Where's his boasting now?

What is our Reformation heritage?
There are those that would say that our Reformation heritage is a doctrinal correctness. They see our task as the Lutheran Church to be primarily one of preserving correct doctrine, that the majority of our efforts should be expended at keeping doctrine pure, at preserving every jot and tittle of the true confession of faith that has been so ardently preserved by those precious and valiant warriors who have gone before us. They boast of a doctrinal purity that reaches back for ages. Are they correct? Is that our Reformation heritage? Well . . . that’s part of it.
What is our Reformation heritage? There are those who would say that our Reformation heritage is a dedication to pursuing new truth, new revelation from God. These people would see our task as Lutherans to be one that constantly pushes the envelope, of keeping the comfortable majority unsettled. To them a true Christian is, in some ways, one who lays aside the accepted religious definitions of the previous generation and pushes for a radical, new understanding of what Jesus Christ means in the world today. They boast of their willingness to adapt their theology. Are they correct? Is that our Reformation heritage? Well . . . that’s part of it.
Now, frankly, these two concepts are vastly different ends of the spectrum. How then can I say that they are both part of our Reformation heritage? Well, hold on for a while and let’s see if I can get it explained or not.


There are two men we’re going to talk about today. Two men . . . but with four lives. Each man had an old life and a new one. One man, named Saul by birth, had been trained as a Pharisee; one of the strictest sects of Judaism. He was consumed by his religion, and he zealously pursued a righteousness of fulfilling God’s Law.
Saul’s credentials were impeccable. At one point in his life he looked back upon his early days and said, “If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more: 5 circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; 6 as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness, under the law blameless.” (Philippians 3:4-6) Saul was confident—perhaps over-confident—in his righteousness before God.
Like Saul, Martin Luther was a man preoccupied with religion. But where Saul’s religion had filled him with an inner pride, a self-righteousness characterized by a zealous hatred of the followers of Jesus Christ, Luther’s religion filled him with an inner contempt, a self-hatred that could not achieve the demands of God’s Law, no matter how hard he tried.
In Luther’s day the church taught that “God will not refuse grace to those who do what is within them.” If only Christians would do the little bit they could, God would do the majority of the work of saving them. The church taught that Christians could earn the grace of God by doing their best.
Yet Luther took no joy in this teaching, he didn’t take any comfort. He too easily saw the depths of his own sin. He knew how corrupted he was. And so he sought to purge himself of all traces of pride, of gluttony, of lust. As Saul had boasted that he was a “Hebrew of Hebrews”, Luther took it upon himself to become a monk of monks. He sought to make himself as good a monk as could be.
He went down the road of self-denial, refusing food and drink for days on end, sleeping in the dead of winter with neither coat nor blanket. The practice is called the mortification of the flesh—the attempt to kill off one’s own sinful desires through denying the body’s cries for attention—and Luther took it so far that he would beat himself with whips, trying to scourge himself free of the sin that so easily entangled him. For Saul, God’s righteousness was a weapon . . . but for Luther the righteousness of God was his mortal enemy.
Near the end of his life Luther would reflect upon this time, and he wrote, “I hated that word, ‘the righteousness of God . . . Though I lived as a monk without reproach, I felt, with the most disturbed conscience imaginable, that I was a sinner before God. I did not love, indeed I hated the righteous God who punishes sinners and secretly (if not blasphemously and certainly with great grumbling) I was angry with God.”
The early lives of these two men—the early lives of Saul and of Martin Luther—were so different. One is self-confident and cocky, the other self-loathing and unsure. So different . . . and yet they were missing the same thing: neither understood the grace of God.
The one thing that was missing from both of their attempts at religion was grace! Without knowing grace, without experiencing grace, Saul was forced to say, “Because of what I do, God must certainly be pleased with me!” and at the same time Luther was forced to say, “Because of what I do, God must certainly be angry with me!” Neither of them knew of the love of God, of the gift of God . . . neither of them knew the true message of the cross of Christ.
That message of the cross is radical. The message of the cross is life-changing. The message of the cross is eternal and constant, but the message of the cross does not stand for the status quo.
The message of the cross is life, and the message of the cross is death. The message of the cross is mercy, and the message of the cross is judgment. It both challenges and reassures, afflicts and comforts. It leaves no heart unchanged, no life untouched, no eternity undecided. The message of the cross marks the dividing line in all of earth’s history, and the message of the cross makes the difference between dying for something and dying of something.
It was nothing other than the message of the cross that changed both Saul and Luther. Saul—proud, self-righteous Saul-would meet Christ in a flash of light and the voice of God on the road to Damascus, and he would go on to become Paul. Paul, who wrote half of the New Testament and evangelized the known world. Paul, the man who had formerly persecuted and imprisoned untold numbers of faithful Christians would, because of the message of the cross, become a man who would gladly endure beatings, scourgings, stonings, and shipwrecks if it meant he could continue to proclaim that same message.
The message of the cross redeemed Paul and sent him out with a mission. Writing to his good friend, Paul said in 1 Timothy 1:15-16, “15 Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners-- of whom I am the worst. 16 But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life.”
And Luther? The message of the cross took this sad, self-pitying little monk and turned him into a world-beater. Luther embraced the message of the cross and with it challenged a corrupt system of bishops, governors, emperors and popes. A little monk with bad bowels and a funny haircut took on the superpowers of his day . . . and won. The sin that had so easily entangled had not left him, but in the message of the cross he had learned to put it in its true place.
Writing to a fellow monk, Luther would say, “Therefore, my sweet brother, learn Christ and Him crucified; despairing of yourself, learn to pray to him, saying, “You, Lord Jesus, are my righteousness, but I am your sin; you have taken on yourself what you were not and have given me what I was not.’ Beware of aspiring to such purity that you will not wish to be looked upon as a sinner, or to be one. For Christ dwells only in sinners.[1]”
In the message of the cross both men found what they had been missing. No longer were they required to attempt to please God through their actions. The Law had ceased to be their measuring tool for salvation. Instead, the Gospel—the free, life-giving Gospel of Jesus Christ—now became their power, their strength, their source of comfort.
What is our Reformation heritage? One significant aspect of it is the teaching—no, not just the teaching, but the realization—that we are saved by grace through faith. We no longer need to rely upon our character, our actions, our selves but simply grasp the grace of Jesus Christ with the hands of faith. We no longer look to ourselves for comfort or assurance of salvation, but in faith we rest completely in Jesus Christ.
Paul writes, “27Where, then, is boasting? It is excluded. On what principle? On that of observing the law? No, but on that of faith. 28 For we maintain that a man is justified by faith apart from observing the law.”
Where is Paul’s boasting now? In writing to the Romans Paul says that he no longer has a place for boasting in his former deeds. There is nothing in him worth boasting about, because all the stuff that he used to think was so important . . . that just wasn’t worth anything anymore compared to the glorious riches of Christ. Through the eyes of faith, Paul saw Jesus Christ as his All in All, and gloried in Him alone.
And Luther? The learned Doctor Martin Luther, author of numerous books, the man who had the adulation of the German people? When he was called before the Emperor at the Diet of Worms . . . where was his boasting?
(play Luther clip)

Luther’s boasting was no longer . . . but his simple prayer to Christ was, “I am yours . . . save me.”

“I am yours . . . save me.” That simple little prayer speaks of a person whose life has been eternally changed by an encounter with Jesus Christ. An encounter that is given by grace and grasped by faith.
It is that faith in Jesus Christ that will sustain you, that will change you. In the same way that it changed The Apostle Paul and Doctor Martin Luther, the life of faith will work in you, and before you know it you’ll find yourself bringing Christ to your friend, your neighbor. Faith—true faith in Jesus Christ—has a funny way of turning your world upside down.








At the beginning of the sermon I mentioned two different kinds of Lutherans, one group who boasts of their doctrinal purity and the other who boasts of their willingness to adapt their theology to a constantly shifting culture. And I asked you, “Which one is correct?” Which one is our Reformation heritage?

The answer is: both . . . and neither.

What is our Reformation heritage? It is not found in boasting, but it is found in faith in Christ. We don’t boast in what we have or what we do, but we trust in Christ and allow Him to work in and through our lives.
Our Reformation heritage is revealed when we hold tightly to the sound teachings of the faith, when we strive to keep the message pure, and at the same time strive to speak the message in such a way that those who surround us truly understand it. When we keep one hand holding on in faith to Jesus Christ and the other hand reaching out and constantly finding new ways to grasp hold of those who need a life-changing encounter with Jesus Christ, then I think we’ve got a real understanding of what our Reformation heritage truly is.
[1]Luther, M. (1999, c1963). Vol. 48: Luther's works, vol. 48 : Letters I (J. J. Pelikan, H. C. Oswald & H. T. Lehmann, Ed.). Luther's Works (Vol. 48, Page 12-13). Philadelphia: Fortress Press.