Theologia Crucis: Luther and Francis in Convergence William J. Cork

NOTE:  While I was attending the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, I took several classes at Catholic seminaries that were fellow members of the Washington Theological Consortium.  My favorite was "Minoritas: A Franciscan Theology/Spirituality of Ministry," taught by Fr. Michael Blastic, O.F.M.Conv., at the Washington Theological Union.  I wrote this paper, which he urged me to submit to a Franciscan journal, The Cord. It was published in the November 1989 issue, by which time I had been ordained, and was a Lutheran pastor.  I think, though, that that this was one of the most important steps on my way to the Catholic faith.  In 1992, shortly before I became a Catholic, I was invited to give a presentation to an ecumenical group in Dartmouth, NH.  I returned to this paper, which I revised somewhat for the presentation.  I'd revise it further today (especially my remarks on some Liberation theologians), but it is here as a testimony to some of the issues regarding ministry and church I was wrestling with on my journey toward Catholicism.

Perhaps no two figures in the Church's history are as different from one another as Martin Luther and St. Francis. Try to imagine, if you will, the little poor man of Assisi arguing the intricacies of the communicatio idiomatum over a stein of Wittenberg beer; or the hot-tempered Reformer cuddling a newborn lamb and preaching to the birds. And yet, in spite of their different temperaments, there is one place where Francis and Luther "converge" (to borrow a bit of contemporary ecumenical jargon)--and that place is the cross of Christ. It may be said with little exaggeration that no two individuals in history have been as absorbed with and driven by our Lord's humiliation as these two friars. They do not always come to the same conclusions; yet both are guided in all things by the conviction that God's fullest self-revelation occurs at the cross. From this, Luther articulated a "theology of the cross," which he saw to have radical implications for the doctrines of revelation, justification, and ecclesiology. Long before his time, though, Francis had articulated (not so much in words, as in life and ministry) a "theology of the cross" which expressed itself in minoritas and poverty.

Luther first referred to a "theology of the cross" (theologia crucis) at the Heidelberg Disputation of 1518, in a series of theses on the nature of revelation:

Thesis #19: "That person does not deserve to be called a theologian who looks upon the invisible things of God as though they were clearly perceptible in those things which have actually happened."

Thesis #20: "He deserves to be called a theologian, however, who comprehends the visible and manifest things of God seen through suffering and the cross."¹

Revelation is necessary for Luther because speculation on the basis of what is visible will not lead one to a knowledge of God. Yet what God reveals of himself is, at the same time, concealed. God shows only his "back side." This revelation of the posteriora Dei takes place in suffering and the cross, not in common human morality or in the design and order of creation. And it demands faith--for only faith recognizes that the One on the cross is, in fact, God.²

Luther's emphasis on the cross as the primary locus of God's self-disclosure is not unique to him, but goes back at least as far as the renewal of devotion to the humanity of Christ at the time of Francis (about which Ewert Cousins has written much³). What is unique to Luther is his sharp distinction between the theology of the cross and the theology of glory, which he sees as mutually exclusive.⁴ As he says in Bondage of the Will (1525):

Faith has to do with things not seen (Heb. 11:1). Hence in order that there may be room for faith, it is necessary that everything which is believed should be hidden. It cannot, however, be more deeply hidden than under an object, perception, or experience which is contrary to it.⁵

Thus, on this point, at least, the early Luther and the later Luther are in perfect harmony: "God can be found only in suffering and the cross."⁶ And the converse is also true: where there is not pain and the cross, but pride, wealth, and ostentatious display, one must doubt whether God is, in fact, present.

Luther's theology of the cross was the basis for his critique of the triumphalism of the medieval Church and the papacy.⁷ He "was convinced," says Eric Gritsch, "that the church may have to suffer the loss of its status in order to become a better instrument of the Gospel."⁸ Luther called the Church to embrace Christ's humility--he called it to the cross. There the Church sees its true vocation to be that of suffering servant.⁹ It is to be called by the world "Afflicted one, as well as storm-tossed, and not comforted, 'Miss Hopeless.'"¹⁰ Luther's theology of the cross demanded that the Church, like its Lord, be hidden under suffering. By this he did not mean the self-chosen discomfort of pious deprivation, but that genuine suffering which inevitably follows the faithful proclamation of the Word of God.¹¹

The Church, then, like the individual, is justified by faith alone. And, Luther argues, one can be reduced to such a faithful clinging to Christ only through humiliation. It is through a direct, intense encounter with the wrath of God, experienced as suffering and Anfechtungen, that the sinner comes to know "that his salvation is utterly beyond his own powers, devices, endeavors, will, and works, and depends entirely on the choice, will, and work of another, namely, of God alone."¹² This point receives its greatest elaboration in Bondage of the Will (1525), just cited, and Luther's 1521 Commentary on the Magnificat. Humility is said in the latter to be a necessity for justification--not in the sense of a "work," but in the sense of an utter repudiation of trust in works. Thus Luther distinguishes between "true" and "artificial humility." The latter he regards as an affectation which seeks reward through outward appearance. True humility seeks no reward. It is "nothing else than a disregarded, despised, and lowly estate, such as that of men who are poor, sick, hungry, thirsty, in prison, suffering, and dying."¹³ Those in such a state know they have nothing. Therefore they cling in faith to the promise of the Crucified One.

Turning now to Francis, we see a similar emphasis on the cross as a paradigm of the Christian life. In Bonaventure's account, it was a vision of the cross which caused Francesco di Bernadone to understand "as addressed to himself the Gospel text: If you wish to come after me, deny yourself and take up your cross and follow me (Matt. 16:24)."¹⁴ This is but one of seven visions of the cross with which Bonaventure brackets Francis' life, a progressive series culminating in Francis' receiving the stigmata at Alverna in 1224.¹⁵ "In all things," said Bonaventure, "he wished to be conformed to Christ crucified, who hung on the cross poor, suffering and naked."¹⁶  This led Francis to lovingly embrace that humble service which Christ had accepted, marked by washing the feet of the brothers, humility among both "servants" and "masters," and joy among those "who are looked down upon."¹⁷ 

This is the sort of ministry one might expect to flow from Luther's theology of the cross. Yet Luther never saw the implications in quite this way, due largely to his polemical circumstances.¹⁸ In fact, each time Luther mentions Francis, it is in the context of scathing attacks on 16th century Franciscanism: They turned Francis and the Rule into idols.¹⁹ They are willing to bear his cross, but flee their own crosses. "They crawl into monasteries to have peace and happy days, leave other people in trouble and toil, and still claim to be holier in doing that than all others."²⁰

Luther contrasts the spirit of Francis and "the other fathers" (founders of religious orders) with that of their later namesakes. While the "fathers" made mistakes, they were, said Luther, "Driven under the power of the Holy Spirit and in complete faith and consuming love." Yet "their successors have rushed in and taken over their outward practices, but have abandoned the spirit and faith of the early founders."²¹ Luther thought that Francis' obsession with never touching money was "naive or, to state it more truthfully, foolish," yet he commended Francis for begging "for bread and other necessities of life, and then distribut[ing] them among the poor. But look closely at his successors," he said, "Did they not look out for themselves and for their kitchen rather well?"²²

Luther did more than criticize genuine abuses, however; he went to the heart of monasticism and mendicancy and accused the orders of sectarianism. Francis, he said, took the "universal gospel" and made it "into a special rule for the few. What Christ wanted to be universal and catholic, Francis made schismatic." He conceded that this was no doubt necessary to secure papal approval of the order; yet repudiated it as an attempt to flee the suffering imposed by the cross. Luther thus rejected the entire concept of the "evangelical counsels" as works which are "above and beyond the call of duty." The whole gospel, he said, applies to the whole church. Thus, said Luther, "When a Franciscan takes his vow he vows nothing more than that which he already vowed at the start in his baptism, and that is the gospel."²³ The bottom line, for Luther, was this: Franciscanism restricted "the universal gospel" to a few spiritual athletes, and trivialized it into demands for outward trappings such as cowl, cincture, celibacy and poverty.²⁴

Some abuses have been corrected. Others have been recognized, and are being addressed. While Franciscans tend not to wash their habits publicly, occasionally an outsider hears about "refounding," and attempts at "declericalization." Franciscans are increasingly returning to their roots, and asking what it means to be faithful to the vision of Francis. In so doing, they challenge the rest of Christianity as well. Non-Romans have taken special interest in the struggle of Leonardo Boff to articulate his vision of a Church renewed through an embrace of poverty and minoritas.²⁵ All of these efforts address the problem that Luther referred to as Franciscanism's "sectarian" tendencies.

And yet, are Lutherans really in a position to criticize Franciscans as sectarian? Though Luther criticized the "theology of glory" which dominated Roman Catholicism in his day, his successors failed to construct an alternative that was convincingly any better. Lutheranism, too, has been dominated in its ecclesiology and ministerial theology by a "theology of glory." This led it to embrace political power in Europe (with disastrous results). And it has led it to withdraw, in varying degrees, from Catholic Christianity through explicit (Lutheran Church--Missouri Synod, Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod, and a plethora of smaller groups) and implicit (all the rest of us) claims to theological purity (der Rechte Lehre).

Franciscanism, because it shares with us a theology rooted in the cross, is in a position to challenge Lutheranism to be true to that common heritage. It is not only able to challenge, but it provides the resources Lutheranism so desperately needs at the present time. Looking at the ELCA's debacle over ministry through Franciscan eyes, one might suggest that the ELCA's discussions are not really about ministry, per se, but about ecclesiastical power, and who should wield it. Francis, however, bids us hear the words of Jesus, who has called us not to exercise power (as James and John longed to do), but to wash feet. The theology of the cross is thus an ecumenical call to renounce ecclesiastical and ministerial triumphalism of any hue, and to embrace poverty, weakness and shame.

This calls for hard choices at all levels. Bonhoeffer spoke of the "cost of discipleship," and that may well sum up the matter. All the baptized are called to discipleship, and through discipleship, to ministry. As disciples of Jesus, we are called to follow His life of self-emptying (kenosis). Is European Lutheranism, for example, willing to empty itself of political safety and renounce its entanglements with government? Is Lutheranism in all lands willing to embrace the humility of Christ in ecumenical dialogue or social activism? Is it willing to forsake the patronizing role of "advocate" and to embrace joyfully the degrading task of "foot-washer"? Are we as Lutheran pastors willing to turn away from the temptations to power, authority and prestige (whether as "Herr Pastor" or "CEO"), to become humble servants of our flocks? These are but a few of the questions that await Lutheranism when it risks its very existence to become ecclesia crucis. These are the true ecumenical questions, which must be asked of all triumphalistic structures which claim the name of the Crucified One. They are the necessary implications of a truly catholic application of Francis' vision.

The ecclesia crucis, or Church of the cross, is a servant Church. To speak thus of servanthood is to speak not simply of what the Church does, but of why and how it does it. In the narrow context of ministry, one might dare to say that there is ecumenical agreement on what the "doing" of ministry involves. Nearly all ecclesial entities will agree that the Church, through its ministry, proclaims the Word and administers the Sacraments (as stated in Augsburg Confession V). Given this, what might Lutheranism learn from Franciscanism about the implications of the theology of the cross for how ministry is to be done (particularly in this most basic sense of proclamation of Word and administration of Sacrament)?

Lutherans and Franciscans share a reverence for the proclaimed Word, as well as the conviction that the central content of that Word is the Gospel event of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Lutherans have described this Word as an "external Word," a word that is extra nos. Yet this way of speaking may give the impression that human life, like the primeval chaos, is devoid of God's activity until the preacher speaks (to coin a phrase) gratia ex nihilo. Franciscanism, on the other hand, emphasizes the givenness of God's ever present gracious activity. Preaching does not inject God into a situation where He was not, but reveals that presence as the presence of the One of the cross. The ability to "name grace" in this fashion demands not only an acquaintance with the Word, but also an attitude of minoritas in relation to the lives and traditions of the people to whom the preacher speaks.

In its understanding of preaching as "naming grace," Franciscanism articulates a concept that is present in Luther, but in the context of the sacraments. In arguing with the "sacramentarians" over the manner of Christ's eucharistic presence, Luther made a distinction between Christ's presence and our apprehension of it. Thus,

...although he is everywhere, he does not permit himself to be so caught and grasped; he can easily shell himself, so that you get the shell but not the kernel. Why? Because it is one thing if God is present, and another if he is present for you. He is there for you when he adds his Word and binds himself saying, "Here you are to find me." Now when you have the word, you can grasp and have him with certainty and say, "here I have thee, according to thy Word." . . . [O]therwise you will run back and forth through-out all creation, groping here and there yet never finding, even though it is actually there; for it is not there for you.²⁶⁶

In an attempt to synthesize the insights of Luther and the Franciscan tradition on this point, one might venture to define "sin" not as a "privation of the good," in Augustinian fashion, but as an "obfuscation of the good"--a "muddying of the waters." The preacher's task, then, is to confront the ambiguity of the world with the Word, thereby speaking sense into a seemingly senseless situation. It is to point out--to name--the beauty and joy of grace hidden in the gray murkiness of life. It is to name bread and wine as Body and Blood, the darkness of the cross as the glory of God, and the apparent absence of God in suffering as his sweetest presence. The preacher is thus charged with the mission of bringing the paradoxes of life to light--and naming the sheer fact of that paradox "grace."

Let's go a little further, now, in regards to the sacraments, especially the Eucharist. The theology of the cross invites us to join in humble adoration of the One who has humbled Himself for our salvation. Bonaventure relates how Francis was "overcome by wonder at such loving condescension and such condescending love" revealed in the Sacrament of the Lord's Body and Blood.²⁷ Francis himself exclaims with joy, "O admirable heights and sublime lowliness! O sublime humility! O humble sublimity! That the Lord of the universe, God and the Son of God, so humbles himself that for our salvation he hides himself under the little form of bread!"²⁸

We encounter the same wonder and awe in Luther, beginning with his much maligned first mass in 1507, and extending through the Eucharistic controversies, even to the end of his life. Luther's terror at his first mass was not due to his belief that he was holding God in his hands, but to his fear that in offering the sacrifice he must "speak to God without a Mediator."²⁹ We see his reverence for the Blessed Sacrament most clearly in the later controversies with those, such as Huldreich Zwingli, who would deny the Lord's Eucharistic presence. Rather than surrender h is confession of the union of the human and divine in the Risen Lord, Luther surrendered the unity of the reformation.³⁰

Even in the last months of his life he held to a believe in the Eucharistic presence of Christ that seems totally alien to contemporary Lutheranism: On January 11, 1546, for example, he wrote to Amsdorf regarding Besserer, who was in prison for giving an unconsecrated host to a communicant after he dropped a consecrated host on the floor. Luther didn't think he should be imprisoned, but he demanded his removal from the ministry. "Let him go to his Zwinglians! . . . As a mocker of God and of the people he has publicly dared to regard consecrated and unconsecrated hosts as the same thing."³¹ And, in what may have been his last mass, in the Church of Our Lady in Halle, Luther's quivering hands spilled some of the precious Blood. According to an observer, "Luther put the chalice down on the altar, fell to his knees, and sucked up the wine with his mouth so that it should not be trodden under foot, whereupon the whole congregation broke out in sobbing and weeping."³²

Contrast this with the current haphazard practices in the Lutheran churches. Our ever-expanding bibliography of ecumenical agreements and theological declarations (not to mention our incomparable collection of confessions, The Book of Concord) will never speak as loudly as what we actually do. We say weekly Eucharist is the norm, yet few churches actually celebrate it thus. And some congregations which boast of "weekly Eucharist" rotate it from the early to the late service each week. Many parishes, influenced by the temperance movements of the last century (or by the fears of recovering alcoholics today) either use grape juice solely, or as an option. Still others, wanting a more tangible "symbol," have adopted the use of giant loaves of crumbly whole grain bread; the fallen crumbs are left for the janitor's vacuum. And left-over bread and wine is treated in various ways: I have seen it thrown to the birds, flushed down a toilet, made into what one person called "Peanut Butter & Jesus sandwiches," mixed with unconsecrated bread--it varies from one church to another. Each of these practices reveals a practical Zwinglianism, the impact of which is greater on our parishioners, I would think, than countless sermons and books arguing for the Real Presence.

The challenge to contemporary Lutheranism is to reform its liturgical life by the theology of the cross, restoring the Eucharist to its centrality, and recovering the attitude of reverence and awe shown by Francis and Luther toward Christ's Body and Blood. This does not mean a multiplication of medieval ceremonial. Instead, the "trappings" of liturgy ought, with our actions and words, give simple witness to the presence of our God. But how do we do this? Do we as pastors simply demand the change by virtue of our authority as "stewards of the mysteries of God"? Unless we all do it, led by our Bishops, all we will do is perpetuate the present stereotype of the "Herr Pastor" with a hobby-horse. Shall we try to effect a gradual change, and persuade parish councils to decide by democratic vote? This would seem to reinforce the contention that it isn't really so important after all.

In conclusion, an illustration. In the Church of the Abiding Presence, the chapel of the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg, the stained glass windows depict scenes from the Bible and Church history. The window closest to the pulpit depicts the crucifixion of Jesus. Just below the foot of the cross, and a little to the right, the first Christian martyr, St. Stephen, kneels in adoration and suffering. A little further down, and to Stephen's left, St. Francis is shown receiving in his own body the marks of the crucifixion. This window is symbolic of Lutheran recognition of St. Francis of Assisi as one who truly surrendered himself in humble submission to the shame of the cross; an affirmation that, as St. Bonaventure said so well, "In all things he wished to be conformed to Christ crucified, who hung on the cross poor, suffering and naked." This

Luther, too, sought to conform the Church to the crucified Christ--and in an ironic way he succeeded and Francis failed--for as a result of Luther's reform, and the zeal with which it was followed and surpassed by other "reformers," the Body of Christ is as broken and unrecognizable today as it was hanging on the cross. Our task today, Lutherans, Franciscans, and all others who hear the voice of the Crucified One, is the task with which Francis was commissioned: "Rebuild My church, which, as you see, is in ruins." Mere dialogue won't accomplish that; nor will seeking after the least common denominator; nor will it be achieved by haughtily demanding our own rights and proclaiming the justness of our cause--the Church will only be rebuilt as we kneel, with Luther and Francis, before the cross, humbly confessing our own unworthiness and the greatness and glory of God's mercy in Christ Jesus our Lord..

 

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Endnotes

¹Luther's Works, American edition [hereafter, LW] (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1955-; St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1955-.), 31:40.

²Alister E. McGrath, Luther's Theology of the Cross: Martin Luther's Theological Breakthrough (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1985), pp. 149-50.

³Hermann Sasse, We Confess Jesus Christ, trans. Norman Nagel (St. Louis: Concordia, 1984), p. 45. See also Ewert Cousins, "Francis of Assisi: Christian Mysticism at the Crossroads," in Mysticism and the Religious Traditions, ed. Steven T. Katz (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1983), pp. 163-90; Cousins, "The Humanity and the Passion of Christ," in Christian Spirituality: High Middle Ages and Reformation, ed. Jill Raitt (New York: Crossroad, 1987), pp. 375-91.

⁴Sasse, We Confess Jesus Christ, pp. 46-47; Paul Althaus, The Theology of Martin Luther, trans. Robert C. Schultz (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1966), p. 26.

⁵LW 33:62.

⁶LW 31:53.

⁷McGrath, Luther's Theology of the Cross, p. 181.

⁸Eric W. Gritsch, Martin--God's Court Jester: Luther in Retrospect (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1983), p. 185.

⁹Ibid., p. 184.

¹⁰LW 17:242.

¹¹Walther von Loewenich, Luther's Theology of the Cross, trans. Herbert J. A. Bouman (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1976), pp. 118-19, 126-27; Gritsch, Martin--God's Court Jester, p. 184; LW 41:164-65.

¹²LW 33:723; McGrath, Luther's Theology of the Cross, p. 154.

¹³LW 21:313-15.

¹⁴Legenda Maior I:6. All citations are from Bonaventure, ed. Ewert Cousins, Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1978).

¹⁵Legenda Maior XIII:10.

¹⁶Legenda Maior XIV:4.

¹⁷Admonitions IV:23; Regula non bullata VI:3-4, IX:2; Letter to the Entire Order 26-29. Citations are from Francis and Clare: The Complete Works, ed. Regis J. Armstrong and Ignatius C. Brady, The Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1982).

¹⁸A good overview of Luther's doctrine of the ministry is to be found in Werner Elert, The Structure of Lutheranism, trans. Walter A. Hansen (St. Louis: Concordia, 1962), pp. 339-67.

¹⁹See, for example, LW 6:230; 9:54; 12:284; 14:99; 16:245; 17:70, 259.

²⁰LW 20:330.

²¹LW 44:268.

²²LW 2:327.

²³LW 44:255.

²⁴LW 22:274.

²⁵On Boff's ecclesiology, see especially Church: Charism and Power, trans. John W. Diercksmeier (New York: Crossroad, 1985) and Ecclesiogenesis: The Base Communities Reinvent the Church, trans. Robert R. Barr (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1986) esp. pages 23-33. On the views of non-Catholics toward Boff, see Harvey Cox, The Silencing of Leonardo Boff: The Vatican and the Future of World Christianity (Oak Park, IL: Meyer-Stone Books, 1988). Especially noteworthy is Cox's attempt to see the uniquely Franciscan aspects of Boff's ideas.

²⁶LW 37:68-69.

²⁷Legenda Maior IX:2.

²⁸Letter to the Entire Order, 27.

²⁹LW 54:234.

³⁰See also Basil Hall, "Hoc est Corpus Meum: The Centrality of the Real Presence for Luther," in Luther: Theologian for Catholics and Protestants, ed. George Yule (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1985), pp. 113-44.

³¹Cited by Sasse, We Confess the Sacraments, pp. 132-33.

³²Ibid., p. 134.