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    Gift and Promise: An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper
    Gift and Promise: An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper
    Gift and Promise: An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper
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    Gift and Promise: An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper

    By Peter Schmiechen

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    What would happen if the liturgy for the Lord's Supper started with the images in the New Testament rather than the divisions of our past? It would be like going through an open door into a new world. There we would find a new Passover celebration, a new covenant, and remembrance and proclamation of Jesus' death and resurrection--all in the context of the kingdom of God. It would be an evangelical Lord's Supper.
    This is a high-risk operation, given the reliance by many on transactional sacrifice and the tendency to reduce the Supper to a sacrament of penance for individuals. Ideas rejected by Luther and Calvin now reappear even among Protestants. The goal cannot be reached by subtracting a few things and adding references to eschatology and joy. The good news is that many churches have already taken steps to reform their liturgies. To support that process, here is a clear and consistent evangelical perspective, based on the theology and biblical considerations that have formed our faith and practice.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPickwick Publications
    Release dateDec 9, 2016
    ISBN9781532604966
    Gift and Promise: An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper
    Author

    Peter Schmiechen

    Peter Schmiechen is president emeritus and professor of theology at Lancaster Theological Seminary. He is the author of Saving Power: Theories of Atonement and Forms of the Church (2005) and Gift and Promise: An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper (2017).

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      Book preview

      Gift and Promise - Peter Schmiechen

      9781532604959.kindle.jpg

      Gift and Promise

      An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper

      Peter Schmiechen

      24588.png

      Gift and Promise

      An Evangelical Theology of the Lord’s Supper

      Princeton Theological Monographs 225

      Copyright © 2017 Peter Schmiechen. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.

      Pickwick Publications

      An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers

      199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3

      Eugene, OR 97401

      www.wipfandstock.com

      paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-0495-9

      hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-0497-3

      ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-0496-6

      Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

      Names: Schmiechen, Peter.

      Title: Gift and promise : an evangelical theology of the Lord’s Supper / Peter Schmiechen.

      Description: Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications, 2017 | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Series: Princeton Theological Monographs 225

      Identifiers: isbn 978-1-5326-0495-9 (paperback) | isbn 978-1-5326-0497-3 (hardcover) | isbn 978-1-5326-0496-6 (ebook)

      Subjects: LSCH: Lord’s Supper

      Classification: BV825.3 S352 2017 (print) | BV825.3 (ebook)

      Manufactured in the U.S.A. 12/20/16

      Table of Contents

      Title Page

      Preface

      Introduction

      Chapter 1: The Sixteenth Century

      Chapter 2: The New Testament Accounts

      Chapter 3: Ecumenical Developments and Changes in Liturgies

      Chapter 4: Saving Sacrifice

      Chapter 5: An Evangelical Lord’s Supper

      Bibliography

      Princeton Theological Monograph Series

      K. C. Hanson, Charles M. Collier, D. Christopher Spinks, and Robin A. Parry, Series Editors

      Recent volumes in the series:

      Stanley S. MacLean

      Resurrection, Apocalypse, and the Kingdom of Christ: The Eschatology of Thomas F. Torrance

      Brian Neil Peterson

      Ezekiel in Context: Ezekiel’s Message Understood in Its Historical Setting of Covenant Curses and Ancient Near Eastern Mythological Motifs

      Amy E. Richter

      Enoch and the Gospel of Matthew

      Maeve Louise Heaney

      Music as Theology: What Music Says about the Word

      Eric M. Vail

      Creation and Chaos Talk: Charting a Way Forward

      David L. Reinhart

      Prayer as Memory: Toward the Comparative Study of Prayer as Apocalyptic Language and Thought

      Peter D. Neumann

      Pentecostal Experience: An Ecumenical Encounter

      Ashish J. Naidu

      Transformed in Christ: Christology and the Christian Life in John Chrysostom

      Alexandra S. Radcliff

      The Claim of Humanity in Christ: Salvation and Sanctification in the Theology of T. F. and J. B. Torrance

      To Jan

      Preface

      This project developed in quite unexpected ways. I started out wanting to write about the sacraments. Since the sacraments were a central issue in the sixteenth-century Reformation, that seemed like the obvious place to start. After two years of reading it was clear that the Reformers had indeed opened the door to a reform of our faith and practice, but they also reached a tragic impasse, which lead to centuries of division. Things became even more complicated when I reviewed interpretation of the New Testament accounts of the Lord’s Supper. While there was much to support the initial reform of Luther and Calvin, it was also evident that theology and biblical studies have changed in five hundred years. One should also add that we find ourselves in a very different time and place. Then, while struggling to deal with what all that might mean, I began to examine Protestant liturgies. Contrary to the view that liturgies never change, it was surprising to discover that ecumenical Protestants have revised their liturgies more than once in the past seventy years. In effect, I was faced with findings going in many directions.

      While trying to come to terms with such diverse findings, a new idea emerged which was quite unexpected. Suddenly things fell into place. Simply stated it was this: What if the goal of an evangelical approach to the Lord’s Supper, initiated by the Reformers, was being fulfilled in theological and biblical studies in our time, as well as in actual changes in liturgies? In pursuing this it also became clear that my role was not to create an evangelical view but to point to the evangelical view of the Lord’s Supper contained in all of these developments.

      To articulate such an evangelical theology, however, requires some changes. The goal could not be reached by hanging on to all the things in the traditions. Nor can the goal be reached by adding something here or removing something there, or as so many urge, give more emphasis to eschatology and joy. Perhaps the most important conclusion was that one has to look at the basic structure and flow of the liturgy, as well as individual parts. It was necessary to ask: What would happen if we laid out a theology of the Lord’s Supper in light of the Reformers’ initial intent and the theological and biblical studies that have formed piety and understanding in this time?

      I have no illusions that churches will immediately start over. This should not happen because they have already made major changes and their progress testifies to a desire to embody an evangelical point of view. What I do hope is that the attempt to set forth a clear and consistent evangelical understanding of the Lord’s Supper will provide support and encouragement for further changes.

      This book brings to conclusion an extended study in Christology. It began with study of atonement theories, then led to thinking about the church, and now concludes with this theology of the Lord’s Supper. What we believe about Christ, church, and sacraments are not three separate subjects, but one as we reflect and confess what God has done in Christ. For this reason one can learn a great deal about a person’s view of Christ and the church by looking at how she or he views the Lord’s Supper. It actually is a quite accurate indicator of the larger theological perspective. This certainly was true for Luther. While he began his reform with a new understanding of justification, things did not boil over until he turned to the medieval Mass. An evangelical starting point required a reform of the Mass (and the church) and this in turn forced him to clarify his understanding of the gospel.

      Over five years I have benefited from the exchange of ideas with many friends, who provided critical insight and new understanding regarding key texts and traditions. These persons include Douwe Visser, Brian Gerrish, Gordon Lathrop, Theodore Copland, Sally Brown, Linden DeBie, James Weaver, William Evans, and my colleague of over two decades, Lee Barrett. While trying to put the pieces together, a discussion with the Adult Class at Holy Trinity Lutheran Church in Lancaster provided inspiration. Given the way this work has developed, the final result may be as much of a surprise to them as it is to me. I also wish to thank Matthew Wimer, Brian Palmer, and Robin Parry at Wipf and Stock, for their assistance in bringing the manuscript to publication.

      Introduction

      When one reads the narratives of the Lord’s Supper against the background of a century of biblical studies and theology, it is like entering a new world: there one finds a celebration of Passover deliverance, remembered yet magnified as the lamb reappears to make a new covenant. This occurs at the very moment that the herald of the kingdom faces death, quite certain that his community will not share the cup with him until all things shall be fulfilled. Passover, a new covenant, the kingdom—all celebrated in the context of Jesus’ fidelity, death, and resurrection.

      Why is it that our liturgies of the Lord’s Supper do not embody these themes, with all the struggle, sorrow, joy, and hope carried by these brief narratives? Why do we have instead prayers of our confession of sin, our offerings of bread and wine, references to Jesus’s all sufficient sacrifice offered to appease God, our pleading for mercy, leading finally to a word of forgiveness—when it was grace and forgiveness from the very start?

      Is it possible that the Reformation got it right by reforming the Mass, i.e., rejecting a transactional sacrifice re-presented every Sunday, along with transubstantiation (as if it was all about bread and wine equaling body and blood), or a work offered to appease God (as if God had not already spoken a word of grace)? But having been so right, they got caught up in their own times and their own peculiar logic, got sidetracked into thinking it was all about presence in bread and wine, and even worse, some chose to keep the basic outline of the medieval liturgy. How could they be so correct in rejecting the idea that eating and drinking bread and wine confers saving power by just doing it—almost like magic—and then become embroiled for five hundred years in a fight over how Christ is really in the bread and wine, or whether eating and drinking Christ’s flesh and blood conveys saving power? To only make it worse, later generations thought they could support the Eucharist with penal substitution and turn the Supper back into a transaction. So instead of the medieval re-presentation of the death of Christ to appease God, we have the Protestant formulation that God cannot forgive until Jesus pays the penalty for sin according to the Law. Perhaps it is not a surprise at all that the evangelical Reform of the sixteenth century was never really completed.

      The good news is that the last hundred years have produced multiple revolutions in the way we do theology and engage in biblical study. What has emerged is an ecumenical theological world, where denominational traditions are relevant but largely transformed by new perspectives. Consider, for example, the numerous advances in the ecumenical movement, the way we carry out theological education and worship, and engage in common witness and service. One confirmation of the change in perspective is that over the past sixty years many Protestant churches have already begun to reform their liturgies for the Lord’s Supper in light of the evangelical images contained in the narratives of the Supper.

      All of this confronts Protestants with choices. One has to do with the way we appraise our heritage from the sixteenth century: while the Reformation broke open the gospel in new ways, it also became deadlocked in a dispute that has lasted until our time. A great deal is packed into the Leuenberg Agreement of 1973 which declared that the differences between Lutherans and Reformed are no longer grounds for division.¹ Of most importance is the conviction that where there is agreement on the gospel, differences over specific issues must be subordinated to what is essential for unity. But there is also the implied judgment that certain ideas from the sixteenth century may belong to a theological framework that may not be applicable today. If that seems like a harsh judgment, consider the comment from George Lindbeck as to why this agreement attracted so little attention: Perhaps this was partly because their conclusions were expected. After all, most people already believed that the historic Reformed-Lutheran disagreements no longer warrant division.²

      But not all of the problems embedded in our tradition come from the sixteenth century. Too often, the evangelical reform became subverted by a legalistic outlook represented by penal substitution. This confronts us with yet another choice: shall we embrace the ecumenical theological work of the past century, undergirded by newer biblical study? As we shall see in this study, recent theological and biblical work has given new impetus to affirm the evangelical message of the gospels. If we are willing to do this, the way is open to reclaim the evangelical intent of the Reformation.

      The process of developing an evangelical theology of the Lord’s Supper for our time, however, is not inevitable. While the ecumenical movement has generated all sorts of positive achievements, it also produces some models of discussion which protect traditional points of view or celebrate a convergence of views when such may not be the case. So for example, we have a renewed defense of transactional sacrifice and transubstantiation, even by some Protestants. Such developments make it all the more urgent to begin to reclaim the evangelical agenda of the Reformers, supported by current biblical and theological perspectives. But we cannot fix things by small adjustments or additions to the liturgy. We must develop an evangelical theology of the Lord’s Supper.

      But how shall we move forward in developing an evangelical perspective? The way is not obvious since the Lord’s Supper involves so many fields of study and everything is complicated by divergent points of view. Most Christians would affirm that the Lord’s Supper is a sacrament that can be traced back to the last supper of Jesus and the disciples. But therein lies a paradox: while all services include the Words of Institution derived from the New Testament, every current liturgy surrounds these words with material which does not go back to the time of the disciples. Our traditional liturgies are as much a product of the history of church practice, piety and theology, as they are attempts to replicate what the New Testament gives us.

      One response to this challenge is to search for the liturgical Holy Grail (i.e., the liturgies of the first-century churches) by finding the missing links between known liturgical traditions and that time. The problem with this search is that if we did find them, they would probably be simple forms and patterns, still leaving us with a tremendous gap between contemporary services in Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, or Protestant churches and the first century. For example, it is one thing to say with some certainty that the earliest Christians gave thanks during the celebration of the Lord’s Supper. But how do we get from that statement to the Book of Common Prayer or any other contemporary Protestant service, where prayers of thanksgiving are offered at one or more places? Another example would be the well-known and oft quoted view of Dom. Gregory Dix that the shape of the liturgy is represented by four words: take, bless, share, and thanks.³ Here again we are faced with a monumental problem: how does one fill in the spaces in this play with four acts in order to arrive at current liturgies? Then there is an equally serious problem: when we trace parts of the service back to the sixteenth, tenth, or fourth century, these endeavors only beg the question: why should these earlier services be binding on churches today, especially since they have been revised so many times since their time of origin?

      An alternative is to reverse the direction of the search in order to create a new composite of what an ideal liturgy should entail. For example, one might look at the World Council report entitled Baptism, Eucharist and Ministry, which outlines five essential themes of the Lord’s Supper.⁴ But the document does not explain the relation between the themes. Nor is this an exhaustive list of things one might consider essential for re-constructing an ideal liturgy. It gives little attention to themes such as the new covenant, the Passover connection, or the possibility that multiple forms of saving power need to be explored in thinking about the Eucharist. As we shall see in latter discussion, the explanation of the five themes can be quite conservative, providing support for traditional practices (e.g., compare the way the document tries to find common ground on the question of sacrifice, inevitably condoning what has been the practice).

      Some will choose to work within the limits of their own denominational tradition, with its official standards for faith and practice. This allows for some discussion with others, but usually on the basis of finding points of agreement. Such an approach means we can only work within the limits of official standards, and thereby minimizes the extent to which the last century of theological and biblical work has created a new landscape for discussion as well as life lived together. This situation is further complicated by the crisis in American Protestantism since the 1960s, involving decline and growth, controversy and re-alignment. All of this generates conflicting needs. On the one hand, if we do not attend to the way Scripture and theology challenge church tradition, we would easily find ourselves living within the narrow walls of denominational thought and practice; on the other hand, if we do not drill down into our traditions, we would not understand who we are or how our traditions affect the way we read Scripture and theology. But this latter is difficult to do, since one can hardly read the actual texts of one’s history without encountering what is both beloved and problematic.

      This essay makes no absolute claim about procedure, except to affirm that quite diverse subjects need to be brought together. The study began with several years of reading the great Eucharistic debates of the sixteenth century. The focus then shifted to contemporary interpretations of the New Testament narratives. This was followed by study of the current ecumenical discussions and changes in Protestant liturgies for the Lord’s Supper. As I moved through these three fields of study, several things emerged. One was that while the three areas may indeed be distinct fields of study, each affected the study of the other two. Positive and negative correlations emerged from the juxtaposition of ideas—be they complementary or contradictory. The second was that out of this long and complex process a thesis emerged. If the project began with a general historical interest (i.e., what can we learn from these fields), by the fourth year things came together in a basic thesis. This had to do with the evangelical message in the Words of Institution, the reforms of the sixteenth century, the way Protestant and Roman Catholic scholars read the narratives in our time, and finally, the trajectories of the current ecumenical discussions and practice. While one could use any one of these to speak of the evangelical message, what emerged as an imperative was a thesis drawing on all of these fields of study.

      For this reason, the outline of the essay follows the temporal sequence of the study:

      First, the sixteenth century; second the New Testament narratives; and third, the contemporary ecumenical discussions and changes in liturgies. Running through all of these chapters was the debate over the meaning of sacrifice, which prompted the need for special attention in Chapter 4. The four chapters thus constitute the basis for the construction of an evangelical theology of the Lord’s Supper in Chapter 5.

      There are several reasons for presenting an evangelical theology of the Lord’s Supper. The first is to develop such a view in a consistent and comprehensive way, based on the New Testament, the sixteenth century and contemporary theological study. By consistent I refer to a view which begins and ends with an evangelical perspective, rather than adding or subtracting a few things from a framework received from other traditions. Instead of accommodating the basic evangelical vision to what exists, what would happen if we constructed a liturgy based entirely on evangelical principles?

      The second reason is that there is a need to have a consistent evangelical perspective for review and discussion in the current ecumenical discussions. For Protestants it would require that we ask: what do we take as essential in our understanding of the Lord’s Supper? Years of discussions and recent revisions of liturgies have already given positive answers to this question. In fact, these developments have provided great encouragement in the development of this project. For Roman Catholics and Orthodox, the essay is presented as a normative statement on what is an evangelical view, largely from the perspective of one who claims Luther and Calvin. The essay also enumerates the problems with the Roman Mass and transactional views of sacrifice. This will probably contain few surprises. What is of more interest is what kind of response will be generated by the positive statement of an evangelical perspective.

      Some will ask whether it is appropriate to propose such a single-minded view of the Lord’s Supper at a time when traditions are coming together to find common ground? Others might ask whether this so-called evangelical view is being held up as the only valid one?

      On the first question, we are indeed living in an irenic moment in the history of churches. I celebrate the advances made toward unity in Christ and sharing at the table, even though we do not actually have unity at the table with many Christians. Also, and somewhat disturbing, while some old arguments are being laid to rest, others are being revived and given new form. In such a situation, there is a need for a consistent statement of an evangelical point of view.

      The second question, whether a claim is made to be the only valid perspective, requires a longer response. In my work on atonement and the church, I have consistently argued that there are multiple forms of the church which are all valid. The general theory supporting this judgment is simply this: the means of grace have formed traditions in different ways. In their faith and practice, and especially their liturgies, each major tradition reflects a distinct view of Christ’s presence and the way saving power is communicated to believers. Thus, the Orthodox, Roman Catholics, Lutherans, and Mennonites have developed liturgies which reflect their own understanding of what God has done in Jesus Christ. All of their services contain Jesus’ Words of Institution, but each service surrounds Jesus’ words with a liturgy which points to a distinctive form of grace. Instead of asking what they have in common (i.e., such general terms as thanksgiving, consecration, epiclesis, or mode of presence) we ought to begin with the assumption that they are different. Thus, the question becomes: what is unique about these liturgies as each seeks to embody a distinctive means of grace. Furthermore, these means of grace have a dialectical relation with forms of the church. On the one hand, they reflect the way traditions understand the meaning of Jesus Christ and his presence among us; on the other hand, they give form to the church itself.

      Such a perspective allows us to see that there are distinctive traditions of Eucharistic theology and liturgical practice. They emerge out of unique historical circumstances and develop high forms of liturgical practice, supported by music, art, architecture and forms of ordained ministry. They also can reach a point of crisis, such as what happened in the sixteenth century in Western Europe with the Roman Catholic tradition, resulting in a division that only now is undergoing serious review. One can also argue that the Protestant tradition is undergoing a major crisis in the past half-century. Given the assumption that there are distinct forms of the church, it is appropriate to test the thesis by presenting for public scrutiny a positive statement of one such tradition, namely, the evangelical tradition. This in no way precludes the idea that a truly complete ecclesiology ought to ask how all of the basic forms relate to one another.

      In this light, whatever is said in this essay is not to be understood as a rejection of other traditions per se. What has been said is intended as critical analysis of certain aspects Roman Catholic and Free Church traditions, just as I have offered criticisms of my own tradition. I assume that the Catholic form of the church—formed by participation in a sacramental community—has existed and could continue to exist without the two aspects which have received the most criticism, namely, the re-presentation of Christ’s sacrifice and transubstantiation.

      Here it is also appropriate to state what I mean by the word evangelical. For centuries this word was used to describe churches of the Protestant Reformation. In fact, I grew up in a church formed by nineteenth-century German immigrants, claiming both Lutheran and Reformed traditions, bearing the name The Evangelical Synod. Since World War II, some branches of conservative Protestantism also claimed the name Evangelical, no doubt as a more positive designation than the labels of conservative or fundamentalist. Now of course, no one may claim sole ownership of a classic word such as Evangelical or Apostolic or even Protestant. When we find ourselves in a situation where multiple groups of quite different persuasions claim the same name, it is appropriate to ask: what does that word mean?

      My purpose is to make a case for one definition of the word evangelical, namely, the proclamation of the Word of promise. When the New Testament speaks of evangelizing, it means to proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior. This perspective underlies the narratives of the Lord’s Supper: celebration and proclamation of the new covenant and the coming of the kingdom through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It was this perspective which prompted Luther, Calvin, and Zwingli to promote a revision of the Lord’s Supper, supported by a theology of the Word of promise. When Protestant conservatives affirm the centrality of Jesus Christ, justification by grace received by faith, and the church as the community of Christ, we are in full agreement as to the meaning of evangelical. But when they want to base Christian faith on an infallible Bible or absolute doctrine, or ally the church with right wing politics, I do not consider those positions consistent with the evangelical intent of the Gospels.

      Does this mean I reject them as Christians or wish to exclude them from table fellowship? Absolutely not. All who are baptized are claimed by Christ and should be welcome at the table. What our differences do mean is that while we celebrate our unity in Christ, we need to have serious discussion as to why a single starting point leads to such opposing conclusions. This is the proper work of theology, ecumenical dialogue, and of course, family conversations as we increasingly find ourselves dealing with radical differences at family gatherings. In this context, it is quite appropriate for one to make the case for an evangelical perspective. Do I think my view of evangelical is correct? Yes, but not in an absolute or final sense. What is presented here bears the limitations of my personal history and abilities. My hope is that it will initiate conversation within Lutheran and Reformed traditions, but also between this perspective of evangelical and other traditions, be they Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Protestant Evangelicals. What might be accomplished is hard to say, given the firmly held positions by all parties. But I take heart in the conviction that we should be able to gather at the table because Christ invites us and given that, there is the hope that we might be at peace not because we agree but because we are united by Christ.

      1 Cf. Par.

      27

      &

      28

      of the Leuenberg Agreement, Rausch and Martensen (eds), Leuenberg Agreement,

      150

      .

      2. Ibid.,

      90

      .

      3. Dix, Shape of the Liturgy,

      48

      .

      4. Baptism, Eucharist & Ministry,

      17

      –

      28

      . Henceforth BEM.

      1

      The Sixteenth Century

      Reformation and Impasse

      In Search of an Evangelical Reform

      The Roman Catholic Heritage at 1500

      To set the stage for the great debates over the sacraments in the sixteenth century, let us briefly describe the medieval heritage. By the thirteenth century the church affirmed seven sacraments: baptism, confirmation, penance, the Eucharist, marriage, ordination, and extreme unction. They were given official recognition at the Council of Florence (1438–45). These sacraments presupposed several theological traditions, each involving extensive debate and action by councils over many centuries. One was the affirmation of Trinity and Incarnation, which affirmed that God is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and that Jesus Christ is the Word Incarnate, one person and two natures. The other was the long and protracted debate regarding human potential and sin. While Augustine appeared to be victorious in his opposition to Pelagius, the matter was never completely settled, as witnessed by endless revisions and compromises. If Augustine was correct, then humankind has fallen victim to the power of sin, now infecting all people and social structures. The effect of the Fall, usually referred to as original sin, creates a situation where humans are unable not to sin. When one combines both of these traditions—one regarding the human potential and the other regarding God’s act in Christ—we have the structure for the gospel message in the late medieval period. Jesus Christ is the Son of God, begotten of the Father, Who for us men and because of our salvation came down from heaven, and was incarnate by the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and became human. (Nicene Creed) By his sacrificial death on the cross he makes satisfaction for sin, reconciles us to God, restores humanity, creates newness of life, and offers the promise of eternal life.

      But how shall such saving power be received across time and space separating us from the cross of Calvary? The answer was the church and its sacraments. The church is created by the Incarnation of the Word and the bestowal of the Spirit as the Body of Christ. It is both totally dependent on Christ, the Head of the church, and it is the extension of the incarnation in time and space. Thus it is declared to be One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic—the marks identifying it with the unity, holiness, presence and authority of Christ. Just as the cathedrals, in their astonishing grandeur symbolize the presence of heaven on earth, so the sacraments are the sacred acts where believers meet the crucified and risen Christ and receive his gifts. The central act of the Lord’s Supper gives structure to worship, allowing for the church to be nourished by the saving power of Christ in and through the presence of Christ in bread and wine. Ordination affirms the authority of the church, establishes the hierarchy of religious orders over the laity, and thereby provides that the faith and practice of the church shall be faithfully governed. The remaining five sacraments provide grace and nurture for one’s pilgrimage through life on earth. To be Christian, therefore, is to participate in the sacramental life of the church, whereby the grace of Christ is shared with believers.

      The Scholastic theologians of the three centuries prior to Luther accepted Augustine’s dictum: sacraments are visible signs of an invisible grace. But there were serious tensions at work, indicating that all were not of the same mind. One had to do with how much weight could be given to the church and its practices. For example, Thomas Aquinas saw a sacrament as a sign of a sacred thing. This was preferred by ecclesial officials, since Thomas saw these sacred things fitting into a grand unity overseen by the church. In this sacred order, sacraments are signs joined with words authorized by the church. This meant that church, priests and sacraments were established by God, possessed authority, and were things we could see and trust. On these terms, sacraments contain and confer grace.⁵ But other theologians, such as Ockham and Duns Scotus, were cautious about tying God to church and sacraments. They preferred to place emphasis solely on the will of God. On these terms, sacraments are efficacious because God agrees to work through them, not because grace is necessarily mediated through the church.⁶ Another tension was the precarious balance between God’s primary agency in salvation and the expected or required human responses. All agreed that the sacraments conveyed grace to sinners, but how grace creates a new disposition in the believer or enables the will to do the good—these things were open to many possibilities. Thus one finds complex discussions of initiating grace and co-operating grace leading to the possibility that human beings cooperate with God’s grace and are capable of obtaining merit.⁷ As a result, we find an intricate balance between God as the author of our salvation and the expectation that human beings are to prepare themselves for, and participate in, the work of salvation.⁸ When the balance was broken and the emphasis tilted toward the human endeavor needed for salvation, then any certainty of salvation could be threatened. In fact, it might even create anxiety in an Augustinian monk.

      Though the church at this time named seven sacraments, our interest lies in the sacraments of baptism, penance and The Lord’s Supper. We turn first to baptism. By the eleventh century a major shift had occurred in the understanding and practice of baptism.⁹ In the early period of the church, when new members were received as converts, baptism was understood primarily as the symbolic dying and rising with Christ to new life. The actual practice was associated with Easter and was clothed in the rich theology of death, resurrection, and new life in Christ expressive of the incarnational theology of Nicea and Chalcedon. The more new members were infants born of Christians, the practice moved toward infant baptism. By the twelfth century, this gradual shift had been completed, reflecting changes in theology and practice. At Rouen in 1072, infant baptism was allowed at whatever time of the year parents wished; in 1139 the Second Lateran Council condemned those who refused to accept the practice of infant baptism.¹⁰ While the older themes of Christ’s triumph over death and Satan were still present, the emphasis now turned more to two issues: the penitential theme of the forgiveness of sin and entrance into the church as the Body of Christ. The first goal reflects the impact of the Augustinian idea of the solidarity of sin. Augustine rightly saw that individual sins had social and historical consequences. This meant that infants were born into a vast network of relations weighed down by self-interest and strife among humans and alienation from God. What was unfortunate, however, in the view of many in the modern period, was that Augustine allowed the transmission of this fallen state to be identified with the procreative process. Indeed, the idea of sexual transmission became a new rationale for the virgin birth of Jesus and later the immaculate conception of Mary, thereby assuring that Jesus was conceived without sin. But if all new born infants inherited both the reality of sin and the guilt of generations past, then they were subject to the judgment of God. Baptism therefore became the remedy. By baptism children were cleansed of original sin, accepted into the church and given the hope of eternal life. Such baptism was valid not because of the merits of the priest but by the promise of God, as Augustine had argued against the Donatists. For this reason it could not be repeated—a point which provoked violent reactions against those who dared practice believers’ baptism.

      If baptism freed the new born from original sin, penance was the aid extended to those in need of forgiveness because of their own sins. At the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 the church decreed that everyone must make a private confession to a priest at least once a year.¹¹ The origin of penance, however, goes back to the early church and arose out of an issue churches have never really solved: are there sins so great that they are unforgiveable? The issue was not a naïve expectation that Christians would be sinless. Everyone agreed that we are all sinners saved by grace. Moreover, Jesus commanded us to forgive one another, with no limit on the number of times. Nor had they forgotten that Jesus questioned the distinction between committing serious misdeeds and thinking or wanting to do them. At the same time there was the expectation that Christians would lead a righteous life, faithful to Jesus Christ. This was especially the case with those who became Christians by confession of faith and baptism. Some even delayed their baptism because of it (e.g., consider the case of Augustine in the fifth century, who delayed and delayed his baptism). The real issue was what to do in the face of actions which were considered such major violations that they threatened the very life of the community. The lists of such sins vary but usually included idolatry, fornication, adultery, or murder.¹² Out of this problem arose a distinction between major sins (i.e., mortal and unforgiveable) and minor sins (i.e., venial and forgiveable).

      Whether we can accept this distinction is of course worth debating, given the teachings of Jesus. No doubt the distinction reflects a level of realism that baptized Christians are indeed still sinners, so that every sin could not be the basis for exclusion from the community. Nevertheless, certain sins were deemed intolerable. The person committing such could only be restored to the community by means of public confession before the church. Known by the intriguing word exomologesis (meaning to acknowledge), such repentance and forgiveness could be exercised only once. But by the third century—well before the Constantinian settlement—Callistis, the bishop of Rome, removed the one time limitation. In one sense, the church had always acknowledged that its members were forgiven sinners. What appears to be happening here, however, is a willingness to admit that the church was no longer, in the words of Williston Walker, the society of the redeemed, where serious sin could not be tolerated.¹³ What evolves, then, from this public confession of major sins, is the formal practice of penance: the private confession of sins to priests by those seeking forgiveness. Since the church’s theology and practice recognized the inevitability of sin among its very members, as well as the command to forgive, the sacrament of penance becomes an institutionalized way of dealing with the issue. Indeed, Jerome was said to have declared that penance was the second plank (after baptism) to rescue those who have fallen into the sea from the safety of baptism.

      The practice of penance, however, requires complicated discussions about the conditions for such forgiveness: how does one prepare for it and what is the process for such forgiveness? On these matters the Scholastics had much to say. What evolved was the threefold process of contrition, priestly absolution, and the making of satisfaction for one’s sin. But even this was complicated by discussion regarding the meaning of contrition. Thomas Aquinas considered contrition as sincere sorrow for the offense against God and a determination not to repeat it. Yet Thomas also holds that a penance begun in ‘attrition,’ in displeasure over sins committed and in fear of punishment, may by infused grace become a real contrition.¹⁴ This was all the more reason to require annual confessions, since the prospect of turning our imperfect contrition into true contrition was heightened by the infusion of grace in the sacrament. Absolution for sins was granted when the priest was assured of genuine penance and the intention to make satisfaction for sin.

      It is appropriate to mention here the practice of indulgences. Though it is not part of the actual sacrament of penance, it relates to the general theology of forgiveness at the time. Salvation occurs because Jesus Christ made satisfaction for sin and received the assurance of forgiveness for all those that repent in true faith. This was the merit of Christ, which could be applied by the Pope to the remission of penalties for sins of the living and dead.

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