Alphabet Soup: WELS-LCMS Relations

An acquaintance of mine recently described me as the most pro-Missouri-Synod WELS person he knows. He meant it as a compliment, and I took it as one. I have deep family ties to the LCMS. There's been a Lutheran pastor in every generation of my family since before C.F.W. Walther. Ernst Brauer, the twin of a maternal great-great-grandfather, taught at St. Louis seminary with Walther, and helped to found the synod. My great-grandfather, Emmanuel Mayer, was president of the LCMS Michigan district. My grandfather, Herman Mayer, who was very dear to me, and my dad's brother Richard, were both LCMS pastors. My younger brother went to the ELS seminary just to break with tradition. (Just kidding. He has many and good reasons.)

My point is not to brag about family history. I didn't know most of this stuff until very recently. And I don't regret that my parents left the Missouri Synod when I was barely old enough to remember. They left for good reasons, and I've chosen to stay in the WELS for good reasons. But I've known enough good Missouri Synod Lutherans to know that the bad things that were said about the Missouri Synod when I was growing up in WELS Lutheran schools are not all true. (Diagram that sentence!)

Disputatious Theologians, by Albert Bothe. Courtesy GHDI

We were told things like, "A lot of Missouri Synod Lutherans are going to hell," and "Even the conservatives tolerate false doctrine—otherwise they would leave," and my personal favorite, "If you say a meal prayer with Missouri Synod Lutherans, you are yoking yourself to unbelievers." WELS pastors and teachers like to give the impression that the LCMS is just ELCA without the LGBT sympathies. In other words, many of our pastors and teachers make generalizations, but seem to have no real contact with the Missouri Synod to either inform or discredit these opinions. There is no excuse for a blanket dismissal of our brothers in the LCMS as "false teachers." We should know that the devil is hard at work wherever the gospel is preached. That's as true in the Missouri Synod as it is in Wisconsin.

When a WELS family approaches a Confessional, Christ-professing, Book-of-Concord-wielding, Catechism-touting LCMS school and expresses reservations about the false doctrine their children are inevitably going to be taught (true story), they reveal their ignorance about the differences between our synods. The WELS does a good job of promoting a unified image (thank you, WELS Connection!), but fortunately, is not synonymous with the Invisible Church. The "they think they're the only ones in heaven" joke is probably told in every denomination, but I suspect it must have been written originally of the WELS. Because the thing about Missouri Synod Lutherans is that they seem to possess an acute awareness of the divisions within their synod. No one thinks that you can go to any LCMS church and find orthodox doctrine being preached from the pulpit, as seems to be the case for many in the WELS.

I don't want to sound like I'm promoting unionism here, but IMHO, part of the solution is that we have to get together more often. Although ELS, WELS, and LCMS theologians have been having informal discussions at the Emmaus Conferences, I wonder what other opportunities exist for laymen to have similar discussions and, dare I say, "fellowship" opportunities? How about Higher Things? CCLE? Our synodical worship conferences? Or at the very least, listen to Issues, Etc., and join some Confessional Lutheran Facebook groups. Listen to and read the issues that come up, and see how they are dealt with by Lutherans from all three synods. Follow Matt Harrison and the WMLT (Witness, Mercy, Life Together) blog. In short, inform yourself! If doctrinal matters separate two church bodies, so be it. I'm the last person who would suggest that we set doctrinal differences aside, join hands, and sing Kumbaya. But don't let ignorance add to the barrier between Wisconsin and Missouri.

Pr. Hans Fiene (of Lutheran Satire fame) remarked on Facebook that interracial marriage might be part of the solution to race relations in America. Might I suggest inter-synodical marriage could play a part in restoring synod relations? (I only say this in passing, but word has it there's a bevy of beautiful, unattached LCMS women attending Bethany Lutheran College [ELS]. *wink*) No bias on my part, there.

That is all. TTYL.

The Unexpected Nature of Beauty

A topic that came up during my presentation at the Worship Conference this summer was the nature of beauty. Is it objective, or subjective? Is it in the eye of the beholder? How do you define it?

A great deal has been written on the subject of beauty, by numerous authors of different theological stripes. And it's one of my long-term goals to read more on the subject in order to gain more insight. But there are things a Christian can infer from scripture with relative certainty, and depending on your upbringing, they may surprise you.

1. Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder.

With so many differing opinions as to what is beautiful, how can I say this with any certainty? The answer is that there is a theological certainty that underlies it: "In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth... And God saw that it was good" (Gen 1:1,10b). The first reason we know that beauty is not a subjective experience is that God created the universe. He did not create a cloud of unorganized matter that would later produce something that we now refer to as the universe. Rather, it was a creative work that was good from the very beginning.

How can a universe made of inanimate matter be either good or bad? The goodness of the universe in the first week of creation refers to its being in order—every molecule was in its place, fulfilling the purpose for which the Creator had called it into being, with no deviation. Every particle of light, every atom, was subject to natural laws that held it in place. And more than being good and orderly, everything was beautiful. That is to say, order and aesthetic beauty are intimately connected.

When a person says, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," he means that beauty isn't a quality of the object—it is a pleasant reaction of an individual (the subject) to the object. And if this is true, beauty isn't even a real thing, only an abstracted way of saying "I like that." The past century has taught us exactly how useless this subjective notion of beauty has become. There is no so structure so tasteless, no poem so mawkish, no song so insipid, or no painting so offensive that someone won't consider it beautiful. Christians must wholeheartedly reject this abuse of language and distortion of reality. Because there is a Creator, and because he "saw that it was good," we can be sure that there is absolutely such a thing as beauty, and it isn't a figment of our imagination.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? We know from experience that it does, but it's impossible to prove empirically. Would creation be beautiful if no one was here to observe it? Undeniably. And although Christians can say this as a matter of fact, it doesn't hurt our position in the least to admit that a component of beauty could certainly be our ability to recognize and appreciate it. We know that God is a jealous God (Is. 42:8), and at least part of his purpose in creating a universe of beauty and order must be that we 1) recognize it, and 2) give glory to him who made it. Reflecting on the beauty of the human body, King David said, "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made" (Ps 139:14). But my favorite example is arguably the first reaction to beauty in the Bible:

Then the Lord God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man. The man said, 

“This is now bone of my bones

      and flesh of my flesh;

she shall be called ‘woman,’

      for she was taken out of man.” (Gen. 2:22-23)

Our former pastor paraphrased Adam's spontaneous poem to his wife as, "Now that's what I'm talking about!" God built into the first man the ability to immediately recognize that his wife was beautiful. Not beautiful in the same sense that the other creatures of creation were beautiful—she was his perfect help-meet, hand-crafted by God to be his compliment in every way. (We might say that Adam's reaction was part emotional-intuitive, and part intellectual.) In any event, Eve was objectively beautiful; Adam possessed the ability to recognize and fully appreciate her beauty, and glorified God as a result.

2. Beauty is corrupted.

The fact that God created the universe, and that it was created good, are widely denied, even by many Christians. Because if those statements are true, can we explain our present state where no two people can agree on what is beautiful? To be sure, if Genesis 2 was the end of the story, I think the disagreement over beauty would indeed be strong evidence that the Christian view of beauty is wrong. But of course, Genesis 1-2 it isn't the whole story.

Every truly Christian view of history must take into account that God created everything in perfection, but that creation is fallen from its perfect state. The Fall into sin and the subsequent Curse (Genesis 3) are responsible for a dual corruption of beauty. The beauty of creation is physically marred by thorns, disease, death, decay. But also corrupted is our ability to perfectly and immediately recognize the traces of beauty that remain. We can no longer agree on whether beauty exists objectively at all, let alone whether this or that thing is beautiful, and neither do we inherently recognize beauty as being a result of God's hand in creation. We have instead found inventive ways to explain how nature might have created itself.

As a result, post-Christian Westerners have nothing to rely on but the chemical reactions and electrical impulses that occur in their brain matter. If my chemical reaction differs from yours, who is to say that yours is right and mine is wrong? And this kind of subjective thought is the crux of Postmodernism: there is no real beauty; there is no real truth; what's true for you is not true for me. Without a knowledge of the Creator, any pursuit of beauty eventually descends into hedonism—sensual self-indulgence.

3. Beauty can be ugly.

There is another kind of beauty that I hesitate to bring up, because it further complicates the point I am trying to make. (But art and beauty are complicated topics, so maybe it's best not to oversimplify on this point.) People often talk about something being beautiful whose subject is undeniably tragic, painful, or grotesque. Two things could be at work here. The first is that for hedonists who are looking to be thrilled, any strong emotion will do, even if it isn't a pleasurable one. This would accurately describe horror film lovers and sadists. But the second thing that could be at work is a reaction to the truth of an image. Gibson's The Passion of the Christ did not create particularly pleasurable feelings in me. Watching Jesus be torn to shreds and then be slowly asphyxiated wasn't—visually speaking—beautiful. But many, including myself, found the film to be a beautiful representation of that event. I'm pretty certain I'm not a sadist, and I despise gore. I think the film is beautiful because I knew it to be true on a deep, metaphysical level. The greatest act of love in history was fulfilled in blood and sweat and gore on the cross. No one who witnessed it would ever have called it beautiful. But poets and hymn writers down through the ages have done exactly that—not out of romantic ignorance, but because they knew how true it was.

There are many truths in this world that can only horrify us, so a thing does not become beautiful just because it is true. But a particular truth—to be specific, the gospel—has the power to be beautiful and ugly at the same time. Simul iustus et peccator. Strength made perfect in weakness, immortal hidden in mortal, beauty masked in crudeness. It's how God works. Death is never beautiful. But then again, we can say with Job, "though worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God" (Job 19:26).

So perhaps I have watered down the issue by speaking about beauty in a sense other than aesthetic. But on the occasion that someone confronts the ugliness of the Christian life, or of the cross, you can describe to him the invisible beauty seen by faith in the Son of God.

4. I still can't define it.

When I actually sat down to write about it, I found that I know quite a bit about beauty. But I am still no closer to answering the question that was directly asked of me this summer: "What is your definition of beauty?" I can tell you what beauty is not. I can tell you that beauty is something that does objectively exist. I think we can increase our awareness of beauty by studying the arts and sciences. But I can't come up with a bulleted list. The universe is populated by too many beautiful things of a completely different nature to make a list of qualifications very useful. Besides, we're still under the curse of sin, and my ability to see and appreciate all of that beauty is feeble indeed.

It's as difficult an endeavor as trying to define truth as a set of characteristics. What would be the point? The things that are true are not true because they share similar characteristics, but because they are... well, true. "Quid est veritas?" We can discover whether some things are true or not. But as far as defining the whole truth? Only God knows.

When the question was asked of me this July, I felt like my answer left the group hanging (and probably thinking that I was grasping at straws). When I said that beauty is not in the eye of the beholder—that it's an objective reality—that led some to conclude that there must be a set of finite qualifications. So when I was asked, I stumbled around for a while. I touched on the topics of goodness and order, but I eventually said, "You know it when you see it." Which in hindsight was the wrong answer. When asked about objective beauty, I gave them a subjective answer.

The right answer was probably the one that seems most like a cop-out. I should have said, "I can't do it," or "There is no practical definition of beauty that would satisfy a Christian worldview." Or if I wanted to be cheeky, I could have asked, "What's your definition of truth?" Or to grossly oversimplify, maybe I could have said that beauty is God's signature on his creation. Any of those would have been a better answer than the one I gave.

All of this just reinforces the fact that I need to study this in more depth. I'm curious to discover what other artists, theologians, and laymen have written about beauty. Maybe they've come closer to the mark than I have. To that end, I'd love input from my readers, too. Are these points accurate? Are there some I missed?

Jaroslav Vajda: Concerning Poetry and Hymnody

If you're like most Lutherans, you've probably never heard of Jaroslav Vajda. So I'll fill you in a little bit, then tell you why I'm writing about him. Vajda was an LC-MS pastor and hymn writer, who began writing hymn texts in the 1960s. He is credited with giving American hymnody a "new voice" in an era that was dominated mostly by British poets. This article credits him with being much more interested with writing hymns for the liturgy and Church year than the hymn writers from across the Atlantic. Vajda died in 2008 at the age of 89, having written and translated over 200 hymns that appear in many hymnals of various denominations, including Christian Worship and its supplement (WELS), the Evangelical Lutheran Hymnary (ELS), and the Lutheran Service Book (LC-MS).

So here's why I'm writing about Vajda. I had never heard his name until a few years ago. I kept hearing pastors reverently mentioning his name, always followed by glowing reviews of his beautiful hymn texts. He is even said to have been "the greatest Lutheran poet since Paul Gerhardt" (Schalk: Wonderful hymns of Jaroslav Vaija). Having been made aware of his name and his illustrious reputation, I was able to take note whenever I would see him listed as the author of a hymn. So admittedly, my experience with Vajda's hymn writing is limited to what has been included in the aforementioned Lutheran hymnals.

Because I have not read all of his hymns, part of me feels that it is unfair to pass judgement on them based on the dozen or so that I have read and sung. However, I would also like to think that the various hymnal committees have sifted through his works and selected only the best for inclusion in their respective hymnals. Unfortunately, if this is the case, it does not really help my opinion of Vajda's hymnody. (And here comes the part where I sound snooty and judgmental.) Of the eight Vajda hymns included in CW, half of them rank among the worst hymns in the hymnal, in my opinion.

What criteria could cause me to reach such a conclusion? Allow me to elaborate. First of all, I won't produce a bulleted list of criteria that every hymn should meet, or else be thrown out. Dealing with art and music probably necessitates an organic process. (And, by the way, critique is part of that organic process of inclusion/exclusion. Just because a hymnal committee included it does not necessarily make it worthy of inclusion within the Song of the Church.) By contrast, a concrete list of criteria would prove overly restrictive and rule out some very good hymns, or else be too short to be effective. But, that being said, there are some basic unwritten rules that Vajda seems to frequently break.

The biggest one is theological clarity. I can't argue with Vajda's theology, because when it comes out it is spot-on. But in hymn writing, there is often a balance struck between poetry (artistic expressiveness) and theology. In the great hymns of the Church, the poetry is minimal, because being too abstract or too "artistic" will get in the way of the clear proclamation of the gospel. (This is essentially what I have argued about the visual arts in the Church, as well.) So let's look at a few cases-in-point. The first is "Now the Silence," which I would say is tied for worst hymn in the CW with "Then the Glory." It's a one-verse hymn which reads as follows:

Now the silence
Now the peace
Now the empty hands uplifted
Now the kneeling
Now the plea
Now the Father's arms in welcome
Now the hearing
Now the pow'r
Now the vessel brimmed for pouring
Now the body
Now the blood
Now the joyful celebration
Now the wedding
Now the songs
Now the heart forgiven leaping
Now the Spirit's visitation
Now the Son's epiphany
Now the Father's blessing
Now
Now
Now

The major fault of this hymn is that its theological content is extremely thin—sort of an abstract outline of some scriptural truths: grace, atonement, heaven, etc. But what little content there is almost completely lost in a barrage of repetitive adverbs, which I can only suppose is intended for poetic effect. But while I can appreciate this poem to a degree when it is read aloud, it becomes tedious and even exasperating when set to music and sung by a congregation. 

A second unwritten rule of good hymn writing is to avoid sentimentality. Being sentimental should not be confused with being emotional. Here's what I mean: "Lord, Thee I Love With All My Heart" is an extremely emotional hymn. The text and music come together so powerfully to describe the relationship between a broken soul and a gracious God. And when verse three describes the resurrection in the prophetic words of Job, who can hold back tears of joy? This emotion comes from the beauty of the gospel itself more than from the artistry of the hymn writer, and touches each believer on a personal level—because we have experienced it. Sentimentality, on the other hand, has been described by some as "emotion unearned." We sang the Vajda hymn "Peace Came to Earth" on Christmas Eve, and it illustrates my point:

Peace came to earth at last that chosen night
When angels clove the sky with song and light
And God embodied love and sheathed his might—
Who could but gasp: Immanuel!
Who could but sing: Immanuel!

And who could be the same for having held
The infant in their arms and later felt
The wounded hands and side, all doubts dispelled—
Who could but sigh: Immanuel!
Who could but shout: Immanuel!

I should point out that the third line of the first verse is a very deep and beautiful statement, and were it not for the last two lines (repeated in each verse, but with different verbs), I could be persuaded to include this hymn in the hymnal. But those last two lines are deal-breakers for me. Sure, they are intended for poetic effect. But first of all, it is pure sentimentality. The poet is so overcome with emotion that he projects his sighing and gasping on the whole Christian Church. Why can we not be allowed to have our own emotional responses? And furthermore, how can I have an emotional reaction to something I have not experienced? Vajda is asking me to imagine holding the infant, then to imagine touching his wounds as my doubts melt away. But I cannot really do any of these things, so my emotional reaction is ultimately unearned. So while parts of this hymn are certainly praiseworthy, it is difficult to overlook its glaring faults.

The third and last unwritten rule that Vajda often breaks is tied in closely with the second, and that is that they are overly personal. Again, this may be a desirable thing in poetry, but it does not make for good hymnody. For instance, verse two of the above hymn text is substituting a personal (albeit imaginary) experience for the universal experience of the Church. There is a better example in one of Vajda's more well-known hymns, "Where Shepherds Lately Knelt."

Where shepherds lately knelt and kept the angel's word,
I come in half-belief, a pilgrim strangely stirred;
But there is room and welcome there for me,
But there is room and welcome there for me. 

In that unlikely place I find him as they said:
Sweet newborn Babe, how frail! and in a manger bed,
A still, small voice to cry one day for me,
A still, small voice to cry one day for me. 

How should I not have known Isaiah would be there,
His prophecies fulfilled? With pounding heart I stare:
A child, a son, the Prince of Peace for me,
A child, a son, the Prince of Peace for me. 

Can I, will I forget how Love was born, and burned
Its way into my heart unasked, unforced, unearned,
To die, to live, and not alone for me,
To die, to live, and not alone for me.

Adoration of the Shepherds, Hugo van der Goes

It's a good sign that a hymn is going to be overly personal if it is written in the first person singular. (Luther's hymn, "From Heaven Above to Earth I Come" is written in first person, but from the point of view of the Angel, who shares only God's message, not his personal feelings.) At the risk of sounding repetitive, sharing your personal feelings, experiences, etc. may be perfectly fine in the art of poetry, but hymnody demands more. Hymnody is the Song of the Church. If it does not build her up, it does not belong (1 Cor 14). We don't need to imagine that we are a shepherd, staring into the manger with throbbing heart, in order for Christmas to be "real" for us. I realize it's statements like this that give Lutherans a reputation for having no stomach for emotion. Let me just reiterate—having emotions is a good and natural thing. But seeking an emotional high for its own sake is worlds away from having a genuine emotional reaction to the message of the gospel. In "Where Shepherds Lately Knelt," Vajda does include some wonderful theological truths—but they are lost amidst the sentimentality of swooning shepherds.

I did not pursue a degree in literature, and my experience with poetry as an art form is extremely thin. So I cannot say with any authority that Jaroslav Vajda was a either a good or a bad poet. I do think it is an exaggeration in the extreme to say he was the best Lutheran poet since Gerhardt. As a Christian, I think his poetry is at times good and meaningful—even beautiful. But on the whole, I have to conclude that a good poem does not necessarily make a good hymn. Maybe we should reconsider whether these hymns should really be included in our hymnals.

Anyone know of some good Christmas hymns written in the past 50 years?

The "Open-minded" Reformation

Occasionally, we have the opportunity to understand common words in a new light. I had such an opportunity this week. An article in the school newspaper sparked several responses after it called on students to be more liberal. The premise of the article was that to be liberal is to be open-minded. The student writer appeared to be implying that because most of the student body is Lutheran, and because most of the students' parents are also Lutheran, that they must therefore not be very open-minded. Among her concluding remarks was the statement, "maybe you’ll choose to leave the comfort of your family church nest and find something more suited to your beliefs, not those of mom or dad."

Is open-mindedness a good thing? I think it is. But unfortunately, most everyone seems to think the word means something other than what it means. The relativism that seeps into almost every aspect of society—and even into the church—has latched onto "open-mindedness," and it seems to be one of its favorite catchphrases. When most people tell you to be open-minded, they may not mean to consider that what you believe may not actually be the truth. They probably are asking you to consider that you might like something else better. Or, if not, you should always try new things, because variety is the spice of life. When a non-denominational Christian asks a Lutheran to be open-minded, he just might think it is like asking someone who eats ethnic German foods to try Italian instead—not because one is more healthy than the other, but just for variety.

It appears that open-mindedness, at least to many people, comes pre-packaged with the understanding that all paths are equally valid. Especially concerning religion, which humanism regards as little more than comfort food, there is a sense that all religions exist for the purpose of making people happy. So you might as well be open-minded. Sample a few. Find one that suits you.

On this festival of Reformation, I am thankful that Martin Luther was open-minded in the true sense of the word. After spending much time in the Word, he came to realize that what the Catholic Church taught was not actually the truth. The truth. Not a truth, not my truth, but real truth. I am thankful that Lutherans in general are a very open-minded church body, who are capable of self-examination in light of Scripture. I am thankful that God has opened my heart and mind in order that I might see the truth, which is hidden from those whose hearts are hardened. May God open all of our minds to his life-giving Word! Amen.

Adiaphora and Worship

The issue comes up again and again in discussions of worship: adiaphora. Some would argue that in matters where God has neither commanded nor forbidden, we are permitted in Christian freedom to do whatever we like. This has become the mantra of many contemporary artists, whether in architecture, art, music, or other aspects of worship. Several pastors have stretched Christian freedom to the point of saying, "I will do anything short of sinning to reach people." In some of my recent experiences, when raising concerns over contemporary worship, the response has been one of, "If you place restraints on my Christian freedom, you are a Pharisee and a legalist."

Since this is such a pivotal issue, it bears closer study. This is perhaps why Forward In Christ published a three-part series last year on Christian freedom, the final part of which dealt particularly with adiaphora. I was happy to see the WELS coming down on the issue in a manner that consisted neither of fence-riding nor mandating. Below are some selected quotes from the article.

[T]he major mistake many people make when it comes to adiaphora is to assume that, since God's Word doesn't prescribe a specific course of action, God doesn't care what people do in these matters. That is dead wrong. Everything matters to God! Even in cases of adiaphora, God cares about the decisions we make. 

"You, my brothers, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the sinful nature; rather, serve one another in love" (Galatians 5:13, emphasis added). 

Love. It's what God is. It's what God does. It's what God wants to see in his people above all else: love for God, love for the Scriptures, love for our fellow man, love for our soul. Every decision we make gives us the chance to demonstrate love. In that sense, there are no "indifferent things." Everything matters to God, because love matters to God. 

… 

Love is what makes Christian freedom so different from political freedom. When we think of political freedom we tend to think in terms of rights. "I have the right to do what I want, when I want, provided I don't hurt anyone." Christian freedom is so different. Christians are not concerned about themselves or their rights but about love. … Just as Jesus placed himself below us, we place ourselves below family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, the lost, and even enemies. When making decisions, even in matters of adiaphora, we think about what serves others before we think about what we want. "Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible" (1 Corinthians 9:19). That's how we show love. 

Someone might ask, "If God wants us to show love, wouldn't it be easier if he just spelled it out?" One might beg, "I don't like this adiaphora business! Tell us exactly how you want us to worship, God. Tell us what we can and cannot wear. Then we'll know precisely how to make you happy." If God did that, he'd be like the wife who tells her husband exactly what she wants each anniversary. She receives that present, but that present displays little love, for it took little thought. But if she said nothing, now her husband has to think. "What would show the woman that I love how much I treasure her?" He is free to choose whatever he wants as a gift. Yet, he is thinking only of his wife's happiness. His thoughtful token of love will be more meaningful than if that token had been dictated to him. 

So it is with our marriage to the heavenly Bridegroom. God leaves much of our lives as adiaphora, but it's not because he doesn't care. Instead, God allows us to exercise our Christian freedom in a manner that demonstrates thoughtful love. "So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God" (1 Corinthians 10:31). 

(Rev. Jonathan Hein: Forward in Christ, November 2011)

There are many reasons why a Christian might object to a particular style of worship out of Christian love. For one, many people consider guitars and drums in the front of church to be irreverent, because of the kinds of music associated with them. They might be wary of a pastor's gung-ho attitude about contemporary worship styles that appears to have no regard for burdened consciences. Or they might wonder why centuries' worth of good hymnody and liturgies are being unceremoniously tossed out the window because someone thinks they are not relevant to today's culture.

It is true that only God knows hearts, and so speculating as to the motives of either side in this debate may be overstepping our bounds. But it has not been my experience that those who object to contemporary worship do so out of Pharisaical legalism. To the best of our abilities, we should try not to project willful ignorance or sinful legalism onto the other parties in this discussion. I am sure that most everyone sincerely believes that he or she is really doing God's work in the worship service.

Now if both sides correctly understand Christian freedom, and both sides are acting out of love, it must be a matter of scriptural inferences that separates one side from the other. Of the WELS pastors whom I have heard promote contemporary worship, they all aspire to the same goal of "removing all barriers possible to reaching people outside the church" (e.g. http://www.gotocore.com/ see "About The CORE"). In other words, they infer from scripture that evangelism is the primary goal of the church. This is certainly a worthy goal. But I see at least two major problems with this inference:

1. The first is that they assume ex nihilo that a "traditional worship style" is an obstacle to the gospel. But this can only be true if everyone who comes to church does so in order to hear a particular kind of music, and nothing else. If such people exist, they are not wounded souls looking for Christ, but consumers of the most shallow sort. (And in fact, studies of unchurched people who become regular church-goers show that only a very small percentage of people count "worship style" as a contributing factor in choosing their church—let alone the deciding factor.)
2. The second problem is that in trying to "remove all barriers possible to reaching people outside the church," the focus on gaining new members is likely to marginalize current believers. The purpose of the church is not to grow its numbers, but to make disciples—baptizing and teaching them. That means feeding the flock is more important than filling the pews. If praise bands can offer a nourishing substance on par with most of our hymnal and the historic liturgy, I have yet to see it.

Of course we should love the unchurched and want for them to know Christ. That much anyone would agree with. But it is debatable whether pandering to what (we think) the unchurched want is really showing love to them. A parent may think she is showing love to her child by allowing him to live on a diet of marshmallows and fruit snacks. She probably thinks it is better for him to eat junk food than nothing at all, and that she is therefore removing barriers between her son and nutrition. But in actuality, she is teaching him that food has to be sweet in order to be nourishing. And if that is not bad enough, she gives the same diet to all of her children, including the 19-year-old.

Granted, not all contemporary worship music is "junk food." Some of it is quite good. I am simply attempting to show the flawed logic of the "remove all barriers" principle that guides the worship practices of many Lutherans today. But if we can get beyond the ignorant assumptions that adiaphora means "I can do what I like," or "God doesn't care," then we may begin to have discussions on worship that might actually accomplish something.