1517 Blogcast

Current approaches to discipleship tend to run along one or the other of two tracks. One type copies the neo-revivalist tactics of North American evangelicals. It anchors discipleship in a unique experience of God in worship and serves then as the basis for specific practices that move “nominal” members of the church into more disciplined lives of faith.

In the church, a “font” is simply a receptacle to hold water to perform the rite of Holy Baptism. They have varied in size, shape, and placement within the history of the church. Since the word used in the New Testament for “Baptism” carries a range of meanings—pouring, sprinkling, immersing, dipping, and cleansing—churches of the Reformation have never made much ado about the mode of the water’s application in the rite. However, the majority of churches still use the traditional eight-sided font. The question I’d like to explore in this post is, “Why?”

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. I will be having a conversation about what the Word of God says about Baptism and the question will come up, “Do you actually believe Baptism is necessary for salvation?”

Fences of the Law are not modern phenomena. They also existed in Jesus’ day. Much of His conversations with the Pharisees centered on the Law and tearing down the fences they had erected. Fences that kept people out of the kingdom of God and away from the Gospel. We can find one of these conversations in which Jesus seeks to kick down the fences in Mark 7:1–23 and Matthew 15:1–20.

God speaks to us to give away His salvation gifts. He sends us preachers for this reason: to hand out His gifts of forgiveness, life, and salvation through simple, earthly words, water, bread, and wine.

Most scholars consider Melanchthon to be a Reformation enigma. He, the developer of the Reformation doctrine of forensic justification, is contrarily condemned as a synergist. Known well as the Protestant preceptor of Germany, he was Martin Luther’s lifelong friend, colleague, teacher of Greek, and fellow reformer.

I was born November 1949 in Cartagena, Colombia (pronounced “Carta-hen-a”). Cartagena was founded 416 years before, in 1533, by Dominican and Franciscan monks. A few years later, Jesuit and Augustinian monks catechized the indigenous dwellers. My ancestors were among those whose first catechism had the shape of a rod in hands of armed deputies dispatched from the nearest office of the Roman Papacy.

How does one know that they are saved? Where can the Christian turn for any ground of certainty before God on the day of judgment? As a pastor, these questions are often found in the fear-filled voices of guilt-ridden Christians in my study. Lead a Bible study on Romans 9-11 sometime and watch fear fill the eyes as folks realize God is actually, actually sovereign over salvation. If He loved Jacob and hated Esau, what hope do I have that my love for stew isn’t going to be the end of me? Bring up the fate of Judas in a class and see if anyone who has any semblance of their role in the death of Christ is feeling comfortable about their standing before God.

It’s been said that Martin Luther was an occasional theologian. Luther did theology as occasions arose. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t doing theology otherwise. It simply means that theology for Luther wasn’t some abstract thing removed from daily life and the people around him. I suppose the same could be said of Jesus.

Is there room in God’s family for children with disabilities or severe deformities? What about adults? Is there space for a disabled baby in the waters of baptism? Is there a chair at the table of faith for someone who is mentally disabled? For Christians, the question strikes at the foundation of what it means to be called the “communion of saints,” or, “the Church.” Are God’s gifts handed out indiscriminately, or not?