History

Martin Luther, part IX – Diet of Worms Aftermath

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After the Diet of Worms, Charles had returned to Spain. To conduct the affairs of state during his absence, had had appointed a Diet of Regency to administer from Nuremberg. The main business which brought the diet together was the inroads of the Turks. Soliman’s armies had made progress to a degree that it struck terror to the nations of Europe. At the diet, Chieregato, the papal nuncio, presented himself. Through Adrian VI, in common with the rest of Europe, was concerned about the Turks, his greater concern, and the one he sought to share with the diet, was for the rapid spread of Luther ‘s ideas in Germany. He longed to see them deal with Luther as Peter had struck Ananias and Sapphira with sudden death for lying against God.

On entering Germany, the nuncio found himself met with less than overwhelming enthusiasm. As Chieregato passed along, he raised his two fingers, after the usual manner, to bless the people, only to have them respond by raising theirs, to show how little they cared for either himself or his benediction. Though this was mortifying, greater mortifications awaited him.

Arriving in Nuremberg, he found, to his great dismay, that the pulpits were occupied by Protestant preachers and the churches were filled with attentive listeners. Upon presenting the diet with his concerns, they informed him that Nuremberg was a free city and that the magistrates were largely Lutheran. Frustrated, he next intimated that he might take matters into his own hands and, on his own authority, apprehended the ministers himself, in the pontiff’s name. The Archbishop of Mainz, and others, informed him that if he embarked on such a risky course, they would immediately quit the city and leave him to deal with the indignant burghers as best he could.

Greatly baffled and humiliated by the little reverence that he had received, the nuncio approached the diet. He admitted to past abuses by the Church but pointed out that Adrian was sincere in his desire to work reform. He was even ready to admit that corruption extended throughout the whole church; but he went to great lengths to urge that those who would push for reforms with too great haste should have nothing but the stake. He therefore urged the diet to execute the imperial edict of death for heresy upon Luther . As regarding the reforms that Adrian proposed to work out, he would neither move too precipitously nor too extremely; it must be done gently, and by degrees. Luther , in translating the papal brief into German, with marginal notes, interpreted this to mean a few centuries between each step.

The Diet Favors Reform

The diet responded by telling Adrian that the idea of executing the Edict of Worms against Luther would be madness. To put to death the Reformer for advocating the very changes that Adrian admitted of being necessary would be no less unjust than dangerous, as it would certainly deluge Germany in blood. Luther must be refuted from the Scriptures, since Luther ‘s writings were in the hands of the people. They knew of only one way that his controversy could be settled, and that was by a General Council. They therefore called for such a council to be held in a neutral town in Germany within the year and included a demand that both laity, as well as clergy, would have a seat and voice in it. Such an unpalatable request was made even more odious by the addition of “Hundred Grievances,” a terrible catalogue of the exactions, frauds, oppressions, and wrongs that Germany had suffered at the hands of the popes.

Chieregato, sensing that he had overstayed his welcome, promptly left Nuremberg, leaving it with someone else to be the bearer of the unwelcome tidings to the pontiff.

In due time, the decree of the diet reached Rome. The otherwise meek Adrian was beside himself with rage. Not only had the diet refused to execute the Edict of Worms and burn Luther and called for a General Council, but they had enumerated a hundred grievances that needed to be addressed. Only thinly veiled was the threat that if the pope failed to act, there were others who would. Seating himself, Adrian poured forth a torrent of threatenings that was more bitter than anything yet to have emanated from the Vatican. Frederick of Saxony, against whom the denunciation was aimed, placed his hand on the hilt of his sword when he read it. Luther, however, who was the only one of the three who was fully in control of his temper, quietly but firmly insisted that no one was to fight for the gospel. The peace was preserved.

Charles V would gladly have brought luther to the stake, had he the power to do so; but in Germany, he could act only so far as the princes would go with him. Consequently, it was the low countries to which he directed his displeasure. In Brussels, on July 1, 1523, three stakes were erected and the first of many martyrs were burned for their faith. This apparent victory for the powers of darkness was but the signal for its defeat. Luther received the news of their death with thanksgiving, knowing that a cause which had produced martyrs bore the seal of Divine authentication and was sure of victory. In the words of Erasmus, “Wherever the smoke of their burning blew, it bore with it the seeds of heretics.” Wylie, History of Protestantism, book 1, 490

Adrian’s Policies Reversed

Adrian lived to hear of the death of these youths, but in September of the same year, he died; and with him passed all interest in reforming the Church. Cardinal Guilio de Medici, an unsuccessful contender for the papal crown in the previous election, was more successful this time. Ascending to the pontifical throne under the name of Clement VII, he hastily reversed the policy of his predecessor.

As Clement assumed his duties, wherever the eye might turn, there was trouble. Two powerful kings were fighting in Italy; the Turks were threatening the Austrian frontier; but the most troublesome, and that which caused the greatest concern, was the situation in Wittenberg. Leo X had underestimated the threat. Adrian had thought to blunt it by working reforms in the church, but both had met with signal failure. Clement determined that for his part, he would prove himself an abler pilot; he would act as a statesman and a pope.

In the spring of 1524, Nuremberg was the scene of the second Imperial Diet. The pope’s first concern was to choose the right man to represent the interests of the Church. The man of his choosing was Cardinal Campeggio. An astute envoy, his great ability and experience seemed to qualify him as best. His journey to the northern Italian border was like a triumphal march; but upon crossing the German border, all tokens of public enthusiasm forsook him. Upon his arrival at Nuremberg, he looked in vain for the usual procession of magistrates and clergy to bid him welcome. As an ordinary traveler, the proud representative of Clement made his way, unescorted, through the streets and entered his hotel.

Campeggio’s instructions were to first of all soothe the Elector of Saxony, who was still smarting from Adrian’s furious letter. Second, he was to make any promise necessary and use whatever diplomacy that was required to bring the diet into submission. Having accomplished these preliminary tasks, he was to attend to Luther. If only the monk could be brought to the stake, all would be well.

A Plea for Loyalty to Rome

The papal nuncio presented himself to the diet. In addressing the princes, he alluded to his devotion to Germany, which had led him to accept this difficult mission when all others had declined. He described the tender solicitude of the pope for his flock. He could not, however, refrain from expressing wonderment that so many great and honorable princes should suffer the religion wherein they were born and in which their father’s had died, to be ill-treated and trampled upon. He begged them to consider what the end of such a course must be, namely, a universal uprising by the people against their rulers and the destruction of Germany. As for the Turks, it did not seem necessary that he should say much, as all knew of the threat that they posed to Christianity.

The princes listened with respect and thanked him for his goodwill and kindly counsel. The matter most pressing, however, and that for which they desired an answer, was the matter of the list of grievances which they had submitted to Rome; they would like to know if the pope had returned an answer and what that answer might be.

Feigning surprise, Campeggio replied that, “As to their demands, there had been only three copies of them brought privately to Rome, whereof one had fallen into his hands; but the pope and college of cardinals could not believe that they had been framed by the princes; they thought that some private persons had published them in hatred of the court of Rome; and thus he had no instructions in that particular.” Ibid., 491. Campeggio’s answer was met with mixed indignation and anger.

Charles had been prevented from attending because of his war with France, but he sent his ambassador, John Hunnaart, to complain that the diet had not enforced the Edict of Worms and to demand that it be put to execution—in other words, that Luther be put to death and the gospel proscribed in Germany.

The deputies, realizing the impossibility of such a thing, dissented; but Campeggio and Hunnaart insisted that they should put into effect the edict to which they had been consenting parties. The diet was in a quandary as to what course to pursue.

The Edict of Worms Nullified

Though they did not dare to repeal the edict, they finally hit upon a clever device for appeasing the pope without arousing the wrath of the people. They passed a decree saying that the Edict of Worms should be rigorously enforced as far as possible. For all practical purposes, it was a repeal of the edict, for the majority of the German states had already declared that it was not possible to enforce. While seeming to have gained a victory, Campeggio and Hunnaart had in reality met defeat, the first of more to come.

Undaunted by the signal failure of past councils to be an end in settling abuses and ending all controversies, the princes, haaving successfully nullified the emperor’s ban, next moved to demand a General Council. The papal legate and the envoy of Charles V both offered stout resistance, but to no avail. They presented to the princes what an affront such a resolve would be to papal authority, what an attack on the prerogatives of the pontiff. The princes, however, remained unchanged in their determination to call for a council and decreed that a diet should assemble at Spires in November. In the mean time, the free towns of Germany were encouraged to express their minds relative to the abuses to be corrected and the reforms to be instituted so that when the council met, the diet might be able to speak in the name of the Fatherland, demanding the reforms that the nation wished.

Sensing a political climate that favored the spread of the gospel, the Protestant preachers continued to preach the gospel with increased zeal. There were two cathedrals in Nuremberg and both were filled to overflowing with attentive audiences. The mass was forsaken, as were images, and the Scriptures were explained according to the early church fathers. The papal legate had the humiliating experience of being jostled in the streets by the throngs hurrying to the Protestant meetings, but there was nothing he could do about it. Germany seemed closer than at any previous time to a national reformation.

It was not only Clement’s authority that was tottering in Germany for if the German states should break away from the Roman faith, the emperor’s influence would be so greatly weakened as to be irreparable damaged. The imperial dignity would be so shorn of its splendor as to threaten the emperor’s schemes, leaving their implementation impracticable.

As alarmed as were the papal nuncio and Charles’s representative, it paled relative to the concern in the Vatican. Clement comprehended at a glance the full extent of the disaster that was threatening the full extent of the disaster that was threatening the papal throne; the half of his kingdom was about to be torn from him. He determined to leave no stone unturned to prevent at all costs the meeting scheduled to take place at Spires. Meanwhile, all eyes now turned to Spires where the fate of popedom was to be decided.

As preparations for the fateful meeting were in progress, the consternation of the Romish party was in proportion to the success of the princes friendly to the Reformed faith. To meet the challenge, Campeggio adopted the old policy of “divide and conquer.”

The Ratisbon Reformation

Withdrawing from the diet, Campeggio retired to Ratisbon where he set to work to form a party among the princes of Germany. Drawing around him Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria; the Dukes of Bavaria; the Archbishop of Salzburg; the Bishops of Trent and Ratisbon; and later the princes of southern Germany; he represented to them that should Wittenberg triumph, it would spell the end of their power as well as the dissolution of the existing order of things. He assured them that the prosperity of the papacy was closely linked with their own welfare. To avert these terrible evils, the princes passed a resolution that called for a ban on the printing of all of Luther’s books, the recall of all youth from their dominions, and no toleration for changes in the mass or public worship. In short, they determined to wage a war of extermination against the new faith. Offsetting these stern measures, they promised a few mind reforms.

The legate had done his work well, and now the pope urged Charles to act against a threat that was a greater detriment to the throne than was Rome. Charles needed no urging, having been stung to the quick by what he viewed as a usurpation of his authority by the princes in seeking to convene a diet. He informed them in sharp terms that it belonged to him as emperor to demand of the pope that a council be convoked and that he and the pope alone were the judge as to a fitting time to convoke such an assembly. Furthermore, he informed them that until such a council should be summoned, it was their responsibility to confine themselves to enforcing the previous Edict of Worms. He further forbade the meeting of the diet at Spires under penalty of high treason and the ban of the empire. The princes eventually submitted, and the proposed diet never met.

Persecution Renewed

Archduke Ferdinand and the papal legate, journeying together to Vienna, determined that to successfully carry out the league, the sword must be unsheathed. Gaspard Tauber of Vienna was charged with the crime of circulating Luther’s books. The idea was circulated that he was disposed to recant. Two pulpits were erected in the churchyard of St. Stephen’s. From the one Tauber was to read his recantation, while from the other a priest was to magnify the act as a new triumph for the Roman Church. Tauber arose and to the amazement of the waiting crowd, made a bolder confession of his faith than ever before. He was immediately dragged to execution, decapitated, and his body thrown to the flames.

This fanatical rage continued for some time and extended even to some parts of northern Germany. From the humble peasant to magistrate on his bench, there was no safety to be found. The countryside swarmed with spies.

While its enemies were forming leagues against the Reformation, new friends were stepping out of the ranks of the Romanists to place themselves on its side. No sooner had the members of the league left Ratisbon, than the deputies of the towns, whose bishops had taken part in the alliance, in surprise and indignation, met at Spires, declaring that their ministers, in spite of the prohibition of the bishops, should preach the gospel. Before the end of the year, the deputies of these cities, with many nobles, met and swore a mutual defense pact.

While the cities were aligning themselves with the Reformation, many princes were also joining the cause.

In early June of 1924, as Melancthon was returning from a visit to his mother, he met a brilliant train near Frankfort. It was Philip, the landgrave of Hesse, who three years earlier had met Luther at Worms. Philip was on his way to Heidelberg, where all the princes of Gemany were to be present at a tournament. Being informed by one of his attendants that it was Melancthon approaching, the young prince quickly rode up to the doctor and asked, “Is your name Philip?” “It is,” replied the surprised scholar. Somewhat intimidated, Melancthon prepared to dismount. “Keep your seat,” said the prince; “turn around, and come and pass the night with me; there are some matters on which I desire to have a little talk with you.” D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, book 10, chap. 8

The two Philips rode side by side, the prince asking questions, and the doctor answering them. The landgrave was impressed by the clear answers he received. Upon parting, the landgrave asked that Melancthon, upon further study, send him a replay to his questions in writing.

Shortly after returning from the tournament at Heidelberg, the prince published an edict, in opposition to the league of Ratisbon, allowing the free preaching of the gospel in his territory.

Other princes, including the King of Denmark soon followed in the same direction, lending their influence to the Reformation.

Charles V and the pope had opposed a national assembly at Spires for fear that it would release the Word of God, but, like the dawn spreading across the land, it made itself manifested in every part of the empire, attesting to the truth that the Word of God cannot be bound.

Martin Luther, part VIII – Leaving Worms

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On April 26, Luther, attended by twenty gentlemen on horseback, passed in peace through the gates of the city from which no one had ever expected to see him come alive. As he left, he said, “The devil himself guarded the pope’s citadel; but Christ has made a wide breach in it, and Satan was constrained to confess that the Lord is mightier than he.” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, chapter 11.

On the evening of April 27, Luther reached Frankfort where he took the first leisure that he had experienced in a long time. From there he wrote to Lucas Cranach, the celebrated painter. He said, “I thought his majesty would have assembled some fifty doctors at Worms to convict the monk outright. But not at all.—Are these your books?—Yes!—Will you retract them?—No!—Well, then, be gone!—There’s the whole history. O blind Germans! . . . how childishly we act to allow ourselves to be the dupes and sport of Rome!” Ibid.

In a private conversation at Worms, Spalatin made known to Luther that for a time his liberty must be sacrificed to the anger of Charles and the pope. Though he knew nothing of the details, he was made aware that he would not be returning to Wittenberg.

On the ninth day after leaving Worms, Luther and several of his remaining traveling companions separated. Luther and Amsdorff struck northward to the town of Mora to visit Luther’s grandmother, while the rest of the party continued on to Wittenberg. Luther spent a quiet evening in the small town and the next morning resumed his journey. They had reached a lonely spot near the Castle of Altenstein in the forest of Thuringia when suddenly they found themselves surrounded by five, masked horsemen, who were armed from head to foot. Without saying a word, James, Luther’s younger brother immediately sprang from the wagon and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. The driver was ordered to stop and would have resisted, but one of the strangers, cried, “Stop!” and fell on him, throwing him to the ground. A second masked rider laid hold of Amsdorff, separating him from Luther, while the other three men roughly pulled Luther from the wagon, threw a military cloak around his shoulders, and placed him on a horse. Then, as quickly as they had appeared, all six riders disappeared in the thick forest. All day they rode this direction and that, assuring themselves that anyone attempting to follow them would be completely baffled. After darkness settled in, they began to ascend a mountain and a little before midnight, approached a castle at its summit. The drawbridge was let down, the portcullis raised, and the mysterious troop entered. Luther was led to an apartment where he was told that he must stay for an indefinite length of time and that during his stay, he must lay aside his ecclesiastical dress and dress in the custom of a knight. He was, he was told, to be known only as Knight George. His abduction was carried out so mysteriously that, for a time, even Frederick of Saxony was not aware of his whereabouts.

When morning broke, Luther looked from the castle window upon a familiar scene. Though the town could not be seen from his position, beneath him stretched the countryside that surrounded the village of Eisenach. He could not but have known that he was in Wartburg castle in friendly keeping.

Luther in Seclusion

How quickly the scene had changed. But a short time before, Luther had walked the dizzy heights as all eyes were fixed upon him. Now, suddenly, the man on whom the eyes of all the world had been turned, had disappeared. While there were those who received the news of Luther’s disappearance with joy, the grief of the friends of the Reformation was great. As spring turned to summer and summer gave way to autumn, it was as if he had suddenly disappeared from the face of the earth.

Aleander and his partisans rejoiced. The fate of the Reformation seemed sealed as the light of the gospel seemed about to be extinguished. But God reigns, and the blow that seemed about to destroy the Reformation was in truth but the preparation for even more far reaching conquests. God had not withdrawn His servant merely to preserve him from the wrath of his enemies. As men rejoice in the freedom that truth brings to them, they are inclined to view the instrument, who is the channel of truth, as the origin, and in so doing, place a man where only God should be. In His providence, God removed Luther for a time that he might not only have time to reflect and grow in his knowledge of truth, but that men might be led to realize their dependence upon God and be led to trust Him. The light of truth was yet to shed its light in even brighter radiance.

At first Luther rejoiced at being released from the heat of the battle; but after a time, he became restless and criticized himself for his idleness. Even as his enemies congratulated themselves that he had been silenced, a host of tracts began to issue from his pen and be circulated throughout Germany. In addition to his other writing, Luther began his translation of the New Testament into the German language.

Luther had a weakness that, if not checked, threatened to endanger the work that he was doing. He assumed that others should see the points of truth as readily as he himself did. He had dared to defy the pope, and in so doing had vanquished the emperor. Eager to advance the cause of truth, he would not only defy the strong, but at times, lacking a consideration for their infirmities, he tended to walk on the weak. In his enforced seclusion, he was now led to examine his heart and distinguish between that which had been the work of passion and that which properly represented the working of the Holy Spirit of God. As he was led to the Bible, not only was his theological understanding expanded, but his nature was sanctified and enriched. “The study of the Word of God revealed to him likewise, what he was apt in his conflicts to overlook, that there was an edifice to be built up as well as one to be pulled down, and that this was the nobler work of the two.” Wylie, History of Protestantism, book 1, 476.

No more had Luther disappeared from view in Wartburg than the political sky of Europe became overcast with dark and foreboding clouds. The states had been about to unsheathe their sword over Luther’s head when suddenly some hundred thousand Turkish scimitars were unsheathed over theirs! Soliman, whom thirteen battles had rendered the terror of Germany, suddenly appeared on the scene. Quickly gaining many small tows and castles, it was but a short time before they had also taken Belgrade. The states of the Empire had sufficient work to do in compelling Soliman and his hordes to return to their own lands, without troubling themselves about the Reformer.

While this danger threatened the East, news from Spain told of seditions that had broken out in the emperor’s absence. For the time, Charles was forced to return home in order to quell the dissension and secure his hereditary dominions.

To complicate matters more, war next broke out between Charles and Francis I. With the aid of the papal arms of Leo X, the French were driven from the Duchies of Parma, Piacenza, and Milan, which they had held for six years. To their even greater humiliation, they were driven from Lombardy.

Great was Leo’s delight at having the Papal States returned. Coming as it did on the back of the emperor’s edict proscribing Luther; it was enough to make joy complete. He received the news in his country seat at Mallina. Amidst the popular celebration, he returned to Rome, reaching it before the festivities ended. His hour of victory was short-lived, however. Scarcely had he entered his palace when he was seized with a sudden illness. The malady ran its course so quickly that he died without the Sacrament. Leo had reigned with magnificence but died deeply in debt. The Romans never forgave him for dying without the Sacrament, and he died among manifest contempt.

The nephew of the deceased pope, Cardinal Guilio de Medici, aspired to take the place of his uncle. The political scene was shifting, however, and the monarch of Spain was a more potent factor in the affairs of Europe than the rich merchants of Florence. The conclave to elect a new pope lasted long; and Guilio de Medici, despairing of gaining the throne for himself, proposed that the Cardinal of Tortosa, who had been Charles’ tutor, should be elevated to the pontificate. He was an elderly man and entirely without ambition. Avoiding all show, he occupied himself with his religious duties. He was in every way the exact opposite of Leo.

Attempts to Reform the Church

Assuming the title Adrian VI, the new pope, who was in Spain on the emperor’s business, made his way to Rome. He viewed with indifference, if not displeasure, the magnificence of the papal palace. The humble and pious Adrian believed that a more profitable way to counteract the Reformation was to originate another. He began with a startling confession: “It is certain that the pope may err in matters of faith in defending heresy by his opinions or decretals.” Ibid., 477. This admission, meant to be the start of a moderate reform, became even more inconvenient in later years than it was at the time that he spoke it, when in the Encyclical and Syllabus of Pius IX and the Infallibility Decree, issued in July 18, 1870, he stated exactly the opposite to be true when he said that in matters of faith and morals, the pope cannot err. If Adrian spoke the truth, it follows that the pope may indeed err. If he did not, it leaves the church in a very difficult position to explain the matter, as the decree of the Vatican Council of 1870, which looked both backwards and forwards, declares that error is impossible on the part of the pope.

Wherever Adrian turned to effect reform, he found himself faced by insurmountable obstacles. If he touched an abuse, all who were interested in its maintenance would rise in arms to defend it. He found that were he to purse Rome of all but the virtuous, it would leave few but himself. He was finally forced to recognize that a middle path was impossible to follow and that his only choice lay between Luther’s reform on the one hand, and the policies of Charles V on the other. He chose the latter.

While Luther was in seclusion and the princes of the empire were occupied with political considerations, the progress of the reform moved forward. As with any reformation, however, Satan was not idle. In the place of true reform, fanaticism began to move in. “A few men, deeply affected by the excitement in the religious world, imagined themselves to have received special revelations from Heaven and claimed to have been divinely commissioned to carry forward to its completion the Reformation which, they declared, had been but feebly begun by Luther. In truth, they were undoing the very work which he had accomplished. They rejected the great principle which was the very foundation of the Reformation—that the Word of God is the all-sufficient rule of faith and practice; and for that unerring guide they substituted the changeable, uncertain standard of their own feelings and impressions. By this act of setting aside the great detector of error and falsehood, the way was opened for Satan to control minds as best pleased himself.” The Great Controversy, 186.

These men found followers in Wittenberg. The students of the university left their studies, considering them useless in the presence of an internal illumination which promised to teach them all that they needed to know without having to experience the toil of study. The enemies of the Reformation were exultant, deeming that they were about to witness its speedy disorganization and ruin. News of what was taking place in Wittenberg reached Wartburg, and Luther was filled with dismay and grief. He was torn between his desire to complete his translation of the New Testament and his desire to return to Wittenberg and meet the new fanaticism. At last, to his great joy, he completed his German version of the New Testament on March 3, 1522. The disorganization that was reigning at Wittenberg was a greater danger to the Reformation than the sword of Charles. The crisis was a serious one, and Luther immediately set out for Wittenberg.

On the first Sunday morning after his arrival, Luther entered the parish church. Intense excitement, yet deep stillness reigned in the audience. Never had Luther appeared more grand and truly great. As did the apostle, he reminded his hearers that the weapons of their warfare were not carnal but spiritual. The Word, he said, must be freely preached and left to work upon the heart. While he was against the abuses and errors of Rome, the heart of man must never be forced but won by the power of the Word. He pointed to the mighty victory that had already been won in weakening the power of the papacy to a degree that no prince or emperor had ever before been able to break it. And yet, as he pointed out, this had all been accomplished by the power of God’s Word.

Luther continued his series of discourses through the entire week. Every day the church was filled as many flocked from the surrounding villages to receive the bread of life. Without mentioning them by name, the Reformer was able to meet and defeat the various fanatical groups. By his wisdom and moderation, he carried the day; and the Word of God was restored to its supremacy. It was a great battle—greater in some respects than that which had been fought at Worms. Without tumult and without offense to anyone, Luther safely guided the Reformation through the crisis and again established it on the Word of God.

Day Dawns in Germany

In proportion as the Reformation strengthened at its center in Wittenberg, it was diffused more widely throughout Germany. To the terror of Rome, it seemed to be breaking out on all sides. A number of priests were converted to the reformed faith and preached it to their flocks. Great was the wrath of Rome as she saw her soldiers turning their arms against her. The world’s winter appeared to be passing; and with the coming of spring, the German nation began to emerge from the ignorance of the darkness into the dawning of light. “Whilst in the year 1513 only thirty-five publications had appeared, and thirty-seven in 1517, the number of books increased with astonishing rapidity after the appearance of Luther’s theses. In 1518 we find seventy-one different works; in 1519, one hundred and eleven; in 1520, two hundred and eight; in 1521, two hundred and 11; in 1522, three hundred and forty seven; and in 1523, four hundred and ninety eight.” D’Aubigne, History of the Protestant Reformation, book 9, chapter 11. For the most part, these were printed in Wittenberg. Generally they were authored by Luther and his friends. In 1522, while 130 of the Reformer’s writings were published, and in the following year, 183, only 20 Roman Catholic publications appeared.

What Luther and his friends published, others circulated. Monks, convinced of the unlawfulness of the monastic life, became colporteurs carrying the books through the length and breadth of Germany. Germany swarmed with these bold colporteurs. It was in vain that the emperor and princes published edicts against the writings of the Reformers. As soon as an inquisitorial visit was to be paid, the book dealers, who had received secret information in advance, concealed the books that were proscribed. The eager multitude, who were ever anxious for that which was prohibited, immediately bought them up and read them with great eagerness. Neither was it in Germany alone that such scenes were enacted. Luther’s writings were translated into French, Spanish, English, and Italian and circulated among these nations as well.

Elector Frederick had declared that he would allow the bishops to preach freely in his states, but he would deliver no one into their hands. Consequently, evangelical teachers persecuted in other countries soon found asylum in Saxony. Here they conversed with the Reformers, and at their feet were strengthened in the faith. At the same time, they were able to communicate to their teachers from their own experience the knowledge that they had acquired.

As Luther witnessed the success of the gospel, his confidence increased. He had foreseen nothing of the magnitude when he first rose up against Tetzel. Vainly would men seek to explain the movement by mere human circumstances. God, the Author of the work in its minutest detail, was breathing new life into Christianity. The church was passing through a state of transformation and of bursting the bonds in which it had so long been confined, returning in life and vigor to a world that had forgotten its ancient power. Not withstanding the violent and repeated efforts to stifle the progress, the gospel rose with a force that no human power was able to resist in its progress.

Martin Luther, part VII – The Diet of Worms

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Luther was conducted into the hall and brought to stand directly in front of the emperor. The chancellor of the Elector of Treves began speaking, addressing Luther first in Latin and then repeating his words in German.

“Martin Luther! yesterday you begged for a delay that has not expired. Assuredly it ought to have been conceded, as every man, and especially you, who are so great and learned a doctor in the Holy Scriptures, should always be ready to answer any question touching his faith. . . . Now, therefore, reply to the question put by his majesty, who has behaved to you with so much mildness. Will you defend your books as a whole, or are you willing to disavow some of them?” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, chap. 8

A deep silence settled over the room as every ear strained to catch Luther’s reply. What a moment! The fate, not only of the Reformation, but of nations was at that moment hanging in the balance.

Luther began by graciously saluting the emperor, the princes, and the lords. While he spoke firmly, he addressed the assembly in modest tones. “Most serene emperor! illustrious princes! gracious lords! I appear before you this day, in conformity with the order given me yesterday, and by God’s mercies I conjure your majesty and your august highnesses to listen graciously to the defense of a cause which I am assured is just and true. If, through ignorance, I should transgress the usages and proprieties of courts, I entreat you to pardon me; for I was not brought up in the palaces of kings, but in the seclusion of a convent.

“Yesterday, two questions were put to me on behalf of his imperial majesty: the first, if I was the author of the books whose titles were enumerated; the second, if I would retract or defend the doctrine I had taught in them. To the first question I then made answer, and I preserve in that reply.

“As for the second, I have written works on many different subjects. There are some in which I have treated of faith and good works, in a manner at once so pure, so simple, and so scriptural, that even my adversaries, far from finding anything to censure in them, allow that these works are useful and worthy of being read by all pious men. The papal bull, however violent it may be, acknowledges this. If, therefore, I were to retract these, what should I do? . . . Wretched man! Among all men, I alone should abandon truths that friends and enemies approve, and I should oppose what the whole world glories in confessing. . . .

“Second, I have written books against the papacy, in which I have attacked those who, by their false doctrine, their evil lies, or their scandalous example, afflict the Christian world and destroy both body and soul. The complaints of all who fear God are confirmatory of this. Is it not evident that the laws and human doctrines of the popes entangle, torment, and vex the consciences of believers, while the crying and perpetual extortions of Rome swallow up the wealth and the riches of Christendom, and especially of this illustrious nation? . . .

“Were I to retract what I have said on this subject, what should I do but lend additional strength to this tyranny and open the floodgates to torment of impiety? Overflowing with still greater fury than before, we should see these insolent men increase in number, behave more tyrannically, and domineer more and more. And not only would the yoke that now weighs upon the Christian people be rendered heavier by my retraction, but it would become, so to speak, more legitimate; for by this very retraction it would receive the confirmation of your most serene majesty and of all the states of the holy empire. Gracious God! I should thus become a vile cloak to cover and conceal every kind of malice and tyranny! . . .

“Lastly, I have written books against individuals who desired to defend the Romish tyranny and to destroy the faith. I frankly confess that I may have attacked them with more acrimony than is becoming my ecclesiastical profession. I do not consider myself a saint, but I cannot disavow these writings; for by so doing I should sanction the impiety of my adversaries, and they would seize the opportunity of oppressing the people of God with still greater cruelty.

“Yet I am but a mere man, and not God; I shall therefore defend myself as Christ did. If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil (see John 18:23) said He. How much more should I, who am but dust and ashes and who may so easily go astray desire every man to state his objections to my doctrine.

“For this reason, most serene emperor and you, most illustrious princes, and all men of every degree, I conjure you, by the mercy of God, to prove from the writings of the prophets and the apostles that I have erred. As soon as I am convinced of this, I will retract every error and be the first to lay hold of my books and throw them into the fire.” Ibid.

In closing, Luther drew the attention of the assembly to a judgment that they must each face: not a judgment beyond the grave but of the here and now. They were each, he pointed out, on trial. By their decisions, they were to determine whether their thrones were to be established or to be swept away in a coming deluge of wrath. “I might speak,” Luther continued, “of Pharaohs, the kings of Babylon, and those of Israel whose labours never more effectually contributed to their own destruction than when they sought by counsels, to all appearance most wise, to strengthen their dominion.” Ibid.

Luther’s Defense Repeated

Luther had spoken in German with great modesty and firmness. The imposing assembly, as well as his own emotion, had greatly fatigued him. The emperor, however, greatly disliked the German language, and it was now demanded of Luther that he repeat his defense in Latin. Frederick of Thun, the privy councilor of the Elector of Saxony, had been stationed by Luther’s side to see that no violence was used against him. Seeing Luther’s exhausted condition, he said, “If you cannot repeat what you have said, that will do, doctor.” Ibid. But Luther, after a brief pause, repeated his speech with the same energy he had presented his first. “God’s providence directed in this matter. The minds of many of the princes were so blinded by error and superstition that at the first delivery they did not see the force of Luther’s reasoning; but the repetition enabled them to perceive clearly the points presented.” The Great Controversy, 159

When he had finished speaking, the Chancellor of Treves said with indignation, ” ‘You have not answered the question put to you. You were not summoned hither to call in question the decisions of councils. You were required to give a clear and precise answer. Will you, or will you not, retract?’ Upon this Luther replied without hesitation: ‘Since your most serene majesty and your high mightinesses require from me a clear, simple, and precise answer, I will give you one, and it is this: I cannot submit my faith either to the pope or to the councils, because it is clear as the day that they have frequently erred and contradicted each other. Unless therefore I am convinced by the testimony of Scripture, or by the clearest reasoning,—unless I am persuaded by the means of the passages I have quoted,—and unless they thus render my conscience bound by the Word of God, I cannot and I will not retract, for it is unsafe for a Christian to speak against his conscience.’ And then, looking round on this assembly before which he stood and which held his life in its hands, he said: ‘Here I stand, I can do no other; May God help me! Amen!’ ” D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, book 7, chap. 8

The words of the Reformer had a profound impact on the assembly. Many of the princes could scarcely conceal their admiration. In all, Luther had spoken for nearly two hours. The effects of Aleander’s address, given so eloquently before the diet but a short time before, had dissipated in less than a week; but Luther’s was to live on to stir men’s hearts for hundreds of years to come.

To their amazement, the princes discovered that the roles had completely reversed. But two hours earlier Luther had stood before them apparently condemned, but they found that they had now been summoned to stand before his bar. Unawed by the crowns they wore, or the armies they commanded, this simple monk had entreated, admonished, and reproved them. It mattered not what they might do with the Reformer; the victory was clearly his. Nothing that Rome might now do could reverse her defeat, or conceal the victory that had been won. What light has time shed on the words that he spoke! The history of the Catholic nations of Europe and the New World bear testimony to their truthfulness.

As soon as the assembly had partially recovered, the chancellor spoke. ” ‘If you do not retract, the emperor and the states of the empire will consult what course to adopt against an incorrigible heretic.’ At these words Luther’s friends began to tremble; but the monk repeated: ‘May God be my helper; for I can retract nothing.’ ” Ibid.

After Luther withdrew, the princes deliberated. The partisans of Rome could not bring themselves to concede defeat, and Luther was again summoned before them. The speaker for the diet again addressed him. “Martin, you have not spoken with the modesty becoming your position. The distinction you have made between your books was futile; for if you retracted those that contained your errors, the emperor would not have allowed the others to be burnt. It is extravagant in you to demand to be refuted by Scripture, when you are reviving heresies condemned by the general council of Constance. The emperor, therefore, calls upon you to declare simply, yes or no, whether you presume to maintain what you have advanced, or whether you will retract a portion?’—’I have no other reply to make than that which I have already made,’ answered Luther calmly.” Ibid. Firm as a rock, the Reformer remained unmoved by the waves beating about him. His firm, unshaken stand made a profound impression upon the assembly. Charles V arose, and with him all of the assembly. Deliberations were at an end until the morrow.

Two imperial officers formed Luther’s escort. Some imagined that Luther was being led forth to the scaffold, and a great tumult broke out. It was quickly quelled when Luther assured them that he was merely being escorted to his hotel.

Upon his return to his room, Luther was surrounded by Spalatin and other friends. Together they gave thanks to God for the events of the day. As they were talking together, a messenger from the Elector of Saxony came with orders for Spalatin to come to him immediately. When Spalatin arrived at the duke’s quarters, the duke had just seated himself for supper. Arising, he motioned Spalatin to follow him. As soon as they were alone in the duke’s bed chamber, he informed Spalatin of his resolution to more actively protect the doctor in the future.

Aleander recognized the impression that Luther had made upon the assembly. He saw that he must act quickly if he were to counteract the influence that was rapidly gaining ground. War was imminent between Charles and Francis. Leo X, desiring to enlarge his estates, was secretly negotiating with both parties. Aleander, however, sought to use the influence of an alliance with the pope against Francis as the means of influencing Charles, thereby deciding the fate of the Reformer. He knew that the life of a single monk was a mere trifle if it could purchase the pontiff’s friendship.

Charles Rejects the Reformation

On the day following Luther’s appearance, the emperor ordered a prepared message to be read to the diet. In the message, he affirmed his intentions to support the Catholic Church. While confirming the safe-conduct that he had extended to Luther, he expressed his resolve to move against the Reformer as soon as it should expire and to martial all of the resources at his command to crush the heresy.

Not all of the members of the diet were pleased with the address. Charles, in his youthful haste, had failed to comply with the usual form of consulting with the diet before forming his decision. On the other extreme, the elector of Brandenburg and several of the ecclesiastical princes demanded the safe-conduct given to Luther should not be respected. The Rhine, they said, should receive his ashes as it had the ashes of John Huss a century before. Against such a base proposal a number of the princes of Germany objected. The Bavarian nobles, though mostly papal, protested against the violation of public faith. Even George of Saxony, Luther’s avowed enemy, said, “The princes of Germany will not permit a safe-conduct to be violated. This diet, the first held by our new emperor, will not be guilty of so base an action. Such perfidy does not accord with the ancient German integrity.” Ibid., chap. 9. The proposal was turned down with scorn and indignation.

Charles, who was yet very young, shrank from the idea of committing perjury. He is reported to have said, “Though honour and faith should be banished from all the world, they ought to find a refuge in the hearts of princes.” A somewhat less charitable assessment was given by Vettori, the friend of Leo X, who alleged that Charles spared Luther only that he might be a check on the pope. Charles, it would seem, only half trusted Leo, and in the game of international intrigue in which he was then engaged, he believed that a living Luther would be a more valuable counter than a dead one. There was also reason to believe that he was not blind to the danger that public sentiment was running so high that should the safe-conduct be violated, his first diet could easily be his last one. Charles is, however, credited with having repented of his decision in after years. He is reported to have stated, near the close of his life, that he was not obliged to have kept his promise to a heretic who had offended a Master greater than he—God Himself. He might, he then believed, have stifled the heresy in its infancy.

The Safe-conduct Honored

The discussion as to what to do with the Reformer lasted two days. During this time, the emotions of the citizens ran high. According to some sources, there were four hundred nobles ready to enforce Luther’s safe-conduct, if necessary, with the sword. Sickingen, it was reported, had assembled many knights and soldiers behind the impregnable ramparts of his stronghold but a dozen miles from Worms. The enthusiasm of the people, not only in Worms but throughout Germany, as well as the intrepidity of the knights and the attachment that many of the princes felt for the cause of the Reformer, convinced Charles that it would be disastrous to follow the course proposed by the Romanists. Though it was only a question of burning a simple monk, the partisans of Rome had not the strength or courage to do so. To have violated the safe-conduct would have immediately convulsed Germany in a civil war. Luther was ordered to return home under the emperor’s safe-conduct, the violent propositions of Aleander having been rejected.

The Elector Frederick was delighted with the appearance that Luther had made before the diet, but he was not alone in his appreciation of the Reformer. From that time on, many others who heard him became friends of the Reformation. Some of them expressed their change of sentiment at the time, while with others it bore fruit years later. Though Frederick had determined more than ever to protect Luther, he knew that the less his hand was seen in the matter, the more effectively he could further the cause and protect its champion. He therefore avoided all personal contact with Luther.

On the morning of April 26, Luther, surrounded by twenty gentlemen on horseback, left Worms. A few days after his departure, the emperor made public an edict against him, placing him outside the pale of the law and commanding all men everywhere, once his safe-conduct had expired, to withhold from him food, water, and shelter, and to do all within their power to apprehend him. This edict was drafted by Aleander and ratified by a meeting in the emperor’s private chamber after Elector Frederick and those favorable to Luther had already departed. The edict was dated May 8, but in reality the imperial signature was not placed on it until May 26. The purpose of the antedating was to give it the appearance of carrying the authority of the full diet.

Luther had entered Worms under the anathema of the pope. When he left, to this was added the ban of the empire.

The End

Martin Luther, part VI – Arrival at Worms

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The news that Luther had been summoned to the diet spread rapidly throughout Germany. While the Germans were glad to see the cause of their country and their church taking on an importance that challenged examination and discussion by so august an assembly, they could not help but be filled with apprehension. They trembled when they considered the fate of the man who had become the ablest champion of both their political and religious rights. If Luther should be sacrificed to the hatred of the Church, who then would compensate for his loss to the movement which promised to free them from the tyranny of Rome?

On April 2, the arrangements for travel were completed and Luther, along with three of his more intimate friends, began the trip to Worms. Though Melancthon begged to accompany them, Luther firmly declined, pointing out that should he himself be sacrificed to the malice of Rome, there was no one but Melancthon capable of carrying on. The youth and professors from the university, as well as the towns people, thronged the streets of Wittenberg to witness his departure.

The procession was led by the imperial herald, wearing his insignia and displaying the imperial eagle, showing that the travelers journeyed under the guardianship of the emperor. For Luther’s convenience, the magistrates of Wittenberg, at their own cost, had provided a covered conveyance for his comfort in travel.

Everywhere they went, villagers poured out to catch a glimpse of the monk who dared to stand against Rome, Leipsic being one notable exception. The Roman party had dared to hope that Luther would not accept the invitation to appear. Once the news arrived that he had begun his journey, they did not despair by intrigues and menaces of making him turn back. All along the way both friends and enemies endeavored in vain to turn him from his purpose of appearing before the diet. Little did they know of the character of the man with whom they were dealing. To their dismay, Luther kept his face steadfastly towards Worms.

Rome Fears Luther

Alarm was general in the camp of the pope’s friends. They feared that if Luther entered Worms, all might be lost. To carry him off by force, they could not; for he was traveling under the protection of the emperor. All that was left for them was deception. Glapio, confessor to Charles, and Paul of Amsdorff, the emperor’s chamberlain, decided on a plan which they immediately set out to implement. Finding their way to the castle of Ebernburg, they approached Francis of Sickingen, a knight who was friendly to the Reformed movement. Bucer, a youthful Dominican who had been converted to the evangelical doctrine, had taken refuge there. The knight, who did not understand much about religious matters, was easily deceived by the designs of his visitors. Bucer’s disposition to naturally avoid conflict also played into their hands.

The chamberlain and Charles’s confessor began their attack by making Sickingen and Bucer to understand that Luther was lost if he entered the city. They declared that the emperor was ready to send a few men to Ebernburg to confer with the doctor and indicated that both parties would place themselves under the protection of Sickingen. Further, they asserted that they agreed with Luther on all of the essential points and that it was only on some secondary points that there remained any disagreement. These, they said, they were willing for Bucer to mediate between them. The knight and Bucer were staggered at the apparent change in circumstances. Their two visitors continued by pointing out that the invitation to come to the castle must be presented by Sickingen and Bucer and that they must not allow the too credulous Luther to enter Worms. When his safe conduct expired in three days, who would be able to protect him there?

When Luther arrived at Oppenheim and saw a group of horsemen approaching him, he realized that his safe conduct was only good for three more days. He soon recognized Bucer, a man with whom he had held intimate conversations at Heidelberg. After the first exchange of friendship, Bucer told him that the attending troops were cavaliers belonging to Francis of Sickingen and that the knight had sent him to bring Luther’s party to the safety of his castle. There, he was told, the emperor’s confessor, who held almost unlimited influence with Charles, desired an interview with him in the hope of working out all differences amicably. Aleander, the papal legate in Worms, was not, however, to be trusted.As Bucer was pressing them, Luther’s friends did not know what to think; but Luther had no hesitation. ” ‘I shall continue my journey,’ he replied to Bucer; ‘and if the emperor’s confessor has anything to say to me, he will find me at Worms. I shall go whither I am summoned.’ ” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 6, chap. 7

Word began to quietly circulate in Worms that the diet was not bound to honor the emperor’s safe-conduct. It was with great apprehension that Luther’s friends heard these whispers. One question came to the minds of all: Was the perfidy of Constance to be repeated in Worms? The elector, greatly alarmed, sent word to Luther by Spalatin, urging him not enter the city. This was perhaps the most difficult obstacle that Luther had yet been forced to deal with, coming as it did from a trusted friend. “Fixing his eyes on the messenger, Luther replied, ‘Go and tell your master that even should there be as many devils in Worms as tiles on the house tops, still I will enter it.’ ” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 333

His Appearance Unexpected

Luther’s friends, and even more so his enemies, did not really expect him to come to Worms. When, however, on the sixteenth of April the sentinel on the lookout sounded his trumpet to announce Luther’s approach, the streets were suddenly flooded by men of all nations and levels of society. So great was the welcome that not even the emperor had received such a turnout. It was only with great difficulty that the procession was able to move through the press of people.

On his journey to Worms, Luther experienced an illness. Though somewhat weakened from his recent recovery, the Reformer arrived in Worms greatly fatigued from his fourteen days of travel and in need of rest. The anxiety of the people to see him was too great to allow for even an hours’ repose. He had but just entered his lodging when princes, dukes, counts, bishops, men of all ranks, both friends and foes, crowded into his apartment. Scarcely had one wave of visitors been dismissed when another pressed its way in.

The crowd of visitors, varying greatly in rank and purpose, pressed about Luther until late into the night. He answered all of their questions with such dignity and wisdom that even his enemies marveled. After the last visitor had left, Luther went to bed and sought rest; but the excitement of the day had left him restless and unable to sleep. After arising and playing a song on his lute, he went to the window. “There were the stars fulfilling their courses far above the tumults of earth, yet far beneath that throne on which sat a greater King than the monarch before whom he was to appear on the morrow. He felt as he gazed, a sense of sublimity filling his soul, and bringing with it a feeling of repose. Withdrawing his gaze, and closing the casement, he said, ‘I will lay me down and take quiet rest, for Thou makest me to dwell in safety.’ ” Ibid., 335

At four o’clock on the day of the hearing, the marshal of the empire appeared to summon Luther before the diet. The crowd that filled the streets was even greater than that which had filled them the day before. It was impossible to advance, and at length the herald ordered some private homes to be opened and they made their way through gardens and private passages to the place where the diet was sitting.

Having at last reached the town hall, Luther and those who accompanied him were again prevented from further advance. By the use of main force, the soldiers were at last able to clear the doors and gain an admittance. On the inside, every corner was crowded. In the antechambers and deep recesses of the windows, there were more than five thousand spectators; and it was only with great difficulty that Luther was able to advance to the entrance of the hall where the diet awaited him.

“As he was about to enter the presence of his judges, an old general, the hero of many battles, said to him kindly: ‘Poor monk, poor monk, thou art now going to make a nobler stand than I or any other captains have ever made in the bloodiest of our battles. But if thy cause is just, and thou art sure of it, go forward in God’s name, and fear nothing. God will not forsake thee.’. . .

“At length the doors opened and Luther went in, and with him entered many persons who formed no portion of the diet. Never had man appeared before so imposing an assembly. The emperor Charles V, whose sovereignty extended over a great part of the old and new world; his brother the Archduke Ferdinand; six electors of the empire . . . ; twenty-four dukes, the majority of whom were independent sovereigns over countries more or less extensive and among whom were some whose names afterwards became formidable to the Reformation,—the Duke of Alva and his two sons; eight margraves; thirty archbishops, bishops, and abbots; seven ambassadors, including those from the kings of France and England; the deputies of ten free cities; a great number of princes, counts, and sovereign barons; the papal nuncios—in all two hundred and four persons: such was the imposing court before which appeared Martin Luther.

A Victory for Truth

“This appearance was of itself a signal victory over the papacy. The pope had condemned the man, and he was now standing before a tribunal which, by this very act, set itself above the pope. The pope had laid him under an interdict, and cut him off from all human society; and yet he was summoned in respectful language, and received before the most august assembly in the world. The pope had condemned him to perpetual silence, and he was now about to speak before thousands of attentive hearers drawn together from the farthest parts of Christendom. An immense revolution had thus been effected by Luther’s instrumentality. Rome was already descending from her throne, and it was the voice of a monk that caused this humiliation.” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, ch. 8

Luther was conducted to a place directly in front of the emperor’s throne. The sudden transition from the uneasy crowd to the calm grandeur of the diet had its effect upon him. As he felt all eyes turn upon him, Luther appeared, for a moment, almost intimidated and bewildered; but it passed and he quickly regained his composure. The sun was near its setting and its golden rays filled the room, accentuating the rich colors of the national costumes. In the midst of all of the imposing grandeur stood Luther in his monk’s frock.

The spokesman for the diet arose and, first in Latin and then in German, addressed Luther, asking him two questions. First he asked, as he pointed to a display of Luther’s books spread out on a table, if he acknowledge these to be his books. Second, was Luther prepared to retract and disavow the opinions that he had advanced in them?

Luther’s First Response

Luther, his bearing respectful and his voice low, began to speak. Some of the members thought that it trembled a little and hoped for a quick retraction.

The first charge Luther frankly acknowledged. As to the second point, he replied. “Seeing it is a question which concerns the salvation of souls, and in which the Word of God—than which nothing is greater in heaven or in earth—is interested, I should act imprudently were I to reply without reflection. I entreat your imperial Majesty, with all humility, to allow me time, that I may reply without offending against the Word of God.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 339

It was a wise decision, which was interpreted differently by the papal members of the diet. Confidently, they expressed the belief among themselves that he was merely breaking his fall and would soon retract. They believed that while he might play the heretic in the safety of Wittenberg, he would play the part of a penitent at Worms. How little they penetrated the depth of Luther’s character.

After a deliberation, the diet granted the delay that Luther requested. Luther bowed, and instantly the herald was by his side to conduct him to his hotel.

As he arose the next day, it was not the prospect of death that filled Luther with apprehension but the full realization that the crisis had arrived and he felt unable to meet it. It seemed that the sustaining power that had been with him until that point had deserted him, and all that he could see was an approaching catastrophe. The fear that the enemies of the gospel would triumph distressed him beyond words. In an agony of soul he poured his heart out to God.

Rising from his knees, Luther felt complete calm return to his soul. He then sat down to arrange his thoughts, to draft, in outline, his defense, and to search the Scriptures for passages with which to fortify it. Having completed this task, he laid his left hand upon the sacred Book and raising his right hand to heaven, swore to remain faithful to the gospel and to uphold it, even if it cost him his life. After this, the Reformer experienced a still deeper peace.

At four o’clock that afternoon, the grand marshal and the herald again presented themselves to escort Luther to the hall. On arriving in the outer court, they found the diet in deep deliberation with no indication as to when Luther might expect to be heard. The first hour passed and then a second. So long a delay in such circumstances was sufficient to exhaust him physically and distract him mentally, but the Reformer’s tranquility did not forsake him. The night began to fall, and torches were kindled in the assembly hall.

At last the door opened and Luther entered the hall. If, as some suspect, the delay was arranged by Aleander in the hope that Luther would come before the diet in a state of agitation, he was doomed to disappointment. The Reformer stood before the diet in perfect composure and with an air of dignity.

The End

Martin Luther, part V – Called Before The Council

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Realizing that he could expect little help from the Elector of Saxony, Aleander now turned his attention to the emperor. As he knew, the truth or falsehood of Luther’s opinions carried little weight with Charles; his course was one of policy. The case with him revolved around the point of ambition. Quite simply, which would mot further his political projects, to protect Luther or to burn him? At this time, Germany was not the center of Charles’ interest or policy. He understood neither the spirit nor the language of the German people. While not indifferent to the religious movement that was rapidly gaining ground as the result of Luther’s teaching, it had no meaning except so far as it threatened the pope.

Charles Indebted to Frederick

Though Charles appeared to be the most powerful man in Christendom, there were two men whom he could not afford to offend, the Elector of Saxony and the pontiff. To the first he owed the imperial crown. It was Frederick’s influence with the electoral conclave that had placed the crown upon his head; and while the memory of absolute rulers tends to be short with regard to such obligations, Charles could not dispense with the aid and advice of Frederick in governing the empire over which he had so recently been placed. On the other hand, Charles was on the brink of war with Francis I, the King of France. The war was inevitable, and the principle scene of that war was to be Italy. Under these circumstances, he could not afford to break with the pope as his influence would be indispensable in the coming conflict. Charles would have preferred to have detached Frederick from Luther, or to have been able to satisfy the pope without offending Frederick, but as neither of these options were open to him, it occurred to Charles that the monk of Wittenberg might yet be a most valuable card to be played in the game that was about to begin. If the pope should come to his aid against the king of France, then he was quite willing to fling the Reformer to the flames. If, on the other hand, the pope should refuse his aid and side with Francis, the emperor would protect Luther, making him an opposing power against Leo. Meanwhile, negotiations were being carried on with a view to ascertaining whether Leo would stand with the emperor or Francis. Leo, for his part, dreaded and feared both.

“In this fashion did these great ones deal with the cause of the world’s regeneration. . . . The monk was in their hands; so they thought. How would it have astonished them to be told that they were in his hands, to be used by him as his cause might require; that their crowns, armies, and policies were shaped and moved, prospered, or defeated, with sole reference to those great spiritual forces which Luther wielded! Wittenberg was small among the many proud capitals of the world; yet here, and not at Madrid or at Paris, was, at this hour, the center of human affairs.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 322.

Charles had summoned the Diet for January 6, 1521. The many interests that were involved in this meeting combined to bring together a more numerous and brilliant assemblage than any gathering since the days of Charlemagne. From far and near, in unprecedented numbers, the travelers, making their way to Worms, filled the roads of Germany. As the imperial court moved toward Worms, two papal representatives, Caraccioli and Aleander, followed in the emperor’s train.

Charles Racked by Indecision

When the diet opened on January 28, it appeared that Charles did not have a policy established by which to deal with the situation. Amid the splendor that surrounded him, numberless perplexities were continuously distracting him; but all centered around the monk of Wittenberg and the new religious movement. The papal nuncios were importuning Charles day and night to execute the papal bull against Luther. Should he fail to comply, he would certainly offend the pope and send him over to the side of he French king. On the other hand, should be concede to their wishes, he would alienate the Elector of Saxony and kindle a conflagration in Germany that, even with his resources and power, he might not be able to successfully extinguish.

While the emperor vacillated, the Protestant movement advanced from one day to another; and the cause of Rome was continually losing ground. Aleander wrote to Rome with the assurance that unless he had more money to spread around among the members of the diet, all hope of influencing the national body against Luther must be abandoned. Rome responded quickly. Not only did she send more ducats but more anathemas. Her first bull against Luther had been conditional, leaving him sixty days to retract, only threatening to excommunicate him if he failed to comply. The new communication not only confirmed the excommunication, but it went further in that it also included all of Luther’s adherents, placing them under the same curse with him, thus completing the separation between Protestantism and Rome.

But if the new bull simplified matters for Luther and Aleander, it only more certainly clouded the path of the politicians, making even more obscure than before the path of political expediency.

At this moment of crisis, a new plan was struck upon. There was at the court of the emperor a Spanish Franciscan, John Galapio, who held the office of confessor to Charles. An able man, he undertook to accomplish that which had proved an unmanageable conundrum to others. He sought an interview with Pontanus, the councilor of Frederick. Pontanus, on his part, was a man of sterling integrity, competently versed in questions of theology and sagacious enough to see through the most cunning diplomat in all the court. Galapio approached Pontanus with a sigh, and calling Jesus Christ as his witness, expressed his great desire to see a reformation take place in the Church. He asserted that he, as ardently as Luther, desired to see the Church reformed. He indicated that he had often expressed his zeal to the emperor and that Charles was largely in sympathy with him, a fact that would yet be more fully known.

From the generally high opinion that he held regarding Luther’s writings, he made one exception; and that was his work, Babylonish Captivity, in which Luther had so unsparingly attacked the papacy. That particular work, Galapio maintained, was unworthy of Luther’s learning, nor did it express his style. Regarding the rest of Luther’s work, that, he stated, could be submitted to a body of intelligent and impartial men who would allow Luther to explain some things and apologize for others. The pope, exercising his beneficent power, would then reinstate Luther; and the whole matter could thus be amicably settled. Pontanus listened with mind contempt to the plan to trap Luther. When the plot was told to Luther, he met it with feelings of derision. Clearly, Luther’s enemies had misjudged the character of the man with whom they were dealing.

Charles and the Pope Unite

The negotiations between the pope and Charles were now brought to a happy conclusion with the pope agreeing to fully ally himself with the emperor against the French king. The emperor, on his part, agreed to please the pope in the matter relating to Luther. “The two are to unite, but the link between them is a stake. The Empire and popedom are to meet and shake hands over the ashes of Luther. During the two centuries which included and followed the pontificate of Gregory VII, the imperial diadem and the tiara had waged a terrible war with each other for the supremacy of Christendom. In that stage, the two shared the world between them—other competitor there was none. But now a new power had risen up, and the hatred and terror which both felt to that new power made these old enemies friends. The die was cast. The spiritual and the temporal arms have united to crush Protestantism.” Ibid., 325, 326.

As the emperor prepared to fulfill his part, it was difficult to see what might hinder him. With the overwhelming force of arms at his command and with the spiritual sword now joining him, if such a combination of power should fail to succeed, it would be an unaccountable phenomenon, one for which history might search in vain to find a parallel.

The storm did not yet break. Charles had dared to imagine that he would be able to publish his edict without opposition from the states, but such was not the case. Before he could proceed against the Reformer, the constitution of the empire required that he should inquire as to whether the States knew of any better course and if they did, assure them of his readiness to hear them, which he did. While the majority of the German princes cared little for Luther, they had a great deal of respect for their sovereign rights and were weary of the tyranny and grinding extortions of Rome. They believed that to deliver Luther up to Rome would be the most effectual means of riveting even more securely the yoke of Roman servitude about their necks, so they begged time for deliberation. This change in the course of events infuriated Aleander, as he saw the prey slipping from his hands. Charles, however, submitted to the request of the princes; and nothing that Aleander said could move him. When pressed to move from the position that he had taken, Charles laid upon the nuncio the burden of changing the mind of the assembly. In pursuit of this goal, it was arranged that Aleander should be heard before the diet on February 13.

Never before had Rome been called to make its defense before so august an assembly. “This was an important duty, but Aleander was not unworthy of it. He was not only ambassador from the sovereign pontiff, and surrounded with all the splendor of his high office, but also one of the most eloquent men of his age. . . . The elector, pretending indisposition, was not present; but he gave some his councilors orders to attend, and take notes of the nuncio’s speech.” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, chapter 3.

The nuncio spoke for three hours.

“There was no Luther present, with the clear and convincing truths of God’s Word, to vanquish the papal champion. No attempt was made to defend the Reformer. There was manifest a general disposition not only to condemn him and the doctrines which he taught, but if possible to uproot the heresy. Rome had enjoyed the most favorable opportunity to defend her cause. All that she could say in her own vindication had been said. But the apparent victory was the signal of defeat. Henceforth the contrast between truth and error would be more clearly seen, as they should take the field in open warfare. Never from that day would Rome stand as secure as she had stood.” The Great Controversy, 149.

Had vote been taken at the conclusion f the nuncio’s delivery, all, save one, would have undoubtedly given consent to Luther’s condemnation. However, the diet broke up as Aleander sat down; and thus the victory that seemed so certain eluded Rome’s grasp.

When the princes next assembled, the emotions that had been stirred to such a high pitch by the rhetoric of Aleander had largely subsided, and the hard facts of Rome’s extortion alone remained deeply imprinted in the memories of the German princes. These abuses no eloquence of oratory could efface. The first person to address the assembly was Duke George. That fact that he was a known enemy of the Reformer and of the Reformed movement added weight to his words. “With noble firmness, Duke George of Saxony stood up in that princely assembly and specified with terrible exactness the deceptions and abominations of popery, and their dire results. In closing he said:

“These are some of the abuses that cry out against Rome. All shame has been put aside, and their only object is . . . money, money, money, . . . so that the preachers who should teach the truth, utter nothing but falsehoods, and are not only tolerated, but rewarded, because the greater their lies, the greater their gain. It is from this foul spring that such tainted waters flow. Debauchery stretches out the hand to avarice. . . . Alas, it is the scandal caused by the clergy that hurls so many poor souls into eternal condemnation. A general reform must be effected.’” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, chapter 4.

The Diet Calls For Luther

A committee was appointed by the diet to draw up a list of the oppressions under which the nation groaned. When it was completed, the document listed a hundred and one grievances. This list was presented to the emperor with the request that in fulfillment of the terms that he had signed at the time he was crowned, he move to effect the reformation of the enumerated abuses. Moreover, the princes demanded that Luther should be summoned to appear before them. It was unjust, they reasoned, to condemn him without knowing whether he was, in fact, the author of the books in question and without hearing what he had to say in defense of his opinions. Before the unified diet, the emperor gave way, though he covered his retreat by asserting that he had serious doubts that Luther actually authored the books.

Aleander was horrified at the emperor’s lack of resolution in dealing with the matter, but he strove in vain to stem the tide that was now moving in a direction that could only end in disaster for the papacy. He had but one hope left, and that was that Luther could be denied a safe-conduct; but ultimately even this proposal was denied him as well. On March 6, 1521, Luther was summoned to appear before the Diet in twenty-one days. Enclosed with the summons was a safe-conduct signed by the emperor and commanding all princes, lords, and magistrates, under pain of displeasure of the emperor and the Empire, to respect Luther’s safety.

A mightier hand than that of Charles was directing in the affairs of the empire. Instead of bearing his witness at the stake, Luther is to bear testimony on the loftiest stage that the world could provide. The kings, the lords of all Christendom must come to Worms and there patiently wait to listen while the miner’s son speaks to them.

Events had so transpired as to prepare Luther in a special way for this, the great crisis of his career. His study of Paul’s writings and the Apocalypse, when compared with history, convinced him that the Church of Rome, as it then existed, was the predicted “Apostasy” and that the dominion of the papacy was the reign of Antichrist. It was this that broke the spell of Rome, freeing him from the fear of her curse. The summons to the diet at Worms found him confident and secure in this knowledge.

On March 24, 1521, the imperial herald arrived at Wittenberg, placing in Luther’s hands the summons of the emperor to appear before the diet in Worms.

Martin Luther, part IV – Melancthon Reformed

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When Charles ascended to the throne, he was in the vigor of youth; and everything seemed to point toward a long and prosperous reign. A prince whose scepter extended over a considerable part of the old world, and even over much of the new, he was the most powerful monarch to appear in Christendom since the days of Charlemagne. It was God who designed, by this arrangement, to teach the important lesson as to the nothingness of all the strength of man when it presumes to measure itself with the weakness of God. Never, aside from the final conflict yet to be fought, was it to be more clearly shown that “God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to naught things that are: that no flesh should glory in His presence.” I Corinthians 1:27–29.

Melancthon Joins the Reformed Movement

As the result of the debate at Leipzig, the lecture rooms of the university there were speedily deserted, while the number of students in attendance at Wittenberg soon doubled. Perhaps the most significant event to take place as the fruit of the debate, however, was the calling of the theologian of the Reformation—Melancthon. Until this conference, literature had been Melancthon’s great interest; but as he sat quietly listening to the conference, he received a new impulse. From that day forward, theology became his career. Henceforth, he and Luther became close friends, contending together for the truth, the one with the energy of Paul and the other with the meekness of John.

Luther was strengthened by the debate with Dr. Eck. Driven to new inquiries, he arrived at unexpected discoveries. He was astonished at the magnitude of evil that he saw. “Searing into the annals of the Church, he discovered that the supremacy of Rome had no other origin than ambition on the one hand, and ignorant credulity on the other. . . . The Latin Church was no longer in Luther’s estimation the universal Church; he saw the narrow barriers of Rome fall down, and exulted in discovering beyond them the glorious dominions of Christ. From that time he comprehended how a man might be a member of Christ’s church, without belonging to the popes.” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 5, chapter 6.

Though Dr. Eck had proclaimed Luther vanquished in their much celebrated debate, he was much less than satisfied with the outcome. Making his way over the Alps, he arrived at Rome where he sought help to find revenge. In the city of Rome, however, he encountered greater difficulties than he had anticipated. The Roman Curia was apathetic. Its members did not yet realize the danger that Luther presented. They scoffed at the idea that Wittenberg could conquer Rome; and in that respect, history showed no evidence to support such an astounding phenomenon. Great tempests had arisen in former ages. Rebel kings and heretical nations had alike beaten themselves to death, seeking to challenge the Church. They no more availed its overthrow than the ocean’s foam to overthrow the rocks. That an insignificant German monk might topple the papal throne was an idea too preposterous to entertain.

In Rome, all appreciated that a move against the monk was not without risks. It was an easy matter for the church to launch a ban, but all depended upon the civil power executing that order. What if it should refuse? Besides, there were not a few more moderate and pious men, even in Rome, who were so displeased with the disorders of the papal court that in their heart they welcomed much of what Luther said. There were others who favored the use of diplomacy. They could not believe that among the many dignities and honors that it was within the power of the Church to bestow, some favor could not be found that would silence the clamorous monk.

In the midst of such indecisive apathy, the indefatigable Eck left no stone unturned to secure the condemnation of his opponent. His zeal in this respect was seconded by that of the banker Fugger of Augsburg. He was the treasurer of the indulgences; and had not Luther so successfully spoiled his business, he would have shown a good gain. This awoke in him a most vehement desire to crush the heresy that was so damaging to the interests of the church, as well as his own.

The news of what was taking place within the Vatican was carried to Luther. At this time of test, these reports caused him no alarm; for he had fixed his eyes on One who was greater than Leo. While all was anxiety and turmoil in Rome, Wittenberg presented a very different picture. Visitors from various countries daily arrived to see and speak with the Reformer. The halls of the university were crowded with youth, and the fame of Melancthon was extending. It was just at this moment that the young Swiss priest, Ullrich Zwingli, approached the papal nuncio in Switzerland, entreating him to use his influence at Rome to prevent the excommunication of the doctor of Wittenberg. This was the first evidence of the breaking of day in Switzerland.

“Rome became more and more exasperated by the attacks of Luther, and it was declared by some of his fanatical opponents, even by doctors in Catholic universities, that he would should kill the rebellious monk would be without sin. One day a stranger, with a pistol hidden under his cloak, approached the Reformer and inquired why he went thus alone. ‘I am in God’s hands,’ answered Luther. ‘He is my strength and my shield. What can man do unto me?’ Upon hearing these words, the stranger turned pale and fled away as from the presence of the angels of heaven.” The Great Controversy, 140.

Luther Excommunicated

At length, Eck triumphed, and on June 15, 1520, the Sacred College brought an end to their lengthy debates regarding the rebellious monk and placed their approval on a bull excommunicating him. With this move, they flattered themselves that they had forever successfully settled the Wittenberg heresy.

Luther, imagining that he might be expelled from Germany, engaged himself in publishing a report of the Augsburg conference. He saw the storm approaching but did not fear it. He desired, however, that when the anathema should arrive, all should know of the struggle between himself and Rome. Spalatin wrote to Luther, on behalf of the elector, asking him not to do so; but the communication arrived too late. Once it became known that the publication had already taken place, the prince gave his sanction to it.

The bull condemned forty-one propositions extracted from Luther’s writings as scandalous, heretical, and damnable. It left room, however, for the recovery of the lost son of the Church if Luther would make proof of the sincerity of his penitence by reading his recantation and committing all of his books to the flames within a sixty-day period. Failing to submit and obey, Luther and all of his adherents were pronounced accursed. All princes and magistrates were enjoined to apprehend and send them to Rome, or banish them fro their country. The towns in which they continued to reside were placed under interdict, and everyone who opposed the publication and execution of the bull was excommunicated from the Church.

“These were haughty words [the pope’s bull]; and at what a moment they were spoken! The finger of a man’s hand was even then about to appear, and to write on the wall that Rome had fulfilled her glory, and reached her zenith, and would henceforward hasten to her setting. But she knew not this. She saw only the track of light she had left behind her in her onward path athwart the ages. A thick veil hid the future with all its humiliations and defeats from her eyes.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 311.

While excommunicating Luther on the one hand, the pope wrote a flattering letter to Elector Frederick. In his communication, the pope referred to the errors of that “son of iniquity,” Martin Luther. He expressed his certainty that Frederick cherish an abhorrence of these errors and in a glowing eulogy, praised the piety and orthodoxy of the elector; he had since drunk at the well of Wittenberg and lost his relish for the Roman cistern. The purpose of the letter was transparently clear, but it produced the opposite effect of that which the pope intended. From that day on, Frederick of Saxony resolved that he would protect the Reformer.

Rome had launched her bull, but she had yet to see it published in every country of Christendom. In order to accomplish this, two nuncios were chosen to attend to the mission—Eck and Aleander. Bearing the bull which he had so large a share in fabricating, Eck viewed himself as the very Atlas who bore up the sinking Roman world. As he passed through German towns, he met with coldness and contempt. His progress was more like that of a fugitive than a conqueror. At times he was even forced to seek shelter in the nearest convent to avoid the popular fury.

While awaiting the arrival of the bull, Luther wrote two publications, the first of which was The Babylonish Captivity of the Church, in which he stated, “I know that the papacy is none other than the kingdom of Babylon, and the violence of Nimrod the mighty hunter. I therefore beseech all my friends and all booksellers to burn the books that I have written on this subject and to substitute this one proposition in their place: The papacy is a general chase led by the Roman bishop to catch and destroy souls.” Ibid., 313.

He next attacked the priest and the Sacrament. “Grace and salvation, he affirmed, are neither in the power of the priest nor the efficacy of the recipient. Faith lays hold on that which the Sacrament represents, signifies, and seals—even the promise of God; and the soul resting on that promise has grace and salvation. . . . ‘Without faith in God’s promise,’ without a jewel, a scabbard without a sword.’ . . . At the very moment when Rome was advancing to crush him with the bolt she had just forged, did Luther pluck from her hand that weapon of imaginary omnipotence which had enabled her to vanquish men.” Ibid.

The bull of excommunication arrived at Wittenberg in October of 1520. “Luther and Leo: Wittenberg and Rome now stand face to face—Rome has excommunicated Wittenberg, and Wittenberg will excommunicate Rome. Neither can retreat, and the war must be to the death.” Ibid., 315.

As Aleander and Eck advanced, they left in their track numerous blazing piles. In many of the towns in the hereditary estates of the emperor, a bonfire was made of Luther’s works. To add to these many fires lighted by Eck and Aleander, Luther kindled one of his own. A Placard on the walls of the University of Wittenberg announced Luther’s intention to burn the pope’s bull and that this would take place at nine o’clock on the morning of December 10. At the appointed time, Luther, accompanied by approximately six hundred students and doctors, as well as enthusiastic and sympathetic crowd of town folks, made his way to the eastern gate of the town. Arriving at the spot, they found a scaffold already erected and a pile of logs laid in order. One of the more distinguished Masters of the Arts applied the torch to the pile; and as soon as the flames blazed up, the Reformer stepped forward, holding in his hand the several volumes which constitute the Canon Law and various other writings of earlier popes, committing them one at a time to the flames. Finally, the bull of Leo was also cast into the flames.

The burning of the pope’s bull marked the closing of one stage and the opening of another in the Reformation. Luther knew that one blow was not the battle, but there was now no question that the war had begun. From this point on, an understanding of the nature of the church more clearly developed. It was his clearer and perfected judgment respecting the two systems and the two churches that enabled him to act with such decision—a decision that astounded Rome, which had never doubted that her bolt would crush the Reformer. Though she had been somewhat in doubt as to whether to launch it, she never doubted that once launched, it would certainly quell the Wittenberg revolt.

When Aleander opened his campaign with a bonfire of Luther’s writings in Cologne, someone asked him of what value it was to burn the books of Luther’s opinions, when the real issue was erasing them from the hearts of men. The legate replied that while this was true, it was proper to teach by signs which all could read. It was his secret desire, however, to bring the author of the books to the pile. He realized, however, that to obtain this objective, he must get Luther into his power. In order to do this, he must detach Frederick from Luther’s side and win over the young emperor. In the legate’s mind, the latter goal seemed to pose little difficulty. Born in the Catholic faith and descended from an ancestry whose glories were closely entwined with Catholicism, there was little question where the emperor’s loyalty lay. Though he had marked out a path which he little doubted would bring the Reformer to the stake, Aleander found that the path was beset with greater difficulties than he had calculated on meeting.

Luther’s Condemnation Sought

Approaching the young emperor, on whose authority Luther’s books had been burned, the nuncio pointed out that while the books had been burned, the air was yet thick with heresy. In order to purify it, he proposed a royal edict against the author. The emperor declined to give a direct answer, deferring until he could ascertain the thinking of the Elector of Saxony on the matter.

Aleander next begged an audience with Frederick. The elector received him in the presence of his counselors and the Bishop of Trent. The haughty envoy, assuming a tone that bordered on insolence, asserted that Luther was rending the Christian State, bringing the Empire to ruin, and that Frederick alone stood between the monk and his justly deserved chastisement. He concluded by demanding that the elector himself punish Luther, or failing in that, deliver him over to Rome.

The elector met the bold assault of Aleander with a plea for justice. He pointed out that no one had yet refuted Luther and that it would be a gross scandal to sentence to punishment a man who stood uncondemned. He proposed that Luther must be summoned before a tribunal of pious, learned, and impartial judges.

The elector’s statement pointed directly to a hearing before the Diet soon to be convened at Worms. Knowing the courage and eloquence of Luther, nothing could have been more disagreeable with Aleander. He dreaded the impression that Luther’s appearance would create, and he had no interest in meeting him in a debate or to win from him any more victories of the sort Eck so loudly boasted. From his travels in Germany, he knew how popular the cause of Protestantism had already become. Wherever it was known that he was the opponent of Luther, it was only with difficulty that he was able to find admittance at a respectable inn; and even in these, the portrait of the monk stared back at him from the walls of almost every bedroom in which he slept. Besides, Luther had already been excommunicated. To grant him a hearing under such circumstances would surely give the appearance that the pope’s sentence might be reversed by secular authority, making the chair of Peter subordinate to the States-General of Germany. On all of these grounds, the papal nuncio was resolved to oppose to the uttermost Luther’s appearance before the Diet.

Martin Luther, part III – Luther Stands Firm Before The Council

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When he nailed his theses on the door of the church at Wittenberg, Luther acted without a plan, a fact that he later admitted. He was acting upon what he believed to be his duty of the moment, without thought that the sound of his hammer would resound throughout Christianity for years to come, toppling the throne of the pontiff that, as of yet, he professed to revere. At the time, Luther’s great concern was that his flock at Wittenberg not be ensnared by Tetzel’s indulgences. Little did he dream that by the action that he was taking he would arouse the opposition that was soon to be manifest.

The theses spread with the rapidity of lightning. A month had not elapsed before they had arrived in Rome and, in as little time, they had been circulated throughout all of Christendom. A response was not lacking. The widespread interest that they aroused greatly increased the fears of the papal authorities, and Luther received a summons to appear in Rome within sixty days to answer the charge of heresy. In spite of the rising storm of opposition, however, Luther was unmoved. Though he stood alone, he was ready to stand on his theses. He had thrown down the gage, and he would not decline the battle. Luther’s friends, fearing greatly for his safety, petitioned the elector to have the case heard in Germany; and a hearing was eventually arranged in Augsburg.

Before Luther’s lodging in Augsburg, the Italian courtier, Urban of Serra Longa, presented himself. He made unbounded professions of friendship for the doctor of Wittenberg and had come, he said, “to give hi a piece of advice before appearing in the presence of De Vio. . . .

“The advice of Urban was expressed in a single word—‘Submit. Surely he [Luther] had not come this long way to break a lance with the cardinal: of course, he had not. He was speaking, he presumed, to a wise man.’

“Luther hinted that the matter was not so plain as his advisor took it to be.

“’Oh,’ continued the Italian, with a profusion of politeness, ‘I understand: you have posted up “Theses,” you have preached sermons, you have sworn oaths; but three syllables, just six letters, will do the business—Revoco.’”

God’s Word Luther’s Only Authority in Matters of Faith

“’If I am convinced out of the sacred Scriptures,’ rejoined Luther, ‘that I have erred, I shall be but too glad to retract.’

“The Italian Urban opened his eyes somewhat widely when he heard the monk appeal to a Book which had long ceased to be read or believed at the metropolis of Christendom. But surely, he thought, Luther will not be so fanatical as to persist in putting the authority of the Bible in opposition to that of the pope; and so the courtier continued.

“’The pope,’ said he, ‘can by a single nod change or suppress articles of faith, and surely you must feel yourself safe when you have the pope on your side, more especially when emolument, position, and life might all lie on your coming to the same conclusion with his Holiness.’ He exhorted him not to lose a moment in tearing down his ‘Theses’ and recalling his oaths.

“Urban of Serra Longa had overshot the mark. Luther found it necessary to tell him yet more plainly that the thing was impossible, unless the cardinal should convince him by arguments drawn from the Word of God that he had taught a false doctrine.” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 275, 276.

Three times Luther appeared before the council at Augsburg. As he returned for the third meeting, accompanied by the elector’s councilors, he was immediately surrounded by the Italians, who were present at the conference in great numbers. They crowded around him, eager to obtain a glimpse of the monk who had stirred up such a commotion in Christianity. Luther advanced to present his protest to the cardinal. In this protest, Luther addressed two points on which he had been attacked. The concept that the indulgences were the treasure of the merit of Jesus Christ and of the saints was the first point to which he had objected. Second, Luther showed that no man can be justified before God if he has not faith, a point that he proved with a number of statements from Scripture.

The legate took the declaration from Luther’s hand; and after coldly looking it over, declared, “’You have indulged in useless verbiage; you have penned many idle words; you have replied in a foolish manner to the two articles and have blackened your paper with a great number of passages from Scripture that have no connection with the subject.’ Then, with an air of contempt, De Vio flung Luther’s protest aside; as if it were of no value, . . . he began to exclaim with all his might that Luther ought to retract. The latter was immovable. . . . The cardinal then began a long speech, extracted from the writing of St. Thomas; he again extolled the constitution of Clement VI and persisted in maintaining that by virtue of this constitution it is the very merits of Jesus Christ that are dispensed to the believer by means of indulgences. He thought he had reduced Luther to silence; the latter sometimes interrupted him; but De Vio raved and stormed without intermission and claimed, as on the previous day, the sole right of speaking. . . .

“His [Luther’s] indignation burst out at last; it is his turn to astonish the spectators, who believe him already conquered by the prelate’s volubility. He raises his sonorous voice, seizes upon the cardinal’s favorite subject, and makes him pay dearly for his rashness in venturing to enter into discussion with him. ‘Retract, retract!’ repeated De Vio, pointing to the papal constitution.

Luther Meets De Vio on His Own Ground

“’Well, if it can be proved by this constitution,’ said Luther, ‘that the treasure of indulgences is the very merits of Jesus Christ, I consent to retract, according to your eminence’s good-will and pleasure.’” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 4, chapter 8.

The Italians, who were not expecting such a response, were in complete astonishment. As for the cardinal, he was beside himself, scarcely believing how completely he had captured his opponent. Exulting in the victory he now thought to be certain, De Vio seized the book which contained the famous constitution and eagerly read the passage. The Italians could not suppress their elation, nor could the elector’s councilors hide their embarrassment. Luther, however, waited for his opponent. “At last, the cardinal read the words: ‘The Lord Jesus Christ has acquired this treasure by His sufferings,’ and Luther stopped him.

‘Most worthy father,’ said he, ‘pray, meditate, and weigh these words carefully: He has acquired. Christ has acquired a treasure by His merits; the merits, therefore, are not the treasure; for, to speak philosophically, the cause and effect are very different matters. . . .’

“De Vio still held the book in his hands, his eyes resting on the fatal passage; he could make no reply. He was caught in the very snare he had laid; and Luther held him thee with a strong hand, to the inexpressible astonishment of the Italian courtiers around him. The legate would have eluded the difficulty, but he had not the means; he had long abandoned the testimony of Scripture and of the fathers. . . . Desirous of concealing his disgrace, the prince of the church suddenly quitted this subject and violently attacked on other articles. Luther, who perceived this skillful maneuver, did not permit him to escape; he tightened and closed on every side the net in which he had taken the cardinal and rendered all escape impossible. ‘Most reverend Father,’ said he, with an ironical, yet very respectful tone, ‘your eminence cannot, however, imagine that w Germans are ignorant of grammar; to be a treasure, and to acquire a treasure, are two very different things.’

“’Retract!’ said De Vio, ‘retract! Or if you do not, I shall send you to Rome to appear before judges commissioned to take cognizance of your affair. . . . Think you that your protectors will stop me? Do you imagine that the pope cares anything for Germany? The pope’s little finger is stronger than all the German princes put together.’” Ibid.

Luther’s only reply was to request that the legate forward his reply to the pope. At these words, the legate in anger said, “Retract, or return no more.”

Without reply, Luther, followed by the elector’s councilors, withdrew. The cardinal and the Italians, remaining alone, looked at one another in confusion.

Though they never met again, messages of friendship from the cardinal were conveyed to Luther. The concern of the Germans for Luther’s safety increased, however, just in proportion to the mildness of the prelate’s language. They greatly feared that the legate was laying plans to seize the Reformer and throw him in prison; but he feared to move and violate the imperial safe-conduct on his own, until he should receive a reply from Rome.’’

Luther, realizing that God had preserved him until that hour, determined not to tempt God. Quickly plans were laid for a secret departure. A horse was provided, and the city magistrate supplied him with a guide. Before daybreak, they slipped through a small gate and as rapidly as possible made their way away from Augsburg. Luther pressed his poor animal to gallop as fast as its strength would allow. He well remembered the supposed flight of Huss and the manner in which he was caught. At the time when Huss was committed to the flames, his adversaries asserted that by his flight he had forfeited the safe-conduct and that they had a right to burn him.

Surprised and angered at the news of Luther’s escape, the legate wrote Frederick, the elector of Saxony, bitterly denouncing Luther and demanding that Frederick send him to Rome or banish him from Saxony.

Though the elector had, as yet, little knowledge of Luther’s doctrine, he was greatly impressed by the force and clearness of his reasoning; and until he should be proved to be in error, Frederick resolved to stand as his protector. He wrote the legate: “’Since Doctor Martin appeared before you at Augsburg, you ought to be satisfied. We did not expect that you would endeavor to make him retract without having convinced him of his errors. None of the learned men in our principality have informed me that Martin’s doctrine is impious, anti-Christian, or heretical.’ The prince refused, moreover, to send Luther to Rome or to expel him from his states.” Ibid., chapter 10.

The darkness seemed to thicken around Luther. Everywhere were ominous signs of a gathering storm. Just when the danger had reached its height, Emperor Maximilian died (January 12, 1519). Negotiations and intrigues were now set on foot for the election of a new emperor. The pope, who favored a particular candidate, found it necessary, in order to obtain his objective to court the favor of the elector Frederick, whose position as regent and whose character for wisdom gave him a potential voice in the electoral college. For the time being, it did not seem prudent to push the issue regarding Luther.

On July 4, 1519, a debate was held between Dr. Eck and Luther at Leipzig, relative to the primacy of the papacy. As the debate proceeded, Eck was constantly and consciously losing ground. Finally, on the second day of the debate, he sought to direct the course of discussion in such a way as to prejudice the audience against Luther, hoping to destroy the effect of his words. Addressing the council, he said, “From primitive times downward it was acknowledged by all good Christians that the Church of Rome holds its primacy of Jesus Christ Himself, and not of man. I must confess, however, that the Bohemians, while obstinately defending their errors, attacked this doctrine. The venerable father must pardon me if I am an enemy of the Bohemians, because they are the enemies of he Church, and if he present discussion has reminded me of these heretics; for . . . according to my weak judgment, . . . the conclusions to which the doctor has come, are all in favor of their errors. It is even affirmed that the Hussites loudly boast of this.” A. T. Jones, Ecclesiastical Empire, 729.

Luther well knew the peril in which Eck had placed him. He replied, “I love not a schism, and I never shall. Since the Bohemians, of their own authority, separated from our unity, they do wrong, even were divine authority decisive in favor of their doctrines; for at the head of all divine authority is charity and the union of the Spirit.” Ibid.

The debate was adjourned for dinner. During the interval, Luther’s conscience began to trouble him for speaking as he did about the Bohemian Christians and he determined to correct the false impression that he had left on the minds of the people.

Luther Rejects the Primacy of the Church

Luther saw the difficulty of his position. He had already repudiated the primacy of the pope and had appealed from the pope to a council. This decision involved the rejection of the Council of Constance, one of the greatest councils of the Church. For him to endorse the attitude of the Christian Bohemians was to declare that a Council had condemned what was, in fact, Christian—in short, of having erred—breaking from himself the last remaining bond of attachment with the papacy; and, doing so, opening all of the floodgates of papal opposition. Yet, in Luther’s mind it was becoming clear that the infallible authority of councils, as well as that of the pope, must be given up and that he must stand on the Word of God alone.

“Accordingly, as soon as the meeting had assembled in the afternoon session, Luther seized the first moment. He arose and, with the decision of conviction in his voice, said: ‘Certain of the tenets of John Huss and the Bohemians are perfectly orthodox. This much is certain. For instance, “That there is only one universal Church,” and again, “That it is not necessary to salvation to believe the Roman Church superior to others.” Whether Wycliffe or Huss said so, I care not. It is the truth.’” Ibid., 730.

Eck had, without realizing it, done both Luther and the Reformation a great service. The blow which he had anticipated would destroy Luther served, instead, to sever the last link in the chain that still bound the Reformer to Rome.

Luther’s statement produced a sensation. Several persons who had until that moment listened to him with favor, began to doubt his orthodoxy. The impression made upon Duke George was never effaced; and from that moment, he viewed the Reformer with an unfavorable eye.

When the Bohemian Christian heard the news of the discussion, they wrote to Luther: “What Huss was formerly in Bohemia, you, O Martin, are now in Saxony. Wherefore pray, and be strong in the Lord.” Ibid., 731.

The choice for emperor fell between two men—Charles I of Spain, and Francis I of France. Charles, who at nineteen was seven years younger than his rival, scattered gold profusely among the electors and princes of Germany to gain the coveted prize. His rival, Francis, was liberal; but he lacked the gold mines of Mexico and Peru which Charles had at his command.

The very power of the two rivals nearly defeated both of them. Encouraged by the pope, who feared the rising power of both monarchs, the electors chose Frederick of Saxony. Frederick, perhaps as an act of weakness when suddenly faced with the fearful challenge meeting a multitude of distractions within the empire and the Moslems on its frontier, declined what the two most powerful sovereigns in Europe were so eager to obtain. On June 28, 1519, the electors again met; the vote was unanimous in favor of Charles. How differently might history have been written had Frederick, the friend of Luther, accepted the imperial crown. Instead, however, it passed to Charles, who was to become the bitter foe of the Reformation.

It was a year before Charles was to arrive for his coronation, and the regency was continued in the hands of Frederick. During that time, “the little group at Wittenberg busily engaged in laying the foundation of an empire that would long out last that of the man on whose head the diadem of the Caesars was about to be placed.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 305.

Luther began reading the writings of John Huss. To his surprise, he found in them the truth of free justification of the sinner. “’We have all,’ he exclaimed, half in wonder, half in joy, ‘Paul, Augustine, and myself, been Hussites without knowing it!’ and he added, with deep seriousness, ‘God will surely visit it upon the world that the truth was preached to it a century ago, and burned!’” Ibid.

It was now that Luther published his famous appeal on the reformation of Christianity to the emperor, the princes, and the people of Germany. It was the most graphic and stirring appeal that had yet issued from his pen. Like a peal of thunder, it rang from side to side of Germany, sounding the deal knell of Roman domination.

Presuming that the new emperor would be just and magnanimous, Luther appealed to Charles, knowing that his cause would triumph regardless of which side Charles might espouse. While he would rather have had its progress peaceful and its arrival at the goal speedy, Luther never doubted the ultimate triumph of truth. The emperor never condescended to reply to the doctor of Wittenberg.

Martin Luther, part II – The Doctrine of Indulgences

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From Wycliffe, the good seed of the Word of God had been sown throughout Europe. In Bohemia and at Constance, it had been watered with the blood of the saints and proved by fire. A hundred years had passed since the martyrdom of Huss and Jerome. The condition of the church, rather than improving because of the light, had reached new depths of depravity. During the Reformation, the court of Rome had been scandalized by acts of treason, murder, and incest. Even its most respectable members were utterly unfit to be ministers of religion. The Church of Rome had made plain her complete antagonism to the Word of God and to the way of salvation which she professed to know and of which she claimed to be the exclusive channel. By His faithful witnesses, God had sought to call the Church of Rome to repentance; but she would not. If reform could not be brought about within the church, the only course remaining was to do so from without.

Luther’s status as an envoy from Germany obtained him numerous invitations to meetings. At one of these meetings, several of the prelates were openly displaying their buffoonery and impious conversation. He discovered that many of the priests were but playing a part and that in private they held in contempt and treated with mockery the rites which in public they celebrated with such a show of devotion. Surely, he thought, faith and piety must still be found among the dignitaries of the Church. A short time late, he was to find how greatly mistaken he was.

One day he was with some prelates when they humorously related how, when they were repeating the mass at the altar, instead of the sacramental words that were to transform the bread and wine into the flesh and blood of our Saviour, they pronounced: “’Bread thou art, and bread thou shalt remain. Wine thou art, and wine thou shalt remain. Then,’ continued they, ‘we elevate the host, and all the people bow down and worship it.’” D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, book 2, chapter 6, 69. Luther scarcely believed his ears. He was horrified.

Righteousness by Faith

There was, at the time of Luther’s visit, a stairway of marble that was said to have been the stairs which Christ climbed to Pilate’s judgment hall. These stairs were said to have been miraculously transported to Rome by angels. Everyone who climbed them on his knees, it was said, merited an indulgence of fifteen years for each ascent. While climbing the stairs, Luther was startled by a sudden voice which sounded in his ears as thunder saying, “The just shall live by faith.” Luther started to his feet in amazement. In this one truth, which burned itself indelibly into his mind, lay folded the whole Reformation.

Though Luther’s stay in Rome was no more than two weeks, during this short period of time, he learned lessons that remained with him throughout the rest of his life. No more did he have anything to do with relics. He had found that which had a thousand times more efficacy than all of the holy treasure of which Rome could boast.

A few months after his return, Luther received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from the University of Wittemberg. On that occasion, Luther took an oath upon the Bible to defend the faith contained in the Holy Scriptures. From there he turned to the Bible as his lifework.

Truly, “we can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth.” 2 Corinthians 13:8. “The Roman Church had made merchandise of the grace of God. The tables of the money-changers (Matthew 21:12) were set up beside her altars, and the air resounded with the shouts of buyers and sellers. Under the plea of raising funds for the erection of St. Peter’s Church at Rome, indulgences for sin were publicly offered for sale by the authority of the pope. By the price of crime, a temple was to be built up for God’s worship—the cornerstone laid with the wages of iniquity! But the very means adopted for Rome’s aggrandizement provoked the deadliest blow to her power and greatness. It was this that aroused the most determined and successful of the enemies of popery, and led to the battle which shook the papal throne and jostled the triple crown upon the pontiff’s head.” The Great Controversy, 127.

The license to sell indulgences in the various countries was sold to the highest bidder, with the pope to be paid in advance. The indulgences in Germany were farmed out to Albert, Archbishop of Mainz and Madeburg. The Archbishop was in Germany what Leo X was in Rome. In looking for a man to transverse the country extolling and actually selling the indulgences, he found in Tetzel a man who in every way suited his purpose. Tetzel, the son of a goldsmith of Leipzig, had been convicted of a base crime at Innsbruck and had been condemned to be placed in a sack and drowned; but powerful intercession being made for him, he received a reprieve and lived to help, unconsciously, in the overthrow of the system that he espoused.

When Tetzel entered a city, he made his way directly to the cathedral. A cross was set up in front of the altar and a strong, iron box was placed beside it. Tetzel, mounting the pulpit, would expound on the incomparable merit of his wares. Never before had the gates of Paradise opened so wide. “’Indulgences,’ he said, ‘are the most precious and most noble of God’s gifts. . . . Come, and I will give you letters all properly sealed, by which even the sins you intend to commit may be pardoned. I would not change my privileges for those of St. Peter in heaven, for I have saved more souls by my indulgences than the apostle did by his sermons. . . . But more than this . . . indulgences avail not only for the living, but for the dead. Priest, noble, merchant, wife, youth, maiden, do you not hear your parents and your other friends who are dead, and who cry from the bottom of the abyss: “We are suffering horrible torments! A trifling alms would deliver us; you can give it and you will not.”?

‘At the very instant,’ continues Tetzel, ‘that the money rattles at the bottom of the chest, the soul escapes from purgatory, and flies liberated to heaven. Now you can ransom so many souls, stiff-necked and thoughtless man; with twelve groats you can deliver your father from purgatory, and you are ungrateful enough not to save him! I shall be satisfied in the Day of Judgment; but you—you will be punished so much the more severely for having neglected so great salvation. I declare to you, though you have a single coat, you ought to strip it off and sell it, in order to obtain this grace. . . . The Lord our God no longer reigns; He has resigned all power to the pope.’” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 57.

Indulgences Become License

The matter of indulgences quickly became the focal point of discussion from the palace to the university and even in the market place. That a little money could atone for the guilt and efface the stain of the most enormous crimes was a blow at the very foundation of the moral fabric of the nation. The more sensible portion of the population were shocked, and those who had some small knowledge of the Word of God viewed the matter in an even worse light. “The papal key, instead of unlocking the fountains of grace and holiness, had opened the floodgates of impiety and vice; and men trembled at the deluge of licentiousness which seemed ready to rush in and overflow the land.” Ibid., 258.

Leo’s Quest for Gold

When the gold began to pour into Rome, the joy of Leo X knew no bounds. “He had not, like the Emperor Charles, a ‘Mexico’ beyond the Atlantic; but he had a ‘Mexico’ in the credulity of Christendom, and he saw neither limit nor end of the wealth it might yield him. Never again would he have cause to bewail an empty treasury. Men would never cease to sin; and o long as they continued to sin, they would need pardon; and where could they go for pardon if not to the Church—in other words, to himself? He only, of all men on the earth, held the key. He might say with an ancient monarch, ‘Mine hand hath found as a nest the riches of the nations; and as one gathereth eggs, so have I gathered all the earth.’ Thus Leo went from day to day, building St. Peter’s, but pulling down the papacy.” Ibid.

“Men of all characters, righteous and unrighteous, will stand in their several positions in God’s plan. With the characters they have formed, they will act their part in the fulfillment of history. In a crisis, just at the right moment, they will stand in the places they have prepared themselves to fill. Believers and unbelievers will fall into line as witnesses to confirm truth that they themselves do not comprehend. All will cooperate in accomplishing the purposes of God, just as did Annas, Caiaphas, Pilate, and Herod.” Review and Herald, June 12, 1900.

Luther, who acted as confessor as well as preacher, as he sat one day in the confessional, was approached by some citizens of Wittemberg who confessed having committed thefts, adulteries, and other heinous sins. Luther told them that they must abandon their evil course; otherwise he could not absolve them. To his surprise, they replied that they had no thought of changing, in as much as these sins were already pardoned. They then pulled out their indulgence papers obtained from Tetzel. Luther could only tell them that the papers were worthless and that they must repent and be forgiven of God or they would perish everlastingly.

The poor, deluded people, quite unhappy at losing both their money and, at the same time, their hope of heaven, quickly found Tetzel and informed him that a monk in Wittemberg was warning the people against his indulgences. Tetzel was enraged. Kindling a fire in the marketplace of Juterbock, he indicated what would be done to anyone who should presume to obstruct his noble work, declaring that the pope had given him authority to commit all such heretics to the flames.

Luther was unmoved by Tetzel’s angry words. He had no thought but that the pope, if not ignorant of the sale of indulgences, was at least unaware of the frightful excesses that attended their sale; and he became even more strenuous in his condemnation of them.

Tetzel continued his sale of indulgences, and Luther felt constrained to take even more decisive measures. Elector Frederick had recently completed a church-castle in Wittemberg. He had spared neither money nor labor in gathering relics in their settings of gold and precious stones. These were put on public display and shown to the people on the festival of All Saints. On the eve of the festival, October 31, Luther, who had given no hint to anyone of what he proposed to do, joined the crowd that was approaching the church. Pressing his way to the front, he quickly nailed to the door a paper on which he had put forth ninety-five theses, or propositions, against the doctrine of indulgences. The sound of his hammer drew a crowd, and they quickly began to read. These points, Luther announced, he would defend at the university the next day against all who might choose to dispute them.

In this paper, Luther struck at more than the abuses of indulgences. The theses put God’s free gift of salvation in sharp contrast with the pope’s salvation to be obtained by purchase. Though he little realized the full significance of the step that he had taken, Luther had set the stage for the Reformation. The two systems—salvation by Jesus Christ and salvation by Rome—were brought face to face.

The news traveled quickly. Erasmus, on being asked by the Elector of Saxony his opinion on the matter, replied with characteristic shrewdness, “Luther has committed two unpardonable crimes—he has attacked the pope’s tiara, and the bellies of the monks.” Ibid., 263.

A Remarkable Dream

The morning of October 31, the elector said to Duke John, “’Brother, I must tell you a dream which I had last night, and the meaning of which I should like much to know. It is so deeply impressed on my mind, that I will never forget it, were I to live a thousand years. For I dreamed it thrice, and each time with new circumstances.’

“Duke John: ‘Is it a good or a bad dream?’

“The elector: ‘I know not; God knows.’

Duke John: ‘Don’t be uneasy at it; but be so good as to tell it to me.’

“The elector: ‘Having gone to bed last night, fatigued and out of spirits, I fell asleep shortly after my prayer, and slept calmly for about two hours and a half; I then awoke, and continued awake to midnight, all sorts of thoughts passing through my mind. Among other things, I thought how I was to observe the Feast of All Saints. I prayed for the poor souls in purgatory; and supplicated God to guide me, my counsels, and my people according to truth. I again fell asleep, and then dreamed that Almighty God sent me a monk, who was a true son of the Apostle Paul. All the saints accompanied him by order of God, in order to bear testimony before me, and to declare that he did not come to contrive any plot, but that all that he did was according to the will of God. They asked me to have the goodness graciously to permit him to write something on the door of the church of the Castle of Wittemberg. This I granted through my chancellor. Thereupon the monk went to the church, and began to write in such large characters that I could read the writing in Schweinitz. The pen which he used as so large that its end reached as far as Rome, where it pierced the ears of a lion that was crouching there, and caused the triple crown upon the head of the pope to shake. All the cardinals and princes running hastily up, tried to prevent it from falling. You and I, brother, wished also to assist, and I stretched out my arm;—but at this moment, I awoke with my arm in the air, quite amazed, and very much enraged at the monk for not managing his pen better. I recollected myself; it was only a dream.’

“’I was still half asleep, and once more closed my eyes. The dream returned; the lion, still annoyed by the pen, began to roar with all his might, so much so that the whole city of Rome and all the States of the Holy Empire ran to see what the matter was. The pope requested them to oppose this monk, and applied particularly to me, on the account of his being in my country. I again awoke, repeated the Lord’s prayer, entreated God to preserve his holiness, and once more fell asleep.

“’Then I dreamed that all the princes of the Empire, and we among them, hastened to Rome and strove, one after another, to break the pen; but the more we tried, the stiffer it became, sounding as if it had been made of iron. We at length desisted. I then asked the monk (for I was sometimes at Rome, and sometimes at Wittemberg) where he got this pen, and why it was so strong. “The pen,” replied he, “belonged to an old goose of Bohemia, a hundred years old. I got it from one of my old schoolmasters. As to its strength, it is owing to the impossibility of depriving it of its pith or marrow; and I am quite astonished at it myself.” Suddenly, I heard a loud noise—a large number of other pens had sprung out of the long pen of the monk. I awoke a third time; it was daylight.’

“Duke John: ‘Chancellor, what is your opinion? Would we had a Joseph, or a Daniel, enlightened by God!’” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 263-265.

The elector had scarcely finished telling his dream in the royal castle of Schweinitz the morning of October 32, 1517, when Luther, with paper in hand, arrived at the castle church to interpret its meaning.

Thanksgiving Proclamation

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Issued on October 22, 1906

Yet another year of wide-spread well-being has passed. Never before in our history or in the history of any other nation has a people enjoyed more abounding material prosperity than is ours, a prosperity so general that it should arouse in us no spirit of reckless pride, and least of all a spirit of heedless disregard of our responsibilities, but rather a sober sense of our many blessings and a resolute purpose, under Providence, not to forfeit them by any action of our own.

Material well-being, indispensable tho it is, can never be anything but the foundation of true national greatness and happiness. If we build nothing upon this foundation, then our national life will be as meaningless and empty as a house where only the foundation has been laid. Upon our material well-being must be built a superstructure of individual and national life lived in accordance with the laws of the highest morality, or else our prosperity itself will, in the long run, turn out a curse instead of a blessing. We should be both reverently thankful for what we have received, and earnestly bent upon turning it into a means of grace and not of destruction.

Accordingly, I hereby set apart Thursday, the 29th day of November next, as a day of thanksgiving and supplication on which the people shall meet in their homes or their churches, devoutly acknowledge all that has been given them and pray that they may in addition receive the power to use these gifts aright.

Although Thanksgiving had been observed unofficially since the days of the Pilgrims, various proclamations have been made by royal governors, John Hancock, General George Washington, and the Continental Congress, each giving thanks to God for events favorable to their causes. As President of the United States, George Washington proclaimed the first nation-wide thanksgiving celebration in America marking November 26, 1789, as a day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by acknowledging with grateful hearts the many and signal favours of Almighty God.

It was not fixed as a national holiday until the 1870s. On December 26, 1941, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed a joint resolution of Congress changing the national Thanksgiving Day from the last Thursday in November to the fourth Thursday. www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thanksgiving

Martin Luther, part I – The Groundworks

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During the days of Valentinian (A.D. 364), the Roman Empire was divided into the Eastern and Western sections. The Turks eventually came to control the Eastern Empire, but proved unable to conquer Western Europe. Largely as a result of the efforts of the pope to revive the Empire in the west, the nations were grouped into a body, or federation of confederate states. From the kings of these various states, one was chosen to rule over them collectively and was given the title Emperor.

Charlemagne, the first head, succeeded in giving the confederation empire a show of power, but true to the words of prophecy: “And whereas thou sawest iron mixed with miry clay, they shall mingle themselves with the seed of men: but they shall not cleave one to another, even as iron is not mixed with clay.” Daniel 2:43. It was extremely difficult to introduce universal laws or to bring the nations together, even in matters of mutual interest. It was only the terror inspired by Mahomet II that led the princes of Germany to unite themselves in an empire.

Pope Gregory, about the year 997, is believed to have instituted seven electors. Of these, three were churchmen and three lay princes, to which one of kingly rank was added. The three churchmen wee the Archbishop of Treve, Chancellor of France; the Archbishop of Mainz, Chancellor of Germany; and the Archbishop of Cologne, Chancellor if Italy. The four laymen were the King of Bohemia, the Duke of Saxony, Count Palatine of the Rhine, and the Marquis of Brandenburg. The election was to take place in Frankfort; and no elector was permitted to enter the city attended by more than 200 horsemen, of which only 50 were to be armed.

The emperor had no special revenue to support the imperial dignity and no power to enforce the imperial commands. The princes were careful not to make the emperor too powerful, lest he should infringe on their independent sovereignty. In the end, the Empire had only two elements of cohesion—Roman Catholicism and their fear of the Turks.

With the death of Maximilian, in 1519, the imperial crown became vacant. There were two powerful contenders who came forward to claim the price—Francis I of France and Charles of Austria, the grandson of Maximilian and King of Spain. Henry VIII had an interest; but finding his chances of winning small, he early withdrew. In the end, the Germans chose Charles.

The Turks, hovering on their frontier, helped the German princes to recognize the benefit of a strong central government. They were not, however, unaware that the hand which could be strong to protect them could as easily crush out their rights. In order to protect themselves, they drew up an instrument called a Capitulation, or claim of rights, enumerating and guaranteeing the privileges and immunities of the Germanic Body, which the representatives of Charles signed. At the time of his coronation, Charles confirmed the agreement with an oath. In so doing, these men were, quite unconsciously, creating an asylum to which Protestantism might retreat when the emperor would later raise his hand to crush it.

Charles V was more powerful than any emperor had been for centuries. To the imperial dignity he added the substantial power of Spain, which was, at that time, by far the mightiest nation in Europe. In order to better understand how Spain had achieved this position, we will briefly look at the events that had taken place to bring Spain to the pinnacle of power and grandeur that it then enjoyed.

 

Spain Emerges

 

In 711, a Berber Muslim army crossed the Strait of Gibraltar from northern Africa into the Iberian Peninsula. By 719, Moorish rule was established in Spain. Their progress northward was arrested, however, at a battle fought in France, between Tours and Poitiers, in 732 by the Frankish ruler Charles Martel.

During the centuries of Moorish supremacy, numerous schools were built, many of them free and for the education of the poor. At the great Muslim universities, medicine, mathematics, philosophy, and literature were cultivated, placing Spanish civilization far in advance of that experienced by the rest of the continent.

With the death of Hisham III, the dynasty ended and the dissolution of the central Moorish power began, enabling the Christian kings of northern Spain to gain the advantage and subdue some Moorish states, while making others tributary. The Christian kings, in a great battle fought on the plains of Toledo in July 1212, won a decisive victory and shortly thereafter largely expelled the Muslims from Spain.

Except for small areas that were still under Moorish control, Spain, for the next two centuries, consisted of various principalities. As the Reformation approached, this suddenly changed with the merging of the various kingdoms into the two kingdoms of Castile and Aragon. Only one step remained to make Spain one monarchy, and that step was taken in 1469 by the marriage of Princess Isabella of Castile and Prince Ferdinand of Aragon. They became joint rulers of Castile in 1474 and of Aragon in 1479.

In 1492, sponsored by Ferdinand and Isabella, Christopher Columbus sailed west and landed in the West Indies. The opening of the New World made Spain the richest and most powerful European State of the sixteenth century. Through conquest and exploration, the Spanish colonies came to include the West Indies, Cuba, Mexico, all of Central America, the greater part of South America, Florida, and the Philippine Islands. In a series of Spanish campaigns from 1509 through 1511, Oran, Bougie, and Tripoli, in North Africa, became Spanish tributaries. It could then be said, as was later said of the British, that the sun never set on the Spanish Empire. Upon the death of Ferdinand, his grandson Charles became the first king of a united Spain.

In addition to Spain and the Spanish colonies, Charles inherited Naples (through his mother) and the Netherlands and Burgundy (through his father) and also acquired the duchy of Milan, including most of Lombardy. “Since the noon of the Roman power, the liberties of the world had at no time been in so great peril as now. The shadow of a universal despotism was persistently projecting itself father and yet farther upon the kingdoms and peoples of Western Europe. There was no principle known to the men of that age that seemed capable of doing battle with this colossus, and staying its advance . . . Unless Protestantism had arrived at that crisis, a universal despotism would have covered Europe, and liberty banished from the earth must have returned to her native skies.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, Book 2, 220.

From the fall of the Western Empire to the eleventh century, Europe experienced an era of unparalleled darkness. It was the crusades that first began to break the darkness. Though it was a feeble beginning, and of itself would not have been sufficient to bring the day that was yet to break over the world, commerce, art, and poetry began to appear to act upon society. In the passage of time, the printing press appeared, and soon after, the mariner’s compass. Men, who until this time had but a limited view of the world, suddenly awakened to discover a world larger and richer in natural resources than they had dared to dream existed.

 

The Bible Brings Light

 

Though these things could not have brought the dawn, they opened the way for the true light to make its way, scattering the darkness before it. The Bible, so long buried, was brought forth and translated into the various languages of Europe. “The light of heaven, after its long and disastrous eclipse, broke anew upon the world.” Ibid., 227.

It was into this setting that Martin Luther was born on November 10, 1483, in Eisleben, Germany. John and Margaret, Luther’s parents, were very poor. His father, however, was determined to make a scholar of his son; and at the age of fourteen, Luther was sent away to advance his education at Madeburg, and later at Eisenach. At eighteen, Luther entered the university at Erfurth where he pursued a course in law, according to his father’s wishes.

At this time, books were very rare. One day, during his second year at Erfurth, he was in the library, opening books to learn the writer’s names, when he came upon a Bible. His interest was greatly aroused to learn that there was such a book. Until this time he had thought that the fragments of the Gospels and Epistles that the Church had selected for reading made up the entire Bible. With indescribable emotion he turned the pages of the sacred Volume. The first part to which his attention was drawn was the story of Hanna and Samuel. As he read of Samuel’s dedication to the Lord, of how he witnessed the wickedness of Eli’s sons, the priests of the Lord who made the people to transgress and abhor the offering of the Lord, he fancied that he saw a parallel with his own times. Day after day he returned to read, rejoicing in the truth that began to open to his inquiring mind.

Luther continued to pursue his education until he acquired a Master of Arts, or Doctor of Philosophy; and for a time, the Bible appeared to be forgotten as he began to give public lectures on physics and ethics of Aristotle.

God did not, however, leave Luther. About this time, a very dear friend and companion, Alexius, was overtaken by a sudden and violent death. Soon after this, Luther paid a visit to his parents in Mansfield. On returning to Erfurth, as he neared the city gate, he was caught in a fierce thunderstorm. One bolt struck so close that, by some accounts, he was thrown to the ground. In his extremity, he vowed to God that if his life was spared, he would devote his life to His service. The storm passed, and a solemn Luther made his way into town.

On August 17, 1505, Luther entered the Augustinian Convent. He had expected that in a place so quiet and, as he thought, so near to heaven, he would find rest for his soul and relief from the burden of sin that was, to him, becoming an insupportable burden. “There is a city of refuge to which the sinner may flee when death and hell are on his track, but it is not that into which Luther had now entered.” Ibid., 236.

At the news of his son’s change of plans, John Luther became indignant and wrote an angry letter to his son. He withdrew all of his favor, and declared him disinherited from his paternal affection. In vain did the father’s friends seek to effect reconciliation.

Not long after this, the plague deprived John of two of his sons. At that time, it was related to him that Martin had also been taken in death. The father’s friends seized this opportunity to reconcile him to the young novice. Somewhat grudgingly, and still half-rebellious, John relented. “Some time after this, when Luther, who had been reconciled to his father, related to him the event that had induced him to enter a monastic order: ‘God grant,’ replied the worthy miner, ‘that you may not have taken for a sign from heaven what was merely a delusion of the devil.’” D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, Book 2, Chapter 3, 57.

The monks at the convent received Luther with joy. It was no small gratification to their vanity to have one of the most esteemed doctors of the age abandon the university and join their order. Nevertheless, they treated him harshly and imposed on him the meanest occupations, seeking to humble him.

The drudgery of the monastery, combined with the late nights of study, worked a transformation in the communicative and jovial student. He became solitary and withdrawn. At times he fell to the floor of his cell in sheer weakness, more like a corpse than a living man. One day, when his door had not been opened as usual, they knocked on his door; but there was no response. “The door was burst in, and poor Fra Martin was found stretched on the floor in a state of ecstasy, scarcely breathing, and well-nigh dead. A monk took his flute, and gently playing upon it one of the airs that Luther loved, brought him gradually back to himself. The likelihood at that moment was that instead of living to do battle with the pope, and pull down the pillars of his kingdom, a quiet grave, somewhere in the precincts of the monastery, would erelong be the only memorial remaining to testify that such a one as Martin Luther had ever existed.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, Book 2, 237, 238.

Later, as a Reformer, he wrote to Duke George of Saxony, “I was indeed a pious monk and followed the rules of my order more strictly than I can express. If ever monk could obtain heaven by his monkish works, I should have certainly been entitled to it. Of this all the friars who have known me can testify. If it had continued much longer, I should have carried my mortifications even to death by means of my watchings, prayers, reading, and other labors. D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, Book 2, Chapter 3, 59.

 

Staupitz Points Luther to Christ

 

A tender conscience inclined Luther to regard the slightest fault as a great sin. He would endeavor, by the severest mortifications, to expiate it; but in all of this, he found no peace.

It was at this time that the Lord brought the pious John Staupitz into Luther’s life. Staupitz was Vicar-General of the Augustines of Germany. Through his study he had learned the way of salvation. The purity of his own life condemned the corruption that surrounded him, but he lacked the courage to be the Reformer of Christendom. In spite of this lack, God used him in preparing Luther for that work. “The pious Staupitz opened the Word of God to Luther’s mind and bade him look away from himself, cease the contemplation of infinite punishment for the violation of God’s law, and look to Jesus, his sin-pardoning Saviour. ‘Instead of torturing yourself on account of your sins, throw yourself into the Redeemer’s arms. Trust in Him, in the righteousness of His life, in the atonement of His death. . . . Listen to the Son of God. He became man to give you the assurance of divine favor. Love Him who first loved you.’ D’Aubigne’s, History of the Reformation, Book 2, Chapter 4. Thus spoke this messenger of mercy. His words made a deep impression upon Luther’s mind. After many a struggle with long-cherished errors, he was enabled to grasp the truth, and peace came to his troubled soul.” The Great Controversy, 123, 124.

The light that pierced the darkness that surrounded Luther freed him from the principles of popery. He no longer looked to himself and to the Church for salvation, but to Jesus Christ. Before he left the convent cell to break the shackles of Rome from the Christian world, the Reformation first rehearsed itself in his cell at Erfurth.

A short time later, Luther was ordained a priest and accepted a call to professorship in the University of Wittenberg. There he applied himself to his study of the Scriptures in the original tongues. He began to lecture on the book of Psalms, the Gospels, and the Epistles. His friend Staupitz urged him to ascend the pulpit and preach the Word of God; but Luther hesitated, feeling himself unworthy of such a high calling. It was only after a long struggle that he yielded to the invitation of friends.

Luther was still a true son of the papal church and had no thought that he would ever be anything else; but in the providence of God, he was led to make a trip to Rome. About this time a quarrel broke out between seven monasteries of the Augustines and their Vicar-General. It was agreed to submit the matter to the pope, and Luther’s eloquence recommended him as the person most fit to undertake the task. Descending the mountains to the fertile plains of Lombardy, he stopped for a few days of rest at a monastery on the banks of the Po. He was filled with misgivings as he observed the magnificence and luxury. The monks, endowed with a princely income, lived in splendid apartments and dressed themselves in the richest and most costly attire. His mind became perplexed as he contrasted this lifestyle with the self-denial and hardship of his own life. Friday came and, according to church law, there was to be no meat served. The tables of the monks, however, groaned under the abundance as before. Luther could no longer remain silent. “’On this day,’ said Luther, ‘such things my not be eaten. The pope has forbidden them.’” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, Book 2, 248.

Though it did not spoil their appetites, the manners of this rude German did startle the monks. They became apprehensive that he might report their style of life to their superiors at headquarters, and they consulted how this danger might be avoided. A friendly porter disclosed to Luther that to remain longer would be to incur great risk. Profiting by the friendly warning, Luther quickly departed with as little delay as possible.

At the first sight of Rome, Luther fell to his knees, exclaiming, “Holy Rome, I salute thee!” Expecting there to find the spotless beauty of apostolic truth, he made his way into the city.