Ubiquitous or seemingly ubiquitous...

I have been thinking deeply tonight on my beloved Book of Concord.  Sometimes, I truly wonder if what I am reading within those pages is really what lies in the pure doctrine.  By this I mean, is the concern for the anguished soul woven throughout from cover to cover or does it merely seem that way...because I am so oft anguished?

In pondering the matter, I went to the blog I created to archive the quotes from the Book of Concord.  By week's end, there will be 125 snippets posted.  Of these, 16 are labeled "anxious souls," 7 "comfort," and 11 "consolation."  That is not to say that 34 of the 125 have to do with distress, for there is some overlap in labeling (and I am too weary to create a chart to establish the true number), but surely there still is a statistically significant percentage amongst them, right?  Or is there?

I wonder if I choose Snippets based on my needs, subconsciously, since I have tried to post a representative cross section of our Confessions.  Of late, I have worked harder to have a fair representation from each of the main sections, save the Power and Primacy of the Pope (since I cannot find a small piece that could be pulled out and retain any sort of overall meaning), so that I do not end up simply quote all of my beloved Large Catechism. However, I do wonder if there is something selfish driving my choices. I wonder if I am shouting to the world things I wish were shouted back at me.

To me, though, the talk of anxious souls is ubiquitous, not merely seemingly so.  Over and over and over again, the concern is for those who are terrified, anxious, despairing.  Over and over and over again, the words comfort and console appear. These words are used in the context of the very purpose of speaking the Gospel, teaching the doctrine, and giving of the Sacraments.  It is almost as if our church fathers assumed the masses would be in constant, even dire, need of comfort, of consolation, of the very sustenance of the Gospel, though "sustenance" is not a label I use on the archive of quotes.

I have heard, in Divine Service, the phrase "the comfort of the Gospel."  But I have started to wonder if pastors and parishioners alike ever deeply ponder why that particular phrase is used so often.  By this I mean, consider the nature of comfort and the state of one in need of comfort.  Soothing.  Consoling.  Supporting.  Bringing relief, ease, freedom.  To be in need of those things, one would be anxious, terrified, sorrowing, bound, weary, worried, confused, despairing...all things we do not readily equate with the Christian life.   "The victorious Christian life," as another common phrase notes.

The Living Word is active and powerful.  However, I am beginning to think that, all too often, the action is limited in our minds to salvation.  But just how much the action is centered on the gifts flowing forth from salvation, from forgiveness, rather than salvation itself? Specifically, I mean comfort, consolation, healing, and sustenance.

Of late, I bewail my misery and this plight of mine because I need for my thoughts and feels to be heard and to be accepted, rather than hushed and dismissed or even ignored.  But I also bewail my misery and this plight of mine in the hopes that those listening will fill my ears with the Living Word, so that I am not left with merely my weak and wounded state.

For me, hearing the Living Word is a palpable thing.  I am often physically and visibly affected, even as I am mentally and emotionally.  Hearing the Living Word physically calms and soothes me, as much as it does so mentally and emotionally.  Sometimes I see it happening and other times I am not aware of the work the Holy Spirit has done until later.  But I do believe, with a certitude that is rather profound to me, that the Living Word acts upon my body as much as it does upon my mind and my heart, upon my soul.

Of course, perhaps this is because my physical body is in need of so much healing, bears physical wounds both  apart from and connected to the wounds of my heart and mind.  Perhaps if I were physically stronger, more physically whole, the effect would be different. After all, others have noted the palpable difference, have noticed the effect the Living Word has had one me, but that observation always seems to have a sort of oddity to it.  As if what happens to me is unusual.

Only...what about the real body and real blood in the Lord's Supper?  What about the fact that Christ comes to us bodily even now, not merely when He walked upon the earth as man?  What about the fact that our faith is given through a physical washing of our bodies?  What about the fact that in establishing the Sacraments, Christ gave both of them a tangible element?  What about the fact that He brought the human body to glory, that His dual nature did not divide at His death but remained in His resurrection? It seems to me that there is a whole lot of bodily references and interactions within the practice of our faith publicly.

And privately.

Not only is the Book of Concord, at least in my eyes, filled with references to the suffering soul, so also is the Psalter, the prayer book of the Living Word.  The Psalms are filled with physical and emotional and mental anguish.  Even within a single prayer, one can find the continuum of faith, from certitude to doubt.  The psalmist does proclaim the consolation and comfort given to him, but he also longs for consolation and comfort to come to him.  He begs for healing and for rescue, for rest and freedom from his own doubt and fears.  From a purely statistical point, I wonder just how much of the Psalter is the victorious life and how much is a life in need of the fruits of salvation, of forgiveness bestowed. For while there are clearly Psalms all about suffering, I see suffering laced even amongst the victorious ones.

Or is it that I read the Psalter the same way I do the Book of Concord, filtered subconsciously for the Words I crave?  Do I see acceptance and acknowledgement of my misery because I need to know that I am not alone?  To know that I am not a horrible excuse for a Christian though in this state?  Do I see comfort and consolation, strength and sustenance for me because I am in dire need of such?

My tendency is to doubt and blame.  Blame and doubt.  Only...well...there is the whole theology of the Cross.  I heard once that the theology of the Cross was born from Luther's love of the Psalter.  Truth or fiction I know not.  But I do know that Walther's The Proper Distinction Between Law and Gospel is also filled with mention of the anguished soul, the despairing Christian.  In fact, he is rather fierce about giving proper spiritual care to the anguished soul, pouring the sweet, sweet Gospel over him, as opposed to deepening her wounds with further application of the Law that has already afflicted her.

All this is to say that in the church and in the Christian world, I hear most about the Christian life being victorious and joyous, as if that victory and joy is marked by wild shouts of exultation, ebullient feelings of happiness and love, and all manner of praise and adulation.  Only, in the Book of Concord, and in the Psalter, I see the Christian life filled with the constant onslaught against our bodies, mind, and spirits by our foe, the world, and our own flesh.  I see the victory and joy more whispers than shouts, more stillness than leaping about, peace based in the soothing, consoling, comforting reception of forgiveness, healing, sustenance, and even faith.

I suppose what I trying to say is that, to me, our doctrine assumes a life of struggle and anguish, a life in need of comfort and consolation.  To me, it does not assume righteousness and sanctity born of pious living, of great service to our neighbor, of loving, obedient, tranquil families.  To me, it does not even assume steady and certain faith.

To me, it assumes, expects, presupposes the brokenness and battle I have faced for a long while now, of the darkness that oft surrounds me and even fills me.  It seems this way because so often I read my own misery and plight within the Words of the Psalter and so often I read within the Book of Concord the very reason to preserve and teach and proclaim the Gospel is because the Church is actually filled with the walking wounded, not the mighty warrior.

We do not come to Divine Service to beat our chests and raise our shields in shouts of exultation and victory, to crow over our defeat of our enemies, or to count up the wreaths of honor we lay at our general's feet.  We come to have our bloody wounds cleansed and bound, our broken bones splinted, and our starving bodies fed.  We come, because, whether or not we know it, whether or not we understand this is what is happening, without the comfort and consolation, without the healing and sustenance, we simply would not survive.

In the beginning was the Word, 

and the Word was with God, 

and the Word was God. 

He was in the beginning with God. 

All things came into being 

through Him, 

and apart from Him 

nothing came into being 

that has come into being. 

In Him was life, 

and the life was the Light of men. 

The Light shines in the darkness, 

and the darkness 

did not overcome it.

~John 1:1-5 

Lord, I believe.  Help my unbelief!