The Lovingkindness of the Lord

October 31 is still deserving of special observation. On the evening of this day in 1517, a miracle of God’s grace took place that was as glorious as it was mighty. The man who was called by the Lord to perform this act was no emperor or king, no mighty or noble man on earth, no world-famous sage or philosopher, or even an eminent professor. He was a plain monk, practically unknown, a common Augustinian as there were so many at that time, living unnoticed and unknown. This man God chose to do this glorious and mighty deed.

It was in simplicity of heart that Martin Luther, the monk, in the evening of October 31, 1517, nailed the 95 theses on the castle door of Wittenberg. He did not realize at all what result this action would bring upon himself nor what effect it would have in the world. He nailed his theses on the castle door in faith, as a strong protest against Rome’s wicked practice of selling indulgences and against the degeneration of Christendom and the Christian religion as it is expressed in the doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church. He did not see, nor could he see the results of his hammering—nor did he, for that matter, inquire or worry about that.

What Luther did, he had to do for God’s sake. The irresistible omnipotence of the grace of God drove and brought him to do it. The Lord used him to serve the truth against Rome’s abominable heresy and, at the same time, set him up for an example that the Lord can and often does use small, humble means to accomplish great, mighty works. Indeed, when God performs a work, He always works for His own honor so that it shall be evident that performing great deeds depends not on human will or ability but on the omnipotence and grace of His strength.

We see this very clearly in Luther’s simple and seemingly insignificant act. From whatever angle we view it, something most remarkable took place in Luther’s protest at the castle door of Wittenberg. It stirred up a large part of the world. Luther’s protest sounded much farther than Wittenberg and its vicinity. Before long the Inquisition of Rome became active against Luther and his adherents in a most barbarian way, showing no consideration for anybody or anything. Throughout almost all of Europe the noble blood of the martyrs began to flow. Even those who were suspected of being unfaithful to the doctrines of Rome were persecuted by fire and sword, by rack and gallows, and by all kinds of atrocious and horrible means. The most severe persecution was directed toward those who, instead of the Roman Catholic doctrine of good works, professed the doctrine of free grace. Neither women nor children were spared. Many were burned alive, buried alive, or drowned alive, being bound tight in a heavy sack and thrown into the water. Thousands upon thousands lost their lives at the stake or on the scaffold.

Already in 1523, two Augustinian monks in Brussels, because they had professed Christ as the all-sufficient and complete Saviour, were taken to the market place, stripped of their monk’s habit, wrapped in a devil’s cloak, tied to a post, and burned. After having praised the free grace of God, their last audible words were, “We praise Thee, O God; we glorify Thy name.” Luther dedicated a hymn to their death at the stake, calling them two precious jewels of Christ. The blood of the martyrs became the seed of the church. History records that among them were children of God who walked to their death as happily as if they were going to a wedding or a feast. They sang psalms and hymns of praise and instructed the people in their doctrine, admonishing them to leave the Roman Catholic Church, declaring it an anti-Christian church, a den of murderers, with the Pope as an Antichrist. They used every possible means to draw the people away from the Roman Catholic Church and to warn them against its errors as poison for their souls. By these and other means more and more people were won for the true religion and drawn away from the Romish church. Thus the persecution also increased daily.

The persecution soon reached into the Netherlands. Already in 1525, John Pistorius, a twenty-six-year-old priest of Woerden, was burned at the stake in The Hague. In the midst of the fire and flames, he testified, “Death is swallowed up in the victory of Christ.” In 1540, a proclamation was read, stating that heretics could have no control over their goods. In 1544, they were prevented from fleeing the country as much as possible. In 1559, informers were rewarded with half of the property of the victim if he were condemned. When the Duke of Alva came, every man had to flee, often to Emden in Germany which was called a shelter for the church of God. In 1572, the distress was so great that the condition was deemed hopeless.

During a difficult war of eighty years, the Roman Catholic church found it impossible—thanks to the goodness of God, and in spite of the terrible fury of the Inquisition and its cruel persecution—to suppress the Reformation in the Netherlands.

All this is of so great significance, also for us, that it is altogether fitting and proper that on Reformation Day we should think of “the lovingkindness of the Lord.”

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