Anfechtungen reared its ugly head just a few miles outside of Erfurt, Germany in the 5th year of the 16th century. In short, Martin Luther had been caught up in a frightening thunderstorm as he was journeying across the German countryside. So frightening was this storm that he cried out as lightning struck near him, “I will become a monk!” And thus, the man set for a life of law was now redirected to a life of faith. But Anfechtungen was the storm brewing within. It was the term Luther famously used to describe the deep and dark depression he battled. Eric Metaxas writes in his comprehensive biography, Martin Luther,
For Luther, it [Anfechtungen] seems to have manifested itself as a widening hole of sheerest hopelessness, an increasing cacophony of devils’ voice accusing him of a thousand things, and all of them true or true enough–and no way out of it.
Metaxas, p. 28
Regardless to what one thinks of the Reformation, the main character involved was a man profoundly twisted by his inability to shake the unrighteousness from his own feet. It was this level of personal unrest that struck Luther more than the storm itself on that summer day outside of Erfurt, Germany. And it was this same personal unrest, the Anfechtungen, that led Luther to his breakthrough of finding God beyond the church’s indulgences, rote religious activity, and asceticism. Instead, Luther found rest in the noble gift of God’s righteousness. Years later, shortly before his death, Luther would reflect on this breakthrough:
At last, by the mercy of God, meditating day and night, I gave heed to the context of the words, namely, “In it the righteousness of God is revealed,” as it is written, “He who through faith is righteous shall live.” There I began to understand that the righteousness of God is that by which the righteous lives by a gift of God, namely by faith.
Metaxas, p. 96
And from there the 95 Theses would follow; the accusations of heresy would fly; efforts to translate the New Testament to a common tongue would be underway; and so forth. It was a full life, one worthy of long and thorough biographies. It was a Christian life born out of the Anfechtungen. Conversely, this was not the life of the Apostle Paul. Yes, it was a full life–one worthy of many more biographies and commentaries. But if Luther’s born again experience was rooted in personal torment, Paul’s awakening was the interruption of his success. Paul states it with his own words in his letter to the Philippians. This was his happiest letter and it should be read as ‘mock boasting’:
We couldn’t carry this off by our own efforts, and we know it – even though we can list what many might think are impressive credentials. You know my pedigree: a legitimate birth, circumcised on the eighth day; an Israelite from the elite tribe of Benjamin; a strict and devout adherent to God’s law; a fiery defender of the purity of my religion, even to the point of persecuting Christians; a meticulous observer of everything set down in God’s law Book. The very credentials these people are waving around as something special, I’m tearing up and throwing out with the trash – along with everything else I used to take credit for. And why? Because of Christ.
3:3-7 Message Translation
Ironically, when the ‘lightning’ found Paul on Damascus road, it did not find a man like Luther–writhing in shame and guilt. Instead, the Divine interrupted one who assessed himself to be righteous. The very ‘peace of mind’ that had alluded Luther was what Paul had leveraged from his impeccable resume–obtaining it only to find out it was worthless. There was no merit to any of it when set against the person of Christ. Dean Flemming writes it best:
Paul’s problem was not that he couldn’t make the grade; it was that he did make it, only to find out that it was the wrong standard of assessment.
Philippians: A Commentary in the Wesleyan Tradition, p. 165
I would argue the quintessential longing of man is to be in right standing with the Divine (including those with atheistic leanings). Luther and Paul represent two extremes of personal reflection that somehow encompass a wide range of human perception: I’m worthless and God is unreachable or I’m so worthwhile in having reached God myself. Both are flawed with the stain of our own logic’s shortsightedness. It takes eternity to see eternity. Likewise, it takes God to reach God. Jesus’ offer of salvation is broad in its reach. Luther had confusion. Paul had confidence. And yet they were both absurd approaches in their attempts to be in right standing with God. Thankfully the grace of the Divine is even more absurd: purposefully unwarranted.
Top painting by Tami Dalton
Bottom illustration by H M Brock
