Martin Luther lived through a series of pivotal historic movements, and he charted a course that saw him leave his own indelible and prophetic mark, that being the Protestant Reformation, which he is considered to have fathered. Abhorred by the selling of indulgences, Martin Luther begins his attack on the church with a series of influential writings, which leads to his excommunication. But the Reformation could not be stopped.
Show Transcript
Shalom, and welcome to our history podcast. This is a production of Kingdom Preppers.org. I’m your host, Kingdom Prepper, and you’re listening to: Churchianity: Two Thousand Years of Leaven. We continue with our history.
Part 25: Martin Luther
At a time when priests, cardinals, bishops, and other clerics were living in open sin and rebellion against their own Catholic laws, such as that of celibacy—and countless Scriptural precepts besides—certain clerics who aspired to something more pious were aggrieved enough to act upon their strong convictions. One such cleric was Martin Luther, a local preacher and respected university professor of theology, who dared to challenge the corrupt establishment. He lived in a time when Catholic men bought their ecclesiastical office—a practice called simony; when popes flaunted and openly supported illegitimate children; when convents and monasteries were leisure dens, over which monarchs and Catholic noblemen appointed their unqualified sons and daughters as abbots and abbesses. But author James Reston, Jr. in his book, Luther’s Fortress, also states that:
“The period of 1483 to 1546, Luther’s lifespan, was an era of giants: Henry VIII in England; Francis I in France; Charles V, the Holy Roman emperor presiding over most of Europe; the Medici popes, Leo X and Clement VIII in Rome; and Suleyman the Magnificent in Constantinople. It was a time of conflict between Charles V and Francis I in Italy, the sack of Rome in 1527 by Protestant forces from Germany, and the siege of Vienna by Suleyman in 1529 and 1532, when the Ottoman sultan threatened to spread the dominion of Islam all the way to the Rhine River. It was the time of Christopher Columbus and the opening of the New World, of Vasco da Gama and the opening to India, and of the Renaissance with its luminaries: Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, Albrecht Dürer, and Machiavelli.”
It was also the time of Israelite slavery and oppression at the hands of Hamite Africans and Gentile Portuguese and Spanish explorers, who were vested with authority by the Roman papacy. Martin Luther lived through all of these moments, and would himself add a memorable page to the annals of history. Luther was born in Eisleben, Germany in 1483. His father, a Saxon, was himself a man of peasant stock who earned his living as a miner but later owned several foundries, or copper smelters. Luther’s parents were austere in the extreme, a fact he complained of in his later years. He was often punished severely as a child, which left him in states of depression and anxiety. Despite a slow academic start, in that he was caned excessively for not preparing his Latin lessons correctly, Luther later aspired to become a lawyer, at the urging of his father.
Those plans changed in 1505, however, when, at nearly twenty-two years of age, he was struck by a bolt of lightning while walking toward a village in a thunderstorm. He had been knocked to the ground, and in terror he cried out to the Catholic patroness of miners and protector from storms, an apocryphal woman known as St. Anne—this was a holdover from Greek mythology and ancient pagan religions that appointed a deity over agriculture, another over the weather, and different deities over various aspects of nature and life in general. Well, St. Anne was supposed to protect miners, mining being the business Martin Luther was born into. This deeply rooted superstition compelled him to beg the supposed saint—believed to be the mother of Mary—to save him from death, a favor he would return by becoming a monk. Seeing he was still alive after two weeks, Luther, to his parents’ regret—and somewhat to his own—kept his word by selling many of his books and walking into an Augustinian monastery at Erfurt to become a monk.
By his own admission, Luther was no common monk either. “I kept the rule so strictly,” he said, years after the experience, “that I may say that if ever a monk got to heaven by his sheer monkery, it was I. If I had kept on any longer, I should have killed myself with vigils, prayers, reading, and other work.” A life of austerity, shaped through days of fasting and sleeping in the freezing cold without the protection of a blanket, along with many acts of penance, was an outflow of the misery Luther suffered while he lived as a monk. During one of his confessions, he was told to love the Creator, to which he replied in a burst of emotion, he did not love him. In fact, he hated him.
It was not until he came across a Latin Vulgate translation of the bible that Luther began to experience a change of heart. In his day, the Scriptures were not readily available to the masses—not even to monks—as Drs. Paul Maier, Joel Biermann, and Ken Schurb, explain:
“He had heard readings from the bible before but never realized they all even came from the same book. Because in those days the bible was regarded as a very dark and obscure document which only the clergy could properly interpret.
“Now remember, Luther is born right at the advent of the printing press’ discovery, but it was still in its infancy and books were still rare. If you had a book it meant somebody had to hand copy that book. And so bibles, they were very expensive because you had to copy every single line of every single bible by hand, but in Luther’s time growing up, there were bibles that were very rarely found.
“Luther was very much aware, as were all Christians at the time, that the church said, ‘Now, you need our help in order to be able to understand this. You need guidance, expert guidance to interpret this very mysterious book.’ ”
Despite becoming an ordained priest in 1507, Luther’s many doubts remained, and to counter this, the vicar general of the Augustinian order encouraged him to pursue academic work. In this way, Luther encountered the Scriptures for himself after he was appointed to the chair of biblical studies at Wittenberg University, which had recently been established. Reading the words for himself removed the veneer that overlaid the beliefs he had been instilled with by the church. So alluring was the veneer that, on his one visit to Rome as a young man in 1510, just two years before, all the “vermin and vileness” he witnessed, along with the general dysfunction of the city, was not enough to have him call the sanctity of the church or its leaders into question. Not yet at least.
With the election of Leo X, who became pope in 1513, Luther would begin to see the papacy, as well as the church and its many doctrines, in a whole new light. Leo X had been born into the powerful Florentine banking family the Medici, and was the first among them to become pope. He inherited the papal chair of Julius II, who had waged devastating wars during his reign. Leo, in typical Medici style, instead focused on the Renaissance art, literature, and science of the day, which infused his pontificate. Leo lived like a secular king rather than a spiritual figure, and his lavish lifestyle was full of excesses that invited controversy.
“Inevitably, the extravagance of Leo’s luxurious lifestyle taxed the Vatican’s coffers.”
Writes James Reston, Jr.
“To make matters worse, France invaded Italy in 1515, taking possession of Milan and threatening the independence of the papal dominion in central Italy. Within two years the Vatican’s savings were squandered, and Leo became more and more obsessed with money. How was he to wage war and finance Raphael’s work and the construction of St. Peter’s, stage his lavish banquets and offer indiscriminate donations to artistic flatterers and hangers-on? He turned increasingly to bankers, borrowing enormous sums at 40 percent interest. To address his deficits, Leo X turned to the dubious practice of selling cardinalates and archbishoprics for enormous prices. On July 31, 1517, he created thirty-one new cardinals and received 300,000 ducats (or around $50 million in today’s dollars) for the appointments.”
After securing this huge sum of money, Pope Leo was heard saying of the Messiah, quite cynically, “How well we know what a profitable superstition this fable of Iesus Christus has been for us.” The corruption did not stop there, however. Those who bought the expensive ecclesiastical offices had to borrow heavily in order to pay for them. One German, Albrecht of Brandenburg, purchased from Leo the archbishopric of Mainz, which cost 21,000 gold ducats, or $3.3 million dollars in today’s currency. A powerful bank in Germany, the House of Fugger, loaned Albrecht the funds, but he needed a viable way to pay back the debt. The papacy allowed the German archbishop to raise funds via the sale of indulgences, which was the perceived spiritual relief from various sins. A sinner would pay Albrecht a high fee to lessen or cancel time spent in the fictitious purgatory. The purchase of indulgences signified repentance on the part of sinners. Pope Leo himself engaged in the sale of indulgencies to finance construction on St. Peter’s Cathedral, to the tune of 60,000 ducats, or $10 million dollars per year.
Martin Luther came to abhor the sale of indulgences, and being able to read the Pre-Messianic Scriptures and Messianic Writings for himself, he was shown that man’s salvation rested with the Messiah, who had the power to forgive sin; therefore, the intercession of earthly Catholic priests was unnecessary. The practice of selling indulgences to gullible Christians began during the crusades, but it continued unabated up to Luther’s time, and it would be the main vice of the church that would propel his rebellion in Germany.
Armed with this new outlook on the church and its problematic doctrines, Martin Luther began to compose and deliver weekly sermons that were highly critical of the institution to which he still belonged. In 1517, he was further provoked by the actions of a Dominican preacher named John Tetzel, who campaigned through Germany in attempt to raise additional funds to further the construction of St. Peter’s basilica. Tetzel was bold in promising prospective donors that any money they contributed would result in an indulgence that would extend beyond the grave and allow them to skip purgatory. He even recited a catchy mantra to sweeten the proposal, which went:
“As soon as the gold in the casket rings
“The rescued soul to heaven springs.”
This vile action drove Luther to draw up ninety-five theses (or propositions) for a spirited debate, which he posted on the wooden door of the Imperial Church in Wittenberg, according to the custom of his university. From there, his fame spread, and the Protestant Reformation was underway.
“So, Luther first emerges in the public eye in late 1517.”
Says Professor Brad S. Gregory, who teaches history at Stanford University.
“As a university professor and a monk, protesting against indulgences on the basis of Scripture, his publicity comes above all at this point through circles of humanists; humanists who see in his theses common points with many of their own concerns—about the importance of Scripture; about the renewal of religious life. The theses are translated into German without Luther’s consent, and they’re published in multiple editions. Humanists are the ones who see to this above all. Within months, this obscure monk is known throughout Germany and Switzerland, all the way from Amsterdam in the north, to Berne in Switzerland in the south. The humanists are essential then in making the ninety-five theses more than simply a narrow matter for academic debate. They give Luther his first real public exposure.”
We’ll be back with more exciting scriptural history . . . in a moment.
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Luther’s theses stressed that indulgences could not remove a sinner’s guilt. They only created false hope in those who paid for them. The public was stirred by this argument. Luther’s opponents, the German Dominicans, denounced him for preaching doctrines they deemed dangerous. The Vatican responded by issuing counter-theses, warning anyone who dared to speak ill of indulgences that they were in danger of being heretics. Luther was unshaken in his convictions, insisting that he be proven wrong from Scripture alone. In 1519, during a debate against a theologian named Johann Eck, Luther stated, “Neither the church nor the pope can establish articles of faith. These must come from Scripture.” It was evident that Luther, who already learned that salvation comes through the Messiah alone, now added to his belief that Scripture was the measure of faith and the guideline to a spiritual life, not the pope, the church, or its councils.
Refusing to be outdone, Johann Eck moved against Luther after the debate by trying to convince Rome to formally condemn him of heresy. Luther, for his part, took his case to the people, by publishing various pamphlets that were distributed throughout Germany. He even made an appeal to the German nobility, requesting that princes put an end to the abuses of the church leadership by removing them from their positions and appropriating their wealth. After Luther mounted relentless attacks on the church, decrying its sacraments and false doctrines, Leo at last issued a papal bull condemning him on June 15, 1520, and threatening excommunication unless he recanted his heresy within sixty days.
The first line of the bull was a plea to the Almighty by Pope Leo, which addressed him in Latin, stating: “Arise o Master” …
“[Exsurge Domine], and judge thy cause, the wild boar from the forest seeks to destroy your vineyard.”
Martin Luther was that wild boar. Author Carlos M. N. Eire, in his book Reformations, adds that:
“[T]his document listed forty-one ‘ancient’ errors that Luther had revived in Germany, like some ‘restless evil, full of deadly poison.’ This wording was standard procedure against all heretics, for the accepted thinking on theological error was that it had but one source, the devil, and was also of one piece, linking all heretics together. Luther and his followers were interpreting the Holy Scriptures ‘just like heretics have done since ancient times,’ charged Leo, ‘inspired only by their own sense of ambition, and for the sake of popular acclaim.’ The bull roared against Luther and anyone who agreed with him.”
The church itself did not possess the authority to apprehend so-called heretics, neither did it have the means to; only the secular powers claimed that right. In light of this, Leo wrote to a German prince, Frederick the Wise—a supporter of Luther—to try and convince him to seize the rebellious monk. But Luther had gathered quite a following across the German landscape at this point, and received the support of many nobles who pledged to stand with him in his fight, not just Prince Frederick.
Indeed, Luther was seen as a local hero in the eyes of the German people, one who fought for their liberty. His new theological views excited them, but so too did his stance against Rome, which was now perceived as an enemy of Germany.
“And it was not just nobles who had been won over by Luther.”
Writes Carlos M. N. Eire.
“Burghers in the cities and students had also joined his camp. Those carrying the bull Exsurge Domine to Saxony were supposed to publish it in every city and town where they stopped and to see to it that Luther’s texts were burned. The two men chosen for this task, Girolamo Aleandro, former rector of the University of Paris, and Johann Eck, Luther’s debating nemesis, encountered stiff resistance nearly everywhere in Germany, especially from students, who rioted and threatened them with physical violence, or burned anti-Lutheran works rather than those of Luther.”
Insulated by this protection, Luther was able to focus on his writing, and he published more works that marked a complete split with the Roman Catholic Church. Three of his treatises, written in haste while the sixty-day deadline to recant loomed, expressly called for church reform. Luther effectively took up the torch passed to him by Wycliffe and Huss and carried their efforts even further, in large part because of the overwhelming support he was afforded at the time.
Luther also wrote a letter to the pope himself, in which he expressed his sincere respect for Leo the man, though his office and the Roman curia itself, Luther felt, stood condemned through corruption. Luther deemed the See of Rome more corrupt that Babylon and Sodom. The Roman See, in his words, was “characterized by a totally depraved, hopeless, and notorious wickedness. That see I have truly despised. The Roman church has become the most licentious den of thieves, the most shameless of all brothels, the kingdom of sin, death, and hell.”
Not all were on Luther’s side, however. In cities such as Meissen, Merseburg, and Brandenburg, Luther’s opponents—Johann Eck among them—were successful in proclaiming Pope Leo’s papal bull of excommunication against him. In Ingolstadt, his books were seized, and in Cologne, Mainz, and Louvain they were burned according to Leo’s order.
“But at Leipzig, Torgau, and Döbeln the posted bull was pelted with dirt and torn down.”
Writes Will Durant in his book The Reformation.
“[A]t Erfurt many professors and clergymen joined in a general refusal to recognize the bull, and students threw all available copies into the river; finally Eck fled from the scenes of his triumphs a year before. Luther denounced the ban in a series of bitter pamphlets, in one of which he fully approved the doctrines of Huss. About August 31, 1520, as ‘a single flea daring to address the king of kings,’ he appealed to the emperor for protection; and on November 17 he published a formal appeal from the pope to a free council of the church. When he learned that the papal envoys were burning his books, he decided to reply in kind. He issued an invitation to the ‘pious and studious youths’ of Wittenberg to assemble outside the Elster gate of the city on the morning of December 10. There, with his own hands, he cast the papal bull into a fire, along with some canonical decretals and volumes of Scholastic theology; in one act he symbolized his rejection of canon law, of Aquinas’s philosophy, and of any coercive authority of the church. The students joyfully collected other books of the kind, and with them kept the fire burning till late afternoon. On December 11 Luther proclaimed that no man could be saved unless he renounced the rule of the papacy. The monk had excommunicated the pope.”
In January of 1521, Pope Leo published another bull of excommunication against Luther that held no limits and was not left to debate. Any region that supported Luther in his rebellion would be placed under immediate interdict, wherein its priests would not be allowed to perform Catholic sacraments. Luther was officially declared heretical and expelled from the Catholic church. That absolved the Roman curia of Luther, which meant he was now the problem of the emperor, Charles V, who, as a Christian sovereign, was sworn to defend Catholicism and rid her of heretical enemies. Luther was called to appear before the king at a Diet (or imperial assembly) in Worms where he was promised a fair hearing, for which he would be given twenty-one days of safe conduct. Upon appearing, Luther again refused to recant his positions on the church, stating that only the Scriptures could prove him wrong, and it was to that authority that his conscience was captive.
Charles V was not swayed by Luther’s words, and in fact deemed him an outlaw, who he called “a devil in the habit of a monk.” Luther, Charles proclaimed, “has brought together ancient errors into one stinking puddle, and has invented new ones. He denies the power of the keys and encourages the laity to wash their hands in the blood of the clergy. His teaching makes for rebellion, division, war, murder, robbery, arson, and the collapse of Christendom.” Though Luther’s adversaries had tried to convince Charles V to cancel his safe conduct, as Sigismund had done with John Huss more than a century earlier, Charles remembered the disgrace Sigismund suffered for betraying Huss; therefore, the monk was given another twenty-one days of safe passage to return to Wittenberg, after which sentence could be passed against him. Luther managed to escape the king’s justice with the help of his friend and supporter, Frederick the Wise, the prince of Saxony. Luther received sanctuary at Frederick’s castle in Wartburg, where he disguised himself as a noble and spent the year translating the Messianic Writings into German.
Years later, Charles V would regret his decision, stating:
“I did wrong in not killing Luther then and there. I was under no obligation to keep my word. I did not kill him, and, as a result, this mistake of mine assumed gigantic proportions. I could have prevented this.”
What he meant to prevent was rebellion and open revolt the likes of which the church had never seen. In Rome, priests and town officials tore down church statues and did away with mass. Radical reformers sprang up seemingly overnight and more nobles—dukes, princes, and electors among them—threw in their support for Luther and his protestant movement. After a year of tireless translating, Luther returned to Wittenberg to implement a nationwide reform of Christianity. Among his first reforms was getting rid of the office of bishop, for which he saw no basis in Scripture. And, after being exhorted by Luther, a large number of ministers in Saxony and surrounding regions stopped being celibate. A spate of marriages between monks and nuns occurred at this time. Luther himself, living up to his own words, took a wife as well. He married a former nun named Katherine Von Bora, and later remarked that there was a lot to get used to during the first year of marriage.
From there, Luther’s influence would spread far and wide, largely through the dissemination of his literature.
“Printing fell in with his purposes as a seemingly providential innovation which he used with inexhaustible skill.”
Writes Will Durant.
“He was the first to make it an engine of propaganda and war. There were no newspapers yet, nor magazines; battles were fought with books, pamphlets, and private letters intended for publication. Under the stimulus of Luther’s revolt, the number of books printed in Germany rose from 150 in 1518 to 990 in 1524. Four-fifths of these favored the Reformation. Books defending orthodoxy were hard to sell, while Luther’s were the most widely purchased of the age. They were sold not only in bookstores but by peddlers and traveling students. Fourteen hundred copies were bought at one Frankfurt fair. Even in Paris in 1520, they outsold everything else. As early as 1519, they were exported to France, Italy, Spain, the Netherlands, England. ‘Luther’s books are everywhere, and in every language,’ wrote Erasmus in 1521. ‘No one would believe how widely he has moved men.’ The literary fertility of the Reformers transferred the preponderance of publications from southern to northern Europe where it has remained ever since. Printing was the Reformation. Gutenberg made Luther possible.”
That wraps it up for this episode of Churchianity: Two Thousand Years of Leaven. A production of Kingdom Preppers.org, this episode was written, produced, and hosted by yours truly, Kingdom Prepper. All praise, honor, and glory are due to my boss, Yah Elohim, and to his right hand, Yahushua HaMashiach. You can access the transcript for this episode on our website. Yah willing, our history will continue in the next podcast. Shalom.
Keywords: Martin Luther, Eisleben Germany, Erfurt monastery, St. Anne, patronnes of miners, protector from storms, Greek mythology, pagan religion, Johann Eck, Frederick the Wise, Exsurge Domine, Wittenberg, churchianity, two thousand years of leaven, history of Christianity, church history, Hebrew history, kp, kingdom preppers
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