Confessing Evangelical

Come ye daughters, share my mourning:
See him! - Whom? - The Bridegroom Christ.
See him! - How? - A spotless Lamb.

See it! - What? - His patient love.
Look! - Look where? - On our guilt.
Look on Him. For love of us
He Himself His Cross is bearing.

O Lamb of God unspotted,
There slaughtered on the cross,
Serene and ever patient,
Though scorned and cruelly tortured.
All sin for our sake bearing,
Else would we die despairing.
Have pity on us, O Jesus.

- opening chorus and chorale,
St Matthew Passion, J.S. Bach

Back next week. Have a blessed Holy Week and joyful Easter.

Some reading for Holy Week:

* Luther's sermon on Contemplating Christ's Holy Sufferings

* Pennsy's Holy Week & Easter sermons

* Revd Paul McCain's Holy Week & Easter prayers, based on the new LCMS hymnal texts.

[Painting: The Bound Lamb ("Agnus Dei"), Francisco de Zurbaran]

Update (Tuesday 6 April)

Bit late this, I know, but this year I finally got round to doing a table of day-by-day readings for Holy Week allowing one to follow the events of Holy Week "in real time" (well, more or less!). I've posted it on Luther Quest, following an unsuccessful attempt to find out if any one on LQ could save me the trouble.

If you want to use these readings (I'm just doing the Matthew ones) then best hurry up, as today (Tuesday) is one of the longest sections...

Further to my earlier post, Senkbeil (in Sanctification) quotes the Smalcald Articles on the multiple means by which God brings the word of His Gospel to us:

[The Gospel] offers counsel and help against sin in more than one way, for God is surpassingly rich in His grace: First, through the spoken word, by which the forgiveness of sin (the peculiar function of the gospel) is preached to the whole world; second, through baptism; third, through the holy sacrament of the altar; fourth, through the power of the keys [i.e. absolution]; and finally, through the mutual conversation and consolation of brethren. Matthew 18:20, "Where two or three are gathered," etc.

Any of these would, in a sense, be "enough" for us - enough for us to receive forgiveness, life and salvation. But God pours out His grace and forgiveness upon us over and over again, being "surpassingly rich in his grace".

Just finished Harold Senkbeil's Sanctification, in which he sets out the Lutheran alternative to mainstream evangelical approaches to sanctification. In particular, he points out that evangelical (and, for that matter, charismatic) approaches to the Christian life are often about answering the question, "Where in the world is God?", by being able to point to definite, identifiable effects in one's own life (whether that be spiritual "fruitfulness" in doing good and overcoming sin; being able to point to people one has "brought to Christ"; or striking "spiritual" experiences).

In contrast, the Lutheran - and biblical - approach is not for us to try to ascend to God, or descend into our hearts to find Him, but for Him to draw near to us, so that we find Him where He has (paradoxically) both hidden and revealed Himself.

To help give some idea of what this is to look like in practice, here's a summary of the ways in which we encounter God, loosely based on Senkbeil's book. Rather than using "abstract" categories, I've split these into our lives "at church" and "in daily life".

Encountering God at Church

The emphasis here is on receiving the forgiveness of sins. "[Not] just potential forgiveness; this is actual forgiveness" (p.171), received in particular in:

* the preaching of the Word
* Baptism
* Absolution
* the Lord's Supper

Encountering God in Daily Life

The emphasis here is on how we encounter God hidden in:

* in our vocations
* in suffering
* in our relationships with other Christians (where we are able to go beyond merely giving one another sympathy or good advice, but actually proclaiming God's promise of forgiveness to one another as we "confess [our] sins to each other", James 5:16).

The common thread in all of the above is the "hiddenness" of God: all these activities may look unimpressive or even completely unspiritual, but this just encourages us to walk by faith rather than by sight. We know we encounter God in these things, not because that is obvious and clear to our senses and reason, but because God's Word tells us so.

While this is a very sketchy outline, it does show a very distinct - and, to me, moving and persuasive - shape to the Christian life. One not dominated by special, "spiritual" activities on top of everything else we do, but one in which we devote ourselves to our everyday vocations, and receive the forgiveness of sins in the Word of the Gospel heard as we gather together at church and as we relate to one another the rest of the time.

Welcome back to Chris, just returned from what sounds to have been a wonderful visit to the uS (Fort Wayne and St Louis seminaries).

Blogsburg has gone on hiatus - a bit of a shame, as FDN's postings on that site have been well worth reading. Just a suggestion, FDN: if you're unhappy about being drawn into arguments in the comments section, you could always just ditch the comments. Still be interesting to read your thoughts...

The strapline for my blog ("Knock Knock Knockin'...") is looking a little out of date. Like some kind of particularly irritating "knock-knock" joke: "Knock, knock!" "Come in." "Knock, knock!" "Come in." "Knock, knock!" "Look, for pity's sake, we've opened the door, now stop knocking and just come in, for goodness' sake."

I have vague ideas for new lines once my wife and I start formal instruction with our Lutheran pastor, and then following eventual admission into the Lutheran church. But any start to "adult information classes" is some weeks off yet.

So, suggestions are invited to describe a blog by someone who is not offically Lutheran yet, but who attends a Lutheran church and would certainly describe himself as Lutheran in terms of personal confession.

"Warm, warm, warmin' his toes on Lutheranism's fire", perhaps? I did toy with "24 Hours from Wittenburg", till I remembered what happened to Gene Pitney when he was 24 hours from Tulsa...

I was in London today for a course, and heading home popped into the National Gallery on Trafalgar Square to see Piero della Francesca's Baptism of Christ. I'd been looking at a postcard I have of it trying to recall what the picture's about, and it struck me when I passed the gallery on the bus that looking at the original might bring it back to me.

Now, I'm no art expert, but here's my take on the painting: it's not just about the Baptism of Christ; it's also about our Baptism.

The picture is divided into three equal vertical sectors: at the left, paradise, the spiritual (angels, trees). To the right, the world of man, the material. And Christ bridges these two worlds as He is baptised by John.

On the right, in the background we see the Pharisees etc in their finery, paying no attention, despising Christ and His Baptism. But look at the figure stripping down to his Y-fronts: in a minute, he will be where Jesus now is, receiving the same Baptism from John, entering into that same point of linkage between heaven and earth.

That's us, in our Baptism. We stand where Jesus stood; we receive the Holy Spirit; God declares us to be His beloved sons and daughters, with whom he is (for Christ's sake, not our own merits) well pleased; and heaven and earth are bridged.

I had had an inkling of all this last time I saw the painting, several years ago. Funny how today I could only scratch my head looking at the postcard: it was seeing the real thing that brought all that richness of meaning flooding back to me. What a privilege to be able to walk in like that - for free! - and see such a wonderful painting "in the flesh".

But even more than that, what a privilege to have stood in the middle of the picture myself, as it were, in my own Baptism.

PS - just to bring things back down to earth with a bump, I read a story a few years back, apparently reported by a curator at the National Gallery, that perfectly illustrated the levels of biblical illiteracy here in Britain (once described as a country "of one book, and that book the Bible" - no more, alas).

A couple were in the National Gallery looking at this very painting, and one asked the other, "What's that pigeon doing there?"

Wonderful post by the ever-excellent Christopher Johnston over at
Midwest Conservative Journal, on a particularly idiotic response to That Mel Gibson Film.

Wins first prize for animated GIF of the year, as well.

Just in time for Holy Week, took delivery yesterday of John Eliot Gardiner's glorious recording of Bach's St John Passion, to add to Gardiner's recordings already sitting on my shelf of the St Matthew Passion and the B Minor Mass (once described, not without reason, as "the greatest work of music of all ages and of all peoples").

While being in communion with Bach is not actually a reason for my becoming a Lutheran, as a lifelong fan of his work (pretty inevitable for an organist and former chorister) it's certainly a welcome spin-off. And his musical treatment of the Words of Institution in the St Matthew Passion played no small part in finally convincing me of the Lutheran position on the Lord's Supper . (If you don't know what I mean, buy the CD and listen to it for yourself.)

The liner notes for the St John Passion referred to the "Pietistic" influences on Bach's Passions, which slightly surprised me as I'd been under the impression Bach had been a champion of "Lutheran Orthodoxy" (not that I'd hold myself out as being qualified to form any judgments on this subject). Certainly there is an intensely personal focus to many of the arias in the Passions, but equally the focus is clearly on Christ's suffering for us (and "extra nos"), with a strong collective, corporate aspect in the chorales and choruses.

That prompted me to read an article I've been meaning to look at for ages: Pastor Walt Snyder's essay, J.S. Bach: Orthodox Lutheran Theologian?. Interesting stuff. Snyder had come to the subject convinced that Bach was an orthodox Lutheran, and at the end of his essay (those not wanting to know the score should look away now) he concludes:

...my mind was not so much "changed" as it was "expanded." I don't feel that I was wrong in my initial evaluation, but that I wasn't right enough. Bach still seems quite Orthodox---but not one-dimensionally so. In him we see a true balance found by few. Without sacrificing any area, Bach excelled in Piety, Rationality and Orthodoxy. Each shaped the others, and all were normed by his love of making music, and his love of Jesus Christ.

Snyder also makes a fascinating point about Bach's use of a "musical halo" of violins when Jesus is speaking, which is absent at certain key moments (such as the cry of dereliction).

There is a page of links to articles on Bach's theology here, which I intend to spend some time looking through in more detail. Some of it looks a bit whacked-out, to be honest, but I certainly intend to read Uwe Siemon-Netto's essay on Bach's evangelistic impact in Japan.

But first and foremost, I'll just spend the next week listening to the music till my wife and sons can stand it no more (fortunately, that could take a while, as my wife also loves Bach, and even our three-year old was prepared to acknowledge it as "nice music").

Mel who?

I recommended this article in a comment on Twylah's blog recently, but thought it was worth sharing more widely. It's (yet) another cracking article from the Modern Reformation archives, this time an article on sanctification by Harold Senkbeil entitled "How Can Our Good Works Please God ... God's Work or Ours?"

Senkbeil writes:

Religious best-sellers focus on the sanctified life, but precious little gospel is contained in these books. What gospel we do find is couched in command language, not motivation language. The books are essentially lists of "how to's" for the Christian life, what to do and not to do in order to make sense out of the complex world in which we live. The issues of modern life are not examined in light of the good news, but almost exclusively in light of the proscriptions and prescriptions of moral imperatives.

Senkbeil goes on to summarise the biblical alternative to this unbiblical -- but, of course, highly popular -- model of sanctification:

Christian salvation (or justification) and Christian living (or sanctification) are but two aspects of one divine reality: the life bestowed in Jesus Christ. Such life is received by faith. And Holy Scripture declares that faith is God's work from beginning to end: "[I am] confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" (Phil. 1:6).

My Sunday mornings will never be quite the same again, following the retirement and now death of Alistair Cooke. I've been a fan of his Letter from America broadcasts for years - ever since he was a young whippersnapper of, ooh, 80 or so.

Mark Steyn has a good profile posted on his site. This dates from 1996 but was repeated last month on Cooke's retirement, and has now been posted again on Steyn's obits page. As Andrew Marr points out in today's Telegraph, Alistair Cooke probably hoped he'd die midway through a broadcast, but at least his retirement gave him the undoubtedly pleasant experience of being able to read his own obituaries!

Mark Steyn is (among many other things) cinema critic for The Spectator here in the UK. As with his political columns, his reviews are always worth reading, and often definitive.

In this week's Spectator, he reviews The Passion, which has just been released in the UK (to a torrent of public indifference, it has to be said). The review isn't online yet - once it is, I'll link to it - but thought I'd post a couple of choice highlights.

[The real argument over The Passion is] not between Christians and Jews, but between believing Christians and the broader post-Christian culture, a term that covers a broad swathe from the media to your average Anglican vicar ... In this world, if Jesus were alive today he'd most likely be a gay Anglican bishop in a committed relationship driving around in an environmentally-friendly car with an "Arms Are For Hugging" sticker on the way to an interfaith dialogue with a Wiccan and a couple of Wahhabi imams.

...Instead of Jesus the wimp, Mel gives us Jesus the Redeemer. He died for our sins - i.e. the 'violent end' is the critical bit, not just an unfortunate misunderstanding cruelly cutting short a promising career in gentle teaching. The followers of Wimp Jesus seem to believe He died to license our sins - Jesus loves us for who we are so whatever's your bag is cool with him.

Steyn does have some criticisms to make of the film (its "Hollywooden" dialogue, for example).

Worst of all are the Roman soldiers who torture Jesus and laugh and spit and jeer like corrupt banana-republic cops in an action movie. Regardless of whether that's a slur on one of the great empires of our civilization, it serves Gibson poorly: the sins that Jesus died for are our everyday ones, not the worst excesses of an Amnesty International report. A brisker, more professional soldiery would have made the point better.

But the overall verdict is positive ("If it's not the Jesus movie you'd have made, then go make your own"). Steyn concludes:

It's true that if you don't believe that Christ's death on the cross is the central event in His time on earth then Mel's telling won't convince you and the film will look, as it does to Christopher Hitchens [and, Steyn might have added, many liberal "Christian" critics of the film], like an S&M flayfest. One can regard this as a criticism of Gibson. On the other hand, all manner of movies - Star Wars, X-Men 2 - leave you cold if you're not already a devotee. For millions of people, Mel Gibson shows them their Jesus and their salvation.

Great quote from the Solid Declaration (V, 20), cited on p.24 of Robert Preus's Getting into the Theology of Concord:

The Gospel, however, is that doctrine which teaches what a man should believe in order to obtain the forgiveness of sins from God, since man has transgressed it, his corrupted nature, thoughts, words and deeds war against the law, and he is therefore subject to the wrath of God, to death, to temporal miseries, and to the punishment of hell-fire.

The content of the Gospel is this, that the Son of God, Christ our Lord, himself assumed and bore the curse of the law and expiated and paid for all our sins, that through him alone we re-enter the good graces of God, obtain forgiveness of sins through faith, are freed from death and all the punishments of sin, and are saved eternally.

This is most certainly true!

Churches are being invited to take part in No Bible Sunday on May 16. The idea is that churches give up using the Bible for a day "to challenge people to remember how much they love the Bible."

Leaving to one side those churches that are already well into No Bible Century, what depresses me about this is that it inadvertently reveals just how "optional" the Bible is even in many churches that do actually value, believe and teach it. This is partly because many "sound", but non-liturgical evangelical churches have little or no biblical content outside the sermon and maybe one short reading.

But more to the point, it shows how far forgiveness of sins is from our minds when we go to church these days. If we really believed we needed forgiveness more than anything else, and that the promises of Gospel were the only place where forgiveness could be found, "No Bible Sunday" would be completely intolerable even as a well-meaning gimmick to promote Bible reading and translation.

And also, it betrays a view of worship which revolves entirely around what we do, not what God does. To have a service without the Bible is to have a service without God speaking. That is no service at all!

What I love about Lutheran worship is the emphasis on (i) forgiveness of sins and (ii) the liturgy as God's service to us in which he gives us this forgiveness. Thus the liturgy consists almost exclusively of Scriptural texts - or at the very least, texts at a very close remove from the original Scripture; and "No Bible Sunday" - read, "No Gospel Sunday", "No Absolution Sunday", "No Forgiveness Sunday" - would not only be unthinkable in principle, but literally impossible to carry out in practice.

But wait! The stated purpose for "No Listening to God Sunday" is to "challenge people to remember how much they love the Bible". As I hope this post shows, it's already done just that for me. So perhaps it's not such a bad idea after all... erm...

Interesting post by Blogsburg on closed communion, in particular the following comment:

The entire closed communion controversy is people who don't believe in the Real Presence wanting to commune in churches that teach it. Most people who do believe in the Real Presence take it for granted that they should only commune in their own churches.

That's exactly it. As I've mentioned before, I think the real issue is the personal offence felt by Christians denied the sacrament, because for many churches the only requirement for sharing in the Supper is that you "know and love the Lord Jesus". So if you come from such a church and are then excluded in a "Real Presence" church , you will perceive that exclusion, however wrongly, as an insinuation that you don't really "know and love the Lord", i.e. that you are not even a Christian at all. Not surprisingly, people take this rather personally. And quoting 1 Corinthians 11:27 at them probably doesn't help. ;-)

Josh made the perceptive point in a comment on my earlier post on this subject, "Holy Communion or Unholy Chaos?" (using web-TV to post this so can't provide link), that the membership roll now has the same function in many churches as the Lord's Supper historically had. The idea that you could say, in effect, "It's not like I want to be a member of the Lutheran/RC/Orthodox church, for goodness sake, I only want to take Communion there", is therefore something of an innovation.

For all this, however, I have yet to test my theoretical commitment to closed communion in practice. I have not yet been in a position where I have visited one of our former churches, or a friend's church, and abstained from the Supper. This would require a degree of courage, brass neck, personal openness and willingness (though without the desire) to offend that is not my hallmark in such circumstances.

Plus, I'm English. We don't like to rock the boat or make a scene at the best of times. And when it comes to anything to do with religion, then I think it was TS Eliot who said that the English go to the church in much the same way they go to the lavatory: with the minimum of fuss, and without saying a word about it if they can possibly avoid it...

I've been involved in a couple of discussions/debates on sanctification in the past few days (including Twylah's blog and Luther Quest), particularly on Lutheran teachings relating to sanctification, and whether it is our work in response to God, or God's work in and through us (for a brief summary of my own views on this, see my comments on Twylah's blog).

But an interesting new angle on this occurred to me while reading an essay by GK Chesterton. (Yes, him again: I'm currently reading a book of his essays, and the problem with GKC is once you start quoting him, it's very hard to stop). In his essay, "The Wind and the Trees, Chesterton tells of a four-year old boy who, complaining of the wind in Battersea Park, said to his mother, "Well, why don't you take away the trees, and then it wouldn't wind."

Chesterton points out that this is a perfectly natural mistake to make: and he adds that the belief "is so human and excusable that it is, as a matter of fact, the belief of about ninety-nine out of a hundred of the philosophers, reformers, sociologists, and politicians of the great age in which we live." He explains this "parable" as follows (emphasis added):

[T]he trees stand for all visible things and the wind for the invisible. The wind is the spirit which bloweth where it listeth; the trees are the material things of the world which are blown where the spirit lists. The wind is philosophy, religion, revolution; the trees are cities and civilisations. We only know that there is a wind because the trees on some distant hill suddenly go mad. We only know that there is a real revolution because all the chimney-pots go mad on the whole skyline of the city.

Just as the ragged outline of a tree grows suddenly more ragged and rises into fantastic crests or tattered tails, so the human city rises under the wind of the spirit into toppling temples or sudden spires. No man has ever seen a revolution. Mobs pouring through the palaces, blood pouring down the gutters, the guillotine lifted higher than the throne, a prison in ruins, a people in arms--these things are not revolution, but the results of revolution.

You cannot see a wind; you can only see that there is a wind. So, also, you cannot see a revolution; you can only see that there is a revolution.

While Chesterton goes on to take this line of thought in a different direction, it occurs to me that this is an excellent image of sanctification. People tend to think of sanctification in terms of outward, observable phenomena: going to church, "personal discipleship" (especially Bible-reading and prayer), engaging in good works, overcoming sin in our lives, etc. This also includes phenomena we observe within ourselves, but which are still (in that sense) observable: a "purer" thought-life, a greater feeling of personal peace or joy, etc.

However, as with Chesterton's comments on revolution, these "external" phenomena are not sanctification. No man has ever seen sanctification: the things we see in our own lives and those of other Christians are not sanctification, but the results of sanctification.

A great deal of teaching about sanctification is equivalent to saying that the trees make the wind blow - "follow these principles for a more victorious, Spirit-filled life and a deeper relationship with God". But rather, the wind - the Holy Spirit, working in us through the means of grace - blows the trees.

That's why our focus should remain on Christ as he is presented and proclaimed to us in the Word and Sacraments: if we shift our focus to the "fruit" in our lives, to our "sanctification" - if we try to increase our sanctification by giving ourselves more fully to these outward (or even inward) efforts or "principles" - then this is like trying to stir up the wind by shaking a tree.

Theme of the week at our elder son's (church-run!) preschool, as stated on the information sheet given to parents: "The Easter Bunny, and other stories from the life of Jesus".

I liked this (from the Strodtbeck Articles, which are no doubt to be bound into future printings of the Book of Concord...):

Faith is nothing else than the right reception of the Sacraments and the joyful welcoming of the Gospel (which is the word of God's favor and pardon in Jesus Christ).

The Briefing (a Sydney-based, largely Anglican, largely excellent, conservative evangelical publication) has some useful material on its website about the ESV (click on "Web Extras" once the home page loads).

This includes articles published when the ESV came out - for example, Is this the English Bible we’ve been waiting for? (answer: yes) - as well as links to more recent articles updating the assessment and responding to critiques from such luminaries as Don Carson.

Executive summary for busy readers: the ESV is excellent, much better than the NIV. It has its failings, for example some archaisms ("I adjure you..." etc), but the problems with the ESV largely come where they have stuck to the underlying RSV text. Best solution: buy lots of copies of the ESV so the publishers can afford to produce a second edition.

This (from this week's Onion - link won't stay live long) is funny: Coke-Sponsored Rover Finds Evidence Of Dasani On Mars

But not as funny as what's been happening to Dasani in the so-called "real world". Coca-Cola's attempt to launch Dasani in the UK has become one of great marketing catastrophes of modern times, to the innocent amusement of millions.

First, it turned out that the stuff was bottled tap water from Sidcup, prompting comparisons with the legendary episode of sitcom Only Fools and Horses in which Del Boy bottled and sold Peckham tap water under the name "Peckham Spring" (note for US readers: Peckham is a notoriously unprepossessing inner-city area of South London).

Now, Coca-Cola are smart people, and they'd probably factored the "Sidcup Spring" gags into their calculations. "We'll be able to ride that one out", they'll have thought. "And anyway, we can always force people to stop selling other water in our fridges. Not pretty, but that's capitalism. Let Buxton Water buy their own darn fridges."

But then the wheels fell off, as Coke were forced to withdraw all Dasani stocks following the discovery of excessive quantities of the chemical bromate, arising as a result of their "purification" process. Coke have now shelved plans to launch the product in continental Europe and to reintroduce it in the UK: "now is not the right time to bring it back to the market".

Schadenfreude is an ugly, un-Christian emotion, of course: but still, it would take a heart of stone not to laugh like a drain at all this...

In a comment over on Tentatio, Twylah suggested that the availability of high quality music performances on CD or in concert had the effect of making people "very shy and self-conscious about singing, dancing, performances of any kind".

It certainly seems that the only people who ever sing today are Christians and football fans. If people want music, they put on a CD. Indeed, singing has become deeply weird in some circles: some of my colleagues have never got over the time, nearly three years ago, when I sang a brief snatch of an advertising jingle as part of a seminar I was presenting on intellectual property rights ("he sang!").

But this isn't a new phenomenon. GK Chesterton (yes, him again...) wrote a wonderful essay entitled, "The Little Birds Who Won't Sing", in which he contrasts the depiction of Mediaeval craftsmen singing as they worked with the silence of modern workers. "If reapers sing while reaping, why should not auditors sing while auditing and bankers while banking?" he asks, before suggesting appropriate songs for such professions, and others:

"Up my lads and lift the ledgers, sleep and ease are o'er.
Hear the Stars of Morning shouting: 'Two and Two are four.'
Though the creeds and realms are reeling, though the sophists roar,
Though we weep and pawn our watches, Two and Two are Four."

He concludes:

...at the end of my reflections I had really got no further than the sub-conscious feeling of my friend the bank-clerk -- that there is something spiritually suffocating about our life; not about our laws merely, but about our life. Bank-clerks are without songs, not because they are poor, but because they are sad. Sailors are much poorer.

As I passed homewards I passed a little tin building of some religious sort, which was shaken with shouting as a trumpet is torn with its own tongue. THEY were singing anyhow; and I had for an instant a fancy I had often had before: that with us the super-human is the only place where you can find the human. Human nature is hunted and has fled into the sanctuary.

It's not only the availability of pre-recorded music that has silenced us: it is the loss of faith in God. God's people sing.

Was looking for a copy of the Lutheran Worship Daily Lectionary, to save me having to photocopy it from the book. Quite a hunt finding it online, so just in case anyone else might wish to find this, here's a link to a version in Word format, taken from the Pericope site.

It takes you through the whole Bible in a year, with a reading each day from a Psalm. I'm planning to give it a try in place of the M'Cheyne calendar, which I've been finding a bit of a grind recently (as it involves reading three or four books at once).

Josh's new book blog kicked off with a review of Mike Horton's book, In the Face of God.

My immediate response is to feel relieved to find out that it is OK for Lutherans to like Mike Horton ;-). While I've never read any of Mike Horton's books, his articles in Modern Reformation over the past few years have played a similar role in my own life as Josh describes in his review:

Mike Horton is the guy who introduced me to this idea that real Christian piety is one of Word and Sacrament, not spiritual experiences and notches on my belt for the converts I've won.

I'm therefore going to take this as the start of open season on linking to great Mike Horton articles from the MR archives, beginning with the two articles that first introduced me to the Theology of the Cross, Hide Not Your Face and Fascinations that Lead Away from the Cross.

The latter looks at "three types of 'ladders' we try to climb in order to see 'God in the nude,' as Luther put it": three expressions of the theology of glory (fascination with the miraculous, fascination with the moralistic, fascination with the mysterious), and how these are still found in today's church.

Like the distinction between Law and Gospel (another Horton favourite), being shown the contrast between the theology of the cross and the theology of glory was an eye-opener and a liberation for me. It revealed that many things I found infuriating about contemporary evangelicalism were not simply matters of my own personal taste differing from that of other Christians, but reflected real weaknesses and unbiblical thinking. All that, by God's grace, set me off on the path that has brought me to Lutheranism.

Interesting item in this week's (UK) Spectator on St Anselm's "ontological argument" (infuriatingly, can't provide a direct link - if you want to read it, you'll need to go to the home page, register, and then select/search for the article "Just Think About It" by Jonathan Barnes).

The ontological argument is the "proof" of God's existence which goes something like this (quoting from the article):

Something which really exists is greater than something similar which does not exist. So if God didn’t really exist, then we could conceive of something greater — namely, something which was just like Him but which really did exist. But we know that we cannot conceive of anything greater than God. So, necessarily, God exists.

Now, the only time I've ever found that a particularly engaging argument concerning God was when I was an atheist: "Is that really the best you guys can come up with?" And Lutheranism is only encouraging a conviction I've had ever since becoming a Christian (again) ten years ago, namely that it is only the Gospel of Jesus Christ that can truly bring people to God, not any philosophical argument.

But this article achieves two things. First, it does enable even a philosophical dunce like me to appreciate (or feel he appreciates, at least!) how this can justifiably be described as "the most subtle — the most exquisite — of all religious arguments".

And secondly, it tackles head-on the issue of the "unconvincing" nature of Anselm's Argument:

"What has conviction got to do with it? Do you think that your Anselm was convinced by his argument? Of course not — he believed the conclusion long before that moment of insight. He didn’t need an argument to convince him, and I daresay he didn’t think that his argument would or should convince anyone else. What he wanted to do was not to convince a sceptic but to prove a fact. If you tell Euclid that his proof of Pythagoras' theorem doesn't convince you, will he care? Not a jot. He’s not in the business of persuasion — that is something for preachers and politicians. His is a higher calling: he offers not persuasions but proofs."

One might, I suppose, put it this way: given that God does actually exist, the ontological argument is a correct proof of this.

All this is way over my head, but I certainly found it a fascinating article that has made me look at this argument with new respect, even if I still probably wouldn't employ it in the context of apologetics.

The dialogue in the article concludes:

"So Anselm found a proof that God exists?"

"Well, he certainly gave us philosophers something to think about. It is true that you’ll find few enough of us who hold that the argument is a genuine proof; but although most philosophers agree that the argument goes wrong at one point or another, no two of them agree on the where and the why. That’s what makes it such an exquisite argument."

Well, so far I can say from firsthand knowledge that I believe that pages 1 to 289 and 345 to 480 of the Book of Concord (Kolb edition) are "a true and unadulterated statement and exposition of the Word of God". By my calculation, that makes me approximately 64.5% Lutheran. So far so good :-)

A new addition to the growing Lutheran blogosphere: Blogsburg Confession. A big "hi" to Blogsburg - good to have you with us (thanks also for your comments left on my earlier post on closed communion under your equally mysterious former nom-de-blog, FDN).

Came across a very helpful article on the Modern Reformation website by Paul McCain, entitled Holy Communion or Unholy Chaos? The Ecumenical Movement's Use of the Lord's Supper. He looks at how close(d) communion - far from being some narrow-minded idea cooked up by a few Lutherans - is in fact the historic position of the Church. The Church's teaching has always been that the Lord's Supper is an expression of our true unity in the faith, not (as promoted by the Ecumenical Movement) a means of papering over the cracks to establish an apparent "unity" in which doctrinal error is tolerated as "legitimate diversity".

McCain writes:

How is it possible that the most holy night of our Lord's life has given rise to dissension and disunity in Christendom? How can it be that our Lord's Sacred Meal has become the cause of turmoil, confusion and a splintering of fellowship among Christians who trace their theological ancestry to Rome, Wittenberg, Geneva or Zurich?

What should the Church's response to this disunity be? There are two options. The first option is the response of historic Christianity: To lament the disunity, to pray and to work for agreement, but until genuine agreement is reached, to avoid communing together in order to avoid giving expression to a unity that does not yet exist. The second option is the response of the Ecumenical Movement: To assert that in spite of a lack of unity in the confession of the true faith, Christian churches commune together. The Ecumenical Movement's use of the Lord's Supper as a tool toward union has turned Holy Communion into an unholy chaos.

Read the full article here.

It is indeed tragic and unfortunate when true Christians cannot commune together. No-one wants that situation to continue. But the true tragedy is doctrinal division and error: and trying to use the Lord's Supper to side-step that tragedy will only make - has already made, is already making - matters worse, as it sends out such clear signals that doctrinal division and error do not really matter.

Funnily enough, one of the best expressions of this can be found in the Catechism of the (Roman) Catholic Church:

The more painful the experience of the divisions in the Church which break the common participation in the table of the Lord, the more urgent are our prayers to the Lord that the time of complete unity among all who believe in him may return.

Even if we disagree with Rome on what "complete unity" means and involves, that is still an excellent summary of the position.

Here's a phrase for Lutherans (and other "Reformation Christians") to reclaim: "leading (or bringing) people to Christ".

Within much of evangelicalism, this phrase is used to describe the process of leading someone through a "sinner's prayer", as the culmination of sharing the Gospel with them. This is presented as the greatest honour and blessing that God can bestow on the ordinary Christian: the opportunity to "lead someone to Christ", and Andrew's example in John 1:41,42 is frequently cited.

I have never led anyone to Christ in that sense. For years I longed to have the opportunity to "lead someone to Christ", and felt deeply guilty about my failures to be sufficiently "bold" in my "witness" so as to be able to "lead someone to Christ". Sure, I'd told people the Gospel, but I'd never "closed the deal".

But if you're going to lead someone to Christ, you need to know where Christ is. Andrew didn't lead Simon Peter through a prayer - he physically led him to where Jesus could be found, and left it to Jesus to call Simon Peter to himself.

So where can Christ be found today? Where are we to lead people to? Well, this is linked in many ways with my earlier post on Salvation Won and Salvation Distributed: Christ is present wherever the salvation he won for us is distributed. Not metaphorically "present", and not just present in the general sense of divine omnipresence, but actually present in a saving sense to distribute forgiveness, life and salvation to us.

So when we tell someone the Gospel, Christ is present. Christ is present in Baptism; he is present in the Gospel promises declared in the Absolution; he is present in the preaching of his Word, and especially the preaching of the Gospel; and above all, he is present - literally, physically present - in the Lord's Supper, under the forms of bread and wine.

In short, when we invite people to church, we are inviting them to come where Christ is present in Word and Sacrament - we are leading them to Christ, just as surely as Andrew led Peter to Christ. What happens then is between Christ and the people we invite, just as Andrew stepped out of the picture once he had introduced Peter to Christ.

So it turns out I have led people to Christ: I've (on occasion) told them the Gospel; I've invited them to church; I quite literally led - or rather, carried - my older son to Christ, when he was baptised, and hope to lead his younger brother to Christ before too much longer. Indeed, I lead my family to Christ every week, behind the wheel of our car. And leading people to Christ in this way is indeed the greatest honour and blessing that God can bestow on the ordinary Christian.

GK Chesterton again, on an even more important topic: beer.

Let a man walk ten miles steadily on a hot summer's day along a dusty English road, and he will soon discover why beer was invented.

- from the essay, Wine When it is Red

Amen, brother. Posted in honour of Daniel's decision to categorise his blogroll links by reference to beer.

"Only Brits would come up with the idea of brewing beer without carbonation", he writes. Excuse me? Daniel, don't let's get started on transatlantic beer comparisons. There are words in the English language to describe American beer, but unfortunately they're all forbidden by Colossians 3:8... :-)

Think GKC should have the last word again:

Man is always something worse or something better than an animal ... Thus in sex no animal is either chivalrous or obscene. And thus no animal ever invented anything so bad as drunkenness - or so good as drink

Great quote from GK Chesterton:

It is very hard for a man to defend anything of which he is entirely convinced. It is comparably easy when he is only partially convinced. He is partially convinced because he has found this or that proof of the thing, and he can expound it.

But a man is not really convinced of a philosophical theory when he finds that something proves it. He is only really convinced when he finds that everything proves it. And the more converging reasons he finds pointing to this conviction, the more bewildered he is if asked suddenly to sum them up.

Thus, if one asked an ordinary intelligent man, on the spur of the moment, "Why do you prefer civilization to savagery?" he would look wildly round at object after object, and would only be able to answer vaguely, "Why, there is that bookcase ... and the coals in the coal-scuttle ... and pianos ... and policemen."

The whole case for civilization is that the case for it is complex. It has done so many things. But the very multiplicity of proof which ought to make reply overwhelming makes reply impossible.

- from "The Paradoxes of Christianity", in Orthodoxy

Chesterton is talking about defending/promoting Christianity in general, and I can strongly identify with what he is saying. Much the same also applies to Lutheranism in particular: there are multiple converging reasons why I find Lutheranism persuasive and attractive, whether it be Law/Gospel, the sacraments, the centrality of justification and forgiveness of sins, vocation, the two kingdoms, the music of JS Bach, or just the towering and vivid personality of Luther himself. It's hard to know where to begin!

This contrasts with my previous Calvinism, whose central Big Idea - the Sovereignty of God - can be simply identified, stated, defended and promoted, but which (when placed at the centre of one's theological system and spirituality) somehow fails to do justice to the full range of the biblical data (God so loved the world), and seems frequently to be in danger of driving one insane, as single, simple big ideas are prone to do: a point Chesterton makes elsewhere in Orthodoxy, in particular when he points out that:

... the strongest and most unmistakable mark of madness is this combination between a logical completeness and a spiritual contraction. The lunatic's theory explains a large number of things, but it does not explain them in a large way

Now I'm not at all saying that Calvinism is a lunatic theory, or that it necessarily drives its adherents insane (sometimes it merely drives them Lutheran...). But it is undeniable that in the wrong hands it can have that effect (two words: Arthur. Pink.). Chesterton again (speaking this time of how, contrary to popular opinion, poets are far less likely to go mad than logicians and mathematicians):

...only one great English poet went mad, [the Calvinist, William] Cowper. And he was definitely driven mad by logic, by the ugly and alien logic of predestination ... the poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits.

Examples of where Calvinism can have more logic than is good for one's mental balance: does celebrating Christmas violate the regulative principle? Does Scripture mandate any church music other than unaccompanied (metrical) psalms? Does playing football with your chidren in the park on a Sunday afternoon constitute Sabbath-breaking? Are we allowed to make a free offer of the gospel to unbelievers (who may, after all, be reprobate)? Even if most Calvinists are, in practice, happy opening Christmas presents, singing hymns and enjoying a kickabout in the park, the very fact that these questions can arise, and frequently lead to such intense controversy, tells its own story.

(By the way, anyone reading this who hasn't read Orthodoxy: stop reading this now, and run - don't walk - to your nearest bookshop, buy a copy, and read it, today. You won't regret it, I promise. One of the finest, sanest, most quotable, and most unusual, Christian books ever written, ever).

I assume I'm not the only person who feels that - however much sympathy one must have for what the Spanish people have been through this past week, and however much it's really none of my business who they choose to vote for, and however ignorant I may be of the dynamics and undercurrents of Spanish politics - that it is not sending out a terribly helpful signal to Al Qaida to have a sequence of events that seems to go like this:

1. One week from election, Government tipped to win again, despite unpopular decision to join in war on Iraq.

2. Devastating bomb attack, apparently the work of Islamic "militants", who are apparently motivated in part by said Government's support for said war.

3. Electors throw said Government out on their collective ear.

The good people of Spain are of course entitled to their opinion, but ... well, from the point of view of the rest of us - particularly those living in countries that might be planning on having elections anytime soon - this doesn't exactly help, does it?

Yet another reason for loving Lutheranism: the doctrine of vocation. Sick of the Christian subculture? Fed up with being made to feel that your "secular" job is a bit "unspiritual" (unless you are able to evangelise your colleagues or make up for it by spending lots of spare time in "church" activities)? Then I recommend you spend some time this weekend reading Gene Veith's article on The Doctrine of Vocation.

How liberating it is to realise that our daily work, our everyday vocations (whether in paid employment, as a husband or wife, as a parent, as a citizen, or whatever), all these are of value to God and are used by him to answer the prayer, "Give us today our daily bread". As Luther puts it:

All our work in the field, in the garden, in the city, in the home, in struggle, in government -- to what does it all amount before God except child's play, by means of which God is pleased to give his gifts in the field, at home, and everywhere? These are the masks of our Lord God, behind which he wants to be hidden and to do all things.

As Luther says elsewhere, God himself is milking the cows through the vocation of the milkmaid.

It's also liberating to realise that, while we are all priests (1 Peter 2:4-10), that is not the same as saying that we are all ministers (2 Timothy 4:1-5). Our everyday life (as citizens, employees, members of families) has value as we live as a "royal priesthood"; we are to be ready to "give a defence", to explain the gospel and its relevance to how we live (and what a privilege it is when such opportunities arise!); but we are not required to beat ourselves up for failing to "preach the Word in season and out of season", when we are not ministers.

This is such an important part of what freedom for the Christian, freedom in the Gospel, means in practice: an end to quasi-monastic divisions between "spiritual" and "secular" activities, which burden ordinary Christians with unnecessary guilt.

Finally, it is also liberating to realise that some things (including, in my case, anything to do with plumbing or electricity) are not our vocation, and that we are therefore justified in getting someone else to use their vocation in doing it for us, if God has blessed us with the (financial) ability to do so. One very practical application of this teaching is that it should spare me the job of remodelling our garden wall and patio this summer!

Now if you'll excuse me, my week of working at my vocation as a lawyer is coming to an end, and my vocation as husband and father beckons...

The BBC has a "consultation" on its website asking for people's views on "what the government should do" about health issues such as obesity, smoking and alcohol abuse.

In fairly typical BBC fashion, all the questions are predicated on the idea that the answer to all these problems is for the Government to "do" something - ban this, make that compulsory. The format seems calculated to produce bogus statistics of the "74% support compulsory screening for STDs" variety.

Without wishing to overstate the case, the vision of the world conjured up by this survey reminds me a bit of Christopher Hitchens' great comment about North Korea, where "everything that is not absolutely compulsory is absolutely forbidden".

British readers - if you value your freedom to take responsibility for what you do to your own body - if the reason you are, like me, quite frankly a bit lardy is that you choose to be lardy - then I strongly suggest you go to the BBC website now and vote "no" to every question...

Pastor Rolf Preus (Luther Quest's "chaplain") recently posted a devotion on the Luther Quest site entitled, "Jesus' Prayer for our Forgiveness". The whole thing is worth reading, but particularly the following passage:

Forgiveness was won in Christ’s crucifixion. The Father answered the prayer His Son prayed. He forgave all those responsible for Christ’s death. That is, He forgave all sinners, for it was all sinners of all times and places who nailed Jesus to the cross. The sins for which He suffered are the sins God forgave. Since He suffered the punishment of all sins of all sinners, it was all sins of all sinners that God forgave. Forgiveness of all sins was won, earned, obtained, gotten, there on Calvary as Jesus was crucified for us.

Forgiveness was not distributed on the cross. The forgiveness that Jesus won on Calvary is distributed wherever Christ’s gospel is proclaimed because the proclamation of the gospel is nothing else than the declaration of the forgiveness of sins for Christ’s sake. The forgiveness that Jesus won on Calvary is distributed wherever sinners are baptized in Jesus’ name and by His authority in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Mere water cannot wash away sins, but the water that is joined to the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus can and does wash away sins. The forgiveness that Jesus won on Calvary is distributed whenever the minister speaks Christ’s words of absolution to the penitents. The minister’s words of forgiveness are not from the minister, but from Christ who took away our sin. The forgiveness of sins that Jesus won on Calvary is distributed wherever Christians come to the altar to eat and to drink the body and the blood of Jesus in the Lord’s Supper. The bread and the wine of this holy Sacrament are not merely signs of Christ’s body and blood. They are Christ’s body and blood. Where the paschal blood is poured, death’s dread angel sheathes his sword. We eat and we drink and we know with the certainty of faith that we are receiving with our mouths the body and the blood of Jesus even as we are receiving by faith the forgiveness of sins and eternal life

This distinction - between salvation won and salvation distributed - has proved enormously helpful for me, especially as someone moving away from the Calvinism represented by John Murray's Redemption Accomplished and Applied, and in need of a similarly clear, pithy description of God's work in saving us.

It summarises perfectly the distinction between Christ's work on the cross, winning forgiveness, life and salvation for all; and his work through the means of grace, of distributing that forgiveness, life and salvation, creating in us the faith by which we receive the benefits of this - demonstrating how all this is God's work. It's not Christ's work on the cross, plus our "decision" now; it's Christ's work on the cross winning salvation for us, and Christ's work through the Word and Sacraments distributing salvation to us, and creating and sustaining faith in us.

In a subsequent discussion on LQ, the question was raised, "[If forgiveness is distributed to us through the means of grace, then] where do I find forgiveness of my sins committed today? At the foot of the Cross? At my confession? In the pastors absolution? At my partaking of the Lords Supper? At my baptism?"

One particularly helpful reply said (emphasis added):

I'm just trying to encourage you not to put your sins and forgiveness on such a linear path. God already knows all the sins you'll commit in your life, and he forgave them all in your baptism. And he forgives you as often as you confess and receive absolution. And He will forgive you each time you receive his body and blood. His gifts he gives to us oh so abundantly and over and over meeting all of our needs.

How much do we need forgiveness? How much gospel do we need? How much grace can we have? How much building of our faith is enough? God just pours out his grace to us again and again and just because he does a thing more than once, does not in any way mean that the previous was less than enough. Your baptism was enough, but he gives you more. His absolution is enough, but he gives you still more. His supper is enough and even though you don't deserve it, He gives you yet more.

He does this because he loves you so and you are his child and he knows just exactly what you need - and he gave it to you in your baptism, he gives it to you again in absolution and he'll continue giving it to you in his supper. In this way, you are forgiven. You can know you are forgiven. And when you sin and are terrified, you can be forgiven again - each time with the words of the gospel administered to you for the forgiveness of sins and the strengthening of your faith unto life everlasting.

Wow! What a God we serve!

Wow, indeed.

The Telegraph reports today on the latest Anglican turmoil: this time the Anglican Church in Canada is on the verge of approving same-sex blessings. (Though to describe Anglicanism as being "on the brink of schism" is like saying that Elvis "is on the brink of death").

All this breaks my heart. For almost the whole of my life I've had strong links with Anglicanism. It's largely my love for the Prayer Book and the Articles that kept me from ever being completely satisfied with much of contemporary evangelicalism, which in turn is one reason why I've ended up "going Lutheran".

Anglicanism has, of course, strong affinities with Lutheranism, being very much a product of the "conservative Reformation", and with a distinct "family resemblance" between the Thirty-Nine Articles and the Augsburg Confession. And I still maintain that Anglicanism at its best is Reformed Christianity at its best (and sanest). This is, after all, the church of Cranmer, Whitefield, Ryle, John Stott and JI Packer, just to name a few who have had a big impact on me over the years. It's also a church that has given the world some glorious church music*. To see all this disappear down the toilet is a tragedy.

Do remember in your prayers the remnant who have not bowed the knee to Baal (see any of the "Anglican" links to the right.

(* speaking of glorious church music: buy this! buy this! Not cheap, and worth shopping around to find the best price, but you'll never regret it, I promise).

...don't worry, the Church of England still requires that these be two separate people :-)

But the Telegraph has a good leader column (registration may be required) on Rowan Williams' remarks on Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials (see my earlier post, below), in particular his statement that, "I only hope that teachers are equipped to tease out what in Pullman's world is and is not reflective of Christian teaching as Christians understand it."

The Telegraph rightly describes this as "an all-too-pious hope" and continues:

The teaching of Christianity is so diluted that many - perhaps most - children attach little or no meaning to notions such as the Incarnation, the Crucifixion or the Resurrection. A theologian of Dr Williams's calibre may well analyse Pullman's "thought experiment" and relish debate with such an adversary. Children, however, need to be taught facts before they can engage in disputations.

They can hardly avoid Pullman's bestseller, but they might learn more from his masters, Milton and Blake. Better yet, they need to read the Bible and acquire a grasp of Christian doctrine. They would then be able to see Pullman for what he is: a gnostic genius whose fantasies tell them nothing about Christ or his Church.

Leaving to one side the question of what things have come to when it takes a newspaper editor to say all this more clearly than an Archbishop, that pretty much sums up my own feelings on the subject (on which I have posted before).

Pullman's books are the UK's answer to the Da Vinci Code, with the important exception that they are exceptionally well-written, imaginative and gripping (save for the preachy and didactic final 100-or-so pages), rather than being trashy potboilers. But for many people they seem to fulfil a similar function to the Da Vinci Code: enabling people who are basically ignorant of Christianity (but who, like our toddler refusing even to try a new foodstuff, just know they don't like it) to feel they're getting "the real deal" about the true nature and purpose of "the Church" and "religion" generally*. Even if that "real deal" leaves Christians grinding their teeth in frustration. Though at least Pullman had the decency to put his make-believe Church into a parallel universe.

*See, for example, the remarks made by the chairman of the panel that awarded The Amber Spyglass the Whitbread Prize, Jon Snow: "We are more taken, it has to be said, with Pullman's view of God than [C.S.] Lewis's."

Y'know, despite all the unkind comments being made about "trendy vicars", Rowan Williams may be on to something here: teaching Philip Pullman's books in RE lessons may be just the thing to eradicate any appeal the books might have for impressionable teenagers...

More excellent Ruminations from "Pennsy", this time on why Lutherans aren't Protestant. Personally, I find the question a bit "pot-ay-to, pot-ah-to", but the Ruminator's comments on Lutherans as evangelicals are spot-on:

Lutherans are people of the Scriptures who profess the Word of God as, in Luther's words, "the true holy thing above all holy things". We are evangelical in the true sense of the word, professing the Good News of salvation by faith through grace and by no merit of our own. In fact, Luther's choice for the name of the churches that accepted his reforms was not "Lutheran" but "Evangelical", as Lutherans are still widely known in Europe.

That's exactly the sense in which I have been and remain a "Confessing Evangelical" - the term "evangelical" is far too important to surrender it to the assorted Arminians, Open Theists, legalists and Charismatics who parade under that banner today.

Part of my purpose with this blog is to demonstrate that becoming a Lutheran absolutely does not involve ceasing to be an evangelical: quite the contrary, it involves becoming more consistently and thoroughly evangelical than before.

This is very important on a personal level - numerous friends are likely to think we've gone completely off the rails, spiritually, by becoming Lutherans (especially because of the sacramentalism). Even if I can't persuade them to become Lutherans, I'm determined to prove that we are still evangelicals, through and through - not for polemical purposes, but out of love for people who will be genuinely and deeply concerned for our well-being.

What are we to make of celebrations of the Lord's Supper which don't include the Words of Institution? I was reflecting on this yesterday, as I sat uneasily through the "Lord's Supper" at our current church (where we were spending our final Sunday as regular attendees - next week we plan to go to our local Lutheran church). It followed the usual pattern - a separate service after the main service had finished; the pastor read a passage from Scripture and said a few words on it; and then two laypeople "gave thanks" for the bread and "wine" (i.e. grape-juice). The Words of Institution did not feature at any point.

So how do we describe this event? Was it indeed the Lord's Supper? Well, here's what Luther has to say about the "Sacrament of the Altar" in the Large Catechism:

It is the Word ... which makes and distinguishes this Sacrament, so that it is not mere bread and wine, but is, and is called, the body and blood of Christ ... The Word must make a Sacrament of the element, else it remains a mere element ...

Now here stands the Word of Christ: Take, eat; this is My body; Drink ye all of it; this is the new testament in My blood, etc ... It is true, indeed, that if you take away the Word or regard it without the words, you have nothing but mere bread and wine...

If all this means anything, it is that a "Lord's Supper" without the Words of Institution is not the Lord's Supper at all. Remembering the Lord's death for us is certainly an edifying activity, and employing bread and wine/juice as an aide memoire may or may not be helpful. But that's not the same thing as the Lord's Supper, which operates according to the equation:

(Bread & wine) + Word of Christ = (Body & blood) + forgiveness of sins

There is a parallel here with "re-baptism": if someone has already been baptised (whether as an infant or otherwise), you can immerse them in water as mu