The Carolina Door

The Septuagint

A Paper Submitted to Dr. Terry Eddinger
Carolina Evangelical Divinity School

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirement for the Course
“Between the Testaments”

by Mark Ryman
December 2, 2008

The world between the Jewish and Christian testaments had not turned out the way the Jewish people had thought.  Instead of conquering the Promised Land of Canaan and influencing or even ruling the nations around them, they would end up being dominated by those very peoples.  Eventually they were to be ruled by even more far away lands.  Notably, they were subjugated by the Greeks and later the far-reaching Roman Empire.

As much as the Jewish people may have wandered from their God’s directive to “take possession of the land that the Lord your God is giving,”¹ they did not stray from their religion.  “The chastisement of the exile largely cured the Jews of the problem of idolatry.  Although difficulties with syncretism (identification of the God of Israel with the Most High God of Hellenism) continued, the emphasis upon monotheism was one of the characteristics of Jewish belief.”² However, they were in danger of drifting because their culture was being changed by their conquerors and perhaps most dramatically so by the loss of their language.  “Language [has] …an impact on cultural and religious developments.”³ As Jewish people were assimilated by other cultures, particularly Greek and Roman, over a span of many generations Hebrew would of necessity become a secondary language.  In order to work and conduct business.  dispersed Jewish people would have to speak the language of that land.  As generations passed the vernacular would become the primary language of their children, to the extent that their customary language—Hebrew—might fall into disuse and itself become a foreign or worse, a forgotten language.  This shift of colloquial speech meant that they could lose more than Hebrew; they might also lose their identity as a religiously distinctive people.  In order to resist total cultural shift it would have been necessary to find a method for their religious code—specifically the five books of Moses—to speak to those who no longer spoke the language of Moses.

The changing historical and political fortunes of the Israelite nation necessitated the translation of the Hebrew Bible into other languages.  Several of these ancient versions are available in manuscript form and represent important witnesses to the Hebrew Old Testament.  The more important include the Samaritan Pentateuch (the Bible of the Samaritans dating to the fourth or fifth century B.C.), the Aramaic Targums (pre-Christian paraphrases of the Old Testament in Aramaic, the lingua franca of the Babylonian and early Persian periods, cf. Neh. 8:8), the Greek Septuagint (a by-product of the impact of Hellenism on the Jewish people, ca. 250 B.C.), Jerome’s Latin Vulgate (A.D. 382-405), and the Syriac Pershitta (ca. A.D. 400?).⁴

As a result of the most recent “changing fortune” of Jewish people (the conquest of the Near East by Alexander the Great in 333 BCE.), the Jewish people found themselves dispersed across the wide empire that was Alexander’s.  This diffusion of people was so prevalent that it became a noun, the Diaspora (or the Dispersion).⁵ James borrows the term in the introduction of his New Testament letter.  “James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ, to the twelve tribes which are of the Dispersion, greeting.” (Jas 1:1)⁶ Peter also uses it in his greeting: “Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, to the elect sojourners of the Dispersion of Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia.” (1 Pet 1:1)⁷ John mentions the Diaspora in his gospel: “Therefore the Jews said among themselves, “Where does this man intend to go that we will not find Him?  Does He intend to go into the Dispersion among the Greeks and teach the Greeks?” (John 7:35)⁸ These references to the Diaspora in the New Testament are additional witnesses to the Hellenization of first the Jewish community and then the Jewish-Christian community.  The influence of Hellenism not only changed the location of Jewish people but the language of that displaced group (not to mention other people groups as well). This relocation over a broad geography effectively gave these Jews a new name.  “The word diaspora…became the technical Greek term for Jewish communities in foreign lands.”⁹

Ptolemy I transported many Jews to Egypt, and Alexandria became a major center of the Jewish dispersion.  The Jews in Egypt flourished during most of the Ptolemaic period, playing a not inconsiderable role in the political and economic life of the country and supplying a significant part in its military force.  During the Ptolemaic period one of the most significant events in religious history was undertaken: the translation of the Old Testament into Greek.¹⁰

This Hellenizing influence on the Jewish people who were dispersed throughout the Mediterranean region of Alexander’s empire required them to speak Greek.  “In Alexandria a knowledge of Greek was not a mere luxury but a necessity of common life.”¹¹ If the Jewish Diaspora wanted to keep their Jewish religious identity, they would need to bring what made them Jewish (that very religion) into Greek culture.  Without the ability to speak Hebrew, they were still Jews.  Though no longer living in the land including and surrounding Judea, they were still Jews.  Their physical characteristics did not make them Jews.  The thing that made them a “peculiar people” (Deut 14:2)¹² was that God set them apart and gave them a distinctive character.  This uniquely Jewish culture was discovered primarily in their law called the Torah (as mentioned above, those first five books of the Old Testament that are attributed to Moses).  Two questions must have come into the minds of the more religious but Hellenistic Jews in the Diaspora.  How could they continue knowing their Jewish individuality if they could not read their law? And how could they read their law if the could no longer read Hebrew? The writings of Moses, as well as the rest of their Bible, were written in Hebrew.  The texts had never been translated into any other language.  When the Jewish people had been in Egyptian, Babylonian, and Assyrian exile, their law had never been translated into those culture’s languages (so far as we know today).  But by the time of the Alexandrian Empire, with an acculturation so complete, the need was pressing.  “Because as a rule the Jews of the Diaspora scattered throughout the Mediterranean no longer spoke Hebrew [and] they needed to translate their sacred writings into Greek.”¹³ This had never been done with the Hebrew Bible.  In fact, the Septuagint was “the first translation of a sacred book into another language.”¹⁴ This also speaks plainly about the level of Hellenistic acculturation; no other subjugation of Jewish people had ever resulted in the need to translate their sacred writings.  The reason for such a complete acculturation may have simply been the length of time the Greek empire lasted.  The Egyptian captivity lasted 430 years (Exod 12:40) but the law had not yet been given to Moses; the distinctive nature of the Hebrew-speaking people was not yet defined.  The Assyrian exile lasted an inconclusive span of time but Jerusalem did not fall, therefore the religion of the Hebrew Bible persisted.  The Babylonian exile lasted about 50 years, hardly enough time to lose a culture.  But the empire of the Greeks lasted a quarter of a millennium—by conservative standards, over six generations—and that was plenty of time for a people to lose their distinctiveness, especially given that the Greek Empire  was followed by the Roman Empire and that lasted an additional half-millennium.

Fear of losing their Jewish roots being the reason behind the translation seems clear enough but another explanation was tendered.  The Letter of Aristeas (part of the Old Testament pseudepigrapha) describes

…how the Jewish Torah was first translated from Hebrew into Greek for the great library of the Egyptian king Ptolemy Philadelphius (285-247 B.C.E.) in Alexandria… According to the author of the letter, the king’s librarian requested the high priest of the temple in Jerusalem to send translators with the Hebrew scrolls to Alexandria.  The high priest complied, sending six men from each of the twelve tribes of Israel, that is seventy-two translators…
The translators were escorted to an island called Pharos, connected by a causeway to Alexandria.  Working there for seventy-two days, they produced the first Greek translation of the Pentateuch.  When the translation was complete, it was read to an assembly of the Jews in Alexandria, who enthusiastically received it and gave the translators a great ovation.¹⁵

This story within the larger letter has a legendary quality to it, something more like a propaganda program to get Jewish people to accept the work.  The Letter of Aristeas may simply be one of history’s great advertisements.  The letter was written “to defend Judaism in general and the Greek version in particular.  During the conflict in Judaism over Hellenization, some Jews embraced the Greek language and culture while others resisted such acculturation on religious principle.”¹⁶ Aristeas was written about a century after the Greek Pentateuch had been produced.  Therefore much of the rest of the Old Testament had by then been translated (It  took two to three centuries for the entire Old Testament to be translated.¹⁷) but then so would have other Greek translations, as we shall see shortly.  Perhaps Aristeas was written not only to promote a Greek translation but to endorse the Septuagint over rival Greek translations.  But it speaks of a good deal more, all of which paints the empire as favorable to and for Jews.  Indeed, the entirety of Aristeas “serves not only to commend the Septuagint as the official translation but also to commend more liberal Hellenistic Judaism.”¹⁸

Josephus affirms the Aristeas account without equivocation and Philo goes a giant step further and “makes the translation an act of divine inspiration” as he has the 72 translators working in separate cells and later emerging with a single, identical translation.¹⁹ The Early Church Fathers seem to have bought in to the Aristeas legend but Swete notes that Jerome was an “exception.”  Jerome states that Philo’s additional account of the separate cells is an “absurdity.”²⁰ The entire, early testimony indicates The Letter of Aristeas may be a mixture of propaganda, legend, and truth with the truth not being in its depiction of who did the translation.  Swete insists the Old Greek “was on the whole the work of Alexandrian Jews”²¹ and leaves it at that, save to discredit Aristeas.  Modern scholars agree as no book cited here agrees with Josephus or Philo on the details of translation, Swete however, being most condemning. Yet from the disputed tale of the seventy-two translators of the Aristeas story a title was derived for the historic translation, using septuaginta, from the Latin for seventy(-two), thus often shortened and abbreviated as the Roman LXX.”²² However the Septuagint came to be, it was the first Greek translation of Hebrew Scriptures.  But the Septuagint was not the only Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible in the empire.

There were seven early Greek translations.  It is currently debated whether Greek translations called Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotian are original translations from the Hebrew or corrected, subsequent editions of the Septuagint.  The Septuagint is therefore sometimes referred to as the “Old Greek” since it was the first of these early translations.  Perhaps Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotian were even competing with the Septuagint for a place as the dominant Greek translation (giving rise to an Aristeas advertising campaign).  These, as well as later recensions of the Old Greek (varieties known as the Hesychian text in Egypt, the Hexaplaric of Origen in Palestine, and the Lucianic from Constantinople to Antioch)²³ show how much the Greek culture, particularly its language, had affected Judaism.  The recensions may indicate that if Aquila, Symmachus, and Theodotian were indeed competitors that the Septuagint had won the day since these further editions were of the Septuagint instead of the other three translations.  Regardless, there was obviously a great need to provide, first the Jewish law, then the entire Old Testament, and finally other writings for so-called Jewish-Christians in the lingua franca of that time: Greek.

The Alexandrian Jews were certainly influenced by Hellenism (at least by their displacement from Jewish culture if not for a call from an Alexandrian library) to create the first translation of a sacred text, the Septuagint.  Later, Jesus, the Apostles, and the Church were not so much influenced by Hellenism as they were by the Septuagint—though one does go with the other.  “Modern Christians” might assume “that the original Hebrew is the inspired text of the Old Testament, but this fact was not so obvious to the early church, which, following Alexandrian Jewish tradition, seems to have accepted the Septuagint as equally inspired.”²⁴ “The Christian Churches of Greek-speaking countries throughout the Empire read the Old Testament in the Alexandrian version.”²⁵ In fact, the eventually more Hellenistic than Jewish Christian Church had so appropriated the Septuagint that the Aramaic Targums “may have been designed to replace the Septuagint”²⁶ for Jews wanting to distance themselves from a now Christian document.

Where the Jews now rejected their own document, the Christians embraced it.  It was the Bible of Jesus and the Apostles; they quoted it extensively.  As a result, one might argue that the Greek translation may be inspired on the same level as the Hebrew text.  After all, Jesus sometimes quoted the Septuagint.  In other words, he did not, as would be done with a Targum, simply translate or interpret the Hebrew Bible—though he sometimes did this too.  Instead, he often directly quoted the Septuagint.  The Apostles also quoted it and they did so very often.  This more than suggests—it implies an acceptance of the Septuagint by both Jesus and his disciples, so it is no wonder that the early Church adopted it as their scripture.

The putting of Hebrew religious ideas into the Greek language was an important transitional step that prepared the way for Christian preaching.  Moreover, most of the New Testament citations of the Old Testament follow the Septuagint.  The Bible of the early church, except for some Jewish believers and a few scholars, was the Greek Old Testament.The Septuagint was the most important literary event, perhaps the most important single development of any kind in the Hellenistic period, for the development of early Christianity.²⁷

The Septuagint and its koine Greek, that common Greek spoken in Alexandria, had become so highly regarded (and so different from classical Greek) that for awhile it was regarded as “’Holy Spirit Greek,’ a  form of the language specially inspired by the Holy Spirit for purposes of revelation.”²⁸ This conviction eventually changed but it points out just how much, not only the Septuagint but, the Greek language itself meant to the early Church.  This indicates a quite profound effect that Hellenism had on Christianity and continues to have to this day.  Lay persons are often transfixed by a preacher’s “ability” to throw out some Greek in the midst of a sermon or Bible study. The same amazement is true of the use of Hebrew in these arenas but if the modern Church knew just how much the Greek Septuagint was the language of the New Testament, more awe could be the result even in Old Testament studies.

Hebrew had been the official language of Judaism for millennia.  The Jewish insistence on having their own way instead of following God’s statutes and commands had led to them being chased by enemies instead of doing the chasing as promised in Leviticus 26:3-7 and elsewhere.

If you walk in my statutes and observe my commandments and do them, then I will give you your rains in their season, and the land shall yield its increase, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit.  Your threshing shall last to the time of the grape harvest, and the grape harvest shall last to the time for sowing.  And you shall eat your bread to the full and dwell in your land securely.  I will give peace in the land, and you shall lie down, and none shall make you afraid.  And I will remove harmful beasts from the land, and the sword shall not go through your land.  You shall chase your enemies, and they shall fall before you by the sword.²⁹

The irony is that in not observing the law, they lost not only their lands and security and peace, but their language.  In order to maintain a measure of the old faith, they had to do something that had never been done: translate their sacred text into the dominant culture’s language.  Once done, that translation was revered until the text and its language was then chased down by yet another culture: the Church.  The effect was that the cherished document, one of the most significant things of all religious history,³⁰ was abandoned.

The Christian Church however built on the Jewish foundation of the Septuagint.  “The New Testament has been much influenced by the Septuagint”31 but so was “the earliest of the non-canonical Christian writings, the letter addressed c. A.D. 96 by the Church of Rome to the Church of Corinth, abounds in quotations from the O.T.; and more than half of these are given substantially in the words of the LXX.”³² Moreover, Clement, Justin, and other early Christian writers such as the author of the Epistle of Barnabus also relied on the Septuagint for their claims to scriptural authority.³³

The Septuagint, not the Hebrew Bible, was the primary theological and literary context within which writers of the New Testament and most early Christians worked.  This does not mean that the New Testament writers were ignorant of the Hebrew Bible or that they did not use it.  But since the New Testament authors were writing in Greek, they would naturally quote, allude to, and otherwise use the Greek version of the Hebrew Bible.³⁴

It was however the Septuagint which Jesus and the Apostles quoted, not the other early Greek translations already mentioned.

As time passed, other early Christian writers (Shepherd of Hermes, Ignatius of Antioch, Polycarp of Smyrna) began to pull away from appeals to the Septuagint.  This however was not because the Church had lost respect for the Old Greek.  They still quoted the Septuagint but by now were able to cite the New Testament and other Christian writings.

By the time Jerome translated the Bible into Latin, now the language of the most recent rulers—the Roman Empire—the Septuagint was still exerting its influence.  For the Church of the first few centuries, the Septuagint was still “the standard form of the Old Testament.” By standard, one should understand that it was canonical to many clerics.  In case there is any doubt of the veracity of this statement, even “Augustine demanded that Jerome use this canonical form of the text and not the Hebrew original as the basis for his translation.”³⁵ By this one sees that the influence of the Septuagint remained strong from the translation of the Pentateuch in the early- to mid-third century B.C. until beyond Jerome’s Vulgate of AD 384.

The half-millennium old Judeo-Hellenistic-Christian influence of the Septuagint should not be forgotten any more than the Hebrew text it was based upon.  A New Testament professor once advised his students to sell all of their commentaries and buy a copy of the Septuagint.  In it, he knew his students had the best chance of understanding the “grammar, vocabulary, and thought-world of the New Testament…already made by Greek-speaking Jews.”³⁶ There is perhaps no better way to stay true to the statutes and commandments of God and to defend against further theological drift than to rely upon the Old Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible that the Christian Bible depends upon.

End Notes

1. The Holy Bible. English Standard Version  (Wheaton, IL: Good News, 2001), Joshua 1:15.

2. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 538.

3. Ibid., 135.

4. Andrew E. Hill and John H. Walton, A Survey of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000), 387-388.

5. Karen H. Jobes and Moisés Silva, Invitation to the Septuagint (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000), 20.

6. The Holy Bible, The American Standard Version  (Camden: Nelson, 1901), 245.

7. Paul W. Esposito, The Complete Apostles’ Bible (LaVergne: Lightning Source, 2007).  This is a new English translation of the LXX that I have in an electronic version.  Therefore I have no page numbers to provide.

8. Ibid.

9. H. B. Swete, An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989), 2.

10. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 404.

11. H. B. Swete, An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989), 8.

12. The Holy Bible, King James Version, a reprint of the edition of 1611, (Peabody: Hendrickson, 2005), no pagination.

13. Karen H. Jobes and Moisés Silva, Invitation to the Septuagint (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000), 20.

14. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 436.

15. Karen H. Jobes and Moisés Silva, Invitation to the Septuagint (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000), 33-24.

16. Ibid., 34.

17. Ibid., 30.

18. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 451.

19. Ernst Würthwein, The Text of the Old Testament. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 51.

20. H. B. Swete, An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989), 14.

21. Ibid., 9.

22. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 432.

23. Karen H. Jobes and Moisés Silva, Invitation to the Septuagint (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000), 46-56.

24. Philip S. Alexander, “Hellenism and Hellenization as Problematic Historiographical Categories.” Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ed.  Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001), 64.

25. H. B. Swete, An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989), 87.

26. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 437.

27. Ibid., 436. 28. Ibid., 136.

29. The Holy Bible, English Standard Version (Wheaton, IL: Good News, 2001).

30. Everett Ferguson, Backgrounds of Early Christianity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 436.

31. Ibid., 136.

32. H. B. Swete, An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989), 406.

33. Ibid., 406-432.

34.  Karen H. Jobes and Moisés Silva, Invitation to the Septuagint (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2000), 23.

35. Ernst Würthwein, The Text of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 50.

36. Ibid., 434-435.

Bibliography

Alexander , Philip S.  “Hellenism and Hellenization as Problematic Historiographical Categories.” Troels Engberg-Pedersen, ed.  Paul Beyond the Judaism/Hellenism Divide.  Louisville, Westminster John Knox, 2001. Esposito, Paul W.  The Complete Apostles’ Bible.  LaVergne: Lightning Source, 2007. Ferguson, Everett.  Backgrounds of Early Christianity.  Eerdmans: Grand Rapids, 2003. Griffin, Winn.  God’s Epic Adventure: Changing Our Culture by the Story We Live and Tell.  Los Angeles: Harmon Press, 2007. Gruen, Erich S.  Heritage and Hellenism: the Reinvention of Jewish Tradition.  Berkeley: University of California, 1998. Hill, Andrew E. and John H. Walton.  A Survey of the Old Testament.  Zondervan: Grand Rapids, 2000. Horsley, Richard A.  Scribes, Visionaries, and the Politics of Second Temple Judea.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007. Jobes, Karen H. and Moisés Silva.  Invitation to the Septuagint.  Baker Academic: Grand Rapids, 2000. Stegemann, Hartmut.  The Library of Qumran: On the Essenes, Qumran, John the Baptist, and Jesus.  Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. Swete, H. B.  An Introduction to the Old Testament in Greek.  Peabody: Hendrickson, 1989. Würthwein, Ernst.  The Text of the Old Testament.  Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995. English Standard Version.  Wheaton: Good News, 2001. The Holy Bible.  The American Standard Version.  Camden: Nelson, 1901. The Holy Bible.  King James Version, a reprint of the edition of 1611.  Peabody: Hendrickson, 2005.

What is Communion’s place in the church? For the reforming movement this was a question with doubtless importance that needed to be answered. Martin Luther’s convictions here unmistakably made a contribution that forever affected Protestantism. Yet his thoughts on this matter, as well as all his work, did not come about in a vacuum. In order to appreciate Luther’s view one must consider the context. When doing so it essential to not simply see it against the backdrop of the Catholic church. Luther over time felt that he disagreed with the radical reformers even more on this issue. So to properly understand Luther’s view of Communion, consideration must be made of his main opponents’ view. It is the purpose of this paper to come examine both Luther and Ulrich Zwingli’s conception of Communion in order to better understand Luther in particular. Luther and Zwingli had radically different views on the meaning of Communion, which continue to influence the beliefs of people today. Their debate centered on the meaning of the bread and the wine, and that is the debate this paper will explore.

Martin Luther’s doctrine of the Lord’s Supper was built on his strong belief in the Word of God. He could not reconcile the practices of the church, especially in the Mass and the Sacraments, with Scripture. He began to question everything in light of Scripture. As Luther moved deeper into his study, the scriptures strongly impacted his view of the Lord’s Supper. His study of scripture led to his conviction of faith alone in regards to justification, and also changed his understanding of the Sacraments. His newly gained appreciation for the Word would alter his Catholic view of the sacrament and lead him into conflict with other reformers as well.

To understand Luther’s view of Communion and its impact on the Roman Catholic Church and the Reformation, one must understand that the act of Communion was central to the religious belief system of the day. The mass was believed to be a repetition of the Incarnation and the Crucifixion. In the bread and the wine God again becomes flesh and Christ dies upon the altar. Priests were the only ones who could administer the sacraments, so they had tremendous power and were charged with overseeing the body of Christ. As the re-enactment of the crucifixion took place, they administered the crucified body of Christ to participants during the Mass. Luther’s convictions of faith alone led him to question every Catholic tradition or doctrine not supported by Scripture. Transubstantiation was one of these traditional beliefs that had no scriptural basis.

Luther’s goal was not to undermine the priest or the church. He simply wanted people to experience the reality of the Sacrament and the presence of the living Lord. He desired to get rid of the excesses of the Mass and to allow the reality of Christ to be shared by all. Luther saw communion as a celebration of community that would draw believers unto Christ and to each other by means of faith. In regard to faith and the Lord’s Supper, “I may be wrong on indulgences,” declared Luther, “but as to the need for faith in the sacraments I will die before I will recant.” His rejection of transubstantiation was complete and unequivocal.

Although the Lord’s Supper was for the community of believers, he saw it also as an intense personal meeting between the individual and God. The experience of communing with God did not come through intervention or administration by a priest. It happened in the heart of the individual. Luther asked, “Who can accept or apply for another the promise of God which requires the faith of each individually?” For Luther, only Christ could lead man to truly experience God. The Catholic priest had no power to do this.

It is wrong to assume that Luther’s rejection of Catholic Church doctrines meant he ignored Christ in the sacrament. Once convinced that the New Testament taught the “real presence” of Christ in the Lord’s Supper, Luther began to state his view, as simply, “This is my Body.” For Luther, Communion is not in the hands of the priest but in the words and body of Christ and one’s own faith. He rejected the doctrine of Transubstantiation, which taught that as the priest spoke, the bread and the wine became the body and blood of Christ. “God has chosen to declare himself unto mankind at three loci of revelation. The first is Christ, in whom the Word is made flesh. The second is Scripture, where the Word uttered is recorded. The third is the sacrament, in which the Word is manifest in food and drink.”

“This is my body” framed the context for Martin Luther’s belief about the Lord’s Supper and over which many debates would occur. Luther said, “How Christ is brought into the bread I do not know. But I know full well that the Word of God cannot lie, and it says that the body and blood of Christ are in the sacrament.” Luther fervently believed that Christ was in, with, and around the elements, but the bread and wine were still bread and wine. The bread and wine were not “turned into” the body of Jesus, like a magic trick, by the words of the priest. When Jesus said, “This is my body,” Luther believed Jesus meant that the bread and wine would contain the essence of Christ. Thus, the bread was seen as both bread and the body of Jesus that was manifested in it. It was not bread that was no longer bread because it had been changed into the body of Jesus; nevertheless, Christ was present in it.

Unlike Zwingli, he believed in the literal meaning of the word “is” and would not yield regardless of the argument brought before him. Luther believed in the “real presence” of the living Christ or the “unity of the sacrament.” He used these terms to argue that Christ is in, with and around the elements. Consequently, during Communion the believer receives Christ’s body and blood, given for his or her sins.

Zwingli’s education was largely affected by humanism and the teaching of Erasmus. Erasmus called for the spiritual understanding of Christianity and salvation. For Zwingli, revelation could never contradict reason. He understood God as the first cause that underlies all reality. He believed that God, as truth, sheds light on human darkness. This meant that the Spirit is more important to understanding the Word than the letter. The Spirit, Zwingli believed, could and does make direct contact with the soul of the believer and reveals the true meaning of the Word. This differed from Luther’s view that God was forever a mystery hidden from man and the Word of God always came as something that contradicted reason and rationality.

Just like Luther he no longer accepted the Catholic view that the bread and the wine become the body of Christ at the words of the priest, and yet he still believed in the Real Presence–but not the Presence that Luther taught. Zwingli’s theology of the Lord’s Supper is in one way rather simple. He believed that in Communion “the individual receives only bread and wine, but that by reflecting on the Lord’s death the individual received a spiritual blessing from this symbolical eating and drinking.”

If Luther’s favorite words were, “This is my body,” then Zwingli’s favorite words were from John 6:63, “It is the spirit that matters, the flesh is of no avail.” It has been said of Zwingli that he believed in the “Real Absence.” Christ was not literally in the bread and wine. Christ was present but in the heart of the believer and not actually in the bread and the wine. He believed that Christ was in heaven seated at the right hand of the Father and as the person took the sacraments, Christ entered the soul of the believer. How Christ does this Zwingli did not explain.

Zwingli interpreted the elements of the sacrament in a symbolic or figurative sense, as a memorial to the work of Christ—rather than as a literal reenactment of the crucifixion, as the Catholic Church claimed. For him, the word “is’ in the statement “This is my body,” meant represents or signifies. In other words, “This is my body” could be rendered, “This represents my body,” or “This signifies my body.” Here Zwingli did not think this passage was meant to be taken literally. Yet he believed that practices not contained in the Scriptures were to be shunned, and practices that were found there were to be adhered to absolutely and uncritically. Zwingli said a figurative understanding was necessary in the case of the Eucharist. To interpret “This is my body” literally, one had to accept the absurdity that bodily eating could have a spiritual effect. He pointed out that spirit can only be affected by Spirit. Because Communion was so central to worship at that time, a collision between the two men was inevitable. Indeed, conflict between Luther and Zwingli was to come.

It is clear that both Luther and Zwingli believed that Christ is intimately involved whenever a person receives the elements of Communion. The issues were exactly how Christ is involved, how far, and in what manner. The two men sought answers and definitions that sparked and fueled debate for years. Both men felt they were right in their interpretation of the Lord’s Supper, and the other wrong. But to be wrong on this issue meant that the other was teaching heresy and therefore was an enemy. Deeply convinced of his own understanding of the Lord’s Supper, Zwingli believed that Luther had relapsed into accepting an adapted form of Transubstantiation. For his part, Luther replied, “That these words, ‘This is my body,’ will stand against the enthusiasts.” He did not see how one could say that it was not meant to be taken literally, and argued that John 6:63 did not apply to communion.

Inevitably, war broke out between Zwingli and Luther. Zwingli opened the battle with his article called “Sermon on the Sacrament.” He criticized almost everything Luther wrote on the subject of the Lord’s Supper. Deeply convinced that his understanding was the only way to see the Eucharist, he appealed for Luther to agree with him. But the agreement had to be on his terms, according to his understanding. Luther did not. To the Stasbourgers he wrote:

I shall hold all those who contend that the body is not present to be outside the faith. At the moment I do not intend to write against Zwingli or Oecolampadius…I know they think that I do not wish to yield because of shame. They are certainly mistaken. For there is God’s Word from which I know the conquering argument. I have already preached God’s Word six years, with what fruit is manifest I think. And they say that I too am a man. I confess that I am a man and but a single man, but I shall not yield scripture so easily. They boast at length of having sought God’s glory. Have I sought or do I seek mine? God is my witness that I have not.

Luther went so far as to claim that because of his belief, Zwingli could not possibly know Christ.

The argument grew over the years through sermon, letters, pamphlets and treatises. Three sermons emerged. The first by Luther was called, “The Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ – Against the Fanatics.” Zwingli responded with, “A Friendly Rejoinder and Rebuttal to the Sermon of the Eminent Martin Luther Against the Fanatics” and Luther responded with, “That These Words of Christ ‘This Is My Body,’ Etc., Still Stand firm against the Fanatics.”

The lines of division were clearly drawn. Ulrich Zwingli and his followers stood on one side and on the other stood Martin Luther and his followers. The tone of their writing became more and more abusive, with more and more charges of heresy. If the Protestant church was to be a universal church as Luther envisioned, a church to replace the old one, the movement had to be unified. It was time for the two men to come together and discuss their views.

Philip of Hesse sponsored the famous confrontation of Luther and Zwingli at his castle in Marburg. The reason for the meeting was more political than religious, because Switzerland and Germany needed to be united in their Reformation efforts. They were just two small Protestant countries surrounded by Roman Catholic countries on all sides. Division over a major doctrinal issue like the meaning of the Eucharist made political unification all the more difficult. The colloquy at Marburg provided an opportunity for the issue of the Eucharist to be hashed out and settled

Luther had been opposed to the whole idea for many reasons. He saw Satan in the whole project and believed that if there were to be an alliance, then God would provide one without man’s help. And yet, despite his misgivings Luther agreed to the meeting. He did not want it to look as though He were standing in the way of unification. This would be Martin Luther’s and Ulrich Zwingli’s first and only face-to- face meeting. Both came to the debate determined to change the other and unwilling to compromise on the issue, and it was here that Luther took a piece of chalk and wrote on the table, “This is my body” and challenged them to prove that Christ was not present.

Luther and Zwingli exchanged heated words concerning John 6:63. Discussions continued without any real breakthrough concerning the Lord’s Supper. Both Luther and Zwingli had held steadfastly to their beliefs, each believing with all his heart that he was right and the other was wrong.

Surely, the controversy about the Lord’s Supper was inevitable. Zwingli’s humanistic leaning caused him to interpret what Jesus said as symbolic or figurative. In this kind of interpretation, any passage not clear to human reason is interpreted to harmonize with human understanding. Because literal acceptance of “This is my body” would have meant ignoring an obvious absurdity, he interpreted it symbolically. In his view, further enlightenment could occur later as a result. On the other side was Luther who firmly believed in “the Real Presence” and in “Sola Scriptura” and was not willing to concede any point that was not based solely and literally on the Word. The conflict between the men’s way of thinking was unavoidable.

For all the debate and struggle, their battles over the Eucharist brought deeper thoughts and clearer understanding of its meaning. They forged definitions through debate. They clarified for followers what exactly the Lord’s Supper gave to believers, and regardless of whose view one lean towards, we are in debt to both.

Galatians 2:21: “I do not set aside the grace of God, for if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!”

This is a verse on which we can never dwell long enough. Yet we so often miss Paul’s point, for our attention is quickly pulled to the phrase “if righteousness could be gained through the law, Christ died for nothing!” and our presuppositions overshadow anything else. We immediately thank God for the free forgiveness of sins through Christ, and are truly joyful, but we continue on our own way. For we think this verse to be nothing groundbreaking, nothing beyond what we have always known since the infancy of our Christian life, that Christ is the way to God, that there is no other way. So we thank God for it, we pat ourselves on the back for understanding it so well, and then we move along, not seeing the real pertinence of the verse for our own situation.

This happens because we are so often tempted to treat this verse as only Paul restating his central argument which he has explored in the last several verses – that justification is not by the law, but by faith in Christ, and nothing else. The verse for us might as well not even contain the first phrase, “I do not set aside the grace of God.” We treat the verse as if Paul is only restating that Christ is the only way to God, we look at it only in the big picture, and only through the lenses of what we think is the most important aspect of the Christian religion.

By doing so, we do not allow it to have any affect on us, for we think, ‘I am like Paul. I too will not stop believing that Christ is the only way. I will not set aside grace either.’ We approach the verse as done, as the first rung we have climbed long ago on our proud ladder to Christian maturity. Surely this is only the milk, and we have moved on to solid food long ago. Yes it is good to remind ourselves of this, but we see not how it might be truly relevant for our daily life. How could it be? For if Paul is simply stating that Christ alone is the way to God and nothing else, as we are so quick to think, well, that is something I daily believe and do not need any work on.

Unfortunately we are so easily led astray from seeing the significance the verse has for our situation, the sin that it finds in us. If only we resigned the honor given to us by man, of being a ‘good Christian,’ and humbled ourselves before God, we would see that practically, we often go about our daily lives as if we are in fundamental disagreement with this supposedly elementary truth, “I do not set aside the grace of God.” If only we considered it in context, and for a moment moved away from the incessant noise of our own presuppositions, we too would see that we often live as if we are to be justified by law, however unJewish our own laws may appear. For if our lives were put on mute, I worry that the outsider would see only law. It seems that we do not fully understand this truth, that we are justified in Christ alone. Though we proclaim it quickly, it seems stuck in the realm of ideas for us, and invades our reality so very little.

For if truth be told, we set aside grace daily. In all practical matters, we so very often leave it behind and turn to law. The thought of law seems so foreign to us, as only a list of requirements and sacrifices for the Jews of long ago, that it is easy to think that we are in no temptation of trying to earn our own righteousness by the law. Yet we are simply deceived here. We have all erected our own laws, our own ideals of a ‘good Christian’ which we look to and grade ourselves accordingly. It is only when we think we are accomplishing this goal that we have created that we allow ourselves to meet with God, to consider His grace. Yet in reality what does grace have to do with us then? We think we have cleaned ourselves up, we think we have punished ourselves when need be, all according to our own self-imposed law. It is only when we think we have met the needed requirements that we return to grace. But what then would we need grace for?

Far to often we attempt to be our own mediator. While we quickly proclaim Christ as the only way, we treat him as our judge, and we wait for his verdict regarding our attempts at being a ‘good Christian,’ supposing that He will judge according to our the law which we have created. We set grace aside, and then erect a ladder by which we might attain it, with Christ at the top, arms folded, waiting to see if we can make it.

Luther said that this was the worst of all sins, to refuse the grace of God and attempt justification by law. Yet it abounds in the church today. We do it subtly, not in the blatant way the Galatians were mixing Jewish ritual with Christianity, but this makes it no less an offense against God.

What then can we do? We are guilty of the sin of all sins! Yet our hope lies in this recognition. The diagnosis of an illness is the first step towards recovery. Recognition of this sin in us should not drive us to despair as the enemy desires, but should drive us straight back to Christ. We must allow it to remind us of our need for His grace. We must not stay away from Him. We must not stay away in an attempt to clean ourselves up before we return to Him, for this will only lead to failure or denial, but not to grace. Repentance involves a turning away from sin and turning towards Him. To turn away from a sin and turn toward our own efforts only takes us deeper into sin. We cannot heal our own illness, no, but we have the one who can, so let us go to Him.

Let us dwell in Him. Let us not stay away from Him. If sin has brought us away from Him, let us not stay there in our attempts to fix ourselves. Let us run straight back to Him. Let us dwell in Him. Let us know Him more and more, and know our own efforts less and less. This is so much better than despair. This is so much better than denial. This is so much better than an endless attempt at being ‘a good Christian.’ This is a relationship with our loving, merciful, and gracious Savior.

That Luther saw the main responsibility of a theologian as being a “caretaker of souls” is especially evident in his commentary on Galatians. Again, I cannot put into words how much it is benefiting me to encounter the way Luther battled for Truth with the consciences of the laity always foremost in his mind. Luther did not write on Galatians simply for the sake of writing on Galatians, but understood that the problem Paul faced with the Galatians was very similar to the problem Luther had encountered. This is becomes obvious when Luther consistently compares the “Jewish-Christian fanatics” that opposed Paul with his own opponents, both the papists and the Anabaptists. In both situations the problem was essentially the same. The true gospel, that we are justified by faith in Christ alone, was being threatened. In its place there was offered a way that allowed man to take credit for, to earn, his salvation. It is a scenario not dissimilar to one often encountered today. We hear repeatedly the justification of one’s own self or of another on account of being a “good person.” If anything the bar has been lowered, as the “do one’s best and God will not deny grace” of Luther’s day seems today to have become “do at least about as much good as you do bad and you will be okay.” We seem to easily forget that the law does not justify, even if one were able to fulfill the law.

I had never encountered an explanation and defense of the proper place and use of the law comparable to the one in the commentary on Galatians. Luther was adamant that they did not despise the law, and did not one to throw it out, but rather they despised the misuse of the law that was so rampant. The law does not justify, but reveals to man what he really is, and drives him to Christ. Our freedom from the law in Christ should not be considered a license for immorality. Rather we should use the law against our flesh, but pay it no attention when it attacks our conscience. Luther also argued that the law, when it came to civil life, was a gift from God that prevented chaos and in turn allows the gospel to spread. It is worth noting how Luther argued that people obey the law only for fear of punishment, not because it is good. When someone attempts to defend themselves in this regard, they simply sink even further into their natural state of self-righteousness.

I found it incredibly curious after reading the commentary that some have made the claim that while Luther understood justification well, he did not understand sanctification. It seems to me that Luther understood it a great deal. As with justification, he recognized that it was a matter that could only be left in God’s hands, and to God’s own timing. Attempts to progress with any goal that looks at the self, or any attempt to lay out our role in such a progression, seems a dangerous thing to me. Inevitably one will not only take their own sanctification into their own hands, but in the process find some role in their justification as well. Christ will be twisted into something other than our Savior, an ideal for our behavior or a necessary step for our own holiness. A relationship with the Savior is turned into a moral system, or a means to an end. To become like Christ becomes more important than knowing Christ himself. Luther understood that this was a process in which we could play no active role, and to come up with some way for us to progress did nothing good for the conscience, or behaviorally.

After encountering Luther and his ideas through Kittelson and Forde, I was anxious to read him firsthand. Table Talk has given me a better appreciation for his character and for some of the nuances of his theological work. Most of all, I am continually impressed by his conviction that above all he was to be a “caretaker of souls.” Surely this conviction motivated him throughout his lifelong battle with Rome and others, but the typical, brief, modern account – or at least of what I have heard – of Luther seems to neglect this. As Kittelson pointed out, Luther is often recollected as if he were only participating in an intellectual battle for intellect’s sake. Also, in the relatively recent history there have been many theologians who seem to go about their tasks as if their only concern is academic, and it is for someone else to draw out the practical significance. As such, it is wonderful to see that one of the greatest minds of Christian history understood that theology was meant for practice, for the care of souls, and was incomplete if it stopped at the academic level. I have gained much already by considering how Luther battled for truth with the troubled consciences of the laity in mind. We ought to always remember that the truth we guard is not far off and unrelated to the mundane of our daily lives, but has a great immediacy to us, as it is the only remedy for the soul, not just for eternity but for each moment.

One thing in particular that I gained from Table Talk was realizing how Luther saw it important to always recognize that there is much that is a mystery in our faith, and that it does no good to try to explain it all away. I had a mistaken impression that Luther’s theology was somewhat of a cut-and-dry, rational approach, and I am delighted to find that this is incredibly far from accurate. In fact, Luther is very skeptical of the possibilities of reason, seeing a reliance on it as a dangerous thing. What we need to progress in the faith, if one can call it that, is to be immersed in the Word. The transformation of our lives does not occur via our own efforts – doing/not doing what should, learning more, reasoning better – but passively as the truth we encounter in Scripture takes us and molds us. Our reason has no role in bringing about our transformation. This is not to say that we toss it out all together, though, Luther simply argued that without faith and the proper knowledge of God coming first, reason is “mere darkness.” (LXXVI)

Throughout Table Talk I noticed a repeated theme that I found particularly interesting, that it is our nature to react most negatively to the life-giving truth of Christ. Left to ourselves, we do anything but delight in the ways of God, instead we create our own truths which better suit us. “Superstition, idolatry, and hypocrisy, have ample wages, but truth goes a begging.” (LIII) Not only do we react negatively, we constantly neglect to be thankful for God’s goodness; we easily miss that we are blessed with so much. For Luther all it took to recognize that he was richly blessed by God was to consider how corn grew.

Another aspect about Luther I appreciated was his recognition that “A true Christian must have evil days, and suffer much,” and again, “a true Christian…must not expect good days; but all his faith, hope, and love must be directed to God, and to his neighbor, that so his whole life be nothing else than the cross, persecution, adversity, and tribulation.” (CXVII) While the blatant health and wealth movement is widely condemned, it seems that the great majority of the church, at least in this country, is guilty of highlighting the benefits of a relationship with Christ and making little mention of the fact that “everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” (2 Timothy 4:12) Unfortunately the consequence isn’t merely that new Christians find themselves surprised, but that the gospel is often twisted and diluted into something beneficial according to the values of the world, with all its rough edges cut cleanly off, by those who would scoff at the idea that there is any similarity between them and proponents of the health and wealth movement.

The decision to be a theologian of the cross does not occur in a singular, determining moment of crisis, but in daily, if not hourly, crises. The old Adam is always ready to spring up and look for his own way. To label such moments as decisions in no way is meant to suggest that some rational free will in us is able to independently determine that the way of the cross is the most worthy of our pursuit. The cross is not pursued, it attacks the old Adam, it attacks the theologian of glory in us all. No we do not by our own choose the way of the cross, for it does not appeal to one unless it has brought them death. For our will is bound, and any action we may take to find righteousness will be shown by the cross as only a way to bring damnation. In such decisive moments we do not act, but rather give up.

For us not to do something in the most weighty of circumstances, our righteousness before God being at stake, defies our logic, insults the theologian of glory in us, and stings the old Adam’s pride. Yet why is this so? It seems that we would be instantly thankful that in this matter we are utterly passive participants; that God, by doing the work entirely Himself, ensures our righteousness before Him. That we despise such grace ought to lead us to no other conclusion than that we are depraved beyond measure.

I found myself delighted throughout On Being a Theologian of the Cross as the wisdom of the world, the way of glory, was so often shown to be foolish, but perhaps most intriguing to me was Luther’s conception of the state of humanity before the fall. Thesis 15 states that “Nor could free will remain in a state of innocence, much less do good, in an active capacity, but only in its passive capacity.” Forde reviewed how the popular teaching had been that “atleast before the fall there was some active capacity of free will to maintain the self in the sate of innocence.” This idea does not seem to be confined to history before the reformation. It seems to me that often Adam is often described in such a way that implies him as having an inherent, independent ability to keep himself from falling by breaking the law.

Luther did not only argue that after the fall we only have a passive role in our being accounted righteous, but also that before the fall humanity’s only capacity to remain in the sate of innocence was passive. Adam did not remain innocent by his own power. For Adam to have an active role in his innocence could only mean independence from God, but Adam could not create his own goodness, thus his actions could only result in guilt. So for Luther the situation is the same now as it was before the fall, only that we are now blind to our need for passivity while God’s work accounts us as righteous. Our notions of Eden are skewed: “The fallen creature projects the scheme of works back before the fall and claims that responsibility can be accorded and measured only according to such a scheme.” We treat Adam as if he had some special advantage to successfully do the law, and his failure took away that advantage for the rest of us. According to Luther, Adam’s advantage was that he could see clearly what we can not, that life could occur only when in absolute dependence on God.

There is one area in which I am unsure if I agree with Luther, or even understand him. Perhaps this is what he would call the theologian of glory in me, or I simply don’t understand his treatment of the will, or perhaps both. Luther is adamant that our righteousness is completely God’s doing. We are absolutely passive in this process. Our will is bound so that any action we take would lead only to damnation. With all this I agree completely. Luther specifically attacked the notion that God would not deny grace to those who did what was in them, and that our nature had no capacity, or even need, to prepare for or earn God’s grace. It seems to me that the context Luther was speaking in is, at the least, somewhat different than the common debate about the will today, whether or not one truly has the capacity to allow, or resist, God’s work in their life.

I am somewhat sympathetic to the Wesleyan view here. It seems biblical to me that God’s grace comes to men, giving them the ability to resist him, or accept his completed work for their righteousness. I wonder if this is truly in opposition to Luther’s view. Am I entirely off base, perhaps allowing the theologian of glory in me to rise up, in thinking that Luther would not oppose the suggestion that we can either actively continue to justify ourselves, thus damning ourselves to an existence without God, or we can give up and passively receive the work God has done for us? If Luther would oppose such a thought, than how does his theology not fall into a double predestination view like Calvin’s? I do not intend to suggest that we do anything in order to earn grace via works, as Luther so strongly objected against, but simply if there is some sense in which we allow God’s work to be our righteousness, or prevent it. Simply put, I am ignorant of whether or not Luther would be in agreement with the Calvinistic notion of irresistible grace.

I would like to know your thoughts on this. This much is sure though, I have never seen so clearly how true it is that “the thirst for glory is not ended by satisfying it but rather by extinguishing it.”

I have a few questions regarding Luther, and the reformation as a whole, that seemed more appropriate outside of the summary of his life.

First, was the theology that Luther encountered, particularly the notion of God giving grace in response to moral human initiative, (“God will not deny grace to those who do their best”) the official teaching of the Catholic church? Or was it only the consensus of the academic world Luther encountered and/or a prevailing mood carried over by many from the middle ages? And if so, how widespread was such a view? Is it unfair to picture the church of his day as totally doctrinally corrupt? Is it possible that Luther extrapolated from the situation he knew, to the church as a whole?

Also, do you think at times Luther is presented as such that the contributing social and political factors of the time are ignored? It seems Luther is at times presented as if it weren’t for him, nothing would have happened and there would still only be Catholics and occasional fringe groups. Yet different locations and advocates for reformation had different convictions and agendas, and it seems this is often ignored. (I’m not suggesting that Luther’s findings are something I think we could do with out.) I just wonder if at times all the average person sees is Luther and later Calvin and neglects to see the other factors in the reformation coming about. For example, do you think his doctrine of justification which removed the church, priests, and pope out of the way of a relationship with God enjoyed its success in part because since the Renaissance the culture was putting an increasing emphasis on the individual? I’m not suggesting that God was not in Luther’s work, I have just found that many people seem to be aware of some major events of Luther’s life but are completely unfamiliar with the place and time he found himself in, other than a notion that all Catholics were horridly corrupt and sold indulgences.

I would much appreciate your thoughts. I know this is a class on Luther in particular, and I am very much excited to continue to work through his theology, but I am also incredibly interested in the history of Protestantism, and I have heard it said that it might make more sense to speak of reformations, of which Luther’s was one of the first, rather than a single reformation which gives the impression that protestants were at one time some unified force working towards agreed goals.

I have found it impossible to sum up a life such as Luther’s in a mere 600 words. Perhaps brevity is a skill I do not have, but it seems to me that any overview shorter than what follows would not do justice to the significance of Luther, and surely even this comes up horridly short of doing that. To understand Luther it is essential to first understand the world that he came into. His parents were strict, yet loving, people who saw enormous potential for the children, and acted according to the religious norms of their place and time. The social setting of their day was anything but easy; the average person struggled just to have enough food. Hard times made hard people, and the common person was quick to resort to violence to ensure their ability to survive.

An ambitious father sent his son to school, rather than put him to work. Yet the schools Luther encountered in his youth, first at Magdeburg and then at Eisenach, reflected the harsh realities outside their doors. In these years there was nothing that indicated that Luther was anything but ordinary among his peers, both intellectually and spiritually. Indeed here was where Luther began to encounter the overwhelming mood of the Christianity in that place and time. Above all else, there was an understanding that, in one way or another, salvation was something that must be earned. Sin was to be confessed, and what was not confessed and worked off in their life on earth would bring much suffering in purgatory. It is here that the invention of indulgences came in to play, for a price one could quicken the duration of purgatory for themselves or another. This was the Christianity Luther knew when he went to the University of Erfurt.

At Erfurt Luther blossomed intellectually. He finished his Bachelors as quickly as was allowed, as well as his Master’s, in which he finished second in a class of 17. Yet even throughout his time at Erfurt, there is nothing to suggest that Luther was anything but an ordinary, albeit a bit smarter, student. Luther was now to continue his education, and become a lawyer. Yet a series of events led him to instead join a monastery. Luther purposely chose an incredibly rigorous monastery, where his time was soon consumed with the spiritual activities there. Luther proved himself to be particularly zealous, and by all accounts was a successful monk. There was one thing that Luther began to hate though, the at least daily confession that was essential to the monastic life. Confession inside the walls of the monastery was a particularly probing kind, which Luther later would regard to have placed too much a burden on sinners. At the time, this was certainly the case for Luther, who knew nothing of the assurance of God’s love from his confessions. A trip with some of his fellow monks to Rome did nothing to alleviate his spiritual struggles. Soon conflict in the monastery resulted in Luther and another monk leaving in 1511 to live in the monastery at Wittenberg, a town without the greatest of reputations.

It was at Wittenberg that Luther was prompted to study theology academically. In this he was able to approach his spiritual struggles objectively, and threw himself into the work. One question dominated the academic scene. How could a righteous God “be begged, cajoled, or propitiated into being merciful to individual sinners?” There were several answers. Mystics were inclined to lean towards inward meditation as the requirement for salvation, humanists towards intellectual disciplines. One might love, or repent, or have faith, but in one way or another Luther would see that all these possibilities could not be done truly and completely. All the answers held to the belief that once grace was added to human works, it was then acceptable to God. Christians could earn grace if only they would do their best. Yet Luther later saw that whatever the method, there was always more a human could have done.

At the time, it is clear that Luther agreed with the dominant theology of his time. It is clear that Luther agreed with a particular idea that was prevalent, that of a divine spark of goodness that was within everyone. One must feed this spark of goodness, and grace would come. Yet Luther’s struggles did not leave him. Instead he discovered that the dominant theology of the day only focused his attention on himself, and he failed himself every time.

Once at Wittenberg Luther’s mentor, Staupitz, practically had to force him to become a professor of theology at the University of Wittenberg and preacher at the church. Luther poured himself into the work, and in doing so began to develop a new concept of the righteousness of God. Luther initially viewed statements that the righteous live by faith as meaning that one must be righteous to be given faith. Luther had known righteousness to be God’s possession, which sinners lacked, but now discovered that it was also given to believers, making them acceptable to Him. Luther began to discover that if righteousness was something God gave away in His mercy, there was no reason to try to be righteous on one’s own in order to receive grace.

Soon Luther discarded the idea of a divine spark. He saw human nature as being only selfish, and found it foolish to believe that on one’s own they could move towards God. Yet humanity was drowning so much in sin that they were not even aware of their situation. It was in Christ alone that salvation was possible, not partially in any human effort. The law served to drive Christians to Christ. In focusing on Christ alone, Luther had finally found the answer to his tormented conscience. A Christian was both not good enough and justified before God. In his discovery it is evident that Luther’s concerns were above all pastoral, he sought to comfort others with this message. For Luther, salvation rested in always remembering first that one is sinful, which turned them towards Christ. A pursuit of holiness, on the other hand, would bring repeated failure and despair, or a delusional sense of success, leading to complacency and self-righteousness. Only by giving up of all attempts to be acceptable in God’s presence could one receive His grace.

It was in the fall of 1517 that Luther posted the famous 95 theses against indulgences while Johann Tetzel was traveling the region in order to sell them. Soon Luther found himself in an intellectual battle. At this time, he did not argue for the implications of his new theology in the public battle, but simply continued down the path in his classes, and began to ensure that it would become the dominant theology there at the University. It was in the spring of 1518 that Luther was invited to defend himself in Heidelberg, but here Luther made no mention of indulgences. Rather, he twice stated that the prevailing theology of the day led to damnation, denying the notion of a divine spark and that one is able to do anything in regards to their salvation. While Luther had not yet concerned himself with the practical implications, it was clear that Luther had stripped away the foundations of religious practices of his day, something that gave him many enemies.

Soon Rome was aware of Luther, and despite Luther’s constant desires for a debate and openness to being proven wrong, he was told he must recant. Instead, among other things, he denied the insistence that the authority of Christ resided in the pope and that he could not err. It is here we begin to see Luther’s insistence that church law had not standing if it contradicting his understanding of Scripture, as well as his continuing appeals for a debate. Pressure on the local Prince, Frederick, to hand over or kick out Luther, was temporarily eased when the Emperor died, distracting the Pope. During this time Luther continued to develop his theology, and began to seek to understand whole passages of Scripture in their context, rather than using individual passages as proofs, as was the medieval way. Just as importantly, his conception of the righteousness of God and justification by faith alone was hammered out, which he remained convinced of the rest of his life. In June 1519 the debate at Leipzig with Eck arrived. By now Luther had begun to win many supporters, especially among the humanists, though later it would be clear that they disagreed about much. Eck, a skilled debater, was able to corner Luther into agreeing with the heretic Jan Huss. This would aid Rome’s call for him to be excommunicated or to recant, which they did in June of 1520.

Luther appealed to the secular authorities. In his famous Address to the Christian Nobility of the German Nation he called them to legislate reforms, which the church refused to do, in doing so he introduced his doctrine of the priesthood of all believers. Soon Luther released On the Babylonian Captivity of the Church, in which he rejected all seven sacraments other than Baptism and the Lord’s Supper. Here Luther argued that confession was a useful practice, but not a sacrament. He also explained that the Mass was a work God was doing, not one the priests performed, and that the bread should not be withheld from the laity. Luther followed this up with On the Freedom of a Christian. Here he laid out the practical consequences of his theology, and stated that a Christian is subject to none, and subject to all. In this work he got at the heart of what the Christian life looked at, and cleared up any misunderstanding on the place of works, “we are not freed from works through faith in Christ but from false opinions concerning works.”

Early in 1521 the new emperor arranged a meeting with several German leaders at the Diet of Worms. Luther was summoned under what became the pretense of a debate. He was instead asked if he would recant all his works. Luther refused, and famously said, “Here I stand.” This sealed Luther’s condemnation. Yet Frederick arranged for him to be hidden at his castle, the Wartburg. With a previously unknown amount of free time on his hands, Luther was able to do much work, writing several books, carrying on debates with several people through letters, and translating the New Testament into German. Here we see Luther’s concern for the people to be able to read the Scriptures in the vernacular, directly related to his goal of producing theodidacti, people taught by God. Also, from his work at Wartburg, it is clear that Luther saw himself as one called to defend truth, but also that he had concern for the common people who were affected by what was taught and preached. While there, people back in Wittenberg began to act on the implications of his teaching, and while Luther didn’t agree with what they did, he did not approve of the spirit in which much of it was being done. Luther was no idealist; he worked to better the situation he was in the appropriate time and manner. Once he was able to return in 1522, he had much work to do.

Soon reforming movements were happening all across the region, yet not all reforming movements had the patience and care as Luther desired. He saw Carlstadt and Muntzer, among others, as forcing reform on people instead of teaching them and allowing God to work. Soon the Peasants’ War broke out, in which the likes of Muntzer urged the common people on to rebel against landowners. Luther did not choose sides, rather condemned both sides for their wrongdoings, and pleaded for negotiation and a spirit of love.

Luther’s conflict with others in the reforming movement also presented itself in the Sacramentarian Controversy. While Luther was adamant that the Church had disfigured the Lord’s Supper, he also opposed strongly Zwingli and others who were inclined to see the body and blood symbolically. Luther was convinced that any argument for this relied on assumptions that came from human logic, not Scripture. The same was true with his debate on free will with Erasmus, which occurred around the same time.

As Kittelson notes, by late 1527 the major events most often remembered were over, and Luther’s teachings and their implications were laid out clearly. The pace of life did not slow down at all for Luther though. Pastoral concerns took even more of a priority for him, and he defended his convictions often. His continued work at providing a German translation of both the Old and New Testaments, as well as The Small Catechism, for instructing the laity, and The Large Catechism for church leaders, displays his pastoral character. While there is much that is illuminating about the remainder of Luther’s life, I will refrain from discussing it as length as well. His interactions with both the church and political groups show a man who trusted in God, and thought it ridiculous to put his trust in anything else. It is fair to say that the remainder of his life displayed the same man he was before, a man who stood for truth, and refused to go against his conscience. A man who confronted authority figures when they acted unjustly because he saw secular offices as divinely appointed, but not the officers who held them. A man who hoped to create a theodidacti, a people taught by God, and would strongly oppose any who threatened that.

One of my favorite quotations is from Dom Augustin Guillerand. He said, “God will know how to draw glory even from our faults. Not to be downcast after committing a fault is one of the true marks of sanctity.” I was reminded of this idea while reading Luther this morning.

He who loses sight of the Word of God, falls into despair; the voice of heaven no longer sustains him; he follows the disorderly tendency of his heart, and of world vanity, which lead him to his destruction. (Martin Luther, Table Talk, “Of God’s Word,” XX)

Sanctity stems from relationship with the Sanctifier. When I am listening to the Shepherd’s voice I am certainly less apt to wander. Yet, as Luther says, Simil justus et peccator. I may wander even when he is speaking. Still, ultimately, my attraction is to his voice. He calls me back. I may be disappointed by not pleasing my Lord but I cannot despair for long because I am sustained by his voice. I keep coming back—not because I am strong but because he ever calls me.

The only way that I know of to reliably hear the voice of the Shepherd is through Scripture. My own reasoning and the whispers of the inner man are too often deceptions. Were it only for those voices, I would have despaired long ago. I may miss or even ignore his voice in a given moment but I must never stop listening altogether simply because I have wandered off. His word tells me that the Shepherd cares for his sheep—even when one of them wanders off. (Mat 18:12) Knowing this to be so, it has always been easy to listen again for his voice to pick me up and lead me back to the fold.

Year by year, I have learned this “great lesson, how mighty divine truth is, which presses through, though she be hemmed in ever so closely; the more she is read, the more she moves and takes possession of the heart.” (Martin Luther, Table Talk, “Of God’s Word,” XXVII) Without this “possession,” I am not apt to hear, let alone listen, to his voice. Instead of continuing to fall into the arms of the Shepherd, I would have long ago fallen down and simply stayed there.

While acquainted with Google Books from its beginning, I had never realized that some of the out-of-print books are available for free download. In researching Luther this morning, I discovered a couple of new books (to me). One of them is History of the Reformation of the Sixteenth Century, by Jean Henri Merle d’Aubigné. eBay has copies available, ranging from $20 to $165. Thus, this free PDF is attractive. It’s also appealing because I can mark up an old volume without feeling bad about it—if the old volume is scanned and freshly printed from my desktop, which it now is, thanks to Google Books.

I was led to d’Aubigné’s History while trying to discover what in fine videbitur, cujos toni means (Table Talk, “Of God’s Word,” IX). My Latin has long lingered between terrible and non-existent. Thankfully, this led me to another volume on Google Books that speaks to Luther’s Latin phrase. Analyzing Bach Cantatas, by Eric Chafe (Oxford) has a fascinating reference to Bach using this idea of Luther’s to write allegorical themes into his music (p99). Chafe notes that there is a lost Bach composition that is based on Luther’s Latin phrase.

[The lost composition] is also headed with another Latin motto, “Omnia tunc bona quando bona clausula est,” which appears in its German form, “Ende gut macht Alles gut” (all’s well that ends well)…

Further, Bach wrote his composition in the “canon” style that purposely employs different voices to tell one story. A round like “Row, Row, Row Your Boat,” is a simple idea of a canon. The Book of Revelation may be viewed in the same way. The one revelation is told in several voices or descriptive ways. In fact, Chafe says that Bach, in his canons, uses “tonal shift…as an allegorical device.” Fascinating.

My take then, on in fine videbitur, cujos toni is that the discordant strains of this life will weave together into a final and divine harmony. For the trusting soul, the discords are endurable—and even cause for joy—because we know that “the end will show who played the right tune.”