In 1527, Martin Luther wrote his most beloved hymn, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” now a staple for Reformation Day services around the world. It is arguably one of the top ten hymns in church history. The first three words, “Ein Festa Berg,” appear on statues and churches in Germany and have even made it to such places as the fireplace mantel in Billy Graham’s former North Carolina home. The hymn is a masterclass in both hymnody and theology.
The hymn, however, was not composed in the comforts of Luther’s study. It was born in the trenches.
If a line from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow is correct, that “into each life some rain must fall,” then the year 1527 was a deluge for Luther. That year, the plague hit Wittenberg, causing Frederick the Wise to shut down the university and send his faculty and students away. Luther defied the order and, with his family, stayed to help. He watched neighbors die. Then tragedy came to Luther’s own house. He and Katie, a former nun turned Reformer’s wife, lost their own son, Hans, in infancy. Ten years had passed since the posting of the 95 Theses, and since then Luther had managed to amass a horde of enemies from all sides of the theological and political spectrum. Luther knew the sting of personal betrayal. On top of that, he was still reeling from the effects of the Peasants’ Revolt of 1524–1525, a popular uprising (partially inspired by Luther’s teachings) that left tens of thousands dead. Dark clouds covered Luther’s horizons most of that year.
Enter the castle-like line, “A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing,” which evokes Luther’s earlier stay at the Wartburg, the great castle overlooking Eisenach. With its clarion call to declare God’s power, our utter insufficiency, Satan’s relentless attacks, Christ’s total victory, and the confession (as the final lyric cascades) “his kingdom is forever,” this hymn is theology applied.
Our God
Luther, like all those mountain-peak theologians across the landscape of church history, starts with God. God is almighty and faithful, “never failing.” He is our Helper. He is our God.
Luther provides us with the first lesson when it comes to times of deluge and darkness, a lesson he had learned from hymnists before him. Luther’s lyrics are based on Psalm 46, one of the songs written by the Sons of Korah, temple musicians appointed by David. Two times in that psalm, we hear the chorus, “The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our fortress” (Psalm 46:7, 11). Hosts refers to military armies and power. This God is Commander of heaven’s armies, the Lord of lords and the King of kings, Creator of heaven and earth. He is Jacob’s God. He is Luther’s God. He is our God. And we need him because we have enemies.
Our Enemies
Luther doesn’t have to look far for his first foe: “our mortal ills prevailing.” Suffering, disease, death. A line from a medieval liturgy proclaimed, “In the midst of life, we die.” Luther, in another of his hymns, countered by saying, “In the midst of death, we live.” Luther knew all too well the frailty of life. He had his own ailments. But being feeble and frail was not the worst of his enemies. He mainly speaks of “our ancient foe . . . armed with cruel hate.” Luther will return to our enemy, “the prince of darkness grim,” in the third stanza.
Our enemies underscore our insufficiencies. We are not up to the task of squaring off with Satan or dodging suffering or defeating death. If we confided in our own strength, Luther concludes, “our striving would be losing.” It would be the most hopeless of all lost causes, the most foolish of all fools’ errands. No, victory will not come by us or from us, but victory will come for us.
Our Hero
Luther tells us that our only hope is to have “the right man on our side.” Every time I hear this line, I think of my schoolyard friend Jimmy. He was tall for his age and far stronger than the other neighborhood kids. No matter what pickup game we played — kickball, baseball, flag football — if I were a team captain, I always picked Jimmy. He was the right man for the job.
Jesus is the Father’s beloved Son, “the man of God’s own choosing.” He alone can defeat our foes; he alone did defeat our foes. In the third stanza, Luther moves into what theologians sometimes call the “already and not yet.” Jesus has defeated sin and borne its consequences, metered out in suffering and death. Jesus defeated Satan and showed the kingdoms of this world to be vacuous. He defeated all our enemies at the cross. Before his triumph, “the kingdoms totter” (Psalm 46:6). That is the already. We are already raised in newness of life, already forgiven, already united with Christ, and, through him, already brought to share in the fullness of the triune God. Jesus is already King.
Yet we still sin. We still suffer. And unless Christ returns first, we and our loved ones will taste death. Satan paces like a roaring lion, and the nations still rage. We long for the victory to be complete, for the not yet to fully and finally come. For now, as Luther reminds us, we are in the throes of the battle.
To be sure, Luther does not leave us wondering how this battle will end. Satan, though powerful, is no match for Christ. And in Christ, he’s no match for us either; “his rage we can endure.” Luther wants us to realize the current state of affairs. God’s enemies still rage. Yet ever the pastor, he also wants us to have strong measures of comfort, stores of confidence that put steel in our spine. Thus, Luther ends stanza 3 with a veiled reference to Christ: “one little word.”
Our Confidence, His Kingdom
That little word turns out to be the supreme Word, the Word that will finally fell Satan, the Word sovereign over all earthly power, existing entirely independent of them — in fact, existing eternally before. As a good Trinitarian theologian, Luther begins his hymn with God and ends with Christ and the gift of his Spirit.
The entire hymn moves to the grand conclusion in the final stanza. Luther learned many lessons in the trials of 1527. He learned especially to distinguish between the temporal and eternal, between what is secondary and what is ultimate. “Let goods and kindred go.” He did not hold onto the good gifts of this life with clenched fists and white knuckles. He knew that we were not made for this world alone. He even extended that perspective to himself: “The body they may kill.” All that is perishable will pass away. Luther gives us a proper perspective on ourselves and this world. Then he pulls back the veil on the world to come.
Luther leaves us with the abiding, eternal truth: “His kingdom is forever.” The tune deliberately slows down our pace. We pause at each word, sound each syllable, as we reflect on the finality, ultimacy, and supremacy of the kingdom of God. We savor the sure triumph to come. Then, like Luther and a great cloud of saints before us, we file out from our gathered worship, strengthened for battle again.
Desiring God