3. Being Pointed to the Saviour
J H Merle d’Aubigné
Luther was not the first monk who had undergone such trials. The gloomy walls of the cloisters often concealed the most abominable vices, but they also hid Christian virtues. One such young man was John Staupitz; from his youth he had had a taste for knowledge and a love of virtue. He felt he needed to devote himself to learning. He soon discovered that philosophy and the study of nature could not do much towards eternal salvation. He therefore began to learn divinity, but especially endeavoured to unite practice with knowledge. The study of the Bible and of Augustine’s theology, the knowledge of himself, and the battles that he, like Luther, had to fight against the deceit and lusts of his heart, led him to the Redeemer. He found peace for his soul in faith in Christ. The doctrine of election by grace had taken strong hold of his mind. The integrity of his life, the extent of his knowledge, and his eloquence recommended him to his contemporaries.
Frederick the Wise, elector of Saxony, made Staupitz his friend, and founded the University of Wittenberg under his direction. This disciple of Paul and of Augustine was the first dean of its theological faculty. He was afterwards vicar-general of the Augustines for all Germany. He was grieved at the corruption of morals and the errors of doctrine that were devastating the Church; his writings on the love of God and on Christian faith, besides the testimony of Luther, confirm this. But he considered the former evil more important than false doctrine. Besides his mildness and indecision, his desire not to go beyond the sphere of action he thought assigned to him made him more fit to restore a convent than be a reformer of the Church.
We have noted Luther’s struggles at Erfurt. At this period Staupitz came to make his usual inspection. He showed much kindness to the monks under his authority. He soon noticed Luther, whose whole appearance was melancholy and solemn. Staupitz easily recognised what was passing in his mind and felt drawn to him. Like Luther he had had to struggle and therefore could understand him. Above all, he could point out the road to peace, which he himself had found. He requested the prior to treat him with greater mildness. Approaching Luther with affection, he tried to dispel his timidity, which was increased by the respect and fear that a man of such exalted rank as Staupitz must inspire.
Luther’s heart, which harsh treatment had closed till then, opened at last under the mild beams of kindness. Staupitz understood him, and the monk felt a confidence in him that he had not as yet experienced for anyone. He described the horrible thoughts that perplexed him, and then conversations began that were full of wisdom and instruction. Up to this time no one had understood Luther. One day, at a table in the refectory, the young monk, dejected and silent, scarcely touched his food. Staupitz looked earnestly at him and said at last: “Why are you so sad, brother Martin?” “Ah,” he replied with a deep sigh, “I do not know what will become of me.” “These temptations,” answered Staupitz, “are more necessary to you than eating and drinking.”
The two men did not stop there; and before long that intimate conversation took place which powerfully contributed to leading the future reformer out of his darkness. “It is in vain”, said Luther despondingly to Staupitz, “that I make promises to God; sin is ever the strongest.” “O my friend,” replied the vicar-general, looking back on his own experience, “more than a thousand times I have sworn to our holy God to live piously, and I have never kept my vows. Now I vow no longer, for I know I cannot keep my solemn promises. If God will not be merciful towards me for the love of Christ, and grant me a happy departure when I must quit this world, I shall never, with the aid of all my vows and all my good works, stand before Him. I must perish.”
The young monk was terrified at the thought of divine justice. He laid open all his fears to the vicar-general. He was alarmed at the unspeakable holiness of God and His sovereign majesty. “Who may abide the day of His coming? And who shall stand when He appeareth?” (Mal 3:2).
Staupitz knew where he had found peace. “Why”, said he, “do you torment yourself with all these speculations and these high thoughts? Look at the wounds of Jesus Christ, to the blood that He has shed . . . it is there that the grace of God will appear to you. Instead of torturing yourself on account of your sins, throw yourself into the Redeemer’s arms. Trust in Him – in the righteousness of His life – in the atonement of His death.”
But Luther did not find in himself the repentance which he thought necessary for salvation; he replied, “How can I dare believe in the favour of God, so long as there is no real conversion in me? I must be changed before He will accept me.” His guide showed him that there can be no real conversion so long as man fears God as a severe judge. “What will you say then”, asked Luther, “to so many consciences to which a thousand insupportable tasks are prescribed in order that they may gain heaven?”
Then he heard this reply of the vicar-general – rather it seemed to him like a voice from heaven. “There is no real repentance except that which begins with the love of God and of righteousness. What others imagine to be the end and accomplishment of repentance is, on the contrary, only its beginning. In order that you may be filled with the love of what is good, you must first be filled with love for God. If you desire to be converted, do not be curious about all these mortifications and all these tortures.”
Luther listened again. These consolations filled him with joy till then unknown and imparted new light. He thinks in his heart: “Yes, it is Jesus Christ Himself who so wonderfully consoles me by these sweet and healing words”. These words indeed penetrated to the bottom of the young monk’s heart, like the sharp arrow of a strong man: In order to repent, we must love God. Guided by this new light, he began to compare the Scriptures. He looked out all the passages that treat of repentance and conversion.
These words, till then so dreaded, to use his own expression, “have become to me . . . the sweetest of recreations. All the passages of Scripture that used to alarm me seem now to run to me from every part.” “Hitherto,” he exclaimed, “although I carefully dissembled the state of my soul before God, and endeavoured to express towards Him a love which was a mere fiction, there was no expression in Scripture so bitter to me as that of repentance. But now there is none so sweet or more acceptable. O how delightful are all God’s precepts when we read them not only in books, but also in our Saviour’s precious wounds!”
Although Luther had been consoled by Staupitz’ words, he sometimes fell into despondency. He again felt sin in his timid conscience, and then all his previous despair banished the joy of salvation. “O my sin, my sin, my sin!” cried the young monk one day in Staupitz’ presence, with a tone of profound anguish. “Well, would you only be a sinner in appearance,” replied Staupitz, “and have also a Saviour only in appearance? Then know that Jesus Christ is the Saviour even of those who are great, real sinners, and deserve utter condemnation.”
It was not only the sin he discovered in his heart that agitated Luther. If the holy precepts of the Bible alarmed him, some of its doctrines increased his tortures further. The truth, which is the great medium by which God confers peace on man, must necessarily begin by taking away the false security that destroys him. The doctrine of election particularly disturbed the young man and launched him into a boundless field of inquiry. Must he believe that it was man who first chose God for his portion, or that God first elected man? The Bible, history, daily experience, the works of Augustine had all shown him that we must always ascend to that first cause: the sovereign will on which everything depends.
But his ardent spirit desired to go still further; he wished to penetrate into the secret councils of God, unveil His mysteries, see the invisible and comprehend the incomprehensible. Staupitz checked him. He told him not to presume to fathom the hidden God, but to confine himself to what He has manifested to us in Jesus Christ. “Look at Christ’s wounds,” he said, “and then you will see God’s counsel towards man shine forth brightly. We cannot understand God out of Jesus Christ. In Him, the Lord has said, you will find what I am, and what I require. Nowhere else, neither in heaven nor in earth, will you discover it.”
Staupitz did still more. He showed Luther the fatherly designs of providence in permitting these temptations and the various struggles that his soul was to undergo. By such trials God prepares for Himself the souls that He destines for some important work. This is what Staupitz told the monk of Erfurt: “It is not in vain that God exercises you in so many conflicts; you will see that He will use you, as His servant, for great purposes.”
Luther listened to these words with astonishment and humility; they inspired him with courage and led him to discover a strength in himself which he had not suspected. Staupitz went further: he gave him many valuable directions for his studies, exhorting him, from then on, to derive all his theology from the Bible and to put away the systems of the schools^2^. “Let the study of the Scriptures,” he said, “be your favourite occupation.” Never was good advice better followed out. What particularly delighted Luther was the present Staupitz made him of a Bible, even though it was not the Latin one, bound in red leather, the property of the convent, which it was his desire to possess and to be able to carry about with him, because he was so familiar with its pages and knew where to find each passage. From then on he studied the Scriptures, and especially Paul’s Epistles, with ever-increasing zeal. To these he added the works of Augustine alone. All that he read was imprinted deeply in his mind. His struggles had prepared his heart to understand the Word. The soil had been ploughed deep and the incorruptible seed sank into it with power.
But the work was not yet finished. Staupitz had prepared the way; God reserved its accomplishment for a humbler instrument. Luther’s conscience had not yet found repose. His body gave way at last under the conflict in his soul. He was attacked by an illness that brought him to the brink of the grave in the second year of his stay in the monastery. All his distresses and all his fears were aroused at the approach of death. His own impurity and the holiness of God again disturbed his mind. One day, as he lay overwhelmed with despair, an aged monk entered his cell and addressed a few words of comfort to him. Luther opened his heart to him, and made known the fears by which he was tormented. The venerable man was incapable of following up that soul in all its doubts, as Staupitz had done; but he knew the Creed and had found much in it.
He therefore applied the same remedy to his young brother. Leading him back to the Apostles’ Creed, which Luther had learned in school, the monk kindly repeated the words: “I believe in the forgiveness of sins”. These simple words diffused great consolation in Luther’s heart. Soon he repeated to himself on his sickbed: “I believe in the forgiveness of sins”. “Ah,” said the monk, “you must believe not only in the forgiveness of David’s and of Peter’s sins, for this even the devils believe. It is God’s command that we believe our own sins are forgiven us.” How delightful did this commandment seem to poor Luther!
^1^This is a further abridged extract from J H Merle d’Aubigné’s The History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century, marking the five-hundredth anniversary of the European Reformation. The last article saw Luther in a monastery, under conviction of sin.
^2^He was referring to mediaeval Christian theology, which was heavily philosophical.