The Gospel Songs of Ira Sankey & Fanny Crosby
The Life & Times of, and a sermon by, Thomas a Becket
Martin Luther: Here I Stand (dramatic reading)
The Life & Times of, and a sermon by, Thomas a Becket
Martin Luther: Here I Stand (dramatic reading)
The Gospel Songs of Ira Sankey & Fanny Crosby
Our Gospel Music Heritage
Last week, while attending the Canadian Conference in Saskatoon, I attended a workshop on the new Mennonite hymnal to be released next year. One of the tunes to be included is the song, "Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand; I am tired, I am weak, I am worn". We sang such a soulful rendition of it that I got all choked up. It's a very personal song, and while I don't know if "Precious Lord" qualifies, theoretically, as a gospel song, I find that many gospel songs have that same personal quality. They are songs of the heart, and express the yearnings of the heart in ways that are very personal.
This morning we are using the resources of our gospel music heritage to express our worship, and to express it in a way that is unique to gospel songs. The definition of a gospel song is not exact, but generally these songs are ones that began appearing around the 1870's; they are songs with a text that is generally evangelical in intent and vocabulary; they are generally upbeat; nd they are songs written in simple chords, and with a simple message. Indeed, their simplicity is what makes them appealing; they're easily sung! As a kind of religious folk song, each song deals with a single theme, or thought, which is repeated and often emphasized in a chorus or refrain.
Critics, of course, have found gospel songs simple to the point of banality, but their simplicity make them very accessable and useable, and that is no doubt the reason they were used, and popularizied by, the evangelistic team of Dwight Moody and Ira Sankey in the latter part of the 19th century. They were songs that worked in a crowd! Moody, for example, was by his own admission quite un-musical, but he was very astute in guaging the impact of a song upon a crowd, and if song worked, he would use it for all it was worth.
Says one music commentator (Robert M. Stevenson, 1953), of gospel songs: "Gospel hymnody has the distinction of being America's most typical contribution to Christian song. Gospel hymnody has been a plough digging up the hardened surfaces of pavemented minds. Its very obviousness has been its strength. Where delicacy or dignity can make no impress, gospel hymnody stands up triumphing. In an age when religion must win mass approval in order to survive, ...gospel...songs are (the) true folk music of the people."
Moody and Sankey popularized gospel songs, songs that later found their way into Sunday school song books, reaching the zenith of their popularity around the turn of the century. Then, as North American Christianity, according to worship historian James White, entered a "period of respectability," and began to think of worship as more of an 'aesthetic experience,' other, more 'respectable' hymns were used, and gospel songs generally fell by the way.
The gospel song has been severely criticized by lovers of poetry and music, and by watchers of sound theology, and while recognizing the gospel song as an effective means of attracting people to a personal relationship with Christ, critics point out that gospel songs do little to nurture spiritual growth! Congregations have been counseled to avoid gospel songs because they emphasize a "me and my experience," and are somewhat skimpy on the person and work of God. Reflecting the latter 19th century American individualistic ethos out of which they came, gospel songs are weak on the theme of fellowship, and say little about the strength and service of the Church.
To be fair, before gospel songs hit the scene, the hymns of John and Charles Wesley had already brought a noticeable shift toward the subjective. Before this, singing in the church had been more God-centered, with an emphasis upon the perfection of God, the glory of God's works, and the graciousness of God's revelation in Jesus Christ. With the Wesleys, and revivalism, however, the whole tenor of Christianity shifted toward subjective and personal experience.
Mennonites, with their strong emphasis upon service, and upon the church, have been ambivalent about gospel songs, and among Mennonites with a strong choral tradition gospel songs have not made that much of an impression. Among Mennonites of a more pietistic tradition, however, gospel songs have been embraced wholeheartedly as a wonderful expression of our personal relationship with Christ, and their emphasis upon Christ as Saviour, and upon the solace and assurance that he gives us, has been a comfort to many.
Criticisms notwithstanding, gospel songs have found their way into our hymnals, and are not likely to be discarded quickly because they are hymns that speak to the heart, and speak to us personally; they are hymns that speak to us simply; they are hymns whose comfort and solace are reassuring in times of personal anxiety and doubt.
In that spirit, let us sing two more songs written by Fanny Crosby, who was one of the most prolific gospel song writers. The first song, "Pass Me Not, O Gentle Saviour," is included in your bulletin; the second song, to be sung after the reading of Scripture, is #546 in our hymnal.
Scripture: John 10:11-15; Psalm 23
Hymn: "A Wonderful Saviour Is Jesus"
The Gospel Hymns of Ira D. Sankey, 1840-1908
As I noted earlier, two of the people most responsible for the popularity of gospel music were evangelist Dwight L. Moody, and musician Ira D. Sankey. Sankey grew up in Pennsylvania, where he joined the Methodist Church, and there began his first choir work and music ministry. He was employed as a clerk with the Internal Revenue Service, but in 1870, when he was sent as a delegate to a YMCA convention where the singing had been quite dis-spirited, at someone's suggestion Sankey began to lead the singing, and a new spirit and enthusiasm was injected into the gathering, drawing the attention of Dwight L. Moody, who brusquely invited Sankey to help him in his evangelistic campaigns. And, after several months of indecision Sankey resigned his government position, moved to Chicago, and for nearly thirty years he and Moody worked together, Sankey's smooth, cultured ways complementing and compensating for Moody's rough manner, poor grammar and impulsiveness.
An example of the way in which Moody and Sankey worked together is the creation of the song, "There Were Ninety and Nine," #552 in our hymnal. Sankey discovered the poem, written by Elizabeth Clephane, in a newspaper as he and Moody were traveling by train from Glasgow to Edinburgh to lead an evangelistic meeting there. The text impressed him, so he cut it out, and the next day, when on the spur of the moment Moody requested a solo on the subject of 'The Good Shepherd,' Sankey took out the clipping, creating a tune on the spot, a song that so impressed Moody, and the crowd, with its transforming effect, that even a usually un-sympathetic critic recognized its power, describing Sankey's rendering of it in this way: "It was inexpressively ludicrous to behold. Rolling his eyes in an affected manner, he touched a few simple chords, and then a marvelous transformation came over the room. In a sweet, powerful voice, with an exquisite simplicity combined with irresistible emotion, he sang... The man was transfigured. A deathly hush came over the room, and I felt my eyes fill with tears."
When Moody and Sankey took their evangelistic campaign to Britain, they found the hymns in use there unsuited to their type of appeal, and so they introduced gospel songs, which Sankey accompanied on a small reed organ. This was not met without resistance, however, especially in Scotland, where there was intense opposition to what they called Sankey's 'human composure hymns' as well as to the use of an organ in a service. Some of the staunch, conservative Presbyterian Scots spoke of Sankey's "kist of whistles" and how they believed that there was a devil in each pipe of his organ.
Moody tried to relieve the tension by explaining to the audience that Sankey's organ was only a 'very small one,' and besides, he would add, "the Psalms were written under the old dispensation and really not meant for people to sing under the new dispensation," an argument that amused and soothed some, but certainly did not satisfy everyone. The story is told of a troubled Scot who visited his pastor after hearing Sankey sing and said: "I cannot do with those hymns. They are all the time in my head, and I cannot get them out. The Psalms never trouble me that way."
In time, however, as Moody and Sankey made several visits to the Brtish Isles, gospel music became increasingly accepted, and near the close of the meetings, one of the British newspapers reported: "Mr. Moody is very fortunate in having such a colleague as Mr. Sankey. He has enriched evangelistic work by something approaching the discovery of a new power. He spoils the Egyptians of their finest music, and consecrates it to the service of the tabernacle. Music in his hands is, more than it has yet been, the handmaid of the gospel and the voice of the heart. We have seen many stirred and melted by his singing, before a word has been spoken. Indeed, his singing is just a powerful, distinct, and heart-toned way of speaking, that seems often to reach the heart by a short cut...."
There was something about Sankey's strong baritone voice that was enormously affecting, and another English newspaper said: "As a vocalist, Mr. Sankey has not many equals. Possessed of a voice of great volume and richness, he expresses with exquisite skill and pathos the gospel message, in words very simple but replete with love and tenderness, and always with marked effect on the audience ...the secret of Mr. Sankey's power lies not in his gift of song but in the spirit of which the song is only the expression."
Not only did Sankey contribute his talents to the writing of more than eighty gospel songs, he also compiled more than ten hymnal collections. His songbook, 'Sacred Songs and Solos,' published in England, sold more than eight million copies and is still in print!
Our own hymnal contains eight of Sankey's hymns, one of which we'll sing after the Scripture reading. The other song is in your bulletin, "A Shelter in the Time of Storm," one of the typically easily sung, rhythmical songs that Sankey favoured. Sankey himself wrote of this hymn: "I found this hymn in a small paper published in London... It was said to be a favourite song of the fishermen on the north coast of England, and they were often heard singing it, as they approached their harbours in the time of storm. As the hymn was set to a wierd minor tune, I decided to compose one that could more easily be sung by the people."
Scripture: Psalm 91:1-12
Hymn: "Under His Wings I Am Safely"
The Gospel Hymns of Fanny J. Crosby, 1820-1915
The Moody-Sankey evangelistic campaigns were very succesful, but their success, Sankey himself once remarked, was due, more than any other human factor, to the use of hymns written by Fanny Crosby. And if Sankey became known as the "Father of the Gospel Song," Crosby was often referred to as the "Queen of Gospel Hymnody".
Crosby was born in New York in 1820, but it was not until much later that she began her hymn-writing career. Because of improper medical treatment, she lost her sight soon after birth, but she never considered blindness a handicap, and indeed, insisted that blind people can accomplish almost everything sighted persons can. Her own accomplishments bear witness to that assertion, for at an early age already she began memorizing the Bible and eventually could repeat, by rote, the entire Pentateuch, all four Gospels, many of the Psalms, all of Proverbs, as well as the books of Ruth and The Song of Solomon. She stated, at the close of her life, "The Holy Book has nurtured my entire life."
Crosby spent twelve years as a pupil in the New York Institution for the Blind and also served as a teacher there, teaching language and history. She not only had a fine soprano voice, she was also accomplished on the guitar, harp, piano, and organ. She was well-versed in classical music, and wrote some tunes for her texts, though generally she did not want them used, for she felt that they were too complicated for ordinary people to sing.
She married in her late 30s, and had a child, but the child died in early infancy. It is said that she was small in appearance, and physically unattractive, though why that is mentioned, I'm not sure, except, perhaps, to underline her unusual charisma. She presented herself, in public, with great charm and attractiveness. She was also considered a very jovial person, noted for her quick wit and humour, her sermons and speeches filled with funny stories and whimsical anecdotes; she often said that the best way to chide or to criticize was through making people laugh at themselves.
Crosby was in great demand as a speaker, and though willing to speak, her favourite motto was, "I think life is not too long, and therefore I determine that many people will read a song who would not read a sermon," something with which I find it difficult to take issue.
Though devout and religious from childhood, Crosby had a dramatic conversion experience at the age of thirty, of which she writes: "My very soul was flooded with celestial light."
And years later, when speaking of this experience, she said: "The Lord planted a star in my life and no cloud has ever obscured its light."
Fifteen years later (1865) she began writing the first of thousands of hymn texts. Though she had written a great deal of poetry earlier in life, she only began writing gospel songs at the age of forty-five. In that period, however, from 1870 to her death in 1915, it is estimated that Crosby wrote between eight and nine thousand gospel hymn texts, more than any other known hymn writer! Wrote George Stebbins, another gospel musician of her time: "There was probably no writer in her day who appealed more to the valued experiences of the Christian life or who expressed, more sympathetically, the deep longings of the heart than did Fanny Crosby."
After completing a poem Crosby would send it to her publisher, and receive her customary two-dollar check, hardly sufficient, one would think, for such enduring hymns as "Blessed Assurance," "Rescue the Perishing," "He Hideth My Soul," and many others.
Our own hymnal includes twelve of Crosby's hymns, of which we'll now sing #'s 581 & 573, "I Am Thine, O Lord," and "All the Way My Saviour Leads Me". The second song was written by Crosby as an expression of gratitude, following an experience of personal good fortune.
Scripture: Psalm 139:1f
Hymn: "All the Way My Saviour Leads Me"
Hymn: "Praise Him! Praise Him!"
Hymn: "I Will Sing the Wondrous Story"
Postlude
The story of Thomas a Becket is a story of struggle, political intrigue, and murder! And if at first those appear not to be very Christmas-sy themes, let me remind you that the biblical Christmas story very soon became a story of political struggle and intrigue, and murder, what with Herod's plans for mass infanticide. Jesus' clash with political authorities is signalled early in the Christmas story, a clash that came to a head on Calvary, but that was played out again and again in succeeding generations, not only in the experience of the apostles, as reflected in our reading from Acts, chapter 5, but also in the experience of many believers since. It's reflecte in the story of our own church; it's also reflected in the story of Thomas a Becket.
Thomas a Becket was born in the year 1118. He was born of well-to-do Norman parents, was given a good education, and at the age of 24 (1142) he entered the service of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Becket received this appointment largely through influence, and initially he showed little promise, but as he travelled about the archbishop's business it soon became clear that he had a head for detail, a flair for getting things done with thoroughness and efficiency, and, being a quick study, and lucky enough to be in the company of very cultured individuals at the very centre of English ecclesiastical affairs, he soon learned to conduct his own affairs with great tact and charm.
Becket very soon attracted the attention of the archbishop himself, and was sent abroad to study canon law. He returned to take up an important administrative appointment as archdeacon of Canterbury, and a year later young King Henry II appointed Becket, now 37, Chancellor of England, making him the highest secular official in the land. Within but thirteen years Becket had become one of the most powerful men in the country.
Becket accepted power and magnificence with grace, and with gratitude. And as the young king lavished gifts of all kinds upon Becket as proof of royal friendship, so Becket gave him in return seven years of loyal and efficient service. It was a surprise to Becket, however, when the king appointed Becket Archbishop of Canterbury, for he knew himself to be quite unworthy of the office; he was neither priest nor scholar, his career had been devoted almost entirely to secular affairs, and furthermore, he was aware that the monks of Christ Church, Canterbury, whose privilege it was to elect their archbishop, had been subject to not a little royal pressure!
The king, however, was not without design. Since as chancellor Becket had shown himself to be a faithful servant and personal friend, the king had every reason to believe that he would remain so as archbishop. And with Becket's co-operation the king would be able to regain the hold over the Church in England which the Crown had lost since the days of his grandfather, Henry I. The Church had loosened itself considerably from royal control; the development of canon law, the growing independence of ecclesiastical courts from secular jurisdiction, the freedom of appeals to Rome, in short the ability of the English Church to put into effect the reforms of the more recent Church councils, put a significant crimp into Henry II's royal style and power! And so the king looked to Becket to help him re-establish what he considered to be his proper rights over the Church in England.
Undoubtedly Becket knew precisely what the king wanted of him, but he was also fully aware of the dignity and the responsibilities of the office which had been offered him, and though he warned Henry that the kind of cooperation expected of him would not be possible, the king refused to take the matter seriously, and on June 3, 1162, Thomas a Becket was consecrated archbishop of Canterbury.
Henry should have taken Becket's warning seriously, however, for Becket's appointment as archbishop changed him from being, as he himself put it, "a patron of play-actors and a follower of hounds, to being a shepherd of souls". He was determined to live up to the standards that the highest ecclesiastical office in the land demanded of him. Indeed, Becket's first move was to resign the chancellorship of the realm in order to give full attention to his spiritual and ecclesiastical affairs. His deep commitment to the Church, however, soon brought him into conflict with the king.
Several minor brushes with the king in Becket's first year in office soon developed into a bitter and protracted quarrel, one of the many points at issue between them being the respective jurisdictions of church and state over clergymen convicted of crimes. The king insisted that clerics who had been convicted of crime should be handed over to the secular arm for punishment, as recent custom had allowed. Becket opposed this as a violation of canon law. There was no easy solution to their debate, for the specific problem under debate was jurisdictionally ambiguous.
Indeed, the administration of justice was persistently controversial at the time. To put this into context, both Church and king had their separate courts and systems of law, and the canon law of the Church applied to a wide variety of circumstances. For example, the Church defended the right of women to inherit property; the Church first introduced the making of wills; the Church denied that possession is nine-tenths of the law, and it prohibited usury. The Church also claimed jurisdiction over all cases involving clerics, and over all cases involving the sacraments, and since marriage was a sacarament, all matrimonial cases were referred to church courts. Since canon law had such broad application, it is not surprising that it often came into conflict with civil law.
In the case of 'criminous clerics," as Henry II called them, Henry was quite willing to have them tried by the Church, but if they were prononunced guilty, they should be punished by civil authorities. At issue was a particular legal question, but one with broad implications for legal powers. And in the case at hand Becket finally gave his verbal assent to the king's customs only after it had been put to him privately that this was the only way for the king to save face, and, after he had been assured that the king, in fact, had no desire to press such cases in actual practice.
The following January, however, the king summoned another meeting, and without a doubt his purpose was to force Becket, and the bishops as well, publicly to accept the customs of the realm. After some days of bitter argument, Becket was persuaded to take the oath, and urged the bishops to do likewise. However, when he saw the constututions drawn up in writing, and realised their significance, he refused to put his seal to them; to have done so would have given the king potentially, if not actually, full control over the Church in England. While Becket refused to put his seal to the constitution, however, the remainder of the bishops present did. It was very discouraging for Becket, for he realised that his actions had left his episcopal brethren confused and disunited as rarely before, and he realised too, that the king was now his implacable enemy, bent on his ruin.
When, following this meeting, Becket failed to answer a royal summons over a dispute in a case which he considered to lie within his own jurisdiction, he was ordered to stand trial for contempt of court. His position was now much weaker; legally the king had a case against him which did not involve the rest of the church hierarchy, who were nevertheless constrained to be present in order to pass judgement on him. Becket was placed in the 'hot seat' for several days, withstanding the sustained attacks of both the secular barons and his own episcopal colleagues, his colleagues urging him to submit unconditionally to the king's judgment and to resign as archbishop lest he bring ruin to the Church.
The proceedings broke down on the eighth day of the trial when, forbidding his colleagues to pass an unlawful sentence on him, Becket marched out of the judgment hall. At the urging of the pope he accepted the offer of French asylum until the worst had blown over. While Becket waited in France, however, living with some Cistercian monks, back in England the king exiled Becket's relatives as well as a number of his monks at Canterbury, and, as a measure of further vindictiveness, brought pressure to bear on the Cistercian monks, so that for their sake Becket had to move to another French monastery.
The rift between Becket and the king, which Becket had made some unsuccessful attempts to heal by correspondence, seemed now irreparable, and after seven years in exile Becket realized that the only way to break through the impasse was to return to Canterbury.
In the summer of 1170, Henry's eldest son was crowned at Westminster, a feudal practice which was performed during the king's lifetime in order to ensure the peaceful succession of his son to the throne. It had always been the prerogative of the archbishop of Canterbury, however, to perform this solemn act, and its performance by the archbishop of York, in the presence of several other English bishops, was a move of calculated defiance! Indeed, it brought a sharp rebuke from Pope Alexander III, who empowered Becket to suspend York and to excommunicate the recalcitrant bishops. Becket hesitated, but then sent ahead the letters of suspension and excommunication, news of which the unnerved bishops immediately conveyed to the king. The king, incensed by what he considered to be a fresh insult to the Crown, spoke wildly of Becket's having lived long enough! Indeed, four of his knights, not waiting for the king's temper to cool, hurried to Canterbury and, in the early evening of December 29, killed the archbishop in a side chapel of his cathedral. Becket's last words, reportedly, were: "Willingly I die for the name of Jesus and in defence of the Church."
Well, the effect of Becket's death was electric; all over western Europe he was spontaneously acclaimed as a martyr. Indeed, Pope Alexander III, who earlier had given Becket but qualified support, now, with unusual swiftness, canonised him within but 26 months of his death! The common people, of course, had long since acclaimed Becket to be among the blessed, and within twenty-five years stone, stained glass, frescoes and illuminated manuscripts told of his martyrdom across Europe, and beyond to the Holy Land itself. His tomb, later installed behind the high altar of his own cathedral, brought to Canterbury for three and a half centuries the hopeful and grateful of many nations. His shrine at Canterbury was one of the greatest pilgrim resorts in Europe. Becket was undoubtedly the greatest English saint of the Middle Ages.
There is certainly sufficient evidence to suggest that Becket was as human as the rest of us, and no doubt some of his struggles with the king were due to his own ambition and obstinacy, so why was Becket so popular? No doubt the dramatic circumstances of his death heightened his popular appeal. The miracles and legends which came to be associated with his name no doubt added to his appeal. But perhaps his enduring appeal has to do with the eternal struggle between church and state, between God and Caesar, for Becket rapidly became identified with the cause for which he died, namely, the assertion of ecclesiastical liberty. Becket symbolised the Church's right to be free to act according to its own laws, especially where the laws of the land are considered to violate the law of God. Taking to heart the word of Peter and the apostles, "We must obey God rather than men," (Acts 5:29), Becket strikes at the very roots of totalitarianism, or any other form of government which denies the Church the right of this higher loyalty. Indeed, one need search no further back than our own century to find distressing parallels of this struggle between the Church and the State. Indeed, through the centuries the issue has remained the same, only the heads of state have changed.
The strength of Becket's contribution, in English history at least, can be seen 400 years later in the violent acts of King Henry VIII, whereby the tomb of Becket was desecrated (1538), and his name ordered to be removed from every liturgical book in the country. Henry VIII was suffering opposition to his own ecclesiastical claims from men like Thomas More and John Fisher, who had recently gone their own stubborn way to the scaffold, and that was proof enough to the king that Becket's cause was still very much alive, and capable of providing a popular rallying-point. In fact, Henry VIII's vigorous suppression of Becket's popularity proved very effective, for within a century Becket slipped from public memory, rescued only in comparatively recent times, when the Latin texts of his contemporary biographers were re-edited, and the details of his remarkable career brought once more to the notice of the general public through various works, including Tennyson's Becket, as well as T.S. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral, from which today's meditation is taken.
To put his Christmas meditation in more precise context, when Becket returned to England in December of 1170 he made his way towards Woodstock in order to pay homage to Henry II's crowned son, but he was not far beyond London when he was told that the young king had no desire to see him. Becket had wanted to forgive old wrongs, and live at peace with his enemies, but since their malice towards him was seemingly irreducible, Becket took up the challenge, and on Christmas Day, in his own cathedral, then crammed to the doors, he publicly excommunicated those responsible for the latest outrages. There can be no doubt that Becket realised the danger, for in his sermon, the one we are about to hear, Becket reminds his congregation of the martyrdom of one of his predecessors, St. Elphege, and adds: "Soon enough you may have another..."
Thomas Becket's Christmas Sermon (1170),
from T.S. Eliot's Murder in the Cathedral
"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will." The fourteenth verse of the second chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Luke. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Dear children of God, my sermon this Christmas morning will be a very short one. I wish only that you should meditate in your hearts the deep meaning and mystery of the Christmas Day mass. For whenever Mass is said, we re-enact the Passion and Death of Our Lord; and on this Christmas Day we do this in celebration of His Birth. So that at the same moment we rejoice in His coming for the salvation of men, we offer again to God His Body and Blood in sacrifice, oblation and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world.
It was in this same night that has just passed, that a multitude of the heavenly host appeared before the shepherds at Bethlehem, saying "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men of good will"; at this same time of the year we celebrate at once the Birth of Our Lord and His Passion and Death upon the Cross. Beloved, as the World sees, this is to behave in a strange fashion. For who in the World will both mourn and rejoice at once and for the same reason? For either joy will be overborne by mourning, or mourning will be cast out by joy; it is only in these our Christian mysteries that we can rejoice and mourn at once for the same reason.
Now think for a moment about the meaning of this word 'peace'. Does it seem strange to you that the angels should have announced Peace, when ceaselessly the world has been stricken with War and the fear of War? Does it seem to you that the angelic voices were mistaken, and that the promise was a disappointment and a cheat?
Reflect now, how Our Lord Himself spoke of Peace. He said to His disciples, "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you." Did He mean peace as we think of it: The kingdom of England at peace with its neighbours, the barons at peace with the king, the householder counting over his peaceful gains, the swept hearth, his best wine for a friend at the table, his wife singing to the children? Christ's disciples knew so such things: they went forth to journey afar, to suffer by land and sea, to know torture, imprisonment, disappointment, to suffer death by martyrdom. What then did He mean? If you ask that, remember then that He said also, "Not as the world gives, give I unto you." So then, He gave to His disciples peace, but not peace as the world gives.
Consider also one thing of which you have probably never thought. Not only do we at the feast of Christmas celebrate at once Our Lord's Birth and His Death: but on the next day we celebrate the martyrdom of His first martyr, the blessed Stephen. Is it an accident, do you think, that the day of the first martyr follows immediately the day of the Birth of Christ? By no means. Just as we rejoice and mourn at once, in the Birth and Passion of Our Lord; so also, in a smaller figure, we both rejoice and mourn in the death of martyrs. We mourn, for the sins of the world that has martyred them; we rejoice, that another soul is numbered among the Saints in Heaven, for the glory of God and for the salvation of us all.
Beloved, we do not think of a martyr simply as a good Christian who has been killed because he is a Christian: for that would be solely to mourn. We do not think of him simply as a good Christian who has been elevated to the company of the Saints: for that would be simply to rejoice: and neither our mourning nor our rejoicing is as the world's is. A Christian martyrdom is never an accident, for Saints are not made by accident. Still less is a Christian martyrdom the effect of one's will to become a Saint, as one by willing and contriving may become a ruler of men. A martyrdom is always the design of God, because of His love for us, because of His desire to warn us and to lead us, and to bring us back to His ways. It is never the design of man; for the true martyr is he who has become the instrument of God, who has lost his will in the will of God, and who no longer desires anything for himself, not even the glory of being a martyr. So thus as on earth the church mourns and rejoices at once, in a fashion that the world cannot understand; so in Heaven the Saints are most high, having made themselves most low, and are seen, not as we see them, but in the light of the Godhead from which they draw their being.
I have spoken to you to-day, dear children of God, of the martyrs of the past, asking you to remember especially our martyr of Canterbury, the blessed Archbishop Elphege; because it is fitting, on Christ's birth day, to remember what is that Peace which He brought; and because, dear children, I do not think I shall ever preach to you again; and because it is possible that in a short time you may have yet another martyr, and that one perhaps not the last. I would have you keep in your hearts these words that I say, and think of them at another time.
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
Dramatic Reading: Martin Luther: Here I Stand
Don Friesen, Ottawa Mennonite Church, October 26, 1986
Introduction
NARRATOR: The story of Martin Luther is a story of personal conviction and courage. Luther, born in 1483, entered a monastery at the age of 22, and a few years later became a priest. Luther wanted very much to please God; he fasted until his cheeks caved in, and confessed his sins for six hours at a stretch. Slowly, he came to realize that he could not satisfy the demands of God. Through bible study he came to realize that we are justified, not by what we do, but by faith. "Justification by faith" became the slogan of the Reformation, but for Luther it was an important personal discovery. As he put it:
LUTHER: Night and day I pondered Paul's Epistle to the Romans until I grasped that the justice of God is that righteousness by which through grace and sheer mercy God justifies us through faith. Thereupon I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise. The whole of Scripture took on a new meaning.
If you have a true faith that Christ is your Saviour, then at once you have a gracious God, for faith leads you in and opens up God's heart and will, allowing you to experience pure grace and overflowing love.
NARRATOR: Luther expressed similar sentiments in one of the many hymns he wrote:
HYMNIST:
Then was the Father troubled sore
Thus spoke the Son, "Hold thou to me,
NARRATOR: Luther did not set out to reform the Church. He simply set out to search for a gracious God. His discovery, however, rocked the Church, and set Luther on a trail of controversy. It began with his posting of "The Ninety-five Theses," a list of things to be changed in the Church, a list which Luther expected only professors and preachers to debate. It received a much wider reading, however, and led to the Leipzig Debate, in which Luther debated a Mr. Johann Eck.
NARRATOR: An eyewitness, hardly an unbiased one, describes the debators as follows:
EYEWITNESS: Martin is of middle height, emaciated from care and study, so that you can almost count his bones through his skin. He is in the vigour of manhood and has a clear, penetrating voice. He is learned and has the Scripture at his fingers' ends. He knows Greek and Hebrew sufficiently to judge of the interpretations. A perfect forest of words and ideas stands at his command. He is affable and friendly, in no sense dour or arrogant. He is equal to anything. In company he is vivacious, jocose, always cheerful and gay no matter how hard his adversaries press him. Everyone chides him for the fault of being a little too insolent in his reproaches and more caustic than is prudent for an innovator in religion or becoming to a theologian.
As for Eck, he is a heavy, square-set fellow with a full German voice supported by a hefty chest. He would make a tragedian or town crier, but his voice is rather rough than clear. His eyes and mouth and his whole face remind one more of a butcher than a theologian.
NARRATOR: The Debate began, and after Luther and Eck had wrestled for a week over the depravity of man, Luther was drawn into everincreasing controversy. First it had to do with papal authority:
LUTHER: What does it all matter whether the pope exists by divine right or by human right? He remains the pope just the same. Even if there were ten popes or a thousand popes there would be no schism. The unity of Christendom could be preserved under numerous heads just as the separated nations under different sovereigns dwell in concord.
ECK: Absurd! I marvel that the Reverend Father should forget the everlasting dissension of the English and the French, the inveterate hatred of the French for the Spaniards, and all the Christian blood spilled over the Kingdom of Naples. As for me, I confess one faith, one Lord Jesus Christ, and I venerate the Roman pontiff as Christ's vicar.
NARRATOR: Next Luther endorsed John Hus, a heretic of the previous century, well remembered in Leipzig.
LUTHER: Among the articles of John Hus, I find many which are plainly Christian and evangelical, which the universal Church cannot condemn.
ECK: The plague on you!
LUTHER: The Church Council that condemned Hus did not say that all the articles of Hus were heretical. It said that 'some were heretical, some erroneous, some blasphemous, some presumptuous, some seditious, and some offensive to pious ears respectively.' You should differentiate and tell us which were which.
ECK: Whichever they were, none of them was called most christian and evangelical; and if you defend them, then you are heretical, erroneous, blasphemous, presumptuous, seditious, and offensive to pious ears respectively.
NARRATOR: And so the Debate raged on. They debated purgatory. They debated indulgences. On and on it went, for a full 18 days, until finally Duke George, understanding little of the Debate and wanting to use the auditorium of his castle for a party, brought the Debate to a conclusion.
So Luther and Eck continued the Debate via pamphlets. Luther, through his books, encouraged the German princes to begin Church reform in Germany, and criticized the Church's slowness to reform, especially its refusal to serve the laity both bread and wine in communion services. His breach with the Church became irreparable, and he was summoned by the Emperor Charles to appear before him at the Diet of Worms.
NARRATOR: This he did, on April 17, 1521, and guess who played the part of Crown Prosecutor: Johann Eck!!!
Eck began by asking Luther to acknowledge the books on a nearby table, and whether or not he would recant of the views they contained. Inasmuch as some of writings concerned Scripture, Luther asked for time to consider his answer. The next day he again appeared before the august body, and gave his famous "Here I Stand" speech.
ECK: His Imperial Majesty has assigned this time to you, Martin Luther, to answer for the books which you yesterday openly acknowledged to be yours. You asked time to deliberate on the question whether you would take back part of what you had said or would stand by all of it. You did not deserve this respite, which has now come to an end, for you knew long before why you were summoned. And every one - especially a professor of theology - ought to be so certain of his faith that whenever questioned about it he can give a sure and positive answer. Now at last reply to the demand of his Majesty, whose clemency you have experienced in obtaining time to deliberate. Do you wish to defend all of your books or to retract part of them?
LUTHER: Most Serene Emperor, Most Illustrious Princes, Most Clement Lords! At the time fixed yesterday I obediently appear, begging for the mercy of God, that your Most Serene Majesty and your Illustrious Lordships may deign to hear this cause, which I hope may be called the cause of justice and truth, with clemency; and if, by my inexperience, I should fail to give any one the titles due him, or should sin against the etiquette of the court, please forgive me, as a man who has lived not in courts but in monastic nooks, one who can say nothing for himself but that he has hitherto tried to teach and to write with a sincere mind and single eye to the glory of God and the edification of Christians.
Most Serene Emperor, Most Illustrious Princes! Two questions were asked me yesterday. To the first whether I would recognize that the books published under my name were mine, I gave a plain answer, to which I hold and will hold forever, namely, that the books are mine, as I published them, unless perchance it may have happened that the guile or meddlesome wisdom of my opponents has changed something in them. For I only recognize what has been written by myself alone, and not the interpretation added by another.
In reply to the second question I beg your Most Sacred Majesty and your Lordships to be pleased to consider that all my books are not of the same kind. In some I have treated piety, faith, and morals so simply and evangelically that my adversaries themselves are forced to confess that these books are useful, innocent, and worthy to be read by Christians. If, therefore, I should undertake to recant these, would it not happen that I alone of all men should damn the truth which all, friends and enemies alike confess?
The second class of my works inveighs against the papacy as against that which both by precept and example has laid waste all Christendom, body and soul.
In a third sort of books I have written against some private individuals who tried to defend the Roman tyranny and tear down my pious doctrine. In these I confess I was more bitter than is becoming to a minister of religion. For I do not pose as a saint, nor do I discuss my life but the doctrine of Christ. Yet neither is it right for me to recant what I have said in these, for then tyranny and impiety would rage and reign against the people of God more violently than ever by reason of my acquiescence.
NARRATOR: Luther then challenged the court to identify the evil of which he was accused.
LUTHER: I beg by God's mercy that if your Majesty or your illustrious Lordships, from the highest to the lowest, can do it, you should bear witness and convict me of error and conquer me by proofs drawn from the gospels or the prophets, for I am most ready to be instructed and when convinced will be the first to throw my books into the fire.
From this I think it is sufficiently clear that I have carefully considered and weighed the discords, perils, emulation, and dissension excited by my teaching, concerning which I was gravely and urgently admonished yesterday. To me the happiest side of the whole affair is that the Word of God is made the object of emulation and dissent. For this is the course, the fate, and the result of the Word of God, as Christ says: "I am come not to send peace but a sword, to set a man against his father and a daughter against her mother." We must consider that our God is wonderful and terrible in his counsels. If we should begin to heal our dissensions by damning the Word of God, we should only turn loose an intolerable deluge of woes.
Let us take care that the rule of this excellent youth, Prince Charles does not begin inauspiciously. For I could show by many examples drawn from Scripture that when Pharaoh and the king of Babylon and the kings of Israel thought to pacify and strengthen their kingdoms by their own wisdom, they really only ruined themselves. For he taketh the wise in their own craftiness and removeth mountains and they know it not. We must fear God. I do not say this as though your Lordships needed either my teaching or my admonition, but because I could not shirk the duty I owed Germany. With these words I commend myself to your Majesty and your Lordships, humbly begging that you will not let my enemies make me hateful to you without cause. I have spoken.
ECK: Luther, you have not answered to the point. You ought not to call in question what has been decided and condemned by councils. Therefore I beg you to give a simple, unsophisticated answer without horns. Will you recant or not?
LUTHER: Since your Majesty and your Lordships ask for a plain answer, I will give you one without either horns or teeth. Unless I am convicted by Scripture or by right reason (for I trust neither in popes nor in councils, since they have often erred and contradicted themselves) - unless I am thus convinced, I am bound by the texts of the Bible, my conscience is captive to the Word of God, I neither can nor will recant anything, since it is neither right nor safe to act against conscience. God help me. Amen.
NARRATOR: The Emperor, Charles, was shocked by Luther's boldness and drew up a statement in which he declared that he would stake his life and dominions to preserve Catholicism from such heretics. On April 26, in the midst of the general excitement and political maneuvering, Luther left Worms, and on May 4 was captured by bandits and taken to the Wartburg. Then, after the Elector of Saxony and other supporters of Luther had left Worms, Charles drafted an edict in which he condemned Luther's doctrine as a cesspool of heresies.
Heresy it may have been, but it was growing increasingly popular. It was not Luther's intent to found a new Church, but when the leaders of the old Church would not reform and some disciples of the new ideas began to riot, he found himself driven to set up a new order and a new Church. More slowly than the student rioters, but nonetheless surely, and with the aid of the German Princes Luther stopped the Mass and ended the monastic orders. The church services were simplified and turned into German. The clergy and the monks and nuns began to get married. And the new movement was given the name "Protestant" in 1529, when the Reformers prrotested against an order of the Diet of the Empire that their work should spread no farther. The movement did spread, and though with its spread the unity of the Church was broken, it also brought to the Church reform and renewal.
NARRATOR: Martin Luther, in addition to being a Reformer, was also a husband and a father. In June of 1525 he married Catharine von Bora, and to them were born six children. He was very fond of children and tender toward them. A letter that he wrote to his son, Hans, has become a children's classic. Most painful for him was the loss of his daughter, Magdalene, who died in 1542 at the age of fourteen. One of the family servants remembers the event.
SERVANT: As his daughter lay very ill, Dr. Luther said:
LUTHER: I love her very much, but dear God, if it be thy will to take her, I submit to thee.
SERVANT: Then he said to her as she lay in bed:
LUTHER: Magdalene, my dear little daughter, would you like to stay here with your father, or would you willingly go to your Father yonder?
SERVANT: She answered: "Darling father, as God wills."
LUTHER: Dearest child, the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.
SERVANT: Then he turned away and said:
LUTHER: I love her very much; if my flesh is so strong, what can my spirit do? God has given no bishop so great a gift in a thousand years as he has given me in her. I am angry with myself that I cannot rejoice in heart and be thankful as I ought.
SERVANT: As Magdalene lay in the agony of death, her father fell down before the bed on his knees and wept bitterly and prayed that God might free her. Then she departed and fell asleep in her father's arms. As they laid her in the coffin he said:
LUTHER: Darling Lena, you will rise and shine like a star, yea, like the sun....I am happy in spirit, but the flesh is sorrowful and will not be content, the parting grieves me beyond measure....I have sent a saint to heaven.
NARRATOR: Martin Luther's influence was felt broadly, launching not only Protestantism but also sparking reform in the Catholic Church. One of his great legacies is certainly his personal conviction and courage, which was called upon in his service to the Church as well as in the face of personal suffering. His faith is an inspiration to us, for it was a curious mixture of courage and humility, as expressed in one of his prayers handed down to us. Let us close with that prayer:
LUTHER: Behold, Lord, an empty vessel that needs to be filled. My Lord, fill it. I am weak in the faith; strengthen Thou me. I am cold in love; warm me and make me fervent that my love may go out to my neighbour. I do not have a strong and firm faith; at times I doubt and am unable to trust Thee altogether. O Lord, help me. Strengthen my faith and trust in Thee. In Thee I have sealed the treasures of all I have. I am poor; Thou art rich and didst come to be merciful to the poor. I am a sinner; Thou art upright. With me there is an abundance of sin; in Thee is the fulness of righteousness. Therefore, I will remain with Thee of whom I can receive but to whom I may not give. Amen.
In devil'd dungeon chained I lay
The pangs of death swept o'er me.
My sin devoured me night and day
In which my mother bore me.
My anguish ever grew more rife,
I took no pleasure in my life
And sin had made me crazy.
To see me ever languish.
The Everlasting Pity swore
To save me from my anguish.
He turned to me his father heart
And chose himself a bitter part,
His Dearest did it cost him.
From now on thou wilt make it.
I gave my very life for thee
And for thee I will stake it.
For I am thine and thou art mine,
And where I am our lives entwine,
The old Fiend cannot shake it.
The Leipzig Debate
At the Diet of Worms
The Death of his Daughter