How Luther came to these principles, and the fiery trials by which
they were burnt into him as part of his inmost self, is one of the
most vital chapters in the history.
His father had designed him for the law. To this end he had gone
through the best schools of Germany, taken his master's degree, and
was advancing in the particular studies relating to his intended
profession, when a sudden change came over his life.
Religious in his temper and training, and educated in a creed which
worked mainly on man's fears, without emphasizing the only basis of
spiritual peace, he fell into great terrors of conscience. Several
occurrences contributed to this: (1) He fell sick, and was likely to
die. (2) He accidentally severed an artery, and came near bleeding to
death. (3) A bosom friend of his was suddenly killed. All this made
him think how it would be with him if called to stand before God in
judgment, and filled him with alarm. Then (4) he was one day overtaken
by a thunderstorm of unwonted violence. The terrific scene presented
to his vivid fancy all the horrors of a mediæval picture of the Last
Day, and himself about to be plunged into eternal fire. Overwhelmed
with terror, he cried to Heaven for help, and vowed, if spared, to
devote himself to the salvation of his soul by becoming a monk. His
father hated monkery, and he shared the feeling; but, if it would save
him, why hesitate? What was a father's displeasure or the loss of all
the favors of the world to his safety against a hopeless perdition?
Call it superstition, call it religious melancholy, call it morbid
hallucination, it was a most serious matter to the young Luther, and
out of it ultimately grew the Reformation. False ideas underlay the
resolve, but it was profoundly sincere and according to the ideas of
ages. It was wrong, but he could not correct the error until he had
tested it. And thus, by what he took as the unmistakable call of God,
he entered the cloister.
Never man went into a monastery with purer motives. Never a man went
through the duties, drudgeries, and humiliations of the novitiate of
convent-life with more unshrinking fidelity. Never man endured more
painful mental and bodily agonies that he might secure for himself an
assured spiritual peace. Romanists have expressed their wonder that so
pure a man thought himself so great a sinner. But a sinner he was, as
we all; and to avert the just anger of God he fasted, prayed, and
mortified himself like an anchorite of the Thebaid. And yet no peace
or comfort came.
A chained Bible lay in the monastery. He had previously found a copy
of it in the library of the university. Day and night he read it,
along with the writings of St. Augustine. In both he found the same
pictures of man's depravity which he realized in himself, but God's
remedy for sin he had not found. In the earnestness of his studies the
prescribed devotions were betimes crowded out, and then he punished
himself without mercy to redeem his failures. Whole nights and days
together he lay upon his face crying to God, till he swooned in his
agony. Everything his brother-monks could tell him he tried, but all
the resources of their religion were powerless to comfort him or to
beget a righteousness in which his anguished soul could trust.
It happened that one of the exceptionally enlightened and
spiritual-minded monks of his time, _John Staupitz_, was then the
vicar-general of the Augustinians in Saxony. On his tour of inspection
he came to Erfurt, and there found Luther, a walking skeleton, more
dead than alive. He was specially drawn to the haggard young brother.
The genial and sympathizing spirit of the vicar-general made Luther
feel at home in his presence, and to him he freely opened his whole
heart, telling of his feelings, failures, and fears--his heartaches,
his endeavors, his disappointments, and his despair. And God put the
right words into the vicar-general's mouth.
"Look to the wounds of Jesus," said he, "and to the blood he shed for
you, and there see the mercy of God. Cast yourself into the Redeemer's
arms, and trust in his righteous life and sacrificial death. He loved
you first; love him in return, and let your penances and
mortifications go."
The oppressed and captive spirit began to feel its burden lighten
under such discourse. God a God of love! Piety a life of love!
Salvation by loving trust in a God already reconciled in Christ! This
was a new revelation. It brought the sorrowing young Luther to the
study of the Scriptures with a new object of search. He read and
meditated, and began to see the truth of what his vicar said. But
doubts would come, and often his gloom returned.
One day an aged monk came to his cell to comfort him. He said he only
knew his Creed, but in that he rested, reciting, "_I believe in the
forgiveness of sins_."--"And do I not believe that?" said
Luther.--"Ah," said the old monk, "you believe in the forgiveness of
sins for David and Peter and the thief on the cross, but you do not
believe in the forgiveness of sins _for yourself_. St. Bernard says
the Holy Ghost speaks it to your own soul, _Thy_ sins are forgiven
_thee_."
And so at last the right nerve was touched. The true word of God's
deliverance was brought home to Luther's understanding. He was
penitent and in earnest, and needed only this great Gospel hope to
lift him from the horrible pit and the miry clay. As a light from
heaven it came to his soul, and there remained, a comfort and a joy.
The glad conclusion flashed upon him, never more to be shaken, "If
God, for Christ's sake, takes away our sins, then they are not taken
away by any works of ours."
The foundation-rock of a new world was reached.
Luther saw not yet what all this discovery meant, nor whither it would
lead. He was as innocent of all thought of being a Reformer as a
new-born babe is of commanding an army on the battlefield. But the
Gospel principle of deliverance and salvation for his oppressed and
anxious soul was found, and it was found for all the world. The anchor
had taken hold on a new continent. In essence the Great Reformation
was born--born in Luther's soul.