# Der Lutheraner_St. Louis Missouri_1848 06 21_S187
# AI translation — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration)

Son of God; through it, and in it alone, does water baptism have its inward cleansing power, whether penitent and believing persons be baptized or not — just as, likewise, mere water also has its outward cleansing power through God's creation and ordinance, whether soiled persons, or persons at least receptive to cleansing, be present or not. —

This, however, is a common mark of the unchurchly, fanatical spirit, in all its forms and degrees: that through its pride it confuses and disturbs the churchly order of salvation — that is, that it places the penitent faith of man, which is after all only the receiving-means of the divine means of grace, of the Gospel and of the holy Sacraments, not under, but rather beside, or even above these — that is, above God's Word, work, and ordinance. Wherever this unclear, confused spirit appears as a teacher, it represents human faith, over against the divine means of salvation, as though it helped to make and form the essence of the latter. But this is just as untrue as if I were to say: my tongue helps to give the food its good taste, and my stomach, to give it its nourishing power. Both of these, however, it has through God's goodness and ordinance without my tongue and stomach; and these latter are nothing but the means and instruments by which to perceive the good taste of the food and to make its nourishment my own. Just so it is, then, in spiritual matters: faith is only the subordinate means of appropriating the salvation in Christ which the Spirit, through the means of grace — the preaching of the Gospel and the holy Sacraments — extends to man, and as it were to his hand of faith.

There is no doctrine so foolish or shameful that it does not also find hearers and disciples.
Luther.

(Submitted.)
Why Hast Thou Done This?

How often does the dismayed heart of man ask this, when in its own portion it must experience what the Lord speaks through the mouth of the prophet: "My thoughts are not your thoughts, and your ways are not my ways." How many a deeply wounded father's or mother's heart, for example, has already asked this when the Lord tore away their darling through death — yes, has even quarreled in such a question with its God, whose doing seemed incomprehensible, whose way seemed cruel to it. To such a father's or mother's heart let the following story be told as an instructive parable:

A certain MacDougal from Scotland had emigrated to Upper Canada in North America, and had there, on the edge of the great primeval forests, bought and cultivated a piece of land. There he lived in peace, after the hardships of the first settlement had been overcome, with his wife. A lovely infant was the delight and highest happiness of both parents. One day, however, one of the wild Indians appeared — one who a few days before had, in a very kindly manner, brought back to him the wife of our settler after she had gone astray in the forest — appeared on the plantation, and gave to understand, by all manner of signs, that he wished Mr. MacDougal and his wife to follow him into the forest. The two of them, however, unable to guess the purpose of this unexpected demand, steadfastly refused to comply with it. At length, after he had in vain employed all the eloquence of sign language at his command, he indeed withdrew, but after some time returned again and renewed his attempts, though with equally poor success. The two white people simply would not understand his signs, nor show themselves willing to comply with his request. What does the Indian do now, seeing that all his efforts are in vain? Behold, there stands the cradle with the slumbering infant — suddenly he reaches in, takes the child, and runs off with the swiftness of the wind toward the nearby forest. The terrified parents both run after him, calling, begging, pleading as loudly as they can; but the Indian is as unyielding toward them as they had just been toward him. He did gradually moderate his pace somewhat, so that they could follow him more easily, and so as to make more certain that they would follow, yet without letting himself be quite overtaken by them. MacDougal begged his wife to turn back and let him continue the pursuit alone; but to this the mother's heart had only the answer of faithful Ruth to Naomi's urging that she should turn back (Ruth 1:16 ff.); she pressed on unstoppably after her darling, and would have gone not only into the dark primeval forests of America, but into the very darkness of the "lower places" themselves. Meanwhile the strange robber went ever more gently in his steps; now he looked kindly upon the plunder in his arms, which he sought at the same time, with visible care, to protect against every little breeze; now again he cast a quick glance back at the pursuing parents. Like one who is perfectly certain of his way and his goal, he pressed onward. All at once, however, he stood still — and that upon a wide, beautiful spot, thickly overgrown with luxuriant grass, bright with flowers, splendidly shaded by God's trees — comparable to a paradise in the midst of the forest. The anguished parents reach him after a couple of minutes, and the very moment they stand before him, they also have their child again in their arms, which the one so unyielding until now now hands back to them at once with the friendliest and most joyful gestures. They soon also guess the actual intention of the good Indian, namely, that it was none other than that they should henceforth dwell at this splendid spot, instead of at the far less beautiful and fruitful place of their first settlement. Now his thoughts are soon their thoughts too. They joyfully choose the beautiful spot for their future dwelling-place; he himself is most kindly helpful to them in the removal.