Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod:
Dynamic Tensions of Sect and Church
THROUGHOUT its history the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod has been a hybrid denomination, combining the characteristics of both a sect and a church in a confusing but creative blend. Often it conceived of itself as more sect than church, more "Missouri Synod" than Lutheran and more German cultural enclave than American Protestant Establishment.
But along with the energy spent in denouncing the evils of religious "unionism" in the Boy Scout program or in upholding German as the language of the saints, the Missourians have always maintained missionary and outreach endeavors more characteristic of liberal Protestantism. Particularly in the past 30 years the synod's outreach programs, especially those using mass media, have been the envy of denominations many times the size of the 2.8 million-member synod. In fact, an observer unfamiliar with its official theology might easily assume that the Missouri Synod had taken a place in the ranks of the Lord's army of liberal American Protestant churches — or at least liberal Lutheran churches.
Identity Crisis
But now — on the eve of its 125th birthday — the Missouri Synod is having to pay some bills long overdue for a Christian organization which has always instinctively thought like a sect but instinctively acted like a church. The general cultural polarization which has exposed the bones of many a denomination in recent years has flushed out for the Missouri Synod a much more basic corporate identity crisis. The Missouri Synod has always defined itself as a sectarian-like fellowship linked by a uniform mind even on penultimate questions — if there are such questions for the synod. At heart it was — and remains — a "confessional" corporate body in which each member knows almost as a sacred right what the others confess. Everybody in the synod has always known by osmosis where the line was between "us" and "them." If on occasion the lines appeared to be blurring, they could be drawn once again when the full synod met in convention.
However, in racing across the frontiers of practical churchmanship, the Missouri Synod discovered that it had become a highly diversified and sophisticated organization in which uniformity was an impractical, if not impossible, ideal. To maintain its mission to the world and to keep many of its own bright lights, wouldn't the synod have to fall back to its broader, more basically Lutheran, ideals? Wouldn't it have to allow a loose definition of fellowship — one that could accommodate a divergence of opinion on doctrinal matters? How could the synod survive if it required of all its professors, pastors and teachers the same belief in the supreme transparency of Holy Writ that pious laymen have to hold?
Setting the Scene
Like a newly compromised virgin, the Missouri Synod has not found it easy to abandon an ideal buried deep in its psyche. In recent months the turmoil generated over the nature of its fellowship has taken on the climate of a civil war, making the word "fellowship" sound frightfully ironic.
This summer in Milwaukee the synod entered its 49th convention reeling from tensions created by a still-unresolved heresy inquiry at Concordia Seminary, St. Louis; real or imagined power grabs within the synod; threats of schism by disgruntled parishes; and pervasive suspicions of ulterior motives on the part of those with opposing viewpoints.
A vocal minority of "sectarian"-minded forces had had second thoughts about the 1969 approval of altar and pulpit fellowship with the less conservative American Lutheran Church, particularly because that body had in the intervening time approved the ordination of women — a step which the Missouri Synod once again rejected. However, these forces were most concerned about "pure doctrine," which in times past was always the main line separating "us" from "them" but which now seemed to be fading in significance.
The President's Position
Jacob A. O. Preus, synod president, got to the heart of the sectarian concern in his opening convention address. Allowing divergence of opinion as a synodically sanctioned policy on such doctrinal matters as the meaning of scriptural inerrancy would in effect constitute a
redefinition of the Missouri Synod, Dr. Preus told the convention delegates. The issue, he suggested, was one not only of theological truth but also of moral responsibility to the brethren, who must not be denied the sacred right to know the confessional stands of others.
"We are a synod of brethren linked by our common confession of faith. To disregard the voice of the synod is a loveless and divisive act and may well reflect a lack of fidelity to our confessional commitment," the president declared in his address.
In a word, the issue behind the issues in the Missouri Synod today is loyalty. It was essential, maintained Dr. Preus, to approve once and for all an unequivocal statement binding all members to doctrinal positions endorsed by the full synod at convention.
Convention Action
After protracted debate the delegates rejected a tough proposal calling for dissenters to shut up or get out — preferably both. The resolution approved was a compromise which in the introduction affirmed the conservative position but in the main body substituted the action of asking, rather than requiring, pastors and theologians to honor and uphold all matters of doctrine adopted by church conventions. Delegates also turned down proposals to suspend fellowship ties with the American Lutheran Church, although the resolution passed amounts to a holding policy on further ecumenical programs. The voting on most of the key issues reflected roughly a 530-470 split in the convention, with the moderates slightly in the lead.
Now that the dust has settled from the stormy convention, it is clear that the Missouri Synod has only temporarily put off its collective identity crisis.
Ambiguities on Both Sides
Because both the sect-mentality and the church-mentality are so deeply rooted in the synod's history, there are ambiguities — if not outright contradictions — that will have to be hammered out. These ambiguities are nowhere better reflected than in the synod's president himself. A folksy, friendly Latin scholar, Dr. Preus speaks a "sectarian" language when there is the slightest ripple of a doctrinal divergence and acts genuinely surprised that any of his colleagues might openly be toying with such notions as the dual authorship of the book of Isaiah. But at the same time he is an aggressive churchman who wants the sun never to set on Missouri Synod outposts around the world.
Dr. Preus may not want to be a pope — some of his bitter critics have charged that he does — but it is clear that Roman Catholic ecclesiastical models are closer to his operative understanding of the Missouri Synod than, say, those of the Plymouth Brethren. Dr. Preus symbolizes a denomination that wants growth, influence and power — all evangelical, no doubt — but wants them to flow freely out of a tidy theological and psychological uniformity.
The ambiguities on the "liberal" or church-mentality side, while not as blatant, nevertheless are just as real — particularly to a sociologist of religion. Most of the "liberal" pastors and professors seem, ultimately, to want to be left alone to preach and teach out of a wider, more ecumenical background. They would prefer that the synod define itself as a fellowship of men in search of the truth, rather than in possession of the whole truth.
At the same time, these forces insist that the synod must remain a "confessional" body. · However, their explanations of how it can remain "confessional" in theory if "confessional" practices are to be scrapped have somewhat the same ring as Catholic contortions on the question of infallibility. While readily admitting that the synod has every right to investigate the doctrinal positions of its pastors and professors, this faction has a tendency to hedge at the point where the synod actually does something about orthodoxy. In other words, confessing and professing ultimately are not tribal affairs but private matters. It may be that adherents of this position are true followers of Martin Luther, but it does not necessarily follow that they are being true to the Missouri Synod.
No Split Likely
If the synod ever comes to a watershed decision, an assessment of which faction would have something unique to contribute to the American religious community would not be difficult: neither of them would. Should the sectarian forces win, they would not have the solid traditions of such groups as the Mennonites or the Friends to fall back on. In 20 years the Missouri Synod would probably be forgotten by everybody except the compilers of the Yearbook of American Churches. Should the church forces win, it would seem to be only a matter of time before one of two possibilities would come about: either the synod would be just another jewel in the crown of the liberal Protestant Establishment, or, with the sectarian strain gone, the synod would lose much of the fuel that impels its well oiled missionary endeavors and would become dross on the crown of the liberal Protestant Establishment.
However, for a variety of reasons the Missouri Synod quite possibly will never go one way or the other. In the first place, a formal schism that might break it down the middle is extremely unlikely. The Federation of Authentic Lutheranism, a loosely organized group of sectarian dissenters that promises to withdraw, would be lucky to attract 50 of the synod's 6,000 congregations. Politically speaking, the federation is a paper tiger. Second, the synod's biennial conventions are ever-recurring courts of last resort. Hope springs eternal in the heart of a Missourian because there will always be another convention at which to search for consensus, right wrongs and win friends. The power of the convention event itself perpetually to mold and rechannel the creative tension between sect and church is obvious from the synod's history. Practically every convention has been Armageddon for some group or other. And yet no convention has ever really become the "great day of God," after all.
A vocal minority of "sectarian"-minded forces had had second thoughts about the 1969 approval of altar and pulpit fellowship with the less conservative American Lutheran Church, particularly because that body had in the intervening time approved the ordination of women — a step which the Missouri Synod once again rejected. However, these forces were most concerned about "pure doctrine," which in times past was always the main line separating "us" from "them" but which now seemed to be fading in significance.
The President's Position
Jacob A. O. Preus, synod president, got to the heart of the sectarian concern in his opening convention address. Allowing divergence of opinion as a synodically sanctioned policy on such doctrinal matters as the meaning of scriptural inerrancy would in effect constitute a
redefinition of the Missouri Synod, Dr. Preus told the convention delegates. The issue, he suggested, was one not only of theological truth but also of moral responsibility to the brethren, who must not be denied the sacred right to know the confessional stands of others.
"We are a synod of brethren linked by our common confession of faith. To disregard the voice of the synod is a loveless and divisive act and may well reflect a lack of fidelity to our confessional commitment," the president declared in his address.
In a word, the issue behind the issues in the Missouri Synod today is loyalty. It was essential, maintained Dr. Preus, to approve once and for all an unequivocal statement binding all members to doctrinal positions endorsed by the full synod at convention.
Convention Action
After protracted debate the delegates rejected a tough proposal calling for dissenters to shut up or get out — preferably both. The resolution approved was a compromise which in the introduction affirmed the conservative position but in the main body substituted the action of asking, rather than requiring, pastors and theologians to honor and uphold all matters of doctrine adopted by church conventions. Delegates also turned down proposals to suspend fellowship ties with the American Lutheran Church, although the resolution passed amounts to a holding policy on further ecumenical programs. The voting on most of the key issues reflected roughly a 530-470 split in the convention, with the moderates slightly in the lead.
Now that the dust has settled from the stormy convention, it is clear that the Missouri Synod has only temporarily put off its collective identity crisis.
Ambiguities on Both Sides
Because both the sect-mentality and the church-mentality are so deeply rooted in the synod's history, there are ambiguities — if not outright contradictions — that will have to be hammered out. These ambiguities are nowhere better reflected than in the synod's president himself. A folksy, friendly Latin scholar, Dr. Preus speaks a "sectarian" language when there is the slightest ripple of a doctrinal divergence and acts genuinely surprised that any of his colleagues might openly be toying with such notions as the dual authorship of the book of Isaiah. But at the same time he is an aggressive churchman who wants the sun never to set on Missouri Synod outposts around the world.
Dr. Preus may not want to be a pope — some of his bitter critics have charged that he does — but it is clear that Roman Catholic ecclesiastical models are closer to his operative understanding of the Missouri Synod than, say, those of the Plymouth Brethren. Dr. Preus symbolizes a denomination that wants growth, influence and power — all evangelical, no doubt — but wants them to flow freely out of a tidy theological and psychological uniformity.
The ambiguities on the "liberal" or church-mentality side, while not as blatant, nevertheless are just as real — particularly to a sociologist of religion. Most of the "liberal" pastors and professors seem, ultimately, to want to be left alone to preach and teach out of a wider, more ecumenical background. They would prefer that the synod define itself as a fellowship of men in search of the truth, rather than in possession of the whole truth.
At the same time, these forces insist that the synod must remain a "confessional" body. · However, their explanations of how it can remain "confessional" in theory if "confessional" practices are to be scrapped have somewhat the same ring as Catholic contortions on the question of infallibility. While readily admitting that the synod has every right to investigate the doctrinal positions of its pastors and professors, this faction has a tendency to hedge at the point where the synod actually does something about orthodoxy. In other words, confessing and professing ultimately are not tribal affairs but private matters. It may be that adherents of this position are true followers of Martin Luther, but it does not necessarily follow that they are being true to the Missouri Synod.
No Split Likely
If the synod ever comes to a watershed decision, an assessment of which faction would have something unique to contribute to the American religious community would not be difficult: neither of them would. Should the sectarian forces win, they would not have the solid traditions of such groups as the Mennonites or the Friends to fall back on. In 20 years the Missouri Synod would probably be forgotten by everybody except the compilers of the Yearbook of American Churches. Should the church forces win, it would seem to be only a matter of time before one of two possibilities would come about: either the synod would be just another jewel in the crown of the liberal Protestant Establishment, or, with the sectarian strain gone, the synod would lose much of the fuel that impels its well oiled missionary endeavors and would become dross on the crown of the liberal Protestant Establishment.
However, for a variety of reasons the Missouri Synod quite possibly will never go one way or the other. In the first place, a formal schism that might break it down the middle is extremely unlikely. The Federation of Authentic Lutheranism, a loosely organized group of sectarian dissenters that promises to withdraw, would be lucky to attract 50 of the synod's 6,000 congregations. Politically speaking, the federation is a paper tiger. Second, the synod's biennial conventions are ever-recurring courts of last resort. Hope springs eternal in the heart of a Missourian because there will always be another convention at which to search for consensus, right wrongs and win friends. The power of the convention event itself perpetually to mold and rechannel the creative tension between sect and church is obvious from the synod's history. Practically every convention has been Armageddon for some group or other. And yet no convention has ever really become the "great day of God," after all.
One cannot understand the mystery that is the Missouri Synod until he sees the synod in convention. The convention is a semiliturgical event where the search for the uniformity once enjoyed by the founding fathers of Perry county, Mo., can prevail until the 11th hour— and then be set aside in favor of a practical decision which maintains unity.
The 1973 convention will not by itself solve the deep-seated divisions in the Missouri Synod. But perhaps the hope that it will is enough. When there is no "next convention" in the hearts and minds and pocketbooks of Missourians, then and only then is the synod in deep trouble.
JAMES E. ADAMS.
1123 Franklin Ave.,
St. Louis, Mo. 63101.
Christian Century, January 1, 1971, 1058-1062.
