The Captivation of the Will

Luther vs. Erasmus on Freedom and Bondage

Gerhard O. Forde, Steven D. Paulson

• Publisher: Fortress Press
• Year: 2017
• Print ISBN: 9781506427195
• eBook ISBN: 9781506427201
• Topic: Theology & Religion
• Subtopic: Christian Denominations

The Captivation of the Will provocatively revisits a perennial topic of controversy: human free will. Highly esteemed Lutheran thinker Gerhard O. Forde cuts to the heart of the subject by reexamining the famous debate on the will between Luther and Erasmus. Following a substantial introduction by James A. Nestingen that brings to life the historical background of the debate, Forde thoroughly explores Luther's "Bondage of the Will" and the dispute between Erasmus and Luther that it reflects. In the process of exposing this debate's enduring significance for Christians, Forde highlights its central arguments about Scripture, God, the will, and salvation in Christ. Luther recognized that the only solution for humans bound by sin is the forgiveness that comes from Christ alone. Convinced that this insight represents the heart of the Christian gospel, Forde concludes with ten sermons that proclaim the message of salvation through Christ alone while elegantly relating theological inquiry to everyday life.

I

Sermons

The Easy Yoke

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, my burden is light.”

Matt. 11:28-30

In an age when the storms of criticism swirl about us, theology can become a heavy burden to bear. It seems to carry so much freight which the voices of the world tell us is just too hard to believe, and too heavy a load to carry. These voices bid us to cast off the burden, to lighten the load, to reduce it to that bare minimum which, supposedly, reasonable souls are able to carry. We all hear these voices and react to them in various ways. The trouble is that our various reactions work only to increase the abrasiveness of the task of theology and give rise to bitterness. Those who are more “conservative” can become bitter because they think that others are not carrying their share of the burden, or that they may have cast off something that is essential. Those who are more “liberal” can become bitter because they feel that their “conservative” friends are sitting in judgment and insisting that they bear a heavier burden than is right or necessary to bear. And in our relationships with one another, professor to student, and student to fellow student, we can become increasingly cynical about one another’s theology and bitter about the yoke we think we are being forced to bear.

When I was thinking about this common problem of ours, I was struck by the way in which Matthew puts the two sayings of Jesus together in our text for today, the one saying about revelation, and the other saying about the easy yoke. In the first, Jesus says, “I thank thee Father . . . that thou hast hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to babes; yea, Father, for such was thy gracious will. All things have been delivered to me by my Father; and no one knows the Son except the Father; and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal him” (Matt. 11:26-27).

One might expect, I suppose, after a saying so pregnant with theological content as that, a discourse on the seriousness of the burden of theology, what a grave task it is, and how important it is to get everything straight. But no! These words are followed immediately by the words, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, my burden is light.”

The fact that these two sayings are put together gives us an insight into what theology is all about. As theologians we are not, one hopes, in the business of laying heavy burdens on the world or on one another. Theology is the happy science concerned with the task of pointing to him whose yoke is easy, whose burden is light. Theology is not in the business of absolutizing itself, but rather of pointing beyond itself to the one who gives hope, the one in whom we can find rest. Theology is perhaps the only science which is ultimately and seriously interested in working itself out of a job, for it points in hope to that time when Christ will come and all theology will cease. Theology is only an interim science. It exists only because he to whom it points is not yet here. Its only task is the happy one of helping to keep hope alive until he comes.

This does not mean, however, that theology is an easy study. The fact that his yoke is easy and his burden is light is not an invitation to slovenliness or laziness. For the problem is precisely that we as human beings, as sinners, are clever and devious masters at the art of laying heavy burdens upon ourselves. Thinking to lighten the load for ourselves and by ourselves through our own theological cleverness or reductionism we more often than not succeed only in making the burden heavier. It is the real task of theology to smell out and expose this deviousness, be it conservative or liberal. And this is a hard and exacting task, calling for all the intellectual wisdom and effort that we can muster. But it is, or at least it should be, a joyful task, the joyful task of lifting the burdens under which we suffer so as to point to him whose yoke is easy, whose burden is light.

Perhaps if we could grasp this we would find that some of our bitterness would dissolve and we could all join in the common task without rancor. The common task, that is, of exposing the fraud of the burdens we lay upon ourselves and pointing to him who says to you, “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Justification by Faith Alone

“We hold that a man is justified by faith apart from works of law.”

Rom. 3:28

That is the word that broke in upon the world through the ministry of Martin Luther so long ago and fired the Reformation. It was a word that shocked the world then, and it still shocks and angers the world today. It shocked the world when St. Paul first preached it to the Romans. It comes to us like a bolt from the blue, like a strange comet from some unknown realm. For who has heard of such a thing — that one is made right with God just by stopping all activity, being still and listening? What the words say to us, really, is that for once in your life you must just shut up and listen to God, listen to the announcement: You are just before God for Jesus’ sake!

Strange words. Indeed more and more today we find people asking, “Who needs them?” Perhaps back in Luther’s day, we are told, when people were really trying to save themselves by doing good works, justification by faith was good news. But who is trying anymore? In the day of the Reformation a person suffered from an anxious conscience, but is that true anymore? It seems that we have this marvelous cure, but no one has the disease! So we stand, as Luther often said, like a cow staring at a new gate, wondering what these words have to do with us. Is there not something much more relevant to say?

But before we go any farther we have to pause and take notice of something very important. It is God’s Word, this strange word. It is what God has given (everything, his only Son) to be able to say to us. As St. Paul put it, “This was to show God’s righteousness . . . , it was to prove at the present time that he himself is righteous and that he justifies him who has faith in Jesus” (Rom. 3:25). The shock of the words gets deeper. It isn’t merely or even mainly that we needed this Word to be spoken, but that God wants it. It was to show his own righteousness. As the Word has it, you are just, for Jesus’ sake! — not merely for your sake, for Jesus’ sake. To put it most bluntly, what we think about it, whether we think we need it or not, does not matter in the first place because it is God’s cause. God’s decision is being announced. As a matter of fact, as a result of our sin, we never really want or think we need these words. But no matter, God has decided the issue; he has decided to show his own righteousness, regardless. These words are the creative words of God. Just as once God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. He didn’t consult the darkness as to whether it thought it needed the light. The darkness would never admit to that. So God speaks to show his righteousness. The words are intended to do what God’s Word always does, to create out of nothing, to call something new into being, to start a reformation. God, that is, has decided just to start over from scratch. So listen up!

The fact that these words fall on deaf ears is not, of course, anything new. The incident recorded in the Gospel lesson — a conversation between Jesus and some of his followers — is a clear indication of that. We are told that these were people who believed on him, so the incident is even more disturbing. “If you continue in my word,” Jesus says, “you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free” (John 8:31-32).

“But, but, but . . . ,” they said, “we aren’t in bondage! We are descendents of Abraham, we’re not slaves of anyone.” Just as we today might say, “We are Americans, we are free people — what’s this promise of freedom? Who needs it?” But the tragedy of the situation is that they didn’t even know the trouble they were in. As John’s Gospel often puts it, our problem is that we are in the dark, blind, even though we think we can see. So Jesus lays open the problem: “Truly, truly, everyone who commits sin is a slave of sin” (John 8:34). And a slave is in a precarious position because the days of a slave are numbered. The slave can’t stay in the house forever. The slave is not an heir. The Son, however, continues forever. So if the Son really sets you free, “you will be free indeed.” But then comes the worst part (left out of the lectionary — the committee always seems to leave out the worst parts): “I know that you are the children of Abraham; yet you seek to kill me, because my word finds no place in you” (8:37). There is the problem: “My word finds no place in you.” The great promise of justification by faith and the freedom it brings falls on deaf ears. Indeed, so little is it wanted that the one who brings it must be killed.

Now what is the reason for all this? If we look back to the passage from Romans we find it. The reason is that we make a fundamental mistake. We think that the law is the remedy for sin. If we could just get our act together we could break the slavery and be free at last. But the Word from Romans comes like a mighty thunderbolt: “Now we know that what the law says, it speaks to those who are under the law, so that every mouth may be stopped, and the whole world may be held accountable to God” (Rom. 3:19). The law is no remedy for sin. The law can do a lot of things. It can preserve society. It can restrain evil. It can even help us to reach out to give aid beyond our normal reach. It may preserve, restrain, prevent, and so forth. Yet, it is not a remedy for sin. As a matter of fact, it just makes sin worse.

We seem to have a difficult time learning this, but it is really quite evident. To take a simple example, one might say that the law is like a stoplight. The stoplight prevents evil. It stops us from running over, or into, each other. But it doesn’t stop sin — indeed it probably only makes it worse. Does it make us better people? Have you ever known anyone who likes to stop at stoplights? Don’t we always try to slip through on the yellow or even that split second after it flips onto the red — hoping “John Law” isn’t looking? Don’t we sit growling when it doesn’t change, or honk at the driver ahead who doesn’t move quickly enough? And even if by some chance there were some who started a society for the preservation and veneration of stoplights, would such piety be the end of sin or only the beginning of the worst form of sin: pride? No, the law is no remedy for sin. The law shows us who we are. The law simply issues the final judgment: “For no human being will be justified in his sight by works of the law, since through the law comes knowledge of sin” (Rom. 3:20). What the law says to us is just, “No way, no exit.”

So, since there is no way, since the law is no remedy for sin, God has decided to start over, to do something only God could do, to create something new — to show a righteousness completely apart from the law, sending Jesus into this world under the law, to die at our hands always so insistent on doing the law, and nevertheless to raise him up. He came saying, “Your sins are forgiven!” The response was, “Who needs it? You’re wrong!” God has simply wiped out all distinctions between those who keep the law and those who don’t. Isn’t that crazy? But so St. Paul claims: “For there is no distinction, since all have sinned and fallen short of the glory [not the law!] of God; they are justified by his grace as a gift, through the redemption which is in Christ Jesus, whom God put forward as an expiation by his blood, to be received by faith” (Rom. 3:2225). God has simply decided to wipe out all the distinctions and start over in Jesus. So there is simply nothing to do now but listen to the creative Word spoken into our darkness: You are just for Jesus’ sake! It matters not whether you think you need it. It is the Word of God.

And if we look at it aright, this Word too is not so utterly strange. Suppose your child were to ask you, “Dad, Mom, what do I have to do to be your child?” Is there some law, some deed, some program you could propose? Perhaps the first thing you would have to do would be to weep that the question could ever be raised. But what could you say? What do you have to do to be my child? “Nothing. Just listen. Believe me. You are my child,I love you,I will never let you go.” So, you see, the child is “justified by faith alone, without the deeds of law.” It is, as the prophet Jeremiah wrote, a matter of a new heart — a spiritual “heart transplant,” you might say. “The days are coming, says the Lord, when I will make a new covenant with my people, not like the old one, the law, which they broke again and again. I will put my law within them and write it on their hearts and I will be their God and they will be my people, and they will know me, and I will forgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more” (cf. Jer. 31:31-34). It is an absolutely new start.

So today, when we think about reformation again, about something new, a new heart, a new being, a new you, I can’t come to you with grand schemes and plans, or even a new set of laws, an outline for growth, a program to increase your spirituality, or — goodness knows what all. When God undertook to start over with us he didn’t do anything like that. He had tried all that. Instead he sent Jesus. He decided to do something really wild, really new. He decided simply to forgive, to remember sin no more. He sent a preacher. So if these words are to come to an appropriate conclusion, there is nothing for me to do but just say it: You are just for Jesus’ sake. And there is nothing for you to do but just listen. Believe it, it is for you! It will really reform your life!

A Word from Without

“Is not my word like fire, says the L ord , and like a hammer which breaks the rock in pieces?”

Jer. 23:29

“Is not my word like fire, says the Lord, and like a hammer which breaks the rock in pieces?” — not exactly a user-friendly approach to the Word of the Lord. Jeremiah is not likely to be one to whom we would turn for apologetic grist for the theological mill. Indeed, it is ironic that when I was looking for a hymn that might be appropriate to this Word, I came instead upon “Your Word, O Lord, is Gentle Dew!” — well, maybe sometimes, but not today.

Jeremiah was mad. He was furious at his fellow prophets because they were filling the air with their pious dreams and blandishments, prophesying in the deceit of their own hearts, peddling their sweet nothings about God. When I read a text like this I’m constantly amazed at how contemporary it is. Things, it seems, have not changed much. In our day we have virtually banished God and his Christ from the world “out there.” Religion and faith have to do with the internal world, the world “inside” the self where we coddle ourselves with our dreams: “I want my God to be gentle like the dew, and affirming and supportive and kind. . . .” So the story goes. And preachers and teachers fill the air with their own opinions rather than speak a Word from the Lord. I suppose, as in Jeremiah’s day, we do this because it is too fearsome to think that God is actually “out there” attending to the affairs of the world.

But Jeremiah warned that it wouldn’t work. “Am I a God at hand, says the Lord, and not a god afar off?” So he thundered. “Can a man hide himself in secret places so that I cannot see him? says the Lord. Do I not fill the heaven and earth?” (vv. 23-24). We have to do with a God who comes at us from without, from out there in the world of Nebuchadnezzar, machines, things, and other people — yes, even dirt-moving caterpillars and eighteen-wheeler semis. The Word is a word from without, from outside the self and its dreams.

But now a text like this really puts us in a tight spot. Who shall presume to speak a Word from the Lord? Who can speak a Word that is from without and not just another wish-wash of pious dreams? Jeremiah made claim to do it, and of course he got into a lot of trouble. Tempting as it might be,I won’t tell you my dreams, nor do I have theological opinions to peddle, even though through the years I have collected enough of them — some pretty good, if I do say so myself. Rather, I have a commission to do the fearsome business of speaking a Word from without, a Word that is like fire or like a hammer that breaks the rock in pieces.

Where shall I find such a Word? When such questions arise time and again I am taken back to what is just about my favorite passage in the Book of Concord, from the Smalcald Articles where Luther announces, “This then is the thunderbolt by means of which God with one blow destroys both open sinners and false saints. He allows no one to justify himself. . . .” And then Luther makes direct connection with Jeremiah: “This is the hammer of which Jeremiah speaks, ‘Is not my Word like a hammer which breaks the rock in pieces?’” Talk about a Word from without! A Word that shatters both sinners and false saints with one blow! It just blows them all away. I have been around long enough to see it actually happen, to see some rejoice and some resent, to see the rocks split. What is so devastating is that when the hammer falls we, in utter bewilderment, suddenly feel we have to find something else to do.

Now I suppose I could stop here and just sit back and say, “Isn’t it grand, Amen!” and have done with it. But there is one move left to make. I have to say it. This is no show. It is not a dry run. It is not a metaphysical dream — it’s for real. A lot has happened since Jeremiah’s day. Jesus has happened. The Crucified One has been raised. There is something to say, a Word from without, from beyond the grave. It is not my word or dream or opinion — that would be quite a different word, you can count on it.

So I must say it one more time since it is a matter of your eternal destiny, and it is so much fun to sa...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Front Matter
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Dedication
• Table Of Contents
• Foreword
• Preface
• Introduction: Luther and Erasmus on the Bondage of the Will
• The Argument about Scripture
• The Argument about God
• The Argument about Our Willing
• The Argument about Christ and Salvation
• Postscript
• Sermons