The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
—William Butler Yeats
Martin Luther was ordained to the priesthood in 1507, but he came to reject several teachings and practices of the Roman Catholic Church, particularly the view on indulgences. Luther attempted to resolve these differences amicably, proposing an academic discussion of indulgences in his Ninety-five Theses. His aim was to inform people of his ideas and spark a debate about what he considered the church’s improper practices and beliefs. Although Luther intended a respectful engagement with the church leadership, Pope Leo X demanded that he renounce his writings. If Luther chose to recant and repent of his works, he could be welcomed back into the Church; if he refused, he would be considered a heretic and could be burned at the stake. At the tribunal, Martin Luther made his bold reply:
“I am bound by the Scriptures I have quoted and my conscience is captive to the Word of God. I cannot and will not recant anything, since it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience.”
For this the pope excommunicated Luther from the Roman Catholic Church and Holy Roman Emperor Charles V condemned him as an outlaw of the state. The punishments remained in force at Luther’s death.
It’s easy to romanticize Luther and his courageous stand, but the full import of such actions are rarely recognized in the moment. It is only in retrospect that we are able to measure the true significance. On April 17, 1521, there was no wide acclaim, no Protestant Reformation; there was only Martin Luther, an imperfect man who spoke the truth on behalf of the Bible and his beloved church. He saw how church leaders had abandoned the clear testimony of the scriptures and perverted the message of the gospel. Luther knew the price he might pay for it, but he could not remain silent in the face of compromise, presumption, and disregard. “Here I stand,” he told the tribunal. “I cannot do otherwise.”
Sometimes courage is nothing more than “I cannot do otherwise.” There is no bravado in it or, perhaps, even much hope. Courage doesn’t calculate the chances of success; it merely sees what must be done and asks, “If not me, who?” Courage is an imperative founded on conviction. Where there is little conviction, there is little courage. Courage is conviction made manifest.
For Luther, to recant or stay silent in the face of unbiblical teaching was tantamount to renouncing his faith altogether. He could not play the submissive churchman when the church was being misled by the ministerial powers-that-be. For Martin Luther, the plain testimony of the scriptures was the line in the sand across which no one, not even church authorities, must be allowed to cross. To quietly defer in order to keep the peace would be to exchange the truth of God for a lie and consign Christ’s precious flock to deception and slaughter. The misleading teachings had to be confronted and the drift from Biblical truth halted, so Luther took up the sword of the Spirit and the shield of faith as a good soldier of Jesus Christ. He could not do otherwise.
An unfortunate reading of the Protestant Reformation is that it offers the Christian conscience an easy out. If we don’t like a church for some reason—whether it be the pastor, the songs, or the carpet color—we can simply move to a different church down the block and leave the problem behind. (The Migration of the Saints should have its own Wikipedia page.) Luther would be horrified by the ease with which we walk away. For American Christians, however, it is simply freedom of worship with an exchange policy. We’re customers, not custodians.
Luther would also wonder at our reluctance to confront error and drift within our congregations. If our church leadership introduces questionable teaching, policies, or practices, most of us take a decidedly un-Luther-like approach. We may be concerned but keep to the pews with our heads down. Who are we to object? Is that not the responsibility of the elders and the board? If they don’t take issue, we reason, it must be okay. Our reticence is a flag of surrender. With quiet acquiescence we concede the field, and untruth goes marching on.
Of course, the threat of misleading teaching and congregational drift is nothing new. Peter warned the young church about it: There will be false teachers among you. They will secretly introduce destructive heresies . . . Many will follow their depraved conduct and will bring the way of truth into disrepute. Paul also recognized the church’s vulnerability to error and insisted that an overseer must hold firmly to the trustworthy message as it has been taught, so that he can encourage others by sound doctrine and refute those who oppose it. He informed Timothy that opponents must be gently instructed, in the hope that God will grant them repentance leading them to a knowledge of the truth. But if gentleness is not effective, Paul counsels Titus to rebuke them sharply, so that they will be sound in the faith. The point is clear: unsound teaching must be confronted so that the way of truth will not be brought into disrepute.
In John’s Revelation he who was seated on the throne declares that those who are victorious over Satan will inherit life but that the wicked will be consigned to the fiery lake of burning sulfur. Predictably included among the wicked are unbelievers, the vile, murderers, the sexually immoral, practitioners of the occult, idolaters, and liars. But the transgressors who stand out most on this list are, in fact, named first. They are the cowards. We tend to think of cowardice as a weakness of disposition rather than as an out-and-out sin. The scriptures, however, view it quite differently. The scriptures regard cowardice as a form of treason, a betrayal of truth and duty. In his letter to Timothy, Paul notes that God has not given us a spirit of timidity. Timidity is not shyness; it is cowardice. It is counter to the very nature of God and, therefore, wholly ungodly.
The times call for conviction and courage. If not you, who?
