“Orchestrated by Satan, But Permitted by Christ”
“Orchestrated by Satan, but permitted By Christ.“ This is what Martin Luther called it: “Anfechtung,” a German word often on the lips of Luther that describes an emotional battle so intense it can hardly be translated into English. Luther speaks of this pain: “I have been plunged into hell, the hand of God lay heavy upon me; I have labored in such distress and affliction of spirit that I have not known where to turn.” Most are not acquainted with Luther’s understanding of “Anfechtung.” Yet, we may have experienced it. Nevertheless, we reject its very concept as something that God would never desire for our lives. The pain, fear, doubt, and depression—the demon-laden darkness it abides in—are seen as antagonistic to the happy life God supposedly wants for us.
In contrast to the “Your-best-life-now”/The-Prayer-of-Jabez-type theology, the following is an account of Luther’s Anfechtung that few of us have heard.
My Personal Experience of Fear
Personally, I have experienced great fear. I have had my life on the line as I tried to talk a depressed person out of suicide while he waved a gun around, moving from pointing it at his head to pointing it at me. suddenly the gun fired and the .45 caliber slug dug into the wooden floor six inches from my feet. I have also been lost deep in a wilderness when I was 11, cast out demons from a depressed person, and felt my heart nearly leap through my chest just before I asked my wife to marry me. These were all different kinds of fear, but they were not Anfechtung.
Maybe if I could combine all of these moments—just maybe—I would begin to describe the “Anfechtung” Martin Luther experienced “the night before..”
The Night Before the “Here I Stand” Speech
Let me give you an account of the night before Martin Luther’s legendary “Here I stand” speech on April 18, 1521. We’ve all heard about the speech. It’s iconic in Protestant circles, celebrated as a moment that changed the course of history. Luther’s stand against corrupt authority, against a system that put everything on the line, is legendary.
But what about the night before? Many people don’t know about the turmoil, the fear, and the overwhelming sense of satanic helplessness that Luther faced in the hours leading up to that speech. This is the story of that night—the night before the world changed.
Summoned to the Diet of Worms
Martin Luther was summoned by Emperor Charles V and the Catholic authorities to account for what they saw as his rebellious attitude and the dangerous challenges he had posed to the authority of the Pope and the Church. Luther had shaken the foundations of what had been considered unassailable traditions, not just questioning but outright defying the very bedrock of medieval Christendom. His writings were not merely argumentative—they were antagonistic, provocative, and uncompromising in their assault on the Church’s teachings.
Luther had dared to declare that the Pope and the Church were not infallible, a notion that had never been publicly challenged to such a degree. But perhaps most revolutionary of all was his teaching that justification—how one is made right before God—was not by works, but by faith alone. This doctrine, “sola fide,” was a direct attack on the Church’s long-held teachings and practices, and it spread like wildfire, igniting what would become the Protestant Reformation.
The Ultimatum: Recant or Stand Firm
This defiance could not go unanswered. Luther was called to the Diet of Worms, a major council before the most powerful leaders of the Holy Roman Empire—Emperor Charles V, representatives of the Church, and countless other dignitaries. Luther expected to engage in a debate, to defend his beliefs and writings with the Scriptures and reason. But when he entered the hall, his books were spread out on a table before him, and instead of a debate, he was asked a simple, but devastatingly profound question: would he recant?
This was not a theological discussion; it was an ultimatum. Standing before the most powerful men of his time, Luther was faced with a decision that would determine not only his fate but the future of the Christian faith. The weight of this moment pressed down on him as the eyes of the Emperor, the Church, and the world bore down on him, demanding his submission.
When confronted with the demand to recant, Luther stood before the assembly, knowing the gravity of what was being asked of him. He had written many books, and the accusations against him were numerous. With a calm but firm voice, he responded, “I have written many books, but I do not know which one you are referring to. Would you have me recant all of them? These books are of different kinds. Some deal with faith and Christian life in a way so wholesome and evangelical that even my opponents are compelled to regard them as worthy of being read by Christian people.”
Luther then asked for time. He knew that the implications of his decision were not only for his own life but for the countless souls who had been influenced by his teachings—teachings that had spread like wildfire across Europe. Understanding the immense weight of the situation, he requested a night to think it over, and the council, perhaps expecting him to falter, granted him his request.
The Night of Anfechtung
That night, Luther withdrew to his quarters. Where, exactly, he stayed is a matter of historical speculation, but it’s known that he was given a place to rest, likely in one of the lodgings provided for important visitors. But rest would not come easily for Luther that night.
Martin Luther was a man deeply in touch with his emotions, radically candid about his struggles with the devil and his own inner turmoil. He would often recount how, at times, he had fought with Satan himself, once famously hurling an inkwell at the devil in frustration during one of his many bouts of spiritual warfare. These struggles were not confined to mere thoughts or prayers; they often manifested physically. Luther’s so-called “battles with the devil” would occur in the most unlikely of places, such as his private laboratory, which was, in fact, his bathroom. Here, plagued by physical ailments and severe gastrointestinal distress, Luther would engage in what he described as some of his most intense spiritual battles. It was during one of these episodes that he reportedly came to his revolutionary understanding of justification by faith alone—a doctrine that would become the cornerstone of the Reformation.
But this night was different. It was not just another skirmish in his ongoing struggle with the forces of darkness. This was a moment of deep crisis, both doctrinal and personal. The weight of the decision before him was almost unbearable. Luther was still early in his life as a Reformer, in the year 1521, and the full implications of his teachings were still taking shape. Moreover, he was carrying the heavy burden of feeling that he had disappointed his father, who had different aspirations for him. The fear he experienced that night was not new to him; he had felt it before, such as when he first offered the mass, trembling with the weight of what he was doing.
And there was that stormy night years earlier, when, riding home on horseback, Luther was caught in a massive lightning storm. Terrified, he cried out to Saint Anne, promising to become a monk if he survived. This moment of fear, one that drove him to make a life-altering vow, was one of many that marked his spiritual journey.
Yet, this night at Worms was different. The stakes were higher, and the consequences were unimaginable. Luther knew that there was an assassination threat looming—legal assassination, as that was the state of affairs in the Church in those days. Heretics were often killed, and Luther was well aware that his life was on the line. He likely wondered whether or not everything he was saying was true. Why had there been so few successful reformations before him? How could he be right when so many others, many of whom he respected, had failed? How could God have given him this monumental responsibility, this dial of destiny, to decide whether his death would be today or tomorrow? The weight of these thoughts must have been crushing.
The internal struggle must have been agonizing, swinging between moments of faith and doubt, between the desire to stand firm and the temptation to recant. The battle within him was not just intellectual; it was spiritual, emotional, and deeply personal. This was a moment of “anfechtung.” To belabor this word, it was a fear so profound it felt as though it came straight from the devil himself—a demonic, supernatural fear that grips the soul and refuses to let go.
We don’t have any direct account from Martin Luther himself about that night, but one of his pupils provided us with a glimpse of what Luther experienced. This student recorded the prayer that Luther is said to have uttered that night after all the turmoil. Here is the only documentation we have of that prayer:
“O God, Almighty God everlasting! How dreadful is the world! Behold how its mouth opens to swallow me up, and how small is my faith in Thee!… The flesh is weak, the devil is strong… If it is only in the strength of this world that I must put my trust, all is over… My last hour is come, my condemnation has been pronounced!… O God, do Thou help me against all the wisdom of this world… The work is not mine, but Thine. I have no business here, I have nothing to contend for with these great ones of the world… The cause is Thine… I will stay by Thy side.”
All of this I write because of this prayer. All his prayers, I find this to be the most profound as we have so much understanding of the events before and after. We No, the fear – the womb in which this prayer was conceived. I find every word beautiful.
The Morning Resolution
Whether Luther slept that night is unknown. But what we do know is that he walked back into that hall the next day, where the council awaited him, not with the trembling uncertainty of the night before, but with a resolute and unshakable strength. Something had changed within him. The decision had been made.
When Luther was asked once again if he would recant, he responded with the words that would echo through history:
“Unless I am convinced by the testimony of the Scriptures or by clear reason (for I do not trust either in the pope or in councils alone, since it is well known that they have often erred and contradicted themselves), 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. Here I stand, I can do no other. God help me. Amen.”
The True Beginning of the Reformation
This moment is so significant that most historians mark it as the beginning of the Reformation. October 31st, the day Luther famously nailed his Ninety-Five Theses to the church door in Wittenberg, is often celebrated as Reformation Day. But in truth, the real moment—the one that should be celebrated—came the night before his speech at the Diet of Worms, on April 17, 1521. It was in the darkness and solitude of that night, in the struggle and prayer, that the true battle was fought—not just a battle between man and the forces of this world, but a deep, spiritual struggle between God and man. Perhaps, instead of just celebrating October 31st, we should remember that night in April, when the outcome of that battle determined the course of history.
A Legacy of Steadfast Faith
The fear and turmoil of that night were transformed into the steadfast conviction that would inspire countless others to stand firm in their faith, no matter the cost.
In the end, Luther’s story reminds me that the greatest battles are often fought in the quiet moments of fear and doubt, when the weight of the world presses down, and we are left to face our deepest fears. Yet, it is in these moments that true strength is found—not in the absence of fear, but in the decision to stand firm despite it.
