My dear confessional Lutherans,
Let’s reconsider our identity as Lutheran Christians and the proper status of the Lutheran Confessions (e.g., the Book of Concord). There's a tendency within certain circles to elevate the Book of Concord practically—though perhaps unconsciously—to the level of Scripture. But my identity is first in Christ, and only secondarily as a Lutheran. Lutheranism is fundamentally a faithful way of understanding, living, and worshiping as a Christian, but it does not qualify or perfect one’s Christian identity itself (cf. 1 Cor 1:12-13).
The Lutheran Confessions are trustworthy documents written by wise and faithful pastors. Scripture alone, however, remains uniquely divinely inspired and infallible. Because the Confessions faithfully articulate biblical truth, they reliably convey infallible doctrine (cf. Formula of Concord, Epitome, “Summary, Rule and Norm”). Yet, as human documents, they are by definition neither inspired nor infallible themselves. This distinction prevents us from mistakenly placing confessional documents on the same authoritative level as Scripture—even unintentionally. Of course, this does not mean the Confessions should be casually revised or their stability undermined. Lutheran subscription to the Confessions rightly involves solemn commitment (quia subscription), acknowledging them as doctrinally sound, tested articulations of biblical truth. Thus, textual revisions would require clear demonstration of serious theological inadequacy or doctrinal error—not mere philosophical or conceptual refinement. My point is not perpetual openness to arbitrary textual changes, but a careful acknowledgment of human limitations in theological formulations, and a corresponding humility regarding their ultimate authority relative to Scripture.
My concern arises precisely because theological articulation involves philosophical and conceptual frameworks shaped by human language and history. Scripture itself engages human intellect through rhetorical devices, concepts, and abstract thinking, necessitating faculties shaped not only by the Holy Spirit but by centuries of reflective engagement. Philosophy, therefore, is a legitimate methodological servant to theology, rather than an inherently foreign discipline. The Confessions themselves illustrate this, using philosophical distinctions (such as Aristotelian categories) carefully to clarify theological doctrines like justification, the Lord’s Supper, or Christ’s presence.
A subtle distinction must be clearly maintained here: philosophy serves theology properly when it clarifies biblical teaching. It becomes problematic only when philosophical assumptions foreign to Scripture alter doctrinal content. Thus, theology rightly employs careful philosophical reflection not to revise doctrinal formulations arbitrarily, but to deepen our understanding of doctrine already faithfully articulated.
This nuanced approach avoids two problematic extremes. On one hand, it avoids the naive suspicion of philosophy that sometimes emerges in confessional Lutheran circles. On the other hand, it rejects the mistaken idea that all theological formulations inevitably require revision simply because human understanding evolves. Confessional Lutheranism rightly distinguishes between doctrinal truth (objective and stable) and conceptual articulation (subject to continual interpretive refinement without textual revision unless doctrinal flaw emerges).
In short, the problem in certain confessional Lutheran contexts is not the Confessions themselves, but an attitude toward them that subtly elevates them beyond their intended purpose. Treating confessional texts practically as direct divine revelation, immune even from interpretive refinement, risks idolatry by subtly shifting authority away from Scripture. Careful interpretive refinement should never be mistaken for revisionism; interpretive fidelity actually allows deeper appreciation of Lutheran doctrinal formulations.
This distinction between refinement (interpretive clarity) and revision (textual change) can be illustrated historically. The Nicene Creed underwent revision precisely when significant doctrinal clarification was necessary—such as explicitly addressing Arian heresy—not merely due to deeper philosophical reflection. Similarly, our Lutheran Confessions would require revision only if a genuine doctrinal flaw were conclusively identified. Short of that, their stability remains an essential and legitimate feature of confessional Lutheran identity.
In response to possible objections:
If someone argues the Confessions should remain untouched because they faithfully reflect Scripture, my response is nuanced: the issue is not their faithfulness (which I affirm), but maintaining the subtle distinction between human formulation and divine revelation. Faithful formulations require no revision unless genuine doctrinal error is found.
If someone worries doctrinal instability follows openness to refinement, we must remember interpretive refinement (philosophical and theological reflection) and textual revision are distinct. Stability is preserved precisely by maintaining authoritative doctrinal formulations while allowing interpretive depth.
The Confessions stand rightly as authoritative precisely because their authority derives from fidelity to Scripture. Yet their authority remains subordinate and derived rather than absolute and intrinsic. Recognizing this distinction protects confessional Lutheranism both from fundamentalist Biblicism and arbitrary traditionalism, allowing legitimate philosophical and theological reflection without sacrificing doctrinal stability or undermining sola Scriptura.
All of this culminates in a pervasive aversion, in confessional Lutheran circles, to philosophy. The word itself is often spoken suspiciously, as though it threatens theological purity. Yet philosophy is simply rational and conceptual clarification—something we inevitably engage in whenever we discuss theology. Yes, theologians can wander astray, but misuse of reason doesn't invalidate rational thought itself. Our reason, though fallen (1 Cor 2:14), remains a gift of God redeemed in Christ (Rom 12:2).
Thus, we see an unintended contradiction within certain pockets of Lutheran thought: we revere the Confessions but risk idolatry by treating them practically as equal to Scripture; we warn against philosophy but freely use it to clarify doctrine. Rather than excising these insights, we should acknowledge legitimate tensions, seeing them as prompts for careful articulation. Our overarching goal remains faithfulness to Christ in Word and Sacrament, guided by trustworthy teachers, and informed by reason continually submitted to Scripture. This clarity is crucial because Lutheran theology is inherently historical and philosophical, consciously standing within a long tradition of conceptual reflection shaped by Augustine, Scholasticism, and Aristotelian frameworks. Attempts to recover a purely "plain" biblical Christianity (restorationism) inevitably fail because they arbitrarily select historical moments as normative, ignoring their own historical dependence. Lutheran theology avoids fundamentalism and relativism precisely because it acknowledges historical contingency and philosophical mediation, holding Scripture as the norma normans and the Confessions as the norma normata.
Here’s the bottom line: The Lutheran Confessions are human documents. Trustworthy but not Scripture, they are subject to human reasoning. Denying this human quality amounts to idolatry—there is only one Word of God. Fear of relativism or liberalism shouldn’t drive theology; acknowledgment of human limitations is distinct from actual revisionist necessity.
We now read the Confessions with faculties shaped by centuries of reflection. Human frameworks inevitably introduce minor imperfections visible only as our understanding deepens. This doesn’t render them untrustworthy, but it means acknowledging them as human, fallible articulations subject to interpretive refinement. This openness does not imply constant rewriting or arbitrary revision. Even the Nicene Creed was revised only to address explicit doctrinal threats. If serious doctrinal flaws were found in the Confessions, corrections would be legitimate precisely because Scripture alone is infallible.
Thus, refinement and revision aren't mutually exclusive categories, though they differ in urgency and necessity. Confessional Lutherans regularly engage in interpretive refinement, and that very process could, in principle, reveal a doctrinal oversight warranting textual adjustment. Such openness affirms Scripture alone as truly infallible, protecting against idolatry and keeping doctrinal formulations rightly subordinate to God’s revealed Word.
Part two
Lutheranism may feel hollow because, while it faithfully locates Christ in the Word and Sacraments, it fails to locate us—to show us where we stand within the unfolding story of God’s redemptive work. Unlike Calvinism, which offers a compelling narrative of participation in God’s sovereign plan, or Roman Catholicism and Eastern Orthodoxy, which root believers in a visible, historical institution, Lutheranism often lacks a sense of existential belonging within God’s ongoing drama. It tells us where grace is, but not who we are within that grace-shaped history.
The danger is not in the longing to belong to a great story itself. The trouble is that many have sought to feel swept up into God’s story by attaching themselves to movements, to grandeur, to visible unfoldings of providence—mistaking visibility for belonging, and momentum for meaning.
Yet the story we are swept up into is not like the epics of men. It is the story of the grain of wheat falling into the earth and dying. The story of Christ, whose victory was hidden under thorns, weakness, and rejection.
In Lutheranism, we do not deny the mystery of God’s eternal will, but we do not preach it; we preach Christ crucified; we do not direct the sinner to read God’s script for history, but to hear His voice in the absolution; we do not point to decrees—we point to the man on the cross and say: There. For you. That is your part in the story—not something to be guessed at, but something to be received.
So yes, the Calvinist may feel swept up in God’s plan, but he may also find himself wondering in the silent hours: Was I really written into it? And there lies the danger. For when assurance depends on seeing one’s place in God’s hidden will, rather than receiving one’s place in His visible gifts, the soul is left to wander.
Better, I say, to be a beggar who knows that Christ has come for beggars, than to be a prince in a system who fears he may only be dreaming.
With that said, I cannot ignore the sense of hollowness I’ve already begun to describe in this part of the essay. Assurance must be fed—not only with the declaration of pardon, but with the experience of God’s indwelling. If the Spirit dwells in a man, he knows it—not always by bright flashes, but by the steady work of sanctification, the mortification of sin, the love for Christ increasing in his soul.
And here I worry a bit for my Lutheran brethren: we are too cautious, too fearful of turning inwards. But does not Paul say, “Examine yourselves, whether you be in the faith”? Do you not know that Christ is in you?
I do not propose that we base assurance on feelings. But I do say this: a man who walks with God will know he is part of the story, because the Spirit bears witness with his spirit. That is part of the Spirit’s work as comforter—do we Lutherans deny the Spirit’s work?
I’ll end on a positive note: If we are asking to know our place in God’s history, then we are already praying. And if we are praying, then the Spirit is already interceding. So we shouldn’t be afraid of the hollow feeling, whatever it is; it may turn out to be the place where the echo of God’s own mercy rings most clear.