Decades before the Reformation, writings circulated predicting the return of the “old empire” and the “good Emperor Frederick,” heralding a golden age of religious, social, and peaceful harmony. It is therefore not surprising that many people pinned their hopes for social change on the spiritual awakening sparked by Luther. Such demands were voiced loudly, particularly among the educated urban classes. Yet peasants, too, believed they were acting in accordance with divine law; moreover—and often quite irrationally—they were confident of victory when, in the spring of 1525, tens of thousands of them took up arms to turn their expectations into reality. Few actually sought to overthrow the established order; the system of social estates was rarely called into question. The primary goal was to curb arbitrary rule and excesses that sometimes threatened their very livelihoods by establishing clear regulations. Yet even this seemed too threatening to most rulers, who brutally suppressed the movement, citing the doctrine that “all authority comes from God.” The unexpected uprising rapidly ignited across southern Germany, as well as parts of Switzerland, Austria, and central Germany. However, the hopelessly outmatched peasant armies were crushed—regionally within weeks, and entirely within about nine months—leaving tens of thousands of peasants and their families slain, captured, executed, or fleeing for their lives at the hands of professional knights and soldiers.

Initially, Luther was quite sympathetic to the peasants and their demands; yet, likely fearing for the fate of his theological reforms, he soon sided with the powerful, even endorsing their sometimes extremely brutal actions. In doing so, he found a convenient target in Thomas Müntzer, a Protestant-minded pastor who had previously been relatively obscure. Today, one would describe him as a liberation theologian who became increasingly radicalized. In Allstedt, he organized poor relief, provided pastoral care, and—with remarkable creative affinity and even before Luther—developed a German-language liturgy. He preached that the dawn of the “Kingdom of God” was imminent, admonishing the Duke and his heir at Allstedt Castle that they had received power from God solely to do good for their people; should they fail to live up to this, the Bible warned that “the sword would be taken from them again.” That was enough: even before his official dismissal, Müntzer fled the city, sided with the peasant armies and the rebellious citizens of Mühlhausen, and became something of a spiritual mentor to them. Intoxicated by the conviction that God was on his side, he led them into the catastrophic Battle of Frankenhausen. He himself was captured, severely tortured, transported to Mühlhausen, beheaded, and impaled. His wife—a former nun who was likely also his educated advisor on theological matters—was denied even the personal effects from his estate. Luther, who happened to be getting married himself during those very weeks, reported with revulsion that she had been raped by imperial soldiers despite her pregnancy. All trace of her vanishes six months later following a letter in which she made a final plea for her husband’s books.

In their program, the Playfords trace this emotional arc—from springtime hopes for a golden age and an optimistic break from ossified structures, through irrationally euphoric expectations, to brutal defeat and utter disillusionment. To this end, they draw on secular and sacred music of the era, arranging it furiously in their own “Early Music Folk” style while relying, above all, on historically informed improvisation. Specifically for this concert, portions of Müntzer’s German liturgy have been newly edited and adapted, and several specially reconstructed songs will be performed for the first time.

Christoph G. Schmidt