that appear small in isolation may be indispensable when seen in the complete landscape.

I’ll admit I’m grateful to live in a time of church history when heresy is no longer a capital crime. Maybe when some Christians say that a hill isn’t worth dying on, they mean that it isn’t worth killing on. (This would make sense, given the military origins of the idiom.) If that is the case, I would agree. We should not use our theology to destroy others, whether unbelievers or Christians of other confessions. But we must not translate our unwillingness to kill into a timidity that makes us unwilling to die.

At the end of the day, our salvation does not rest on which hills we are willing to die on. I do not doubt the salvation of Christians who believe only a handful of “major” doctrines are worth dying for. Salvation depends on the One who died on the hill of Golgotha for us. Christianity is not about us dying for Christ but about Him dying for us. Nevertheless, I cannot concede that Christians should reduce their hills to die on when those hills are the very words of life.

The Unpreached Sermon

I heard a story once that went something like this: A pastor walked up to the pulpit to preach. He looked at the congregation and said, “I can’t preach the sermon that I had prepared for today because it isn’t true in my life.” And he dismissed the congregation and went home. 

^{Photo by Kaihsu – https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=75915931}

The man who told this story had been in that congregation, and he described this occurrence as the most powerful sermon he never heard. When I heard this story as an Evangelical, it made sense to me. Surely a pastor shouldn’t preach something that he doesn’t practice. Surely he shouldn’t expect the congregation to listen to something that he hadn’t made true in his own life. Since becoming Lutheran, however, I’ve looked back on this story more critically. When I think of it now, I feel sorry for that pastor and his congregation. 

The most glaring problem this story exposes is the lack of Gospel in the prepared sermon. If this pastor had intended to preach the Gospel to his congregation, it would make no difference to what degree he thought he was applying his message. The Gospel remains true, regardless of what we do or don’t do. It is the good news that Christ has done everything. It is that message of “first importance”: Christ’s death for our sins, His burial, His resurrection, His appearance to the apostles and the early church (1 Cor. 15:3-8).

In the book Has American Christianity Failed? Pastor Bryan Wolfmueller claims, “Holding back the Gospel from Christians is one of the greatest failures of American Christianity … Christians are fed a steady diet of commands and instructions without a shred of mercy and grace.” I’m afraid this is what was happening in the church in this story. Christians need the healing balm of the Gospel, but it seems this pastor had prepared only Law.

Not only was this church deprived of the Gospel, but I gather from this story that the preaching of the Law was also weakened. What happens when a pastor limits his preaching of the Law to the commands he considers to be “true in his life”? Instead of proclaiming God’s good and holy Law as the standard–a standard before which we all fall short–he makes himself the standard. When a pastor preaches only on the laws he thinks he is keeping, it is quite possible that many in the congregation will think they too are keeping the Law. They are less likely to realize their need for a Savior. When the Law is preached in its fullness, all of us are found guilty. The Law stops our mouths, exposing all of us as sinners who fall short of God’s glory (Rom. 3:19-23). It convicts and condemns, driving us to the Gospel for our salvation. But if this congregation hears of an achievable righteousness through keeping the Law, they may never realize their need for the Gospel that is missing in the sermons.

The pastor, like all believers, is both saint and sinner. The sinner will never keep the Law. Though this pastor’s statement may seem like a gesture of humility, it is pride that would lead any of us to think that we are keeping some of the Law. It is good that this pastor realized he did not keep the Law in his prepared sermon. The problem is that this should be the case for all his sermons. “For whoever keeps the whole law but fails in one point has become guilty of all of it” (James 2:10). Did the pastor honestly think that every other time he preached the Law he was preaching something that was “true in his life”? What does that even mean? Whenever a pastor preaches the Law in all of its strictness, he is preaching something that he does not keep. 

It is true that pastors should be “above reproach” (1 Tim. 3:2; Tit. 1:6) and that those “who teach will be judged with greater strictness” (James 3:1). Jesus had harsh words for the scribes and Pharisees who preached but did not practice (Matt. 23:3 and following). There is a sense of hurt and betrayal among the hearers when a Christian teacher is found guilty of the very sins he has been condemning. But I would argue this is especially true when the teacher has focused on those sins to the exclusion of others or has gone beyond Scripture to preach his own man-made laws. (I think here of the sex scandals of prominent leaders in the purity culture movement.) The problem is not in the preaching of God’s Law, and the solution certainly is not the watering down of God’s Law.

The congregation in this story needed to hear God’s Word. They needed God’s Law and Gospel. But they received nothing because of the pastor’s own perception of what was “true in his life.” If sermons are supposed to be merely inspirational or informational, then their loss was not too great. But if the preaching of God’s Word delivers grace to His people, then this poor congregation was sent away without the thing they most needed. The sheep were not fed. 

It is not my intention in this blog post to tell a pastor how to do his job. Rather I write as a layperson to fellow laity. If you are in a church where the delivery of God’s grace in His Word depends on the pastor’s application, I beg you not to stay there. You don’t have to leave church unfed like the congregation in this story. There are churches where the Law of God is preached in its firmness, not lowered to an attainable height. There are churches where the Gospel is more than an altar call invitation given to the unbeliever. The Gospel is for you too. Again and again, you can receive what our loving Father wants to give you. You can be fed with the Word of life.

I realize this may be a controversial topic, and I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments section. Do you think this pastor did the right thing? Or should he preach God’s Law even when he doesn’t keep it? What about the preaching of the Gospel? Is it for the unsaved only or for Christians too?

He Shepherds Us, Too

I haven’t been in a liturgical church long enough to know whether Good Shepherd Sunday often falls on Mother’s Day, but I loved how beautifully the two themes coincided this year. I had just listened to this inspiring interview in which Mari Hoverson of Abide Bible Club (who also happens to be my sister-in-law) talks with Laura Booz about her recent book Expect Something Beautiful: Finding God’s Good Gifts in Motherhood. When Mari asked for a verse that can encourage women, Laura gave an unexpected answer: Isaiah 40:11. This verse, immediately preceded by a declaration that “the Lord GOD comes with might,” describes Christ’s tender care for His sheep: “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.”

^{The Good Shepherd by Bernard Plockhorst}

Yesterday, as the pastor preached on the Good Shepherd in John 10, he noted how we are like sheep. We do dumb things, we don’t recognize the food and water that are good for us, and we need to be rescued again and again. Anyone who has spent much time around kids might think this illustration sounds all too fitting. It’s easy for me to see my one-year-old daughter in that description. But do I see myself there? Do I recognize my own need for a Shepherd?

Christ promises to “gently lead those that are with young.” He cares for us mothers just as He cares for our little ones. Sometimes I get so accustomed to being the one upon whom another depends that I forget my own dependency. I get caught up in giving to my daughter and forget that everything I give must first be given me by God (1 Cor. 4:7). Just as “we love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19), so we gently lead our children because Christ gently leads us. He does not give us what we need to begin and then leave us to figure out the rest for ourselves. Our Good Shepherd goes before us (John 10:4). He knows us; no one can snatch us from His hand (John 10:27, 28). We would have nothing to sacrifice for our children if He did not give us life by laying down His own.

One of Hosanna’s favorite books to read is this little board book of Henriette L. von Hayn’s hymn “I Am Jesus’ Little Lamb.” It’s easy for me to think of this as a children’s song and forget how gently and lovingly the Good Shepherd cares for my every need. I like how Emily of Total W(h)ine says it: “Good parenting means remembering I’m a child.” This is the reminder I need this Mother’s Day. I am weak and helpless. I do dumb things. I wander from the good pastures. I sin against the Shepherd who died for me. But Christ seeks me and gently leads me. He washes me. He feeds me with His own body and blood. He holds me with more love than I will ever have for my little girl.

“Give Me Doubt”? Religious Uncertainty In a Secular Age, Part 1 (Guest Post)

Today I’m excited to share with you a post by my husband, Caleb Hoverson. This is the first in a two-part series on doubt and faith in today’s Church culture. Watch for part two to see the conclusion to these reflections.

^{Image from charlestaylor.net}

I came across a video once in which philosopher Charles Taylor described what he calls “the four modes of seeking” in religion today: the viewing of religion as a journey; the decrease of religious dogmatism; the embracing of doubt; and what he calls “an ecumenicism of friendship.” While all of these modes of seeking are interrelated, I would argue that the third one, embrace of doubt, is the key to all of them. For if one embraces religious doubt and uncertainty, it makes sense to view life as a journey and not a destination. And if life is a journey, then, as Taylor points out, one can view individuals from other religions as co-journeyers on the path to a truth not yet discovered– maybe never to be discovered. This leads to a replacement of the dogmatism of previous decades with an “ecumenicism of friendship,” where religions can cooperate and perhaps even work towards unity (or even unification?) 

Taylor’s description of the four modes of seeking is perhaps best illustrated by The Brilliance’s beautiful EP, “Give Me Doubt: A Remedy for Spiritual Violence.” Most of the lyrics repeat the following refrain:

Give me doubt so I can see my neighbor as myself

Give me doubt so I can lay all my weapons on the ground

When the armor of God is too heavy for peace

Give me doubt, give me doubt 

As I interpret this passage, the songwriter is asking God for the doubt as a sort of gift, a gift that will enable him to gain (essentially) an ecumenicism of friendship. As he sees the doubts and struggles he shares in common with others around him, he begins to see his neighbor as himself, a statement clearly alluding to the commandment in Scripture to love one’s neighbor as oneself. Thus, doubt could even be seen as a key to love. This can be seen in the outro of the first song, which reads

What be my courage now?

My shield from evil?

Love, be my courage now

I shall not fear 

So one can see not only doubt but also Taylor’s “ecumenicism of friendship” and hints of the religion-as-journey concept in this music by The Brilliance. There is even a rather explicit mention against militaristic religious dogmatism in the negative words, “When the armor of God is too heavy for peace.”

The irony of this EP is that the gospel of peace is a part of the “armor of God” in Ephesians 6 (v. 15). A shield is part of the armor as well. However, the shield  is not love, but faith. Faith is in many ways the opposite of the very gift for which the artist is praying (doubt). And speaking of prayer, the apostle Paul concludes his passage on the armor of God with an exhortation to prayer, specifically “that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel” (Ephesians 6:19, ESV). 

This is the point I want to highlight. “Give Me Doubt,” by presenting doubt as a virtue and the armor of God (even if not the actual armor referred to in Ephesians) as a hindrance to overcome, actually minimizes the clarity and certainty of the Gospel. The Gospel is not an invitation to doubt, but to faith. Many in today’s secular age are trying to harmonize faith and doubt, as if the two are not mutually exclusive. They exist at the same time in a Christian. But that is only to the same extent that sin and perfect righteousness dwell in a Christian simultaneously. Doubt is still the absence of faith, just as sin is the absence of righteousness. Doubt is a vice, not a virtue. 

This being said, a clarification is in order. I affirm The Brilliance in presenting doubt as a means to better understand the neighbor. This is a very true consequence of doubt, as well as any sin. When we recognize our limitations, failures, and shared inability to save ourselves, we grow in humility and understanding for one another. But one must remember that Jesus repeatedly chides His disciples for their doubt and lack of faith (e.g. Matt. 14:31). James writes that one who doubts in prayer is like a wave of the sea tossed about by the wind (James 1:6). 

Ash Wednesday Reflections and a Poem about Eve (“Hold Me”)

Yesterday marked my fourth year attending an Ash Wednesday service and my third year doing so in a Lutheran church. It is a sobering, humbling experience to have the ashes placed on my forehead as the pastor repeats the words, “For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But this time I was especially moved as the ashes were placed on my daughter’s head for the first time. Hearing those words spoken to my sweet, silly, carefree baby, I was reminded of the awful reality that she too is affected by the Fall. Like me and like all of us, she is dying.

^{Here she is goofing off in front of the mirror, blissfully unaware of the sober events of the evening. (Most of the ashes had rubbed off by the time we got home.)}

I wonder if the death of Abel was the first time Adam and Eve really reckoned with what their sin had done. They had eaten of the tree and ushered in sin, death, and decay. And now death had come for their own son through his brother’s hand.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a poem imagining Eve’s deathbed perspective. It isn’t exactly an Ash Wednesday poem. But any poem about death is, loosely speaking, an Ash Wednesday poem. In this poem, I explore what it would have been like for Eve to tell Adam goodbye, to face that separation of death that they never should have known. Genesis doesn’t tell us whether Adam or Eve died first, so I’ve taken the artistic license of writing as if it was Eve. Here is my retelling of the first few chapters of Genesis through the lens of Eve’s death.

Hold Me

Hold me as you held me in the garden that first day,

On the day you woke and saw me, and I took your breath away.

I remember that first meeting when God brought me to your side, 

The side from which He fashioned me, your helper and your bride.

I remember how you held me then–your strong arms round me clasped–

How you sighed with wondrous joy and breathed out the words, “At last!”

~

Hold me as you failed to do the day the serpent came,

When you failed to intercept him in his crafty, deadly game.

Protect me as you didn’t when you blamed me for the sin

That cast us out of paradise and cursed this world we’re in.

~

Hold me as you held me when the curse’s awful pain

Gripped me as I labored to bring forth our darling Cain.

I wondered in that moment if that’s how it feels to die.

But lovingly you held us, and at last we heard his cry. 

~

Hold me as you held me when he took his brother’s life,

And I felt my heart sliced open by death’s cold and cruel knife. 

You held me as I learned our boys were never coming home: 

One hidden in the dust of death, the other made to roam.

You held me as I learned he would not crush the serpent’s head;

The one I hoped would save us crushed his brother’s skull instead.

~

Hold me, Adam, as you’ve done for all our many years,

Hold me as you’ve held me through our joys and our tears.

This should’ve been forever; I can’t bear to say goodbye.

You named me Mother of All Living; and now you must watch me die.

Our life was full and full of love, but now it’s gone so fast,

And still it feels like yesterday that you first said, “At last!”

Oh Adam, let me lean on you and feel your sweet embrace;

One final time let me behold my lover’s lovely face.

Let me feel the arms I knew before the curse had sapped their strength.

Let’s recall our full love story, in this one moment grasp its length.

What should have been forever now with lightning speed flies past.

So hold me one last moment, for at last I breathe my last.