Have you ever tried to organize a dinner for
a really large, really particular group of friends?
Oh, yeah. Usually a nightmare. Right. You know
the drill. You have one person who is strictly
gluten -free. Another who only eats organic.
Exactly. And then one who refuses to go anywhere
with loud music because it ruins the ambiance.
And there's always the one who is perpetually
late. Always. It is a complete logistical nightmare.
You usually just end up ordering lukewarm pizza
and half the group is still unhappy anyway. Yeah,
that is the classic coordination problem. And
the more distinct the identities in the room,
the harder it is to find any kind of unified
solution. It really is. So keeping that in mind,
I want you to take that low stakes dinner party
scenario and scale it up. scale it up to the
entire United States in the mid -19th century.
That is quite the jump. It is. But replace those
dietary restrictions with deeply held religious
convictions about things like the end times,
secret societies, and exactly who is allowed
to preach from the pulpit. Ah, right. The stakes
are a little higher than pizza. Much higher.
That is the story we are unpacking today for
our deep dive. We're looking at the rise, the
fracture, and the eventual transformation of
the General Council of the Evangelical Lutheran
Church in North America. Which is quite a mouthful.
It really is. We'll just call it the General
Council to keep things moving. Good call. But
looking at the source material on this body...
It wasn't just some dry church administration
story. No, not at all. It was an absolute battleground
for cultural and theological identity in a rapidly
changing America. And our mission for this deep
dive is pretty specific. We want to understand
how a group that was formed in 1867 specifically
to create unity. Right. To defend true Lutheranism
against this wave of what they called Americanization.
Exactly. How that very group ended up being defined
by the exact things that tore it apart. It's
fascinating. We're going to look at four specific
highly controversial questions. They were known
as the Four Points and they essentially became
the deal breakers for a massive chunk of the
church. And what makes this deep dive so useful,
I think, even if you aren't a theologian, is
that it's a perfect case study in organizational
behavior. Oh, completely. It shows what happens
when a group tries to define itself by what it
is against rather than having a really clear
consensus on what it is for. It's a story about
drawing lines in the sand and then suddenly realizing
you might have trapped yourself on the wrong
side of the beach. That's a great way to put
it. So let's set the scene. It's the mid -1800s.
To understand why the general council was necessary
in the first place, we have to understand the
vibe in the Lutheran world at the time. Right.
What was the status quo? Yeah, exactly. Well,
to understand the General Council, you really
have to understand the General Synod. The General
Synod. Yeah. That was the dominant umbrella group
for Lutherans in America at the time. And within
that group, there is this very strong movement
led by a man named Samuel Simon Schmucker. Schmucker.
Right. Yeah. And his approach was often called
American Lutheranism. Now, to a modern ear, American
Lutheranism sounds pretty innocuous. I mean,
adaptation is usually seen as a basic survival
strategy. Sure. But I'm guessing in this context,
Americanized wasn't exactly a compliment. Definitely
not to the conservatives. You have to remember
the time period. This is an era of high immigration.
Right. Lots of new arrivals. You have waves of
German and Scandinavian immigrants arriving and
they hold very traditional old world views. But
Schmucker saw it differently. Yeah. Schmucker
looked at the American religious landscape, which
was heavily dominated by Methodists, Presbyterians
and Evangelicals. The big Protestant groups.
Exactly. And he essentially said, if we want
to survive and thrive here, we need to blend
in. So he wanted to drop the distinct German
-ness or Scandinavian -ness of the church. It
went even deeper than that. He actually wanted
to modify the theology itself. Wow. Okay. He
advocated for altering the Augsburg Confession.
Which is basically the core constitution of Lutheran
belief from the 1500s, right? Right. He felt
it was too Catholic, maybe too old world. He
wanted a version that played nice with other
American Protestant denominations. He wanted
to emphasize shared Protestant values. rather
than distinct, rigid Lutheran dogmas. Precisely.
Okay, so that is the main fiction point. You
have the Americanizers who want to modernize
and blend in. And you have the old world purists.
The confessionalists. Right, who see this as
a total betrayal of their core identity. It's
that classic battle between assimilation and
tradition. And the catalyst for the explosion
was the Pennsylvania Ministerium. the oldest
Lutheran body in America. Yeah. In 1866, they
finally decided they had had enough of schmucker
in the General Synod. They hit their limit. So
they issued what they called a fraternal address.
Which is really just a very polite 19th century
way of saying an open invitation. Right. They
sent this out to Lutheran synods all across the
US and Canada. And the subtext was crystal clear.
It was basically, if you believe in the unaltered
Augsburg Confession. Meaning the original hardcore
theology. Right. And you believe in uncorrupted
sacraments. Let's just ditch the general synod
and start our own club. And actually, before
we move on, we should probably clarify what a
synod actually is. For anyone who might not be
familiar with church polity, we're talking about
regional governing bodies, right? Like the Synod
of Ohio or the Synod of Wisconsin. Exactly. Think
of them almost like state level organizations
or distinct associations of churches. They're
autonomous. Right. They have their own leadership,
but they often band together into a general body
for strength, resource, sharing, and political
clout. So the invite goes out, join us for the
real Lutheranism. And the response was actually
surprisingly robust. It was, which leads us to
the big meeting. December 1866, reading Pennsylvania.
It was basically a who's who of conservative
Lutheranism. You had representatives from Pennsylvania,
Ohio, Wisconsin, Michigan, Minnesota. Even the
Augustana Senate, which represented the Swedes,
sent a letter of support. It sounds like the
Avengers assembling. but with more beards and
catechisms. There was definitely a lot of optimism
in the room. The source material notes that they
unanimously adopted a statement on the fundamental
principles of faith and church polity. So they're
feeling good. Very good. They appointed a committee
to write a constitution. The idea was, if 10
synods ratified it, the general council would
officially be born. And it happened. In November
1867, they meet in Fort Wayne, Indiana. 10 synods
are on board. The general counsel is live. On
paper, this looks like a massive success story.
They broke away from the watered -down liberals
to form the pure conservative group. Mission
accomplished, right? Well, this is where the
theory of purity completely collides with the
reality of politics. Doesn't it always? Always.
You see, defining what you are against Schmucker
and his Americanization, that was easy. Everyone
in the room agreed on that. But defining exactly
what you were for in specific, granular detail
is much, much harder. Yeah. I noticed in the
notes that even at that first official convention
in Fort Wayne, some heavy hitters were conspicuously
absent from the roster. Yes. The Missouri Synod,
which is a massive player in this space, they
stayed out. They sent a letter essentially saying,
we're not ready to join. We want free conferences
to talk about theology first. They just didn't
trust that everyone in the general council was
actually on the same page yet. That is a big
red flag. Missouri is saying, You guys aren't
conservative enough for us yet. Exactly. And
then the Joint Synod of Ohio also declined to
join immediately. They sent representatives,
but just to talk. And this is where the drama
really kicks into high gear. The Ohio guys show
up and basically say, we love the idea of unity,
but we have some questions before we sign any
papers. Four questions, to be exact. The famous
four points. Yes, the four points of American
Lutheranism. And honestly, these four points
define the entire history of this organization.
The Ohio Senate and later others, like the Iowa
Senate, said they could not join unless the general
counsel gave clear, hard answers to these four
specific issues. Let's unpack these. Because
to a modern listener, some of these might sound
a little surprising. But in 1867, these were
the cultural battle lines. So point number one.
Point number one, chiliasm. Or millennialism.
This is the idea of a literal 1 ,000 year reign
of Christ on Earth before the final judgment,
right? Correct. Now, you might be wondering,
why is this a deal breaker? It seems like a weird
hill to die on. It really does. It seems like
a very specific theological detail to blow up
a whole union over. Like, I like your bylaws,
but I disagree about the exact timeline of the
apocalypse, so I'm out. Right. But for the strict
confessional Lutherans, chiliasm was associated
with enthusiasm and fanaticism. How so? They
felt it undermined the authority of the church
right now and the sacraments right now. Oh, I
see. If you are hyper -focused on some future
earthly kingdom, you might neglect the spiritual
kingdom that is present in the church today.
So the question Ohio asked was, Is this teaching
acceptable in Lutheran churches? Right. And the
nuance here is really important. The Iowa Synod
thought this was just an open question. Meaning
good Lutherans could agree to disagree. Exactly.
But Ohio. Ohio said absolutely not. They considered
it a heresy. They wanted the general council
to condemn it explicitly. They wanted a hard
no. Yeah. They didn't want a big tent where some
people believed in the thousand year reign and
others didn't. They wanted total uniformity.
So that's the first massive hurdle. Then we get
to points two and three, which are really closely
related. Mixed communion and exchange of pulpits.
Yes. These are strictly about boundaries. Mixed
Communion asks, can Lutherans practice open communion?
Can a non -Lutheran, say, a Presbyterian or a
Methodist receive the sacrament at a Lutheran
altar? Right. And then Exchange of Pulpits asks,
can a Lutheran pastor let a sectarian? Which
is their word for a non -Lutheran preacher. Yes.
Can they let a sectarian stand in their pulpit
and preach a sermon? It's basically who can eat
with us and who can talk to us. Exactly. It's
all about exclusivity. You have to understand
their logic. If you believe your doctrine is
the only purely correct one, which they did,
then letting a preacher from another denomination
teach your flock is seen as validating error.
It implies that the differences don't really
matter. Right. It's essentially saying If we
let the Methodists preach, we are telling our
congregation that Methodist theology is just
as good as ours. Correct. And for a group formed
explicitly to protect true Lutheranism, that
was a total non -starter for the Conservatives.
So Ohio is demanding a strict Lutherans -only
policy. Yes. Which brings us to the fourth point.
And this one is my personal favorite because
it feels so specific to the time period. Point
number four. Secret societies. Specifically,
can a member of a Lutheran congregation also
be a member of a lodge like the Freemasons? The
Masons. It always comes back to the Masons in
the 19th century. Always. Why was this such a
massive deal breaker for the church? I mean,
my grandfather was a Mason and a church deacon
and nobody batted an eye. Well, today we might
view the Masons as just a social club, you know,
a networking group. But in the mid 19th century,
this was a massive cultural war. Really? Oh,
yeah. Conservative Lutherans viewed these unchurchly
societies as having their own quasi -religious
rituals. They had their own prayers, their own
burial rites. Their own moral hierarchy. So it
wasn't just a club to them. It was a direct competitor.
Exactly. They felt you couldn't serve two masters,
you couldn't participate in the universalist
religion of the lodge on Tuesday, and then be
a faithful exclusive Lutheran on Sunday. So Ohio
wanted a total ban. No masons in the church.
Period. Period. So picture the scene. The general
council is just getting started. They are trying
to build this broad conservative coalition. Right.
And suddenly Ohio and Iowa are standing there
with a clipboard saying, we need a yes or no.
Are we banning masons? Are we banning non -Lutheran
preachers? Are we banning the idea of a thousand
-year reign? It was a trap. It really was. If
the General Counsel said, yes, ban everything,
they would alienate the more moderate members
from the East Coast, like the Pennsylvania Ministerium,
who were a bit more relaxed about these things.
But if they said, no, it's fine, they'd lose
the hardliners from the Midwest. So what do they
do? They blinked. They blinked. Yeah, they gave
a complete non -answer. The general council was
trying to hold together a very fragile coalition.
So what was their official response? They basically
said they weren't prepared to endorse a specific
position yet. They said they would refer the
matter to the district synods. Wow, that is the
most bureaucratic let me speak to my manager
response ever. We'll refer it to the districts
until we can see eye to eye. They were just hoping
for patience. They use all this language about
letting God's Holy Spirit and Providence guide
them to unity over time. They essentially said,
let's be friends first and we'll figure out the
rules later. Right. They believed that if they
just stayed together, the theological wrinkles
would iron themselves out. But the hardliners
Ohio and Iowa, they didn't want time. They wanted
answers. No. Iowa famously said they needed complete
and hearty agreement on practice immediately.
And because they didn't get it, Iowa refused
to complete its connection. They stayed in the
room, but they refused to join officially. And
Ohio just walked away. Yep. Missouri stayed out.
And it actually got worse. Over the next few
years, the Illinois Wisconsin, and Minnesota
Senates, who had originally been interested or
involved, they actually withdrew and left the
council entirely because of these disagreements.
That is a disaster. It really was. The general
council was formed to unite the conservatives,
but because they wouldn't be conservative enough
on these four points, they lost the most conservative
members. It effectively split the potential union
in half. The source material notes that the four
points arrested the realization of the original
plan, and damped the bright and somewhat sanguine
expectations of the founders. Sanguine expectations.
I love that phrasing. It's great. It means they
were super hopeful, flushed with optimism, and
then reality just hit them in the face. It really
highlights the difficulty of big tent conservatism.
You can't be a big tent if half the people refuse
to enter, if the other half is there. Right.
And the general counsel realized they were bleeding.
They couldn't just keep saying, oh, just ask
your local district. The agitation was constant.
Constant agitation. So in 1872, about five years
after the launch, they tried to fix it. Which
brings us to a very famous rule in Lutheran history.
The Akron -Galesburg Rule. This sounds like a
legal precedent. Akron -Galesburg. Why that name?
It's just named after the locations where specific
decisions were made. Akron, Ohio, and Galesburg,
Illinois. Oh, OK. But the rule itself was largely
crafted by Charles Porterfield Crouth. He was
the theological heavyweight of the general council,
right? Yes, exactly. And the rule is incredibly
catchy and blunt. It says Lutheran pulpits for
Lutheran pastors and Lutheran altars for Lutheran
communicants. Wow. OK, no ambiguity there. None.
That directly addresses the mixed communion and
exchange of pulpits points. It was the council
finally saying, OK, we hear you. We are strict.
We are exclusive. They explicitly stated that
exceptions to this rule were not a matter of
right, but of privilege and should be very, very
rare. They were trying to signal to the Midwest
Synods, look, we agree with you. Come back. But
here is the real question. Was it too little,
too late? Did this bring the Wisconsin or Minnesota
or Ohio Synods back into the fold? No, it didn't.
Not at all. Not at all. While it solidified the
identity of those who stayed, the trust was broken.
The synods that had left, like Wisconsin and
Minnesota, they eventually went off to form their
own alliance, the Joint Synod of Wisconsin. And
that body actually still exists today as the
Welles, which is a very conservative Lutheran
body. So the Four Points essentially created
a permanent fracture. The General Council failed
to unite all the conservatives. They did fail
in that primary goal. But, and here's where this
story gets really interesting, the General Council
didn't die. No. In fact, if you look at the numbers,
they thrived. How is that possible? They lost
the hardliners. They were already split from
the liberals. Who was even left? A lot of people.
You have to remember the context of immigration
at this time. Oh, right. Lutherans were pouring
into America from Germany and Scandinavia, and
the general council had very strong leadership,
specifically Theodore Emmanuel Schmuck, who served
as president from 1903 right up until the end.
Yes, by 1917. 50 years after that first shaky
start, the general council had 14 synods, over
1 ,600 pastors, and more than 524 ,000 confirmed
members. That's half a million people. That is
not a failed experiment. No, that is a substantial
denomination. Not at all a failure. They built
seminaries. They standardized liturgy. They became
a massive force in American religious life. They
managed to create a middle way between the Americanized
liberals and the ultra -strict Missourian conservatives.
But you mentioned the end a minute ago. Ah, yes.
The end of the General Counsel as a separate
entity. This is the twist ending that makes this
whole story so fascinating. Let's get to that.
The year is 1918. World War I is ending. The
world is changing rapidly. Anti -German sentiment
in America is at an absolute all -time high because
of the war. And the General Counsel decides to
do something massive. They decide to merge. But
who they merge with is the absolute shocker.
Don't tell me. They merge with the General Synod.
The General Synod. The very group they broke
away from in 1867. The exact same one. The Americanized
group they thought was ruining the faith. Yep.
Along with the United Synod of the South. These
three groups came together in 1918 to form the
United Lutheran Church in America. Or the ULCA.
Right. That is incredibly ironic. You spend 50
years fighting over the four points. You literally
split the church over masons and chiliasm and
purity, and then you just merge back with the
original group you left. What changed? That is
the big question historians debate. Part of it
was that the General Senate had actually become
more conservative over those 50 years, partly
due to the influence and pressure of the General
Council itself. Oh, interesting. But also, the
world had just changed. In the face of World
War I and modernism, the differences between
moderately conservative and strictly conservative
just didn't seem as life or death as they did
in 1867. It's like when you fight with a sibling
and then 20 years later you realize you have
more in common with them than anyone else just
because the rest of the world has changed so
much. That's a perfect analogy. However, there
was one notable exception to this big 1918 merger.
We have to mention the Augustana Synod. Right,
the Augustana Synod. They were the Swedish Lutherans
we mentioned earlier, right? They were part of
the General Council. Yes. They had been loyal
members of the General Council for decades, but
when this big merger happened, they decided not
to join the new United Lutheran Church. They
went their own way. They did. Why? Was it the
four point again? Not really. For the Swedes,
it was much more about cultural identity. They
feared that joining this massive English speaking
American church would erode their specific Swedish
heritage. So even in the Grand Reunion, there
is always someone who opts out to preserve their
specific identity. Always. So let's recap this
journey because it really is a roller coaster
of organizational dynamics. It really is. We
start with a group of Lutherans in the 1860s.
who feel their church is losing its soul to Americanization.
They break away to form the general council,
promising a return to the true faith. But almost
immediately, they are confronted with the four
points. The ultra conservatives demand strict
answers on millennialism, communion, pulpits.
and secret societies. The general council tries
to be diplomatic, which backfires completely.
The hardliners, Missouri, Wisconsin, Ohio, they
all walk out. The council eventually adopts the
strict Akron Galesburg rule to try and stop the
bleeding, which works to stabilize them, but
it doesn't bring the others back. They lose half
their potential members. but they survive. They
actually grow to over half a million people,
building a very distinct identity. And finally,
in 1918, under the pressure of a world war and
a changing society, they merge back with the
General Synod to create the United Lutheran Church
in America. It is such a perfect case study in
the tension between purity in unity. It really
is. When the general council formed, they drew
a circle to keep the Americanized liberals out.
But then the Ohio and Missouri synods drew an
even smaller circle to keep the general council
out. It's like a nesting doll of exclusion. Yes.
The source material puts it so well, the four
points kept the body in constant agitation. When
you make your identity entirely about what you
reject, whether it's masons or open communion,
you are constantly policing your own borders.
It consumes a huge amount of energy. Absolutely.
But they did eventually find a way back to a
larger union. Which makes me wonder if you could
go back in time to that heated meeting in Reading,
PA in 1866. Yeah. And tell them, hey, guys, relax.
In 50 years, you're practically all going to
be back together with the general senate anyway.
Would they have believed you? Oh, I doubt it.
The passions were just too high. They truly believed
the soul of the church was at stake over these
questions. To them, these weren't just policy
disputes. They were matters of eternal truth.
Right. They couldn't see the future where Americanization
would just become inevitable for all of them.
It really puts our modern disagreements into
perspective, doesn't it? It does. We argue about
plenty of things in corporate boards or community
groups, but I don't think I've ever ended a friendship
over whether someone believes in a literal thousand
year reign. Not yet, at least. But the underlying
dynamic, purists versus pragmatists, that happens
in every organization, from political parties
to your local HOA. That's very true. But here
is the provocative thought I want to leave you
with today. The General Council was formed because
they felt the General Synod was too Americanized.
They fought that battle for 50 straight years,
yet they ended up merging. Which really begs
the question. Did the general council succeed
in pulling the Senate back to tradition? Or did
50 years of American life simply render those
fierce four points irrelevant? Did the church
change the culture or did the culture eventually
just wear down the walls of the church? That
is the enduring question of assimilation. When
you fight the current, do you stop the river
or do you just eventually get tired of swimming?
Something to think about the next time you're
trying to get everyone to agree on a pizza topping.
Definitely. Thanks for diving in with us. That
was a pleasure. We'll see you on the next deep
dive.