Martin Luther

Martin Luther

1483–1546, Electoral Saxony

Rain.

I knew rain well. Erfurt, Wittenberg — gray skies, mud in the streets, the smell of wet wool everywhere. There is something honest about rain. It does not pretend to be anything other than what it is.

I once got caught in a terrible storm — lightning, thunder close enough to feel in your chest — and I was so frightened I cried out to Saint Anne and promised to become a monk. Changed the entire course of my life, that storm. Changed a fair amount of European history along with it, for better and worse.

So I have a certain respect for rain.

Are you inside and warm? Then it is a good morning despite the weather. Is there something keeping you company besides the rain — something you are thinking about, wondering about? I am here.