Luther and the Count

In the year 1518, on the evening of the 8th of April, Count Eberhard might be seen as he galloped over the bridge of his castle at Erbach — so fast that his followers could hardly keep up with him. It had cost him a hard struggle to leave home at this time, for in one of the chambers his little daughter, Hildegard, was lying to all appearance at the point of death. The Countess strove to detain him, but it was all to no purpose; his determination was fixed; he tore himself away, though a severe pang pierced his heart as he bade his wife farewell and cast a last look on his child’s pale form.

In the autumn of the preceding year, God had caused the long-forgotten word of His grace in His Son Christ Jesus to be once more proclaimed at Wittenberg by His servant Martin Luther, and within a fortnight it had spread through almost all parts of Germany, and found an entrance into many hearts. But, as always happens under such circumstances, it was attended with gainsaying and misunderstandings. While it met with acceptance among the common people, and even with many of the higher classes, who, amidst their outward splendor, had not hearts alive to their spiritual wants; yet among the great and wise of this world there were those who attempted to “kick against the pricks.”

To this latter class belonged Count Eberhard. He threatened apostates from the Romish Church with the severest punishments, and roused the clergy of all ranks and orders to oppose the progress of heresy. John Speckel, a man of learning, earnestly seconded his efforts; but all attempts to shut out the new doctrine from the Count’s domains were as powerless as if he had tried to stop the blasts that rushed through the valleys of the Odenwald.

The Count and his ecclesiastical fellow-workers were delighted when Eckius, Prierias, and others took the field against Luther, but persons who were more farsighted and had read their writings, were disposed to believe that his cause would only be advanced by such opponents. Under all these attacks, Luther’s own courage and faith waxed stronger; and this year, on the 26th of April, when a meeting of the Augustinian friars was to be held at Heidelberg, the undaunted Reformer, having provided himself with letters of introduction to the Prince Palatine, set out on foot. He preached everywhere powerfully and humbly, giving all glory to the Lord. From every quarter people flocked to see the man whose name had found its way into the most distant peasant’s cottage. No one was more indignant at Luther’s popularity than Count Eberhard. At last his resolution was made; he would find it no difficult matter to attack the Reformer unawares, and might give him in custody to the monks till he consented to recant.

Count Eberhard felt satisfied and passed through the gate of Miltenberg. The whole town was alive. Groups of men were moving about the streets, and talking of the wonderful man to whose wonderful preaching they had been listening that day. The Count dashed through the crowd straight up to the inn near to which Luther had taken up his quarters. “My Lord Count,” exclaimed the innkeeper, “I should never have dreamt that Luther would have made your grace stir from home!” The Count made no reply and withdrew at once to his bedchamber. Wearied out by his hasty ride and mental agitation, he threw himself on his bed, and dropped into a deep sleep. After some hours he awoke, and as he wished to stay awake, rose up, and went to the window. Darkness and silence were spread over the little town, with its slumbering population. The Count was quite at a loss what course to take.

All of a sudden a light shone in the corner chamber of the next house, and a deep, fine, manly voice, which, in the silence of the night, fell on the Count’s ears quite audibly, uttered the words: “This may God grant, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen!” As the Count occupied the highest story, he overlooked the chamber and he could plainly discern the dark form of someone kneeling down in prayer. For a while this person seemed to be turning over the leaves of a book, and then began his prayer again: “Lord my God, in Thee do I put my trust; save me from all them that persecute me, and deliver me; lest they tear my soul like a lion,… while there is none to deliver.” These words were taken from Psalm 7.

The Count had never before heard any one pray in this manner; each word from the lips of the worshipper seemed like a sledge-hammer knocking at Heaven’s gate, especially the concluding verses: “My defence is of God, which saveth the upright in heart. God judgeth the righteous, and is angry with the wicked every day. If he turn not, He will whet His sword; He hath bent His bow, and made it ready.” These words were uttered with such power and confidence that the Count could not help thinking: “Truly this man has a better shield than I have, and a sharper sword. With such a man I would not wish to be otherwise than on good terms.” And then the person went on to pray for all Christendom, that God would cause the clear light of the gospel to shine forth; that He would turn the hearts of princes as the rivers of water are turned, and make the poor common people free by His truth, and that as to the enemies of the Word, He would crush their pride; and that ignorant persecutors might take warning by His judgments, and attend to the one thing needful. At the close of these petitions the Count could not help clasping his hands, and with tears in his eyes, he exclaimed aloud: “Amen! Amen! Grant it may be, O God, as Thy servant has said.”

The Count walked up and down his chamber restlessly occupied with the single thought of seeing the man face to face whom he had heard praying in this manner. At last he noticed that the day had begun. He rang for the innkeeper who immediately made his appearance with a mug of warm ale on a silver platter which he was going to place on the marble table. But the Count stopped him, saying: “Cannot you tell me who that person is in yonder chamber with the curtain let down?”

“Certainly! And have you really seen him? Why, it is Luther, the arch-heretic. His lamp has been burning for some hours.”

The Count stood thunder-struck. “Luther, is it?”

“Yes, Dr. Martin Luther,” said the innkeeper, seeing his astonishment. “Has your Grace any commands to give?” but, receiving no answer, he made his bow and withdrew.

For some time the Count stood as if fixed to the spot. At last, without touching his breakfast, he hurried downstairs, went over to the next house, and stood in an instant before Luther. On the Count’s entering, Luther rose from his seat, and beheld a portly figure in complete armor, and with his sword by his side, standing before him with an anxious look, but not uttering a word. But when at last in a kindly tone, Luther broke the silence by asking what he wanted, the Count fell on his knees, and exclaimed: “Oh, Luther you are better than I am. God forgive me that I ever thought of doing you harm!” He then told what was his design in coming thither, and how he heard him pray, and how his words overpowered him.

“Not my word,” said Luther, “but the Word of the Lord, which I, a poor unworthy sinner, have the honor of bringing into Germany. Go your way in peace, my Lord Count; He who has begun a good work in you will carry it on to the day of Jesus Christ. If it please God, you shall see still greater wonders, for ‘He breaketh the bow and cutteth the spear in sunder. His Word they cannot destroy, for the Word of the Lord endureth for ever.”

The Count’s attendants were waiting at the entrance of the inn, where they had been joined by Echter and Bernhold, expecting to receive his orders. But he galloped past them, and waving his hand, as if lost in thought, said: “Go in peace; the Word of the Lord endureth for ever.” As he entered the gateway of the castle, his wife came out to meet him and said their child had passed a good night and was sitting up in bed waiting for her father.

“The Word of the Lord endureth for ever.”

Without going into particulars, we may state that from that time the Count zealously endeavored that the Word which he had persecuted might be published with all fidelity to his subjects. Among the Princes who were present at the Diet of Worms is to be found the name of Count Eberhard Von Erbach, as an enlightened friend of the Protestant cause, who there made a good confession on its behalf.

John Speckel also, formerly a priest at Michelstadt, was the first of a succession of ministers who published the gospel at Brensbach; and on his pulpit, which was erected by Count Eberhard in the year 1526, is to be seen an inscription, which was then the watchword of Protestants: “The Word of the Lord endureth for ever.”

God is My Refuge

I cried to God in my affliction;
He answered me and set me free.
The LORD Himself is my protection.
What can a man then do to me?
On all my foes I look in triumph;
With God I face them fearlessly.
I’ll put no confidence in princes;
The LORD, He shall my refuge be.

I was surrounded by all nations,
But I subdued them in His Name;
And though they swarmed like bees around me,
I beat them down like thorns aflame.
I was hard pressed and close to falling;
To my support the Lord then came.
He is my song and my salvation;
His strength is evermore the same.

— Dr. Martin Luther

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