5. In Rome
J H Merle d’Aubigné
1This is a further abridged extract from d’Aubigné’s The History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century, vol 1. This series marks the five-hundredth anniversary of the European Reformation. We have already seen Luther beginning to lecture on the Bible at the new University of Wittenberg. There, as he was meditating on the words of Romans 1:17: “The just shall live by faith”, the words struck him and he got true light on the way of salvation.
Luther was teaching both in the university and in the church when he was interrupted in his labours. In 1510, or possibly 1511 or 1512, he was sent to Rome. Seven monasteries of his order were at variance on certain points with the vicar-general. Because of his acute mind, his powerful words and his talent for discussion, Luther was selected to represent these monasteries before the Pope. This was a necessary providence for Luther; he had to know Rome, for he had always imagined it to be a place of sanctity.
After crossing the Alps, Luther had scarcely descended to the plains of Italy before he found astonishing scandal. The poor German monk was entertained in a wealthy Benedictine convent in Lombardy, where the splendid rooms, the expensive dress and food confounded him. Luther was astonished and silent. But when Friday came, he was surprised to see the Benedictine table groaning under a load of meat, and he resolved to speak. “The Church and the Pope,” said he, “forbid such things.” The Benedictines were irritated at this unpolished German’s reprimand, and some thought the simplest course would be to get rid of their importunate guest. The porter of the convent forewarned him of the danger he incurred by a longer stay. He accordingly left and reached Bologna, where he fell dangerously ill.
He again relapsed into the dejection that was so natural to him. To die far from Germany – how sad! The sense of his sinfulness troubled him; the prospect of God’s judgement filled him with dread. But at the very moment these terrors had reached their highest pitch, the words of Paul, that had already struck him at Wittenberg, “The just shall live by faith”, recurred forcibly to his memory, and enlightened his soul like a ray from heaven. Thus comforted, he soon regained his health and resumed his journey to Rome, expecting to find there a very different manner of life from that of the Lombard monastery. At length, at the beginning of summer, he drew near to Rome and fell on his knees, exclaiming, “Holy Rome, I salute thee!”
The Wittenberg professor stood in the midst of the ruins of the capital of the Roman Empire, the city of so many martyrs and confessors of Jesus Christ. Christian Rome with its sufferings had more power over the heart of the Saxon monk than pagan Rome with all its glory. Here that letter had first arrived in which Paul wrote, “The just shall live by faith”.
But in Rome at this time, the warlike Julius II filled the papal chair. Luther often related that when the news reached the Pope that his army had been defeated by the French, he was repeating his daily prayers. He flung away the book and, with a terrible oath, blamed God for not protecting the Church. Ignorance, levity, dissolute living, a profane spirit, a contempt for all that is sacred, a scandalous trade in divine things – such were what Luther saw in Rome. Yet the pious monk remained in his delusions for some time longer.
Having arrived about the time of the feast of St John, he heard the Romans repeating around him a proverb current among them: “Happy the mother whose son performs mass on St John’s eve!” “How should I rejoice to make my mother happy!” said Luther to himself. He tried to repeat a mass that day, but he could not; the throng was too great.
Fervent and meek, he visited all the churches; he believed all the falsehoods he was told; he devoutly performed all the holy practices required there, happy in being able to execute so many good works from which his fellow countrymen were debarred. “How I regret”, Luther told himself, “that my father and mother are still alive! What pleasure I should have in delivering them from the fire of purgatory by my masses, my prayers and by so many other admirable works!” He had found the light, but the darkness was far from being entirely expelled from his understanding. his mind was not yet fully enlightened. He had faith and love, but he lacked knowledge. It was no trifling matter to emerge from that thick night which had covered the earth for so many centuries.
Luther several times repeated mass at Rome. He officiated with all the dignity that such an action appeared to require. But what affliction seized the heart of the Saxon monk at witnessing the Roman priests celebrating the “sacrament of the altar” mechanically! And they laughed at his simplicity. One day he found that the priests at an adjoining altar had repeated seven masses before he had finished one. His astonishment was still greater when he found in the dignitaries of the papacy what he had already observed in the inferior clergy; he had hoped better things of them. It was the fashion at the papal court to attack Christianity, and you could not pass for a well-bred man unless you entertained some erroneous or heretical opinion on the doctrines of the Church. Some of the Pope’s youthful courtiers maintained that the orthodox faith was the result of the crafty devices of a few saints.
As envoy from the German Augustines, Luther was invited to numerous meetings of churchmen. One day he was eating with several prelates who displayed openly their impious conversation; they did not scruple to utter a thousand mockeries, thinking, no doubt, that he was of the same mind as themselves. Among other things, they told him with laughter and pride how, when they repeated mass at the altar, instead of the words that were supposed to transform the bread and wine into the flesh and blood of the Saviour, they pronounced over the elements the words: “Bread thou art, and bread thou shalt remain; wine thou art, and wine thou shalt remain”. And they went on: “Then we elevate the host, and all the people bow down and worship it”.
Luther could hardly believe his ears. His disposition was remarkably serious whenever sacred matters were involved. He described his reaction to the mockeries of Rome: “Such language grieved me bitterly. . . . And how they must have deceived me, who have heard them read devoutly so great a number!” Luther had thought to find the edifice the Church encompassed with splendour and strength, but its doors were broken down and the walls damaged by fire. He witnessed the desolation of the sanctuary and drew back with horror. All his dreams had been of holiness; he had discovered nothing but profanation.
He found the disorder outside the churches just as shocking. “The police in Rome are very strict and severe,” he said. “The judge or captain patrols the city every night on horseback with 300 followers; he arrests everyone that is found in the streets; if they meet an armed man, he is hung or thrown into the Tiber. And yet the city is filled with disorder and murder, while in those places where the Word of God is preached uprightly and in purity, peace and order prevail, without calling for the severity of the law.” He said at another time: “No one can imagine what sins and infamous actions are committed in Rome; they must be seen and heard to believed. Thus they are in the habit of saying, ‘If there is a hell, Rome is built over it’. It is an abyss from which every kind of sin issues.”
This spectacle made a deep impression even then on Luther’s mind; it was increased before long. He said many years afterwards: “The nearer we approach Rome, the greater the number of bad Christians we meet”. Luther somewhat later recognised the great importance of this journey: “If they would give me one hundred thousand florins, I would not have missed seeing Rome!” This visit was advantageous too for his learning. He took advantage of his residence in Italy to penetrate deeper into the meaning of the Holy Scriptures, taking lessons in Hebrew from a famous rabbi. At Rome he partly acquired that knowledge of the Word of God under whose attacks Rome was to fall. And this journey was important to Luther in another respect. Not only was the mocking incredulity which lay concealed behind the Romish superstitions revealed to the future Reformer, but the living faith that God had implanted in himself was there powerfully strengthened.
We have seen how he at first gave himself up to all the vain observances which the Church enjoined to take away sin. One day, wishing to obtain an indulgence the Pope had promised to all who should ascend on their knees what is called Pilate’s Staircase, the poor Saxon monk was humbly creeping up those steps, which he was told had been miraculously transported from Jerusalem to Rome. But while he was ascending, he thought he heard a voice of thunder crying from the bottom of his heart, as at Wittenberg and Bologna, “The just shall live by faith”. These words, that twice before had struck him like the voice of an angel from God, resounded unceasingly and powerfully within him. He rose in amazement from the steps up which he was dragging his body; he shuddered, ashamed of seeing the depth to which superstition had plunged him. He fled far from the scene of his folly.
It is often necessary for a truth to be presented many times to our minds in order to produce the due effect. Luther had profoundly studied the Epistle to the Romans, and yet the doctrine of justification by faith there taught had never appeared so clear to him. Now he understood the righteousness which alone can stand before God; now he received for himself, from the hand of Christ, the obedience which God of His free gift imputes to the sinner as soon as he raises his eyes with humility to the crucified Son of man. This was the decisive period in Luther’s inner life. That faith which had saved him from the terrors of death became the very soul of his theology, his stronghold in every danger, the principle which gave energy to his preaching and strength to his love, the foundation of his peace, his comfort in life and in death.
Luther believed that this great doctrine of a salvation proceeding from God, and not from man, was not only the power of God to save his soul; even more it was the power of God to reform the Church. This great doctrine was a weapon too long neglected, but now to be at last taken from the arsenal of the omnipotent God. At the very moment when Luther stood up on “Pilate’s Staircase” – amazed at those words which Paul had addressed 1500 years before to people in Rome – truth rose up also to fall no more, though till then fettered in the Church.
Let us listen to what Luther said, looking back: “Although I was a holy and blameless monk, my conscience was nevertheless full of trouble and anguish. I could not endure those words, ‘the righteousness of God’. I had no love for that holy and just God who punishes sinners. . . . I hated Him because, not content with frightening, by the law and the miseries of life, us wretched sinners already ruined by original sin, He still further increased our tortures by the gospel. But when, by the Spirit of God, I understood these words, when I learnt how the justification of the sinner proceeds from the free mercy of our Lord through faith, then I felt born again like a new man; I entered through the open doors into the very paradise of God. Henceforth also I saw the beloved and holy Scriptures with other eyes. I perused the Bible; I brought together a great number of passages that taught me the nature of God’s work. And as previously I had detested with all my heart these words, ‘the righteousness of God’, I began from that hour to value them and to love them, as the sweetest and most consoling words in the Bible.”
Thus when he was called on solemn occasions to confess this doctrine, Luther always recovered his enthusiasm. “I see”, he observed at an important moment, “that the devil is continually attacking this fundamental article by means of his doctors, and that in this respect he can never cease or take any repose. Well then, I Doctor Martin Luther, unworthy herald of the gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, confess this article, that faith alone without works justifies before God; and I declare that it shall stand . . . for ever . . . in spite of the Pope and all the cardinals, with the bishops, priests, monks, and nuns; in spite of kings, princes and nobles; and in spite of all the world and of the devils themselves; and that if they endeavour to fight against this truth, they will draw the fires of hell upon their heads. This is the true and holy gospel . . . according to the teaching of the Holy Ghost.”
“There is no one,” he continued, “who has died for our sins, if not Jesus Christ the Son of God. I say it once again: should all the world and all the devils tear each other to pieces and burst with rage, it is none the less true. And if it is He alone that takes away our sins, it cannot be ourselves and our own works. But good works follow redemption, as the fruit grows on the tree. That is our doctrine; that is what is taught by the Holy Ghost and by all the communion of saints. We hold fast to it in the name of God. Amen.”
Thus Luther found what had been overlooked, at least to a certain degree, by all teachers, even by the most illustrious. It was in Rome that God gave him this clear view of the fundamental doctrine of Christianity. He had gone to the city of the pontiffs to solve certain difficulties concerning a monastic order; he brought away from it in his heart the salvation of the Church.