5.75 reasons it’s good to be a Lutheran on Reformation Day

My mom excelled at a lot of things. Coming up with Halloween costumes for her third child was not one of them. Maybe that’s why, the year I was officially too old to be trick-or-treating and with a cold that left my head plugged from my nostrils to the back of my skull, she clapped an orange wig on my head, dropped me off on one side of town, and told me to meet her at a friend’s house on the opposite side of the city.

Seriously.

An orange wig for a costume.

Mom.

C’mon.

Never mind that it was sleeting. Never mind that I ate half my candy before I got to her friend’s house. Never mind that the chilly weather actually cleared out all the gunk that was making me stuffy. Never mind that my own grandmother’s porch light was turned off.

My own grandmother.

Not that I’m still thinking about this 20 years later or anything.

It’s just that I’m awfully thankful to be old enough not to have to wear a pig snout for a costume while walking through feet of snow with my sisters begging for candy anymore. Instead, I’m grateful that today I get to stay home and eat all the fun-size Snickers I want . . . before my husband finds the wrapper stash.

I also get to be thankful for Reformation Day, which, despite its appalling lack of Sixlets, is a pretty sweet gig too.

And so I present to you, 5.75 reasons it’s good to be a Lutheran on Reformation Day.

Well, first I’m going to show you these cookies my sister made. Probably you should leave some comment love for her on how fabulous these are.

10659136_10154830483680171_577944392434031823_n

5) Sturdy hymns.

With all due respect to the musical abilities of Twila Paris, I really feel the Reformation produced some pretty meaty hymns, the kind that actually stick to your bones when you’re frustrated or worried or fed up or scared. It’s time we dug those back out, learned them by heart, sang them at home with our kids. Instead of having “I’m So Fancy” on repeat in your noggin, try out “Lord, Keep Us Steadfast in Your Word.”

4) A hardcore Reformer.

You can have Mel Gibson. You can have “Freeeedommmmmm!” speeches. Heck, you can even have the kilts and the war paint. We got Luther, who was brave enough to live and prepared to die by and for the Word of the Lord, who cared more about doing what was right than his name or his reputation and didn’t even have to use #haterzgonnahate to prove it.

3) Trick-or-treating.

We have freedom in the Gospel, which means we can go to our church’s Reformation service AND dress up as a Twister board to get toothbrushes and apples from our neighbors all in one night!

On second thought, maybe just buy your own candy on your way home from church.

2) Endurance.

What was true then is still true now. We’re not hip. We’re not trendy. We’re faithful to God’s Word; we’re consistent. So when Luther wrote, “And take they our life, Goods, fame, child and wife, Let these all be gone, They yet have nothing won; The Kingdom our remaineth,” it was not only the cause for goosebumps then as now, but it was also just as apropos when he wrote it as it is today. It was true for Luther. It is true for the Christians fleeing ISIS. It is true for you.

1) Jesus.

Luther might as well have been a big, flashing, neon Vegas sign that pointed straight to his Savior. Because when we think of the Reformation, we think of Jesus, of the one died and lives to give us every good gift (even though it will usually not come in the form of the orange wig of shame and a sugar high). So with the Psalmist, you get to say, “God is for me!” (Ps. 56:9).

As for that last quarter of a point, well, see # 1.

And oh yeah . . . hapopy Reflosrmatiron Dsayt!

{Sorry. Sticky Snickers chocolate fingers. It’s never too early to start.}

that’s my pastor!

A week ago Sunday, I was kneeling at the Communion rail with my niece Wilhelmina. She’s two. She’s opinionated, like her mother. She’s chatty, like her mother. She’s determined, like her . . . well, I think you see where I’m going with this.

She’s also very Lutheran, just like her mother. DSC_0098

And so it was no surprise, as she kneeled next to me at the Lord’s table, that when her dad, the pastor, came down the row of communicants with the Lord’s body, Willa whispered, like a tornado attempting to pass as a summer breeze, “THAT’S MY PASTOR!”

And then, to make sure I was listening, she poked me in the arm and said again, now pointing at him, “HEY, THAT’S MY PASTOR!” Continue reading