Once when Luther had written to him, “Oh, my sin!  My sin!  My sin!” his spiritual adviser gave him the answer, “You long to be without sin, and you have no real sin.  Christ is the forgiveness of real sins, such as parricide and the like.  If Christ is to help you, you must have a list of real sins, and not come to Him with such trash and make-believe sins, seeing a sin in every trifle.”  The manner in which Luther gradually raised himself above such despair was decisive for his whole life.  The God whom he served was at that time a God of terror.  His anger was to be appeased only by the means of grace which the ancient Church prescribed—­in the first place through constant confession, for which there were innumerable prescriptions and formulae which seemed to the heart empty and cold.  By strictly prescribed activities and the practice of so-called good works, the feeling of real atonement and inward peace had not come to the young man.  Finally a saying of his spiritual adviser pierced his heart like an arrow:  “That alone is true penance which begins with love for God.  Love for God and inward exaltation is not the result of the means of grace which the Church teaches; it must go before them.”  This doctrine from Tauler’s school became for the young man the basis of a new spiritual and moral relation to God; it was for him a sacred discovery.  The transformation of his spiritual life was the principal thing.  For that he had to work.  From the depths of every human heart must come repentance, expiation, and atonement.  He and every man could lift himself up to God, alone.  Not until now did he realize what free prayer was.  In place of a far-off divine power which he had formerly sought in vain through a hundred forms and childish confessions, there came before him at last the image of an all-loving protector to whom he could speak at any time joyfully and in tears; to whom he could bring all sorrow, every doubt; who took unceasing interest in him, cared for him, granted or denied his heartfelt petitions tenderly, like a good father.  So he learned to pray; and how ardent his prayers became!  From this time he lived in peace with the beloved God whom he had finally found, every day, every hour.  His intercourse with the Most High became more intimate than with the dearest companions of this earth.  When he poured out his whole self before Him, then calm came over him and a holy peace, a feeling of unspeakable love.  He felt himself a part of God, and remained in this relation to Him from that time throughout his whole life.  He heeded no longer the roundabout ways of the ancient Church; he could, with God in his heart, defy the whole world.  Even thus early he ventured to believe that those held false doctrine who put so much stress on works of penance, that there was nothing beyond these works but a cold satisfaction and a ceremonious confession; and when, later, he learned from Melanchthon that the Greek word for penitence, metanoia meant literally