The century entered its 24th year. It had been seven years since the ninety-five theses unexpectedly aroused the ire of the Roman Catholic Church, four years since Luther publicly burned the papal bull that condemned his teachings, and three since the Diet of Worms declared Luther a heretic. No quarter was to be given. His followers were to recant or be condemned, cast into the outer darkness of the church; his books erased from human memory. And Luther had vanished.
Scant rumors of a certain knight, one Junker Jorge, bearing a striking resemblance to Martin had reached Luther’s closest friends in Wittenberg. Fearing Luther’s assassination, Frederick the Wise had taken measures to ensure the Reformer’s safety. Under the assumed moniker, Luther wrote prolifically from his tower at Wartburg castle, sending forth light into the darkness. But all was not well. In 1524, the German peasants revolted against the Germanic princes. This uprising took on a distinctly theological and eschatological character: in their Twelve Articles, they made religious and economic demands, attempting to ground their declarations in Scripture. The tumult worsened with eccentric personalities and supposed “prophets” who sought to make a name for themselves amidst the social unrest, all claiming direct revelation from the Holy Spirit. With apocalyptic fervor, these hordes sought to cast off their “Babylonian captivity “and form a new theocratic community. The German princes descended upon the peasants with terrible force. Over 100,000 would be slaughtered within a matter of weeks.
It was a time of tremendous upheaval. Politically, the Holy Roman Empire—so long a bastion of Christendom—seemed to be crumbling at its foundations. People of every social caste began to see themselves in new theological light. Religious suspicion and destruction of all kinds swept across Europe: sacred shrines were ransacked, windows broken, statues of saints desecrated with their hands and faces smashed like the idols of old.
Yet, Martin Luther continued to proclaim the Gospel. In 1524, Luther persisted in his translation of the Word into the vernacular of the German people. He appointed his friend, Johann Walter, to write hymns “so that the Word of God may be among the people also in the form of music.” And, perhaps most astonishing of all, Luther met the woman who would become his wife. Only a year prior in the spring of 1523, a dozen nuns, Protestant converts, had been smuggled into Wittenberg among barrels of herring. Among them, Katharina von Bora, or “Katie” as Luther liked to call her. This was a woman of remarkable strength and wit, who Luther deeply enjoyed and respected: referring to her as his rib, “Doctor Katharina,” and the “morning star of Wittenberg.”
Amidst the political tumult and chaos which so pressed in upon the church from every side, Christ continued to preserve and build his church; God remained on his throne. Marriage was enjoyed, songs written and sung, friendship strengthened, and the Word sent forth powerfully into the world through meager men set to the task by the Lord Jesus.
As Luther would reflect many years later:
I, out of my own experience, am able to witness that Jesus Christ is true God; I know full well and have found what the name of Jesus had done for me. I have often been so near death that I thought verily now must I die, because I teach his Word to the wicked world, and acknowledge him; but always he mercifully put life into me, refreshed and comforted me. Therefore, let us use diligence only to keep him, and then all is safe, although the devil were ever so wicked and crafty, and the world ever so evil and false. Let whatsoever will or can befall me, I will surely cleave by my sweet Savior Christ Jesus, for in him am I baptized; I can neither do nor know anything but only what he has taught me.
As it was in 1524, so may it be in the year 2024.
Footnotes
Martin Luther, Tabletalk, CLXXXII.
