LUTHER : In Real Time--Episode 1

 

Today is the opening day of the audio theater Luther: In Real Time that I have been commissioned to write by Ligonier Ministries. I have written an episode every week for the six months leading up to Luther's cosmic stand before the emperor at the Diet of Worms, April 18, 1521. Please listen and share with everybody! 

It has been a delightful process working with such great folks, especially with Producer/Director Barry Cooper. You can listen wherever you listen to your podcasts. For more information visit ligonier.org/luther-in-real-time/.

I thought you might like to see an early version of the script for episode 1 of the series. So, here it is:

LUTHER—In Real Time Podcast: Episode 1--Damnable Heresy

SFX: fist hammering on wooden door; indistinct shouting 

It’s October 10, 1520. At the behest of Pope Leo X, his agents pound on the wicket door in the gate of the Augustinian Priory in Wittenberg.

SFX: latch turning and door creaking open

The agents thrust an official legal document from the Holy See in Rome into the hands of Martin Luther.

The Pope’s leaden seal was attached to the document with a coarse hemp rope; Luther weighed it pensively in his hand, turning it over; Apostles Peter and Paul on one side, and Pastor Pastorum Leo X—Shepherd of Shepherds—on the reverse side.

He’d seen it pressed in wax before this—a decade before, while on pilgrimage in Rome.

Cloaked in his black Augustinian cowl, Luther had travelled from Erfurt, Germany over the Alps to the Eternal City in Rome—walking all 639 miles on foot.

Bone-weary in Rome, Luther had dutifully crawled up the Scala Sancta, all twenty-eight cold, marble steps on his knees.

SFX: Pater noster murmuring crowd

The Sacred Stairs were papal-certified to be the very ones Jesus ascended to face his trial before Pontus Pilate, the same twenty-eight steps Christ had then DEscended when condemned and led out to his flogging and crucifixion.

SFX: indulgence hawker inflection, words indistinct.

When Luther finally reached the top, a Dominican friar thrust a wooden coin box toward him, shaking it impatiently.

SFX: coins ringing in a wooden box

Luther dropped a florin into the slot in the money coffer. In a careless monotone, the friar hastily promised him forgiveness of his sins…

SFX: Friar muttering absolution in Latin “Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat… Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.

…handing him a papal letter of indulgence: the promise that his pilgrimage, the scaling of the marble steps on his knees, had somehow lessened the time he would have to spend in purgatory, paying for his sins.

LUTHER: “But what if it is not so?”

Luther trembled as he turned the document over in his hand.

LUTHER: “What—if—it-is-not-so?”

As time passed, Luther’s doubts about indulgences only deepened.

Watching notorious indulgence peddler Johann Tetzel parading outside the Elster Gate of Wittenberg as if he were a prince or a pope, troubled Luther. Hawking forgiveness of sins for a quarter florin? It had to stop.

TETZEL: “As soon as the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from purgatory springs!”

Seeing Tetzel fleece Germany’s working poor with promises that HIS indulgence, bearing the papal seal, was their passport to paradise, enraged Luther. Later, he would comment:

LUTHER: “I find nothing that promotes work better than angry fervor. For when I wish to compose, write, pray and preach well, I must be angry. It refreshes my entire system, my mind is sharpened, and all unpleasant thoughts and depression fade away.”

LUTHER: “If you want to change the world, take up your pen and write.”

So Luther did.

He took up his goosequill and, one by one, he compiled a list of 95 reasons why his beloved Church must stop exploiting God’s people by selling them forgiveness.

LUTHER: “…if the Pope knew the exactions of the indulgence-preachers he would rather that the basilica of St. Peter’s should burn to ashes than that it should be built up with the skin, flesh, and bones of his sheep.” 

When the ink was dry, Luther, strode through the archway from the courtyard of his home at Wittenberg’s Augustinian monastery, the black folds of his Augustinian habit billowing behind him.

He turned left onto the cobblestones of the Collegienstrasse, past the Stadtkirche, the Town Church where he preached to the peasants, and across the market square. 

SFX: donkey braying, cartwheels clattering.

Side-stepping the filth oozing between the cobblestones, Martin walked past the studio workshop of Lucas Cranach the famous Renaissance painter.

Some of his students fell into step behind him, eager to see what their favorite professor was up to. A block and a half farther on, Luther halted before the door of the Castle Church, took out his 95 Theses…

SFX: hammering and church bell tolling ominously, background street noises

…and posted them on the Duke’s church door. It was October 31, 1517, All Hallow’s Eve.

For 16^th Century scholars, nailing a document to the church door was not uncommon – it was a way to invite debate.

But some close to Luther were afraid. His outspoken criticism of indulgences also reflected negatively on the practice of venerating religious relics as a way of gaining God’s favor. 

The church Luther had chosen belonged to Duke Frederick The Wise. An avid collector of relics.

The Duke had commissioned Lucas Cranach to illustrate a catalogue of his relics, which in 1517 included more than 5,000 bits and pieces of the saints. By 1520, it numbered 20,000.

A piece of straw from the manger, a tooth from St. Jerome, four hairs from the head of Jesus’ mother, a hair from Jesus’ beard, and, his most prized relic, a thorn certified by the Pope to have pierced the Savior’s brow.

SFX: mealtime table sounds: wooden utensils, indistinct voices, laughter—under narration: 

LUTHER: “What lies there are about relics!” 

SFX: beer stein clonking on wooden table

LUTHER: “One claims to have a feather from the wing of the angel Gabriel, and the Bishop of Mainz has a flame from Moses’ burning bush. And how does it happen that eighteen apostles are buried in Germany when Christ had only twelve?”

SFX: young men laughing hilariously, back slapping 

 Luther’s friends feared that if he lost the Duke’s support, he might lose everything—including his life.

But Luther was resolved.

LUTHER: “Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about the things that really matter.” 

Over the next three years, the developing fracture between Luther and Rome became a chasm.

In the years since posting his 95 Theses, his pen had not been idle. With that pen, Luther had started a fire that had spread to the highest levels of power in the European world; to kings and queens, to knights and bishops, even to popes and emperors.

 

SFX: fist pounding persistently on wooden door

And so. On this day, October 10th, 1520, Luther’s hammering on the door of the Castle Church had come back to haunt him. Now agents of the Pope were hammering on HIS door.

 

SFX: Papers being turned over in the hand.

 

Luther looks at the opening lines of the document. It is an official legal document from the Pope himself, entitled Exsurge Domine, “Arise, O Lord…”

 

LUTHER: “Condemn—reprobate—heretical”

 

The most powerful single individual in the European world, Pope Leo X, is declaring Martin Luther a damnable and pernicious heretic.

 

LUTHER: “—scandalous—offensive to pious ears – excommunicate --”

 

Without a complete recantation, Luther will be excommunicated, cut off from the Church, his body and soul condemned to the fires of hell.

 

SFX: incoherent angry shouting, sounds of burning under the narration

 

The agents of the Pope had wasted no time. They were already hurling Luther’s books into the flames. How long before they would do the same to Luther himself?

 

SFX: the fires reach a crescendo, then sudden silence.

 

There is no way of escape.

 

Luther has sixty days to recant.

 

The clock is ticking.

Douglas Bond is author of thirty-one books, including his latest release The Hobgoblins, a novel on John Bunyan, The Resistance set in enemy occupied Normandy, and many others. He is two-time Grace Award book finalist; he directs the Oxford Creative Wraditing Master Class, is an award-winning teacher, podcaster, speaker at conferences, and leader of Church history tours in Europe. He is currently reading Luther In Love aloud on his podcast. Visit his website bondbooks.net 

Your Writing Reveals What You Value Most--INKBLOTS

Join me in Oxford for the writing time of your life

Six 'Blots this chilly evening, fall inching toward winter with most of the leaves crunching underfoot on the ground, and frost on the pumpkin in the morning. One of our dogs killed a possum trying to get at our chicken girls in the night, Giles and I armed to the teeth coming in after the kill. Coyote bait. By the way, I invite you to subscribe to my youtube channel where I am making video versions of The Scriptorium, my podcast on literature and writing, theology and history, aesthetics and life https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCHyc37G1dTip2bnznLhc6hA?view_as=subscriber.

I lead off reading this piece then talking about our axiology as writers, what is most important to us, what do we believe most foundationally, what do we believe is true? "If religious books are not widely circulated among the masses in this country, I do not know what is going to become of us as a nation. If truth be not diffused, error will be: if God and his Word are not known and received, the devil and his works will gain the ascendancy; if the evangelical volume does not reach every hamlet, the pages of corrupt and licentious literature will; if the power of the Gospel is not felt throughout the length and breadth of the land, anarchy and misrule, degradation and misery, corruption and darkness, will reign without mitigation or end" 
(Daniel Webster, 1823). We talked about how we are impacting our readers with good or evil, nothing neutral or middle way.
John leads off reading two versions of the synopsis for Saving Grace, his important contemporary novel exposing the evils of abortion and celebrating life. Why are synopsis so important? Firstly, a reading service or publisher needs to know what the book is about in a brief moment. Plan on two degrees of synopsis: 50 word, 150 word. Secondly, the synopsis is the first demonstration of the author's writing ability (this underscores the critical role of the cover letter as well), so write at the absolute top of your game. Think of it as the sonnet to the full play. Shakespeare explored some of the same themes in 140 syllables that he explored in 20,000 words. The synopsis is the sonnet. Thirdly, the synopsis helps the writer assess his own book. If you can't write a synopsis that makes sense, that works, there are likely problems with the book itself (this may also be why we are reluctant to write the synopsis in the first place). Lastly, the synopsis ought to create tension and a need to read/ Think of it as the hook that compells someone to take up and read (first, to buy the book).

Alisa felt like John maybe gave too much away in the synopsis, for example, mentioning the suicidal thoughts she did not feel needed to be in the synopsis. Sydney thought that the unplanned pregnancy clarity in the synopsis is important as so many young women in our world have, or know someone who has, experienced this personally.

Hannah K gave us a summary of her 6,000 word short story that just emerged from reading about Switzerland. Set in 1994, in Western Washington. Her mother's dark blue eyes darted to the rear view mirror, when she replied to her daughter. Pronoun antecedent problem. I liked your inflections as you read. Clearly you are enjoying your characters, which is infectious. Be careful of too much chit-chat exchange at greeting another character. Readers are able to compress light exchanges so we don't need to write all of the hi, how are you, I'm fine, and you, material. This is interesting everyday feeling material, read well, cohesive. But I do wonder where you are going. Are you laying down intentional character development that will make sense when you get to the end of the story? I'm new here. Your dialogue has an authenticity that is enjoyable. You captured our attention and interest. I really wanted to know about the Woodsman, who he was, is he real, is he scary? Give us some rumor and speculation about villainous deeds he has done. A place where you feel like you read it aloud completely wrong is a place to go back and look more closely at what you did write. Was there a lack of clarity? Try cutting out any unnecessary words. Any word that does not have real work to do, kill it. Sydney felt the dialogue sounded natural and the little kids, difficult to do in fiction, came off well. The arsonist story being told seemed lacking in set up. Maybe the character needs to be developed so that the arsonist story fits better.

Dave Killian picks up on his sequel to his futuristic American yarn. It was futuristic three years ago when Dave started it but has come into alignment pretty close to where the world has gone now, not quite, but close. Cory simply said, we have a problem. You don't need simply; kill adverbs. The aggression happened too suddenly, it seemed to my ear. Maybe I haven't been in enough barroom brawls (mine have been brawls of words far more than of fists, at least since I was in about sixth grade when I got beat to a pulp defending my big sister against two older boys who I thought were being inappropriate toward her, or so I want to remember it). Dave explained afterward that this was just a reminiscence of a brawl not the actual one. More clarity there will help reader. Someone like you, a good book title maybe. I like the idea of having an unlikely fellow be fluent in Latin and not fit the stereotype of your average hick.

Sydney continues reading her weighty epic now in first person. I appreciate how Sydney sets us up for looking for things she's not sure are working quite the way she hopes. Monk is not dead but unconscious. Immediate feel now in first person, its happening to me, so it feels, almost. Such a time, such a place, such a.... Not a problem, just noticing the repetition, effective repetition. The dialogue, the thoughts, the narrative, woven like a medieval Arras tapestry by a master craftsman. Sydney reads with such care to cadence and the weight of her words, intriguing. I appreciate how you don't feel like you have to use coma conjunction structure, just coma. It gives a sense of rawness, grasping for phrases that alone can express what must be expressed. I feel that your characters are developing their own unique voice in the unfolding story. And you are feeling less need for traditional attribution as a result, yet we know who is speaking. The clipped simple sentence is so effective. Above all, Sydney writes such lyric prose that we find it beautiful to listen to, as if it is a form of music, but we all agreed we had less visual sense of the setting. Without losing the lyric quality of the narrative, consider giving the reader touch points of visual description. We do need to breathe. John points out that it's almost like you can't keep up with it. And consider giving your reader a lighter exchange, a mildly humorous brief episode for a reprieve from the high emotional tension of the story. Look up, look down, look under. Maybe there's a little creature that can become your lighter touch, be the symbol of ordinariness, comic relief, suspend the weight for an instant, and use throughout (a bird, a mouse, a cat--I don't know but something along those lines comes to mind).

I read the blog article I was asked to write on the importance of remembering and learning the lessons of history for the forthcoming documentary THE GIRL WHO WORE FREEDOM. I'll post the article here next week. Preorder my imminently forthcoming WWII historical fiction The Resistance.

Wait Makes Weight: Implication or Explication in Creative Writing--Inkblots

Weary French Resistance fighter WWII

Inkblots on this warm, blue sky, green pasture evening, five die-hards this evening, including Hannah, for the first time, and we hope not the last, daughter of long-time Blotter, Dave. Rachel (who has been before but not read yet) joined us again this evening because she says she needs culture (I hope we don't disappoint over much).

John leads off--after grumbling about me making him re-rewrite the ending including all the sights, sounds, and, yes, smells of new life, baby in arms, in wonder that she could have ever considered taking this precious life--he leads off with a rereading of the last chapter, after multiple rewrites, where the protagonist in Saving Grace is delivering her baby, Grace. "I blurted," all in first-person point of view. How do you transition in the book when your protagonist is not the point of view? Remind me. I think you will improve this chapter enormously by going back through sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph looking for ways you can save the most weighty words and ideas for last. "Wait makes weight," as John Phillip Souza put it.

Rachel, the only mom in the room who has delivered a baby, felt that John had gotten most things accurately (thanks to John's careful research from his and my friend Michael, family practice doc who has delivered many babies over many years of practice). This is a redemptive story, where a girl gets pregnant, considers abortion, but through the loving kindness of many, she comes to this final chapter, through devious and anguished ways, to the point of delivering this baby, all alone. Rachel points out that the reader should be aware and affected by her loneliness in such a life-defining moment, delivering her baby, without a husband. The conclusion: she is now repentant; all is not easy and well, but she is doing the right thing. Dave pointed out that she would not be left alone for two hours during birthing.

A discussion of child birthing followed, only one mother in the room, but several fathers of multiple children who had been there at numerous births. We discussed implying rather than baldly stating something, for example, the young mother realizing that this was a living human being, a baby she had been planning to kill. How best to convey this without baldly stating it? We talked about the roles of doula.

Dave puts us back in context (after three years!), second civil war in America, futuristic story, the president of each division of the not-united states, are half brothers. Genetic engineering assassins, with cloning and other futuristic phenomenon. Each new metamorphosis increases the malevolence. Stephen, ten hours had flown by, try another verb maybe as time flying is somewhat cliché. Alexis is drugged in the elevator. Robert and Stephen are half brothers. Can you make more clear which of the brothers is the dominant perspective? Robert flexes his hands, but is Stephen seeing this and interpreting the meaning of it, or is it being felt by Robert? This sounds like a script for the screen. That's not a criticism, necessarily. Maybe it is vivid, visual. Do you have a virtuous character or one who is becoming so? I'm curious who is the protagonist, in the sense of good guy or woman? Is anyone confronted with the ethics of what is going on, morally outraged by the genetic engineering. It seems to me that Alexis is the character who is the redemptive one. That becomes more clear as Dave read on. I felt like there were some inconsistencies in some of her responses (Jerk).

John commented that he can't see anything, room, relationship of space. Include smells, sights, sounds, all senses banging. figure out ways to make the contrivance work, is it after hours so he isn't seen carrying Alexis over his shoulder, entering by service elevator. Make it work.

Hannah is twenty-one, Dave's eldest daughter, going to read a short passage, the first time she has ever read her writing out loud in front of others. Scotland, 1718. A good deal of detailed description of place and context. It seemed to me that you shifted from your female character to Jamie's perspective. Hannah explained that this is a shorter version of a longer passage. I applaud Hannah for having a healthy writer instinct to cut unnecessary words and give us the shorter version. One of the first things I do when self editing is to look for words that do not have work to do and kill them.

And now I must take my own medicine. I read chapter one of The Resistance (working title), B-17 pilot over occupied France in WW II. Some very helpful Inkblots critique, as usual. Shorten opening chapter (which I had been bothered by myself), and introduce nervous humor, different men trying to cope with the stress of air combat. Sample reading coming soon here on the blog...

Rejected in London--Reflections from the Past

St James Park, London (2014)

Leaving for London (and Oxford, Olney, Elstow, Stratford-upon-Avon, and Paris overnight on my way home) in a few days gets me reflecting on previous visits, especially the episode where I was rejected by an airbnb proprietor because I am a Christian (more below on that). Here's a few past reflections:

London, one of the world's most extraordinary cities. The place never ceases to amaze me.

It is wonderful to see and feel the hand of God when traveling alone. Bustling past me on all sides, in the tube, on the street, at the shop, or restaurant, or hotel, is a mass of humanity, many even most of whom don't look like they're having a particularly jolly time of it. Frantically trying to fill the emptiness with more emptiness. While wearing the most radical hairdos, miniskirts, and tattoos imaginable.

When you're traveling with others you talk with them, but when you're alone you tend to strike up conversations with more of the locals. Troyin from Nigeria, for example, who packaged up and shipped the books for me. There was something about him right off. I know, I know, everybody says that sort of thing after finding out the other person is a Christian. "Born again," Troyin assured me, leaning close and gripping my hand, and giving me the warmest, whitest African smile.

Then there was the street preacher standing across the street from the Metropolitan Tabernacle where CH Spurgeon used to proclaim the gospel. What boldness! Flanked by indifference and by head-shaking scorn, this fellow proclaimed Jesus to the crowds (check your Bible; the vast majority of evangelism modeled in the Bible is more like what this zealous man was shamelessly engaged in). I went up to him and shook his hand and encouraged him to keep preaching Jesus (a giant like him needed a wimp like me to give encouragement?). "What a friend we have in Jesus," he began loudly singing, putting his arm around me. I put mine around his and sang with him. Till my bus came. Which wasn't very long. Nevertheless, I felt the thrilling wonder of the oneness of the body of Christ.

Here were two men I did not know and we're grinning at each other and hand shaking and hugging like we're long lost brothers... Which, in fact, we are. Love this city! And want to see and know more brothers in it.

Denied a room by atheist proprietor in London

Yes, I know. I write fiction. Some of you may think this is fiction. But it's not. In an episode that calls up images of baking cakes, flowers, and photography, I really was locked out of booking a bnb room in London! While my dear wife was in the process of booking two nights in a London bed and breakfast for me, the booking was first accepted then rejected. We rechecked the calendar for the days I was booking and it still indicated the proprietor had room vacancies for the days I needed a room. When I sent a query to the inn, I had this amazing reply from the proprietor.

Hi Douglas,

I hope this doesn't sound too strange but I kind of think of myself as a total atheist...I love my Catholic mother dearly but still manage to fight with her every Christmas with regards to our views on religion...and wouldn't want to inflict this upon a guest. I hope you understand. I am not in the practice of being 'selective' on faith but feel from your profile yours takes a very active part in your day to day life.

Best wishes, Malika

Here was my reply:

Hi Malika,

I travel a good deal, and this is a first for me. I am a big fan of individual freedom, including the right of a proprietor of an inn to be selective about who she permits to board at her establishment. I do find one thing a bit curious, however. There is the preferred public perception that Christians are the intolerant ones and atheists are the unstinting champions of diversity and tolerance. But I guess not in this case? Perhaps we have this in common: Each of us hold to beliefs that take a very active part in our day to day life--including making decisions like the one you have made, and I enthusiastically support your right to make it. But you've given me something to muse on: Do atheists actually believe and practice their own creed of tolerance and diversity, or simply employ the rhetoric? I assure you I have no hard feelings and wish you all the best,

Douglas  

Pray with me that God by his gracious and sovereign Spirit will open the eyes of this woman. She responded to my reply above by accepting me to stay in the old broken down pub she managed. More from that stay:

The neighborhood I'm staying in is earthy and interesting. Definitely not the 4-star accommodations we will be enjoying on the tour. And the eclectic blend of humanity staying in this intensely out of round airbnb place is odd, fascinating, not-normal--I guess I fit right in! Reminds me of my youth hostel days in the eighties.

Malika, the proprietor, has been a real dear. It's a sad story really. The old pub she has been operating as an airbnb is slated for the wrecking ball in a week or so. Close enough to center city London, the property is just too valuable; a renovated old pub could never generate the revenue that high-rise condominiums could do on the same real estate footprint. So down she comes. I'm hopeful they'll wait until after I leave tomorrow morning!

Malika has spent the afternoon and evening plotting out a sort of end-of-life party for the old pub (she is very talented; skillfully crafted story board work for the gala she is planning with her sister and Hannah and some other friends). It's really quite impressive--and sad. An English teacher from Cheltenham and two young men from Germany and I looked on as they schemed together. The Marlborough pub as you see pictured with its warm, once-cozy fire, will shortly be no more.

It reminds me of what Woody Allan recently said when asked if he hoped his film legacy would last forever, "I don't care about my film legacy. I want to last forever."

Follow my forthcoming travels in London and the Oxford Creative Writing Master Class here and on facebook, twitter, and Instagram (bondbooks) and subscribe to my website at bondbooks.net (@gmail.com)

Why Christmas Carols Terrify Me

The bar is so high with carols. It is remarkable to me just how much charm and sentiment collect on the music we listen to, hum in the shower, sing at the wheel of our cars, and scramble to choose and sing our favorites at advent family devotions. Though "Jingle bells" and "Frosty the Snowman," predominate, Christmas is the one time of year when it is possible to stroll into a department store at the mall (I've heard about people doing this. I never do) and hear some of the Gospel being broadcast throughout the store, Charles Wesley's "Hark! The herald angels sing, glory to the newborn King!" echoing through the retail aisles as people shop for gifts. The climactic importance of the incarnation to the plan of redemption deserves the finest poetry and melodies. Nothing is more beautiful than God stooping to become man, to send his only begotten Son to save his people from their sins. Hence, carols are the Church's most endearing hymnody, and, in spite of the devout devotees to irreligious secularism who every year attempt to be Grinch and steal Christmas and her hymnody from the rest of the world, carols are intensely resilient. They are pervasive and even on some level captivate at least many of our otherwise secular-minded neighbors.

That's why they terrify me. Hence, as a hymn writer, I have given carols a wide berth, gazing longingly at them from the heights of Pisgah, but feeling barred from entering the hymnological Promised Land of carols. With such a vast and rich heritage in the whole canon of hymnody, it's terrifying enough to set oneself to write hymns on other biblical themes and passages, when so many others far more gifted and able than I have written hundreds of enduring hymns. It seems presumptuous. I constantly feel the great gulf seemingly fixed between my hymn writing heroes and my halting efforts. But writing a carol? "Miserable little pygmy, dust and ashes," as Luther berated himself attempting to perform his first mass, springs often to my mind as I write.

Terrified as I have been, I wrote one. Or attempted to. What Wonder Filled the Starry Night (Long Meter, LM, 8.8.8.8.) took me several years to go from initial brainstorming notes, idea banks and word banks, to actually completing the carol. And then with fear and trepidation I sent it out to critics and composers, and resorted to what any respectable poet would do: gnawed away on my fingernails, warily eyeing my inbox. Curiously, I have had more musicians, aspiring composers, and professional musicians write tunes for this carol than for any of my other hymns. Most recently Greg Wilbur has composed a charming tune (complete with subtle sleigh bells on Rise & Worship album). If my memory serves, Greg told me he thinks this might be his favorite of all my lyrics on our New Reformation Hymns album released August 2017.  I hope you have a Merry Christmas, and that you are blessed by my New Reformation Hymn carol (both advents, humiliation and exaltation).

What wonder filled the starry night
          When Jesus came with heralds bright!
I marvel at His lowly birth,    
          That God for sinners stooped to earth.
       
His splendor laid aside for me,
          While angels hailed His Deity,
And shepherds on their knees in fright
          Fell down in wonder at the sight.

The child who is the Way, the Truth,
          Who pleased His Father in His youth,
Through all His days the Law obeyed,
          Yet for its curse His life He paid.         
         
What drops of grief fell on the site
          Where Jesus wrestled through the night,
Then for transgressions not His own,
          He bore my cross and guilt alone.

What glorious Life arose that day
          When Jesus took death’s sting away!
His children raised to life and light,
          To serve Him by His grace and might.

One day the angel hosts will sing,  
          “Triumphant Jesus, King of kings!” 
Eternal praise we’ll shout to Him
          When Christ in splendor comes again!

                             Douglas Bond (December 16, 2010)

You can order the entire New Reformation Hymns album Rise & Worship at bondbooks.net

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Luther's Timing: Why He Nailed His 95 Theses on All Hallow's Eve

Bond tour group at Luther & Katie's cloister home

All Hallow's Eve, 1517, Luther had timed things appropriately. All Saints' Day, November 1, 1517 Duke Frederick put on a huge exhibition of his latest reliquary acquisitions--the latest additions to his bone collection--pilgrims coming to venerate (and pay handsomely for the privilege), earning 1000s of years off purgatory in the bargain. No coin collector could have been more devout; the duke was serious about his reliquary, and wanted to make Wittenberg into the Rome of Germany. Luther scholar Roland Bainton tallied the elector's treasury of merit: 

"The collection had as its nucleus a genuine thorn from the crown of Christ, certified to have pierced the Savior's brow. Frederick so built up the collection from this inherited treasure that the catalogue illustrated by Lucas Cranach in 1509 listed 5,005 particles, to which were attached indulgences calculated to reduce purgatory by 1,443 years. The collection included one tooth of St. Jerome, of St. Chrysostom four pieces, of St. Bernard six, and of St. Augustine four; of Our Lady four hairs, three pieces of her cloak, four from her girdle, and seven from the veil sprinkled with the blood of Christ. The relics of Christ included one piece from his swaddling clothes, thirteen from his crib, one wisp of straw, one piece of the gold brought by the Wise Men and three of the myrrh, one strand of Jesus' beard, one of the nails driven into his hands, one piece of bread eaten at the Last Supper, one piece of the stone on which Jesus stood to ascend into heaven, and one twig of Moses' burning bush. By 1520 the collection had mounted to 19,013 holy bones. Those who viewed these relics on the designated day and made the stipulated contributions might receive from the pope indulgences for the reduction of purgatory, either for themselves or others, to the extent of 1,902,202 years and 270 days. These were the treasures made available on the day of All Saints."

Luther had taken a great risk posting his 95 Theses decrying indulgences the day before. The duke was his patron, and though he appreciated the popularity his university had gained by Luther's bold teaching and preaching, this was too far. Luther was undaunted because he had seen through the whole hoax of indulgences and a righteousness earned by ones own imagined merit. “The church’s true treasure," he wrote, "is the merits of Christ in the gospel.”

From studying and teaching the Psalms, Galatians, Romans, and Hebrews, Luther had come to know that Rome had flipped everything around and had, thereby, done violence to the gospel, and that venerating the saints and their supposed merits was a supplanting of the merits of Jesus Christ. The realization was at first a personal one. “I must listen to the gospel," he wrote. "It tells me not what I must do, but what Jesus Christ the Son of God has done for me.” 

Transformed by the power of the gospel and the gift of faith, Luther had to tell the Good News to others. And he did, as only Luther could do. “The most damnable and pernicious heresy that has ever plagued the mind of men was the idea that somehow he could make himself good enough to deserve to live with an all holy God.”

Luther knew that the dukes exhibition scheduled for All Saints' Day, November 1, 1517 must be confronted. It was an affront to the gospel of grace, a supplanting of the authority of the Word of God, and an offense to true Christian worship. “The highest worship of God is the preaching of the Word, because thereby are praised and celebrated the name and the benefits of Christ.”

Finally, for Luther the risks to his person were worth it. Why? It was worth it because the Son of God is the only Savior and true friend of sinners. Johann Franck, German Lutheran pastor in the next generation expressed it this way: "Jesus, priceless treasure, fount of purest pleasure, truest friend to me."

Douglas Bond is author of many books, including LUTHER IN LOVE (2017). He leads Church history tours, including the Armistice 100 Tour, June 15-25, 2018, (Reformation tour of France, teen Calvin in Paris, Calvin's birthplace in Noyon; including teen atheist 2/Lt CS Lewis raging at God in the trenches of WW I, Huguenots in Rouen and Amiens, and the failure of Modernism in WW I and WW II). Space is limited so register (what better day to register than All Saints' Day, the day after REFORMATION DAY!). You can purchase a signed copy of LUTHER IN LOVE and his other books at bondbooks.net 

OCWMC--Writing tutorial, tears, fellowship, food, and FUN!

“Write about what really interests you, whether it is real things or imaginary things, and nothing else. (Notice this means that if you are interested only in writing you will never be a writer, because you will have nothing to write about . . .)” CS LEWIS

Our days (and nights!) at the OXFORD CREATIVE WRITING MASTER CLASS are delightfully occupied with discussion, consideration, and application of the best of the best writers. Lots of laughter and fun, and occasional tears--like life. Oh, and heaps of delicious food!

Oxford Creative Writing Master Class 1

Delightful gathering of serious-minded (well, except Justin!) writers. We spent some time getting oriented to he rich grandeur of Oxford history and literary luminaries. Spent our initial on-location tutorial at Baliol College. What is the writer's daily routine? Here is what CS Lewis wrote about his ideal writing day: "We now settled into a routine which has ever since served in my mind as an archetype, so that what I still mean when I speak of a "normal" day (and lament that normal days are so rare) is a day of the Bookham pattern. For if I could please myself I would always live as I lived there. I would choose always to breakfast at exactly eight and to be at my desk by nine, there to read or write till one. If a cup of good tea or coffee could be brought me about eleven, so much the better. A step or so out of doors for a pint of beer would not do quite so well; for a man does not want to drink alone and if you meet a friend in the taproom the break is likely to be extended beyond its ten minutes. At one precisely lunch should be on the table; and by two at the latest I would be on the road. Not, except at rare intervals, with a friend. Walking and talking are two very great pleasures, but it is a mistake to combine them. Our own noise blots out the sounds and silences of the outdoor world; and talking leads almost inevitably to smoking, and then farewell to nature as far as one of our senses is concerned. The only friend to walk with is one (such as I found, during the holidays, in Arthur) who so exactly shares your taste for each mood of the countryside that a glance, a halt, or at most a nudge, is enough to assure us that the pleasure is shared. The return from the walk, and the arrival of tea, should be exactly coincident, and not later than a quarter past four. Tea should be taken in solitude, as I took it as Bookham on those (happily numerous) occasions when Mrs. Kirkpatrick was out; the Knock himself disdained this meal. For eating and reading are two pleasures that combine admirably. Of course not all books are suitable for mealtime reading. It would be a kind of blasphemy to read poetry at table. What one wants is a gossipy, formless book which can be opened anywhere. The ones I learned so to use at Bookham were Boswell, and a translation of Herodotus, and Lang's History of English Literature. Tristram Shandy, Elia and the Anatomy of Melancholy are all good for the same purpose. At five a man should be at work again, and at it till seven. Then, at the evening meal and after, comes the time for talk, or, failing that, for lighter reading; and unless you are making a night of it with your cronies (and at Bookham I had none) there is no reason why you should ever be in bed later than eleven. But when is a man to write his letters? You forget that I am describing the happy life I led with Kirk or the ideal life I would live now if I could. And it is essential of the happy life that a man would have almost no mail and never dread the postman's knock."

Lovely Lyon France