by Twila Schock

"There are no Lutherans in Wittenberg, Germany!" said the elderly German pastor.

"What?" I thought, "How could this be?"

I had just been hired, along with my husband, Bill, to serve as one of the directors of the ELCA Wittenberg Center and had begun to imagine what it was going to be like to serve in the land of real Lutherans, singing real Lutheran hymns in German, walking where Martin Luther and Katharina von Bora walked, and eating real German sausage and black forest cake.

What? How could this be? Not only was there no black forest cake to be had anywhere in Wittenberg (although it is served in a different part of the country), there were no Lutherans either. This was the first of the many treasured myths of the Reformation that I was about to let go of over the next five years. And in releasing some of the myths, I found myself embracing a Reforming movement that has not only enriched and changed my life, but has transformed the lives of millions of Christians all over the world.

There are no Lutherans in Wittenberg, Germany. Some people, upon first hearing this, think that perhaps, because Wittenberg lies in the former German Democratic Republic (East Germany), the Lutheran population was annihilated. In fact, the officially atheistic communist regime did take its toll on the church, reducing the proportion of Christians to 17 percent of the population, according to some statistics.

But the real history dates back to 1817. Early on in the Reformation, two main Protestant groups formed — Lutheran and Reformed. From the very beginning, efforts were made to reconcile their differences and unite the two churches, but they were unsuccessful.

After Napoleon was defeated in the early 1800s, an actual union of these two denominations did come about when Emperor Friedrich Wilhelm III decided that if there were just one Protestant church in his territory, both church and state would be strengthened. As a result, a new church, which united the Lutheran and Reformed churches, was formed in the Prussian Union.

To this day, both the Town Church, where Luther preached, and the Castle Church, where Luther is buried, belong to United Evangelical Churches of Germany, which was formed almost two hundred years ago. Although the Protestant churches in Wittenberg consider themselves Lutheran in tradition and theology, they are not members of the Lutheran World Federation and do not carry the name Lutheran.

Martin Luther himself would not be disappointed by this, as he implored his followers not to use his name in referring to the new Reformation church. "Let them call themselves Christians, not Lutherans," said Luther. "What is Luther? After all, the teaching is not mine. Neither was I crucified for anyone. St. Paul, in 1 Corinthians 3, would not allow the Christian to call themselves Pauline or Petrine, but Christian. How then should I . . . come to have them call the children of Christ by my wretched name? Not so, my dear friends, let us abolish all party names and call ourselves Christians, after him whose teaching we hold."

Indeed, as I worship with the members of the Wittenberg Castle Church community, I learn weekly that it is not the name of Lutheran that holds us together. As I hear Pfarrer Koppehl preach, sing Ein Feste Burg ("A Mighty Fortress"), and share in Abendmahl (Holy Communion), I am reminded of our shared conviction that it is Jesus Christ crucified who binds us together as brothers and sisters in Christ, and that we, like our forebear Martin Luther, are called to continually renew and reform this faith in our own daily lives.

As I walk the sixty yards from the Castle Church to my apartment, I pass the Theses Doors where it all began. According to tradition, Martin Luther defiantly nailed his 95 Theses to these doors on October 31, 1517.

"But not so fast!" says Dr. Martin Treu, local Wittenberg historian, Luther expert, and director of exhibitions at the Wittenberg Luther House. "It is not very likely that Martin Luther defiantly nailed his theses — or anything else, for that matter — to the Castle Church door."

On 95 Theses, Hammers, and Nails
As a little girl, I learned that it’s not always what you say that gets you in trouble, but how you say it. And I must admit that this has almost always been true in my life. But every once in a while, something needs to be said that can’t be said softly. Such is the case with Martin Luther’s 95 Theses. For Martin Luther, it was the message, not the method, that kicked up a theological storm.

For much of my life, I have envisioned Martin Luther arming himself with hammer, nails, and theses, marching through the streets of Wittenberg, and, in an act of civil disobedience bordering on vandalism, nailing his 95 Theses to the Castle Church door. I recall one of my confirmation students saying, "If we did that to our church door, we’d get a lickin’ from the janitor!"

Not so in Luther’s time. Then, as now, the Castle Church was associated with the University of Wittenberg. The door of the Castle Church served as a sort of university bulletin board where ideas and themes could be posted for discussion or disputation. In posting his 95 Theses, Martin Luther was using the customary means of engaging community debate — something akin to posting the agenda for a town hall meeting.

In part, these Theses, in crisp, sharp arguments, were a theological response to the aggressive marketing program of the Dominican monk Tetzel, who sold indulgences — spiritual "coupons" that offered time off the soul’s sentence for sins — to raise money to rebuild St. Peter’s in Rome. He later defended his actions with the jingle: "When the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from purgatory springs."

Luther insisted that indulgences could not remove guilt and that the pope, having no control over purgatory, could lift only penalties that he himself had imposed on earth. Luther further insisted that indulgences bred a false sense of security and were therefore harmful to the church. Finally, he argued that the saints had not accumulated surplus forgiveness credits that could be applied to others’ "accounts."

To Luther’s surprise, the 95 Theses created a sensation. And at the time, the furor had very little to do with his method. Hammers and nails were irrelevant. Rather, Luther’s genius lay in that he had the courage to offer a word of grace in forthright language, to say what many wished to have said but did not have the daring to say. And his message led to a movement that changed the face of Christendom.

Today, when I walk through those famous doors after worship, I no longer hear the pounding of a hammer; rather, I know that I am standing on a threshold. Luther reminds us to daily remember our baptism, to daily drown the "sinful old Adam," and to daily begin anew our lives of faith. As I walk through those doors, I too, like Luther at the Diet of Worms, am ready to begin my life of faith anew, and when the situation calls for it, to say "Here I stand!"

"Not so fast!" say the historians. "It is not clear that he actually said the words, ‘Here I stand!’ He might have, but we’re really not sure."

Luther’s Famous Stand — or Stance
"Of course Luther said, ‘Here I stand!’ " say I. "They sell Luther socks in the Wittenberg tourism office that say ‘Here I stand!’ in both German and English. The socks wouldn’t lie!"

And so I march off to find his speech to see what I can learn. Expecting to find a forceful, furious Luther storming in to the Emperor to give him a piece of his mind, I am surprised to find a humble man, struggling to find unity for the church.

Luther knew not only that his career was at risk, but also that the life of the church, the political order, and the face of society would be influenced by his answers. And so, when the imperial assembly asked him to retract all his writings, Luther asked for a day to think about it.

The next day, Luther tried to distinguish among his different writings, saying that some were simple teaching tools for the church, some were about the papacy, and some were about "private and distinguished individuals." He admitted, "Against these I confess I have been more violent than my religion or profession demands."

He went on to say that all his writings must be tested by the Scripture and if the Scripture proved him wrong, he said, "I shall be quite ready to renounce every error, and I shall be the first to cast my books into the fire."

Not satisfied, the assembly pressed him for a simple reply. And he said, "Since then your serene majesty and your lordships seek a simple reply, I will give it in this manner, neither horned nor toothed: Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures or by clear reason . . . I am bound by the Scriptures I have quoted and my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and I will not retract anything, since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience. I cannot do otherwise, here I stand, may God help me, Amen."

"Aha!" I say to myself. "He did say it!" But before I have a chance to run out and buy another pair of Luther socks, I read the fine print. The scholar writes, "There is good evidence, however, that Luther actually said only: ‘May God help me!’ "

I am disappointed — but only a little. The sheer drama of the event, the courage of his stance, and his unfailing commitment to the Gospel are far more compelling than the words "Here I stand!" What is truly important is not that he said the words, but that he had the courage to live the words.

Dusting off the Reformation for Today
When I dust, I am always amazed at how the accumulation of harmless little particles can obscure the beauty of a crystal vase, and how much a quick dusting can let it sparkle anew.

Living in Wittenberg and working with our thousands of visitors, I have realized that living the Reformation is a bit like dusting. Like a few particles of dust, some of the myths and traditions surrounding these great events are harmless. But if there is too much dust, the beauty of the events can be obscured. When we let go of some of the myths and rediscover the actual history, we are caught up again in a movement of radical grace and ongoing reform that continues to shape and renew our lives of faith for mission.

As we live into the Reforming movement, we discover that the best is yet to come. For, in embracing this movement of radical grace, we discover that the radical grace of God has already embraced us. And that’s what Luther wanted us to know!

The Rev. Twila Schock and her husband, the Rev. William Swanson, are the directors of the ELCA’s Wittenberg Center in Wittenberg, Germany.