What lies beneath...

I had a painter come by to look at the wall in the parlor where the vanity was.  The damage is more than I can address and I wanted to learn about dealing with plaster walls.  He was very kind--yet another example of how much my realtor helps me--and quite patient with all my questions.  He did, however, point out that the paint in the parlor was over layers of wall paper and the stripes from the overlaps would only get worse with additional layers of paint.  In his professional opinion, I should strip the walls back to the plaster.  "It should be no problem since you don't have a job!"

No problem.

No problem has meant two full days of scrapping paint and stripping wallpaper.  And I am only half-way through the job!  SIGH.

It has been good, I will admit, to have something on which to focus other than the thoughts swirling through my head.

Today's effort was only scraping paint.  This one wall had but a single layer of wallpaper, so strangely enough scraping the paint was harder.  I am not sure the why of that, but on my right hand I have five bloody knuckles and two on my left.  I also have a gazillion other nicks and cuts from banging my hands against the wall as I scour down through the layers of paint.  Tomorrow, I will spray the layer of wallpaper with hot water and watch it peel away with ease, thankful once more that it was put up before the practice of using glue came into fashion.

I finished scraping while still on the ladder (yes, I know, I shouldn't be on a ladder) and reached over to wall No. 4 to just do the bit above the door to the kitchen and was surprised to find a third style of wallpaper.  In my opinion, for my tastes, I find it rather beautiful.  The photograph does not do it justice.  The flowers appear hand painted and have such vibrant colors.  I wish there were a way to preserve it, though this is the only wall on which I have discovered it.

You never know what lies beneath.

I have come across three thoughts of late that have given me pause, and, I think, are part of what lies beneath for me.  First was this bit on Calvinists and Lutheran doctrine that covered the problem the emphasis on God's sovereignty has on understanding the sweet, sweet Gospel.  An emphasis on sovereignty focuses on the mighty God who works through strength, destroying whole nations, down to the last chicken, not the God who works through weakness, allows Himself to be spit upon, beaten, humiliated, and murdered.

Second was a bit on how Protestants' errant teaching on faith makes the Gospel worse than Law.  For a Protestant, your salvation depends on your faith, and your faith is measured by your faith, how much you are trusting, believing, deepening your relationship with God.  So, you hear about the means of Grace for those who believe and you doubt and despair because you do not have confidence that you are one of the elect who does believe, who does get to receive those gifts in faith.  Yet how can you be certain?  How can you know?

Third was a bit from the book Just Words.  The beginning looks at the power of words.  Preus points out the fallacy of the saying: "Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me." Words do hurt, wound, even destroy.  Words have power.  None more than the Living Word.  Part of the discussion is how God is the Creator, the only One who can create something out of nothing, a true creation, not a recreation or fresh interpretation of something using things already created.  We can be "creative" in our thoughts or our efforts, but they are descriptive and evocative, not performative.  God said, "Let there be light." and there was.  In the sinner, in Baptism, God says, "Let there be faith." and there is.

That gave me the briefest glimpse of why Brother Goose keeps telling me to stop looking at my faith.  My faith doesn't matter.  What I do doesn't matter.  Contrary to what I have been taught for 31 years.  Oh, how this is hard to take in, to understand.

Let there be faith.

Also mixed in my swirling thoughts is the Word given me during confession today.  The pastor read to me from Luke, including the parable of the Good Samaritan.  I thought for sure there would be some "doing" in what he was trying to tell me.  Instead, he told me that what the lawyer could not understand was that the point of the story was that what he needed to do to be saved was lie in a ditch somewhere, bloody and beaten, and receive mercy.

Mercy.

Funny, until that moment, I never really thought about how the very word "saved" with any form of the be verb implies that someone else is doing the work.

I am not ashamed to admit that I have lost count of how many times I prayed the "Jesus Prayer" in those 31 years.  How could I be sure, be absolutely certain, that I was saved?  Especially great in my doubt was the fact that I could never quite achieve that relationship with Christ deep enough to keep myself from struggling with sin.  I prayed it with great soberness.  I prayed it with great sorrow.  I prayed it with great joy.  I prayed it with great fear.  Again and again and again.

I will also admit that something I read in my beloved Book of Concord has struck terror in my heart over my baptism, yet I do understand that in the water and the Word, faith is created as was promised by God, who desires all men to be saved...and who understands we cannot save ourselves...no matter how hard we try...no matter how sorrowful we are...no matter the strength of our desire or depth of our faith.  It is His Word that saves.  His work.  His faith.

The whole emphasis on doing something, on being something, in order to be saved is so deeply ingrained in me that I do not even see what lies beneath so much of my thoughts, my actions.

I had never really heard the passage taught as the pastor did today.  The lawyer asked what he needed to do.  The answer was the Law.  [I never thought the answer was about keeping the Law; I always thought that meant we were to love God and this was telling us how.]  Then the lawyer asks, self-justification on his mind, who is his neighbor.  The answer was everyone.  Then Jesus tells a parable that shows it is not the neighbor who does the saving in the end.  A stranger.  Undeserved, unwarranted, unexpected mercy.  Wow. 

What lies beneath is the question for most every problem...what is behind it.  Listening to my pastor was humbling and frustrating.  The Gospel was so clear, once parsed, yet not until he showed me two plus two is four did I even spot the Gospel.  Receiving it, I wept for the love and mercy of my Good Shepherd in that moment.  Why can I not see that myself?  Why is it that the Law fills my eyes?  Why is it that the need to "do" something crowds all else?

Consider Luther's teaching on the Lord's Supper:

Who is worthy? In the Small Catechism, Luther writes, But a person is truly worthy and well prepared who has faith in these words, “Given...and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.” But anyone who does not believe these words, or doubts, is unworthy and unfit.  For the words, ‘for you’ require hearts that truly believe.

I see a whole passel of Law in that, know full well my doubts and my struggle to believe the “for you” apart from actually hearing those words.  The in between times are total and complete battles.  There at the altar, the first note or word... “Our Lord Jesus Christ on the night He was betrayed took bread...” and the doubts seem less large.  When an undershepherd stands before me, even if I am too ashamed to raise my eyes to him, I still open my mouth for it is not me who is claiming worthiness but another, one who is in the office and stead of Christ, one whom before I do not hide for I know he has heard my confession of sins to God...or knows, far more deeply than I, that I am a sinner and that I am worthy precisely because, as a sinner, I cannot make myself worthy.

Yet I know this then, there, but struggle during the in between times.

I read the Small Catechism and despair, thinking I have not enough "true belief" in my heart.

In the Large Catechism, it seems that Luther knows my heart, for he writes, Then nature and reason begin to add up our unworthiness in comparison with the great and precious good.  Then our good looks like a dark lantern in contrast with the bright sun, or like filth in comparison with precious stones.  Because nature and reason see this, they refuse to approach and wait until they are prepared.  They wait so long that one week trails into another, and half the year into the other.  If you consider how good and pure you are and labor to have no hesitations, you would never approach. 

“Therefore, we must make a distinction here between people.  Those who are lewd and morally loose must be told to stay away.  They are not prepared to receive forgiveness of sin, since they do not desire it and do not wish to be godly.  But the others, who are not such callous and wicked people, and who desire to be godly, must not absent themselves.  This is true even though otherwise they are feeble and full of infirmities.  For St. Hilary also has said, “If anyone has not committed sin for which he can rightly be put out of the congregation and be considered no Christian, he ought not to stay away from the Sacrament, let he deprive himself of life.”  No one will live so well that he will not have many daily weaknesses in flesh and blood. 

Such people must learn that it is the highest art to know that our Sacrament does not depend on our worthiness.  We are not baptized because we are worthy and holy.  Nor do we go to Confession because we are pure and without sin.  On the contrary, we go because we are poor, miserable people.  We go exactly because we are unworthy.  This is true unless we are talking about someone who desires no grace and Absolution nor intends to change.

I read the Small Catechism and think it depends upon the strength of my belief. I read the Large Catechism and I think it matters not how feeble my belief is.  Luther wrote both. There is Gospel in both...so why do I see Law in the Small Catechism? 

What lies beneath this?

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!