It’s 500 years since Martin Luther, along with the preacher Paul Speratus, put together the first Protestant hymn book, the Achtliederbuch, literally the “book with eight songs.” Collections of liturgical chants and songs had existed before, but they had never been meant for the congregation — just for choirs.
Luther believed collective sung worship in German (as opposed to Latin) was key to spreading the Reformation’s ideas and inspiring converts. What better way to engage worshippers than to include them in the church services they were attending? A catchy, simple melody and words everyone could understand, regardless of status or ability to read, helped too. The Achtliederbuch was very popular around Europe, prompting Luther’s critics to worry, not without cause, that “people are singing themselves into his doctrines.”
Luther followed up the Achtliederbuch with an expanded hymnal later the same year. The Erfurt Enchiridion was printed in two competing editions — one containing twenty-five hymns, the other twenty-six, eighteen authored by Luther. With these hymns, the book’s preface declared, the days of church clergy “roaring like wild donkeys to a deaf god” would be over. Hymnology blossomed with Lutheranism. It’s apt that Bach was born in Eisenach, the small Thuringian town where Luther went to school, because he was particularly inspired by Luther’s hymns. He incorporated many of them into his own chorales and cantatas, such as “Christ lag in Todes Banden,” transforming Luther’s staid tunes with florid, elaborate melodies for voice and orchestra.
The spread of the Reformation also brought Luther’s hymnals to England, and the Enchiridion was partially translated into English in 1555. While many of the Church of England’s most-loved hymns owe their existence to the Victorians and Edwardians, some German hymns have slipped through — albeit heavily disguised. Catherine Winkworth’s 1863 translation of the 1680s hymn “Lobe den Herren,” for example, survives as the regal “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty,” retrofitted in 1953 with a shimmering soprano descant in the final verse. If there’s one place in the Anglican musical tradition where Luther’s legacy is thriving, it’s in our love of carols. The twinkly “In dulci jubilo” first appeared in print in a Lutheran hymnal in 1533 (Luther himself is rumored to be the librettist for one of the verses).
Perhaps the most majestic piece to owe its existence to Luther’s enterprise is Ivor Atkins’s arrangement of Peter Cornelius’s “Three Kings.” In it, the choir sings a translation of Philipp Nicolai’s 1599 chorale “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern’ with Cornelius’s own melody woven over the top. The result is sublime: at once mystical and warm, it brings the adoration of the Magi to life and transports the listener to the cribside of Jesus. Without Luther’s promotion of the hymnal, there is every chance this chorale, and many of the oldest Protestant hymns, would have long ago been lost to history. Five hundred years on, even those who set foot in a church just once a year in December are spreading the word of God through song — thanks to Luther and his hymnals.