his father's dinner to the timber-yard, and how when he had been absent too long, Mary asked him, "Where have you been so long, little one?"
The Saviour should be thought of, not as in his glory, nor as the fulfiller of the law, conceptions too high and terrible for man; but only as a poor sufferer, who lived among and died for sinners.
His God was to him entirely as father and head of the family. He liked to meditate on the economy of nature: he was filled with astonishment at the quantity of wood which God must always be creating. "No one can reckon what God requires to nourish merely sparrows and useless birds: in one single year they cost Him more than the income of the King of France; and then think of all that remains." "God understands all trades: as a tailor He can make a coat for the deer, which might last a hundred years; as a shoemaker He gives him shoes to his feet, and by means of the dear sun He is a cook. He could become rich indeed, if He chose, if He were to withhold the sun and air, and threatened the Pope, Emperor, bishops, and doctors with death, if they did not pay Him a hundred thousand gulden on the spot. He does not do this, yet we are thankless miscreants." He seriously reflected whence came the means of nourishment for so many men. Old Hans Luther had maintained that there were more men than sheaves of corn; the doctor indeed thought that there were more sheaves than men, but that there were more men than shocks. "A shock of corn, however, hardly yields a bushel, and that will not nourish one man a whole year." Even a dung-heap was a subject of pleasant reflection to him. "God is obliged to clear away as well as to create; if He had not continually done so, the world would long ago have become too full." "When God chastises the godly more severely than the godless, He deals with him as a strict father of a family with his son, whom he more frequently punishes than the bad servant: but he secretly collects treasures as an inheritance for his son, whilst he finally casts the servant off." Luther comes joyfully to this conclusion: "If God can forgive me for having during twenty years offended Him by saying mass, He can also excuse my having sometimes had a good drink to his honour--let the world think what it will."
It surprised him much that God should be so very wrath with the Jews. "For fifteen hundred years they have prayed fervently with great zeal and earnestness, as their little prayer-books show; and He has not revealed himself to them during the whole time by the smallest word. I would give two hundred florins' worth of books if I could pray as they do. It must be a great and unspeakable anger. Ah! dear Lord, punish me with pestilence, rather than be thus silent!"
Luther prayed like a child morning and evening, and often during the day, even indeed, during his meals. He repeated again and again with fervent devotion those prayers which he knew by heart. His favourite was the Lord's Prayer, and then he repeated the short catechism; he always carried the Psalter with him as a little prayer-book. When he was in extreme trouble his prayer became like a storm, a wrestling with God, the power, the greatness, and the holy simplicity of which can hardly be compared with any other human emotion. He was then the son who despairingly lies at the feet of his father, or the faithful servant who supplicates his prince. For nothing could shake his conviction that we may influence God's decisions by prayer and supplication. Thus overflowing feelings alternated in his prayers with complaints and even remonstrances. It is often related how, in the year 1540, he restored to life the dying Melancthon at Weimar. When Luther arrived he found "Magister Philippus" at the point of death, unconscious and with closed eyes. Luther, struck with terror, said, "God forbid! how has this organ of God been marred by the devil!" Then he turned his back on those assembled, and went to the window as he was wont to do when he prayed. "Now," said Luther, "must the Lord God stretch forth his hand to me, for I have brought the matter home to Him, and dinned in his ears all his promises as to the efficacy of prayer, which I could repeat from the Holy Scripture, so that He must hearken to me if I am to trust his promises." Then he took Melancthon by the hand, saying, "Be comforted, Philip, you will not die:" and Melancthon, under the spell of his powerful friend, began at once to breathe again, and recovered his consciousness. He was restored.
As God was to Luther the source of all good, so was the devil the producer of all evil and wickedness. He considered that the devil interfered destructively with the course of nature by illness or pestilence, deformity and famine. All that this deep-thinking man preached so firmly and joyfully had formerly pressed with fearful weight upon his conscience; especially when awaking in the night, the devil stood full of malice by his bed, whispering horrors in his ear; then his spirit wrestled for freedom, often for a length of time in vain. It is extraordinary what this son of the sixteenth century went through in these inward struggles. Every fresh inquiry into the Scriptures, every important sermon upon a new theme, threw him again into this strife of conscience: then he reached such a state of excitement that his soul became incapable of systematic thought, and for whole days he trembled with anguish. When he was occupied with the question of monks and nuns, a text of the Bible startled him, which he thought, in his excitement, placed him in the wrong: his heart died within him, and he was nearly strangled by the devil. At this time Bugenhagen visited Luther, who showed him the threatening text.[43] Bugenhagen, probably infected by the eagerness of his friend, began also to doubt, unconscious of the greatness of the misery which it occasioned Luther. Now was Luther indeed terrified, and again passed a fearful night. The next morning Bugenhagen came back. "I am very angry," he said; "I have now, for the first time, understood the text rightly; it has quite another sense." "And it is true," said Luther later, "it was a ridiculous argument; ridiculous indeed for one who is in his right mind, and not under temptation."
He often lamented to his friends, over the terrors which these struggles with the devil occasioned him. "He has never been from the beginning so fierce and raging as now, at the end of the world. I feel him well. He sleeps much nearer to me than my Kate; that is to say, he gives me more disquiet than she does pleasure." Luther never ceased to abuse the Pope as antichrist, or the papal system as devilish. But whoever observes more accurately, will perceive behind this hatred of the devil, the indestructible reverence by which the loyal spirit of the man was bound to the old Church. What became to him temptations, were often only the pious recollections of his youth, which stood in striking contrast to the changes he had gone through as a man.
Indeed, no man is entirely transformed by the great thoughts and deeds of his manhood. We ourselves do not become new through new actions; our inward life consists of the sum of all the thoughts and feelings which we have ever had. He who has been chosen by fate to create the new by the destruction of the old, shatters in pieces at the same time a portion of his own life: he must violate lesser duties to fulfil greater ones. The more conscientious he is, the more deeply he feels the rent which he has made in the order of the world, and also in his own inward nature. This is the secret sorrow, and even the regret, of every great historical character. Few mortals have felt this grief so deeply as Luther; and that which was so great in him, was his never being prevented by this feeling from acting with the utmost boldness.
This appears to us a tragical moment in his inward life; and equally so was the effect of his teaching upon the life of the nation. He had laid the foundation of a new Church upon the pure Gospel, and had given greater depth and substance to the minds and conscience of the people. Around him burst forth a new life, greater general prosperity, many new arts, improvements in painting and music, comfortable enjoyment, and more refined cultivation in the middle classes. Yet there was a something gloomy and ominous which pervaded the German atmosphere. Fierce discord raged amongst princes and governors. Foreign powers were arrayed against the people, the Emperor from Spain, the Pope from Rome, and the Turks from the Mediterranean; enthusiasts and factious spirits were powerful, the hierarchy had not yet fallen. Had his gospel given greater unity and power to the nation? The discord had become only greater, and the future of his Church seemed dependent on the worldly interests of individual German princes. And well he knew what even the best among them were. Something terrible seemed approaching, the Scripture would be fulfilled, the last day was at hand. But afterwards God would raise up a new world, more beautiful, more splendid, and more pure, full of peace and blessing; a world in which there would be no devil; where the soul of man would find more enjoyment in the flowers and fruit of the new heavenly trees, than the present race do in gold and silver; where music, the most beautiful of all arts, would give birth to tones more
