I Am Baptized, Part 2

Among Luther's many uses of the phrase "I am baptized," one appears to be cited with special frequency. It is from his Table-Talk for 18 February 1542, as recorded by a graduate student named Caspar Heydenreich (TR 5658a). It can be found in the WA Tischreden series, in v. 5 on page 295.  

Luther's Table-Talks are quoted frequently, but should be approached with caution. They are not, after all, the product of a scholar in his study, writing for posterity, nor even of a lecturer or preacher hoping to shape the hearts of his listeners. They are dinner-time chat, extemporized at a boarding-house table, as food is chewed, wine is poured, amid squawking children and a dog pleading for scraps. They were then transcribed by guests, presumably with some reconstruction from memory. Moreover, many of them have been passed on in forms altered for publication by Luther's sometime secretary, John Aurifaber. Although modern scholarship has recovered the underlying manuscript evidence, the altered versions are still in circulation.

On top of that, the Table-Talk are (as conversation at Luther's table surely was) a mixture of German and Latin, which can be a little disorienting for many, and a genuine obstacle for some.

Those caveats duly caveatted, what was Luther talking about on that winter evening almost five centuries ago? 

According to Heydenreich, it was a "discourse on predestination," but that is really only part of it. As was Luther's wont, it seems (at a quick reading) to be a rambling reflection on his own spiritual life, and especially on the transition from dread of divine judgment to assurance of favor.  It is especially touching that he still speaks warmly and repeatedly of his old spiritual mentor, von Staupitz, who had at this point been two decades in the grave.

Here's a snippet of the original:

Alioquin illae cogitationes sunt diabolicae de praedestinatione. Ficht dich die cogitatio an, so sprich: Ego sum filius Del, sum baptizatus, credo in lesum Christum pro me crucifixum, lass mich zu friden, zu Teufel!  Tum illa cogitatio te deseret. Also list man von einer nonnen, quae vexabatur a Diabolo miserabilibus illis cogitationibus; wen er ein spruch gemacht hett und mit seinen feurigen pfeilen kam, so sprach sie nit mer den dise wort: Sum christiana. Das verstund der Teufel wol, und war so vil gesagt: Ego credo in Deum crucifixum, qui ad dextram Patris sedet et mei curam gerit et qui pro me interpellare solet; du leidiger Teufel. las mich zu friden, ille me suo impenetrabili sigillo certum reddidit. 

Honestly, this is a bit beyond our modest translation abilities, but it seems to say something like this:

In any case, these thoughts of predestination are demonic. If a thought bothers you, say: I am a child of God, I am baptized, I believe in Jesus Christ crucified for me, so leave me alone you devil! Then this thought leaves you. 

So we read of a nun whom the Devil tormented miserably with these thoughts. When he had come to her with speech like burning arrows, she said only these words: I am a Christian.  The Devil understood that perfectly well, and no more needed to be said. 

I believe in the Crucified God, who sits at the right hand of the Father and cares for me and who habitually intercedes for me. Leave me alone, you pitiable devil, for he has surely given me his invincible sign.

Note that there is nothing here about chalk or a handkerchief. For that matter, although in context Luther has been speaking of his own experience, he is not here telling a personal anecdote concerning a diabolic visitation during one of his Anfechtungen. Rather, Luther distances the story from himself, by using what appears to be a conventional preacher's topos: "We read about a certain nun," he says. Yet after ending the story -- "no more needed to be said" -- Luther continues, perhaps putting further words into the mouth of his fictional nun, but more likely imagining either himself or his audience in her place, and giving them an alternative protective formula.

If, incidentally, the words "protective formula" sound like something out of Keith Thomas, it seems fitting that it might. Although it is widely held that (as a publisher's blurb for Religion and the Decline of Magic puts it) "the Protestant Reformation attempted to take the magic out of religion," this is a surprisingly debatable point. We once heard a fine lecture by a colleague, an expert on Johannes Kelpius and the Wissahickon Hermits, who observed that well into the 17th century, it was still quite normal for the Protestant clergy, very much including Lutherans, to deal in potions and amulets as part of their pastoral practice.  In a 2019 article for the Science Museum Group Journal, Annie Thwaite gives examples of various amulets, the most interesting of which is a gold coin given to those healed of scrofula by Charles I, to be worn around the neck as protection against further infection. In an engraving, the king is shown healing his subjects, surrounded by approving courtiers -- at least three of whom are clearly Anglican priests.

Perhaps we are overthinking this, but it seems to us that in this particular Table-Talk, Luther is using the language of faith and the sacraments much the way somebody else might have used a magical incantation. He even identifies baptism as an "impenetrable sigil," an invincible sign, given to him by Christ -- not so different from the golden coin given by Charles to his subjects.

This observation in no way accuses Luther of mechanizing faith or religious rituals -- his life's work may be conceived as an extended argument against that implication of ex opere operato. Nor does it identify Luther as somehow "medieval" in contrast to the "early moderns" around him.  It rather reminds us that early modern theology was quite different from the late modernity more familiar to us. Symbols functioned a little differently, we think, and it was as natural to use words (in a curious recursion of Wimsatt’s “verbal icon”) to defend oneself against doubt, fear and deviltry as to use a magic coin against disease.

UPDATE: a few hours after posting this, we learned of a 2011 book by Carolyn Schneider exploring Luther’s repeated use of the story about the nun. We haven’t seen the book (yet), but here’s a review: https://crossings.org/book-review-i-am-a-christian-the-nun-the-devil-and-martin-luther-carolyn-m-schneider/

I Am Baptized, Part 1

 Doing some routine pastoral work on a snowy morning in the Iron City, Father A. stumbled across a form letter written by a predecessor in which Martin Luther is purported to have said Baptisma sum. Obviously, Luther did not say this precisely, since it would have meant either that he was baptism itself personified, or perhaps a baptized female. What he did say, however, is ego sum baptizatus, "I am baptized," and this is something he said often.

But when and in what context did he say this?  We thought it might be enjoyable to track down a few instances now and then, as time allows.  Most of of us have heard stories about Luther mentioning his baptism to ward off the Devil, or writing it in chalk and covering it with a hankie (as he did with the Lord's hoc est corpus meum at Marburg). If a reader can provide citations to either of these, we will be most grateful.

Meanwhile, here is a little something for starters.

In his Lectures on Genesis from the 1540s, Luther discusses 26:15-16, and praises Isaac's patience at a time when it would have been easy to feel forsaken by God, and proposes it as a model for Christians:

In spite of all, we should say "I believe. I have been baptized. I have been absolved. I have God's promise of grace and mercy. I have enough. Whether night, day, tribulation or joy befalls me, I shall nevertheless not forfeit His mercy or lose courage." (LW 5; consulted online, so no page number is available; cf WA 43:469).

This is quite a quotable moment. If you are pretentious and would like to quote it in Latin, come sit by us at the Synod assembly:

...  dicamus tamen: Credo, sum baptisatus, sum absolutus, habeo divinam promissionem gratiae et misericordiae, satis habeo, sive nox, sive dies, sive tribulatio, sive laetitia mihi obversentur: non tamen amittam misericordiam, nec despondebo animum.

Another instance from Luther's 1523/1524 discussion of Genesis, which exists in two forms as recorded by two students, concerns the faith of Noah, in chapter 7.

You see what the Word can do, if it is understood by faith; it protected him for 150 days. This is written to praise faith, because the Scriptures are given in order that faith may be preached. Here there is no need of Noah's works to help. What is the bare word of God? "Make an ark and I will be with you." 

This let us learn, and this is written for us, so that when the hour of death or affliction comes, we will not ask "Where shall we stay?" That to those who say "I am dying," and ["Woe is me,"] may stand firm in the words "I am baptized." [You pray:] "Thus have you spoken, O Christ"; and as much as Death invades, so much more must you hold to the Word.

That is a very weak translation; Latinists are welcome -- nay, implored -- to improve it based on the original:

Vides, quid verbum possit, si fide percipitur, quod servavit 150 dies. Hoc scriptum est pro laude fidei, quia data est scriptura, ut fides praedicetur. Hic nullum opus adiumento Noe. Quid autem nudum verbum dei 'fac arcam, Ego tecum ero', hoc discamus, et nobis scriptum, quando hora venit vel mortis vel afflictionis, ut non quaeramus, ubi manebimus? ut illi dicunt "Ich stirb und weis wie" sed consistendum in verbo 'ego baptizatus sum'. 'Ita dixisti, Christe", et quanto plus invadit mors, tanto plus verbum arripe. 

In the first passage, baptism is connected closely to faith, absolution, grace, mercy and even providence.  It is as if Luther, quite possible speaking off the cuff, simply lists a series of God's gifts. In the second (if we have understood it correctly) Luther uses baptism as a defense against the familiar medieval dread of death. It will surprise nobody familiar with Luther that, in both passages, he connects baptism closely to the Word of God.

The Morning After ... Blues

 As we write, the newsboys are standing on the corners shouting, "Wuxtry! Read all about it! Blue wave swamps billionaires' yacht! Getcha morning paper!"

Which is to say the the November 2025 election appears to be good news for the Democratic Party and correspondingly bad for the Republicans. This appearance is purely arithmetical, in the sense that it is attested by votes counted and estimated. While no doubt encouraging, it is by no means clear -- nor could it be at this preliminary stage -- that the results will actually conduce to strengthening the Democratic Party or weakening the grip of Trumpism on America.

Two of the most heralded victories of the moment, for example, are those of Zohran Mamdani in New York City and Abigail Spanberger in Virginia.  Neither of these is surprising in itself. Mamdani was the Democratic nominee in a city where Democrats enjoy a powerful historic advantage, notwithstanding the Giuliani years. Spanberger was the Democratic nominee in a state where governors must stand down after a single term, and are most often chosen from the party that does not hold the White House. (She was also running against a Black woman in the South.) So neither victory was inherently unpredictable.

The more interesting point, as pundits observed often during the campaign, is that these are two very different varieties of Democrat. New York's mayor-elect is conspicuously young for the job, at 34. Although born in Africa, he was raised in the cushiest and New-Yorkest of confines, among the Upper West Side's academic and artistic elites.  His politics certainly lean left, as reflected by his decade-long affiliation with the Democratic Socialists. He is a Muslim. Also -- and perhaps most interesting to both readers of this blog -- he worked on the unsuccessful 2017 campaign of our friend and seminary classmate, the Rev. Khader El-Yateem.

Spanberger is 12 years older than Mamdani. In matters of faith, she is something called "Protestant Unspecified," which we imagine means as religious as her constituents need her to be in the moment. Born in New Jersey but raised in Virginia, with a background in federal law enforcement and intelligence, she has cut a considerably more conservative pose. After the Dems' 2020 election losses, she famously argued that they had suffered because Republicans were able to accuse them of "socialism," as well as because of the poorly-phrased call to "defund the police." She went so far as to propose that no Democrat should ever use the word "socialist" again.

Clearly, these two Democrats are shaped differently, both by their life experience and by the constituencies they serve. While it is certainly true that America's two principal parties are by nature complex and often unwieldy coalitions, it is also fair to ask how easily these two leaders, or their respective supporters, will be able to collaborate on policy and governance.  This is not a new question; the co-existence of conservative Democrats and liberal Democrats is as old as the party. But in a time when Republicans are so very ascendant, and so very averse to be caught compromising with the other party, it will be impossible for Democrats to make headway except by working closely with each other, even when their convictions and constituencies differ deeply.

Looking for analogies on the other side of the aisle, we recall that the Paleo-Cons and Neo-Cons of old managed reasonably well despite some fundamental differences. Yes, the Tea Party was the bane of John Boehner's life, but he was also able to make common cause with them against the ACA, and even to promote the career of a TP leader.  More recently, though, there appears to be an impassible chasm between the radical Republicans aligned with President Trump and virtually the entirety of the party's old guard.  Even the late Dick Cheney, than whom few Republican leaders could be called more Republican, and whom this blog pilloried with zeal during his vice-presidency, cast his last vote for a Democrat. 

Put plainly, Republicans unwilling to endorse both Trump's extreme policies and his chaotic personal style find themselves as impotent at the moment as Democrats, if not more so. Democrats are feeling good indeed this morning, as well they might -- but their ability to continue feeling good, and above all to govern effectively, may come to depend on their ability to do what the Republicans currently cannot and do not need to: work closely even when they disagree.

Good Sermons, Warm Welcome, and Maybe a Maniple

Legend has it that 70% of the new members at an average American church are there because they were invited by a friend.

For thirty years or more, this factoid has been passed around among the clergy like a joint at a hippie gathering, which is to say that it has been held reverentially, spoken of in hushed but appreciative tones, breathed in and then put aside until it is needed again -- all while, quite possibly, creating mild hallucinations.

The truth is that the supposed study behind this figure is hard to track down, and even if it exists it is very old.  American church life has changed dramatically in the past 50 years, and especially in the last 5.  Moreover, standards of privacy and sociability have also changed.  What was once genial may now seem intrusive -- ask any pastor who still drops in unannounced, or at least the people upon whom that pastor drops in.

The most recent information we can find that might support the old 70%-invited-by-a-friend comes from Pew Research, which is generally pretty creditable (as opposed to, say, Barna).  It also places that number in an important context.

In 2026, Pew released a report called "Choosing a New Church or House of Worship," based on data from a 2014 study.  This wouldn't be so very old, had not COVID intervened, but COVID did intervened, and so the results must be looked at skeptically indeed. Still, it will be a while before anything newer covers the same territory in as much detail.

The overall conclusion of the report may be the least surprising thing ever said on the subject, summed up in a headline:  "Americans look for good sermons, warm welcome."  (The report also ranks "worship style" almost as high as homiletics and how-d'ya-do, so don't forget your maniple, because nothing says style like a ceremonial hand-towel.) 

Location also matters, so choose yours wisely, as do programs for the wee ones.  All of these things -- sermons, welcome, style, location, programs -- seem to be ranked more highly on the list of reasons that worshipers choose a new church than personal connections.  But those connections do play a role.  The report offers this useful chart:

There it is in the second column: 69% of people seeking a new church have talked to members of the congregation.  That is not far at all from our 70% story.  And the numbers also back up an important corollary of the legend -- conversation with lay members appears to be more important than conversation with the clergy.

But where the legend is framed to highlight the urgency of personal invitation, the wording of the study implies that the person seeking a church may be more active, and the church member more passive.  More important still is the addition of "friends and colleagues," a category which is apparently separate from church members.   

Our conclusion is something like this:  The legend is spun to encourage congregants to invite people to church, and to make them feel a little bit guilty if their church isn't growing.  The numbers presented by Pew suggest that in fact a person looking for a place to worship will ask around rather broadly, and compile a sort of "local reputation score" consisting of what impression of a church they get from different sources, including but not limited to its members.  This seems natural.

It should be obvious that, since 2014, the internet has continued to take over every aspect of our lives, including our spiritual affiliations. How many of us live-streamed a decade ago?  How many of us even considered the possibility of what is politely called "virtual communion"?  In that spirit, it seems natural to assume that, were this study to be repeated in 2025, the "looked for information online" category would have eaten up numbers from the others, and probably swallowed the quaint old-fashioned "made a phone call" bones and all.

Anyway, it seems to us that the basics are unlikely to have changed.  A church that hopes to grow should certainly have good preaching, welcome new people with love, worship with zeal, and be located in an accessible place.  A good website doesn't hurt, and neither does a favorable reputation. 

To all these things we add:  Many churches possess all these attributes and do not grow.  Some possess most of them and still shrink. Such are the times in which we live.  Don't beat up on yourself, whether you are a pastor or a lay member.  And don't beat up on each other, either.  Ultimately, it is in God's hands, not ours.

An American(ish) Pope!

 Our deepest condolences to Robert Cardinal Prevost, Archbishop Emeritus of Chiclayo, Peru. Having been elected, he will rule as Leo XIV, and we wish him the very best.

We has considered him out of contention because he is an American, but that merely shows how little we know. His nationality is historic, although its practical significance is hard to guess. We are deeply encouraged by his years of service in Peru, which speaks to a continued papal emphasis on care for the poor. And we are delighted that he is (like Luther) a member of the Augustinian order.

Please keep him in prayer tonight, as his life changes irrevocably.