In 1517, Martin Luther triggered the Reformation with his 95 Theses, nailed to the Castle Church door in Wittenberg, Germany. This year marks the 500th anniversary of that Oct. 31 event that ignited a fire across Europe. Fueled by the recently-invented printing press, the Reformation featured debates within the western Church on the topics of justification by faith, the authority of Scripture, the office of the papacy, and the relationship of the human will to salvation.

An overlooked contribution of Luther, in my opinion, is what has come to be known as his theology of the cross. Luther defended it against the prevailing theology of glory. The theology of glory creates a picture of God that reflects humanity’s own expectations of what God should be like. Most people expect God to reward those who do good things. Those who behave well and obey God must certainly attain entrance into heaven. They assume God’s justice is similar to their own.

The theology of the cross begins with God’s revelation of himself, not with human expectations. This revelation of God primarily is seen in the person of Christ on the cross at Calvary. In the brokenness of the suffering Christ, the Christian sees the triumph of the God of grace over the world, man’s sinful flesh, and the devil. God’s mercy and love are most dramatically displayed as Christ submits to the Father’s wrath upon human sin. The agonies of Jesus on the cross reveal sin’s full filthiness and how seriously a righteous God takes sin.

In the humanity of Christ, God shows His mercy and love. Clothed in human flesh, Christ comes so close to us, prepared to welcome sinners into His presence, freeing men and women from physical and spiritual bondage so they might know true life. Jesus makes himself nothing and dies in order that human beings might have eternal life.

The theology of the cross affects our Christian existence, the way we experience the world and taste the blessing and fellowship of God himself. Suffering and weakness are not just the way Christ triumphed. It is the way we triumph too. As Christ accepted suffering and death in His life and ministry, those who seek to walk in His footsteps should expect no less.

For Luther, suffering and death to self were the essence of the Christian’s life. In our suffering and weakness, God does His work of bringing us to heaven, strengthening faith and dependence. Christians can expect suffering and weakness as part and parcel of the Christ-centered life.

Luther’s discovery turned the theology of glory upside down. Seeking health, wealth, and happiness, the theology of glory assumes if God is good to me, then He will give me all the things I most want. Whatever I claim. You know, those things the world offers: big income, status, good health, lots of friends, personal comfort and success. Contrast that with the way of the cross: suffering, rejection, and marginalization in society. In a world of self-fulfillment, there’s no room for the cross. None at all. Let me explain.

Decades ago, one worked for the common good as a whole. Or, one worked to provide a stable home and environment for one’s wife and children. Today, we work for our own happiness. To get us things. We put careers before the welfare of our children; we decline putting ourselves out for anyone if it interferes with my career development, leisure time, or personal fitness routine. Health, wealth, and happiness have become the three “sacred calves” of our contemporary western world that typify our personal fulfillment craze.

How can today’s church take Luther’s insight of suffering and weakness, standing at the heart of the gospel, and translate it into our contemporary world? We can begin by reflecting long and hard on the cross where God revealed His grace in His Son. Jesus entered the depths of human existence, the torment and isolation of the cross, to rescue mankind from the brokenness of this world’s sin and remedy its love of self.

In a world that measures success by fat double income lifestyles and snobby designer labels, 500 years after Luther, we need his theology of the cross. More than ever, don’t you think?