This interview appears in the Law & Gospel issue of The Mockingbird, now available to order here.
When considering a theology for today — a theology that meets people where we’re at — few doctrines are as foundational (and misunderstood) as the bondage of the will, a.k.a., the un-free will. It is a simple, if revelatory idea: One cannot turn to God through one’s own power. Given the choice, we go the other way. We know this from experience if not from scripture, where all manner of chosen ones flub time and again — only to be forgiven and carried along by God himself. As a doctrine the un-free will is fundamentally about hope. It places our hope in God, not ourselves, yet the Church has been loath to embrace it, historically and also today. The stakes — foremost, relinquishing control — are too high.
Enter Amy Mantravadi whose latest novel, Broken Bonds, dramatizes these very stakes in their earliest negotiations. The book opens in 1524, with Europe aflame. Luther’s defiant 95 theses (not to mention his inflammatory rhetoric) have ruptured the delicate balance of powers in church and state. Three scholars — Desiderius Erasmus, Philipp Melanchthon, and Luther himself — are in the crosshairs of a shockingly modern crisis about the things that terrify us most. An exciting, deftly written, and theologically astute work, Broken Bonds is the first of a two-part series. The sequel, Face to Face, comes out in November of this year, and picks up directly where Broken Bonds left off.
A longtime lover of history, Amy Mantravadi is also the author of The Chronicle of Maud, a three-novel series about Empress Mathilda of England. Prior to fiction writing she spent four years working for the Egyptian Press Office in Washington, D.C., where she performed research and analysis for top government officials in both political parties. From 2020 to 2021, she hosted the (A)Millennial Podcast, interviewing the likes of Tim Keller among others. Amy now lives in Dayton, Ohio, with her husband and son.
— Interview by David Zahl.
Mockingbird: Broken Bonds is an absolutely wonderful book, Amy. Tell me, why and how did you come to set this novel in the time of the Reformation?
Amy Mantravadi: Well, what got me into the Reformation was marrying someone in the Air Force and moving to an area where there were no jobs in my career field. To pay some bills I took a job that required me to drive all over the place, and I started listening to college history courses in the car.
When I happened across a course on the Reformation, it was life changing. That led me to the writings of Martin Luther, and I came to see that, though I’d grown up in the church, I was a big believer in free will — specifically about salvation. While I never would have said anyone can earn their salvation, I felt a real lack of assurance in my own. I was constantly doubting if my faith was strong enough. Am I really living the way a Christian is supposed to live? Reading Luther helped me see that I was focusing way too much on what I was doing and not seeing the work of salvation as something God does.
So that definitely made the Reformation a personal interest of mine. But also, as I was studying Erasmus and Luther and then eventually Philip Melanchthon, Luther’s associate, I found they all had really different life stories and personalities, each very fascinating in their own way. I realized I could tell a story that would highlight theological themes in subtle ways. It would show how law and gospel play out in human relationships and daily life. I know that most people are never going to pick up a big theological text, but for some, a novel is much more accessible.
And beyond the question of if God is in control of our salvation, there’s also the question of how much God is in control of world events. A similarity between our time and this period I write about, the years 1524 and ’25, is that people were feeling like the world was falling apart.
M: You’re right. It feels like the sky is falling, and it has felt like that for a long time, hasn’t it? I think every generation feels that way.
AM: Even though we’re living 500 years later, being a human now is very similar to being a human then. They were very anxious about world events. Society was changing rapidly. A lot of people’s friendships and family relationships were splitting up over disagreements that, on the surface, were theological but had political ramifications.
It was also a time when people were worried about plague and famine. And it just so happened that when I sat down to write these books, we were just coming out of the COVID pandemic, in 2022. So I also was able to use this exercise to show how previous generations had found peace in God and in the gospel, despite really crazy things happening on planet Earth.
M: You’ve mentioned your three main characters — Erasmus, Melanchthon, and Luther. Was one of them particularly fun to write?
AM: Oh, they all were fun in their own ways, but I will say that Erasmus and Luther could be a little bit more fun, because neither was afraid to let people know what he thought about things. It’s always fun when you can write a character who isn’t afraid to tell it like it is, even if that insults people. In my life, I always try not to do that. And most of us shouldn’t, not in the way that Martin Luther did, or even the way that Erasmus did — Erasmus wouldn’t insult people in his published work, but in his letters he’s constantly gossiping about everyone. Then of course his letters would get stolen and printed, which was very embarrassing for him.
Melanchthon is more of an enigma. What was really enjoyable about writing his story was being able to look at his experience growing up and to imagine how that might have affected him.
Eric Basstein, Nocturnal Activities, 2020. Oil Paint on linen, 39 2/5 × 31 1/2 in.
M: Based on your writing, especially online, I imagine that you can identify with some of the ways Luther expressed himself. You’re an incredibly gracious person, Amy, but I do sense you have an inner snark that you could access if you wanted to. Is that fair to say?
AM: I definitely think so. But, particularly when you’re on social media, wisdom is being able to know when to use snark for good and when it would only be used for evil. Humor is so important, especially in difficult times. Sarcasm and even snarkiness are not in and of themselves bad — it’s when you’re using them to try to wound other people. Which Luther would do sometimes.
But, gosh, if we don’t have anything to laugh about, it’s hardly worth living. Sometimes we get in trouble because we forget how to laugh.
M: When I first read Luther’s The Bondage of the Will, the most striking thing was the amount of insults and scatological language — it blows your hair back. As I’ve gotten to know the more confessional Lutheran world, I’ve begun to think Luther trickles down into permission to be a little outrageous. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that David Letterman grew up Lutheran, for example, and he defined American humor for at least ten years.
I’m getting off track here! Can you talk a little bit about the bondage of the will, and how you see the law-gospel distinction in everyday life?
AM: Yes, well, The Bondage of the Will is so meaningful to me in my own spiritual life. I spent a few months reading it because I really pondered every point he was making. And having read Erasmus’ The Freedom of the Will before that, I could see that this doctrine, which is a great source of hope and relief for Luther, is itself a kind of bondage for Erasmus. He cannot see anything positive about it. Whereas for Luther, the fact that God chooses us, that God is sovereignly causing us to turn toward Him, is good news. For Erasmus, it’s bad news because he can only see God as this monster putting us in chains.
And of course Luther’s great tract, the Freedom of the Christian, talks about the fact that as Christians, we are totally free yet we’re also a servant of all.
We often value the wrong kind of freedom. We want the maximum number of choices on offer, and as long as we’re unimpeded in making those choices, we think that we’re free. But actually, if we’re fundamentally unable to make good choices, then it doesn’t matter how many choices there are — we’re going to make the wrong one. And that’s what Luther is arguing. The problem is that we are not capable of choosing God, that we will always turn our backs on the cross because the cross is an offense, the cross tells us that we’re sinners, that we need someone to save us. And the turn to God can only happen by grace.
But we think that the law is freedom, because we think we can fulfill it. The only way you can see the gospel as good news is if you believe you can’t make good choices, and that you’re only going to be made free when God breaks the power of sin over you.
M: I like the fact that you take us into the characters’ minds, because that’s where things get super interesting.
There’s so much psychology in Luther’s theology. What does Kierkegaard say? “Luther was a patient of great importance for Christianity.” Like, this is a very neurotic man who had an extremely loud inner critic, or accusatory presence, in his life. He was very sensitive and took things to the extreme.
AM: Well, the subconscious is always influencing why we end up going one way or another, which is why it takes God intervening in our lives to change our desires if we’re ever going to really come to him.
One question I asked myself when I started all this was, why did Luther choose to make the argument he did, and why did Erasmus feel a need to argue as he did? I asked myself, why was it so important to Erasmus that we have free will? Why was it so important to me, formerly, that we had free will? Why is it important to so many Americans? We really are a free-will country — it’s so central to the American mindset that we are empowered actors who can make the best decisions for ourselves.
I show in the book how the characters’ backgrounds might have influenced their beliefs. Erasmus was the son of a priest who couldn’t even acknowledge him throughout his life — that had major legal ramifications at the time. He was often in situations where he felt chained by a lack of money and connections. I think it’s possible to over-psychologize, but I mean, his father, as a priest, is God’s representative on Earth, and his father rejects him. I have to believe that affects the way you think about God as your father.
And Luther, as well as Melanchthon, were also rejected by a father figure at some point or another.
M: Talk to me, though, about your own journey with this theology. Did you grow up in a tradition that made a distinction between the law and the gospel?
AM: I grew up in a pretty generic evangelical church. The element that was missing — and I’m not going to say I never heard about it, but it just never registered with me — was the aspect of Christ imputing or crediting his righteousness to us. The idea that actually, yes, you do have to be fully righteous to be justified. But that righteousness is given to you by Christ. I don’t think that sunk in. I don’t think it sunk in even when I was majoring in biblical literature at an evangelical undergraduate institution. I don’t think it sunk in even in the years after that when I was an adult going to church.
That was, for me, the piece that just brought it all together. Because it helps make sense of scriptures where Christ is saying, you need to be perfect, like your Heavenly Father is perfect. If you read the majority of the Sermon on the Mount, all but like one verse is actually just law.
Illustration by Aubrey Swanson Dockery.
M: Beautiful law, but law nonetheless.
AM: Yeah, but the one verse that is the key, that explains it all, is when he says, I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it. That’s the key.
I don’t think it connected for the audience that heard him say it originally, because, boy, his disciples sure didn’t figure it out for a while!
But if you don’t understand that he fulfills the law, then all the times in the New Testament where you read about these different things you should do, and these different things you should avoid, you’re going to think that all falls on you. Even when Paul is telling you you’re justified by faith alone, it’s very easy for that to go in one ear and out the other, because you’re paying attention to all these commands.
Luther’s big argument was, anytime you see a command in Scripture, anytime it says “Do this and live,” that’s the law. And anytime it says “This has already been done for you, here you go,” that’s the gospel.
And it is possible to get that principle in your preaching without using Lutheran language. But you have to at least have those concepts.
Another thing Luther realized is that you can’t just say the Old Testament is law and the New Testament is gospel. It’s more complicated than that, because within both of them you’re getting both law and gospel, and you have to be always attuned to what you are reading at the present time. What is it saying? Is it saying I’m going to be cursed if I disobey, or is it saying Christ became a curse for me, and therefore I’m justified before God?
M: And for a certain type of Reformation scholar, you can also fall into the ditch of thinking you’re justified by your precise understanding of law and gospel.
AM: Yes, I think conservative Christians are probably more commonly falling into that ditch, but it could be anyone. Sometimes people will focus too much on: Are you doing the right things outwardly, but not believing the right thing? Or do you just believe the right thing and don’t act accordingly?
And we need to be focused on the imputed righteousness of Jesus Christ, because that’s what justifies us.
M: If you could speak to Amy ten years ago, what would you want to tell her?
AM: I think I would say: You’re on the right track. You’re starting to read Luther, and that’s going to lead you into a lot of other really good things; keep reading.
The other thing I would say to Amy ten years ago is that your new beliefs are going to be tested. Because the past ten years of my life have brought some significant difficulties. Some tough things that don’t make a lot of sense to me. And that’s when our true beliefs really come out, right?
God was gracious to me in exposing me to some of those truths at the right time. Shortly after I got into Reformation theology, I went through a year of chronic pain where I was in constant pain 24-7. And becoming a mother of a child with special needs — parenthood is a lot different than I thought it would be. If I was hoping to be justified by excelling at my vocation as a wife and a mother, it would be pretty hopeless. I’m sure glad that God showed me the extent of his grace and love at the time he did.
M: That’s an incredible thing to be able to say. Amy, thank you so much for chatting with me.
AM: Oh, one last thing.
I was listening to your recent Mockingcast, in which you outed yourself as a popaholic. A year ago now, I had five pilar cysts removed from my scalp. I couldn’t wash my hair for a couple days because they didn’t want me to, you know, affect the wound site. If you would like to see a picture, I’d be happy to send it to you.
M: Well yes, I would. But also, please don’t.
AM: The good news is, it’s all completely benign, just a nuisance.
M: Yeah … I’ve got some weird crater on the top of my head.
AM: You should have someone look at it because, you know, these things just get bigger. You want to do it now. They actually had to put me under with anesthesia and everything because it would have been too many different spots to numb. So yeah, if I achieved nothing else with this discussion, it’s: Go to the doctor.
