An Online Discussion of Bob Bertram's Essay "How Our Sins Were Christ's"

The people at "Crossings" have asked yours truly to lead a free online discussion about an essay by the American-Lutheran theologian Robert Bertram. Dr. Bertram's essay, "How Our Sins Were Christ's," analyzes key emphases in Martin Luther's 1531 commentary on Galatians.

The discussion, which is part of a monthly Crossings series called "Table Talk," will take place on Tuesday, May 18, 2021, at 1:00pm Central Daylight Time. It is open to all.

For a brief "trailer" about this upcoming "Table Talk" and to register for it, go here.

To read Dr. Bertram's essay, go here.

Luther at Worms (at 500)

This week marks the 500^th anniversary of Martin Luther’s famous “non-recantation” at the Diet of Worms. His first appearance there, on April 17, 1521, did not go well. Asked if the books on the table before him had been written by him, he answered “yes.” But when he was then asked if he would revoke the ideas they contained, he hesitated and appeared uncertain. He said he needed more time to think about the question. Surprised by this timid reply—after all, could he not have anticipated this move? —the emperor nevertheless granted him a night to further ponder his fate.

The next day, April 18, 1521, Luther was asked the main question a second time: “Will you recant?” 

No longer hesitant or uncertain, he replied at some length in Latin. After stressing that his cause was one “of justice and of truth,” he again took responsibility for the books he had written, but he noted that they were “not all of the same kind.” Some were about basic Christian faith and morals. (What could be wrong with these, he asked.) Other writings did indeed attack the papacy, but to retract these, he argued, would amount to “adding strength” to what he considered to be “the tyranny” of that institution. Still other books attacked individuals. Here, he admitted, he had been “more violent” than either “his religion or his profession” really required. Still, he would not recant these books either, since such a revocation would allow “tyranny and godlessness” to “rule and rage… more violently than before” among the people of God.

Despite his intransigence, Luther confessed that he “was only a man and not God.” He then stressed that if someone, anyone, could teach him his errors, have them exposed and overthrown by the clear statements of the prophets and evangelists (he did not mention Moses or the OT Ketubim), then he would be “quite ready to renounce every error,” and he would “be the first to cast [his] books into the fire….”

After drawing attention to the dissention that God’s own word creates in the world--and after stressing that we all need to fear God--he then concluded: “I do not say these things because there is a need of either my teachings or my warnings for such leaders as you, but because I must not withhold the allegiance which I owe my Germany. With these words I commend myself to your most serene majesty and to your lordships, humbly asking that I not be allowed through the agitation of my enemies, without cause, to be made hateful to you. I have finished.”

But Luther was not finished, for the emperor’s speaker was not satisfied. Luther had not answered the main question: “Will you recant?”

Then came (extempore?) what must be considered among the most famous and consequential words to have been spoken in the history of Western civilization in the past half millennium:

“Since, therefore, your serene majesty and your lordships seek a simple response, I will give it in this way, neither sophistical nor pointed: Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures, or by the evidence of reason (for I trust in neither the pope nor councils alone, since it is a settled fact that they have often erred and contradicted themselves), I am bound by the Scriptures I have quoted, and my conscience is captive to the words of God. I cannot and I will not retract anything since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience.” (WA 7.838.1-9; LW 32.112-113 [modified]).

These Latin words were followed by a few German ones, perhaps only the final four of them (sotto voce?): “Ich kan nicht anderst, hie stehe ich, Got helff mir, Amen.” [I can (say) nothing else. Here I stand. God help me. Amen.]

Keep in mind that nearly a year earlier some forty-one statements of Luther’s had already been condemned by the pope as “either heretical, scandalous, false, offensive to pious ears or seductive of simple minds, or against Catholic truth.” It didn’t matter that some of the quotations were inexact, and all had been torn from their original contexts. Luther had 60 days to recant.

Of course, instead of recanting, Luther burned the papal bull (document) on December 10, 1520. (I have stood at that very spot many times, contemplating that bold act of ecclesial defiance.) Luther refused the pope’s demands, he didn’t recant or repent, and, as a result, his excommunication became effective on January 3, 1521, just over two months after Charles had been crowned emperor of the Holy Roman Empire.

Rather amazing were the subsequent actions taken by the twenty-one-year-old emperor. Despite the promise he had made on the day of his crowning—to preserve the Catholic faith, to protect the Catholic Church and clergy, and to show proper devotion to the pope and the Roman Church—Charles agreed to give the excommunicated heretic a hearing. While the pope had already made up his own mind, and the pope’s own representatives had opposed Luther’s invitation to the diet, Charles kept the matter open, at least in principle. (He had to know by that point that the cat was out of the bag, so to speak. Erasmus had told him as much.) But it didn’t matter. By the end of Luther’s second appearance, on that 18th of April, 1521, Charles was convinced that this lone, renegade monk was in error “in his opinion, which is against what all of Christendom has held for over a thousand years…” “After the impertinent reply that Luther gave yesterday… I declare that I now regret having delayed so long the proceedings against him and his false doctrines. I am resolved that I will never again hear him talk.”

The edict against Luther was formulated on May 8, 1521, and signed by the emperor on May 26, at the end of the diet. Charles’ edict affirmed the execution of the pope’s judgment against Luther, it enjoined all to refuse Luther any “hospitality, lodging, food, or drink,” or any assistance, and it instructed all people to take Luther prisoner so that he could be delivered to the authorities. (It should be noted: no one was authorized to kill Luther. He was simply to be arrested and handed over.) The edict also authorized individuals to proceed against Luther’s friends and followers, to attack them, and to take their property. Of course, Luther’s writings were strictly verboten. Bottom line: Luther and his adherents were not merely heretics, they were outlaws.

At Worms, Luther refused to recant because his conscience was “held captive” by the words of God (notice the plural). “Precisely because his conscience was bound by the words of God, he had to demand freedom, that is, respect for his conscience. But Luther also knew that it was his knowledge of the words of God that bound him, and as a human being he could err. Therefore, he had to be prepared to subject his knowledge to a test. Because no disputation had taken place in Worms, let alone any testing by a group of impartial theologians, no revocation could be expected from Luther. A revocation would have presupposed that Luther had been taught better by scriptural arguments so that he would have been able to correct his previous understanding. This became the standard legal argument of Saxon politics when it later defended Luther’s refusal to recant” (Theodor Dieter, “The Diet and Edict of Worms (1521),” Lutheran Quarterly 35 [Spring 2021], 4). [Other theologians who have been accused of "teaching false doctrines" and have also been expelled from their church bodies might make the same argument. Just saying....]

Perhaps most important in all this, maybe even more important than Luther’s famous testimony in that imperial courtroom, were the actions taken by Luther’s prince, Elector Frederick (the Wise). Not only did Frederick hide Luther at the Wartburg Castle in the wake of Luther's "stand" at Worms, but he made sure that the edict was not published in electoral Saxony, and thus the edict was without effect in the land where Luther lived. The failure to implement the edict in northern, German-speaking territories allowed the Reformation to become more entrenched than might otherwise have been the case. Luther owed much to his local prince. (BTW, the term “Protestant” originated later, in the wake of another diet, that of Speyer [1529], which tried to impose the conditions of Worms upon the estates that had accepted Luther’s reforms. Those estates considered the terms of Worms invalid since they had been passed “against God and his holy word” and were against “the salvation of all our souls and good conscience.”)  And nothing the emperor or the pope did, could put Western Christendom back together again. (Thankfully, ecumenical efforts toward reunification of the Western Church have been afoot for more than a century.)

Luther is not without blame here. In light of his own theology, his denial of conciliar authority presents, at best, an inconsistency. After all, Luther consistently accepted the dogmatic decisions of the first seven ecumenical councils. Luther's attacks on the papacy also seem extreme. (Melanchthon’s position on the Petrine office remains much more ecumenically promising, even if the dogmas of papal  primacy, universality, and infallibility, not to mention the papal promulgations of the recent Marian dogmas, complicate the ecumenical situation further.) A lot of what Luther wrote against the papacy and conciliar authority has to be subjected to sober criticism and viewed in the context of the heat of a most anti-ecumenical moment…. 

Luther’s excommunication and the Edict of Worms remain obstacles to the reunification of the Roman Church and the churches of the Augsburg Confession. If such a reunification remains an ecumenical goal, what are the next steps that need to be taken by both sides (the Roman Church and the LWF) to move closer toward that goal?

Hate Crimes and David Brooks

The famous Swiss-Protestant theologian Karl Barth (1886-1968) supposedly once said that a Christian pastor should "preach with the Bible in one hand and the current newspaper in the other." I'm not sure I fully agree with that counsel. (At least I have never preached with a newspaper in my hand!) It seems to me that a pastor who preaches "in light of the news" can easily get so wrapped up in social-political events of the current moment that he or she loses sight of God's own "good news," God's central message of judgment and grace, of Christ crucified and risen for the forgiveness of sins, a message that is aimed at the individual heart and life. We sometimes refer to that central message as God's words of "law" and "gospel." Through this twofold message, God summons us to repent of our sins and to trust in his promises for the sake of Christ our Savior and Lord.

But that divine message does not come to us in a vacuum. The biblical prophets remind us that God always aims the divine message toward humans in the here and now. Moreover, God is not "disconnected" from social and even political events, at least according to the biblical prophets. "Justice" sure seems to matter to God, at least according to the Holy Scriptures. Then, too, the "repentance" to which God calls us is not merely an abstract idea or a mere private matter. Just as the Old Testament prophets’ call to repent went out to the whole people of ancient Israel, so there are also New Testament calls to repentance that are directed to entire churches. God calls us to repent of all sins, both those that are more personal and individual and those that are more corporate, social, and even political in nature. An aspect of repentance is acknowledging "the heart of darkness" that resides in each of us ("original sin"), confessing our sins, receiving by faith God's mercy and forgiveness, and then seeking to amend one's sinful life.

I was thinking about the specificity of sin when I was reading today's edition of The NW Indiana Times. In it there is a story about the rise in hate crimes against Asian Americans. Of course the immediate context for the story was the murder of six Asian-American women and two others in Atlanta earlier this week. The larger context, however, goes back to last year when some political leaders frequently referred to the covid virus as "the China virus." This rhetoric helped to inspire some individuals to act aggressively and even violently against Asian people in our midst. Since March 2020, nearly 3,800 "anti-Asian" incidents have been reported to one agency that keeps track of such things. According to the article, nationally women reported hate crimes 2.3 times more than men. Asian-American organizations have been trying to call attention to this problem for many months. There is real fear among our Asian brothers and sisters here in the US. (Some of what I have heard reminds me of what happened to German Americans during the First World War. During that time, when America was at war with Germany, many German Americans, a lot of them Lutherans, experienced "hate crimes" as well. My grandfather once told me that he knew a German-American Lutheran pastor who had been pulled from the pulpit of his congregation in 1917, and was tarred and feathered by locals who thought "he must be a propagandist for the German Kaiser.")

This story about the rise in hate crimes against Asian Americans hits close to home. One of my colleagues and friends, whose office is just down the hall from mine, teaches theology at Valpo. She is a very devout Roman Catholic laywoman, who grew up in a mixed Chinese and Dutch-American family. She is an American citizen. In addition, she has earned graduate degrees in theology from Georgetown (Ph.D.) and Yale (M.Div.). Her expertise is in Chinese Christianity as well as East-Asian religions. 

I recently learned from her that she herself experienced a hate crime last year in Valparaiso. She was shopping with her newborn daughter at our local Aldi when a group of "boogaloo civil war" guys, as she describes them, came up to her and started spewing hate-filled rhetoric at her and her infant. They were echoing language about the covid virus that they had heard from one of our political leaders at the time. She told me yesterday, "I didn't engage them or try to finish shopping. I just immediately lifted [my daughter] out of the shopping cart and walked straight out the door, and they didn't follow us...." Thankfully, that is the only such incident she has experienced since moving here a few years ago. 

What are we to do in view of this sad and disturbing situation of racist hatred in our country and community? 

It seems to me that we can begin by asking God to forgive us for the times that we have harbored hate in our own hearts or have acted in hateful ways toward others. None of us is free of that problem. The "old Adam" lurks in each of our hearts. Only the medicine of Christ and the Holy Spirit can address that inborn disease. Second, we can pray that the Lord would not only change our hearts and minds but also the hearts and minds of others who are hell-bent on hating people who are different from themselves. Instead of "scapegoating" others, we can ask the Lord to direct us to the true "Scapegoat," our Lord Jesus Christ, who on the cross has borne away the sins of the world.  And we can ask the Holy Spirit to guide our ways, to lead us to discern how best we can help our neighbors in need, and to do what needs to be done. Right now, those neighbors in need are our Asian brothers and sisters. (When one of the Lord's sheep is in trouble, he leaves the 99--whom he also loves [all lives matter!]--and goes after the one who is in most need of help!)

Today's edition of the other paper I read each morning, The New York Times, has a very thoughtful editorial by one of the most important and influential Christians writing and speaking in America today, namely, David Brooks. (A high-point of my week is listening to him on Friday evenings on the PBS NewsHour.) His editorial today speaks to the problem of social injustice and inequality in the US. Brooks doesn't get too theological too often, but this is one of those times when he does, and, if you ask me, he is spot on. It's the kind of article that invites you, the reader, to engage in self-examination and prayer, to seek the change that God wants you to undergo (i.e., "repentance"), and to take steps that reflect that change. It's worth underscoring that such themes fit with the current church season, Lent.

Here's the link to Brooks' article: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/03/18/opinion/social-justice-christianity.html?smid=em-share

Happy Birthday, Prof. Schlink!

Today marks the 118th anniversary of the birth of Edmund Schlink (1903-1984), one of the most important Christian theologians and ecumenists of the last century. After earning a doctorate in psychology (Marburg, 1927), he completed a doctorate in theology (Muenster, 1931), under the direction of Karl Barth. (Between these two doctorates he had suffered a crisis a faith, which led him to work for a year as a field hand on a Silesian farm. There he encountered Pietistic Christians, who helped him through that period of spiritual struggle and renewal.) 

He submitted his theological Habilitationsschrift (yet another doctoral dissertation) to the faculty at Giessen in 1934.

During the German dictatorship, he was active in the so-called "Confessing Church." After the war, he was called to teach theology at Heidelberg University. He remained on that faculty until his retirement in 1971. Between 1946 and his death, he was very active in the World Council of Churches, serving on its Commission on Faith and Order. He founded and led the Ecumenical Institute at Heidelberg, he was active in a circle of Lutheran and Roman Catholic theologians in West Germany, and he served as the official representative of the German Protestant Church at the Second Vatican Council.

For the past decade, Schlink's work has been my main scholarly interest. I am currently editing and translating his 804-page Ecumenical Dogmatics, his magnum opus, which will be published late this year or early next year by Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht (which recently merged with Brill).

In honor of Dr. Schlink's birthday today, here is an excerpt from his classic 1957 essay on "The Structure of the Dogmatic Statement as an Ecumenical Issue":

Among the various forms of prayer doxology assumes a special place in view of its pronominal structure.

In doxology believers do not ask God anything for themselves, nor do they ask God to act for other people, but they only worship God. While the first three petitions of the Lord’s Prayer pray for the coming of the kingdom, the doxology of the congregation confesses “for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever.” Doxology is all about the praise-filled recognition of the reality of God. God can thus be addressed in the second person—as, for example, in the doxology of the Lord’s Prayer. But, as a rule, doxology speaks of God in the third person: God is not addressed as a Thou but praised as a He. When we translate the original Greek “Glory be to God on high…” (Lk. 2.14) or “to him be glory forever and ever” (Rom. 11.36), that does not imply that God is first granted “glory” or majesty through the doxology. Instead, the doxology “gives” God the “glory” that God already has. More precisely, it praises the majesty that God has and is, and indeed has and is even if a person does not give God the honor. Doxology is the reflection of the eternal divine majesty in the praise of human beings.

Doxology is based on God’s act of salvation. Because God has accomplished his action for human beings, in fact for the world, God is praised by the believer. This is quite clear in the praise psalms in the Old Testament:  Because God, who is enthroned on high, has shown mercy in his act of salvation in history for those who are nobodies, he is praised without end as the Lord, who graciously stoops down from on high and who indeed is without end majestically sublime and merciful, gracious, kind, and lowly. Adoration arises from the acknowledgment of God’s historical act. This praise is the unfolding—in the literal theo-logical sense—of gratitude for God’s action in that the psalmist’s gratitude breaks out into hymnic praise and adoration of the eternal God himself.... 

Likewise, doxologies found in the New Testament live from God’s act of salvation, from the act of salvation in Christo which, despite the Parousia yet to come, is already entirely fulfilled. The congregation on earth may now already thus participate in the songs of victory of the glorified, who celebrate the defeat of all the powers hostile to God and the fulfillment of God’s lordship, and who praise God and the Lamb. Because doxology is grounded in God’s act of salvation, the latter is also referred to frequently and explicitly in the words of New Testament doxology. But their use is not essential to the wording of the doxology, and even when they are explicitly mentioned in a doxology they appear there more as the occasion and basis for the doxology than as constituting its actual content (compare, for example, Rev. 4.11; 19.1ff.). Doxology is ultimately about God himself—about God on the basis of his mighty acts toward us and toward the world—yet about God who does not fully disclose himself in these acts but does them in the freedom of the almighty and loving Lord, who already existed before his acts and who will continue to be after them, who is the first and the last, the beginning and the end. Doxology is not merely about God’s action in history, but about God himself, about his eternal reality. “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory” (Is. 6.3). This statement is valid regardless of whether or not the earth gives glory to the Lord. “Holy, holy, holy is God the Lord, the almighty, who was and is and is to come” (Rev. 4.8). “To the king of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever” (1 Tim. 1.17). “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever” (Rev. 7.12). The central concern in these and many similar statements is the acknowledgment of God as God, who forever and ever and who before his mighty acts of salvation and after them is the same holy, almighty, glorious and wise one. Statements about God’s being, essence, and attributes thus occur in the etymological unfolding of doxology that praises God’s eternal all-history-encompassing aseity. The same holds true for the adoration of Jesus Christ, who is praised not only as the crucified and risen one but also as the eternal who encompasses time, and thereby also as the pre-existent one, who, like the Father, is the first and the last, the beginning and the end.

--Edmund Schlink, "The Structure of the Dogmatic Statement as an Ecumenical Issue," in Ecumenical and Confessional Writings, vol. 1 (The Coming Christ and Church Traditions; After the Council), ed. Matthew L. Becker, trans. Matthew L. Becker and Hans G. Spalteholz (Goettingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2017), 70-71.

Retiring the Valpo Crusader

When I was student-body president at Concordia University--Portland ('82-'83), we had some discussions about whether "the Cavaliers" was an appropriate mascot/symbol for our Lutheran institution. We knew enough about the term to know that, in its adjectival form, it was synonymous with "reckless," "haughty," "disdainful," "contemptuous toward others." The mascot did not seem to fit with the ideals of Christian leadership and service that were emphasized by Concordia's faculty and administration. Still, I had more important goals to attain that academic year, such as starting the school newspaper and trying to get better food served in the cafeteria, so we didn't pursue a mascot change at that time. (It has been almost a year since that school was shut down.)

In the foundational theology course that I teach at Valparaiso ("The Christian Tradition"), we spend a few class periods examining the Crusades, not merely because of Valpo's historic mascot (which dates back to 1942, when it replaced a German symbol that was out-of-step with where the country was at that time), but because those two centuries marked significant cross-pollination between Europe and the so-called Middle East, between Latin and Greek Christendom, and between Latin Christendom and Islam. It's a mixed, ambiguous history, one that has mostly negative connotations, if not entirely negative consequences.

Despite whatever positive cultural and economic outcomes may have inadvertently developed from that period of church history, the crusaders' overall impact on civilian Jews, Muslims, Orthodox Christians, and Syrian and Armenian Christians was very negative, to put the matter mildly. While the image of a crusader can be romanticized or interpreted in Christian vocational terms, that seems to minimize and marginalize the horrific actions that certainly happened in abundance to such civilians in those centuries.

Because of these negative, historic connotations and in light of our university's mission to be an inclusive academic community that seeks to welcome individuals from groups that historically were targeted by those medieval crusaders, I have quietly encouraged a change of mascot for several years (as has my wife, who helps to run our library).

This past week Valpo's interim president, Colette Irwin-Knott, announced that the university would indeed be "retiring" the Valpo Crusader mascot. To listen to her message, go here. 

While some will object to this change, it makes sense to me for all sorts of reasons. Let me focus on merely a theological one. Luther himself criticized the cruciata for all "the heartbreak and misery" that they and indulgences and crusade taxes had caused. (The practice of selling indulgences, which Luther had criticized in his 95 Theses, had largely arisen to help pay for those crusaders.) In a treatise that the Reformer wrote a little over a decade after posting his famous theses, he noted that "with [indulgences and crusade taxes], Christians have been stirred up to take sword and fight the Turk when they ought to have been fighting the devil and unbelief with the word and with prayer" ("On the War against the Turk" [1529], LW 46.186). Luther here drew attention to Christ's teaching in Matthew 5.39-41 and to the theology of the cross. "Christians shall not resist evil, but suffer all things and surrender all things" (LW 46.164). Luther criticized previous popes who, in his judgment, had never intended to wage war against the Turks, but had instead used "the Turkish war as a cover for their 'game' and had robbed Germany of money by means of indulgences whenever they took the notion." Luther was angry that Christians and princes were "driven, urged, and irritated into attacking the Turk, and making war on him, before they amended their own ways and lived as true Christians" (LW 46.165).

For Luther, the history of the crusades is not positive or uplifting. The symbol of a medieval "crusader"  certainly does not fit with Christ's teaching in the Sermon on the Mount. That symbol seems to run counter to the ethos and identity of a liberal-arts university that is grounded in the Lutheran tradition of scholarship, freedom, and faith. This ethos, to which our interim president referred in her message, is antithetical to crusader militarism, bloodshed, destruction, and fighting. As Luther noted, nothing but ill fortune ultimately accompanies "the crusader." (Aside: Some of Valpo's athletic history supports this Luther-an observation.) The crusader image inherently entails un-Christian, anti-Christian actions of pillaging, raping, and murdering; it inherently represents individuals who misuse the image of the cross to "fight against the infidel in the name of Christ," when, according to Luther's teaching, Christians should only be using God's gifts of word and Spirit, accompanied by prayer. The "crusader" image contradicts the basic theology of the cross that is at the heart of Valpo's Lutheran identity. That theology opposes all crusading "theologies of glory." The latter turn the cross into a bludgeon and sword and spear, and they turn the cross of Christ into a symbol of hatred and violence. (It is interesting to me that certain religious combatants in our contemporary American "culture-wars" end up doing the same thing to the cross that so-called "Christian" crusaders did between the eleventh and thirteenth centuries.) 

In view of the violence and (culture) wars in our own world that are so frequently tied to religious symbols, the leaders of Valpo have decided that now is the time to retire the Valpo Crusader mascot and to move to a more positive image, one that fits better with Lutheran values. For Lutheran Christians, "CRUX sola est nostra theologia," the cross alone is our theology, not in the way of the cruciata, but rather according to Paul's teaching in First Corinthians and to Luther's arguments in the Heidelberg Disputation.

As a Lutheran theologian at Valpo, I want to use Luther's Heidelberg insights, where he classically set forth what would come to be called "the theology of the cross," to criticize all such theologies of glory, medieval as well as contemporary.

As retired LCMS District President David Benke stated in another forum earlier this week, on the same subject of Valpo's change of mascot: "Of course Martin Luther was no fan of Crusader theology. It's a theology of glory, of conquest, a mixing of the Realms, and outgrowth of Empire - which Luther also spoke candidly about - and it takes us away, most especially in these times, from our own roots in Divine reconciliation for the world through the foolishness of the cross.  The cross used as a symbol of war and conquest is 180 degrees from the cross as an instrument of the death of God's only-begotten Son and the Savior of the world.  The Empire began with the vision "in hoc signo vinces," during a battle with swords and staves.  In "post-Christian" times, we have a deeper cruciform message and witness to offer the world than the Crusaders."

What should replace the outdated mascot?

I suggest we move away from animals and martial symbolism. 

Our motto is "In luce tua videmus lucem" (In Thy Light We See Light). So why not something like "The Valpo Flame"? That fits with the title of the book about Valpo's history by my late friend and colleague, Dick Baepler (Flame of Faith, Lamp of Learning). "The Flame" is simple, almost elegant, and much of the school's "branding" could easily be tweaked to fit with that image. True, a "flame" can also be negative in some contexts--as can most any object, e.g., a knife in the hand of a murderer in contrast to a knife in the hand of a skilled surgeon--but the biblical symbolism outweighs the negative. (I can imagine Valpo athletic contests being graced with students shouting and dancing to Cheap Trick's "The Flame," or to the songs of the same name by the Fine Young Cannibals and Arcadia. Tina Arena's "The Flame," which was the official song of the 2000 summer Olympics, could also be sung.)

Perhaps "The Valpo Lightning," which ties nicely to our university's motto and to Luther's experiential-spiritual turning-point, when lightning was the catalyst for his decision to enter the Augustinian monastery, and it also ties nicely to one of Valpo's strongest degree programs, meteorology. (Not too long ago, Wheaton College changed its mascot from the "Crusader" to "the Thunder." Valpo's Lightning, Wheaton's Thunder....)

Valpo Light? (That sounds too much like a low-cal beer or, worse, a suggestion that Valpo offers an inferior form of education.)

The Valpo Torch? (That is already the name of the school newspaper, but it could work.)

The Valpo Torchbearers? (too many letters and it could also give rise to students as an angry mob, as in Frankenstein or what we witnessed in Washington on Jan 6. We ought to move away from symbols that bring to mind angry mobs, crusaders of a different bent....)

The Valpo Flash? (We wouldn't need to have red athletic uniforms with a lightning bolt on the front; we could keep our current school colors and develop our own unique symbol....)

The Valpo Storm? (Also fits with Luther's personal experience and the meteorological emphasis; the Valpo Tornadoes is a bit over the top, imo.)

Regardless of what is ultimately decided, I'm pleased we're moving away from the crusades. It is difficult to reconcile Jesus' teaching in the Sermon on the Mount with a celebration of "the Christian crusader" who sought to lop off the heads of infidels in the name of Christ and who welcomed the booty and other rewards/prizes (material and purgatorial) that were promised to come from such militaristic pilgrimage and conquest. The crusades reflect the pagan Germanization of Christendom, the melding of anti-Christian militarism and Christian discipleship, a synthesis that is at odds with Jesus' teaching about discipleship. Crusading ideology praises the killing of infidels and rejoices in the (re)-taking of property and turf for the sake of the church's earthly power and glory. That Germanic tribal-pagan holdover of militarism and its influence upon medieval understandings of Christian discipleship represent a perversion of Christian teaching. Instead of "blessed are the meek, the poor in spirit, the peacemakers, etc.," for the Germanic Christian of the crusading type the beatitudes were changed to become: "Blessed are the rich, for they will possess the earth and all its glory," and "Blessed are the war-like, for they shall win wealth and renown" (to cite the hyperbolic quip of one historian). As important as Karl der Grosse was for the historical development of European Christendom, he, too, reflected this pagan ideology that would directly contribute to the rise of the ideal Christian disciple as "crusader."

Valpo ought to find a better symbol/mascot that actually reflects our university's mission and motto.