When first I married, and had Gottfried on whom to unburden every perplexity, and riches which seemed to me inexhaustible, instead of poverty, I thought I should never know care again.
But is it so? Have not the very things themselves, in their possession, become cares? When I hear of these dreadful wars with the Turks, and of the insurrections and disquiets in various parts, and look round on our pleasant home, and gardens, and fields, I think how terrible it would be again to be plunged into poverty, or that Gretchen ever should be; so that riches themselves become cares. It makes me think of what a good man once told me: that the word in the Bible which is translated "rich," in speaking of Abraham, in other places is translated "heavy;" so that instead of reading, "Abraham left Egypt rich in cattle and silver and gold," we might read "heavy in cattle, silver, and gold."
Yes, we are on a pilgrimage to the Holy City; we are in flight from an evil world; and too often riches are weights which hinder our progress.
I find it good, therefore, to be here in the small, humble house we have taken refuge in—Gottfried, Gretchen, and I. The servants are dispersed elsewhere; and it lightens my heart to feel how well we can do without luxuries which were beginning to seem like necessaries. Dr. Luther's words come to my mind; "The covetous enjoy what they have as little as what they have not. They cannot even rejoice in the sunshine. They think not what a noble gift the light is—what an inexpressibly great treasure the sun is, which shines freely on all the world."
Yes, God's common gifts are his most precious; and his most precious gifts—even life itself—have no root in themselves. Not that they are without root; they are better rooted in the depths of His unchangeable love.
It is well to be taught, by such a visitation even as this pestilence, the utter insecurity of everything here. "If the ship itself," as Gottfried says, "is exposed to shipwreck, who, then, can secure the cargo?" Henceforth let me be content with the only security Dr. Luther says God will give us,—the security of his presence and cure: "I will never leave thee."
Wittemberg, June, 1517.
We are at home once more; and, thank God, our two households are undiminished, save by one death—that of our youngest sister, the baby when we left Eisenach. The professors and students also have returned. Dr. Luther, who remained here all the time, is preaching with more force and clearness.
The town is greatly divided in opinion about him. Dr. Tetzel, the great Papal Commissioner for the sale of indulgences, has established his red cross, announcing the sale of pardons, for some months, at Jüterbok and Zerbst, not far from Wittemberg.
Numbers of the townspeople, alarmed, I suppose, by the pestilence, into anxiety about their souls, have repaired to Dr. Tetzel, and returned with the purchased tickets of indulgence.