David Scaer: You Can't Preach Justification Without the Cross and Empty Tomb

Missouri has made the gospel a conclusion appended to a sermon, regardless of whether the pericope actually leads there, with a chain of indefinite absolutions replacing sanctification.

Rev. Dr. David Scaer recently spoke at the Gottesdienst Conference and delivered razor-sharp insights on what most ails Missouri. Seminarians, pastors, and bishops, pay special attention.

The full transcript is produced below, but here are some highlights to pay attention to:

Justification as a mere formula: He argues that LCMS preaching has reduced justification to a dry recitation. The declaration “you’re saved by grace” functions as a liturgical hat tip rather than a proclamation grounded in the truth of Scripture. Consequently, the gospel becomes a rote conclusion appended to every sermon regardless of whether the pericope actually leads there, and he admonishes that it’s a manipulation of the word of God.

Suppressing sanctification: He identifies a large fraction of Missouri that denies sanctification altogether, replacing it with an indefinite chain of absolutions. He warns that this is pastorally dishonest because people do the accounting beforehand and factor in the absolution before they sin. The antinomian logic is utterly transparent in Missouri’s congregations.

Third use of the law: His proposal is to rename the “third use” of the law as God’s guide for the regenerate. He calls it the most magnificent use because in it the Christian begins to do the works that Christ did. He regards its denial as a doctrinal capitulation rather than a Lutheran distinctive.

On Catholic instinct: He credits Catholic theology with one correct intuition, namely that justification never occurs without sanctification. He doesn’t concede Rome’s doctrine, but says Lutherans have so overcorrected against works-righteousness that they’ve made sanctification invisible, including at funerals, where the life of the deceased goes unmentioned.

Deep cuts: His root complaint is Christological, rather than soteriological. Sermons don’t fail because they get justification wrong, but because they don’t preach Christ. The atonement and resurrection, not the forensic declaration, are the load-bearing doctrines. Justification preaching without the cross and empty tomb is formula without substance.

I. Prefatory Remarks

There are a number of issues I would like to clarify before I am called out of this world, so you may know how things stand.

The first: I just received word today that my manuscript on the resurrection of Jesus Christ will be published very soon. That makes me very happy.

As you know, my sermon on the mount was rejected by the Lutherans. I actually think the rejection is worthwhile, because it does show where the Missouri Synod is.

I don’t preach anymore. I read magazines. I thought I’d be reading more than I am, but I’m not reading that much. The last months before we moved into the townhouse were some of the worst in my life, simply because you had to change addresses and meet all these bureaucratic regulations, which is just a kind of formalism in its own right.

II. On Preaching and Its Pathologies

I am a reader of Touchstone, as is Dr. Weinrich. It’s a good place to start, because it gives us a view from outside. The fellow is S. M. Hutchens, the senior editor. One of the more recent issues has a reproduction of Caravaggio’s Conversion of St. Paul. It’s dark. Paul has just fallen from his horse. The horse is there, lifting its hoof. Paul is dressed in Roman military uniform — to which Luther would say, “Horse, how did he know?”

Two things open my mind in a way that is genuinely Lutheran: music and art. The artist sees something that we don’t, and cannot, because we have been so indoctrinated by what we should see. I don’t know how you would put together a painting of law and gospel — the message, not just the form — but that’s exactly what the artist does.

Hutchens writes that each denomination seems to be infected by its native strain of bad preaching. Anglicans by preciousness. Lutherans by formula. Catholics by laziness and biblical illiteracy. Baptists by great volume to no great end. What he says about Lutherans is this: you bring out the doctrine and build on it, so the text itself has nothing to do with the sermon.

I sat recently with a man who taught rhetoric at Purdue. We started talking about the Puritans. He described their sermon structure: three parts — first, the explanation of the pericope; second, the doctrine, say, the deity of Jesus; third, the application. I said, “That’s not half bad.” But Hutchens puts his finger on it: a student is graded on how dead orthodox his sermon is. The result is a collection of Lutheran truisms wrapped in invented illustrations.

We had a sermon in the chapel last week in which the man spoke about Lillian. Lillian was the best kind of church member you would want. She did everything. As death was approaching, she began to wonder whether she had done enough. And of course —

[Interlocutor: — the answer is no.]

This is so classically Lutheran because you create this figure, then preach the formula at her. You know the type: the man who gave a great deal of money and came in on Saturday to clean the candle holders. But, you know what? You’re saved by grace. It doesn’t really matter. That was the sermon. That was the whole sermon.

Hutchens is right: the recitation of the formula qualifies as the gospel. That’s what it is.

I heard another sermon in a different situation. The gospel was the Judas pericope — “show us the way.” There was a reference to the biblical text, and the conclusion dutifully arrived at the gospel. Very nice. Except: we never preached Christ.

I feel sorry for these men. They know they are supposed to pastor. But they are terrified of preaching. They would rather serve as associate pastors where they can conduct the liturgy and not preach. I say this because, as the Lutherans insist, the doctrine of justification is the article by which the church stands or falls. But I think other doctrines take precedence — the atonement, the resurrection. A sermon on justification does not convert. Paul said, “I am determined to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.”

III. The Generic Funeral Sermon

We moved into the townhouse, and someone in the building died — a Missouri Synod woman. She went to St. Michael’s on the west side of town. I didn’t attend, but I asked one of the women afterward — she describes herself as a Lutheran who doesn’t go to church, which is standard enough — “How was the funeral service?”

She said, “I really didn’t like it.”

Why? “They didn’t speak about the deceased.”

Now, you can choose not to speak of the deceased. That is a defensible position. But the Bible says, “Blessed are those who die in the Lord” — and Lutherans will make sure you never hear about it. The Catholics, by contrast, got something right: justification never happens without sanctification. That’s the way the Bible is. Our problem is what we call good works — much of that is devotion to icons and such, but Catholics are right that the Christian will automatically do these things.

It is alleged, among us, that there are those who say there is no such thing as sanctification — only a succession of absolutions: you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven. Don’t kid yourself that people don’t figure that out ahead of time, before they engage in questionable activities. It is already in their minds when they walk through the door.

A prominent man, a good friend — one of the very few I count as such — once said, “It’s important that every sermon end with the gospel.” Is that the way the Bible is written? One thing I love in biblical work is being swept along by the passage itself. The real awakening was learning to let the current of the text carry you. So many people have guilt feelings: “Where was the gospel in that sermon?” It doesn’t have to be there in the sermon. It’s in the sacrament. It’s in the liturgy.

IV. The Atonement and What We Will Not Sing

If Christ is not the atonement for sin — which is the current aberration among us — then don’t sing Christians to the Paschal Victim. Don’t sing it, because you don’t mean it. Pascha means Passover. The sea’s blood marks our doors. Death approaches and passes over. Salvation comes because God sees the blood of Christ.

Do I carry a chip on my shoulder? If I had more shoulders, I’d have more chips.

The great awakening in my life came when Jack Preus became Synod President. I was considered his alter ego at the seminary — it was said I represented him more than anyone else did. So they took away my courses in dogmatics — one, two, and three — and assigned me to teach James and the Lutheran Confessions, which I taught seven times a year: twice each quarter and once in the summer.

Everybody likes to teach the Augsburg Confession. Why? Because it’s like confessional baseball — first base, second base, third base, and there’s no surprise when you reach home. It’s all there waiting for you.

You know where the problem shows up in preaching? When a man doesn’t know how to handle a pericope. That is the most difficult thing in the world — handling the pericope. We would all rather do something else.

The first pericope I was assigned was Romans 12: “Present your bodies a living sacrifice.” I certainly didn’t know what it meant then. I know now. It means that you are in Christ, and you are being sacrificed with him. It is not that he stands over there and pronounces something upon you. You are involved in the suffering of Christ. That’s what it means to be a royal generation of priesthood. The Missouri Synod has twisted that around into a political manifesto: if the congregation wants to be rid of you, they quote that passage. It has nothing to do with how a congregation or the church is organized.

V. On Death, Funerals, and What the Catholics Understand

When my nephew died on September 11th — may his soul rest in peace — he was buried Catholic. It was a huge funeral at a church in Fairlawn, New Jersey. Afterward, several people came to me and said, “You were the only one who said anything worthwhile.” When you go to a Missouri Synod congregational dinner, they don’t seat the pastor at the head of the line. You have cultivated that attitude — that the man who stays home and makes money stands on equal footing with the man who came to the seminary and gave up everything.

That is a great sacrifice. The man gives up his home, his financial security, the life his wife has built. He’s there for four years plus vicarage. These men are living sacrifices. And you will never hear at an opening convocation: “You are presenting your bodies as living sacrifices.” But they are. Seminary is not simply an academic institution. That is a fundamental misunderstanding of it.

One thing is certain: there is no forgiveness for teaching false doctrine. That is why James says, “Let not many of you become teachers, for you will be judged.” There is going to be a special accounting for clergy. Don’t kid yourself.

I wonder what Nestingen is facing before Christ the judge, having said that Christ’s death was not strictly required — that God, being omnipotent, could simply forgive sins by declaring it. Listen: God cannot do whatever he wishes. I can tell you many things he cannot do. He cannot put himself out of existence. He cannot deny the work of Jesus. It belongs to God’s own essence that he comes to our aid. It belongs to his being. That is not a limit on omnipotence — it is what omnipotence looks like when it is holy.

VI. The Law, Its Three Uses, and the Magnificent Third

Ask a Lutheran: how many uses of the law are there, and which is the most important?

[Various responses from the room.]

What a remarkable exercise in grading the word of God. If you’re on the New York subway and a deranged man comes at you with a knife, the most important use of the law is, you say, the first — the civil use. You say that because everyone else says it. You haven’t thought it through.

The third use of the law is the most magnificent, because with it, the Christian begins to do the works that Christ did. And yet it is taught among us that there is no third use of the law. The law is abolished. Well, Christ came and changed that. “You shall love the Lord your God. You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” And he proved it by giving his life. That was a good work, and it was his.

VII. On Handling the Scriptures — James, John 6, and the Lord’s Supper

When I was assigned James — alongside the Confessions — I did what any instructor does when he doesn’t fully know his subject: I made the students write papers. Then I began reading the papers, and I had to go back to James myself. And I fell in love with James.

“Was not Rahab justified when she gave refuge to the spies?” She put her own life on the line. That is preceded by Abraham, who when he offered Isaac — and remember, Isaac was fifteen or sixteen at the time, old enough to understand what was happening. He saw the wood. He saw the knife. He asked, “Where is the sacrifice?” He knew. And Abraham said, “God will provide.” That is the beginning of Old Testament faith: God will provide the sacrifice.

The epistle of James gave me my introduction to the Sermon on the Mount, because James reads as if someone had taken the Sermon on the Mount, cracked it like a vase, and reassembled the pieces. Paul is much more of a Lutheran than Jesus is. If you don’t know what to do with a pericope, run to Paul. And if you can’t get to Paul, run to the confessions and the catechism and recite something. We recite the confessions more readily than we do the words of Christ.

I wrote on the Sermon on the Mount — “The Church’s First Statement of the Gospel” — and all hell broke loose. It was rejected, several times, by reviewers and then by the whole commission. When authority changed in St. Louis, it was eventually published. It’s mentioned in Surviving the Storms, if you want to know who these wonderful theologians are. I put their names down.

Now: John 6. The author of one essay I have in front of me — I suspect I know who it is — vigorously defends the view that John 6 is not about the Lord’s Supper. “While such verbal similarities can hardly be denied,” he writes, acknowledging what the words plainly say, and then proceeding not to follow them — because he has the whole weight of Lutheran tradition on his back and doesn’t want to jump into the lake.

The question was being discussed again recently up in Minneapolis: why is John 6 about faith, not the Supper? Because if it is about the Supper, then “unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood, you have no life in you” — and how many people die without having received communion? But Lutherans are not consistent here. They say the same logic applies to John 3:5: “unless a man be born of water and the Spirit.” That says baptism is absolutely necessary. Yet we know the life of the congregation and of this world does not perfectly match the diagram of what a Christian is supposed to be.

I take the Lord’s Prayer to be eucharistic. “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses.” It fits the whole shape of the mass. The first petitions are about God: Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done. We are not praying that God would be adored in heaven — his name is already hallowed there, his will is already done. The crux is: on earth as it is in heaven. We are praying that what is true in heaven would become true here.

“Give us this day our daily bread” — that is an aorist imperative. Give it to me. Give it to me now. Don’t make me go through hoops to receive it. And in this whole action of the mass, sins are being forgiven.

And then the final petition: “Lead us not into temptation.” What are you asking? Don’t put me in a situation where I will deny you. Deliver me from Satan. That prayer stands under the whole climate of persecution. It echoes Jesus to Peter: “Satan has desired to sift you as wheat.” It echoes Judas, into whose heart Satan entered. Our churches are now built to make people comfortable, to suggest that the gospel is really rather sweet. That is not how it was for Jesus, for Stephen, for Paul, for the martyrs. It isn’t. In Nigeria today, a man is told: renounce Jesus and we will not kill you. That is what that prayer is praying against.

VIII. The Resurrection, the Old Testament, and the Current Manuscript

I worked through my manuscript on the resurrection, and the people at CPH offered critique — they said you have to do this and you have to do that. I wasn’t entirely happy about it, but I did it, and I learned a great deal. The one thing I discovered is how prominent the resurrection was in the Old Testament.

Joseph is the one who is like Jesus: taken into captivity, put into a pit, left for dead. When did his brothers come back? These Old Testament figures did what they did because they believed that no matter what happened to them, they would be raised. The resurrection is not one doctrine among others. Lutheranism treats doctrine as a shuffled deck — you combine the cards and come out with something. The real awakening is recognizing the resurrection is the current that runs through everything.

And Esther — which book of the Old Testament shouldn’t be there? Which book doesn’t even mention God? Esther. And yet what does she do? She puts her life on the line for the people of God. As soon as you get rid of the Lutheran clichés, you begin to understand the Bible better — and I say that not from a dogmatic point of view, but from the viewpoint of preaching.

IX. Final Remarks

I don’t preach anymore. They don’t permit me in the chapel. Do I want to? Yes. But what I do is listen to sermons, and in listening I can see what the clergyman is. We have very good preaching in Fort Wayne in the worship group — it’s lay organized and quite effective. The liturgical style is straightforwardly Missouri Synod, so there is nothing to distract the mind from what it is all about. When I hear the scriptures read, I know exactly what to do with the pericope. I say this over against my own long learning.

What the student wants — and we are happy to accommodate — is rules. Give him a formula, so that no matter what the pericope is, he can arrive at the gospel at the end. But if you are inserting the gospel where it is not there, you are manipulating the word of God. Maybe that doesn’t bother you.

When I came to the seminary — sixty-five years ago or more — one man handed me Bavinck’s Reformed Dogmatics and said: “Dave, stick to this.” That is the issue. Lutheranism is simply Reformed theology with Lutheran labels. The man who taught the confessions liked to teach the Augsburg Confession. Everyone does. Why? Because there’s no surprise. You know exactly where you’re going. First base, second base, third base, and home. And you do it again.

I determined that I was going to teach dogmatics biblically, with one thought in mind: as soon as a person leaves this institution, he’s going to have to stand in a pulpit and say something. By the ancient law, he is required to say something about the gospel. The three-year lectionary — put together largely by Catholic scholars, I believe — forces us to weave the Old Testament into the gospel. The Old Testament reading matches the gospel. That is not an accident.

Everything Jesus did has theological meaning. It is not a random miracle. If you begin to think that way, preaching becomes easier and easier. The genealogy in Matthew is more than a genealogy — he is already laying out that Gentiles will be included in the blessing of Abraham, because he includes Rahab the harlot, and the wife of Uriah. And Uriah the Hittite is, in that episode, more noble than David. Everything is jarring. The text is always jarring. And when the wise men arrived in Jerusalem, that was no small thing. This was a city of twenty to twenty-five thousand people. Strange-looking figures with a full retinue walking through the streets, asking: “Where is he who is born King of the Jews?” Who did not want to hear that? Herod didn’t want to hear it. The people didn’t want to hear it. Life was not so bad. Maybe not as good as they liked, but not half bad. And here comes this disruption.

It’s all in the scripture. You just have to look.