The reason Christians argue so much about the sacraments is because, deep down, they matter.
Let’s be honest. The church has been arguing about the sacraments for so long, you’d think they were debating barbecue recipes in the South. And you know how that goes—everybody’s grandmother has the real one. Whole denominations have split, friendships have dissolved, and scholars have written books thicker than a phone book (back when we had those) trying to explain who’s right about baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and how exactly God shows up in water, bread, and wine.
And here you are—an ordinary Christian who just wants to know if God loves you, forgives you, and won’t let you go.
That’s why I’ve written this post about sacraments for the rest of us. This is not for the pastors and theologians who enjoy sword-fighting over obscure Latin phrases or what Peter Lombard wrote in ad 1150, but for the poor souls who are hungry, thirsty, and tired of wondering if they measure up.
Why All the Fuss?
The reason Christians argue so much about the sacraments is because, deep down, they matter. If they didn’t matter, nobody would bother. The sacraments are the places where heaven collides with earth, where God’s promises get attached to something as ordinary as tap water or grocery store wine.
But leave it to us religious folks (and especially those of us who serve as pastors) to make a mess of it. We’ve turned what should be a party into a courtroom.
It’s a little like a family Thanksgiving. Somebody always wants to argue about politics at the table, and before you know it, the turkey’s cold and aunt Sylvia has stormed out. Meanwhile, the rest of us just wanted to eat stuffing and watch football.
In the same way, while the theologians are duking it out about “real presence” or “baptismal modes” the rest of us are sitting there with empty plates saying, “Would somebody please pass the bread before we starve to death?”
Christ at the Center
Here’s what Luther discovered, and what the Lutheran tradition has never stopped shouting (even when nobody’s listening, which is most of the time): the sacraments aren’t about us. They’re about Christ. Period.
Baptism isn’t your dramatic testimony about how serious you are about Jesus. It’s Jesus grabbing you by the scruff of the neck, dunking you into his death, and hauling you back out into his resurrection life. The whole thing is his work, not yours.
When Christ is at the center, the sacraments stop being puzzles to solve and become gifts to receive.
The Lord’s Supper isn’t a potluck to prove how sincere you feel when you contemplate the memory of his crucifixion. It’s Jesus handing you his very body and blood and saying, “Here. You keep forgetting I love you, so I’ll shove my love into your mouth.”
You see, when Christ is at the center, the sacraments stop being puzzles to solve and become gifts to receive.
The Sacraments are Gospel, Not Law
If you hear nothing else, hear this: the sacraments are gospel, not law.
The law says, “Do this and live.” The gospel says, “Christ did this; trust in it and enjoy your new life.” The law is a ladder you can’t climb. The gospel is a rescue helicopter that comes down and lifts you up.
That’s why the sacraments are good news. They aren’t hoops to jump through so God will be nice to you. They are the divine delivery system for a promise that’s already true: “You are forgiven. You belong. You’re mine. Deal with it!”
If baptism were law, it would mean God was waiting to see if we got it done right. If the Lord’s Supper were law, it would mean we’d better examine ourselves to death to prove we were worthy to approach the table. Who would pass that exam? I surely wouldn’t.
And if that’s all the sacraments are—tests, tasks, rules—then let’s be honest. They provide little to no comfort at all.
It’s like being told, “Dinner is ready, but you can only eat if you first run five miles, memorize the Gettysburg Address, and sing the National Anthem in tune.” Most of us wouldn’t make it past the five miles. And we’d go hungry.
When They Become Law
Still, a lot of churches have a habit of turning the sacraments into law (even those in my own tribe). It’s in our DNA. We want control, and the law gives us the illusion of control.
Instead of being a feast for sinners, the Supper becomes a gated community for those who’ve met our threshold of righteousness.
So we tell people, “You can’t come to the Lord’s Table unless you’ve jumped through our denominational hoops.” Or we say, “Your baptism doesn’t count because it wasn’t done by our guy, in our way, with our stamp of approval.”
Do you see what happens? Instead of the sacraments giving comfort, they steal it. Instead of being a feast for sinners, the Supper becomes a gated community for those who’ve met our threshold of righteousness. Instead of baptism drowning your guilt, it drowns you in doubts.
That’s why Luther was so stubborn. He knew that unless the sacraments are Christ’s gift, they’ll be turned into spiritual performance reviews. And I don’t care how good of an employee you are, nobody finds comfort in a performance review.
Gifts for the Hungry and Thirsty
So what if we stopped arguing for just a minute and listened to what the sacraments actually say?
- In Baptism, God says: “I have marked you with my Name. You are forgiven. You are mine” (Matt 28:19-20; Acts 2:38; Rom 6:3-4).
- In the Lord’s Supper, God says: “You keep forgetting, so here’s forgiveness you can taste. Here’s grace you can drink. Here’s my body and blood for you” (see 1 Cor 11:23–26).
That’s not law. That’s gospel. That’s not a to-do list. That’s a done list.
And that’s exactly what the rest of us need—the weary, the doubters, the ones who are terrible at keeping promises.
The sacraments are anchors for the soul when everything else feels slippery.
We’re forgetful people. Life pounds us down, and our own consciences whisper lies at 2 a.m. We wonder if God has finally had enough of us.
That’s why the sacraments are such a big deal. They’re not abstract theology; they’re concrete mercy. When you stumble back to the table again (and again), it’s not because you finally figured out how to be good. It’s because you need Jesus, and he never stops giving himself away.
When you remember your baptism, it’s not because you were strong and faithful back then. It’s because God was strong and faithful, and he still is.
The sacraments are anchors for the soul when everything else feels slippery.
For the Rest of Us
So, sacraments for the rest of us? They’re not prizes for the spiritual elite. They’re not theological riddles for ivory-tower debates. They’re the places Christ has promised to show up—water splashed on your head, bread and wine pressed into your hands and mouth—so you’ll never forget that you’re forgiven, loved, and never alone.
We need sacraments not because we’re worthy, but because Christ is.
And if you get that—if you see that the sacraments are pure Gospel—you’ll find yourself running, not walking, to the font and to the table. Because in a world of bad news, these are God’s relentless delivery of good news.
