This morning, we would like to share together on the life of another man of God. His name is Count Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf.
In the spring of 1719, a young nobleman, at the request of his family, set out on a grand tour of Europe. In the eighteenth century, the education of a nobleman was not complete without such a grand tour. He was supposed to take this tour in order to further his legal studies, to see the world, and to acquire the formal polish of court manners.
But the interest of this young nobleman was otherwise. He went on the tour because he wanted to meet God’s people of various denominations. Because of his title, his rank, and his character, the doors of palaces and the studies of these divines were all open to him.
Now, one day during his tour, he went to visit an art museum in Düsseldorf. While he was looking around in that museum, his attention was especially attracted by a painting. It was a painting by Domenico Fetti. The painting is called Ecce Homo.
It was a painting of the head of the Lord Jesus. Now, of course, it was an artist’s imagination, but it was the head supposed to be Christ. On the head was a thorny crown, and underneath that painting was this challenge:
All this I have done for thee;
What doest thou for Me?
This young man stood before that painting. He reflected, and he confessed that he could not answer this question. So there and then, he prayed. He asked God to lead him into the fellowship of the sufferings of Christ, and if his heart was disinclined, that God would force him into that fellowship. He asked God to show him where and how he could serve Him.
He was so transfixed by this painting that he stood there motionless until finally the custodian of the museum tapped his shoulder and said, “It is time to leave.” He went back to the hotel and surrendered his all to God.
From that time onward, he was to be occupied with one thing only. He said, “I have only one passion: ’tis He, only He.”
Now, the name of this young count was Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf. He was born in Dresden on May 26, 1700. His father, Georg Ludwig, was one of the prime ministers at the court of Saxony.
His father was very devoted to Jesus Christ. His mother, Charlotte Justine, Baroness von Gersdorf, was a learned and pious woman.
Shortly after the birth of her son, the mother wrote in the family Bible these words:
On May 26, in the year 1700, on Wednesday evening, about six o’clock, Almighty God blessed me, Justine, with the gift of my firstborn son, Nikolaus Ludwig.
The Father of mercy govern the heart of this child, that he may walk blamelessly on the path of virtue.
May He allow no evil to have control over him, and may his path be fortified in His Word, thus that which is good will not fail toward him, neither in this temporal world nor beyond in eternity.
Only six weeks after this child was born, his father was fatally ill. Before he died, he blessed his son. When the infant was sleeping, he said, “My dear son, I would like to bless you, who has already been blessed more than I am, because I am going to the throne of Jesus.”
After his father died, the mother took the infant and went back to her parents’ home. Four years later, the mother remarried a field marshal in the Prussian army. So this young boy was left under the care of his grandmother on his mother’s side. He very seldom saw his mother.
Up until he was ten years of age, he was under the care of his grandmother, Catharina von Gersdorf, at Grosshennersdorf. Now, it was really of the Lord, because the grandmother was a very devout, pious woman.
It was during the time when there was a religious revival going on in Germany. If you know church history, you know that at that time it was the Pietist movement. Many celebrated Christians, for instance Philipp Jakob Spener, visited the house at Grosshennersdorf.
So when this boy was at a young age, he was open to all the influences of these good people. Somehow, it began to form his sentiments and thoughts at that early age.
We will let him speak for himself:
Up to my tenth year, there was more care bestowed upon me by way of shielding me from evil influences and fostering in my heart the work of God’s grace than would have been possible anywhere except in a well-ordered church of Jesus Christ.
I can say with truth, as far back as I can recollect, that my heart was religiously inclined. And even at such times when proud and peevish humors seized upon it, and vain and foolish pride of rank beset me, my heart’s affections never departed from my Savior.
There always remained within me a deep and tender interest in His course on earth. I dearly loved the good old church hymns and vastly enjoyed hearing them sung in the church.
During my stay with my grandmother, two circumstances occurred which decided my whole career. When I was six years old, my tutor, Pastor Christian Gottlieb von Reichel, after a service of three years, took leave of me. In doing so, he spoke a few words to me about the Savior and His merits, and in what sense I belonged to Him and to Him only.
These words made so deep an impression on me that I fell into a long protracted outburst of tears, during which I firmly resolved to live for Him alone who had laid down His life for me.
My very dear Aunt Henrietta endeavored to keep me in that frame of mind by often speaking to me loving and evangelical words. I opened all my heart to her, and we then spread my case before the Lord in prayer. My open and candid intercourse with her was of so great benefit to me that I could never forget it. This confidential intercourse of thought and feeling prompted me in all my endeavors in later years to establish bands and societies for mutual confidence and edification.
In my eighth year, an old hymn which my grandmother sang before she retired led me into a long train of thought as I lay sleepless on my couch. The most subtle and refined speculations that atheists have ever invented spontaneously arose in my mind and threw me into no little perplexity.
This temptation, however, had a good effect: in later years, when these selfsame cavils and speculations were again thrust upon me, they seemed to me very shallow and superficial, and made no impression whatever on my mind.
Now, Zinzendorf was very weak in constitution. He did not get over his weakness until he was twenty-one years of age. But he had a very lively mind, a quick understanding, and an extraordinary memory.
Before he was four years old, he had already apprehended the key points of Christian doctrine and had taken them into his heart—especially the important truth that Christ was our Brother and that He died for us.
When he was only four or five years old, he would collect children together and speak to them about the Savior. At six years of age, he would hold prayer meetings with such friends as he could assemble.
Sometimes, when he had paper, ink, and pen in his hand, he would write notes expressing his love towards the Savior. He would throw these notes out of the window of the castle, hoping that the Savior would pick them up.
His covenant with the Savior was, “Be Thou mine, dear Savior, and I will be Thine.”
When Zinzendorf was eleven years old, he was sent to the Royal School at Halle, which was universally acknowledged as the best place to train young noblemen.
Halle was the center of the Pietist movement, and the leader at that time was August Hermann Francke. He was the principal of this school.
Unfortunately, when the young boy was sent to the school, his mother wrote an instruction to the school—well meant, but unfortunate. She mentioned that her son was of great talent and, because of that, he had to be kept down lest he become proud and presumptuous because of his talents.
This just fit in with Francke’s theology, because Francke believed in the depravity of man. So as soon as the young boy came to school, he was disciplined from the very outset. He was put in a class lower than he had prepared for. He was made to do the most humble menial work, and for very trivial things he would be heartily reprimanded.
But in spite of all these things, he did well in his studies as a whole, and he spoke with all his power to lead people to Christ. Before he left the school, he handed over to the principal a list of seven prayer meetings that he had formed.
In one of his letters, he said, “The daily opportunity of hearing edifying intelligence respecting the kingdom of Christ.” Now, let us remember: this young boy was a count, and he was a count of the Empire, which was one of the highest ranks. Because of that, during meals he sat next to the principal.
So he had many opportunities to meet missionaries from all over the world, witnesses of the gospel of Jesus Christ, and people who were persecuted in different parts of the world. He had the opportunity to hear them at mealtime, and hearing all these conversations stirred within his heart a zeal for the Lord.
He could see all the hindrances and advantages of piety. He had a desire to suffer for faith, to break through every impediment, and a contentment with the meanest circumstances. These things deeply insinuated themselves into his life.
When he was sixteen years old, he was transferred from the school in Halle to the University of Wittenberg. The reason was that his guardian felt that he should be sent to the university to get rid of his Pietist feelings and to prepare him for the service of the state.
Now, we must remember that the University of Wittenberg at that time was the center of orthodoxy—Lutheran orthodoxy. The conflict between the Pietist movement and Lutheran orthodoxy was great at that time.
So when this young man arrived at the university, he was under suspicion by the divines, the theologians there. He was ridiculed by his fellow students because of his austerity.
But he was determined that he would not let anyone take away his heart for the Lord. So he applied himself to a very rigid life, the life of a rigid Pietist. He spent whole nights in prayer and meditation. He fasted one day a week. He studied his Bible like a man who was never going to see it again.
He went there to study law, but his interest was not there. He confessed that whatever he learned of civil law—and he did well—it was not because he applied himself in any special way to the subject. His heart’s love was the theology of the cross.
But he was not allowed to attend theological lectures, so he studied theology in his own room.
During his years in Wittenberg, he discovered one thing: the Pietists and the orthodox Lutherans shared a common ground. He called it the Christianity of the heart.
He discovered that Christianity of the heart—heart-to-heart, personal and intimate devotion to Jesus Christ, and to all who acknowledge Him as Savior—rose above all the barriers of creed, forms of worship, and ecclesiastical organization. It was instantly recognized by all men in every place who shared it, and it was a meeting ground of all Christians.
Now, the education of Zinzendorf was completed. He was first trained in his grandmother’s home during the first ten years. He was trained at the Royal School in Halle, and he was trained at the University of Wittenberg. To complete his training, he took the grand tour that we already mentioned.
He had now reached twenty years of age and had to decide on his future career. So far as he himself was concerned, he would have liked to serve the church. But this was not the wish of his relatives and friends.
Finally, he bowed to the wishes of his family and accepted a commission, a very important commission, as legal counsel in the court of Saxony. So he had to move to Dresden to stay there.
But before he went, he determined in his heart that he would not let the world take him away from the Lord. He was determined to confess the Lord boldly. During his years in Dresden, he held meetings in his home.
He was there from 1722 till 1727, and after that he took a leave of absence.
In 1722, when he reached maturity, he bought an estate from his grandmother. It was the estate of Berthelsdorf, and he turned it into a present garden of the Lord. He prayed that this place might become a place of refuge for oppressed and persecuted Christians of all kinds and denominations.
He did not have long to wait. Christian David was seeking a place of refuge for the hidden seed in Bohemia and Moravia.
These hidden seeds were the remnants of the Unity of the Brethren, Unitas Fratrum. This movement actually began before the Reformation. To them, Christ was the whole of their doctrine, and fellowship with Him was the ground spring of their whole Christian life.
But they were persecuted. They were persecuted by the Roman church as heretics, and by the state as traitors. They were nearly wiped out, but there was a remnant still there.
Christian David was trying to find a place of refuge for these poor people. In 1722, he met Zinzendorf. He talked with Zinzendorf about the situation, and immediately Zinzendorf responded and said, “Let as many as will of your friends come hither. I will give them land to build on, and Christ will give them the rest.”
Christian David immediately set to work. He traveled back to Moravia, and on June 17, 1722, a party of ten—six adults and four very young children, led by David—arrived.
Zinzendorf was not there because he was at the court in Dresden, but his steward gave them a strategic location at the bottom of a hill known as Hutberg.
Christian David would not lose any time. On June 17, he felled the first tree to build in that place. As he used the axe to cut the first tree, he quoted Psalm 84:
The sparrow hath found a house,
And the swallow a nest for herself.
Already at that early date, a name was given to this exile colony. Actually, that name was not given by Zinzendorf; it was given by the steward. In writing a report to Zinzendorf, he said:
May God grant that Your Excellency may be able to build on this hill, called the Hutberg, a town which may not only itself abide under the Lord’s watch, but all the inhabitants of which may also continue on the Lord’s watch, so that no silence may be there by day or night.
In other words, this place would be under the watch of the Lord, and it would be a place where God’s people would be on the watch for the Lord. The German name was Herrnhut.
As Herrnhut grew, so did the variety of its inhabitants. Refugees came not only from Moravia and Bohemia, but from different parts of Germany, all eager to worship in freedom and to uphold those principles which Catholic persecution had failed to purge out of them.
Besides the descendants of the Unitas Fratrum, there were refugees from Lutheran homes, Pietists, Reformed, Separatists, Schwenkfelders, and Roman Catholics.
Now, with such a variety, it was almost inevitable that there would be discord. During that time, there was not only external opposition, but there was inward dissension.
Zinzendorf was the squire of Berthelsdorf, and he wrote:
I could easily have found means to rid myself of many of these people who give me so much trouble. But I believe that the Lord has a great work for Him to do among these exiles.
He felt that liberty of conscience on all points was most agreeable to the will of God. So he strove constantly for the unity of the Christians.
In the autumn of 1724, he requested all the refugees to call upon him privately at his house and discuss with him the points at issue. Three whole days and nights were devoted to conversations with these brethren.
They remained in session without thought of food. They separated at two o’clock in the morning, rested for three hours, and met again.
Zinzendorf impressed upon these people that sect had a certain connection with knowledge, but sect had no connection with love. He opened the Scriptures to them, and this was the beginning of the unification of these brethren.
But the discord was not healed. However, a new day was dawning.
In 1727, as we mentioned before, Zinzendorf had a leave of absence from the court. So he moved back to Berthelsdorf that he might devote his whole time to the healing of the discord and to care for the souls that stayed on his estate.
His spirit of love and impartiality, his remarkable patience, and unceasing prayer began to accomplish the ministry of reconciliation.
On the afternoon of May 12, he summoned all the inhabitants of Herrnhut and addressed them for three hours. He spoke of the evil of separation and the blessedness of Christian unity.
He introduced and explained to them the mutual injunctions and prohibitions. In other words, he drew up regulations to regulate the life of the community. Being the squire of the estate, of course he was the head of the community.
He drew up rules and regulations for those who lived in the community. They were to keep these rules and regulations, and if they did not, they would be punished. That was the civil side.
He also gave them statutes called the Brotherly Agreement, binding them to walk according to the apostolic rule. These had no legal compulsion. They were to be the basis of their voluntary agreement to abide together in Christian fellowship.
The count declared that Herrnhut was, on that day, balancing between two things: either it would be a nest of sects, or it would be a living congregation.
On that day, he made a covenant with the people in the presence of God. After such exhortation, the people were so ashamed of their religious quarrels and unanimously disposed to bury these things in oblivion.
They also sincerely renounced self-love, self-will, disobedience, and free thinking. They desired to be cool in spirit. None of them sought a preference above the rest. Each one wished to be taught by the Holy Spirit in all things.
From that time onward, a new spirit came upon that whole congregation. There was joy, there was peace, and there was a holy expectation.
On August 13, this was the day of the first communion of the reconciled community. These people were to come together to remember the Lord. That was the first time.
So Zinzendorf visited every family in the settlement. He talked to them faithfully, friendly, and familiarly, preparing them for this celebration.
As they gathered together to partake of the loaf and the cup, an anointing flowed through every person. With inexpressible joy and love, they were baptized into one Spirit.
All were convinced that, partaking of the benefits of the passion of the Lamb and being in fellowship with one another, the Holy Spirit had come upon them in all His plenitude of grace and mercy. The whole congregation returned to Herrnhut as a newborn church.
A Moravian who was there at that time said:
On the thirteenth day of August, 1727, all the members of the flock in general were touched in a singular manner by the efficacy of the word of reconciliation through the blood of Christ, and were so convinced and affected that their hearts were set on fire with new faith and love toward the Savior, and likewise with heartfelt love toward one another, which moved them so far that of their own accord they embraced one another in tears and grew together into a holy union among themselves.
So, rising again as it were out of its ashes, came the ancient Unity of the Moravian Brethren.
It was truly a miracle of God that out of so many sects—Catholic, Lutheran, Reformed, Separatist, Schwenkfelder, and alike—they could have been melted together into one, wrote Christian David.
“From this time on, Herrnhut became a living congregation of Christ,” said David Nitschmann. “They were baptized by the Holy Spirit Himself into one love,” said Spangenberg.
Zinzendorf concluded that August 13 was a day of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon the congregation. It was his Pentecost.
So rich was the experience of fellowship and unity through the blood of Christ that it inevitably expressed itself in action.
On August 27, twenty-four brothers and twenty-four sisters covenanted together to pray during each hour of day and night. Everyone would take one hour, so the prayer would continue day and night for Herrnhut and its witness.
Under the encouragement of Zinzendorf, this spread over the whole settlement. All the brothers and sisters participated in this hourly intercession.
Day and night, on land and sea, at home and abroad, prayer ascended day and night to God. It continued for one hundred years.
That experience on August 13 turned the zeal in the heart of Zinzendorf toward the gospel of Jesus Christ for the lost.
In April 1731, Zinzendorf went to Copenhagen to attend the coronation of Christian VI. There he met an enslaved man by the name of Anthony Ulrich, from the island of St. Thomas in the West Indies.
Anthony told Zinzendorf how often he had stood on the shore of that island and sighed his soul toward Christian Europe. He told him how his brother Abraham, his sister Anna, and many other enslaved people in the West Indies longed to hear the gospel.
When Zinzendorf returned, on July 23, he related to the people what Anthony had said. That very night, two young men, Leonard Dober and Tobias Leupold, both dreamed a dream.
In the dream, they heard the call of God to go to St. Thomas to preach the gospel. The next day they walked together and shared with each other their dreams. To their amazement, they had received the same call. So they bowed before God and gave themselves to Him. Later, they made it known to Zinzendorf and the rest.
Well, I have to go back a little bit. On July 29, Anthony was brought to Herrnhut so that he could tell the people himself. Anthony said to them, “You cannot, you are not able to preach the gospel to the slaves unless you yourselves become slaves.”
So these two young men felt a call. Zinzendorf and the rest were very cautious before God. They did not rush into anything. They kept the matter before the Lord.
Only after a year, on June 16, 1732, Dober wrote a letter to Zinzendorf. He said, “If another brother will go with me, I am ready to become a slave myself.”
During those days, they usually cast lots to decide on matters. So they prayed, and they cast a lot. When the lot was cast, Dober was chosen. The word for Dober was, “Let the lad go, for the Lord is with him.”
David Nitschmann, a carpenter and a married man, was chosen to go with him. They were to report back in four months.
On the morning of August 21, 1732, these two brothers set out on foot for Copenhagen, bundles on their backs, thirty shillings in their pockets, and an invincible, embracing love of Christ in their hearts.
This was the beginning of the modern worldwide missionary movement.
A few points may be mentioned about their missionary strategy.
So many volunteered for the mission field that at one time one out of four was out on mission. They went to the most remote places in the world. They went to Greenland. They went to all different places to preach the gospel.
Even after about two hundred years, Everard E. Myers said in 1921 that one out of every ninety-two Moravians was on the mission field.
Well, the inevitable happened. The vitality of this new thing was too much for the eighteenth century. The eighteenth century was not ready religiously, socially, or politically.
Because Zinzendorf was a count of the Empire, and because of what happened, he was accused. Finally, he was banished from Saxony. He became an exile.
From April 1736 to October 1747, he was an exile, a wanderer in the world. He was not allowed to return home.
But when Zinzendorf heard this, he was ready. He said:
It matters little. I could not have returned to Herrnhut anyway for ten years, for the time has come for the pilgrim congregation to carry the Savior to the whole world. Our home will be that particular place where, at the moment, our Savior has the most for us to do.
He regarded it as a privilege to be merely a pilgrim on earth.
I have learned by experience that there is happiness in being at home anywhere, everywhere, as He—that is, our Lord—who passed most of His life as a pilgrim and in exile.
So it was for ten years. He and his party roamed all over the European continent—in Berlin, Switzerland, Holland, England, anywhere. Wherever they went, they preached, they sang, and they prayed.
Now, we have to skip over and come to the last days. During the last five years of his life, he returned to his home in Herrnhut, because after ten years the order was rescinded. It was proven that the accusation was false.
During his last five years, he was troubled by a fever that he had contracted during his visits to the Caribbean islands. But he did more in sickness than most people do when they are well.
In the early days of May 1760, a severe fever took hold of him, and his sickness grew worse. About one hundred brothers and sisters gathered around in his bedroom.
He turned to David Nitschmann and said:
Did you suppose, in the beginning, that the Savior would do as much as we now really are in the various Moravian settlements, amongst the children of God of other denominations, and amongst the heathen? I only entreated Him for a few of the firstfruits of the latter, but there are now thousands of them. This one, what a formidable caravan from the church already stands before the Lamb.
Very early in the morning of May 9, he whispered to his son-in-law, John de Watteville, “Now, my dear son, I am going to the Savior. I am ready. If He is no longer willing to use me here, I am quite ready to go to Him.”
And he passed to glory that very same day.
Shall we pray?
Our heavenly Father, Thou art our Maker, Thou art our Redeemer, Thou art our Savior, Thou art our Lord. We do praise and thank Thee that we see Thy handiwork in the life of Thy servant, Zinzendorf, and Thou art the same yesterday, today, and forever.
Thou art our Maker. Thou art our Redeemer. Thou art our Savior. Thou art our Lord. And there is nothing Thou canst not do, even with the weakest, the meanest, the lowest, and the nothing.
So, Lord, we do pray that the passion Thou hast put in Thy servant’s heart may be our passion: that we may know nothing but Thee.
O Lord, do constrain us with Thy love, that we may love Thee with all our hearts, with all our intelligence, with all our strength, because Thou art worthy.
Thou art worthy not only to receive that love and passion from Thy servant Zinzendorf; Thou art worthy to receive the love and passion of all who are redeemed by Thy precious blood.
Lord, we do ask Thee to touch us, to restore us to that first love. And it is for Thee and for Thy glory, in the name of our Lord Jesus.
Amen.