Returning from a visit to his parents Martin Luther walked along the dust road on his way to Erfurt. It was in the afternoon July 2^nd 1505, the black sky looked threatening, typical thunderstorm weather. Some dust devils swirled around in the hot breeze as if to warn him of the upcoming storm. He could hear the distant thunder rumbling. He didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings. His mood was as gloomy as the grey surroundings and his mind as confused as the dark clouds. He had been praying to God for months now to show him a path to follow for his life. He was twenty-one now and what future did he have? Mum and Dad were no help. This morning they had argued again about his law studies at the University. Dad insisted he should finish his law degree and become the family’s lawyer to work for him in his copper mining business. Dad had taken the opportunity to lease more furnaces. Mum would have a servant to help in the house and haul firewood from the forest. It had become too much for Mum to do all that work on her own. But no one spared one thought for him, Martin. Father Hans had tried angrily to bully him in to accepting his ideas, reminding him of the consider­able sacrifices he had made to send him to University. A dutiful son would see it his way; he had accused him of being too stubborn. But Martin’s heart was not in his studies, he had other things on his mind. Why couldn’t Dad see it his way?

Struck Down⤒🔗

All of a sudden nature seemed to hold her breath, it became very still, no sound was heard, no wind – nothing. Martin stood still, aware of an odd metallic smell, a tingling in the air, detecting the rapid approach of the storm. A flash of lightning struck the ground very close by immediately knocking him off his feet. A tremendous crash of thunder fol­lowed, the heavens opened up and the rain bucketed down. Temporarily blinded by the lightning flash Martin realized he was lying in a ditch. Another flash of lightning; he smelled burning hair and something warm trickling down his cheek. Blackness engulfed him. The thunderstorm raged on. After a while he opened his eyes and started to crawl out of the ditch over the rain soaked earth and collapsed face up to the clouds, cold shafts of stinging rain pelted down on him. Martin curled up in to a ball and felt the mud beneath him and in utter terror he screamed: “Help me, Saint Anne, I’ll become a monk!” Paralyzed with fear of a sudden death he lay there for quite some time, before he blacked out once again. The storm had now subsided, but it was still raining. Martin woke up and got up; at least he could see where he was going. He needed help. Stumbling and sliding through the mud he noticed a miner’s hut in the distance, maybe they could help. In what seemed to be hours of walking he reached the hut before he collapsed against the door. The man of the house dragged him inside; they put some ointment on his wounds and gave him something to eat. Totally exhausted and the trauma of his ordeal had taken its toll and he fell asleep, lying where he was, on the floor of the hut. Martin survived that traumatic event and barely a fortnight later he told his parents of his vow to Saint Anne and his decision to become a monk. They were very upset and vehemently opposed to that idea. They felt Martin had abandoned them with no one to take care of them in their old age. As a lawyer he would have been in a position to support them. Martin realized by entering the monastery it would mean that his father had to work for the rest of his life. Anyway, he couldn’t go back on his word now. And so, a few days later, he went ahead and sold his books, and on July 17^th 1505 he knocked on the door of the Augus­tinian Monastery in Erfurt asking permission to be admitted. At first Father Winand had some serious reservations about Martin’s motives, questioning the reasons behind his decision of becoming a monk, but in the end the Prior accepted him on condition that he first served one year as a novice. Martin settled in quite readily and adjusted to a hard life of strict discipline in the Monastery. Each day consisted of about 6 hours of prayer, spread out over seven sessions in three hourly intervals. He worked in the garden, performed general cleaning duties including emptying the buckets in the latrines, prepar­ing and cooking the daily meals and begging for bread when it was his turn as indicated on a duty roster.¹ But Martin didn’t mind all that hard work, they were all merit points on the way to a sure salvation, as prescribed by the Catholic Church at the time. He believed that a monk could devote himself hundred percent to God, therefore having done his best, God would extend His grace to a sin­ner like him. Monks were wholly given over to God and because of their commitment to God they would escape God’s wrath. Today we would say: “God helps those who help themselves.” During this first period as nov­ice, he tried so hard to be perfect and keep up his good works, devotions, and prayers, that he simply ran out of time. He tried at one stage to catch up on lost time spent in prayer during the night, depriving himself of sleep for up to a week. As penance for his sin he fasted sometimes for up to 4 days. In mid winter he would sleep often without the one blanket provided by the order, because he believed that his suffering would be more pleasing to God and look down on him more favourably.² (Later on in life, Martin mentioned in his “Table Talk” that it nearly killed him, and that these excessive exercises had affected his health permanently.)

Another Storm←⤒🔗

It would have continued that way in Martin’s monastic life, had he not been caught up in another “spiritual thunderstorm.” The Prior had selected him for the priesthood and he commenced his function as priest with the saying of his first mass as part of the initial celebration. It was always an ordeal, the state of mind of the celebrant must be correct, because the mass stood central of the church’s means of grace. Martin waited nervously in the sacristy. The cloister bell began the chime; it was time to start the service. The choir began to chant a psalm. “O, sing to the Lord a new song…”

Martin forced himself to be as calm as he could be with a silent prayer in his heart.

O Mother of God, give me strength…

He pushed the door open a little too fast, it creaked. All eyes were on him, he felt as a bride on her wedding day. This realization took hold of him. This was a holy rite of divine matrimony. This day he would say the words that would transform the Host into the body and blood of Christ his Lord, and grace would flow. Not even the angels had this privilege or the power. Fear and terror made him move as through a mist of the unreal. His heart beat against his ribcage and cold beads of transpiration appeared on his forehead. It wasn’t the order of service or the liturgy of the mass, he knew that by heart. He had sung the Kyrie, the Gloria, the Credo, the Sanctus and Angus Dei for the last two years that was not the problem. But, any mistake he would make was worse than any of the seven deadly sins. It was horrify­ing to think he could end up in hell over a misplaced piece of cloth. He took comfort in the knowledge that if he would make a mistake he wouldn’t lose all hope of going to heaven, as long as his motives were right he could always ask for forgiveness after the mass. In his own mind he knew his motives were pure. But the thought of holding the broken body and the spilled blood of his Saviour in his hands emotionally paralyzed him. He couldn’t look at the congregation, but stared at the crucifix in front of him; the wooden image of Christ hanging on the cross above the altar. He looked in the hol­low eyes and longed for his Lord to speak. But Martin knew he must speak … now. He made a rough start but found a little more confidence midway through the mass. When he stood in front of the altar he looked at the bread and the wine, he trembled and with shaking hands he took the paten too tightly. It shook violently as he elevated the Host and mumbled the words, “We offer unto thee, the living, the true, the eternal God.”³ With these words the transformation was complete. He felt like Aaron the High Priest had stood before the Ark of the Covenant, as Israel had stood before a thundering God on Mount Sinai, and he wondered that the Lord hadn’t already reduced him to ashes, an unworthy sinner. Then he ate the bread and drank the wine on behalf of the congregation. The mass came to an end. He walked down from the altar, limp and exhausted. Father Winand smiled. He patted Martin on the back. “Go and join your friends and family, this is a day of celebration.”

Martin turned and walked over to his fellow monks who congratulated him and together they went to the fellowship hall for the celebrations. Martin’s family took the place of honour at the head of the table. Martin took his place with his parents on either side.

A Piercing Word←⤒🔗

Hans said nothing during the meal. He still hadn’t spoken to his son. Martin turned to his Dad, he yearned for his father to speak the words that his resentment had faded and that he approved of him becoming a priest. “Thank you for coming, Dad.” Hans looked at him interrupting his meal. “You’re wel­come, Mr. Scholar. O, pardon me, Father.” Martin felt the acid dripping of every word. “I often wondered, why you objected to my becoming a priest.” Hans stopped eating and looked up at his son. “And now, after all this time, you still are not happy, are you?” The room grew quiet; Hans clenched his hands and shot up out of his chair. “You learned scholar…, have you never read in your Bible to honour your father and mother?” Martin sat, stunned and speechless. Hans couldn’t care less, he carried on oblivious of the crowd of priests, doctors and honoured guests. “You left me and your dear mother to look after ourselves in our old age.” Than, Hans sat down again obviously tired, the fire of anger spent. Martin said, “A voice from heaven called me, Dad. He spoke to me in that thunderstorm and called me to this office.” Hans glared at his son bitterly and unconvinced. “God grant that it wasn’t the voice of the devil.”

The day had begun in a festive mood with the chiming of the cloister bell and ended with the doubt whether that first thunder­storm had been a vision or the apparition of the devil.

Sometime later, in August 1509, it was Johann von Staupitz’s turn to take confes­sion.

He barely had settled on the bench in the confessional when he heard the familiar sound of someone walking on bare feet. The supplicant came in the booth, knelt in front of the lattice which divided the confessional in half, crossed himself, bowed his head and started to say the words: “Father, forgive me for I’ve sinned...” Father von Staupitz was alarmed, how many times did Martin come here and confess yet another “sin”.

For how long this time, at last confes­sion he carried on for 6 hours. He saw his clenched fists and sensed Martin’s distress. He talked about his doubts and how unworthy he was in God’s sight and that he knew in his heart that God was angry with him. The slightest imperfection consumed him; it was like an extended death sentence full of self loathing. The harder he tried, the more he doubted his ability to satisfy an angry and vengeful God. Father von Staupitz tried to comfort him, but it seemed to no avail. “Martin, listen to me. I’m your confessor, but I’m also your friend. You can trust me when I tell you this.” Father von Staupitz leaned forward and whispered, “God is not angry with you. You are angry with God. Don’t you know that God commands you to hope? You expect Christ to forgive, come here next time with something to forgive, blasphemy, adultery, stealing, instead of all this pettiness.” He tried to make Martin understand and reminded him that the blood of Christ was shed for the remission of sins. But Martin couldn’t be consoled with the thought of Christ as his Redeemer. How could he love an angry God? (This tormented Martin so much that he described this in later life as being worse than any physical sickness he had ever experienced.)

The Visit to Rome←⤒🔗

It was late 1510 when an opportunity pre­sented itself to travel to the “Eternal City” of Rome. A dispute had arisen in the Augustin­ian order calling for settlement by the pope. Two brothers were selected of which Martin was one to represent the order at Erfurt. It took six weeks of hard travel on foot, the last part over the Via Flaminia; it would carry them all the way in to Rome. They marveled at the straightness of this ancient Roman Highway compared with the mud tracks of Germany. Roman legions had traveled this same road some 1500 years before them. It rained most of the time during this trip with now and then a snow storm. Day after dreary day passed one step at the time, the cold wind sliced through the coarse cloth of their habits chilling them to the bone. They finally crossed the bridge over the Tiber leading them in to the city. Martin looked into the icy wind, but lifted his arms in self defense because of the sleet stinging his face. He smiled to himself; it was all mortification of the flesh, all part and parcel of the price of salvation. He had longed to go to Rome one day and finally after five years in the monastery it had become reality. Today was the day he could make sure of his salvation. The merits of the Saints were rather cheap to buy. By simply looking at the relics of the Saints, one could gain an indulgence, relief for oneself or a relative from at least some of the fires of purgatory – sometimes thou­sands of years per holy relic. Should he go for a small bone or a larger one? Perhaps it would be wise to ask which bones or femur or even a skull would be sure to produce results, only the best would do. There was so much to see, the single crypt of Saint Callistus alone held forty popes and seventy-six thousand martyrs. Here he could look at a part of Moses’ burning bush. Over there he would receive an indulgence of fourteen hundred years, by only looking at one of the coins paid to Judas for betraying his Lord.

Martin and his companion made their way to the Vatican, the reason for their trip to plead their case. They had a month to spend their spare time visiting shrines and the like. One of those days Martin approached the Scala Sancta with tears in his eyes. It were the twenty eight steps which had stood in front of the palace of Pontius Pilate. All the other merits he had earned while in Rome paled when compared with these stairs. Climbing these steps on hands and knees would be the ultimate merit. Here he would be able to set free his grandfather Heine from the flames of purgatory. Each step he would say the Patre Nostre (Our Father) and kiss the step. At the twenty eighth step he would say the last “amen” and angels would bring Heine Luther into the very presence of God. At the top of the stairs Martin would benefit too; he was sure he would find peace with God that had eluded him for so many years. Martin bowed his head and prayed for peace with God and that this wouldn’t disqualify his service. He knelt on the first step and began his prayers; he didn’t open his eyes until he was at the top and said the last “amen”. He took a deep breath and looked at his companion and said, “Who knows if it’s true?” Shortly after this event they traveled back to Erfurt.

Teaching at Wittenberg←⤒🔗

In September 1511 Martin was transferred to Wittenberg, a small village in Turingen.

The university was the pride and joy of Frederick the Wise. The new founded acad­emy would rival that of Leipzig. But it was disappointing, to say the least, that this school of learning wasn’t flourishing as he had hoped. So, better teachers were needed and in order to achieve that, he had ap­proached the Augustinians and Franciscans to provide three new professors. Martin was one of them and was appointed to the chair of Biblical Theology.

Five years later on December 21^st 1516 Martin had earned his doctorate and im­mersed himself in the Bible and teaching. These studies proved to be for Martin his “Damascus Road”. The inner peace, he so desperately tried to find in Rome, still eluded him in Wittenberg. The more intense he stud­ied the Bible, the more learned he became heading for a third upheaval in his life. This time he was not on a lonely road caught in a terrible thunderstorm, but in the tower of Wittenberg’s monastery. Black smoke rose up to the ceiling from a lamp providing dim light in Martin’s cell. He paced up and down, arguing with himself, reasoning his way through his discoveries. For three years now he had been busy studying and lecturing on the book of Psalms. He was convinced this book foreshadowed the coming of the Redeemer. So, Martin had encouraged his congregations to work hard in light of Christ’s possible return. The Bride, His Church, must be ready with enough good works to justify them before a wrathful God. But now Martin discovered in the book of Romans the truth. It set his soul on fire. Slowly he walked back to his desk, turned the pages back to the first chapter and read the seventeenth verse, “The just shall live by faith.” He read the words over and over again and the verses before and the following verses. For months he had struggled with this. There was something missing..., where did works fit in if faith was all that was needed for the just to live? How could sinners be justified if works were not required? He stood up so briskly he knocked over his stool … started to pace up and down again. That night he found the answer. Only two chapters further in Romans he read: “…we are justified freely by His grace.” By His grace, the light broke through and Martin believed. He recalled Ephesians 2:8-9: “By grace you have been saved through faith and that not of yourselves – it is the gift of God, not of works, lest any man should boast.” It was too much to grasp, if he was right it would mean that salvation was a free gift. All his good works to earn merits for his salvation had been for nothing. Everything he had been taught about this had been wrong. He began to tremble, not of the midwinter cold or fatigue, but of the fear of God.

To put it in Martin’s own words:

I saw the connection between the justice of God and the statement that 'the just shall live by his faith.' Then I grasped that the justice of God is the righteousness by which, through grace and sheer mercy, God justifies us through faith. Thereupon I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise. The whole of Scripture took on a new meaning, and whereas before the 'justice of God' had filled me with hate, now it became to me inexpressibly sweet in greater love. This passage of Paul became to me a gate to heaven.

By Faith Alone!←⤒🔗

Martin rubbed his eyes, when this funda­mental truth of the gospel took hold, he returned to his desk and picked up his quill one more time and wrote: ergo sola gratia justificat; justified by faith alone. It changed Martin’s life forever. This realization that God’s righteousness could become the sinner’s righteousness, through the means of faith alone, overwhelmed him. He could now see “the righteousness of God” as an attribute of the Sovereign Lord by which He judges sinners, not an attribute sinners could ever possess. This breakthrough, being justified by faith, dramatically changed the history of the church over the years to come. Martin called it, “the article that determines whether the church stands or falls”.

Over the years there is plenty of evidence to affirm Martin’s assessment. Today, there are many faithful churches and denomina­tions that hold fast to biblical teaching and remain true to the Reformed heritage. Our ultimate authority is God’s word alone. That Word tells, as Martin discovered, that man is saved by grace alone. But human nature is prone towards the very things the Roman Catholic Church fell victim. The church today, in its various forms and denominations, is not immune to corruption, greed doctrinal error and sins of all kinds. It has become a den of idolatry. We are put off at the sight of TV evangelists using guilt tactics to motivate people to donate money. We are offended when we read about Mega-churches that have become market driven corporate enter­prises. We are saddened that the church has become a personality cult, where the most talented leader gets the most followers. We are disheartened that the church has ceased to be a place of worship and prayer and has become a place of programs suitable for entertainment. To truly remember the Ref­ormation is to have a hard look at ourselves in our own churches and our own lives. If we believe the church needs to be always reforming, then we need to look inside to see how God would have us reform. When we talk about the relationship between knowing God and knowing ourselves, we can’t have one without the other. To glorify God and enjoy Him fully, we have to look at ourselves and what keeps us from a deeper intimacy with Him. John Calvin called the heart an “idol factory”, a place where addiction and idols of all kinds place a wall between us and God. If we are honest with ourselves, we too, have those little “idols” that keep us from “soli Deo Gloria” at this very moment. Busyness can be one of those “idols” for example. As Christians we’re praised for our work ethics, but it congests the arteries of our souls, robbing God of our full presence with Him. Reformation Day is a day to reform the soul, to engage God in prayer, to search ourselves and to discover what is keeping us from a deeper intimacy with our Father in Heaven. Our modern day churches are con­forming to the world instead of Christ; there is no doubt about that. But as the church of Jesus Christ we have to desire to follow Christ. May we, then, be found His faithful and beloved bride.⁴