Then Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?” Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”
John 8:31-36
My sermon from Reformation Sunday (October 25, 2020) on John 8:31-36.
It was Holy Week, 1521, when a summons arrived in Wittenberg ordering Martin Luther to appear in the German city of Worms. The Holy Roman Emperor, Charles the Fifth, had gathered together all the dukes, princes, and other political leaders of what would become modern Germany – to figure what to do with Luther. For over 4 years, Luther had created quite a stir by challenging the structure, practices, and beliefs of the church and wider society. He had, on a whim, attempted to organize an academic debate with his fellow university professors by posting 95 statements about faith and God on a church door. He had no idea if anyone would actually read what he wrote – but he believed it was important, so he tagged his archbishop by mailing him a copy. Luther, at the time, was a Roman Catholic monk and he wasn’t interested in starting a movement or creating a new flavor of Christianity. But the archbishop recognized that even these early half-formed thoughts might lead to trouble. It didn’t take long before the Pope excommunicated Luther from the Catholic church while, at the same time, Luther’s ideas spread everywhere and became Europe’s first best selling author. Luther wrote as if he was literally running out of time – because he always assumed he was. His writings, teachings, and sermons challenged what others taught about what following Jesus was all about. For him, the story of God was about love coming down. Every good work you did, every worship service you attended, every prayer you uttered, and every bible passage you memorized wouldn’t make God love you any more than God already did. The Christian life wasn’t about trying to be good enough to gain God’s love but it was, instead, about living as if God actually loved you. The gift of faith, the spirit of hope, and the life-giving power of forgiveness was not something you earned but were given. And God, in Jesus, had already done the work to give your life meaning, value, and purpose. That radical idea is still a radical today, regardless of whatever flavor of Christianity you claim as your own. Luther knew how knowing you belong matters in a world that’s always asking you to prove that you do. So when the summons arrived ordering him to see the Emperor, he went. But he didn’t know if he would ever see home again.
When Luther appeared in Worms, he stood before the Emperor twice. On the first day, in the words of Lyndal Romper, “the press of people was so great [in the meeting room] that [Luther] had to be taken through a garden and then…a side entrance [to get inside.] Luther walked past the ranks of German princes, some of whom shouted encouragement. The very splendor of the event must have been intimidating for the monk in his simple black cassock. The princes and nobles crowded into the room were all dressed in their finery, sumptuous cloaks, golden chains, jewelry, and dazzling headwear; and then there was the emperor himself in his magnificent robes…In front of Luther, on a bench, was a pile of …his books, bound specifically for the occasion.” Luther was instructed to simply answer whatever was asked. The meeting started and the very first questions was: were those his books – and would he recant, retract, everything that he wrote. The Emperor decided that Luther wouldn’t be allowed to give a speech or debate any of his ideas. He would simply answer with a yes or a no. Luther, in response, asked to delay the proceedings for one extra day and he spent the night drafting his response. The next day, the hall was so overcrowded that some of the princes had to stand and the room was dark, lit only by torches. Luther gave a three part response, defending his writings. He believed that some of writings preached “God’s word simply and clearly,” and in others “he had [merely] attacked false teachings.” A few of his writings were so valued, Luther said, that even his enemies were “compelled to admit…[that they] worthy to be read…” He was a tiny bit remorseful that he was rude in some of his writings to his contractors. But overall, Luther refused to recant unless those gathered there could show he was wrong. And in a line that’s basically canon for our Lutheran movement, he ended his address to the Emperor with these words: “Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures or by clear reason…I am bound by the Scriptures I have quoted and my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not retract anything, since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience.” And in words that only appear in documents published after by Luther’s supporters, he concluded with: “I cannot do otherwise, here I stand, may God help me. Amen.”
In reconstructions of this scene shown in movies, books, and graphic novels – that “here I stand” imagines Luther as a kind of pillar standing before the onslaught of an approaching storm. If you’ve ever seen videos of large waves pounding a formidable lighthouse, then you know the kinds of emotions that are being tapped into for this moment. He’s like an underdog but with a kind of strength, willpower, and the knowledge of being “right,” that we love to celebrate. It’s the same sort of thinking that makes sure every comic book has one scene where the hero is almost defeated but then, in the words of Wolverine, says something like “you’ve taken your best shot; now it’s my turn.” It’s also why, as a country, our national anthem is centered on a flag flying over a bombed out fort. We act as if the strength of an idea, person, or a community is measured not in overt power, but also through what it faces and endures. Being that unmovable pillar is something we aspire to be – especially when we’re living with uncertainty, chaos, and certain challenges that upend who we thought ourselves to be.
But I wonder if there’s another perspective that also describes this part of Luther’s story. Because we know that none of us will ever truly be that pillar of faith, truth, and strength in every moment of our lives. We will doubt; ask questions; and have to live through situations where every choice is bad. And if that’s not enough, there are also moments when we’ve done nothing wrong – but a health scare, a layoff, a broken relationship, or another tragedy will remind us how fragile we are. There will always be stories where we, and others, live out the goodness that shows what God’s love is all about. But we will also stumble, flail, and find ourselves failing to be the hero in every part of our lives. We can’t always be an immovable pillar and even Luther failed to live up to that ideal. Later in life, he became quite antisemitic and he wrote things used to justify violence against the powerless and poor. If, as followers of Jesus, our worth was defined by every moment of our life, I’m not sure if all our “here I stand” moments would ever outweigh everything else. We all need to learn how to live through these “waves” that overpower us – including the ones we cause.
And that’s why today, Luther’s “here I stand” doesn’t feel like a pillar facing a wave of power. Instead, it sounds like an acknowledgement that, in Christ, Luther learned how to tread water. Because, as we heard in the story read for the children’s message, Luther knew what it was like for his life to change. He grew up during the beginning stages of capitalism and his dad was a successful manager of mines. Luther went to college to become a lawyer, to help with the family business. But after a storm almost took his life, he changed – and fulfilled a vow to become a monk. While in the monastery, he struggled – assuming he wasn’t good enough for love. So he went to college, earned a theology degree, and became a university professor at a brand new school. It was there, while reading and teaching scripture, he recognized the truth we all share. In Christ, and through baptism, faith, and everyday life – God’s grace comes to you again and again because you belong to God and you are loved. After that, his life changed again and the truths he previously knew grew into something new. Through the act of teaching, preaching, and writing – his experience of Jesus kept changing him. And he knew that even when the waves of life overcome us, the love of God for you doesn’t change. As Lutheran Christians, we don’t accept everything Luther said or did was an accurate reflection of the gospel of Jesus Christ. There are parts of his story that we celebrate and other parts we rightly condemn. Yet when he stood before the emperor, what he knew in that moment was what the grace of God was all about. God’s grace doesn’t stop our life from being human. We get to experience joy, happiness, and amazing moments of love. But we also get to cry, feel sad, and find ourselves living through a kind of mental and emotional fog that doesn’t feel like it will end. Living as a Christian is hard but when we live with Christ, that’s where our true life is found. You have your place with God. You already belong. And even when everything about you changes, God’s love for you never will.
Amen.