sacraments

This piece was written for my church's monthly newsletter.  I'm doing a series on Lutheran beliefs and practices.

When I was growing up, my grandmother and step-grandfather had framed copies of their baptismal certificates hanging in the hallway of their home.  Roger’s was ornate; Grammy’s Norwegian-language certificate was simpler in design.  Part of the reason for this was that my grandmother was baptized the day she was born.  The doctor didn’t think she was going to live, and it was very important to my great-grandparents that she be baptized quickly.

Grammy turned 97 at the end of April.  So much, thank goodness, for that prediction.

Lutherans practice two sacraments, while Catholics practice seven and other Protestants (Quakers, for example) may practice none.  The word “sacrament” means “Christian rite that is believed to have been ordained by Christ and that is held to be a means of divine grace or to be a sign or symbol of a spiritual reality.”*  In other words, it’s a ritual Jesus told us to do that creates a special connection between God and us.  Lutherans’ two sacraments are baptism and communion, and the reason why we feel these practices move beyond mere ritual to sacrament is that each practice uses a physical element—water, or bread and wine—and the Word of God to create this special connection.

The water isn’t the part that “does” something; neither is the bread or the wine.  It is the connection between water and the Word, or between the elements and the Word, that makes the difference.  We treat these physical parts with reverence; communion wine isn’t just poured down the drain, but directly into the earth (or more commonly, the pastor simply drinks it).  But only through the words of institution do these physical things become a connection between God and us—and among each other.

Traditionally, Lutherans have baptized infants.  That doesn’t mean older people can’t be—and aren’t—baptized all the time, and we have many examples within our own congregation of the diversity of baptismal practice.  The reason why we baptize infants, however, is that this practice illuminates the gift of God’s grace.  A baby hasn’t done anything to earn God’s love.  My grandmother certainly hadn’t developed a track record of service to God when her hours-old self was doused.  But as lovely as all the people who have been baptized as older children or adults in our congregation (or elsewhere) certainly are, none of them have earned God’s grace either.  We can’t.  We can never be perfect enough to do that—but God grants it to us anyway.  It is a gift that is open to everyone.

When we share in baptism, or more regularly in the practice of communion, we experience connection to God and to all those who have partaken in these sacraments.  Here lies the importance of the ritual, and it’s why we take these things so seriously.  We connect to God through prayer and through the Word.  We connect to each other through fellowship.  Through the sacraments we connect to God and to each other, but we also experience a connection to all those who have practiced these rituals throughout Christian history.  The sacraments break the barriers of space and time, bringing us into one family of God.

When Meredith was baptized on Pentecost Sunday 2006, the water that washed over her tiny head connected her to the family of God in a network that links her with the April day in 1916 when her great-grandmother was baptized—and to all other baptisms, including yours and mine.  The bread that is broken and wine that is poured for us each Sunday connects us in fellowship with the folks who took this sacrament from Luther, the first Christians whose stories we read in Acts—and Jesus himself.  Through the sacraments we are welcomed into God’s household.  They are physical manifestations of God’s greatest gift.

* quoting Merriam-Webster...