Awakening Mystical Consciousness Order Printed Copy
- Author: Joel S. Goldsmith
- Size: 1.37MB | 182 pages
- |
Others like awakening mystical consciousness Features >>
About the Book
"Awakening Mystical Consciousness" by Joel S. Goldsmith explores the concept of spiritual awakening and achieving a higher level of consciousness. Goldsmith explains how to tap into one's inner wisdom and connect with the divine through meditation and mindfulness practices. The book offers practical guidance for individuals seeking spiritual growth and a deeper understanding of their true self.
Katharina Luther
Katharina von Bora (l. 1499-1552, also known as Katherine Luther) was a former nun who married Martin Luther (l. 1483-1546) in 1525. She, along with some fellow nuns, escaped their convent with Luther's help in 1523 in response to his reform movement. Katharina is recognized as the stabilizing force in Luther's life, enabling his later works.
Almost nothing is known of her life prior to 1523, and the details of her married life come mostly from Luther's letters. She was the undisputed administer of their home and finances, tending to all the necessary practical matters and allowing Luther the time and space to write, preach, and lecture. In addition to her domestic duties, she also bore Luther six children, ran their farm, supervised servants, operated a successful brewery, and assisted Luther in developing his Church. Her marriage to Luther – a former nun to a former priest – set the paradigm followed by many others and established the model of an ecclesiastical marriage.
After Luther's death, she was forced to leave Wittenberg during the Schmalkaldic War (1546-1547) and fled to Magdeburg. Upon her return, she found her lands destroyed and struggled to make a living until 1552 when she left for the city of Torgau. She died there on 20 December 1552. She is celebrated annually on 20 December by some, though not all, Lutheran denominations, though all recognize her contributions to the Protestant Reformation.
Katharina von Bora is thought to have been born on 29 January 1499, though her birth date is not recorded. Her parents were untitled lesser nobility, but who they were is debated. Based on different documentation, they were either Johan von Bora (also given as Jan von Bora) and his wife Margarete of Lippendorf or Hans von Bora and his wife Anna von Haugwitz of Hirschfeld. When her mother died c. 1504, her father remarried and sent Katharina to the cloister of Saint Clemens in Brehna to be taken under care and raised as a nun.
Sending one's daughter off to a convent was an option taken by many parents who either had too many girls and not enough resources to provide dowries for them all or who wanted to provide them with security and education, or both. A young girl like Katharina would have been admitted as an oblate, studied to become a novice, and then would take the vows to become a full nun sometime around the age of 20. Many women, of any age, chose the monastic life for themselves, however, preferring it to the uncertainty of married life and the dangers of childbirth. Scholars Frances and Joseph Gies comment:
For upper-class women, the convent filled several basic needs. It provided an alternative to marriage by receiving girls whose families were unable to find them husbands. It provided an outlet for nonconformists, women who did not wish to marry because they felt a religious vocation, because marriage was repugnant, or because they saw in the convent a mode of life in which they could perform and perhaps distinguish themselves. (64)
Convents were also used by the upper class to protect their daughters from political rivals who might try to abduct them and, conversely, to hold powerful or potentially powerful women who had already been abducted, but for many women, the daily life of medieval nuns was freely chosen. In Katharina's case, the decision was made for her. She was educated by the nuns at Brehna until she was around ten years old when she moved to the convent of Marienthorn in Nimbschen, where a maternal aunt was in residency.
Katharina would have had to submit to the authority of the abbess who ran the convent and live the monastic life obediently, which included daily routines of prayers, services, tending gardens, domestic chores, and, in some cases, illuminating manuscripts or preparing prayer books. Nuns were also expected to learn needlework so as to embroider the vestments of priests and, in most cases, perform outreach incentives in the community and tend the sick. Nuns could come and go from the convent, but their interactions with the outside world were strictly monitored.
Based on later evidence from her married life, Katharina became adept at this time in nursing, administration, agriculture, domestic chores, and beer brewing, as she showed exceptional skill in all these areas, and more, shortly after her marriage to Luther. After Martin Luther's 95 Theses had been translated into German and published in 1518, news of his conflict with the Church would have reached Nimbschen in 1518 or 1519 at the latest. The conflict escalated throughout 1520, culminating in Luther's burning of the papal bull in December and his excommunication in January 1521.
Katharina's Escape
After Luther's appearance at the Diet of Worms in April 1521, where he defied papal authority and defended his works criticizing Church policy and practice, his popularity – and notoriety – grew. He was already a well-known figure prior to Worms, and the Church and civil authorities, recognizing him as a threat to the status quo, declared him an outlaw and heretic through the Edict of Worms in May 1521. Luther's regional sovereign, Frederick III (the Wise, l. 1463-1525) secured him in his castle at Wartburg, where Luther continued to write and translated the New Testament into German.
Among his many criticisms of church policy was monastic life, which he claimed was unnatural and unbiblical. These views may have circulated around Marienthorn prior to 1521 but certainly would have afterwards, even if the abbess had tried to silence them. Exactly how Katharina first learned of Luther's criticisms is unknown, but she had embraced them by 1523 when she wrote him directly asking for his help. She and a few other nuns of Marienthorn (the number of them is given at either eight or twelve) wished to leave the convent and required his assistance. This was no small matter since abducting a nun or helping her leave the monastic life was a criminal offense. Scholar Gwen Seabourne comments:
The gates of the convent allowed movement in both directions, and both church and secular authorities had an interest in keeping them under surveillance. Royal concern was with disorderly conduct and security of convents at a time when they might be used to house royal or noble women and also to confine the daughters of dangerous opponents. A statute of 1285 made removal of nuns from their convents an offense which might result in a prison sentence, compensation to the convent, and a payment to the king. The offense was that of the person removing the nun, rather than the nun herself, so liability was incurred whether or not the nun consented to her removal. (2)
This statute could only be enforced by the authorities of the region in which the offense took place, however, and if one could remove the nun to another principality, which chose not to enforce it, punishment could be avoided. Luther arranged to have a well-respected merchant, Leonard Kopp, help free the nuns in the region under Duke George and bring them to Wittenberg, which was controlled by Frederick III. Kopp regularly delivered herring to the convent, and on the Eve of the Resurrection (Easter Eve) 1523, Kopp made his delivery and then hid the nuns in his wagon and rode out through the gates. Scholar Roland H. Bainton, who maintains the number of the nuns was twelve, writes:
Three returned to their own homes. The remaining nine arrived in Wittenberg. A student reported to a friend, "A wagonload of vestal virgins has just come to town, all more eager for marriage than for life. God grant them husbands lest worse befall." Luther felt responsible to find for them all homes, husbands, or positions of some sort. An obvious solution was that he should dispose of one case by marrying himself. (293)
As Luther had hoped, Frederick III did nothing about the statute of 1285, and the newly arrived nuns were free to marry or return to their families. Luther first tried to place them back with their parents, but this did not work as the families refused to be implicated in a crime, and further, many simply could not afford to support a daughter, much less one who had renounced her vows and would be difficult to find a husband for.
Marriage
After exhausting the option of returning the women to their former homes, Luther set about finding them husbands himself. Scholar Lyndal Roper observes:
Luther needed to settle the women in respectable marriages as soon as possible to avoid malicious gossip, and thus found himself in the unexpected position of marriage broker. As a result, the situation forced him to think about female desire…It may have been that the subject came to mind because he was beginning to be tempted himself. (264)
By 1525, Luther had found respectable matches or positions for all of the nuns except Katharina, who was first placed as a servant in the home of the clerk Philipp Reichenback and then of the artist Lucas Cranach the Elder. Luther arranged at least two matches for her, neither of which worked out, and heard from his friend Nikolaus von Amsdorf that she had said she would marry only Amsdorf or Luther, but preferred Luther.
Luther, although he had advocated for the marriage of former priests and nuns, did not consider it an option for himself as he had been condemned as a heretic and an outlaw in 1521, knew there was always the chance he could be arrested and executed, and did not want to inflict that loss on a wife. There was also the concern, voiced by his friend Philip Melanchthon (l. 1497-1560) and others that marriage would detract from his public image as a selfless champion of the faith and possibly derail the reform movement.
Still, some of his friends, like Amsdorf, suggested he marry Katharina to resolve her problem and also make a statement for the new faith on the respectability of a marriage between two former ecclesiastics of the Church. Luther, Amsdorf suggested, should practice what he preached and show others by example how a marriage could work. Bainton notes:
[Luther] did not respond seriously to the suggestion until he went home to visit his parents. What he related, probably as a huge joke, was taken by his father as a realistic proposal. His desire was that his son should pass on the name. The suggestion began to commend itself to Luther for quite another reason. If he was to be burned at the stake within a year, he was hardly the person to start a family. But by marriage he could at once give a status to Katherine and a testimony to his faith. In May 1525 he intimated that he would marry Katie before he died. (294)
Katharina von Bora and Martin Luther were married on 13 June 1525 in a small ceremony and held a larger celebration on 27 June. They were given the former Augustinian dormitory (the so-called Black Cloister) as a home by John, Elector of Saxony, brother of Frederick III. The Black Cloister was a large building surrounded by fertile land, which the Luthers immediately opened to anyone in need of lodging, a policy that would remain in effect for the next 20 years.
Daily Life, Children, & Table Talk
Luther gave three reasons for his marriage: "to please his father, to spite the pope and the Devil, and to seal his witness before martyrdom" (Bainton, 295). At first, he gave no indication that he actually cared for Katharina herself, but soon after their marriage, he declared "I would not exchange Katie for France or for Venice, because God has given her to me" (Bainton, 294). Luther's affection for his wife is evident in his letters in which he praises her as a treasure, as "Doctor Luther," "The Lady of Zulsdorf" (their farm), "My Lord Katie," and "My Katie". Katharina's affection is evident in how she cared for her husband, even though he presented a number of challenges.
Bainton comments:
Marriage brought new financial responsibilities because neither of them started with a cent. Katherine's mother died when she was a baby. Her father consigned her to a convent and married again. He did nothing for her now. Luther had only his books and his clothes. He was not entitled to the revenues of the cloister, since he had abandoned the cowl. He took never a penny from his books and his university stipend was not enough for matrimony. In 1526 he installed a lathe and learned woodworking that in case of need he might be able to support his family. But one may doubt whether he ever took this thought seriously. He was minded to give himself exclusively to the service of the Word and he trusted that the heavenly Father would provide.
His faith in God's providence placed Katharina in the role of provider and sustainer of the household, which would eventually include their six children – Hans, Elizabeth (who died young), Magdalena (who died at age 13), Martin, Paul, and Margarete – four orphans they took in from Katharina's side of the family, and assorted others seeking temporary or long-term shelter. Additionally, there were Luther's friends, students, and admirers, who came to hear him speak around the dinner table and had to be provided with food and drink. Student boarders provided steady income, but at various times, there were as many as 25 people in the home who needed to be fed.
Katharina tended a small farm, cultivated an orchard, created a fishpond for fresh catches, maintained a yard of hens and ducks, and kept cows and pigs, which she slaughtered and dressed herself. She also brewed her own beer, said to be of high quality, which she sold and also used for the household. Further, she took great care of Luther's health which was never robust. Bainton writes:
He suffered at one time or another from gout, insomnia, catarrh, hemorrhoids, constipation, stone, dizziness, and ringing in the ears. Katie was a master of herbs, poultices, and massage. Her son Paul, who became a doctor, said his mother was half one. (299)
She supported her husband completely and was treated by him as an equal, always present at the gatherings which came to be known as Table Talk, during which Luther would hold forth on various issues after dinner and plenty of his wife's beer. Those in attendance would write down anything he said and later edited and published their collected pieces totaling 6,596 entries. Katharina told Luther at the time he should charge them for taking down his words, but he would not allow it. As usual, she complied with his wishes and continued her support, allowing him the intellectual and financial freedom to pursue his work.
Throughout their marriage, Katharina was keenly aware of her husband's importance, but he was equally aware of how her support enabled him to pursue his work. His opponents regularly mocked and insulted Katherina personally and their marriage generally in pamphlets which Luther responded to with far greater wit and insight in defending her. Their happy marriage served as a model and inspiration for many others of the time and afterwards.
Conclusion
Luther died of a stroke on 18 February 1546, and Katharina, in a letter to her brother's wife, Christina von Bora, vented her grief over the loss, saying she could not eat or drink or sleep. Her loss was compounded by financial problems. Luther had left everything to her in his will but had not executed it properly, and she was denied her inheritance. While she was appealing to the authorities to rectify this, the Schmalkaldic War erupted between Luther's followers and the Catholic forces under Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor.
She fled to Magdeburg until the conflict ended with a Lutheran defeat in 1547 and then returned to Wittenberg, only to find the Black Cloister destroyed, her lands torn up, and all the animals gone. She was able to sustain herself there through the generosity of John Frederick I, Elector of Saxony, son of John the Elector who had given the Luthers the cloister when they married. In 1552, the plague reached Wittenberg, and Katharina left for Torgau, where she hoped to find better fortune and safety. She fell from her wagon outside the city's gates, breaking her hip, and then contracted an unknown disease which she died from on 20 December, aged 53.
She was buried in the cemetery of Saint Mary's Church in Torgau and was largely forgotten afterwards as attention continued to be lavished on her husband. Scholarly studies of Katharina Luther in her own right only began in earnest in the 20th century and have been hampered by the scarcity of primary sources concerning her. Even so, her reputation has grown in the past 100 years as she has come to be better recognized. Torgau now hosts the museum dedicated to her as well as preserving the house she died in. Beginning in 2011, Torgau instituted an annual award for outstanding female achievement in social causes in Katharina's name, and she is celebrated as a strong woman of conviction and the emotional and practical support that allowed Marin Luther to fully develop his vision.
do not despise the day of small groups
Some three hundred years ago, an unusual kind of church gathering spread throughout the English-speaking world like fire in the brush. When describing these groups, church historians reach for the language of newness : one refers to the gatherings as “innovations,” another as “a fresh ecclesiological proposal,” and still another as “decidedly novel.” To some, the groups seemed dangerous, a threat to existing church order. But to countless normal Christians, the groups held immense attraction. They were a new wineskin of sorts, and new wineskins have a way of offending and appealing in equal measure. Revealing the name of these gatherings risks anticlimax, however, because today they seem to many Christians as somewhat ho-hum, a churchly inheritance as traditional as pulpits and pews. For these innovative groups, these fresh and novel gatherings, were none other than the first modern small groups. Daring Idea of Small Groups Small groups, of course, were not all  new three hundred years ago. In fact, when the German Lutheran Philip Jacob Spener (1635–1705) proposed the idea in 1675, he likened the groups to “the ancient and apostolic kind of church meetings” ( Pia Desideria , 89). Bruce Hindmarsh, in his article “The Daring Idea of Small Groups,” suggests Spener had in mind passages like Colossians 4:15 and 1 Corinthians 14:26–40, where the early Christians met in houses and exercised the gifts of the Spirit. To these we might also add Acts 2:42–47, where the newly Spirit-filled church met not only at the temple but also “in their homes.” For Spener, then, small groups were a retrieval project, an attempt to restore an ancient gathering somehow lost through the centuries. He wanted passive laypeople to act like the “royal priesthood” they really were in Christ (1 Peter 2:9). He wanted to see the Spirit working mightily through not only pastors and teachers but all  members of the body, as in the days after Pentecost. Spener couldn’t help but trace a connection between the new-covenant ministry of the Spirit and the New Testament pattern of small groups. He was right to trace a connection. A few decades after Spener proposed his daring idea, a massive spiritual awakening spread throughout Western Europe and America. And just as in the days of Acts 2, the newly Spirit-filled church began to gather in small groups. Sunday morning couldn’t contain the Spirit’s flame. Fostering and Facilitating Revival Richard Lovelace, in his Dynamics of Spiritual Life , notes “the persistent reappearance of small intentional communities in the history of church renewal” (78). And so it was in the First Great Awakening of the 1730s and beyond. In the decades surrounding the awakening, small groups were instrumental in both fostering and facilitating revival. In the first place, small groups had a way of fostering  revival. Fascinatingly, we can draw a providential line between Spener’s small-group advocacy and the awakening of the 1730s. Spener’s godson, Nicolaus von Zinzendorf (1700–1760), led a group called the Renewed Moravian Brethren, who themselves had experienced the Spirit’s power in small-group community life. Then, in 1738, Moravians in London helped start the Fetter Lane Society, one of whose members was named John Wesley (1703–1791). And that society, writes Colin Podmore, would become “the main seed-bed from which the English Evangelical Revival would spring” ( The Moravian Church in England, 1728–1760 , 39). Spener’s idea — taken, tried, and tweaked from the 1670s to the 1730s — became one of the greatest means God used in the awakening. From then on, small groups also had a way of facilitating  revival. As awakening spread through England, Wesley and his colaborers gathered earnest believers into small groups or “bands.” As awakening spread through America, writes Mark Noll, Jonathan Edwards created small groups “as part of his effort to fan this spiritual blaze” ( Rise of Evangelicalism , 77). Really wherever you look, Hindmarsh writes, “As the fires of evangelical revival spread, the fervor of small-group religion branched out too.” Small groups may have looked, at first, a little like the disciples in Acts 2:1, huddled “all together in one place,” waiting for the fire to fall. And then the fire did fall, creating communities that resembled Acts 2:42–47 in various degrees. Those awakened wanted  to gather — indeed, felt compelled  to gather — just like those early Christians in Jerusalem. And one gathering a week simply was not enough. Small groups fostered revival, and small groups facilitated revival, in both the first century and the eighteenth. And so they may again today. Four Marks of the First Small Groups Three hundred years after the First Great Awakening, small groups no longer raise eyebrows. The new wineskin has grown familiar, becoming one of the most common features of evangelical church life. Nevertheless, a closer look at these groups reveals a gap between the first modern small groups and many of our own. Often, we have settled for something less daring. Recovering the features of the first groups would not guarantee revival, of course. Awakening is the Spirit’s sovereign work. But in God’s hands, small groups like those of old may become a means of revival — or, short of that, a means of greater growth in Christ. Consider, then, four features of the first small groups, and how we might work to recover them. Experiential Bible Study When many of us think of small groups today, we imagine a Bible study: several people in a circle, Bibles open, discussing some passage and praying afterward. The Bible held a similarly central place in many early small groups; Spener couched his whole proposal, in fact, within the larger aim to introduce “a more extensive use of the word of God among us” ( Pia Desideria , 87). Even still, the phrase Bible study  may not capture the practical, experiential spirit of these groups. Listen to Spener’s hope for “a more extensive” use of Scripture: “If we succeed in getting the people to seek eagerly and diligently in the book of life for their joy, their spiritual life will be wonderfully strengthened and they will become altogether different people” (91). Altogether different people  — that was the goal of Bible study in these first groups. And so, they took an immensely practical bent to the Scriptures, studying them not only with their minds but with their lives. I can remember, as a young college student freshly awakened to Christ, how eager a group of us were to open Scripture together, often spontaneously. The Bible seemed always near, its wisdom ever relevant for “all things that pertain to life and godliness” (2 Peter 1:3). Importantly, we were as eager for application  as we were for knowledge . Yet I can also recall Bible studies that must have seemed, to any impartial observer, like a mere matter of words. We were studying a map without any clear intention of visiting the country. The first groups, needless to say, resembled the former far more than the latter. “These were not book clubs, lifestyle enclaves, or discussion groups,” Hindmarsh writes. “These were places for those who were serious about the life application of the teaching of Scripture.” We cannot manufacture a spirit of biblical earnestness, of course; we can, however, refuse to treat Scripture as a mere collection of thoughts to be studied. Frank Confession Zeal for life application, for becoming “altogether different people,” naturally gave rise to another feature: utterly honest confession. In fact, Podmore writes that, for many of the groups associated with Wesley and the Moravians, “mutual confession, followed by forgiveness and the healing of the soul, was not just a feature of the society, but its raison d’être ” — its very reason for being ( Moravian Church , 41). The word band , sometimes used for these groups, referred to “conversations or conferences where straight talking had taken place” (129). Hence, “these small groups were marked by total frankness.” For biblical warrant, the group leaders often looked to James 5:16: “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” The rules of the Fetter Lane Society even stated that “the design of our meeting is to obey that command of God” ( Pursuing Social Holiness , 78). The groups exercised wisdom, to be sure: they often shared only with those of the same sex, and they agreed to keep others’ confessions confidential. But there was no way to escape exposure in these groups. Honesty was the cost of admission. Some of our small groups already have a ready-made structure for mutual confession in what we may call accountability groups . Yet even here, I suspect much of our accountability has room to grow toward the kind of utter honesty Wesley and others had in mind, as reflected in one of the rules for Fetter Lane: “That each person in order speak freely, plainly, and concisely as he can, the state of his heart, with his several temptations and deliverances, since the last time of meeting.” How can our groups grow toward such free, plain honesty? Partly by believing, as they did, that greater healing lies on the other side. Common Priesthood The Reformation, as has often been said, did not get rid of the priesthood; it gave the priesthood back to all believers. Or at least in theory. In Spener’s Germany, a century and a half after Luther heralded the priesthood of all believers, the laity once again had become largely passive. And not only passive, but fractured by class, creating an unbiblical hierarchy not only between clergy and laity but between rich and poor laity: “Elevated and upholstered places were reserved for the upper classes and only the common people sat on hard seats in the nave,” Theodore Tappert writes (introduction to Pia Desideria , 4–5). The small groups of Spener and those who followed him dealt a devastating blow to that state of affairs. All of a sudden, normal Christians — mothers and fathers, bakers and cobblers, lawyers and doctors, farmers and clerks — sat in the same room, none of them elevated above the others. And more than that, they believed that they, though untrained in theology, could edify their brothers and sisters by virtue of the Spirit within them. Small groups made the people priests again. “Small groups made the people priests again.” The groups, rightly, did not aim to erase all distinction: pastors often led or oversaw the gatherings, aware that small groups could sometimes splinter from the larger body and seek to overturn godly authority. That danger will always be present to some extent when the people are empowered to be priests. But far better to deal with that danger than to render laypeople passive. Are we as persuaded as they were that the body of Christ grows only when it is “joined and held together by every joint  with which is it equipped, when each part  is working properly” (Ephesians 4:16)? If so, we’ll seek to unleash the gifts of every believer, including those “that seem to be weaker” (1 Corinthians 12:22). Though weak in the world’s eyes, they have been given crucial gifts “for the common good” (1 Corinthians 12:7). Outward Mission We have small groups today, in part, because some of the first small-group members refused to keep the groups to themselves. Hindmarsh notes that, among the Moravians, revival drove them “in two directions: inward, in an intensity of community life together; and outward, in missionary enterprise to places like Georgia and the American frontier.” How easily the Moravians might have prized their rich community life at the expense of outward mission, as we so often do. Instead, they lifted their glorious banner — “May the Lamb that was slain receive the reward of his suffering” — and sought to spread that same community life elsewhere. And because they did, they encountered John Wesley, helped begin the Fetter Lane Society, and thus gave shape to the small groups that would explode throughout the North Atlantic. “From the beginning, small groups, like cells in a body, were meant to multiply.” From the beginning, small groups, like cells in a body, were meant to multiply. Sometimes multiplication happened as Christians like the Moravians traveled to far-flung places as missionaries; other times, it happened as small groups remained porous enough for outsiders to look in and, like the unconverted John Bunyan, hear serious believers speak “as if they had found a new world” ( Grace Abounding , 20). One of our great challenges, then and now, is how to move our groups outward in mission while maintaining the kind of trusting relationships that allow for mutual confession and life together. That challenge likely will feel perennial. But believers with an inward bent — perhaps most of us — can probably risk erring in the outward direction, whether by finding some common mission, inviting outsiders into the group, or praying together earnestly for the nonbelievers in our lives. We may even find that mission binds us together like never before. Small Day of Small Groups Perhaps, as we consider the vitality that marked the first evangelical small groups, our own group grows a bit grayer. If so, we may do well to remember the biblical passage cited, it seems, more often than Acts 2 or 1 Corinthians 14 — that is, James 5. James 5:13–20 lays out a compelling program for small-group life. Yet we know from James’s letter that the community was not enjoying the kind of awakening we see in Acts 2. Class division, bitter tongues, fleshly wisdom, and worldly friendships were compromising the church’s holiness (James 2:1–13; 3:1–18; 4:1–10). Yet even still, James tells them to gather, to sing, to confess, to pray. Spener, himself unimpressed with the state of his church community, reminds us, The work of the Lord is accomplished in wondrous ways, even as he is himself wonderful. For this very reason his work is done in complete secrecy, yet all the more surely, provided we do not relax our efforts. . . . Seeds are there, and you may think they are unproductive, but do your part in watering them, and ears will surely sprout and in time become ripe. ( Pia Desideria , 38) Indeed, those seeds did bear fruit in time — far more fruit than Spener could have imagined. So don’t despise the small day of small groups. More may be happening than we can see.