John 8:31-41 · The Children of Abraham
Twenty-First Century Reformation
John 8:31-41
Sermon
by Warren Thomas Smith
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"So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed." (v. 36)

On October 31, 1517, the eve of All-Saints’ Day, at high noon, Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the door of the Castle Church at Wittenberg. (We acknowledge that some scholars consider the story to be a pious legend.) It is easy to over-dramatize the event, but one cannot be unmindful of those hammer blows which echoed around the world. The Reformation had begun!

Precisely, what was Luther doing? Existentially, he was listing 95 reasons why he objected to the sale of Indulgences. His church door was, in reality, the university bulletin board where all announcements were affixed. As a professor he was calling for a debate; he was willing to take on all challengers:

Out of love for the faith and the desire to bring it to light, the following propositions will be discussed at Wittenberg under the chairmanship of the Reverend Father Martin Luther, Master of Arts and Sacred Theology, and Lecturer in Ordinary on the same at that place. Wherefore he requests that those who are unable to be present and debate orally with us may do so by letter.1

Luther gave his paper a title "Disputation for Clarification of the Power of Indulgences." His immediate purpose was to debate an urgent issue, namely: Can sin be forgiven by issuance of a papal document? The larger intent, and one Luther probably did not see at the time, (he told his friend Staupitz a year later that his real ambition was to find a life of quiet study in retirement), was to call into question the fundamental position of the church and its life and mission in the world. Change was desperately needed. Martin Luther was the man to match the hour. He later described himself accurately: "I have been born to war, and fight with factions and devils; therefore my books are stormy and warlike." He went on: "I must root out the stumps and stocks, cut away the thorns and hedges, fill up the ditches, and am the rough forester to break a path and make ready." He then spoke of an interesting contrast with his fellow faculty member, Philip Melanchthon, "But Master Philip walks softly and silently, tills and plants, sows and waters with pleasure, as God has gifted him richly."2

In truth, there was nothing revolutionary in the way it was all done. Debate was the usual pattern for the academic community - a healthy, logical pedagogical method which had been employed for centuries. It was the invention of movable type, perhaps in Holland, that permitted wide usage of the printed page. To be sure, the Chinese had invented printing centuries earlier, but now type could be set quickly and cheaply, and Johann Gutenberg, in 1456 (or possibly earlier) had issued his magnificent Bible at Mainz. It was this new medium which permitted Luther’s 95 Theses to be given vast coverage. Soon everyone was talking about Luther.

Breaking Old Forms

Wyatt Aiken Smart, late professor at Emory University, told of visiting Hawaii where he climbed a semi-active volcano. For a long time the professor gazed into the crater, a hot boiling mass. He soon noticed a process continuously repeated. As hot lava came to the surface, cool Pacific winds hit it, causing a hardening effect. The entire surface would be covered by a dull gray, comparatively cool crust. No sooner had the crust formed than tiny red cracks appeared at the center of the mass. Slowly there was crumbling as the entire area became red, hot, and boiling. Yet, even as the boiling was taking place, on the sides the cooler gray crust was forming again.

In all institutions this is the eternal process. In any establishment - a political party, a business, a school, a state, or a church - the birth is in freedom and with a liberal outlook, and the institution is small (as small as one human being). We say liberal, because those who give birth to institutions usually regard themselves as liberal in contrast to the establishment. With the passing of time that same, new institution grows cool, fixed, rigid. It becomes organized. Inevitably structure assumes increased importance. Wealth becomes part of the scheme of things, for money is required to maintain structure. Age usually means reluctance to change. It all becomes conservative, taking on a fixed quality. From a small beginning the institution has grown massive and formidable, rich and powerful.

In the course of events there arise the young prophets - not necessarily young in years but young in ideas - who protest the rigidity of the institution. A protest calls into question forms and patterns of the past. Some prophets are more vocal, more emotional and violent than others. Some go too far, destroying rather than reforming. The establishment, hoary in attitude, usually resents the prophet. So it goes: unbending hierarchy vs. zealous prophets.

What was Martin Luther attempting to do? He was making a valid protest in terms of 1517. He spoke to his time, for his time, and in the language of his time. His action was, in Carlyle’s phrase, "the greatest moment in the modern history of man."

We live, not in the sixteenth century, but in late twentieth, looking forward to the twenty-first century. Ours is not an attempt to relive Luther’s reformation - a venture as foolish as it would be impossible - but rather to ask: What of reformation in the fresh, new century soon to be upon us?

An amazing correlation is seen between our day and that of Luther. Let us consider three major areas of contemporary life which need rethinking, revitalization, and reevaluating. Luther speaks pointedly, but we must heed a warning: We dare not pretend that methods and voices almost 500 years old will work miracles today, just because they had power in 1517.

Freedom of the Christian

People the world over are crying for freedom: in Cambodia and Poland, in the Middle East and South Africa, in Latin America and Detroit, in Newark and Watts, in Atlanta and Moscow. Essentially it is a cry for liberation to be a person, a person with dignity. Human beings want to be recognized as individuals, not components of the population explosion.

It is the shriek of the third assistant to the fifth vice president wanting to stand on his desk and yell to heaven, "I am a personality, too! I’m not just an IBM card. I do have a heart, you know!"

It is the seventh grade physical education teacher who blurts out, "Maybe I am low woman on the totem pole, but I am a human. Don’t think you can move me around like a piece of furniture."

It is the young housewife who, while fixing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, suddenly stops long enough to lean against the refrigerator and sob, "I have a brain and a soul, and I can do more than wash dishes and make beds. I wrote poetry, once." And her mother read Feminine Mystique.

It is the custodian who says, "When it comes to pecking order, I’ve always been at the bottom. Someday, somehow, I’d like to move up."

The pathetic truth is that we moderns struggle with a legalism far more binding than any Mosaic code. We exhaust ourselves trying to get out of legalism - union contracts, deductions for Social Security, sick leave, extra charges if credit cards are used - admitting all the while the letter kills but thus far the spirit has not given much life. We are enslaved. We wear masks. We must have expensive condominiums, foreign cars, designer jeans - all because our friends and business associates possess such. We say what people want us to say; we read books that everybody reads; we go to the same movie; we all watch the same, tired television programs. Why? Because we want to? Hardly! We are conformists. We never reveal our real selves. "If I could only take a deep, deep breath," lamented a middle-aged secretary.

Speaking to the contemporary’s situation - and most of us are in that boat - is the gospel of Jesus Christ. We are free. We can possess that inate dignity for which the human spirit cries. Luther loved the text, "God sent forth his Son ... to redeem those who were under the law" (Galatians 4:4-5). Luther insisted:

We are priests, and thus greater than mere kings, the reason being that priesthood makes us worthy to stand before God, and to pray for others ... Christ redeemed us that we might be able spiritually to act and pray on behalf of one another ... But nothing avails to the benefit of a person who does not believe in Christ. He is nought but a slave; he is always worried ... By contrast, who can fully conceive the honour and the elevation of a Christian? ... he exercises authority over all things ... Thereby it becomes clear that a Christian always enjoys freedom, and is always master.3

As Luther viewed the human situation, the hope of liberation from the tyranny of the world, and the world’s values, lies in Christ. In Christ people are free, free indeed. "But does this apply to the Twenty-first Century?" Luther’s response would be that it applied to the sixteenth. Read our text, from John 8:36; it is all about freedom, about truth, about life. It just might be that we have here the secret to real liberation, and we had better not keep it a secret as we contemplate entering a new century.

Redemption Of The Church

The modern church has become a hot house, nurturing tender plants. Time, thought, and energy of the church are spent, not in going out to save a broken, dying world, but in smoothing ruffled feathers. A minister continually faces the offended: "Please call on the Browns; they are miffed." "Do go by and see the Jones; they say their feelings have been hurt."

"You have never called on us." "But," responded a mystified pastor, "I have been in your home many times." "Oh," came the answer, "that was just to pick up the children and take them to Vacation Church School; we don’t consider that a call."

Deplorably, time must be spent trying to get Christians to come to worship. We plead, prod, offer gimmicks, have contests. To what end? The contemporary disciple must be asked, invited, to come for prayer and praise, for Word and Sacraments. Coming to worship ought to be a joyful part of the Christian’s life - no invitation should be required. Why should disciples of Jesus Christ need to be cajoled to do that which ought to be a natural part of their discipleship? Pierce Harris of Atlanta remarked, "A pastor is one who presides over an adult kindergarten." It is the kindergarten concept which must die. It is graduate school now. Our people need a diet of meat rather than milk. We cannot go on pampering; we must minister. Luther put it aptly:

A preacher is like a carpenter. His tool is the Word of God. Because the materials on which he works vary, he ought not always pursue the same course when he preaches. For the sake of the variety of his auditors he would sometimes console, sometimes frighten, sometimes scold, sometimes soothe, etc.4

No longer seeking to save herself, but rather seeking the lost: This is the need for the church of the twenty-first century. It means that no longer can we spend time trying to pander; we must seek to redeem. Rather than buy members, court them, coddle them, we must respect them as God’s people, mature Christians who are responsible. The membership has quite as much a ministry as the ordained clergy. All are called to share the glad tidings that we "having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness" (Romans 6:18).

When the church is willing to step back that Christ may be exalted, she will be free indeed, and will be empowered to proclaim that same manumission to an enslaved humanity. When the church is filled "with a Christlike tenderness for the heavy-laden and downtrodden" she may indeed discover the cross anew, and new life as well. Too long, as in Luther’s era, has the church been saving her own life, concerned with institutional ongoing.

As youthful Martin Luther, faithful Augustinian monk, made his trip to Rome in 1510, the glories of Renaissance Florence did not impress him. He made no mention of the matchless art treasures. What the thoughtful young monk did remember was "the cleanliness, the efficiency, the courtesy, the intelligence" of the hospital nurses. Godly women were serving. He saw clean sheets on clean beds in bright rooms where loving nuns ministered to sick children. Is this, after all, not the church reborn, at work in the world? When the crushing burden of pain is so heavy upon so much of the world, where must the twenty-first century church be? What must it be doing? How must it be engaged?

Salvation In Christ

"But God shows his love for us in that while we were yet sinners Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8). Luther saw the church of his day trying to work its way to heaven. More, Luther himself was trying to do the same. We are still trying to work our way to God, a "works-righteousness" which ends in frustration and sense of hopelessness. Have we not learned from Paul what Luther came to understand, "The righteous live by faith"? (Romans 1:17). We are not saved by our own efforts, goodness, or gifts. Salvation is never earned or deserved. It is given by a gracious God.

Yet we persist in our thinking: we go to church; we give to the United Way; we fast during Lent. What is the motivation behind it? Do we not think we are building an account in heaven, against the day of our death? "We have been so liberal with the church, surely God will not forget." This is exactly what Indulgences were all about: a bank account in heaven.

Luther had a terrific battle within himself. He, like Paul, Augustine, and Wesley, attempted to expiate for his own sins by fasting until he was faint, by praying for hours on end, by refusing his tired body much-needed rest. It was the kindly, far-sighted John von Staupitz who advised, "Look not on your own imaginary sins, but look at Christ crucified, where your real sins are forgiven," and he continued, "and hold with deep courage to God."

We have looked long and wearingly at our sinful condition, and like young Luther thought the answer lay in self-flagellation, hoping this will atone for our misdeeds. My dean at Candler School of Theology, Henry B. Trimble - a man of wisdom and spiritual depth - once advised me, "Tom, do not let your people waste your time and theirs by going over and over their old, worn-out sins."

Luther admonished:

He [the Christian] requires no good works to make him godly or to save him; faith brings everything in abundance to him. If he were so foolish as to think that by good works he would become godly, free, blessed, or a Christian, he would lose both faith and all else.5

In preparing the Smaller Catechism for children, Luther outlined the course: The Ten Commandments should be studied as a basis for awareness of sin. The Apostles’ Creed should be used to illustrate redemption from sin. The Lord’s Prayer was to be memorized as the source of spiritual strength for all believers.

The good news in Christ is that in the Cross we see that God suffered for us. Here we are saved. This is not our doing; it is God’s action. We accept God’s gracious gift through complete surrender. The natural flowering of faith is: "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). Rather than take our spiritual temperature each morning, trying to determine how sick we are, we throw away the thermometer. Our lives are now in God’s hands. Whether we live or die is not the point. We belong to God - that is all that matters. Life is centered on Christ and life is in Christ. This is Luther’s theme for the believer. It is our theme for the coming century.

Our Reformation

Can a Reformation come? Wrong question! When will it come? The hour is at hand. Unless godly prophets arise to call for a change, the ungodly will gladly do so - and with abandon. Modern prophets must be as well-equipped for their task as Luther was for his, if they are to lead powerfully, creatively, fearlessly.

I am one who lives in faith that a Reformation will usher in the coming century. I also live in the faith that all of us may have a part in it.

Perhaps the best tribute ever paid to the great sixteenth-century reformer was by his faithful, understanding, loving wife. Some weeks after Martin’s funeral, Katherine Luther wrote her sister Christina:

Kind, dear sister! I can easily believe that you have hearty sympathy with me and my poor children. Who would not be sorrowful and mourn for so noble a man as was my dear lord, who much served not only one city, or a single land, but the whole world? Truly, I am so distressed that I cannot tell my great heart sorrow to anyone, and neither can I sleep. If I had a principality, or an empire, it would never have cost me so much pain to lose them as I have now that our Lord God has taken from me, and not from me only, but front the whole world, this dear and precious man.6

Indeed, we have all lost that dear and precious man.7


1. Cited in Will Durant, The Reformation (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1957), p. 341.

2. Ibid., p. 349.

3. From "The Freedom of a Christian" cited in Bertram Lee Wolf, Reformation Writings of Martin Luther (New York: Philosophical Library, 1953), I:366-367.

4. From "Table Talk" (Between April 7 and 15, 1532).

5. Wolf, I:367-368.

6. Edwin Prince Booth, Martin Luther: Oak of Saxony (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1966), p. 250.

7. See Warren Thomas Smith, "Twentieth Century Reformation" in Pulpit Digest, September-October 1978, portions used by permission.

CSS Publishing Co., Inc., Journey In Faith, by Warren Thomas Smith