The language of the gospel was the key to [Martin] Luther’s struggle from the very beginning. Paul Tillich has helpfully described medieval theology and practice as a “system of objective, quantitative, and relative relations between God and man for the sake of providing eternal happiness for man.” Grace was meted out to the common believer by the church, primarily through the means of the sacraments. It was done in such a way as to give the believer a sense of grace as an objective substance, something that one would do well to pile up a store of….
If grace seems to be objective, then it cannot very well be personal, it cannot be the living voice of Jesus. And if grace is objective, the believer is psychologically driven to store up a measure against that dark day which was never far away from the medieval person. Grace was not qualitative, like an embrace or loving word that changes things. It was more like banking spiritual certificates of deposit to be used when needed. That is what the indulgence practice was all about. Grace was relative, not absolute; there was never enough, so the conscience of many a medieval Christian was restless and without peace.
Behind this system was the persistent temptation for the medieval church to believe that God belongs to the church and that God’s love can be managed. That same temptation stands at the door of every church building to this very day – the temptation to control the gospel. In the medieval church, the results of that temptation had been fixed in dogma and public teaching.
An objective, quantitative, and relative sense of grace was devastating for a person’s conscience. Luther knew that very well, both from his own spiritual journey and from observing the Christians who lived around him. Luther knew that when a person can’t get enough of the assurance which he or she needs to live, that person gets anxious. He also knew that anxiety was not what Jesus promised; it was not the “peace that passes all understanding.” What set Luther on his road to reformation was his perception of the irony that the great medieval church system, which was ostensibly to bring people to certainty of their salvation, did just the opposite. Instead of blessed assurance, it meant an endless struggle to climb a ladder reaching toward a distant and holy God.
Just as the very practical problem of uneasy consciences started Luther on his struggle with the system that produced them, so also was his solution a very down-to-earth and practical one. Anxious people need the news of Jesus’ love and forgiveness, and the preeminent way to receive that news is through the clear and simple speaking of the gospel. Luther’s “linguistic innovation” was to disengage the gospel from the medieval machinery that controlled it and set it free by putting it on the lips of believers.
Luther knew that the freedom of God as spirit is truly honored when the gospel is conveyed in human speech. In the medieval system there was a sense of a certainty, a guarantee of grace, but always never enough. The spoken word has a certain freedom, a certain ambiguity at its center, but at the same time a certain completeness and finality, once it is heard, that is correlative with the gospel. When the gospel is spoken there is no guarantee that it will be heard as good news, or even that it is spoken out of a believing heart. It is up to God, in the freedom of the spirit, to bring the message home. Once heard as a personal word pro me, however, the gospel is enough. As Luther had learned so well from the baby Jesus – that which is common, ordinary, even despised, is often just the way that God comes to us. So it is with our ordinary words.
The word of the gospel is not the same as our everyday words, yet it is in our everyday words about Jesus that the gospel does come to us. Our faithful words, by the spirit of God, become words with the plus of revelation. Words are just the right vehicle, that vehicle which can and does become the very message of grace.
Sheldon A. Tostengard, The Spoken Word, pages 48-50