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The Great Controversy
decree received the sanction of the Diet. Now the Romanists were
jubilant. They considered the fate of the Reformation sealed.
God had provided a way of escape for His servant in this hour of
peril. A vigilant eye had followed Luther’s movements, and a true
and noble heart had resolved upon his rescue. It was plain that Rome
would be satisfied with nothing short of his death; only by concealment
could he be preserved from the jaws of the lion. God gave wisdom to
Frederick of Saxony to devise a plan for the Reformer’s preservation.
With the co-operation of true friends the elector’s purpose was carried
out, and Luther was effectually hidden from friends and foes. Upon
his homeward journey he was seized, separated from his attendants,
and hurriedly conveyed through the forest to the castle of Wartburg,
an isolated mountain fortress. Both his seizure and his concealment
were so involved in mystery that even Frederick himself for a long
time knew not whither he had been conducted. This ignorance was
not without design; so long as the elector knew nothing of Luther’s
whereabouts, he could reveal nothing. He satisfied himself that the
Reformer was safe, and with this knowledge he was content.
Spring, summer, and autumn passed, and winter came, and Luther
still remained a prisoner. Aleander and his partisans exulted as the
light of the gospel seemed about to be extinguished. But instead of
this, the Reformer was filling his lamp from the storehouse of truth;
and its light was to shine forth with brighter radiance.
In the friendly security of the Wartburg, Luther for a time rejoiced
in his release from the heat and turmoil of battle. But he could not long
find satisfaction in quiet and repose. Accustomed to a life of activity
and stern conflict, he could ill endure to remain inactive. In those
solitary days the condition of the church rose up before him, and he
[169]
cried in despair. “Alas! there is no one in this latter day of His anger, to
stand like a wall before the Lord, and save Israel!”—Ibid., b. 9, ch. 2.
Again, his thoughts returned to himself, and he feared being charged
with cowardice in withdrawing from the contest. Then he reproached
himself for his indolence and self-indulgence. Yet at the same time he
was daily accomplishing more than it seemed possible for one man to
do. His pen was never idle. While his enemies flattered themselves
that he was silenced, they were astonished and confused by tangible
proof that he was still active. A host of tracts, issuing from his pen,
circulated throughout Germany. He also performed a most important