theology of the cross for our day, The

Lutheran, The, Mar 2004 by Hall, Douglas John

The 'difference' of Luther

Of the Reformers, only he does justice to the ambivalence of life

As a non-Lutheran for whom Martin Luther has been, since I first encountered him a half-century ago, the most interesting historically prominent Christian of them all, I've gradually come to the conclusion that-of all the major voices of the Protestant Reformation-Luther's is the least familiar. That seems obvious enough where Anglo-Saxon Protestants are concerned.

But sometimes I have the impression Luther remains something of a stranger even among the churches that call themselves by his name. Perhaps, like many renowned figures of history, Luther's fame has obscured his reality.

We English-speaking Protestants of WASPish origin usually think we know Luther. After all, he did launch the Reformation with his famous Halloween prank there in Wittenberg nearly five centuries ago. But we tend, most of us, to lump Luther together with all the other heroes of our religious past-Ulrich Zwingli and John Calvin and John Knox and the English reformers right down to John Wesley. And the truth is, he's significantly different from all of them.

Luther's "difference" can be discussed in many ways. For instance, it can be said that he is still a late-medieval man and a mystic, whereas the other reforming spirits (including Philip Melanchthon) were "modern," trained in the humanist tradition and tending toward rationalism. Or that Luther, although a scholar, never lost touch with his peasant origins, while Calvin and the others were already part of the emerging middle classes.

But what really separates Anglo-Christianity from Luther is his theology. There are shadings and nuances in his way of articulating Christian faith that the typical English-speaking Protestant finds puzzling-even uncomfortable. And this discomfort isn't limited to Presbyterians and Methodists and Anglicans. Many avowed Lutherans in North America feel it too. For Luther's most basic ideas are conspicuously out of sync with the culture by which we are all shaped today, no matter what our denominational tag.

Take what's usually regarded as the central claim of the man: "Justification by grace through faith," sola gratia, sola fide. Who, in our success-driven society, really believes that-and behaves accordingly? The somewhat-informed churchgoing Protestant may dutifully deplore "works righteousness," but will he or she be satisfied with a son or daughter who isn't a high achiever?

Or consider Luther's paradoxical notion that Christians are "at the same time justified and sinners," simul justus etpeccator. In a country like the United States, where "true belief admits neither intellectual doubt nor moral duplicity, what kind of concession to backsliding is that?

And what of Luther's conception of the authority of the Bible? Certainly the Bible was indispensable for the Saxon Reformer. His sola Scriptura (by Scripture alone) was as adamant as Calvin's. But no one who knows him even a little could ever accuse Luther of encouraging fundamentalism. He was fond of quoting the then-popular saying, "The Bible has a wax nose." You can twist it to your own preference in... noses.

Besides, Scripture is only "the cradle" of Christ, he insisted. Don't confuse it with the Baby. Only the living Christ himself is Truth-and, sorry, you may possess a Bible but you can't possess him.

Cross, not glory

All this "difference" in Luther is summed up in one great, underlying distinction, which he, himself, early in his reforming career, designated by two Latin terms: theologia crucis and theologia gloriae-usually translated "theology of the cross" and "theology of glory."

Luther wanted his theology to be (and it usually was) a theology of the cross. There's a temptation to the theology of glory in all of us, even Luther. But he at least knew that it's a matter of temptation, and many Christians, apparently, do not.

By "theology of glory," Luther meant what some of us call triumphalism. Religious triumphalism is the kind of belief that imagines itself the only true belief, the only "orthodoxy." In the language of a popular song of my youth, this theology "accentuates the positive, eliminates the negative, and doesn't mess with Mr. Inbetween." So, for instance, the great "positives" of resurrection, redemption, sanctification and the triumph of God's righteousness are "accentuated." Crucifixion, divine judgment, continuing sinfulness and the reality of evil are "eliminated" (except, of course, as they apply to other people). Whether in old-fashioned doctrinal language or in the psychologized lingo of the church-going middle classes, the theology of glory offers a full package of Positive Spiritual Reinforcement-for those whose economic and other material sorts of reinforcement are firmly in place.

The theology of the cross, on the other hand, can't shut its eyes to all the things that are wrong with the world-and with ourselves, our human selves, our Christian selves. It doesn't accentuate the negative, as its critics sometimes claim. But it does want to acknowledge the presence and reality ofthat which negates and threatens life. Death and doubt and the demonic are still with us, and Luther never tired of talking about them and struggling with them. Any faith that depends on denying all that darkness isn't faith at all in the biblical sense of the term: It's credulity, repression and self-deception.