Luther at the Movies

My miserable, execrable assistant has posted a review of World Trade Center on the First Things website. While I have not had a chance to see this picture, given certain painful exigencies, I am sure his judgment is to be trusted in this matter.

I know what you are thinking, my Lutherans: Why, O why, are you being so cordial to someone whom you have systematically abused with such abandon and delight? You have even used his name!

Ach—what a time I've had of it! I must admit to certain...difficulties that have arisen of late and with which my Chief Inferior has agreed to help me cope.

It all began last weekend, when I STUPIDLY asked Calvinus to answer the questions to the Book Tag that is making its way through Confessing Lutheran Blogland. WHAT WAS I THINKING? First, he comes back with "Holy Scriptures," "Holy Scriptures," "Holy Scriptures"—nine times "Holy Scriptures."

"Yes, we are all impressed with your love for the Word, you French-fried jackanapes. What do you think I read all those years in Wittenburg—toothpaste packages?! Did you even look at these questions? Book you wish had never been written—to which you reply 'Holy Scriptures'! Go back and do this again, and spare us the pluperfect piety!"

So I am fast asleep, my Lutherans, dreaming that I am conducting a study of the Book of Galatians with Dina Meyer, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Kirsten Dunst. Suddenly, I am awakened by "you know who." That Picardian nincompoop is standing over me with another copy of his book list. I struggle to keep my eyes open long enough to read nine Latin titles so obscure, I have no reason to believe they had even been written, never mind read!

Imagine my frustration! Dina, Michelle, and Kirsten—gone. And here is Johannes Calvinus in his jammies and stupid Genevan headgear, smug as a bug in a rug. I leapt out of bed (well, "leapt" is a relative term, given my bulk), grabbed four feet of raw twine (which I keep at the ready at all times), and began choking him! Yes! The Old Adam was revived with a vengeance! Calvinus began kicking at the walls, waking the rest of the house and finally bringing hotel security to our front door.

We were warned that if there were any more complaints about our behavior (there had been 75 so far), we would be expelled from the premises.

I released Calvinus from my grip and went back to bed, fuming.

Then the next night, I'm again fast asleep, helping Elke Sommer (circa 1965) with her catechism, when I hear a young woman scream. First, I think perhaps I have tripped and fallen atop Ms. Sommer and crushed her delicate bits. Then I realize it's coming from the common room. I "leap" out of bed only to find one of the young hotel maids running out the front door half-dressed. And there is Zwingli with that unctuous smile of his. It seems he had invited one of the staff to play some stupid party game called Twister and wound up a tangle of extremities.

Next thing we all knew, we were all of us on the street, nowhere to go. I immediately cried out to Our Lord for help, for guidance, for a decent all-night Chinese place—when that idiot angel reappeared.

"I didn't ask to speak to you! Be gone! Go back to wherever you angels hang out. Los Angeles, no doubt! Get it? Angel...Los Angeles...The Angels...Get it?"

"Shut up, you Saxon stinkpot! The Lord has heard your prayer. He will alleviate your suffering—why I have no idea—as well as this obviously futile attempt at ecumenical rapprochement, but only on the condition that you be reconciled to your assistant and do as he says."

"Rapprochement? And what fancy school did you go to? Oooooh, listen to me, I say rapprochement and foie gras and tintinnabulation....ooooh—" And with that, this angel from hell blew me through the front doors of K-Mart and right into the "Back to School" ring-binder aisle.

"Reconciliation—or you will return to the abode of the undead." And he disappeared, leaving behind a faint odor of Old Spice and barbecued chicken. Don't ask...

When I returned to the street, the whole sixteenth-century gang was gone: No more Zwingli, Calvinus, Brenz, Jonas, et al. I was finally at peace! But I had to seek out my assistant. Seeing as the sun was just appearing over the East River, I decided to get coffee and think up a good ruse.

Ah! I would appear at my assistant's place of work and make nice with his colleagues. Once I had won over the staff, he would have to be accommodating.

And so I walked into the offices and introduced myself. "I am Martin Luther, Doktor." I was then regaled with 72,000 questions: "Do you now repudiate The Bondage of the Will seeing as the Lutheran churches do not teach double predestination? Do you believe Philip Melanchthon faithfully represented your views? Would you have ever left the Catholic Church if you could have foreseen the 29,000 Protestant denominations? Is confession a sacrament or isn't it? Do you approve of the congregational form of church governance? Exactly how fat are you?"

Before I had a chance to open my mouth, my assistant popped his head from his office. "You. In here."

He already knew the score and laid down the ground rules. I was to stop abusing him. I was to stop calling him names. I was to stop making anti-Italian slurs. I was to stop eating after 10pm. I was to stop hogging the remote. I was to stop cursing in German. I was to stop playing "Sugar, Sugar" by The Archies morning, noon, and night. I was to apologize to his next-door neighbor for calling her a spastic hyena. I was to stop eating with my fingers. I was to stop slopping Hershey's chocolate sauce over my breakfast cereal. I was to stop praying for fire from heaven to fall on my enemies. I was to stop making enemies morning, noon, and night. I was to start wearing underwear."

"And what have you been doing in the past three months—getting a law degree? All these rules! This...this is a violation of my constitutional rights!"

"You're DEAD. You have no rights. You don't even have a functioning lymphatic system."

"Fair point. All right. I will accede to all your demands, except two. I must be allowed to call you one harsh name and make two ridiculing remarks per blog post."

"And?"

"I WANT MY CHOCOLATE SAUCE!"

So here I sit, my Lutherans, back in the cozy confines of Queens, New York, watching repeats of Becker, munching Almond Joys and the occasional Krackle. "And bring me my Dinkelacker, you Mediterranean Menace!" Ah ha ha ha! It doesn't get better than this!