I haven;t posted anything in a very long time, but yesterday was a sigmificant date. It marked the 500th anniversary of a marriage that was both personal and profoundly political: the wedding of Martin Luther and Katharina von Bora on June 13, 1525. For me, it’s more than history—it’s heritage. I’m their 11th great-granddaughter.
Their marriage wasn’t romantic in the conventional sense, at least not at first. Katharina, a former Cistercian nun, was one of twelve women who escaped their convent in a fish wagon—literally smuggled out in barrels. Luther helped arrange homes and marriages for many of the women, and initially, he had someone else in mind for Katharina. But she was strong-willed. She turned down other suitors and made it clear: if she were to marry, it would be Martin.
He eventually agreed—not just out of obligation, but in recognition of her intelligence and spirit. Their wedding was quiet, held in a private ceremony with a few witnesses. Yet it defied centuries of clerical celibacy and helped shape a new model of Protestant family life.
As their descendant, I feel both admiration and humility. These were not perfect people. Luther, brilliant and bold, could also be harsh and uncompromising. Katharina, practical and capable, had to navigate a household full of students, visitors, and theological upheaval—while raising six children and managing a farm. Their marriage had affection, but also tension. They were deeply human, full of frailty and contradiction. And that’s precisely what makes their legacy so real to me.
Katharina didn’t just marry a reformer—she became one, in her own quiet way. She transformed the abandoned Black Cloister in Wittenberg into a bustling home, business, and center of hospitality. She brewed beer, managed livestock, and kept the finances afloat. Martin called her “my Lord Katie”—a nickname that was part jest, part truth.
As I reflect on their union five centuries later, I don’t romanticize them. I see them clearly, through the lens of family. They argued, they worried, they worked hard, and they leaned on faith through it all. Their story is stitched into the fabric of mine—not just as icons of the Reformation, but as ancestors who dared to live differently.
Yesterday, I paused to remember the moment they stood together and said yes to a future no one could fully predict. A marriage that would ripple through generations—right down to me, tapping at a keyboard, still searching for the past.