Explainer
Creed
Faith
Justification by faith
6 min read

The Rest is Luther

Did 'The Rest is History' get Luther right? Graham Tomlin gives his verdict

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

Two podcast hosts in different rooms appear on a split screen talking to each other
Tom Holland and Dominic Sandbrook rank Luther's influence.

I have to confess, I don't listen to every episode of The Rest is History - does anyone do that with the astonishing volume of material they produce? Yet when I see something that interests me – 1970s Britain, the Lost Library of Alexandria, the Easter Rising of 1916, I’m in. So, when I saw they were doing a series on Martin Luther, I just had to listen.  

With much of what they cover - take the Lost Library of Alexandria for example - I wouldn’t really know whether they were telling the truth or not, having a passing interest and only a vague knowledge of the topic. Yet this one was different, because, without wanting to blow any trumpets, I do know a fair bit about Luther. I’ve written a doctorate, a biography and a couple of other books on him, lectured on Luther at Oxford University for many years, and spent a lot of time in libraries, poring over his commentaries and treatises, wading my way through dense books by German scholars picking apart the most minute aspects of his theology. 

 Very often when you hear something on the TV or radio that you know something about, you realise the journalists are winging it. They get away with it because no-one knows any better. So, I wondered this time, would I see through the boys on the podcast, and realise they were winging it too?  

They made the Reformation sound and feel the dramatic and earth-shaking movement that it was. 

Well, my admiration for Dominic Sandbrook and Tom Holland went up massively. It was brilliant. I once asked Tom whether they had an army of researchers doing their work for them and he told me they didn’t - they read most of the stuff themselves.  So, to have them do five episodes on a topic that is not necessarily their specialist subject and get pretty much all of the story not just right, but really interesting, is quite an achievement. They made the Reformation sound and feel the dramatic and earth-shaking movement that it was.  

They normally recount history with a good dose of humour, drama and colour. That is taken for granted. They know how to tell a good story. However, they also really know their stuff. Tom led the way, and I must say, told the story with a level of detail, accuracy and sympathy that was quite remarkable. They clearly enjoyed it too – they loved his earthiness, his preoccupation with the devil and excrement that is so distinctively Luther. 

Martin Luther, as they said at the end, was no saint. He was a man of extremes. He could inspire devoted loyalty from his friends, and fury from his enemies in equal measure. He was never dull. He always said his besetting sin was anger – he claimed to write best when he was furious. That explains the vituperative language, the skill at invective, his genius for insults. He said terrible things about the peasants and even worse things about the Jews. Yet he also launched a movement that brought fresh dignity and purpose to countless people across Europe and beyond – he can be said to have touched the lives of the one billion Protestants in the world today. He literally changed the world. And Tom and Dominic helped us understand why. 

Definitely a nine out of ten.  

But why not ten? 

Well, I did have one small quibble. Luther was portrayed as someone who struggled to know that God loved him. So far, so good. His great breakthrough was described by the excellent Tom Holland as “a personal experience of God”, whereby Luther found “a feeling of being washed in the love of God.” Luther’s new discovery was that “If God loves you, you exist in a state of grace… which is a feeling that Christ is present in you, in your secretmost heart, and the certainty of that grace gives you a peace of conscience.”  

Now there is something of that in Luther, and it was close, but it’s not quite the way he would have put it.  

Luther is really not that interested in experiences of God. In fact, he distrusts them. in 1521, a group of prophets arrived in Wittenberg from a small town called Zwickau claiming experiences of God, but Luther was having none of it. He asked about their experience – but not whether they had experienced the love of God, but whether they had experienced his absence. Had they experienced what Luther called Anfechtung – the experience of feeling God is against you, when you struggle with temptation, are driven to despair, when God doesn’t answer your prayers, and when all you know is your own shame, sin, and disgrace? What do you do then?  

And that’s why the Bible was important to him – as an existential anchor when the storms of life hit. 

The reason he asked about this was that such experiences so often are the things that help bring faith to birth, because they press the question of who you listen to, or trust, in such times – your own feelings of inadequacy and shame? Or God’s word that tells you something different? 

Luther found peace of conscience, not in a mystical experience of the love of God, but in hearing again and again the Word which God had spoken to the human race in Jesus Christ. Against all the odds, and despite his frequent experience of God’s absence rather than his presence, he recalled that God had sent his Son, as a pledge once and for all, that God’s heart was full of love and kindness. In sending Christ, God had given himself (or technical language, his ‘righteousness’) to us in Christ, and the only fitting response, was simply to believe and trust that this is true, whereby that ‘righteousness’ becomes ours, and we are, to use Luther's language, 'justified'. Christians are therefore, in Luther’s classic and paradoxical phrase, ‘both righteous and sinful’ at the same time.

This was indeed profoundly emotional for him. It brought a flood of joy and relief. Yet that joy was the result of faith in faith in the Word, which was the main thing. The emotions followed faith, not the other way round. 

He once put it like this: “God achieves his purposes through suffering, pain and anxiety. Yet of course these are not the things in which you expect to find God. As a result, most people do not recognise this as God’s work, because they expect God only to be revealed in glory, grandeur and splendour. The way God works confounds human expectations and so, faith is needed to see past the appearance of things to their true reality.” 

This was the doctrine of justification by faith – not trying to be extra religious or having ecstatic experiences of God but simply betting your life on the notion that Jesus is God’s great gift to the world, a gift that tells us he is, despite everything that may point in the other direction, full of love and goodness – and not just to the human race in general, but to you, to me. And that’s why the Bible was so important to Luther – as an existential anchor when the storms of life hit. 

Tom and Dominic did a fantastic job in their series on Luther. I really recommend you listen to it – you won’t regret it. Only remember, Luther relied more on faith in the Word of God than the fleeting feelings of his heart:

“Faith is a living, bold trust in God’s grace, so certain of God’s favour that it would risk death a thousand times trusting in it. Such confidence and knowledge of God's grace makes you happy, joyful and bold.”  

Watch

The Rest is History on YouTube. Martin Luther: The Man Who Changed The World, Part 1.

Explainer
Creed
Leading
Politics
6 min read

Why is it taking so long to find an Archbishop of Canterbury?

The Anglican tortoise and the Catholic hare.

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

An archbishop raises a crown about the head of King Charles.
An archbishop in action at the 2024 Coronation.

It seems the Roman Catholics have put the Anglicans to shame by the speed with which they have managed to appoint a new Pope. Pope Francis died on Easter Monday, 21 April. Pope Leo was elected on the 8 May. Seventeen days. Pretty impressive. Very few large corporations would replace a CEO in that time, or nations elect a new leader.  

Justin Welby, however, resigned on the 12 November 2024. We won't know the name of his successor until the autumn, and that person won't start in place until the spring of 2026. Well over a year.  

The Church of England is playing the tortoise while the Roman Catholics are acting the hare. 

So why is it taking so long? Is this just fusty Anglican bureaucracy? A depressing instance of Anglicans taking ages over everything, whether sorting out our divisions over sexuality or choosing a new Archbishop? 

As always, there is more to this than meets the eye.  

The first thing to say is, of course, that events took everyone by surprise. Justin Welby would have had to retire before his 70th birthday in January 2026, and the assumption had been that he would announce the date at some point before then. A process was already in place to make the appointment so that a successor could be named before he departed and start soon after, as usually happens. No-one foresaw the events that led to Welby’s surprise resignation over his handling of the abuse committed by John Smyth, outlined in the Makin Review. In the usual course of things, there would have been a relatively smooth handover. What we have is unprecedented – a year with no Archbishop of Canterbury at all.  

There is, of course, the shambles at the Canterbury end, where the diocese has taken three abortive goes at electing their representatives for the body that makes the appointment, the Crown Nominations Commission. More on that here, but even that has not had a significant effect on the timetable, which is following its predicted course, despite bumps along the way. 

Even so, many will say, could the system not have been hurried up? Maybe so, and it might have been wise to find ways to hasten the process a little, but the more fundamental answer is that’s not the way the Church of England works and never has.  

The biggest reason is that the Church of England and the Roman Catholic churches have different understandings of what the Church is and how it is governed. In short, the Archbishop of Canterbury is not the Anglican equivalent of a Pope. 

Back in the days of the English Reformation, after Henry VIII’s ego-driven separation from Rome, which enabled him to divorce his wife who was unable to give him a male heir, and marry the younger and prettier Anne Boleyn, the English church found a kind of settlement under Queen Elizabeth I, several generations later. This proposed that the ‘Supreme Governor’ of the Church of England was not to be the Archbishop of Canterbury but the Monarch. It was a way of expressing the idea that the Church of England is the Church of the people of England. It was the people of England at prayer. ‘We hold,' said Richard Hooker, the great architect of this vision, ‘that… there is not any man of the Church of England but the same man is also a member of the commonwealth.’ 

If you are a citizen of England, you have a right to be also part of the Church of England – to have your children baptised (once the vicar is sure you know what you’re letting yourself and your child in for), your marriage solemnised, and your body buried in the national church. The Church - although in a local sense is gathered group of Christians who attend public worship - exists for the people of England, whether or not they go to church regularly or not. 

Because the Church of England is the church of the people of England, a much larger group of people need to be involved when an Archbishop of Canterbury is chosen. So far, there has been a wide period of consultation, involving the remarkable figure of 11,000 people who have given input – far more than most consultations of this kind. Moreover, the group that appoints the Archbishop is made up, not just of bishops, but lay people, priests, men, women, people representing the diocese of Canterbury, five representatives of the global Anglican Communion, others representing the national Church and so on.  

The Church of England in that sense, is no respecter of persons, and refuses to treat the Archbishop as a Pope or a CEO.

For Roman Catholics, the church centres much more around its bishops. So, when it comes to choosing their leader, it makes sense to simply put all the cardinals (the most senior figures in the Catholic Church) in a room until they come up with a name from among themselves. Anglicans have a much longer, messier, more democratic process. It is not an election by a majority vote from a small electorate quickly convened, choosing among themselves, but a process of listening to a wide range of voices, both inside and outside the church.  

Because he is not a pope, the Archbishop of Canterbury is in one sense, just another bishop (the next one may be a woman, but all Archbishops so far have been men). Yes of course, he’s an Archbishop, so higher profile than the others, but he is nonetheless a bishop who takes his place among the other bishops of the CofE. Archbishops of Canterbury are regarded with respect and honour by other CofE bishops and Archbishops around the worldwide Anglican Communion, as the (Arch)bishop of the first ‘Anglican’ church – Canterbury. Yet they have no legal jurisdiction at all outside England – or even outside their own Province of Canterbury in the southern half of England. He is not the ‘spiritual leader’ of Anglicans all over the world, like the Pope is for Roman Catholics.  

As such, to put it bluntly, his appointment must take its turn among all the others in the queue. The Crown Nominations Commission is made up of people for whom this is not their day job, who give their spare time to it, and who have a programme of episcopal appointments to be made - the next in the queue are St Edmundsbury & Ipswich and then Worcester.  Canterbury has to take its turn. To enable this one to jump the queue would be saying something that Anglicans have never said - that this role is much more important than any of the others and must be given special treatment. The Church of England in that sense, is no respecter of persons, and refuses to treat the Archbishop as a Pope or a CEO, without whom the church would fall apart. 

The reason the Church of England can survive without an Archbishop of Canterbury for a while, is because its life is not dependent on a central figure, a charismatic leader, or a head office which issues instructions for all the branches to obediently follow. That may work in McDonalds but doesn’t work in the Church of England. The life of the Church of England is in its parishes and dioceses, which carry on doing their thing, even when an Archbishop of Canterbury is not available.  

Of course, it might have been possible to speed it up a little. We have missed having an Archbishop speaking in to public life and providing a lead at the national level. But there are good reasons for taking time. And it’s not just inefficiency – it’s because the Church is made up of ordinary Christians, who all deserve a say – and that takes time.  

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