I would like to begin with a clarification, and it is this: what I am going to tell you today is not a sermon. Preaching is something enormously responsible. Preaching is something very serious. Because when I preach, I have to be certain that what I am saying is “the Word of God.” When I take a given passage from the Bible and interpret it and share it with you, I believe that what I am telling you is in fact God speaking to you through me. And I will be judged by God as to whether I convey His Word rightly and correctly. That is an enormous responsibility. But it is not mine alone; it is yours as well. Because when you listen to my sermons, God will judge whether you carry out what He speaks to you through me. The Word must not go in one ear and out the other, but as it enters through our ears, it should go down into our heart, and from there find its application in our lives. The point is not for the Word to enter only our head; the point is for it to enter our heart, so that it can produce life in us!
Even though what I am going to tell you is not a sermon, I consider it important — important for us, important for the church. Because a church that does not know its own history is like a person who has amnesia (loss of memory). You know what amnesia is, don’t you? When someone does not know who he is — does not even know what he is called, does not know his own name — why? Because he has lost his memory. That is why the church festivals we keep are especially important, because they make us recall certain extremely important and foundational truths. For example, Christmas reminds us of the truth of the incarnation of the Son of God. Easter speaks to us of the resurrection — the reversal of the direction of things, from death to life. Pentecost reminds us of the birth of the church and the role of the Holy Spirit in our spiritual life. We also have a Day of the Bible, which reminds us of the truth of the divine inspiration of the Holy Scriptures. Each one of these festivals has its own place, its own role in our building up as Christians, in our building up as a church. We also have Reformation Day — a festival that reminds us of the history of the Protestant churches, the branch of Christianity to which we too belong.
It is also important to know that there are different kinds of theology — different approaches to the Word of God. And when we speak of “theology,” I want to tell you that every one of you is a “theologian.” Because you each have your own understanding of God. And whatever it may be, it is in fact your theology. So then, there is systematic theology — theology that seeks to build a coherent system of the truths revealed to us in the Bible. There is exegetical theology — theology that strives to determine the precise meaning of the biblical text. There is practical theology — the kind that deals with the various forms of worship and what the Bible says about them. And there is also historical theology — the theology that sets itself the task of examining the development of the various doctrines confessed by the church today, and tracing how they were formed over time. And in fact, Martin Luther is a spokesman for one of the central doctrines of the church today — justification by faith, salvation by grace through faith. This teaching is not actually his own. It belongs to the apostle Paul, and we have examined it in the greatest detail in the Letter to the Romans. But Martin Luther is the one God used to lift up and restore this saving teaching in the church. And it is exceedingly important, because it is the foundation of our faith — that we are saved not by merit, but only by grace and only through faith.
So I think it is important for us to know our history, and Martin Luther has a significant role in it. He was a real person — not merely some invented hero. I say this because pastors sometimes make up examples, sometimes they speak of actual events, and there were moments in my own spiritual development when I found it hard to tell the one from the other. That is why I want to stress that what I am going to tell you today is not made up — it is a true story with real people and real events.
BIRTH AND ORIGIN
Martin Luther was born on November 10, 1483, in Eisleben, Thuringia, Saxony. Since the following day — November 11 — was the day of St. Martin, his parents christened him Martin. In May of the next year, 1484, when Martin was only about six months old, the Luther family moved to Mansfeld. Martin grew up in a family of seven children. Later he said of himself: “I am a peasant’s son. My father, grandfather, and forefathers were true peasants.” Martin Luther was not ashamed of being a “peasant,” not ashamed that his parents and grandparents had been peasants — he was not ashamed of his origins. But, as we shall see in a moment, he was quite well-read and educated.
EDUCATION
Martin Luther’s father, Hans Luther, was a miner. Not long ago I watched a documentary about the “Black Sea” Mine — about the miners in our own mines. They showed how they go down underground, how they blast, dig, and build their shafts. It is so hard. Perhaps it is one of the hardest professions. And if it is hard today, imagine how much harder it was in the sixteenth century — when there was none of the mechanization of production that we have today. Labor in the mines was terribly heavy, and the wages were low. That is why Hans Luther was firmly resolved to do everything within his power so that his son would not become a miner and would never have to go down into the mines. So he diligently saved money for his son’s education. In this, I think, he resembles our tradition in Bulgaria. Because our tradition too is to make every effort to “give our children an education.” A man may work the fields, but he wants to educate his children; he does not want them to become “laborers” or common workmen like himself, right? Hans wanted Martin to become a lawyer — to have an office, to win cases in court, and accordingly to earn a great deal of money. No doubt lawyers earned a great deal back then too — just as they do now.
Luther attended primary school in Mansfeld. He began school when he was barely four and a half years old — very young. And he even went to school on the back of an older boy — Nikolaus Oemler — who would take him up on his shoulders and carry him to school that way. So, while still very small, Martin began to learn Latin. In those days Latin was the language of all educated people. By the time he reached the sixth grade, Martin could speak and write Latin quite well.
When he turned twelve, his father enrolled him in a grammar school in Magdeburg. This school was in fact a monastic school and was run by a society called the “Brethren of the Common Life” — “a peaceable, mystical brotherhood, known for its simple piety and for the high standard of education given in its schools.” It is quite possible that it was here that Luther first saw the whole Bible. By that time the printing press had already been invented (Gutenberg invented it in 1455), but there was still no mass distribution of Bibles. While looking through the books in the library, Luther came upon a Latin Bible fastened to the table with a chain. Martin was astonished that the Bible contained far more than what was read in school or quoted in church during the liturgy.
After a year in Magdeburg, Luther continued his education at the “St. George” grammar school in Eisenach, where he studied for four more years. Martin proved to be an exceptionally good student — especially in writing and speaking Latin. In Eisenach Luther found good teachers and faithful friends, and later he often shared that his years in Eisenach were the happiest of his life. He called Eisenach “my beloved city.”
In May 1501, at the age of seventeen, Martin enrolled in the University of Erfurt. Here he fell under the influence of the nominalists and learned Greek. His teachers praised him for his work, and his fellow students treated him with respect. They called him “the Philosopher,” because of his particular ability to argue in the discussions he conducted. In 1502 he received his first degree of higher education — “Bachelor of the Humanities” (B.A.), and in 1505 he became Master of the Humanities (M.A.).
UNEXPECTED EVENTS
Martin was preparing to become a lawyer, but a series of unexpected events changed the course of his life.
Once, in an absurd accident, he deeply cut the upper part of his leg with the traveling knife strapped to his waist. He tried to stop the bleeding by pressing hard on the wound, but this caused severe swelling of his leg, accompanied by fierce pain. They took him to the medical station, but during the night the wound began to bleed again. His doctor feared for his life. On this occasion Martin prayed to the Virgin Mary. God healed him, but he was deeply depressed by this incident for many days afterward. He later said: “If I had died then, I would have had to place my hope of salvation on the Virgin Mary.”
A little later Martin was deeply shaken by the sudden, violent death of a friend. He put himself in his friend’s place and asked himself a very serious question: “Where would my soul be now, if I had been in the place of the one who was killed?”
After receiving his master’s degree, Luther spent several weeks with his parents in Mansfeld. During his journey back to Erfurt, on July 2, 1505, a sudden thunderstorm broke out. Seeking shelter, Luther hid under a tree. Then a sudden bolt of lightning struck beside him and threw him to the ground. Luther was terrified. In his panic he cried out: “Save me, St. Anne, and I will become a monk!” He had been in the habit of praying to her, and on this occasion he made a vow (an oath). At that time the “theology of lightning” held that God sends His lightning upon people whom He wants to stop from doing something. In this state of mental confusion Luther gave up his desire to study law. He was troubled by the oath — by the vow and the promise he had made. Countless questions entered his head. Was the lightning not a sign of God’s wrath toward him? How could he tell his father that he had sworn to become a monk? Martin could not decide whether he was acting rightly or not, but he believed that when an oath is made, it must be kept. So on July 17, 1505, Luther joined the Augustinian monastery in Erfurt. The highly gifted Master of the Humanities became a monk. But it was as if this too were part of God’s plan to prepare Luther for the great work for the kingdom of God that he was destined to carry out on this earth.
MONK
During his first year in the monastery Luther served as a novice. He received a long white robe and a black cloak. His hair was cut, and the top of his head was shaved. Every morning he rang the bell to wake the monks. His daily life revolved around seven prayer sessions in the chapel, alternating with work and the fulfilling of the tasks assigned to him.
In 1506 he became a monk and began studying to be a priest. This gave him the opportunity to work with the Latin Bible. At the same time he devoted much time to studying Hebrew and Greek — the languages in which the Holy Scriptures were originally written.
In 1507 Martin Luther was ordained a priest. As a priest, Luther could now conduct the liturgy — the most important sacrament of the church. According to the Roman Catholic Church, in this sacrament, when the priest blesses the bread and the wine, these elements are transformed into the actual body and blood of Christ.
Although he kept all the rules and laws of the monastery, and even more than was required, Luther still doubted whether he was saved. At twenty-three years of age, he still felt that he was not at peace with God. He tried to calm his soul with “good works.” He repeated the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary over and over, fasted for days on end, scourged himself until he bled, and slept without a blanket on the bare floor of his unheated cell. Later he said of himself: “I was a devout monk. I kept the rules of the monastery more strictly than I could ever express. If ever a monk could get to heaven through keeping the monastic rules, it would have been I. If I had kept on any longer with prayers, sleepless nights, labor, reading, and violence against my body, I would have killed myself.”
Even though he did everything he knew to do, Luther could not find peace for his soul. He continued to feel unacceptable and insufficient before a God who demands holiness. He confessed so often that he all but drove his confessor mad. Once he was so depressed that even Dr. Johann von Staupitz, the vicar general of the Augustinian order, came to comfort him. Luther was afraid that he had sinned mortally. The first commandment is to love God with your whole being, and Luther could not. This was impossible for him, and this helplessness of his crushed him. Staupitz encouraged Luther to seek Jesus Christ and to immerse himself in the study and examination of the Bible.
Around this time a new university was opened in Wittenberg, and the need for teachers took Luther there. In 1508, at the request of the rector and by the invitation of Prince Frederick, he began teaching logic and moral theology (ethics) at the University of Wittenberg. In 1509 he was asked to return to the University of Erfurt.
JOURNEY TO ROME
An important moment in Luther’s life was his journey to Rome in 1510. He went there together with Brother Johann von Mecheln to seek the resolution of a dispute between two groups within the Augustinian order. The journey was 1,350 km long. They crossed the Alps and the Apennines on foot. At last, after eight weeks of strenuous walking, the river Tiber and the holy city of Rome opened up before them. The twenty-seven-year-old Luther was overwhelmed with emotion. He fell to his knees and wept: “Hail, holy Rome!” The resolution of the dispute took four weeks, during which Luther had ample time to see the city. At that time he believed that by venerating the relics and visiting various holy places he could gain enormous spiritual benefit. He thought this could shorten his torment in purgatory — not only his own, but that of his relatives as well. One of the most famous relics of the time was “Pilate’s Staircase,” which the church claimed had been miraculously carried from Jerusalem to Rome. Anyone who would climb the twenty-eight steps of the church on hands and knees, saying a prayer on each step, would receive forgiveness of his sins — nine years for each step, 252 years in all. Luther crawled up the staircase, but when he reached the top he asked himself: “Who can say whether this is true?”
All his expectations of the “holy city” of Rome were dashed.
He withdrew from study and began to teach. He taught on the Psalms and discovered that David stands before God without any priest. Then he continued with lectures on Galatians, and there he saw that salvation is not through the law, but by grace. He found the same in Romans. Then he made the discovery that changed his entire life. It was that in the gospel there is power for salvation, because in it the righteousness of God is revealed, and that the righteous will live by faith.
For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile. For in the gospel the righteousness of God is revealed—a righteousness that is by faith from first to last, just as it is written: “The righteous will live by faith.” (Romans 1:16-17)
The critical phrase is that the righteousness is from God. What does this mean? What is the good news in grasping how righteous God is, when we realize, by contrast, how sinful we are? Is this good news or not? In this phrase the form is in the genitive case. Does it mean that righteousness comes from God, or that it is God’s own righteousness? Luther examined the question in its context and arrived at the example of Abraham in the fourth chapter. To “credit” or “reckon” is an accounting term. The crediting is not by our merits, but because of the merits of God. It does not come from our own merit, but from God. Believers are “simul iustus et peccator” — “at the same time righteous and sinner.” We are sinners, but God makes us righteous; we are not righteous in ourselves, but God gives us His own righteousness.
This is called — the experience in the tower. There Luther had a small study at the top of the tower, where the light dawned upon him. The consequences were enormous. This gave rise to one of the three most important themes of the Reformation — “sola fide” — “faith alone.” Another is “sola gratia” — “grace alone.” And the last — “soli Deo gloria” — “to God alone be the glory!”
Money cannot buy forgiveness! Only true repentance can bring forgiveness of our sins. It is doubtful that the pope can forgive sins which he cannot impose, which leads to doubt as to whether he has any authority in purgatory. If he has authority to forgive, why does the pope not forgive — not for money, but out of Christian love?
THE CATHOLIC UNDERSTANDING OF PENANCE
At that time the sale of indulgences was also becoming especially widespread. In order to understand how indulgences arose, we must grasp how Catholics understand the sacrament of confession (in English, “penance”), “epitimia” or “penitential punishment.” This term arose because, in the translation of the New Testament from Greek into Latin, called the Vulgate, Jerome translated the word “metanoia,” which means repentance, as “punishment.” At the heart of this sacrament lies the idea that, after we confess some sin, we must also compensate for it, and bear a corresponding punishment for it.
Thomas Aquinas, who is the principal Catholic theologian, defined penitential punishment in four parts.
First, contrition, sorrow for the sin — not only to be sorry that you will be caught, but to be sincerely sorry that by your act you have wounded God’s righteousness — an awareness of the sin and the pangs of conscience.
Second, confession, the acknowledgment of the sin. Every Catholic church has a small room called the confessional. It is divided by an opaque partition, so that while confessing a person does not have to look the priest in the eye.
Third, compensation. After the confession, the priest who has heard it prescribes the compensation, the good works by which the sin must be balanced. Here, as a good “physician of the soul,” he must be very careful in his prescription — so that, on the one hand, the compensation is sufficient, that the one who has confessed may not remain long in purgatory, and, on the other, so that it is not so heavy that the sinner never returns to the church again.
Fourth, absolution. Having determined the compensation for the sin, the priest concludes the confession with the words, “In the name of God I release you from the eternal punishment for this sin.” In this way the one who has confessed is freed from his sense of guilt. This sacrament often brings great comfort to the sincere Catholic. He leaves the church with a feeling of having been forgiven.
So then, the indulgence is connected with the third part of this sacrament. For the compensation of a given sin, the priest could prescribe, for example, the giving of a certain sum of money to the church. The indulgence was the receipt or the voucher for this sum. It was regarded as a “good work proportionate to the sin,” but it was never intended as a permission to sin.
An indulgence could replace the punishment of a person going on a pilgrimage to a holy place like Rome or Jerusalem, or replace the punishment of his fasting a certain number of days. Over time, however, people began to believe that the indulgence freed them from their sins. They thought that when they bought an indulgence, they were buying forgiveness of sins. The problem is that the church made no effort to correct this false belief. Before long the “scope” of indulgences widened, and people began to be told that with them they could reduce the time of the torments of their relatives and friends who were in purgatory. So the sale of indulgences became a very profitable enterprise for the church. The income from them helped to build and maintain churches, cathedrals, and universities.
THE PRICE OF THE OFFICE “BISHOP OF MAINZ”
Not far from Wittenberg lived Albert of Brandenburg. At first he was bishop of Halberstadt. He became a bishop at the age of twelve. He bought this office and was appointed to it. After a few years a position opened up in Magdeburg. He wanted that position too. Canon law forbade a man to be bishop in two places. But the law was gotten around with money. So he became bishop of Magdeburg as well. There he did no work at all. Instead, he appointed himself an assistant, whom he paid little. But the chief church district was that of Mainz. The revenues from there were enormous. The bishop of Mainz died, and the young man desired that office as well. He sent his brother to bargain with the pope — Leo X (1513–1521). Leo was from the wealthy Medici family and was at that time collecting money to finish the cathedral of St. Peter. For the post of “Bishop of Mainz” Albert offered him 7,000 silver ducats — a thousand for each of the deadly sins. But this seemed too little to the pope, and he demanded 12,000 — at least a thousand for each of the twelve apostles. After negotiations they settled on 10,000 ducats — a thousand for each of the Ten Commandments of God. Albert agreed, but on condition that the pope allow him, as bishop, to recoup his money through the sale of indulgences. The pope agreed, but on condition that he receive half of the value of every indulgence.
In order to pay the ten thousand, Albert went to the Jewish bank in Vienna and took out a loan of 10,000 ducats, but at 10% interest, that is, he had to repay them 11,000.
So then, in order to repay these 11,000 ducats to the Vienna Jewish Bank, he had to sell indulgences for 22,000 ducats, since the pope’s condition for giving Albert the right to sell indulgences was that half of the value of every indulgence go to Rome. So in the end the pope would receive 21,000 ducats — 10,000 from the episcopal post and 11,000 from the sale of indulgences to repay the loan for the episcopal post — while Albert would become bishop of Mainz. (Thomas Lindsay — “Big Money”)
So Tetzel, who was a Roman monk, was sent to sell indulgences (perhaps for 22,000 ducats) in Germany.
The prince who ruled Saxony, Luther’s region, was Frederick the Wise. He believed in indulgences only as much as he profited from them. He understood that if Tetzel came, he would carry off a great deal of money, and he did not want that to happen.
THE NINETY-FIVE THESES
The Ninety-Five Theses were the result of Luther’s anger against the fraud of these indulgences. Their purpose was to be debated in academic circles. He proposed that any theologian whatsoever debate them. He nailed them up on October 31 — on the eve of the festival of All Saints, which is celebrated on November 1.
In brief, the 95 theses contained the following main points:
First, monetary payments cannot purchase forgiveness of sins! Only true repentance can lead to that result.
Second, it is doubtful whether the pope has authority to forgive the sins of people who are already in purgatory.
Third, if the pope has authority to forgive sins, why does he not forgive and release everyone from purgatory — not for money, but simply out of Christian love?
Luther did not anticipate what consequences these theses would have. They were very quickly copied, printed, and distributed. The sale of indulgences dropped immediately, and this inevitably drew the attention of the pope.