The “pacific mandate” does not apply to Lutherans. Neither does it apply to Christians. If that were the case, it’d be shocking. In truth, of course, God’s mandate of peace, of just peacemaking, applies to all people and peoples. It pertains then to all Christian saints who, simultaneously as sinners and as creatures, stand under it.
 God’s “pacific mandate” surely pertains therefore to Lutherans, though not only to Lutherans. But, to say “not only” to Lutherans, while true in a technical sense, implies, “We’re no different from anyone else. Why single us out?” Lutherans, however, should be singled out. Indeed, I pray that God would single us out for the “pacific,” lest we again, sadly, neglect its pertinence. In this way, then, the pacific is our mandate.
 It’s time. Ponder the pacific. Our kairos has come! And pondering it, I’m convinced we’ll discern a more vigorous pacific vocation. Isn’t ELCA Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson getting at precisely that in his “President’s Address” at the Lutheran World Federation’s 2004 Council Meeting? “In our violent and war-torn world, let us as the LWF deepen our resolve to . . . together develop principles for a just peace that become as defining of us as have been the principles of just war.1”
 Thus far, Bishop Hanson is quite right. Let’s radicalize the Bishop’s point, just a little. Just peace is the first principle of the just war tradition.2 Indeed, as first principle just peace must normatively be the first priority, the overriding presumption of the just war tradition. Just peacemaking must not be hid under a bushel basket. But, let’s radicalize the Bishop’s point even more. As just peacemaking more firmly defines Lutherans, let’s deepen our resolve that just peacemaking be more defining of our governments. I’m sure this would be a friendly amendment to Bishop Hanson’s motion. Still, let’s radicalize the Bishop’s point a third time. As just peacemaking more firmly defines Lutherans, let’s deepen our resolve that just peacemaking be more defining of our economies, our civil society, our families, our . . . ; well, you get the picture.
 I’ll consider Bishop Hanson’s point in three steps. First, I will examine the “pacific presumption” of the just war tradition, a presumption routinely ignored. Second, I will explore in Luther a “pacific partiality” for just peacemaking practice. Third, I will suggest five ways that Lutherans might imagine a unified theory and practice of just peacemaking in hope of a “pacific proliferation” of Lutheran public vocation. Characteristically, Lutherans confess Christ’s freedom making, proclaimed in the Gospel by the Holy Spirit as the church catholic’s vocational bonding to God’s world for God’s world.
I. Pacific Presumption
 God’s “pacific mandate” establishes just peacemaking as the just war tradition’s basic presumption. Lutherans often forget this, precisely the forgetfulness that stands behind Bishop Hanson’s appeal. On the one hand, Lutherans characteristically stand within the just war tradition. We do so confessionally and rightly.3 On the other hand, we need a much, much better understanding of this tradition.4 Without better understanding, we’ll get exploited, again.
 Think “Thou shalt not kill” as the first commandment of the “just war tradition.” At first that thought might seem patently unwarranted. After all, war is always about killing, even when justifiably undertaken and prosecuted using “just war tradition5” criteria. War either violates God’s commandment or falls outside the commandment’s purview when constrained under certain criteria. In his Large Catechism, Martin Luther takes the latter position: “Therefore neither God nor the government is included in this commandment, nor is their right to take human life abrogated.6”
 Contrary to popular opinion, just war tradition takes God’s “not kill” command as its basic presupposition. By grounding itself upon a strong underlying presumption against war, just war tradition advocates restraint and admonishes any neglect of this presumption. Luther even encodes this presumption in the very title of his 1527 treatise, Whether Soldiers, Too, Can Be Saved7. When made explicit, this presumption paradoxically strengthens Luther’s insight that God exempts government from this commandment’s prohibition.
 During its first three centuries the church addressed ever more forthrightly the question of whether war can be justified in view of God’s “not kill” command.8 Church fathers treated the question of war within the social contexts of their times and in light of both the teachings of Jesus and the Ten Commandments, with the former receiving the bulk of attention. Some, like Athanasius in To Amun, treat war with reference to God’s “not kill” command.
One is not supposed to kill, but killing the enemy in battle is both lawful and praiseworthy. For this reason individuals who have distinguished themselves in war are considered worthy of great honors, and monuments are put up to celebrate their accomplishments. Thus, at one particular time, and under one set of circumstances, an act is not permitted, but when the time and conditions are right, it is both allowed and condoned.9
Both Augustine and Aquinas broach the question of justifiable war in their treatments of God’s “not kill” command.10
 Luther moves beyond Athanasius’s vague “but when the time and conditions are right” by using arguments drawn principally from Augustine, whom Aquinas and Calvin also follow. Augustine claims that God’s “not kill” command “allows certain exceptions” because God can indeed authorize killing.11 Aquinas puts it succinctly: “God has sovereign authority over life and death . . . .12” God’s authority, then, authorizes political authority to put criminals to death and to wage war at God’s bidding.
 Luther employs a twofold hermeneutic when he composes the catechetical meaning of the succinct yet comprehensive Fifth Commandment in his Small Catechism: “We are to fear and love God, so that we neither endanger nor harm the lives of our neighbors, but instead help and support them in all of life’s needs.13” First, “not kill” is a synecdoche that proscribes all violence whatsoever toward humans. The succinct “not kill” becomes comprehensive. Second, “not kill” includes a tacit affirmative which begins with Luther’s “but.” Notice again the comprehensiveness of Luther’s explicit affirmative.
 Luther drives this point home in his Large Catechism. First, the force of the “not”: “God wants to have everyone defended, delivered, and protected from the wickedness and violence of others and he has placed this commandment as a wall, fortress, and refuge around our neighbors, so that no one may do them bodily harm or injury.” Next the force of the tacit, comprehensive affirmative:
[T]his commandment is violated not only when we do evil, but also when we have the opportunity to do good to our neighbors and to prevent, protect, and save them from suffering bodily harm or injury, but fail to do so. If you send a naked person away when you could clothe him, you have let him freeze to death. If you see anyone who is suffering from hunger and do not feed her, you have let her starve. Likewise, if you see anyone who is condemned to death or in similar peril and do not save him although you have means and ways to do so, you have killed him. It will be of no help for you to use the excuse that you did not assist their deaths by word or deed, for you have withheld your love from them and robbed them of the kindness by means of which their lives might have been saved.
 Therefore God rightly calls all persons murderers who do not offer counsel or assistance to those in need and peril of body and life. He will pass a most terrible sentence upon them at the Last Day, as Christ himself declares[Matt. 25:42-43].14 The negative form of the commandment places a comprehensive, protective boundary around our physical life. The tacit affirmative sets in motion a comprehensive, life-generating bonding-and-bridging into the physical life of neighbors. The entire scriptures teach this tacit and comprehensive affirmative, notes Luther.15 In this way God’s Fifth Commandment establishes the “presumption” of just peacemaking thereby authorizing the “pacific mandate.”
II. Pacific Partiality
 Why, then, do many get the impression that Luther appears more partial to war than to peace? Or, using Bishop Hanson’s expression, why does Luther seem more defined by just war principles than by just peacemaking principles. The simplest explanation is that people often asked Luther about matters of war and he replied.
 In response Luther argues three points-of course he said other things as well. First, political authority rightfully bears “the sword” because it serves as a “mask of God.” Christians, therefore, may exercise offices of political authority as their vocation. A Christian can be a prince, for instance. Second, just war tradition categorically prohibits expansionist wars of desire. Third, just war tradition categorically prohibits holy war/crusade.16 We’ll look only at the first point because the prince who bears “the sword” in one hand must bear “the scepter” in the other. And God shapes “the scepter” according to just peace. This is the “mirror for the prince,” which Luther holds up. Mask and mirror, sword and scepter.
 Mask and Sword. Luther’s critical theology of political authority emerges over the full course of his life. Many, though not all, of its basic features are already in place in his 1523 well-known treatise, Temporal Authority: To What Extent It Should Be Obeyed17 (LW 45, 81-129). Luther addresses particular questions put to him by John the Steadfast, his soon-to-be prince. Now that he had become an ardent defender of the evangelical cause, John inquired of Luther whether he would be able to exercise the full range of powers of the princely office with a good Christian conscience. John was concerned specifically about the power of “the sword,” the coercive power of last resort that belongs in an exceptional way to political authority.18 Some Anabaptist sectarians were perturbing John with certain Bible passages like “do not resist an evildoer” (Matt. 5:39), “never avenge yourselves . . . vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord” (Rom. 12:19), and “do not repay evil for evil” (1Pet. 3:9). Such texts, claimed the Anabaptists, preclude all true Christian, including those occupying the office of prince, from exercising “the sword” either in a criminal court proceeding in order to keep the peace or analogously in a justifiable war. Luther, like Augustine, draws the analogy between criminal peacekeeping and just war peacekeeping.
 Luther also had to counter the normative medieval interpretation of passages like those from the Sermon on the Mount. According to that interpretation, a prince could bear “the sword” and remain a Christian in good conscience because these teachings applied only to those who were specifically dedicated to “Christian perfection,” namely, members of a monastic order or the sacerdotal priesthood. Accordingly, princes need not be held accountable to such high “counsels of perfection,” since they, being lay, remained “common” Christians. Luther roundly rejected such scholastic, interpretive “wantonness and caprice.” Among Christians there exists no external “class” distinction between the perfect and the common based on status markers like “outwardly male or female, prince or peasant, monk or layman” (LW, 45, 88). Here, Luther’s doctrine of vocation comes into play. Passages, such as those from the Sermon on the Mount, “apply to everyone alike” (LW, 45, 88).
 A second historical factor situates Luther’s reflections. In his earlier 1520 treatise, To the Christian Nobility of the German Nation, Luther appealed to the Christian nobility as laypeople to take the reform of the church into their own hands, since the German bishops had not. Luther noted that the political authority of rulers was not delegated to them hierarchically from the church and its bishops, as the dominant heritage of papal political theology held. His provocative assessment of political authority left many wondering whether, by so emancipating political authority from the church, he had ascribed unlimited, totalitarian powers to political authority. Could princes, with legitimate authority, command as God’s will “whatever they please”? And correspondingly, were their subjects “bound to obey their rulers in everything” as they would obey God’s will (LW, 45, 83)? Luther addressed this question in part two of Temporal Authority. He stakes out the extent and limits of political authority and its power of the sword (LW, 45, 104). According to Luther, political authority has no authorization to coerce faith. In this way, the subtitle of his treatise is telling: To What Extent It Should Be Obeyed! In part three Luther offers his own practical advice concerning the use of the prince’s office in a Christian manner. His remarks bear the stamp of a political layperson’s imagination, as he himself acknowledges.
 Luther begins part one by citing Romans 13:1-2 and 1 Peter 2:13-14. These texts authenticate the constitution of political authority’s obligation of “the sword” as “a godly estate” (LW, 45, 87) and thereby testify that God is the primary agent behind “the law of this temporal sword” (LW, 45, 86).19 Luther argues that Gen. 4:14-15 and 9:5-6 strengthen the first two texts by emphasizing that the law of the political sword has “existed from the beginning of the world,” after the Fall. Luther interprets, for example, Gen. 9:5 in light of the Decalogue’s “not kill” command and Gen. 9:6 in relation to God’s establishment of political authority with its power of “the sword” (LW 2, 139-141). God has found ways to inscribe this law into human community from the beginning of time, even though, he notes, communities have also found ways to have this divine work of the sword “not carried out.” The famous lex talionis of Exod. 21:23-25, along with verse 14, certifies that Moses “confirmed” this inscribed-from-the-beginning law of the political sword. Matthew 26:52 and Luke 3:14 also “confirm” it. Luther’s conclusion: “Hence, it is certain and clear enough that it is God’s will that the temporal sword and law be used for the punishment of the wicked and the protection of the upright” (LW, 45, 87). 1 Peter 2:14 (LW, 45, 86) and Rom. 13:3 (LW, 45, 91) warrant preventing wickedness and promoting uprightness, the twofold criterion of God’s will regarding the full range of political authority, including its power of “the sword.”
 Luther argues that, because of humanity’s condition, God constitutes the full horizon of the first use of the law in general and political authority with its coercive sword. Humanity is composed of both righteous Christians and the unrighteous. Righteous Christians hear and trust the voice of Christ; thus the Holy Spirit works through their agency, directing the righteous to do right and bear wrong. By the Spirit, therefore, righteous Christians “do of their own accord much more than all laws and teachings can demand, just as Paul says in 1 Timothy 1[:9], ‘The law is not laid down for the just but for the lawless'” (LW, 45, 89). Throughout Luther’s career, 1 Tim.1:9 remained a hermeneutically significant text.20 Accordingly, God constitutes the law not with righteous Christians in view.
 Luther was always keen to recognize that many baptized Christians are so in name only and thus waste the Holy Spirit’s agency for conducting their lives in love of neighbor. “Christians are few and far between (as the saying is)” (LW, 45, 91). Luther numbers such false Christians among the unrighteous. The unrighteous, readily in the majority by Luther’s calculus, live without the Spirit of Christ as the core agent of their lives and thus “need the law to instruct, constrain, and compel them to do good21” (LW, 45, 89). Luther remains a wide-eyed realist about sin and evil. He equally remains a wide-eyed realist about the triune God’s creational resolve to contest against sin and evil for the sake of creation! For this reason God has provided them [the unrighteous] a different government beyond the Christian estate and kingdom of God. He has subjected them to the sword so that, even though they would like to, they are unable to practice their wickedness, and if they do practice it they cannot do so without fear or with success and impunity. (LW, 45, 90) This is the sword that serves as dike and remedy against sin (remedium peccati). In Whether Soldiers Too Can Be Saved Luther enlarges the sword to include a justified war. For the very fact that the sword has been instituted by God to punish the evil, protect the good, and preserve peace (Rom. 13:1-4; 1 Pet. 2:13-14) is powerful and sufficient proof that war and killing along with all the things that accompany wartime and martial law have been instituted by God. (LW, 46, 95)
 Luther’s realism about sin and evil leads him to reflect on possible relationships of power wherein the “wolves, lions, [and] eagles”-the hoarders and inhibitors of God’s temporal, creational banquet-among us (LW, 45, 92) would simply “devour” the “sheep” (LW, 45, 91)-the most vulnerable among us and, indeed, all of us in our vulnerabilities. If such a lax situation persists, temporal life and flourishing would eventually be “reduced to chaos” (LW, 45, 91). Always mindful of oppressive and violent wickedness, the triune God constitutes two modes of governing the world, each with its own integrity with regard to divine purpose and power: “the spiritual, by which the Holy Spirit produces Christians and righteous people under Christ; and the temporal, which restrains the un-Christian and wicked so that-no thanks to them-they are obliged to keep still and to maintain an outward peace” (LW, 45, 91). Here Luther employs his comprehensive, remarkably enduring, and fruitful distinction between law and gospel with its accompanying distinction between the triune God’s two ways of ruling the world, often referred to as Luther’s two-kingdoms teaching.22
 Following Augustine, Luther notes that even the sword is a temporal work of love.
Now slaying and robbing do not seem to be works of love. A simple man therefore does not think it is a Christian thing to do. In truth, however, even this is a work of love. . . . [W]hen I think of a soldier fulfilling his office by punishing the wicked, killing the wicked, and creating so much misery, it seems an un-Christian work completely contrary to Christian love. But when I think of how it protects the good and keeps and preserves wife and child, house and farm, property, and honor and peace, then I see how precious and godly this work is; and I observe that it amputates a leg or a hand, so that the whole body may not perish. . . .
What men write about war, saying that it is a great plague, is all true. But they should also consider how great the plague is that war prevents. (LW, 46, 96)23
 Luther’s view of the integrity of political authority under God critically distinguishes his theological reflection from both the papal theology of his time and the sectarian account of political authority. Given the divinely constituted integrity of both governments, “it is out of the question” that Christians should attempt to govern the whole world or even a single country by the kind of non-coercive, free and freeing spiritual governance of the gospel (LW, 45, 91, 93, 107-108). For this reason, there exists a special Christian vocation that “carefully distinguish[es] between these two governments. Both must be permitted to remain; the one to produce righteousness, the other to bring about external peace and prevent evil deeds. Neither one is sufficient in the world without the other” (LW, 45, 92).
 Jesus and the Pacifist Question. Readied with this “both” kingdoms hermeneutic, Luther turns to the significance of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. Christians are to have no recourse to civil law or to political authority’s sword in two types of circumstances: “among themselves” (LW, 45, 92, 94) and “by and for themselves” (LW, 45, 94). First, within their community Christians are not to seek recourse in the law or in the sword of political authority. Second, Christians have no need for the sword if what is at stake is only their own well-being (LW, 45, 95). The second circumstance flows from another basic distinction in Luther’s construal of the relationship of Christians to the sword: the distinction between self and neighbor.
 Since a true Christian lives and labors on earth not for himself alone but for his neighbor, he does by the very nature of his spirit even what he himself has no need of, but is needful and useful to his neighbor. Because the sword is most beneficial and necessary for the whole world in order to preserve peace, punish sin, and restrain the wicked, the Christian submits most willingly to the rule of the sword, pays his taxes, honors those in authority, serves, helps, and does all he can to assist governing authority, that it may continue to function and be held in honor and fear. Although he has no need of these things for himself-to him they are not essential-nevertheless, he concerns himself about what is serviceable and of benefit to others, as Paul teaches in Ephesians 5 (LW, 45, 94).24
 Luther views political authority itself as wholly an office “on behalf of others” (LW, 46, 122). A prince who corrupts his office by exercising political authority in order “to rejoice in his [own] power and wealth and honor, . . . [t]hat kind of prince would start a war over an empty nut and think nothing but satisfying his own will” (ibid.). Luther argues that these three sets of distinctions-between the triune God’s two ways of ruling, between church and world, and between self and neighbor-bring “into harmony” the two sets of biblical texts that on the surface appear contradictory. On the one hand, Christians do not resist evil with the sword either among themselves or for their own survival or gain. On the other hand, Christians are “under obligation to serve and assist the sword by whatever means [they] can, with body, goods, honor, and soul” in order to resist evil when oppressors afflict others. “For [the sword] is something which you do not need, but which is very beneficial and essential for the whole world and for your neighbor”; indeed, “[t]he world cannot and dare not dispense with it” (LW, 45, 95). By so serving and assisting even the sword, “in what concerns the person or property of others,” argues Luther, “you govern yourself according to love and tolerate no injustice toward your neighbor” (LW, 45, 96).
 Christians participate in the whole panoply of the civil use of the law and, more narrowly, in the office of political authority, including its coercive and restraining sword, because these exist as God’s own “work and creation” (LW, 45, 99). They are God’s “masks” (larvae dei) for creating and sustaining the temporal life of the world (LW, 45, 96-100; also LW 14, 112-123; and LW 26, 94-96). “For the hand that wields this sword and kills with it is not man’s hand, but God’s; and it is not man but God who hangs, tortures, beheads, kills, and fights. All these are God’s work and judgment” (LW, 46, 96). By serving and assisting the office of political authority with its sword, Christians participate in God’s creative agency. It is often with this sense of ardent participation in God’s creative agency that Luther commends “obedience” in reference to temporal authority. Furthermore, because God constitutes political authority, including the sword, “for the neighbors’ good,” such authority extends into the great variety of offices that “arrest, prosecute, execute, and destroy the wicked and [that] protect, acquit, defend, and save the good” (LW, 45, 103). Finally, because divinely constituted political authority exists to serve the neighbors’ good, Christians can even “use their office like anybody else would his trade, as a means of livelihood” (LW, 45, 103).
 We have concentrated so far on how Luther addresses the first two classic questions posed within the general framework of the just war tradition up until his time, the pacifism question and the authority question, about which John the Steadfast asked. Luther’s response typifies the just war tradition.
 The Scepter, the Mirror, and Pacific Partiality. God establishes “the scepter,” the old symbol of just peacemaking, as the wide circumference within which “the sword” receives its legitimacy. God is partial to the scepter, prefers the scepter. One might say the scepter is God’s “preferred look” for the divine mask. Luther says things like this frequently in his writings, though only seldom does he sustain such an argument.25 Many classic Christian theologians have known this. Not always have they emphasized it, to put it mildly. The consequences have been tragic, sometimes, disastrous. God’s partiality for just peacemaking has not been sufficiently asserted and argued by the great portion of the church catholic, as Bishop Hanson rightly points out.
 Luther’s treatises where he has argued for God’s pacific partiality have not, by a long shot, matched the fame of dozens of other treatises on different subjects. This speaks more about his heirs than about him, of course. Here, we’ll look at one treatise and take responsibility to promote it.
 Luther’s Commentary on Psalm 82 (1530) is a “mirror of the prince.” In this standard genre within Western literature, a wise and respected person writes a treatise which functions like a mirror for the ruler in his or her vocation. Upon waking each morning the ruler looks intently into the mirror and sees the normative portrait which then daily becomes him.26 In Luther’s biblically imagined mirror political authority exists for the public good and thus to honor God.27 “All this is written because it is God’s will to establish and maintain peace among the children of Adam for their own good” (LW 13, 44). We’ll focus on only four characteristic elements that the public good needs: the accountability of political authority, the admonitory duty of preachers, and the two-fold criteria of justice and peacemaking.
1. God stands in the congregation of God,
And is Judge among the gods.
2. How long will you judge unjustly
And prefer the persons of the godless?
3. Judge the poor and the orphan
And help the wretched and needy to justice.
4. Rescue the small and poor man,
Deliver him out of the hand of the godless
5. But they know nothing and consider nothing,
They go in darkness;
All the foundations of the land must fall.
6. I said, indeed: “You are gods
And all together children of the Highest.
7. But you shall die like men,
And fall like a prince.”
8. Arise, O God, and judge the earth,
For Thou dost inherit among the heathen.
 Luther considers all the offices of political authority to be the “gods” of the psalmist’s poetic imagination. Luther links this not only to St. Paul’s teaching in Rom. 13:1-4, as he routinely does, but also to King Jehoshaphat’s teaching about rulers in 2Chron. 19:6: “Consider, what you are doing, for you judge not on behalf of human beings but on the Lord’s behalf; he is with you in giving judgment.” The office of political authority exercises divine agency in the world and “therefore it is rightly called a divine thing, godlike, or gods” (LW 13, 44). Political authority’s accountability starts with its divine institution.
 Jehoshaphat’s teaching does not stop with God’s institution of the office of political authority, and neither does Luther. As we noted earlier, Luther prohibits rulers from considering themselves autonomous and doing arbitrarily “whatever they please.” For this reason Jehoshaphat instructs the “gods” in “the fear of the Lord.” “Now, let the fear of the Lord be upon you [in political office]; take care what you do, for there is no perversion of justice with the Lord our God, or partiality, or taking of bribes” (2Chron. 19:7). “The fear of the Lord” is the biblical trope for accountability.
 Luther treats both the rulers and ruled, both the “gods” and the “congregation,” because the psalmist addresses both. He turns his mirror steadily toward the prince. But neither are the gods to be proud and self-willed. For they are not gods among the people and overlords of the congregation in such a way that they have this position all to themselves and can do as they like. Not so! God Himself is there also. He will judge, punish, and correct them; and if they do not obey, they will not escape. (LW 13, 45) And again: “He keeps down the rulers, so that they do not abuse His majesty and power according to their own self-will but use them for that peace for which He has appointed and preserves them” (ibid.).
 God stays firm with political authority precisely because political communities are “God’s congregation.” Luther waxes eloquently with the psalmist.
 Observe that he calls all communities or organized assemblies “the congregation of God,” because they are God’s own, and He accepts them as His own work, just as (Jonah 3:3) He calls Nineveh “a city of God.” For He has made, and makes, all communities. He still brings them together, feeds the, lets them grow, blesses and preserves them, gives them fields and meadows, cattle, water, air, sun and moon, and everything they have, even body and life, as it is written (Gen. 1:29). For what have we, and what has all the world, that does not come unceasingly from Him? But even though experience ought to teach us this, He has to say it in plain words, and openly confess and boast that the communities are His . . . that a community is God’s creature and His ordinance . . . [and not] come into existence by accidents, through people holding together and living side by side in the say way murderers and robbers and other wicked bands gather to disturb the peace and ordinance of God . . . . But David know it very well when he says (Ps. 24:1, 2): “The earth is the Lord’s and those who dwell therein; for He has founded it upon the seas and built it upon the waters”; and his son Solomon says (Ps. 127:1): “Except God keep house and city, the builder and the watchman build and watch in vain.” . . .
 Such communities are God’s work, which He daily creates, supports, and increases, so that they can sit at home and beget children and educate them. Therefore this word is, in the first place, a great and pleasant comfort to all those who find themselves situated in such a community. It assures them that God accepts them as His work and His creation, cares for them and protects and supports them, as we can, in fact, see with our own eyes. . . . For this word “congregation of God” is a precious word . . . . (LW 13, 46-47)
 As we see, God holds authorities accountable for how they rule because God creates these communities to thrive. But how will God exercise this accountability? What will be God’s this-worldly media for doing so? Living in the sixteenth century, Luther doesn’t have much of a democratic imagination, at least not in reference to political communities. There’s no government “of the people, by the people, for the people.” So, how does “the fear of the Lord” happen?
 Where, then, is God? Or how do we become sure that there is a God who thus rebukes? Answer: You hear in this place that “He stands in the congregation.” Where His congregation is, there you will find Him. For there He has appointed priests and preachers, to whom He has committed the duty of teaching, exhorting, rebuking, comforting, in a word, of preaching the Word of God. (LW 13, 49)
 Luther stresses the public character of the admonitory duty of the preaching office by noting that God “stands.” “Observe, however, that a preacher by whom God rebukes the gods is to ‘stand in the congregation.’ He is to ‘stand’: that is, he is to be firm and confident and deal uprightly and honestly with it; and ‘in the congregation,’ that is, openly and boldly before God and men” (ibid.). Not surprisingly, Luther does not withhold criticism for preachers who, when the situation demands it, do not speak truth to power and do not do it publicly-the twin sins of “unfaithfulness” and “backbiting.”
There are many bishops and preachers in the ministry, but they do not “stand” and serve God faithfully. On the contrary, they lie down or otherwise play with their office. These are the lazy and worthless preachers who do not tell the princes and lords their sins. In some cases they do not notice the sins. They lie down and snore in their office and do nothing that pertains to it except that, like swine, they take up the room where good preachers should stand. These form the great majority. Others, however, play the hypocrite and flatter the wicked gods and strengthen them in their self-will. . . .
The other sin is called backbiting. The whole world is full in every corner of preachers and laymen who bandy evil words about their gods, i.e., princes and lords, curse them, and call them names, though not boldly and in the open, but in corners and in their own sects. But this accomplishes nothing except to make the evil worse. . . .
So, then, this first verse teaches that to rebuke rulers is not seditious, provided it is done in the way here described: namely, by the office to which God has committed that duty, and through God’s Word, spoken publicly, boldly, and honestly. To rebuke rulers in this way is, on the contrary a praiseworthy, noble, and rare virtue, and a particularly great service to God, as the psalm here proves. It would be far more seditious if a preacher did not rebuke the sins of the rulers; for then he makes people angry and sullen, strengthens the wickedness of the tyrants, becomes a partaker in it, and bears responsibility for it. Thus God might be angered and might allow rebellion to come as a penalty. The other way-when the lords are rebuked as well as the people, and the people as well as the lords (as the prophets did)-no one can blame anything on the other person. They have to bear with one another, be satisfied, and be at peace with one another. (LW 13, 49-51)
 In Luther’s account, the psalmist advances three criteria which shape the office of political authority and underlie admonition: honor God’s Word by allowing it to be freely heard (Ps. 82:2); pursue justice for poor, orphaned, and widowed people (Ps. 82:3); and proliferate peacemaking (Ps. 82:3). We’ll look only at Luther’s reflections on the last two, leaving the complexities of the first criterion for another time.
 Luther notes the far-reaching effects of furthering justice and the cause of the most vulnerable. “For this virtue includes all the works of righteousness” (LW 13, 53). Establishing laws grounded in justice is like building a grand hospital.
 See now what a hospital such a prince can build! He needs no stone, no wood, no builders; and he need give neither endowment nor income. To endow hospitals and help poor people is, indeed, a precious good work in itself. But when such a hospital becomes so great that a whole land, and especially the really poor people of that land, enjoy it, then it is a general, true, princely, indeed, a heavenly and divine hospital. For only a few enjoy the first kind of hospital, and sometimes they are false knaves masquerading as beggars. But the second kind of hospital comes to the aid only of the really poor, widows, orphans, travelers, and other forlorn folk. Besides, it preserves rich or poor, his living and his goods for everyone, so that he does not have to become a beggar or a poor man. If the law were not kept, no one could keep anything from another, and all would have to become beggars together and be ruined and destroyed. However, there are many who are not beggars and do not become beggars. For them the overlord is providing in this hospital. For so to help a man that he does not need to become a beggar is just as much of a good work and a virtue and an alms as to give to a man and to help a man who has already become a beggar. (LW 13, 53-54)
 Luther calls the psalmists third criterion or virtue “peacemaking” (LW 13, 55). In his mirror he does not sharply distinguish peacemaking, which involves primarily making just laws, from peacekeeping, which involves enforcing these laws with the sword. Rather, he oscillates between them. But he’s clear on the following point: “Law is wisdom and should be the first of the two; for government by force without wisdom does not last” (LW 13, 55). As he does with justice, Luther stresses the far-reaching effects of peacemaking.
Now, who can recount all the benefits that come from this third virtue? One would first have to tell what the benefits of peace are, and what harm the absence of peace does. But who on earth is so eloquent and so wise that he would undertake to recount the whole of both of these things? . . . I could more easily count the sand on the seashore or the leaves and the blades of grass in the woods. (LW 13, 55-56)
Indeed, “where peace is, there is half a heaven. . . . [L]ack of peace may be counted half a hell, or hell’s prelude and beginning” (LW 13, 55).
 Luther rounds out his mirror of pacific partiality with the following:
In a word, after the Gospel or the ministry, there is on earth no better jewel, no greater treasure, nor richer alms, no fairer endowment, no finer possession than a ruler who makes and preserves just laws. Such people are rightly called gods. These are the virtues, the profit, the fruits, and the good works that God has appointed to this rank in life. It is not for nothing that He has called them gods; and it is not His will that it shall be a lazy, empty, idle estate, in which people seek only honor, power, luxury, selfish profit, and self-will. He would have them full of great, innumerable, unspeakable good works, so that they may be partakers of His divine majesty and help Him to do divine and superhuman works. (LW 13, 54-55)
 In his Large Catechism Luther memorably recommends a breadloaf as the preferential symbol of political authority. “It would therefore be fitting if the coat of arms of every upright prince were emblazoned with a loaf of bread instead of a lion.”28 In short, God would have political authority proliferate just peacemaking. In fact, God would have countless vocations proliferate just peacemaking.29
III. Pacific Proliferation.
 Surely, the “breadloaf’s” time has come! What does this mean? It means that Lutheran convictions commit us to enlarging just peacemaking as the comprehensive environment for the just peacekeeping that just war tradition also recognizes as necessary but never, never sufficient or preferred. Just peacemaking characterizes the Lutheran normative default conviction and commitment. Pacific proliferation always starts and ends in just peacemaking. In fact, proliferation will happen among us to the extent that peacemaking practices permeate us. Five things will help Lutherans imagine a more unified pacific theory and practice.
 First, Lutherans can learn much from historic pacifist traditions. The varieties of the pacifist tradition have practiced expertise in just peacemaking. “Pacifism is a complex and subtle range of value positions on morality, peace, and war, not the stereotyped extreme of conventional wisdom. The varieties of pacifism have emerged within a just-warist value tradition, to some degree building on and extending that tradition.”30 Pacifism in each variety has two sides: the “critical” side and the “positive” side. The critical side, for instance in “principled pacifism,” stands for “no war, no violence, no sword, by anyone under any circumstances.” Pacifism’s positive side means “to work tirelessly, vigorously, and endlessly for the establishment of peace normed by justice.” On the one hand, Lutherans, honoring the just war tradition, will not adopt the critical side of pacifism. This has most often been the primary, even only, topic of conversation between the just war tradition and the variety of pacifist traditions. On the other hand, Lutherans have every reason in the world to honor and be allied with the historic pacifist traditions-represented, for example, by Mennonites and Quakers-as they have developed and practiced the positive side of just peacemaking.
 Twenty-five researchers-Christian ethicists, biblical and moral theologians, peace activists, conflict resolution practitioners, and international relations scholars-have initiated a discussion of just peacemaking theory and practice across the more established paradigms of pacifist traditions and just war tradition.31 They have developed an initial road map of ten broad practices: support nonviolent direct action; take independent initiatives to reduce threat; use cooperative conflict resolution; acknowledge responsibility for conflict and injustice and seek repentance and forgiveness; advance democracy, human rights, and religious liberty; foster just and sustainable economic development; work with emerging cooperative forces in the international system; strengthen the United Nations and international efforts for cooperation and human rights; reduce offensive weapons and weapons trade; and encourage grassroots peacemaking groups and voluntary associations. These are fruitful directions.
 Second, the pacific mandate requires sapiential roots. The time has come for Lutherans to recover in a vigorous way our sapiential conviction. That is, in God’s left-hand ruling of the world we must take “account of worldly wisdom,” as Luther puts it in another of his “mirrors for the prince.”32 These are complex issues that need careful attention today. Lutherans shirk them, which we’re doing, at our peril. With his vibrant doctrine of God’s twofold ruling of the one world Luther rebuffed a slide toward Christian theocracy.
To be sure, God made the secular government subordinate and subject to reason, because it is to have no jurisdiction over the welfare of souls or things of eternal value but only over physical and temporal goods, which God places under human dominion, Genesis 2:8ff. For this reason nothing is taught in the Gospel about how it is to be maintained and regulated, except that the Gospel bids people honor it and not oppose it. Therefore the heathen can speak and teach about this very well, as they have done. . . . God is a gentle and wealthy Lord. He casts much gold, silver, wealth, dominions, and kingdoms among the godless, as though it were chaff or sand. Thus He casts great intelligence, wisdom, languages, and oratorical ability among them, too, so that [at times] His dear Christians look like mere children, fools, and beggars by comparison. . . . Those who set down the law had to be experienced in big deals and to be familiar with the thinking of many people; for this they had been endowed with a high degree of intelligence and brains. . . . Therefore, whoever wants to learn and become wise in secular government, let him read the heathen books and writings. They have truly painted it and portrayed it quite beautifully and generously, with both verses and pictures, with teachings and examples; and they became the source for the ancient imperial laws. I am convinced that God gave and preserved such heathen books as those of the poets and the histories, like Homer, Virgil, Demosthenes, Cicero, Livy, and afterwards the fine old jurists-as He has also given and preserved other temporal goods among the heathen and godless at all times-that the heathen and godless too might have their prophets, apostles, and theologians or preachers for the secular government. (LW 13, 198-199)
Historically, Lutherans, following Luther, have called such convictions natural law moral reasoning. With the re-emergence of Christian theocracy in our own time and place we would do well to develop a critical realist account of natural law moral reasoning. Lutherans are overdue here.
 Third, the public work of justice gains wisdom and legitimacy when solidly rooted in works of mercy. Lutherans have historic, rich experience and expertise in the traditional six works of mercy of Matt. 25: feeding the hungry, quenching the thirsty, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, healing the sick, and befriending the imprisoned. Now is the time to reconnect Lutheran congregations to this history. I’m thinking now about Lutheran Services in America (LSA).33
 Nearly three hundred social ministry organizations make up LSA. It represents nearly $10 billion in annual revenue. This makes LSA the largest civil society organization in the United States. The National Council of YMCAs is second at under $5 billion; American Red Cross, Catholic Charities USA, United Jewish Communities, Goodwill Industries International, and Salvation Army all come in at $2-3 billion in that order.
 Lutheran congregations have on the whole lost track of this story. What a tragedy! This heritage even originated, by and large, in the very congregations that now suffer the amnesia. It’s not hopeless, however. LSA’s first mission policy/desired outcome is “valued identity-being Lutheran in social ministry is identifiable, valued and supported by social ministry organizations, church bodies, and communities.” LSA itself can build this valued identity by collaborating with Lutheran congregations in meaningful, concrete ways. This will also incite the mercy work of congregations.
 As works of mercy expand, congregations will also enlarge their imagination for works of justice. Another of LSA’s five mission policies/desired outcomes is a “unified voice-Lutheran social ministry organizations have an effective voice for service and justice to church, to government and to society.” Mutual collaboration will expand both mercy and justices ministries-indeed, each through the other. Further, public policy makers more readily attend to calls for justice when they are infused with a moral epistemology rooted in genuine works of mercy. These kinds of collaborations will help Lutherans “step forward as a public church,” the third of five strategic directions of the ELCA.34 Best of all, of course, neighbors needing mercy and justice will get both, and thus enlarge their participation in the well-being of God’s world.
 Fourth, what the world needs now is publicity, sweet publicity. More than ever just peacemaking in our time entails profound publicity. By “publicity” I do not mean public relations. Far from it! “Publicity” entails sturdy accountability to wider publics, to other nations as well as to the rapidly emerging publics of global civil society. I propose adding “publicity” to the ten peacemaking practices listed earlier. Publicity could be considered part of one or two of the others. But, it deserves room of its own! It’s that crucial to just peacemaking.
 Without repeating what I’ve recently written in this journal about publicity, let me say this much here.35 Democracy, both as idea and as practice, stands at a crossroads today. A critical theory of democracy distinguishes three basic forms of democracy: liberal, aristocratic, and deliberative. The differences matter. I’ve argued elsewhere for deliberative democracy and its practices. Publicity is a key hermeneutic of deliberative democratic practices. As public accountability publicity entails moral vigilance within nations and among nations. It entails the moral vigilance provided by international institutions and especially by global civil society. And, moral vigilance contributes to the effectiveness of civic international publicity. Now’s the time to count the ways that world Christianity has been hearing a call from God to vocations of civic international publicity. Now’s the time to multiply those vocations. The pacific mandates practicing publicity.
 Fifth, I nominate prayer as a twelfth peacemaking practice. In fact, the previous eleven find their source and their summary in prayer. The close encounter between prayer and publicity especially deserves serious attention, which must wait for another day. The pacific itself mandates prayer.
1 Mark Hanson, “President’s Address,” at http://www.lutheranworld.org/LWF_Documents/2004-Council/President_Address_EN.pdf
2 There are good reasons, though I won’t explore them here, for not using the notion of “principles” regarding the just war tradition.
3 Robert Kolb and Timothy J. Wengert, eds., The Book of Concord: The Confessions of the Evangelical Lutheran Church, trans. Charles Arand, et al (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000), Confessio Augustana XVI:1-2, p. 49.
4 Here, I will not go into the specific criteria of the just war tradition. For brief, accessible primers on the basics of just war theory see James Turner Johnson, “Just War,” in The Westminster Dictionary of Christian Ethics, eds. J. Childress & J. Macquarrie (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1986); also A. F. Holmes, “Just-War Theory,” in New Dictionary of Christian Ethics and Pastoral Theology, eds., D. Atkinson et al. (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1995). For thorough standard accounts of just war tradition see Paul Ramsey, The Just War (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1968); Michael Walzer, Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument with Historical Illustrations (New York: Basic Books, 1977; James Turner Johnson, Just War Tradition and the Restraint of War: A Moral and Historical Inquiry (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1981).
5 For my own description and analysis of the just war tradition and its criteria for engaging in war see “Puckering up for Postmodern Kissing: Civil Society and the Lutheran Entwinement of Just Peace/Just War” and “Congregational Strategies for Invigorating Lutheranism’s Just PeaceMaking Tradition” both in Journal of Lutheran Ethics, and “‘Thou Shalt Not Kill’-The First Commandment of the Just War Tradition,” in The Ten Commandments: The Reciprocity of Faithfulness, ed. William Brown (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), pp. 248-265.
6 Kolb and Wengert, p. 410. Strictly speaking according to Luther, we would have to consider “thou shalt not kill” as the second commandment of the just war tradition. Luther establishes “thou shalt have no other gods before me” as the first commandment of each of the other nine.
7 In Luther’s Works, American Edition, 55 vols. (Philadelphia: Fortress Press; St. Louis: Concordia Publishing House, 1955-1986), 46 (hereafter LW). The United States Conference of Catholic Bishops has rightly noted that the just war tradition entails a “strong presumption against the use of force”; see The Harvest of Justice Is Sown in Peace, (United States Conference of Catholic Bishops, 1993), at http://www.usccb.org/sdwp/harvest.shtml
8 Here, I cannot enter into the debate regarding what has become something like “the standard account.” In this account Jesus was a political pacifist and so was the church of the first three centuries. Then came the Constantinian compromise of the just war. The progressive slide away from pacifism continued into the era of holy war-crusade. Roland Bainton is the most noteworthy proponent of this telling (see Christian Attitudes toward War and Peace (New York: Abingdon Press, 1960)), which has taken hold not only within pacifist traditions but also within the mainstreams of the just war tradition. James Turner Johnson has undertaken an extensive study and concluded, “The problem is that this [now standard] account of early Christian history is both dead wrong and misleading in its depiction of the historical evidence” (see The Quest for Peace (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1987), p. 9). Johnson finds rudimentary just war arguments and attitudes at least one hundred and fifty years prior to Constantine thus forestalling a “convenient scapegoat like Constantine to [be the] blame for the alleged loss of moral purity in the Church’s attitude to war and the military” (p. 15).
9 Patrologia Graeca, Migne, 26.1173 (translation provided by Louis Swift, The Early Fathers on War and Military Service (Wilmington, DE: Michael Glazier, 1983), p. 95.
10 One notable place where Augustine treats the relationship between God’s “not kill” command and justifiable war is in The City of God 1.21(New York: Fathers of the Church, volume 8, 1950). Thomas Aquinas’s treatment of just war within the context of God’s “not kill” command can be found in The Commandments of God: Conferences on the Two Precepts of Charity and the Ten Commandments (London: Burns Oates & Washbourne, 1937), pp. 57-58 and in Summa Theologica 2-2.64.3-4. It is now common for contemporary theologians to raise the question of just war when treating the ten commandments. For examples, see Walter J. Harrelson, The Ten Commandments and Human Rights, revised edition (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), p. 92; Paul L. Lehmann, The Decalogue and a Human Future (Grand Rapids, MI, 1995) p. 165; Terrence Fretheim, Exodus (Louisville, KY: 1991), pp. 232-234; Jan Lochman, Signposts to Freedom: The Ten Commandments and Christian Faith (Minneapolis, MN: Augsburg, 1982), pp.104; William Barclay, The Ten Commandments for Today (New York: Harper & Row, 1973), PP. 78-93
11 Augustine, op. cit. For an excellent overview of the relevant issues in Augustine, Aquinas, and Calvin, see Lisa Sowle Cahill, Love Your Enemies: Discipleship, Pacifism, and Just War Theory (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1994), pp. 55-118.
12 Aquinas, Summa Theologica 2-2.64.6
13 Kolb and Wengert, p. 352.
14 Ibid., p. 412. John Calvin also says it elegantly: [I]n negative precepts, as hey are called, the opposite affirmation is also to be understood; else it would not be by any means consistent, that a person would satisfy God’s Law by merely abstaining form doing injury to others. . . . Nay, natural common sense demands more than that we should abstain form wrong-doing. And, not to say more on this point, it will plainly appear from the summary of the Second Table, that God not only forbids us to be murderers, but also prescribes that every one should study faithfully to defend the life of his neighbor, and practically to declare that it is dear to him; for in that summary no mere negative phrase is used, but the words expressly set forth that our neighbors are to be loved. It is unquestionable, then, that of those whom God there commands to be loved, He here commends the lives to our care.
See John Calvin, Commentaries on the Four Last Books of Moses Arranged in the Form of a Harmony, vol. 3, trans. Charles W. Bingham (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1950), p. 20-21.
15 See Luther, Commentary on Psalm 1, LW 14, 296. Terrence Fretheim observes that the negative form is “pertinent” in that the commandments “focus on the outer limits of conduct rather than specific behaviors. . . . Yet the commands implicitly commend their positive side. . . . There is a certain comprehensiveness in their ties to a considerable range of life experience . . . .” See Terrence Fretheim, Exodus in Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching, ed., J. Mays (Louisville: John Knox Press, 1991), p. 221. Karl Barth, borrowing Albert Schweitzer’s phrase, interprets the “not kill” first under “respect [reverence] for life” and only then under “protection of life.” See Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics (Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1957), 3.4:324 -397. Walter Harrelson notes the “sweeping generality” of this commandment, “surprising in its scope.” See Walter J. Harrelson, The Ten Commandments and Human Rights, revised edition (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1997), p. 89.
16 I analyze of the last two points in Simpson, “‘Thou Shalt Not Kill'” pp. 257-262.
17 For my account of Luther’s critical theology of political authority see Gary M. Simpson, “Toward a Lutheran ‘Delight in the Law of the Lord’: Church and State in the Context of Civil Society,” in Church and State: Lutheran Perspectives, eds. John Stumme and Robert Tuttle (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2003), pp. 20-50.
18 “The sword” was that synechdochal figure of speech commonly used in Luther’s day to refer to political authority’s coercive power.
19 Here Luther is following Augustine in, for example, Reply to Faustus the Manichean, vol. IV, The Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, ed. Philip Schaff (Buffalo: Christian Literature Co., 1887), 22.71-76, pp. 299-302. Aquinas also follows Augustine here (see Summa Theological 2-2.40.1). In reference to the Ten Commandments Luther locates political authority within the purview of “Honor thy father and thy mother.” See my “Toward a Lutheran ‘Delight in the Law of the Lord,'” pp. 26-29.
20 See Gerhard Ebeling, Word and Faith (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1963), 73-74.
21 Of course Luther invariably knows that because the old Adam always clings to this life, he is describing Christians qua Christian, that is, “to the extent that he is a Christian” (LW, 26, 134). See also, for example, Luther’s reflections on baptism and holy communion in the Large Catechism (Kolb and Wengert, pp. 456-480). In Temporal Authority Luther also takes up the second, theological or spiritual use of the law, whereby the Holy Spirit convicts of sin and drives to Christ. But the spiritual use of the law is not our primary concern in this inquiry.
22 For a noteworthy interpretation of Luther’s teaching of two kingdoms and two regiments see William H. Lazareth, Christians in Society: Luther, the Bible, and Social Ethics (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001).
23 See Augustine, “Letter 189 To Boniface,” Saint Augustine: Letters, vol. 4 (165-203), trans. Wilfrid Parsons, SND, vol. 30 of The Fathers of the Church, ed. Roy J. Deferrari (New York: Fathers of the Church, Inc., 1951), p. 269).
24 This distinction is ubiquitous in Luther’s theological and ethical reflection. See, for instance, Temporal Authority (LW, 45, 95-96, 101, 103, et al). Besides Scripture itself, it’s likely that Augustine tutors Luther on the distinction between for self/for other (see Augustine, “Letter 47 To Publicola,” Saint Augustine: Letters, vol. 1 (1-82), trans. Wilfrid Parsons, SND, vol. 12 of The Fathers of the Church, ed. Roy J. Deferrari (New York: Fathers of the Church, Inc., 1951), p. 230). Likewise, Ambrose tutors Augustine (see On the Duties of the Clergy, 3.3.23 in St. Ambrose: Select Works and Letters, eds. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace, vol. 10 of Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, second series, (New York: Christian Literature Co., 1896), p. 71). It’s Ambrose, in fact, who bequeaths to Augustine the distinction between just and unjust war (see Ambrose, op. cit., 1.35.176-177).
25 For Luther on the scepter see LW 12, 236-247.
26 LW 13, 142-172. The most famous “mirror of the prince” is Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince, written within a decade of Luther’s and in sharp contrast.
27 “For, in Scripture, to have a long life means not merely to grow old but to have everything that belongs to life-for example, health, spouse and children, sustenance, peace, good government, etc., without which this life cannot be enjoyed nor will long endure.” In his catechisms Luther locates political authority within the Fourth Commandment (see Kolb and Wengert).
28 Fourth Petition of the Lord’s Prayer in the Large Catechism (Kolb and Wengert, pp. 450-451).
29 Gustav Wingren’s warning is noteworthy at this point. He trenchantly criticizes interpreters who reduce Luther’s notion of the civil use of the law to merely “an association with politics,” which Luther himself sometimes did (Creation and Law (Philadelphia: Muhlenberg Press, 1961), p. 153).
30 Robert Phillips and Duane Cady, Humanitarian Intervention: Just War vs. Pacifism (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1996), pp. 32-33. For other expositions of the varieties of pacifism see John Howard Yoder, Nevertheless: The Varieties and Shortcomings of Religious Pacifism (Scottsdale, PA: Herald Press, 1992); also Edward LeRoy Long, Jr., War and Conscience in America (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1968).
31 See Glen Stassen, ed., Just Peacemaking: Ten Practices for Abolishing War (Cleveland: Pilgrim Press, 1998). “Abolishing” in the subtitle is not, however, the right category. Also see Jeffrey Gros & John Rempel, eds., The Fragmentation of the Church and Its Unity in Peacemaking (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001).
32 See Luther, Commentary on Psalm 101 in LW 13, 199.
33 For Lutheran Services in America see www.lutheranservices.org. For the comparative revenue cited in the following paragraph see Nonprofit Times November 1, 2002.
34 For the ELCA’s strategic directives go to www.elca.org.
35 Gary M. Simpson, “Hope in the Face of the National Security Strategy: Three Readings and Patriotic Publicity,” Journal of Lutheran Ethics 5.5 (May 2005) at http://www.elca.org/jle/article.asp?k=529. Also see Simpson, “Hope in the Face of Empire: Failed Patriotism, Civic International Publicity, and Patriotic Peacebuilding,” Word & World 25 (Spring 2005):127-138.