Car Wash

I got to spend a good portion of the day with the Emmaus Youth, and some of the other parents, working a car wash fundraiser. I was amazed to realize that I haven't washed a car like that for a very long time. When I was a young boy, I used to wash my Mom and Dad's car fairly often. But I'm pretty sure the last time I washed a car by hand was in the summer of 1989, working a fundraiser for a different youth group altogether. Okay, so that was a long time ago!

The fundraiser back then was for the National Youth Conference in Denver, Colorado. I went along to that event as a chaperone for the youth from our church at that time, although I wasn't all that much older than they were. Of course I had a good time at the conference, but I sure don't recall that it was particularly edifying. The one thing that everyone remembers about that conference is the horrendous thunderstorm that hit Red Rocks while we were all there at the outdoor amphitheater. That was terribly exciting. Picture thousands and thousands of youth, one minute swaying back and forth to the strains of some nondescript "contemporary Christian" rock band, little pen lights held high, the next minute running for any semblance of cover, getting soaked to the bone, shivering from the cold, and riding a wave of panic-driven adrenalin. You just can't buy that kind of excitement.

I've not gone to any more National Youth Conferences since then, but not because of the weather. I have enjoyed a couple of the Higher Things Lutheran Youth Conferences in recent years, and hope to be part of more of those in the future. Our Emmaus Youth had a car wash for last summer's Higher Things conference, The Feast, but I wasn't able to work with them on that fundraiser. It was a lucrative effort, however, and the group was inclined to do it again. Hence, today's event.

The car wash this time around was not for any sort of conference, but for the historic stained-glass windows of our church. They are a beautiful part of our building, depicting various scenes from the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ. These hand-crafted windows are also a big part of the reason that Emmaus is designated an "historic landmark" here in South Bend. Unfortunately, years and years of weather have deteriorated them, and they are in need of restoration. They were given a protective covering some years ago, which has helped to prevent them from being damaged by rocks and balls and such, but has also helped to trap moisture inside their frames and moorings (not good). Estimated cost to have all of the windows repaired and restored is in the ballpark of $150,000 (half again as much as the congregation's annual budget).

The Emmaus Youth were doing their part to help raise money toward the cost of restoring the windows. The net result of today's car wash, including matching funds, should be somewhere between $600 and $800. Not bad for half a day's work. In any event, I'm proud of the young people of our congregation, and I enjoyed the chance to work with them on the car wash. They are a good bunch. They worked hard, despite the heat, and managed to have a good time at it. Thanks to all of them, and thanks to those who supported the effort.

Twenty-Two and Counting

I'm giving thanks this morning for my wife, LaRena, and for the twenty-two years of marriage that we celebrate on this day, the 15th of June. A blog is hardly an adequate place to reminisce about all that we have shared in those years, but I would be remiss to say nothing at all. So I'm taking a cue from some of my friends, and simply ruminating on a few of the high points that come to mind, as I consider my still lovely "princess bride" and the life that we have been given to share together.

We met in 1983, as we were about to begin our senior year in high school. I was dating LaRena's best friend at that point, and even though she broke my heart along the way, I guess I have her to thank for introducing me to the future Mrs. Stuckwisch. The Lord had all of that worked out. He had it worked out, too, that moving to a new town and transferring to a new high school between my junior and senior years wasn't really the end of the world, after all. I got a job that summer, working as a stock-boy and clean-up guy at a local discount store. I was sweeping the floor at the end of the day when June showed up with LaRena, and that was how we first met. I had already heard about her, and knew her name, and considered myself terribly clever for looking up as the two of them arrived and saying, "Oh, hello, LaRena, this must be your friend, June." I really was a dork back then (and I suppose that not much has changed), but it must have been endearing. June had already graduated, but LaRena was going to be a senior, too, and she and I ended up having several of our classes together. She sat right behind me in math class, for one thing, which was frustrating to her, I'm sorry to say, because I could do math like a calculator (back then), and she had to work at each problem a little longer and harder than I did.

LaRena and I got to know each other well, and we became good friends over the next several months. When June left me for another country, the stage was set for LaRena and me to become more than friends. I've often thought that it was a good thing we had already been friends for a while before then, because I became so twitterpated with her that I doubt very much I could have developed or sustained much of a relationship otherwise. As it was, I opened my eyes and realized that my friend LaRena was also the girl of my dreams, and I was smitten. So much for "once bitten, twice shy"! I never looked back, and LaRena never let me go.

We were looking at an old photo album the other day, from shortly after we got married. Wow! I've always looked young for my age, but I was just plain young back then. We were both 19, and I probably could have passed for 16 without much trouble. LaRena looked a little older, and she was certainly more grown up and sophisticated than I was (she still is that, although she doesn't appear to have aged at all since then). But we were still "just kids," like everbody said, younger than our DoRena is now. I guess I was barely 18 when I proposed to her on New Year's Eve, 31 December 1983, and LaRena was still 17 (so both of us were younger than Zachary is). Young and in love, and terribly naive. I'm glad that we didn't know any better, because we would probably have made more responsible decisions, and I wouldn't have the life and family with which the Lord has blessed me ever since. One shouldn't tempt the Lord, but He kept me safe when I was a foolish little boy getting into mischief, and He didn't write me off or wash His hands of me when I became a love-sick foolish young man getting married a year into college.

That summer of 1984, after we had graduated from high school, I had to have major corrective surgery on my jaw. They had to take a bone graft from my hip, in order to build up my upper jaw and bring it into comformity with my lower jaw. A full day of surgery, four days of intensive care, and another week in a regular room, all of this an hour's drive away from home. LaRena and my Mom came up to see me every day, and pretty much to sit there with me for hours on end while I zoned in and out. I spent the whole summer recovering, before heading off to college in the fall, thirty-five pounds lighter than I had been (having had my jaw wired shut for a full month!). It was right about that time that we let our parents know about our plans to get married. Note to my own children, and to others: this is not the right way to go about doing things, even though the Lord did work it all out for the best.

The next year was very hard. I was a freshman at Concordia in Seward, while LaRena went to the community college in our home town (and worked hard at a couple jobs to raise money for our wedding and our future life together). While I had been in the hospital, LaRena had bought us a pair of buttons that read, "I love my girlfriend" and "I love my boyfriend," and I wore mine without fail that whole freshman year. There are probably classmates out there who still remember me for that button. I took an endless amount of ribbing for it, but I didn't care. I think I managed to write to LaRena just about every single day, and I wouldn't be surprised if she still has those letters somewhere. I'm sorry to say that I'm not such a hopeless romantic anymore. I am a fortunate man, though, to still have my bride after twenty-two years.

Our wedding day was incredibly hot, the A/C in the church went out, and we couldn't run the fans because they kept blowing out the candles. The matron of honor just about fainted. There were various points of chaos, and not every detail went as smoothly as we had planned. We were surrounded by family, friends and loved ones, however, and all that I can really remember is what a happy day it was. It was a wonderful day, and the beginning of a wonderful life together. There have been ups and downs, both joys and heartaches, some hurts and hardships and frustrations. I expect that such days will come and go for as long as we live. But my bride was beautiful then, and she still is. Better than that, she has loved me and stood by me, supported me in my pursuits and forgiven me for my mistakes along the way. I still remember being stunned when I first finally realized the extent to which she has hitched her wagon to mine, and how her place in life, her goals and dreams, and her vocations are all wrapped up in me and mine. This is such a humbling thing, but I am so deeply grateful for it. I pray every day that the Lord would be with me and sustain me in my calling to be LaRena's husband.

We share our special day with my sister and her husband. In fact, it was on our own sixth anniversary that I had the privilege of walking my sister down the aisle and giving her away, since Dad was the officiant and already waiting with her groom at the front of the church. Rob and Dorisa are celebrating their sixteenth anniversary today. As usual, the card is in the mail too late to make it for the occasion, but I hope they will know that our thoughts and prayers are with them. My other sister and her husband had their anniversary earlier this week, and Mom and Dad had their anniversary two days ago. I'm late with cards in every case, despite my good intentions, but all of them are in my heart and mind this week. I'm especially grateful to my parents for their good example of faithfulness and commitment to each other, according to the Word and will of God. What He has joined together, let no one put asunder.

I'm looking forward to taking my bride out for lunch in a just a little while. Going out on dates together doesn't get to happen very often at this point in our life, but it's always a special treat. We'll be going as a family to share the evening meal with those young-and-in-love newlyweds, Andrew & Ann, and that will be another treat on this happy day. I can't think of a better way to mark our wedding anniversary, than by basking in the glow of a new husband and wife. They're a little older now than we were then, but it calls to mind a pleasant nostalgia for me.

A High Maintenance Woman Don't Want No Maintenance Man

I've discovered the perfect theme song for the LCMS Convention this summer. Don't political parties always have some kind of pep song these days? Well, Toby Keith has a new record out this week, Big Dog Daddy, the most recent in a string of new records by some of my favorite artists, and the first song on it is perfect. I wonder if there's still time for a late overture to suggest it. Who knows, it could probably even be added to the Lutheran Service Builder.

Toby sings the part of an apartment complex fix-it-up boy. My son has seen the video for this, by the way, and he tells me that "the maintenance man" in question is a big fat slob; but you don't get that from listening to the song. He's a handy man, with all the right tools, and he knows how to get the job done. He's captivated by a good-looking woman living in the complex, who's obviously well-to-do and enjoys the high life. Around my house, "high maintenance" calls to mind our two-year-old Frederick, and any parent of a little boy that age will know what's up with that. I suppose that a "high maintenance woman" is likewise self-explanatory. Not surprisingly, she has no interest in the poor maintenance man.

For the entire time that I've been a pastor, I've been hearing pejorative critiques of "maintenance ministry." This perverse and pernicious label is applied to those pastors (like me) who suppose that preaching the Gospel, teaching the Word of God, administering the Sacraments, visiting and caring for the people of God, and, in short, shepherding the flock, is what they are called to do. The assumption is that such basic "maintenance" of the congregation is detrimental to the mission of the Church. I disagree.

The people of God will share the Gospel with their neighbors in the world, as they receive the Gospel from their pastors through the Ministry of the Word and Sacraments. They will be merciful, as they receive mercy. They will feed the hungry, as they are fed with Body and Blood of Christ. They will clothe the naked, as they are clothed in the righteousness and holiness of Christ, through His forgiveness of all their sins. They will shelter the homeless, as they are sheltered within His Church on earth. They will visit the sick and imprisoned, as they are visited by the Lord, their Good Shepherd, in His tender mercy and compassionate fellowship.

The LCMS may be a "high maintenance woman," but she don't want no "maintenance man." At least there appears to be a drive to maintain the machine, the structures and programs, to tally up numbers and bring in the bucks. But there doesn't seem to be much confidence anymore in the basic tools of the trade, the means of grace. Like a lot of yuppie couples, there are modern congregations up to their necks in debts and operating expenses, who end up being consumed by the relentless need for funding, and for tangible evidence of success, in order to keep going. The steady maintenance of preaching, the liturgy and catechesis, seems woefully inadequate. Then again, so did our crucified Lord, Jesus Christ. There's that theology of the cross again!

I'm not suggesting that pastors and congregations should neglect opportunities for outreach and evangelism, or fail to do what they can within their neighborhoods. I expect that we should all be doing more along these lines. Yet, without the basic maintenance of the Gospel-Word and Sacrament, nothing else the Church may do in the world will matter or make any difference. Music videos notwithstanding, the "high maintenance woman" would do better with the "maintenance man." Otherwise she'll find that, sooner or later, her world is falling apart all around her. No amount of money or prestige will fix the sink without a plumber.

Incidentally, I think that Big Dog Daddy may be Toby Keith's best record to date. He's been pretty steady in turning out the music for the last decade, but not always so consistent. There's not a dud on this new record, though, even if there are a couple songs that aren't as solid as the rest. "Love Me If You Can," "White Rose," and "I Know She Hung the Moon" are particularly good, and these are more mature songs than Toby has often worked with in the past. He can be irreverent, and politically "uncorrect" (thank you, Gretchen), which is entertaining, as well. But I'm glad for the increased breadth and depth and variety in the case of Big Dog Daddy.

For Kindred Spirits, from Dr. Luther

I was struck by the following comments from Dr. Luther's Lectures on Galatians, 1535 (Luther's Works, Vol. 26, CPH 1963). They exemplify the same theology of the Cross, stemming from Dr. Luther's own experience, as I described in the case of Paul Gerhardt earlier this week. It seems to me that these words of comfort and encouragment provide a necessary balance to important warnings against mechanistic repentance. Struggle and strive against temptation and sin, we must, but it is Christ who is our great Champion, and His Spirit our defense Attorney, against all the assaults and accusations of the devil, the world and our sinful flesh. We contend with all our enemies by availing ourselves of the Gospel in Word and Sacrament. But He who has laid hold of us, and bound Himself to us in our Baptism, does not leave us to wander away and get lost. We are weak, but He is strong, and His power is made perfect in weakness. Here's Luther:

"God has sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, crying: 'Abba! Father!'" (Galatians 4:6)

"Paul could have said: 'God has sent the Spirit of His Son into our hearts, praying: "Abba! Father!"' But he purposely says 'crying' to indicate the trial of the Christian who is still weak and who believes weakly. Elsewhere he calls this crying 'sighs too deep for words' (Rom. 8:26). 'Likewise,' he says, 'the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words.'

"It is a very great comfort when Paul says here that the Spirit of Christ, sent by God into our hearts, cries: 'Abba! Father!' and when he says that He helps us in our weakness and intercedes for us with sighs too deep for words. Anyone who truly believed this would not fall away in any affliction, no matter how great. But many things hinder this faith. In the first place, our heart was born in sin. In the second place, we have the innate evil in us that we are in doubt about the favor of God toward us and cannot believe for a certainty that we are pleasing to God. Besides, 'our adversary, the devil, prowls around, issuing terrible roars' (1 Peter 5:8); and he says: 'You are a sinner. Therefore God is wrathful with you and will destroy you forever.' We have nothing to strengthen and sustain us against these great and unbearable cries except the bare Word, which sets Christ forth as the Victor over sin, death, and every evil. But it is effort and labor to cling firmly to this in the midst of trial and conflict, when Christ does not become visible to any of our senses. We do not see Him, and in the trial our heart does not feel His presence and help. In fact, Christ appears to be wrathful with us and to be deserting us at such a time. Besides, in this trial a man feels the power of sin, the weakness of the flesh, and his doubt; he feels the fiery darts of the devil (Eph. 6:16), the terrors of death, and the wrath and judgment of God. All these things issue powerful and horrible cries against us, so that there appears to be nothing left for us except despair and eternal death.

"But in the midst of these terrors of the Law, thunderclaps of sin, tremors of death, and roarings of the devil, Paul says, the Holy Spirit begins to cry in our heart: 'Abba! Father!' And His cry vastly exceeds, and breaks through, the powerful and horrible cries of the Law, sin, death, and the devil. It penetrates the clouds and heaven, and it reaches all the way to the ears of God.

"With these words, then, Paul wants to indicate the weakness there still is in the pious, as in Romans (8:26): 'The Spirit helps us in our weakness.' For because the awareness of the opposite is so strong in us, that is, because we are more aware of the wrath of God than of His favor toward us, therefore the Holy Spirit is sent into our hearts. He does not whisper and does not pray but cries very loudly: 'Abba! Father!' and intercedes for us, in accordance with the will of God, with sighs too deep for words. How?

"In deep terrors and conflicts of conscience we do indeed take hold of Christ and believe that He is our Savior. But then the Law terrifies us most, and sin disturbs us. In addition, the devil attacks us with all his stratagems and his fiery darts, trying with all his might to snatch Christ away from us and to rob us of all comfort. Then there is nothing to keep us from succumbing and despairing, for then we are the bruised reed and the dimly burning wick (Is. 42:3). Meanwhile, however, the Holy Spirit is helping us in our weakness and interceding for us with sighs too deep for words, and He is bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God (Rom. 8:16). Thus the mind is strengthened amid these terrors; it sighs to its Savior and High Priest, Jesus Christ; it overcomes the weakness of the flesh, regains its comfort, and says: 'Abba! Father!' This sighing, of which we are hardly aware, Paul calls a cry and a sigh too deep for words — a sigh that fills heaven and earth. He also calls it a cry and a sigh of the Spirit, because when we are weak and tempted, then the Spirit sets up this cry in our heart.

"No matter how great and terrible the cries are that the Law, sin, and the devil let loose against us, even though they seem to fill heaven and earth and to overcome the sighs of our hearts completely, still they cannot do us any harm. For the more these enemies press in upon us, accusing and vexing us with their cries, the more do we, sighing, take hold of Christ; with heart and lips we call upon Him, cling to Him, and believe that He was born under the Law for us, in order that He might redeem us from the curse of the Law and destroy sin and death. When we have taken hold of Christ by faith this way, we cry through Him: 'Abba! Father!' And this cry of ours far exceeds the cry of the devil."

Church in the City

Today is the commemoration of the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea, which met in the early summer of the Year of Our Lord 325. The question was asked of me recently, why this date? Well, there is at least some Eastern Orthodox precedent for it (the 12th of June), but there was also a fairly longstanding LCMS precedent for the 19th (in many of the old Lutheran Annuals). I honestly don't remember why we opted for the 12th instead of the 19th, but thus has it been written in the LSB, and so shall it be done. No undoing the laws of the Medes and Persians, and all that. But perhaps we should simply spend this entire coming week remembering the Council of Nicaea. It couldn't hurt (especially with a synodical convention beginning a month from now).

It was at the Council of Nicaea that the divinity of God the Son and His equality and unity with the Father were confessed in response to the Arian heresy. The 318 holy fathers convened in the council were not inventing anything new, but saying more pointedly and precisely what the Holy Triune God had revealed concerning Himself in the Holy Scriptures, and which the one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church had always and everywhere believed. Dan Brown would have the world believe that it was avant garde theology, a toss-up and a close vote, when it came right down to it (like certain resolutions that were passed in 2004). Nope. Enjoy Dan Brown's page turners, if you like, but get your theology and church history from elsewhere. As I recall, there were only two bishops who voted against the decision of the council. The rest of the bishops had already known, going into it, that Jesus is God; it was only a matter of how to say it.

The hero of the Council of Nicaea was a young deacon at that point, Athanasius, who later became the great bishop of Alexandria. It was especially his theological acumen and clarity that served and supported the position of his bishop, Alexander, in opposition to Arius and his followers. Over the course of the subsequent decades, as the recalcitrant Arian heretics came in and out of power, St. Athanasius suffered repeatedly for his staunch confession of the true faith. It was really not until after his death, at the Council of Constantinople in the Year of Our Lord 381, that the doctrine of the Holy Trinity was more or less settled and articulated in the form of the "Nicene Creed" as we have come to know it. Surely we ought to remember these events with thanksgiving unto God, that He has revealed Himself and spoken His Word to us, and opened the lips of His Church to call upon His Holy Name in the Spirit and the Truth of Christ.

One of the many things that I love about the Council of Nicaea is the way it demonstrates the benefit and blessing of politics in the life of the Church. There are those who want to get all pious about it, who decry "politics" as though it were evil and a detriment to the Church. But what those people have in mind is not really politics, but the abuse of politics and the sinful human lust for power and position. "Politics," properly speaking, is simply the process of using the established structures and orders (the polity) of the city (polis). It is an aspect of the "good government" for which we pray and give thanks in the fourth petition of the Our Father. Like all of God's good gifts of creation, it can be turned into an idol and misused in false belief, despair, and other great shame and vice. But it ought not to be so used as such a false god.

The Council of Nicaea was called by the emperor, Constantine, who evidently presided over the opening session. One can debate the pros and cons of the Constantinian era, but in this case the true and only God used the governing authorities of the Roman Empire to call His Church on earth to the confession of His Word and faith. And let us not suppose that the 318 holy fathers were all passive, namby-pamby milquetoasts. They were contending for a truth that mattered, determining what it was necessary to say and confess concerning God, the Savior of the world. They knew how to discuss and debate and even argue, not for the sake of contentiousness, but for the sake of calling one another to repentance and being sharpened, as iron sharpens steel. Both imperial and ecclesiastical politics served those ends, as they should in our own day, also.

Pastoral Care Companion

One of the men whom Pastor Loehe sent over to this country, back in the nineteenth century, to provide pastoral care for the vast number of Lutheran immigrants who were scattered about without nearly enough pastors to serve them, wrote that a frontier pastor needs two things: He needs a horse to ride the far and wide circuit of churches he serves, and he needs a wife to keep him company. That's a pretty good list. I don't have a horse, but I'd be lost without my car. Whether lost or not, I'd definitely want my wife to be there with me, with our train of children following behind, variously batting their eyes and batting flies.

I'd add the new LSB Pastoral Care Companion to the list. Good things come in threes, and it's more trinitarian, but that's not the reason. This little book (albeit twice as big as the Lutheran Worship Little Agenda) is a gem. Kudos and many thanks to the faithful men who developed this tremendous resource for all of us. I don't really like the word "resource," but I'm not sure what else to call it. Maybe it would be better to describe it as a means of grace, since it confesses the Word of God throughout. Whatever you call it, every pastor ought to get one.

I'm thinking that the Agenda Committee of the Lutheran Hymnal Project should be given the Most Valuable Player award. The Agenda itself has already been a significant contribution to the life of the Church, but this Pastoral Care Companion may be the single most important component of the entire LSB "family." Studying the book, and putting it into practice, is like a course in pastoral theology. Pastors should be awarded continuing education credit for using it.

The bulk of the book is a section entitled "Resources for Pastoral Care." Included are introductory paragraphs providing guidance for dealing with a huge array of circumstances. Then there are Psalms and Readings and hymns and prayers to assist in all those different sorts of situations. I've never encountered anything quite like this before, and it is wonderful. I'm also very glad to have the Collects of the Church Year provided (for both the three-year and the one-year lectionaries, as well as for all of the feasts and festivals). And the self-examination questions intended for assistance in "Preparation for Confession" are a marvelous benefit, not only for pastoral care, but also for the pastor's own personal piety.

Thanks again, guys, and God bless you for this blessing.

Paul Gerhardt on His Worst Day Is Better than Twila Paris

My point is not to pick on Twila Paris. The one hymn of hers that has been included in the Lutheran Service Book is textually not so bad, even if the tune is rather weak and schmaltzy. But it is another case of trading birthrights for porridge when we let go of solid Lutheran hymnody to make room for the thin and passing fads of the present. Not that LSB has done so badly in this regard. It’s actually quite good, and arguably the best collection, overall, of Lutheran and other hymns in English ever published. Given the choice, I’d gladly swap a hundred of its weaker hymns for a hundred historic hymns that were left out (or relegated to the electronic edition). Still, that’s only fifteen percent of the hymnal, and there’s more other hymns in the book than any congregation can use with any consistent frequency. So, there’s a need for pastoral discretion, and the next hymnal project can have a go at doing even better than LSB. In the meantime, I’m sincerely grateful for the beautiful job that my good friend, Dr. Paul Grime, has done in shepherding this project to such a satisfying and salutary conclusion. Thanks!

When I comment that Paul Gerhardt on his worst day is better than Twila Paris, I’m not being cynical or sarcastic. I mean it just the way it reads. Paul Gerhardt on his better days was pretty good, too, but I am convinced it was the crosses that he bore throughout his life that taught his heart to sing repentance and faith. The theology of the cross has been a steady drumbeat of mine since I first began to learn of it, from Dr. Luther, in my studies at the seminary. But it was this past December, following the birth of my own little Gerhardt, as I was studying his namesake, that I was given a deepened sense of this theology of the cross.

It is not in spite of the cross, but precisely by the way and the means of the cross, that God accomplishes His purposes for us. That is preeminently true of the Cross of Christ. But His Holy Cross is the paradigm for the way in which the Lord God continues to reveal Himself and give Himself to us, and to deal with us in love, unto repentance and faith in the forgiveness of sins, unto the life everlasting. Thus, I have often encouraged myself and others that the crosses we are given to bear are laid upon us for our own good, as a blessing, not a curse, for the strengthening of faith. Our Lord is not far from us, but nearest of all to us, in and with the Cross. C.S. Lewis grappled with that, following the death of his wife, in his book, A Grief Observed. Paul Gerhardt grappled with it in his hymns.

It is especially in this case of Gerhardt that it dawned on me, that the crosses we bear are a blessing, not only to our own Christian faith and life, but also to our neighbor, perhaps to many neighbors in the world that we may never even know. St. Paul the Apostle writes of this, as well, in his Epistles: the way in which the Ministers of the Gospel bear the Cross and Passion of Christ in their own bodies and lives, for the sake and benefit of those to whom they are called and sent. In Paul Gerhardt’s hymnody, I have personally benefitted from the crosses that faithful man of God bore throughout his life.

Gerhardt did not write from a place of abstract contemplation, but from within the crucible of suffering. From childhood on, everyone around him was dying: his parents, his siblings, his wife and children. He also suffered in his office, for his faithfulness in teaching and practice. He lived more or less in poverty, in the midst of real hardship round about. And all of this that he experienced has breathed a pathos into his hymns, even in translation, that speaks to the very heart of anyone who suffers the hurts and heartaches of this life on earth. Not only the temporal hardships of the body, but the struggles of faith through the proverbial long dark nights of the soul. That is where the cross is heaviest and hardest of all, where the devil attacks with his vile accusations of guilt and sin, and his nagging questions of God’s faithfulness and love. There Jacob must persist in wrestling with the Angel of the Lord, refusing to let go of His Word of the Gospel. There the Canaanite woman prays for the "Yea and Amen" of Christ Jesus, even in the face of the Law’s ferocious "No!" There the Sweet Singer of Germany sings.

What never ceases to amaze me is the way that Gerhardt’s hymns cry out, from the heart, with such an honest awareness of suffering and sorrow, but for all of that, with such a soaring hope and confidence in the sure and certain Word of God in Christ. I am humbled, even as I am greatly comforted, by this confession of faith, by the joy and thanksgiving that burst from out of the very mire unto the Lord our Savior. The Cross does not destroy Gerhardt, but brings him through death and the grave into the faith and life which are in Christ Jesus. It cuts me to the quick and staggers me each time I sing his hymns, all the more so knowing the difficult circumstances in which Gerhardt was writing and singing such words. It is a healing wound, however, for which I am profoundly thankful.

Last week was one of those times when I spent my days in the doldrums, marinating in the melancholy blues. There were some irritations early on, but nothing tragic, no tremendous hardships. I wasn’t on the verge of despair, but I was down and depressed. I hate it when I fall into such a funk, not only because it’s miserable to feel that way, but especially because it gives the devil such an easy opening and foothold. So I skated along that precarious ledge of sullen crankiness, ready to plunge headlong at any moment into the abyss. Then it dawned on me, and it seemed so obvious, so simple, that I could not fathom why I had not thought of it sooner. I turned to Gerhardt in the hymnal, and I sang. In fact, I had family and friends to sing with me, as well, which is all the better.

Everyone is different, I suppose, but I find it almost impossible to remain in a funk when I sing with Gerhardt. If nothing else, I’m too ashamed to keep on fussing and moaning about my troubles while Pastor Gerhardt sings with such faith and hope and joyful confidence in the midst of his far greater trials and tribulations. Yet, shame does not bring the healing of the Gospel. It is not my embarrassment, but Gerhardt’s confession of Christ that renews the right Spirit within me and lifts my countenance. I can sing with Gerhardt, even before I feel like singing, because I know that what he sings is the Word of God. And singing the Word of God, like praying the Psalms, teaches my heart to believe and my mouth to confess what is true, come hell or high water against me.

I thank God for the crosses that He laid upon His servant, Paul Gerhardt, and for bearing him up under those crosses. It was Christ and His Cross that sustained that faithful hymnwriter, and He sustains me, as well. But our dear Lord Jesus Christ works through the ways and the means of His Cross, and Gerhardt is a case in point. Paul Gerhardt on his worst day was taught by the Word and Spirit of Christ the Crucified to fear, love and trust in God, and to rejoice in his sufferings. What a pastor learns from the Cross in such a way, he is able to use in caring for the souls of others. Several centuries after his death, in this 400th anniversary of his birth, Pastor Gerhardt is still caring for souls, including mine, with words that he was taught by the Holy Spirit, no doubt. Christ be praised!