October 31, 1517
/500 Years ago tonight, on the eve of All Saints Day, a monk named Martin Luther walked quietly up the steps to the doors of the Wittenberg Cathedral where he posted a list of ways in which he felt the Church needed to reform (95 theses). He loved the Church, but felt it had become distracted from the Gospel and was engaged in practices which contradicted what Luther found in Scripture, namely that grace is a gift, not achievement, is given, not earned. He wanted to awaken the church and bring about change within the Church, but the Church banished Luther, which led to the Protestant (Protestors’) Reformation.*
I’ve always had a thing for Luther. I love his far-from-saintly life, his becoming a monk even though he liked beer (a lot), his struggle to live a holy life while remaining keenly aware of his humanity, and his passion for the good news which caused him to climb the stairs that night. He had found news too good to keep to himself, even though he knew his theses would cause a stir.
I am no Luther, but found myself in a similar, but not nearly as important, struggle with the Church. Like him, I loved the Church, but, after undergoing a self-created crisis, I came to understand God’s grace is available to us all, and is not as conditional as far too many churches practice. “Yes, we’re all fallen,” they admit, “but just don’t be too fallen.” After trying to earn God’s love all my life through works and deeds, I crashed and was left to scoop the shards of my achievements into my hands, and search for another way. Like Luther, my struggle helped me find the love I’d been looking for (and working for). It was waiting patiently on the other side, free of charge.
I wanted to share that good news with others, so I bought an abandoned old church. I wanted to create a place where people could know the love of God regardless of their spiritual condition, or moral fortitude. Much to my surprise, and horror, my actions caused a stir within the church. I received word from the Bishop that other clergy in the area had complained about the “rogue church,” as he put it, and forbade me from giving communion, baptizing or marrying anyone in the place. I didn’t follow the rules, he said in a more Anglican way, and, as noble as its purpose, the community was not acceptable.
Just then, one of our members, a seventy-year-old recovering alcoholic, asked to be baptized. Caught in the middle between what the church was saying, and what I felt Christ wanted, I took a deep breath, wrote the Bishop, and renounced my vows. At the next service, without a clerical collar around my neck, I baptized the man.
It was not global in its significance. It did not create a new church, just a new minister. Without a collar, I took my first authentic ministerial step on a journey that continues imperfectly today. The Bishop lost no sleep over my decision, I am sure, and washed his hands in a way that would have made Pontius Pilate proud, but the moment was my Wittenberg door.
(Read the next questions in ascending order . . . like steps!)
For what would you climb stairs and speak out?
For what are you willing to take a stand?
On the 500th anniversary of Luther’s protest, my question is, what’s yours?
* It should also be pointed out that the Church, from then on known as the Roman Catholic Church, did reform in what many refer to as the Counter Reformation.
