05-4 Theology of the..

Reflections on Lutheran Worship,
Classics, and the Te Deum
IN THE COURSE OF THE LAST QUARTER CENTURY, American
Lutherans have, with only sporadic resistance, consented to
adopt new alternative forms of worship, designed to appeal
to a broad cross-section of a national population with little
appreciation for the rich tradition of the historical liturgy and
hardly a trace of feeling for what J. P. Koehler called “the wonderful.”
1 Advocates of “contemporary worship” in our circles
have argued that we can and should abandon our Lutheran style
while still preserving Lutheran theological substance. 2 Some
have invoked Luther’s name as one who was willing to borrow
freely from the popular culture of his own day, while others
have gone so far as to hint broadly that those who resist these
developments may be impeding the progress of the gospel in a
world, such as our own, which is more attuned to Hollywood
than the holy.
It is true that the blunt language of traditional liturgical components
such as the Kyrie, to say nothing of the arresting
melodies and rhythms of the Lutheran chorale (see, for
instance, Luther’s powerful setting of the first verses of Isaiah 6,
the German Sanctus), strike many today as irrelevant and hopelessly
old-fashioned. It is true, too, that even among Lutherans
of a previous generation (when these classic forms of worship
were still paid grudging respect), it did not necessarily follow
that they had much more than symbolic value. Indeed, most
Lutheran congregations have long since grown accustomed to
more “contemporary” church music, ranging from toothsome
nineteenth-century hymns to sentimental ballads written in the
style most often associated with Country Western music.
It is this author’s firmly held conviction that style is not so
easily detached from substance, and he remains convinced that
Lutherans who adopt the forms of worship favored by the shallow,
ahistorical, and entertainment-oriented culture that now
surrounds us will be ineffective in faithfully proclaiming the
content of the gospel to that culture—in the short as well as the
long run. Instead, this essay’s radical presupposition is that the
best answer to American Lutheranism’s current malaise is to
embrace, not to ignore or compromise, our distinctive Lutheran
CARL P. E. SPRINGER is Professor of Classics at Illinois State University
and a LOGIA contributing editor. Portions of this paper were delivered
at the summer meeting of the Protes′tant Conference in Mishicot, Wisconsin,
June 1995, the International Conference on Patristic Studies,
Oxford University, August 1995, and a pastoral conference of the Central
Illinois District of the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod, November
1995. It owes much to the comments, critical and appreciative, made
by the auditors on all three occasions.
Carl P. E. Springer
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style. We should delve, the following pages argue, with renewed
energy into our own deep, historical, and classic Lutheran liturgical
tradition—like the householder of Jesus’ parable who
brought forth “out of his treasure things new and old” (Mt
13:52). This paper makes special reference to the Te Deum, one
such ancient treasure of our rich liturgical heritage, which present-day
Lutherans, it is hoped, may learn to appropriate for
reenergized use in our worship today.
I.
The classic Lutheran liturgy’s is indeed old, if not old-fashioned.
Its historical roots stretch back to forms and language used in
worship services in the synagogue, the early Christian basilicas,
the soaring cathedrals of the Middle Ages, and the churches of the
Lutheran reformation. It includes sizable sections taken directly
from the Scriptures themselves, as well as collects written by
Damasus, hymns penned by Ambrose and Bernard of Clairvaux,
and chorales composed by Martin Luther and his contemporaries.
3 If antiquity is one of the hallmarks of the classics, the
Lutheran liturgy is certainly qualified to be considered in that
select group. The classics have stood the test of time. Inferior
works, however popular they may have been for a short time,
have had their moment in the sun and have passed away.
The fact that they are not new is the classics’ greatest strength
and also, at least in this country, their greatest weakness. In
America, a nation that was born out of revolution against the old,
classics are regarded with suspicion. We are a frontier people,
convinced that we must break with the past, eager to “reinvent”
ourselves, and sure that the most important century of all is the
twenty-first, the one just around the corner. As Americans we are
obsessed with novelty and variety. Water is boring. But a new
brand of Pepsi or the latest software product—how intriguing!
Our young people are spellbound by the newest music and video
games. We adults are intrigued by the latest news about a
celebrity’s sexual escapades or the trendy seminar leaders who
promise to provide us with new (and usually effortless) ways to
lose weight, save our marriages, or learn a foreign language. We
are like the Athenians, who “spent their time in nothing else, but
either to tell, or to hear some new thing” (Acts 17:21). Our dedication
to the “news,” whether it is delivered by TV, radio, or newspaper,
is itself a kind of addiction, with its daily dose of the novel
and its emphasis on the sensational at the expense of that which is
constantly interesting.
And in church Americans are bored, too, not just with the
chorale, or pipe organs, or the hymnal—but also with the gospel.
After all, it, too, is old. We are bored with the idea of being cruci-