Sketches in the Life of the Man Who Shook the World
Unknown Author
Table of Contents
Sketches in the Life of the Man Who Shook the World - 1
THE leaders of the Reformation in the sixteenth century were not men of high birth or noble descent. Like the men whom our Lord chose to be His Apostles, they were mostly of humble estate. He who in many respects was the greatest of the Reformers and whose name has been a watchword and a battle-cry for all succeeding ages, and which is still a household word in tens of thousands of homes, was no exception. Martin Luther was a poor man’s son. His father, John, and his mother, Margaret, however, possessed what is of more value than noble blood: they were devout Christians. In the year 1483 they removed from the village of Moza, near Eisenach in Thuringia, Saxony, to Eisleben in the same State or Electorate, and there, at 11 p.m., 10th November, 1483, the future Reformer was born. It was the eve of St. Martin’s day, that first of canonized Romish Saints, about whom so many wonderful stories are told. On the following day John Luther took his baby boy to St. Peter’s Church, where he dedicated him to God, giving him the name of Martin in honor of the good man—and good man he was—whose name and memory have been overlaid with so many gross superstitions and lying legends.
The next year the family removed to Mansfield, fifteen miles distant, where, besides delving in the mines for iron, John Luther set up two blast furnaces on his own account: but they lived in great poverty. His mother had to go to the forest to procure wood to keep the furnaces going, carrying the faggots home on her back. Martin spent his early boyish days amid the smoke and grime of these furnaces, but that did not sully his fair name (Luther, that is, lauter—pure), which was to receive its high illustration in his recovery and dissemination of the pure doctrines of the Gospel, especially that of justification by faith. There is an old picture in existence representing Martin’s first introduction to school by his father. The rod in the master’s hand and the weeping boy behind his chair are significant of the ordeal through which children usually passed in those days. “In one morning,” says Luther, “I was well whipped fifteen times:” and yet he was not a dull nor a lazy boy, for he learned quickly, not only German, but Latin.
In subsequent years Luther complains that schools were prisons and schoolmasters tyrants. The harshness and cruelty which he witnessed and suffered colored very much all his religious thoughts for some years. He looked upon God as a hard Master and a tyrannical Judge, to be appeased by suffering, almsgiving, and good works of all kinds even Jesus Christ was an Object of slavish dread.
John Luther’s circumstances improved, and, an enlightened man himself, especially for that time, he determined to use his best endeavor to make his son a scholar, a lawyer, or perhaps, a counsellor to some prince. The boy was therefore, at fourteen, sent off to Magdeburg, to a school kept by the Franciscans. This school was not like some of the Boarding Schools of modern times. The boys were taught and lodged, but food had to be found as best they could. “I had to beg,” says Martin, “with my schoolfellows for what little food was required for the supply o’ our needs.”
One Christmastime the boys went in a body through the neighboring villages, singing in four voices the comm on hymns on the birth of Jesus. Stopping at a lone dwelling at the end of the village, a man came out with something for them to eat, but his voice was so gruff and his manner so uninviting, that they did not stop to answer his question, “Where do you come from, boys?” but ran off as fast as they could, seized with a sudden panic. At length, as the man kept calling, they stopped, threw off their fears, and ran towards him, and gladly partook of his bounty. “Thus it is,” says Luther, “that we are accustomed to fly when our conscience is guilty and alarmed. Then are we afraid even of the help that is offered to us, and of those who are our friends and who want to do us all manner of good.”
Learning what straits Martin suffered, his father removed him to Eisenach, much nearer home, and where he had many relations. But he was no better off there; his relations were either too poor, or too lacking in kindness to give the boy any assistance, so he often went without the food so necessary for him. Singing in the streets was his only resource, and this was precarious. Often the poor, shy lad got nothing but hard words instead of bread, when bitter tears were his meat and drink, and he trembled to think of the future. One day he had been roughly repelled from three houses, and thought to go back fasting to his lodgings, when, as he stood motionless and melancholy before the house of a burgess, all at once a door opened, and a woman appeared on the threshold. This was Ursula, the wife of Conrad Cotta. This Christian Shunamite, as she came to be called, had often seen Martin at church and had been struck by the soft tones of his voice. She had overheard the harsh words which had so dejected the poor scholar, and she resolved to help him. She welcomed him to her house and table, and, with her husband’s consent, to a home in their abode.
There was no longer any fear of his having to forsake his studies, and bury himself in the mines of Mansfield; his bread was given him; his water was sure. This inspired him with such trust in God that the wildest storms of his future life never removed. Young Martin now enjoyed a calm hitherto unknown. His heart was more open, his character more sprightly, and his whole being seemed to awake to the gentle beams of affection, and beat with life and joy and happiness. He became more ardent in prayer, his thirst for knowledge increased, and he made rapid progress in his studies.
Sketches in the Life of the Man Who Shook the World - 2
IN the house of Conrad and Ursula Cotta Luther began to display his taste for and love of music. He learned to play on the flute and on the lute, accompanying the latter with his fine deep voice. He became passionately fond of music, and continued to be so all his days. “None but the devil,” he used to say, “hates music.” The kindness of Ursula Cotta was never forgotten by him. Many years afterwards, when one of her sons went to Wittenberg as a student, and when the poor scholar of Eisenach had become the greatest Doctor of his age, he received him to his house and table. He used to say, “Earth has nothing more tender than a woman’s heart, when it is the abode of piety.”
Luther never forgot those early days of want and penury. “Despise not,” he would say, “boys who by singing before people’s doors seek bread for the love of God. I, too, have done the same. It is true that at a later time, my father supported me lovingly and bountifully at the University of Erfurt, and that with the sweat of his brow: nevertheless I was once a poor applicant for alms.” By his cheerful, obliging, and good-hearted manners young Luther endeared himself alike to his masters and fellow-students. To one of the professors, John Trebonius, he particularly attached himself. Martin observed that on entering the classroom, Trebonius uncovered his head and saluted his scholars. To one of his colleagues who did not follow the same practice, and expressed his astonishment at his condescension, he replied, “Among these boys there are men whom God will one day make burgomasters (mayors), chancellors, doctors, and magistrates. Though you do not see them yet invested with the badges of their dignities, it is but fair that you should show them respect.”
When eighteen years of age, in 1501, Luther entered the University of Erfurt, then the principal university of Germany. He made rapid progress in his studies: but he did not forget higher things. Serious and thoughtful, and truly humble, he sought earnestly after high religious attainments. He began each day with prayer, then went to church, and so prepared himself for study, not losing a moment of time. “Earnest prayer,” he used to say, “is more than the half of study.”
Luther had been two years at Erfurt, when, one day as he was in the library, turning over the leaves of the books to see who the author was, a volume arrested his attention. Until that hour he had seen nothing resembling it. He read the title. It was a Latin Bible. The Book excited his liveliest interest. His heart beat high as he held in his hand the entire volume of Holy Scriptures. The first page that caught his attention told him the story of Hannah and the boy Samuel, which filled him with delight. His heart was full, and his longing was, “Oh that God would give me such a book to be my own!” It was then that the first dawn of a truth, entirely new to him, gleamed upon his mind. God had put His Word into his hands, and in that Book lay hid the Reformation.
The same year Luther took his first degree as Bachelor. The excessive exertions made in preparing for his examination threw him into a dangerous illness. Death seemed to be at hand. Grave reflections filled his mind, and he thought his earthly career was about to close. People felt sorry for the hopeful young man, and many friends came to see him on his sick bed. Among them was a venerable old priest who had watched with interest his academical life and labors. Luther could not conceal from him his apprehensions. “Soon,” said he, “I shall be called away from this world.” The old man kindly replied, “Don’t lose heart, my good Bachelor! You will not die of this illness; our God will yet make of you a man who in his turn will console many. For God makes His cross to be borne by those whom He loves, and they who bear it with patience learn much wisdom thereby.” The sick man was much struck with these words. It was while thus at the point of death that he heard words from the mouth of a priest that God, as the mother of Samuel had said, “He raiseth up the poor out of the dust.” The old man’s words shed sweet comfort over his heart, revived his drooping spirits, and made an impression never to be effaced.
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GOD spoke very loudly to Luther during his serious illness. The words of the old priest proved true, that the sickness was not unto death. He was soon raised up again, but on his recovery Luther was no longer quite the same man. The Bible, his illness, and the words of the old priest seemed to present to him a new call.
In 1505 Luther was made Doctor of Philosophy, and the event was celebrated by a great festival. But though rejoicing in his successes in learning, he was far from being really happy. His heart never ceased to urge upon him that godliness is the one thing needful, and that before all other things he ought to be assured of his salvation. He knew that God had testified His anger against sin: he recollected the punishments which the Word denounces against the sinner: and he asked himself with alarm whether he was sure of possessing the Divine favor. His conscience told him, No! He resolved to do his utmost to assure himself a firm hope of immortality. While in this state of anxiety two events successively contributed to shake his soul and precipitate his purpose.
The first was the sudden death (some accounts say the assassination) of his dear friend Alexis. Luther was greatly agitated. He was terror-stricken. “What would become of me,” he asked himself, “if I received such a call?” The second was the storm that overtook him, when near Erfurt, and returning from a visit to his parents. The thunder rolled and the lightning fell around him. He threw himself on his knees; he thought that his last hour was come. Death, judgment, and eternity stood in dread array around him. Overwhelmed with anguish and the fear of death, he vowed that if the Lord would deliver him he would abandon the world and devote himself entirely to God. And when we see how wonderfully God took care of Luther, we should be thankful, because of the great good that came to the Church and to the world through his spared life. The storm passed over, but not his agitation and deep soul exercises. Self-examination made his case seem even blacker. How could he who was so unholy meet and stand face to face with a holy God? He thirsted after holiness, as he had thirsted after knowledge. Knowledge he had obtained at the University; but where could he obtain holiness? He must go to a cloister, and find salvation in a monkish life.
With that purpose unshaken, he invited his University friends to an evening repast, and there and then made known his purpose, to their utter consternation and profound regret. That same night, carrying with him only two books, he knocked at the door of the monastery of the hermits of St. Augustine, and craved admission. The door opened and shut him in, separated from parents, genial companions, and the world. This took place on 17th August, 1505, when he was twenty-one years and nine months old.
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LUTHER was now a monk of St. Augustine’s Monastery, Erfurt. Let us look at the manner of life he led there. The brethren of the monastery considered that they were greatly honored by this latest addition to their number, but they treated the young man with great harshness. He had to perform all kinds of drudgery. This Master of Arts and Doctor of Philosophy had to act as porter, to open and shut the gates, wind up the clock, sweep out the church, and clean the rooms. He did all this without grumbling, devoting all his spare minutes to study. But the monks would soon find him out, and grumble at him. “Come, come, it is not by study that people make themselves useful in a monastery, but by begging for bread, corn, eggs, fish, meat, and money.” Luther would submit, lay aside his books, and take his bag. “Through the town with the bag,” cried the friars: and he had to go through the streets of Erfurt with his sack, begging from house to house. But he did not repent of the step he had taken and the yoke he had brought on himself: it was all done that he might learn to be humble and holy, and, in fact, it was part of that discipline by which God was preparing him for his great work.
This rough usage, however, did not last so long as he might have feared. At the intercession of the University, of which he was still a member, the prior of the monastery relieved him of the servile offices which had been assigned to him, and he devoted himself to study with fresh zeal. He studied the works of the fathers of the Church, especially those of Augustine, and, notably, his exposition of the Psalms, and his work on “The Letter and the Spirit.” He was greatly struck with his views on the corruption of man’s will, and on free grace. He felt in his own experience the reality of that corruption, and the necessity for that grace. But his chief book was the Bible, a copy of which he found chained in the monastery, and to which he was constantly returning for enlightenment. This led to his learning Hebrew and Greek, in both which he attained proficiency. Such was the young monk’s devotion to study that he sometimes omitted his “hours,” when he would be greatly alarmed at having transgressed the rules of his order, when he would shut himself up to repeat the omitted hours without thinking of either eating or drinking. Once he lost his sleep for seven weeks.
Luther had come to the monastery in search of holiness, and he gave himself over to the most rigid practices of the ascetic life. He sought to crucify the flesh by fasting, maceration, and watching. He shut himself up in his cell, as in a prison, struggling unremittingly against bad thoughts and the evil propensities of his heart. A little bread and a lean herring were sometimes his only food. But he failed to obtain what he sought for—peace of mind and assurance of his salvation. He was seized with dread on failing to discover either in his heart or life that image of holiness which he saw so clearly in the Word of God.
The monks and theologians of the time urged him to satisfy the Divine justice by the practice of good works. “But what good works,” thought he, “can proceed from a heart like mine? How can I, with works defiled in their every principle, stand before my Judge? I found myself a great sinner before God,” said he, “and I did not think it possible to appease Him with my works.”
The tenderness of his conscience made him regard the smallest fault as a fresh sin, and he would labor to expiate it by the severest mortifications— a course which gradually opened his eyes to the uselessness of all such merely human remedies. “I tormented myself to death,” said he, “in order that I might procure the peace of God for my troubled, hurt, and agitated conscience: but being surrounded with horrible darkness, I groped for peace in vain.”
But Luther was so entangled with the errors and prejudices of his time, than which he had heard of no better way, that he knew not what to think or do. He had put on another dress, but his heart was unchanged. His high hopes of holiness in a cloister were blasted. Where was he to stop? Might not all these rules and observances be mere human inventions? Such a supposition appeared to him, at times, as a temptation of the devil, and at others an irresistible truth. Meagre as a shadow, the young monk would pace the long passages of the monastery, making them answer in horrid echoes to his groans. His body was wearing itself out: vital energy seemed to have left it altogether, and he sometimes lay as if actually dead.
One day, in the depth of his grief, he shut himself up in his cell, and for several days and nights would suffer no one to come near him. On this, one of his friends was so much disquieted that he went to the cell, taking with him some choirboys. He knocked, but no one opened or answered. He burst open the door, and there lay Luther on some planks, quite insensible, and to all appearance lifeless. In vain he endeavored to arouse him: he lay motionless. The boys then began to sing a hymn to a low, sweet air. This roused him, and little by little he recovered strength, self-recollection, and vitality. But he needed stronger restoratives, even the strong, sweet notes of the Gospel. This relief and comfort were near at hand, as we shall see.
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“MONASTERIES,” says Melancthon in his “Life of Luther,” “often screened within them vices so abominable, as if discovered, would make a virtuous man shudder”: but often, too, they concealed such Christian virtues as would have been admired had they been known. A man with these qualities, however, was called to a place of eminence, where he had ample scope for the practice of his good qualities, the healthful influence of which was long and widely felt. The Candle was there placed on a candlestick and gave light to many.
This was John Staupitz, a descendant of a noble family in Misnia. From his youth he had been distinguished for his learning and love of virtue. He entered a monastery that he might have retirement to study literature, and acquire a knowledge of nature: but he soon found these studies could do little for him whereby to secure everlasting salvation. The study of the Bible and the writings of Augustine, the knowledge of himself, and the warfare which, like Luther, he had to wage with the deceits and evil desires of his own heart, led him to Christ. Faith in Christ brought peace to his soul. The doctrine of election by grace particularly laid hold of his mind. He was commended by his contemporaries for the uprightness of his life, the depth of his learning and his eloquence of speech, not less than by a stately figure and manners remarkable for their dignity. The Elector of Saxony made him his friend: he employed him in various embassies, and under his direction founded the University of Wittemberg. He was the first dean of the theological faculty of that school, and was afterwards Vicar-General for all Germany.
Staupitz groaned over the corruption of manners and the errors of doctrine which desolated the Church, but he was not fitted to be a reformer. His writings on the love of God, Christian faith, and conformity to the death of Christ, as also the testimony of Luther, show him to have been a man of sterling piety, and one taught by experience in the school of the Gospel. He paid a visit as Vicar-General to the monastery at Erfurt. Young Luther, made thin by study, abstinence, and watching, attracted his attention. He felt drawn to him, and Luther unbosomed himself to him. Staupitz had passed through the same conflicts which now agitated the soul of the young monk, and he had been informed of the circumstance which led to his entering the monastery. As “face answereth to face in water, so the heart of man to man.” Luther was terrified at the thought of Divine justice. God’s unspeakable holiness and sovereign majesty alarmed him. “Who can abide the day of His coming? Who can stand when He appeareth?”
Staupitz had travelled the same road, and knew how he found peace. “Why,” said he to Luther— “why will you torment yourself with these high thoughts and speculations? Look to the wounds of Jesus Christ, to the blood which He shed for you: it is there that you will discover the grace of God. Instead of making yourself a martyr for your offences, cast yourself into your Saviour’s arms. Trust yourself to Him, to the righteousness of His life, to the expiation of His death.” Luther labored under the mistake which keeps many an anxious soul from peace: “How shall I dare to believe in the favor of God, as long as there is no true conversion in me? I must be changed before He accepts me.”
The words of Staupitz comforted him, but he was still perplexed about some things. The doctrine of election in particular puzzled him. Was he to believe that it was man who should first choose God for his portion, or if it were God who should first choose man?
Staupitz urged him not to attempt the deep mysteries of the Godhead, but to keep to what is revealed of God in Christ. “Behold the wounds of Christ,” said he, “and there shalt thou see God’s counsel towards man clearly shining forth. We cannot comprehend God out of Jesus Christ. In Christ thou shalt find what I am, and what I require, saith the Lord. You will find Him nowhere else, whether in heaven or on earth.”
These words filled Luther with astonishment and humility, gave him fresh courage, and the consciousness of moral energy which he had not before even suspected. Staupitz gave him valuable directions as to his studies, exhorting him henceforth to throw aside all scholastic systems, and find all his theology in the Bible. He presented him with a Bible, saying, “Let the study of the Scriptures be your favorite occupation.” Luther followed these directions most zealously and earnestly. The Bible, especially the Epistles of the Apostle Paul, and the works of the great Augustine, were his only books. The Word of God came home to him with new power. The ploughshare had been deeply driven into his heart, and the incorruptible seed took deep root. When Staupitz quitted Erfurt a new day dawned upon Luther.
R. S.
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THERE is no doubt the influence of Staupitz upon Luther had been very great indeed. They keenly felt the unreality of much with which they came in contact, and the insincerity of many who were leading the monastic life was a great grief to them, still he had helped his friend on many points of doctrine. Luther, however, had still many conflicts. The holiness of God and his own defilement by sin troubled his soul. One day when he was much distressed, an old monk entered his cell and spoke to him some words of comfort. Luther opened his heart to him, and told him the fears that beset him. He was not a learned man like Staupitz, but he had well learned one article at least of his creed, “I believe in the forgiveness of sins.” These words shed great comfort over Luther’s mind (he was then sick and ill). “‘I believe,’” he repeated to himself, “‘in the forgiveness of sins.’” “Ah” said the pious monk, “we must not only believe that the sins of David or Peter are forgiven, for that is no more than the devils believe. God’s command is that we should believe that our own sins are forgiven.” From that moment further light broke upon the mind of the young monk. The word of grace had been spoken, and he believed it. He at once and for ever renounced meriting salvation, and gave himself up to the grace of God in Christ Jesus.
But though enlightened as to the way of salvation and peace with God, he still clung to the Church of Rome. The time came for his ordination to the priesthood, which took place in May 1507. There were many rites and ceremonies observed, and much feasting and rejoicing. Jerome, Bishoc of Brandenburg, officiated. In conferring the power to celebrate Mass, he put a chalice (cup) into his hand, pronouncing these words: “Accepi Potestalion sacrificandi pro vivis et mortuis” (“Receive power to sacrifice for the living and the dead”). At the time he listened calmly to these words, conferring upon him the power of doing the very work of the Son of God, but at a later period they made him shudder. “If the earth did not then swallow us both up, it could be ascribed only to the great patience and longsuffering of the Lord.”
Following the advice of Staupitz, he made excursions on foot among the villages and monasteries of the neighborhood, with a view to mental relaxation, bodily exercise, and practice in preaching. He was called by Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony, to be a professor in the newly-founded University of Wurtemberg—which was to be his battleground in many a hard-fought battle—whither he repaired in the third year of his life as a monk. He went to the monastery of his Order. His department in the university was scholastic philosophy, in which he labored with great assiduity. But his great desire was to teach theology—not the theology of the schools, but the theology of the Bible. In studying the Epistle to the Hebrews, he came upon the words quoted from the prophet Habakkuk, “The just shall live by faith.” He was struck with these words. “For the just, then,” said he, “there is a different life from that of the rest of men, and this life is received and sustained by faith.” These words revealed to him the mystery of the Christian life. Long after this, amid his many labors and cares, he often heard a voice saying to him, “The just shall live by faith.”
Luther’s lectures on theology were novel in style and matter. He drew his doctrines from the Bible, and presented them full of life, drawn from the treasury of his own experience of Divine truth. Staupitz urged Luther to preach in the church of the Augustinians at Wittemberg, but he shrank from the ordeal, yet yielded at length. The church was an old wooden structure, thirty feet by twenty, standing in the middle of the marketplace, with its partitions propped on all sides, and ready to fall. In this poor decayed structure began the preaching of the Reformation. God’s beginnings of His great undertakings have usually been a day of small things— “a handful of corn on the top of the mountains”; “a stone cut out of the mountains without hands.”
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WE are never without help. We have no right to say of any good work, “It is too hard for me to do”: or of any sorrow, “It is too hard for me to bear”: or of any sinful habit, “It is too hard for me to overcome.”
IT is a grand thing to find joy in one’s work. If you have found that, you have found the heart of life. God’s service is better than great service, unless that be great too.
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LUTHER’S preaching at Wittemberg soon drew crowded audiences. The deep seriousness that characterized his sermons, the joy wherewith his knowledge of the Gospel filled his heart, gave to his eloquent words an authority, a fervor, and an unction which none of his predecessors had displayed. When the crowds thronged the old chapel so as to make the building unsafe, the town council of Wittemberg chose Luther as their preacher, and henceforth he preached in the town church. His doctrines and his manner astonished his hearers, who came in increasing crowds to listen to him. But this tide of prosperity was interrupted for a time.
A dispute had arisen between seven of the Augustine monasteries and the vicar-general, which was referred to Rome, and Luther was chosen to represent the case there. He did not stay long in Rome, but what he saw and heard taught him lessons of the greatest importance. Up till that visit monastic prejudices swayed his mind, and the Pope was still “his Holiness” in his estimation.
Starting on his journey, he crossed the Alps, and descended into the fertile plains of Lombardy. Step by step new objects of wonder met his gaze, and scandals of which he had never dreamed engaged his attention. The poor German monk, who travelled afoot and alone, was received at the rich monastery of the Benedictines. The luxuries of the table and the gorgeous appointments of the whole place were such that he was quite scandalized. The rent-roll of this religious house was thirty-six thousand ducats, equal to £20,000 of English money at that date, and not less than £120,000 at the present value of money. One-third was spent in eating and drinking, one third in other requirements of the monks, and the remainder on the repair and enlargement of the monastery. He was confounded by what he saw of luxury and pride, but held his peace until Friday came, when he saw the table loaded with luxuries, and animal food in abundance. He resolved to speak out. “The Church forbids these things,” said he. They were indignant at his censure. Suspecting that he would report their excesses in the pontifical city, they thought the surest way was to make away with their troublesome guest. The porter warned him that he ran serious risks if he stayed longer. He made his escape from this epicurean monastery, and went to Bologna, where he was taken ill, it has been supposed as the result of poison, but perhaps it was owing rather to the change of diet from the herrings and bread of Germany to the luxurious fare of the Benedictines. In his illness he became a prey for a time to great lowness of spirits. To die far away from his beloved Germany, in a foreign land, and under the burning sky of Italy, was bad enough: but he was troubled on account of his sins, and he trembled at the judgments of God: but when he was at the lowest, his faith revived, and the words that had struck him so forcibly at Wittemberg, “The just shall live by faith,” shed a heavenly light upon his soul, and he was restored to the joy of Salvation, and soon to his wonted health and strength.
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GOD the Creator should have been glorified on this earth by the human beings He had made, but man fell, and dishonored God. But as we follow our Lord’s prophetic words, we see a new region on high, wherein the glory of the Incarnation, the Cross, the Resurrection and Ascension of the Christ bring fresh and new luster to both the Father and the Son, and the light of the glory which God the Father shed upon the Son, a Man in heaven, sheds back its brilliancy upon the Father Himself.
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LUTHER had a wearisome journey, for he travelled mostly afoot, but at length he caught sight of the city. His heart beat with strong emotion. Throwing himself on the ground, he exclaimed, “Holy Rome, I salute thee!” The Rome of the Caesars was represented by numerous ruins, which indicated its former splendor. But it had many attractive edifices. Besides, it was the Rome where Paul wrote some of his matchless epistles, the Rome of myriad martyrs to the faith of Jesus. Julius II. was now reigning Pope, a man as far from holiness as a man could well be, a man of depraved tastes and habits, and addicted to cursing and blasphemy.
Luther made the circuit of all the churches and chapels, and believed all the lying tales told there: and he devoutly acquitted himself of all the religious practices that were required of him.
In his quality of envoy from the Augustine monks of Germany, Luther received many invitations to meetings of distinguished ecclesiastics. One day he found himself seated at table with several prelates, who showed themselves off to him in their true character, as men of ribald manners and impious conversation. Among other stories repeated in his hearing was one told with much laughter and coarse merriment. In saying mass, instead of using the sacramental words which were to change the bread and the wine into the Saviour’s body and blood, they pronounced over the elements the following words in derision: “Panis es et panis manebis vinum es et vinum manebis” (“Bread thou art, and bread thou shalt remain: wine thou art, and wine thou shalt remain”). “Then,” continued they, “we raise the ostensory, and all the people worship.” But this was blasphemy, not a joke. Many of the things that Luther heard and saw and the legends of the ecclesiastics were too gross to be repeated here.
There is an old adage, sometimes repeated now-a-days, “The nearer the Church, the further from God.” It is too often true, though not always. But Luther found, as a rule, that as he ascended higher and higher in the scale of Church dignitaries, the more there was of vice, ignorance of divine truth and the Word of God, and the more ungodliness of life, the Pope himself setting the rest a shameful example. An historical record of the time, quoted by D’Aubigne, says: “The city is full of disorders and murders: whereas, wherever the Word of God is faithfully and honestly preached, order and peace are found to reign.” And again: “One must see and hear for himself if he would believe what infamous actions are committed in Rome.” He was wont to say: “If there be a hell, Rome is built over it: it is an abyss whence all sins proceed.”
Sketches in the Life of the Man Who Shook the World - 9
BUT it was chiefly in another respect that Luther’s journey to Rome was of importance to him. For not only was the veil withdrawn so as to reveal to him the sneering laugh, the ribald infidelity, that lay concealed behind the Roman superstitions; but the living faith which God had implanted within him was greatly strengthened.
We have seen that at the commencement of his visit to Rome he yielded to many of the superstitions considered incumbent on him, and it so happened that one day he wanted to gain an indulgence which had been promised by the Pope to whosoever should go up Pilate’s Staircase (the Sancta Scala) on his knees. Luther was meekly crawling up the steps, which he was told had been transported from Jerusalem to Rome by a miracle, when he thought he heard a voice loud as thunder in his inmost soul, the same as at Wittenberg and Bologna, “The just shall live by faith.” It resounded incessantly and powerfully within him. He rose in great alarm from the stairs up which he had been dragging his body. He was horrified at himself, and mortified to see to what a pitch superstition had degraded him, and fled to a distance from the scene of his folly. This was a decisive epoch in the life of Luther, and, we may add, of the Reformation.
Luther left Rome and returned to Wittenberg with a heart swelling with grief and indignation. Turning with disgust from the pontifical city, he looked with hope to the Holy Scriptures and to the promise of eternal life through Christ, which the Scriptures so plainly reveal. The Word gained in his heart all that Rome had lost.
Luther received, but with reluctance, the title of Doctor in Divinity, and his fame grew rapidly and his usefulness extended in the University and in the Church. The doctrine of justification by faith without works was his prominent theme, and students came in great numbers from far and near, and hearers of all ranks, including the Elector himself, and rich and poor alike. Luther was kept humble, and yet remained bold and fearless; and he had need of courage, for a great work lay before him, constantly opening in new developments, and his sense of his own weakness, sinfulness, and unworthiness, and his conflict with Satan, led him to trust in God’s help.
On his return from Rome he visited many of the Augustinian monasteries, and found m my divisions and contentions, which he endeavored to compose. He also met with several young monks, such as Myconius, the future historian of the Reformation. He had been absent six months on this tour. He had been afflicted in his soul by all he had seen: but his journey increased his knowledge of the Church and the world. It gave him more confidence in his dealings with men at large, and it gave him occasions for founding schools, and for urging the fundamental truths of Protestantism, that the Holy Scriptures alone point out the way to heaven, and for exhorting the friars to live together in holiness, peaceableness, and chastity,
Sketches in the Life of the Man Who Shook the World - 10
THE monastic orders were long among the chief props of Rome, but it is likely that they did more for the Reformation than they did against it: and this was especially true of the Augustinians. Almost all godly men of liberal and elevated minds, then residing in cloisters, turned towards the Gospel. Nothing was known in the world at large of the views held by Luther, but they had become the chief topic of conversation in the chapters and monasteries, and more than one cloister became a nursery of the Reformation, and when the powerful blows were struck by Luther men came forth, exchanging the retirement of monastic life, to be active ministers of the Word of God. During his tour of inspection, in 1516, Luther’s appeals aroused many slumbering souls: hence that year has been called “The morning star of the Reformation.”
When the year 1517 dawned upon the world, Pope Julius II. had gone to his account, and Leo X. occupied the Vatican. He was of the family of the Medici, a lover of the fine arts, of all sorts of amusements, refined in manners, but sensual and voluptuous in mind. He was not burdened with religious beliefs and convictions. He is credited with the well-known sneer, “What a profitable affair this fable of Christ has been to us!”
War and the neglect of former popes had caused the Church of St. Peter’s to fall into decay. Leo determined to restore or rebuild it in a more magnificent style, to exceed all other cathedrals in splendor. But it would cost millions: how was the money to be raised? Lavish expenditure on entertainments and other excesses had emptied his exchequer. But if the earthly treasury was empty, he had the spiritual or ecclesiastical to fall back upon. It was resolved to open a special sale of indulgences in all the countries of Europe. The license to sell in the different countries of Europe was disposed of to the highest bidders. The indulgences in Germany were farmed out to Albert, Archbishop of Mainz and Magdeburg. The bargain was struck, and the Archbishop sought out a man suited to his purpose. This was a Dominican monk, named John Tetzel. He had been an inquisitor, and had done some little huckstering with indulgences on his own account. This man, a son of a goldsmith at Leipsic, was a man of base character. He had been convicted of an unmentionable crime at Innspruck, and was condemned to be put into a sack and drowned, but intercession was made for him and he was reprieved. This man lived, unconsciously and unwillingly, to bring about the overthrow of the system that had nourished him.
Sketches in the Life of the Man Who Shook the World - 11
“TETZEL,” says a recent writer, “had the voice of a town-crier and the eloquence of a mountebank.” He made a procession through Germany, carrying a great red cross, on which were suspended the arms of the Pope. In front of the procession, on a velvet cushion, was borne the Pope’s bull of grace, and in the rear were mules laden with bales of pardons. As he entered a city or town, amid the beating of drums, the waving of flags, the blaze of tapers, and the ringing of bells, the ecclesiastical and civil authorities, the religious orders, the various trades, and almost the whole population came out to welcome them., They went straight to the cathedral: the red cross was set up in front of the high altar, and a strong iron box was placed beside it to receive the money paid for pardons. Dressed as a Dominican friar Tetzel mounted the pulpit and held forth in his usual style, strongly urging the crowds of people to purchase pardons for themselves and for their friends said to be suffering in the flames of purgatory. “The very instant,” he cried, “that the money rattles at the bottom of the chest the soul escapes from purgatory and flies liberated to heaven.” With daring impiety he urged his audience: “Never before have the gates of Paradise been opened so widely. Press in now: come and buy while the market lasts. Should that cross be taken down the market will close, heaven will depart,” etc., etc. “I declare to you, though you have but a single coat, you ought to strip it off and sell it in order to obtain this grace.” And to crown all his infamous wickedness and blasphemy, he would sometimes add: “The Lord our God no longer reigns: He has resigned all power to the Pope!”
Luther was not alarmed for himself by the ravings and threats of the indulgence-monger Tetzel, and his courage soon took an active turn. “By the help of God,” said he, “I will make a hole in Tetzel’s drum.” From his pulpit at Wittenberg he warned his flock, with all affection and fidelity, not to take part in the great wickedness of indulgence-mongering. “God,” said he, “demands a satisfaction for sin, but not from the sinner: Christ has made satisfaction for the sinner, and God pardons him freely. Offences against herself the Church can pardon, but not offences against God. Tetzel’s indulgences cannot open the door of Paradise, and they who believe in them believe in a lie, and unless they repent shall die in their sins.”
Tetzel went on with the sale of his indulgences, and Luther prepared for further attacks on the iniquitous trade he was pursuing.
On the eve of a celebrated festival, the streets of Wittenberg were crowded with pilgrims. About noon, Luther, who had given no hint to anyone of his plans, sallied forth, and joined the stream of people making their way to the Castle Church. Pressing through the crowd, he drew forth a paper and proceeded to nail it on the door of the church. The sound of his hammer drew the people more closely around him. They began to read eagerly. What was on the paper? It contained ninety-five “theses” on propositions on the doctrine of indulgences. In these he denies the authority of the Pontiff to act contrary to the Word of God, and his power to remit the sentence of condemnation there declared.