reformation

Martin Luther, part VII – The Diet of Worms

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Luther was conducted into the hall and brought to stand directly in front of the emperor. The chancellor of the Elector of Treves began speaking, addressing Luther first in Latin and then repeating his words in German.

“Martin Luther! yesterday you begged for a delay that has not expired. Assuredly it ought to have been conceded, as every man, and especially you, who are so great and learned a doctor in the Holy Scriptures, should always be ready to answer any question touching his faith. . . . Now, therefore, reply to the question put by his majesty, who has behaved to you with so much mildness. Will you defend your books as a whole, or are you willing to disavow some of them?” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, chap. 8

A deep silence settled over the room as every ear strained to catch Luther’s reply. What a moment! The fate, not only of the Reformation, but of nations was at that moment hanging in the balance.

Luther began by graciously saluting the emperor, the princes, and the lords. While he spoke firmly, he addressed the assembly in modest tones. “Most serene emperor! illustrious princes! gracious lords! I appear before you this day, in conformity with the order given me yesterday, and by God’s mercies I conjure your majesty and your august highnesses to listen graciously to the defense of a cause which I am assured is just and true. If, through ignorance, I should transgress the usages and proprieties of courts, I entreat you to pardon me; for I was not brought up in the palaces of kings, but in the seclusion of a convent.

“Yesterday, two questions were put to me on behalf of his imperial majesty: the first, if I was the author of the books whose titles were enumerated; the second, if I would retract or defend the doctrine I had taught in them. To the first question I then made answer, and I preserve in that reply.

“As for the second, I have written works on many different subjects. There are some in which I have treated of faith and good works, in a manner at once so pure, so simple, and so scriptural, that even my adversaries, far from finding anything to censure in them, allow that these works are useful and worthy of being read by all pious men. The papal bull, however violent it may be, acknowledges this. If, therefore, I were to retract these, what should I do? . . . Wretched man! Among all men, I alone should abandon truths that friends and enemies approve, and I should oppose what the whole world glories in confessing. . . .

“Second, I have written books against the papacy, in which I have attacked those who, by their false doctrine, their evil lies, or their scandalous example, afflict the Christian world and destroy both body and soul. The complaints of all who fear God are confirmatory of this. Is it not evident that the laws and human doctrines of the popes entangle, torment, and vex the consciences of believers, while the crying and perpetual extortions of Rome swallow up the wealth and the riches of Christendom, and especially of this illustrious nation? . . .

“Were I to retract what I have said on this subject, what should I do but lend additional strength to this tyranny and open the floodgates to torment of impiety? Overflowing with still greater fury than before, we should see these insolent men increase in number, behave more tyrannically, and domineer more and more. And not only would the yoke that now weighs upon the Christian people be rendered heavier by my retraction, but it would become, so to speak, more legitimate; for by this very retraction it would receive the confirmation of your most serene majesty and of all the states of the holy empire. Gracious God! I should thus become a vile cloak to cover and conceal every kind of malice and tyranny! . . .

“Lastly, I have written books against individuals who desired to defend the Romish tyranny and to destroy the faith. I frankly confess that I may have attacked them with more acrimony than is becoming my ecclesiastical profession. I do not consider myself a saint, but I cannot disavow these writings; for by so doing I should sanction the impiety of my adversaries, and they would seize the opportunity of oppressing the people of God with still greater cruelty.

“Yet I am but a mere man, and not God; I shall therefore defend myself as Christ did. If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil (see John 18:23) said He. How much more should I, who am but dust and ashes and who may so easily go astray desire every man to state his objections to my doctrine.

“For this reason, most serene emperor and you, most illustrious princes, and all men of every degree, I conjure you, by the mercy of God, to prove from the writings of the prophets and the apostles that I have erred. As soon as I am convinced of this, I will retract every error and be the first to lay hold of my books and throw them into the fire.” Ibid.

In closing, Luther drew the attention of the assembly to a judgment that they must each face: not a judgment beyond the grave but of the here and now. They were each, he pointed out, on trial. By their decisions, they were to determine whether their thrones were to be established or to be swept away in a coming deluge of wrath. “I might speak,” Luther continued, “of Pharaohs, the kings of Babylon, and those of Israel whose labours never more effectually contributed to their own destruction than when they sought by counsels, to all appearance most wise, to strengthen their dominion.” Ibid.

Luther’s Defense Repeated

Luther had spoken in German with great modesty and firmness. The imposing assembly, as well as his own emotion, had greatly fatigued him. The emperor, however, greatly disliked the German language, and it was now demanded of Luther that he repeat his defense in Latin. Frederick of Thun, the privy councilor of the Elector of Saxony, had been stationed by Luther’s side to see that no violence was used against him. Seeing Luther’s exhausted condition, he said, “If you cannot repeat what you have said, that will do, doctor.” Ibid. But Luther, after a brief pause, repeated his speech with the same energy he had presented his first. “God’s providence directed in this matter. The minds of many of the princes were so blinded by error and superstition that at the first delivery they did not see the force of Luther’s reasoning; but the repetition enabled them to perceive clearly the points presented.” The Great Controversy, 159

When he had finished speaking, the Chancellor of Treves said with indignation, ” ‘You have not answered the question put to you. You were not summoned hither to call in question the decisions of councils. You were required to give a clear and precise answer. Will you, or will you not, retract?’ Upon this Luther replied without hesitation: ‘Since your most serene majesty and your high mightinesses require from me a clear, simple, and precise answer, I will give you one, and it is this: I cannot submit my faith either to the pope or to the councils, because it is clear as the day that they have frequently erred and contradicted each other. Unless therefore I am convinced by the testimony of Scripture, or by the clearest reasoning,—unless I am persuaded by the means of the passages I have quoted,—and unless they thus render my conscience bound by the Word of God, I cannot and I will not retract, for it is unsafe for a Christian to speak against his conscience.’ And then, looking round on this assembly before which he stood and which held his life in its hands, he said: ‘Here I stand, I can do no other; May God help me! Amen!’ ” D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, book 7, chap. 8

The words of the Reformer had a profound impact on the assembly. Many of the princes could scarcely conceal their admiration. In all, Luther had spoken for nearly two hours. The effects of Aleander’s address, given so eloquently before the diet but a short time before, had dissipated in less than a week; but Luther’s was to live on to stir men’s hearts for hundreds of years to come.

To their amazement, the princes discovered that the roles had completely reversed. But two hours earlier Luther had stood before them apparently condemned, but they found that they had now been summoned to stand before his bar. Unawed by the crowns they wore, or the armies they commanded, this simple monk had entreated, admonished, and reproved them. It mattered not what they might do with the Reformer; the victory was clearly his. Nothing that Rome might now do could reverse her defeat, or conceal the victory that had been won. What light has time shed on the words that he spoke! The history of the Catholic nations of Europe and the New World bear testimony to their truthfulness.

As soon as the assembly had partially recovered, the chancellor spoke. ” ‘If you do not retract, the emperor and the states of the empire will consult what course to adopt against an incorrigible heretic.’ At these words Luther’s friends began to tremble; but the monk repeated: ‘May God be my helper; for I can retract nothing.’ ” Ibid.

After Luther withdrew, the princes deliberated. The partisans of Rome could not bring themselves to concede defeat, and Luther was again summoned before them. The speaker for the diet again addressed him. “Martin, you have not spoken with the modesty becoming your position. The distinction you have made between your books was futile; for if you retracted those that contained your errors, the emperor would not have allowed the others to be burnt. It is extravagant in you to demand to be refuted by Scripture, when you are reviving heresies condemned by the general council of Constance. The emperor, therefore, calls upon you to declare simply, yes or no, whether you presume to maintain what you have advanced, or whether you will retract a portion?’—’I have no other reply to make than that which I have already made,’ answered Luther calmly.” Ibid. Firm as a rock, the Reformer remained unmoved by the waves beating about him. His firm, unshaken stand made a profound impression upon the assembly. Charles V arose, and with him all of the assembly. Deliberations were at an end until the morrow.

Two imperial officers formed Luther’s escort. Some imagined that Luther was being led forth to the scaffold, and a great tumult broke out. It was quickly quelled when Luther assured them that he was merely being escorted to his hotel.

Upon his return to his room, Luther was surrounded by Spalatin and other friends. Together they gave thanks to God for the events of the day. As they were talking together, a messenger from the Elector of Saxony came with orders for Spalatin to come to him immediately. When Spalatin arrived at the duke’s quarters, the duke had just seated himself for supper. Arising, he motioned Spalatin to follow him. As soon as they were alone in the duke’s bed chamber, he informed Spalatin of his resolution to more actively protect the doctor in the future.

Aleander recognized the impression that Luther had made upon the assembly. He saw that he must act quickly if he were to counteract the influence that was rapidly gaining ground. War was imminent between Charles and Francis. Leo X, desiring to enlarge his estates, was secretly negotiating with both parties. Aleander, however, sought to use the influence of an alliance with the pope against Francis as the means of influencing Charles, thereby deciding the fate of the Reformer. He knew that the life of a single monk was a mere trifle if it could purchase the pontiff’s friendship.

Charles Rejects the Reformation

On the day following Luther’s appearance, the emperor ordered a prepared message to be read to the diet. In the message, he affirmed his intentions to support the Catholic Church. While confirming the safe-conduct that he had extended to Luther, he expressed his resolve to move against the Reformer as soon as it should expire and to martial all of the resources at his command to crush the heresy.

Not all of the members of the diet were pleased with the address. Charles, in his youthful haste, had failed to comply with the usual form of consulting with the diet before forming his decision. On the other extreme, the elector of Brandenburg and several of the ecclesiastical princes demanded the safe-conduct given to Luther should not be respected. The Rhine, they said, should receive his ashes as it had the ashes of John Huss a century before. Against such a base proposal a number of the princes of Germany objected. The Bavarian nobles, though mostly papal, protested against the violation of public faith. Even George of Saxony, Luther’s avowed enemy, said, “The princes of Germany will not permit a safe-conduct to be violated. This diet, the first held by our new emperor, will not be guilty of so base an action. Such perfidy does not accord with the ancient German integrity.” Ibid., chap. 9. The proposal was turned down with scorn and indignation.

Charles, who was yet very young, shrank from the idea of committing perjury. He is reported to have said, “Though honour and faith should be banished from all the world, they ought to find a refuge in the hearts of princes.” A somewhat less charitable assessment was given by Vettori, the friend of Leo X, who alleged that Charles spared Luther only that he might be a check on the pope. Charles, it would seem, only half trusted Leo, and in the game of international intrigue in which he was then engaged, he believed that a living Luther would be a more valuable counter than a dead one. There was also reason to believe that he was not blind to the danger that public sentiment was running so high that should the safe-conduct be violated, his first diet could easily be his last one. Charles is, however, credited with having repented of his decision in after years. He is reported to have stated, near the close of his life, that he was not obliged to have kept his promise to a heretic who had offended a Master greater than he—God Himself. He might, he then believed, have stifled the heresy in its infancy.

The Safe-conduct Honored

The discussion as to what to do with the Reformer lasted two days. During this time, the emotions of the citizens ran high. According to some sources, there were four hundred nobles ready to enforce Luther’s safe-conduct, if necessary, with the sword. Sickingen, it was reported, had assembled many knights and soldiers behind the impregnable ramparts of his stronghold but a dozen miles from Worms. The enthusiasm of the people, not only in Worms but throughout Germany, as well as the intrepidity of the knights and the attachment that many of the princes felt for the cause of the Reformer, convinced Charles that it would be disastrous to follow the course proposed by the Romanists. Though it was only a question of burning a simple monk, the partisans of Rome had not the strength or courage to do so. To have violated the safe-conduct would have immediately convulsed Germany in a civil war. Luther was ordered to return home under the emperor’s safe-conduct, the violent propositions of Aleander having been rejected.

The Elector Frederick was delighted with the appearance that Luther had made before the diet, but he was not alone in his appreciation of the Reformer. From that time on, many others who heard him became friends of the Reformation. Some of them expressed their change of sentiment at the time, while with others it bore fruit years later. Though Frederick had determined more than ever to protect Luther, he knew that the less his hand was seen in the matter, the more effectively he could further the cause and protect its champion. He therefore avoided all personal contact with Luther.

On the morning of April 26, Luther, surrounded by twenty gentlemen on horseback, left Worms. A few days after his departure, the emperor made public an edict against him, placing him outside the pale of the law and commanding all men everywhere, once his safe-conduct had expired, to withhold from him food, water, and shelter, and to do all within their power to apprehend him. This edict was drafted by Aleander and ratified by a meeting in the emperor’s private chamber after Elector Frederick and those favorable to Luther had already departed. The edict was dated May 8, but in reality the imperial signature was not placed on it until May 26. The purpose of the antedating was to give it the appearance of carrying the authority of the full diet.

Luther had entered Worms under the anathema of the pope. When he left, to this was added the ban of the empire.

The End

Martin Luther, part VI – Arrival at Worms

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The news that Luther had been summoned to the diet spread rapidly throughout Germany. While the Germans were glad to see the cause of their country and their church taking on an importance that challenged examination and discussion by so august an assembly, they could not help but be filled with apprehension. They trembled when they considered the fate of the man who had become the ablest champion of both their political and religious rights. If Luther should be sacrificed to the hatred of the Church, who then would compensate for his loss to the movement which promised to free them from the tyranny of Rome?

On April 2, the arrangements for travel were completed and Luther, along with three of his more intimate friends, began the trip to Worms. Though Melancthon begged to accompany them, Luther firmly declined, pointing out that should he himself be sacrificed to the malice of Rome, there was no one but Melancthon capable of carrying on. The youth and professors from the university, as well as the towns people, thronged the streets of Wittenberg to witness his departure.

The procession was led by the imperial herald, wearing his insignia and displaying the imperial eagle, showing that the travelers journeyed under the guardianship of the emperor. For Luther’s convenience, the magistrates of Wittenberg, at their own cost, had provided a covered conveyance for his comfort in travel.

Everywhere they went, villagers poured out to catch a glimpse of the monk who dared to stand against Rome, Leipsic being one notable exception. The Roman party had dared to hope that Luther would not accept the invitation to appear. Once the news arrived that he had begun his journey, they did not despair by intrigues and menaces of making him turn back. All along the way both friends and enemies endeavored in vain to turn him from his purpose of appearing before the diet. Little did they know of the character of the man with whom they were dealing. To their dismay, Luther kept his face steadfastly towards Worms.

Rome Fears Luther

Alarm was general in the camp of the pope’s friends. They feared that if Luther entered Worms, all might be lost. To carry him off by force, they could not; for he was traveling under the protection of the emperor. All that was left for them was deception. Glapio, confessor to Charles, and Paul of Amsdorff, the emperor’s chamberlain, decided on a plan which they immediately set out to implement. Finding their way to the castle of Ebernburg, they approached Francis of Sickingen, a knight who was friendly to the Reformed movement. Bucer, a youthful Dominican who had been converted to the evangelical doctrine, had taken refuge there. The knight, who did not understand much about religious matters, was easily deceived by the designs of his visitors. Bucer’s disposition to naturally avoid conflict also played into their hands.

The chamberlain and Charles’s confessor began their attack by making Sickingen and Bucer to understand that Luther was lost if he entered the city. They declared that the emperor was ready to send a few men to Ebernburg to confer with the doctor and indicated that both parties would place themselves under the protection of Sickingen. Further, they asserted that they agreed with Luther on all of the essential points and that it was only on some secondary points that there remained any disagreement. These, they said, they were willing for Bucer to mediate between them. The knight and Bucer were staggered at the apparent change in circumstances. Their two visitors continued by pointing out that the invitation to come to the castle must be presented by Sickingen and Bucer and that they must not allow the too credulous Luther to enter Worms. When his safe conduct expired in three days, who would be able to protect him there?

When Luther arrived at Oppenheim and saw a group of horsemen approaching him, he realized that his safe conduct was only good for three more days. He soon recognized Bucer, a man with whom he had held intimate conversations at Heidelberg. After the first exchange of friendship, Bucer told him that the attending troops were cavaliers belonging to Francis of Sickingen and that the knight had sent him to bring Luther’s party to the safety of his castle. There, he was told, the emperor’s confessor, who held almost unlimited influence with Charles, desired an interview with him in the hope of working out all differences amicably. Aleander, the papal legate in Worms, was not, however, to be trusted.As Bucer was pressing them, Luther’s friends did not know what to think; but Luther had no hesitation. ” ‘I shall continue my journey,’ he replied to Bucer; ‘and if the emperor’s confessor has anything to say to me, he will find me at Worms. I shall go whither I am summoned.’ ” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 6, chap. 7

Word began to quietly circulate in Worms that the diet was not bound to honor the emperor’s safe-conduct. It was with great apprehension that Luther’s friends heard these whispers. One question came to the minds of all: Was the perfidy of Constance to be repeated in Worms? The elector, greatly alarmed, sent word to Luther by Spalatin, urging him not enter the city. This was perhaps the most difficult obstacle that Luther had yet been forced to deal with, coming as it did from a trusted friend. “Fixing his eyes on the messenger, Luther replied, ‘Go and tell your master that even should there be as many devils in Worms as tiles on the house tops, still I will enter it.’ ” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 333

His Appearance Unexpected

Luther’s friends, and even more so his enemies, did not really expect him to come to Worms. When, however, on the sixteenth of April the sentinel on the lookout sounded his trumpet to announce Luther’s approach, the streets were suddenly flooded by men of all nations and levels of society. So great was the welcome that not even the emperor had received such a turnout. It was only with great difficulty that the procession was able to move through the press of people.

On his journey to Worms, Luther experienced an illness. Though somewhat weakened from his recent recovery, the Reformer arrived in Worms greatly fatigued from his fourteen days of travel and in need of rest. The anxiety of the people to see him was too great to allow for even an hours’ repose. He had but just entered his lodging when princes, dukes, counts, bishops, men of all ranks, both friends and foes, crowded into his apartment. Scarcely had one wave of visitors been dismissed when another pressed its way in.

The crowd of visitors, varying greatly in rank and purpose, pressed about Luther until late into the night. He answered all of their questions with such dignity and wisdom that even his enemies marveled. After the last visitor had left, Luther went to bed and sought rest; but the excitement of the day had left him restless and unable to sleep. After arising and playing a song on his lute, he went to the window. “There were the stars fulfilling their courses far above the tumults of earth, yet far beneath that throne on which sat a greater King than the monarch before whom he was to appear on the morrow. He felt as he gazed, a sense of sublimity filling his soul, and bringing with it a feeling of repose. Withdrawing his gaze, and closing the casement, he said, ‘I will lay me down and take quiet rest, for Thou makest me to dwell in safety.’ ” Ibid., 335

At four o’clock on the day of the hearing, the marshal of the empire appeared to summon Luther before the diet. The crowd that filled the streets was even greater than that which had filled them the day before. It was impossible to advance, and at length the herald ordered some private homes to be opened and they made their way through gardens and private passages to the place where the diet was sitting.

Having at last reached the town hall, Luther and those who accompanied him were again prevented from further advance. By the use of main force, the soldiers were at last able to clear the doors and gain an admittance. On the inside, every corner was crowded. In the antechambers and deep recesses of the windows, there were more than five thousand spectators; and it was only with great difficulty that Luther was able to advance to the entrance of the hall where the diet awaited him.

“As he was about to enter the presence of his judges, an old general, the hero of many battles, said to him kindly: ‘Poor monk, poor monk, thou art now going to make a nobler stand than I or any other captains have ever made in the bloodiest of our battles. But if thy cause is just, and thou art sure of it, go forward in God’s name, and fear nothing. God will not forsake thee.’. . .

“At length the doors opened and Luther went in, and with him entered many persons who formed no portion of the diet. Never had man appeared before so imposing an assembly. The emperor Charles V, whose sovereignty extended over a great part of the old and new world; his brother the Archduke Ferdinand; six electors of the empire . . . ; twenty-four dukes, the majority of whom were independent sovereigns over countries more or less extensive and among whom were some whose names afterwards became formidable to the Reformation,—the Duke of Alva and his two sons; eight margraves; thirty archbishops, bishops, and abbots; seven ambassadors, including those from the kings of France and England; the deputies of ten free cities; a great number of princes, counts, and sovereign barons; the papal nuncios—in all two hundred and four persons: such was the imposing court before which appeared Martin Luther.

A Victory for Truth

“This appearance was of itself a signal victory over the papacy. The pope had condemned the man, and he was now standing before a tribunal which, by this very act, set itself above the pope. The pope had laid him under an interdict, and cut him off from all human society; and yet he was summoned in respectful language, and received before the most august assembly in the world. The pope had condemned him to perpetual silence, and he was now about to speak before thousands of attentive hearers drawn together from the farthest parts of Christendom. An immense revolution had thus been effected by Luther’s instrumentality. Rome was already descending from her throne, and it was the voice of a monk that caused this humiliation.” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, ch. 8

Luther was conducted to a place directly in front of the emperor’s throne. The sudden transition from the uneasy crowd to the calm grandeur of the diet had its effect upon him. As he felt all eyes turn upon him, Luther appeared, for a moment, almost intimidated and bewildered; but it passed and he quickly regained his composure. The sun was near its setting and its golden rays filled the room, accentuating the rich colors of the national costumes. In the midst of all of the imposing grandeur stood Luther in his monk’s frock.

The spokesman for the diet arose and, first in Latin and then in German, addressed Luther, asking him two questions. First he asked, as he pointed to a display of Luther’s books spread out on a table, if he acknowledge these to be his books. Second, was Luther prepared to retract and disavow the opinions that he had advanced in them?

Luther’s First Response

Luther, his bearing respectful and his voice low, began to speak. Some of the members thought that it trembled a little and hoped for a quick retraction.

The first charge Luther frankly acknowledged. As to the second point, he replied. “Seeing it is a question which concerns the salvation of souls, and in which the Word of God—than which nothing is greater in heaven or in earth—is interested, I should act imprudently were I to reply without reflection. I entreat your imperial Majesty, with all humility, to allow me time, that I may reply without offending against the Word of God.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 339

It was a wise decision, which was interpreted differently by the papal members of the diet. Confidently, they expressed the belief among themselves that he was merely breaking his fall and would soon retract. They believed that while he might play the heretic in the safety of Wittenberg, he would play the part of a penitent at Worms. How little they penetrated the depth of Luther’s character.

After a deliberation, the diet granted the delay that Luther requested. Luther bowed, and instantly the herald was by his side to conduct him to his hotel.

As he arose the next day, it was not the prospect of death that filled Luther with apprehension but the full realization that the crisis had arrived and he felt unable to meet it. It seemed that the sustaining power that had been with him until that point had deserted him, and all that he could see was an approaching catastrophe. The fear that the enemies of the gospel would triumph distressed him beyond words. In an agony of soul he poured his heart out to God.

Rising from his knees, Luther felt complete calm return to his soul. He then sat down to arrange his thoughts, to draft, in outline, his defense, and to search the Scriptures for passages with which to fortify it. Having completed this task, he laid his left hand upon the sacred Book and raising his right hand to heaven, swore to remain faithful to the gospel and to uphold it, even if it cost him his life. After this, the Reformer experienced a still deeper peace.

At four o’clock that afternoon, the grand marshal and the herald again presented themselves to escort Luther to the hall. On arriving in the outer court, they found the diet in deep deliberation with no indication as to when Luther might expect to be heard. The first hour passed and then a second. So long a delay in such circumstances was sufficient to exhaust him physically and distract him mentally, but the Reformer’s tranquility did not forsake him. The night began to fall, and torches were kindled in the assembly hall.

At last the door opened and Luther entered the hall. If, as some suspect, the delay was arranged by Aleander in the hope that Luther would come before the diet in a state of agitation, he was doomed to disappointment. The Reformer stood before the diet in perfect composure and with an air of dignity.

The End

Martin Luther, part V – Called Before The Council

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Realizing that he could expect little help from the Elector of Saxony, Aleander now turned his attention to the emperor. As he knew, the truth or falsehood of Luther’s opinions carried little weight with Charles; his course was one of policy. The case with him revolved around the point of ambition. Quite simply, which would mot further his political projects, to protect Luther or to burn him? At this time, Germany was not the center of Charles’ interest or policy. He understood neither the spirit nor the language of the German people. While not indifferent to the religious movement that was rapidly gaining ground as the result of Luther’s teaching, it had no meaning except so far as it threatened the pope.

Charles Indebted to Frederick

Though Charles appeared to be the most powerful man in Christendom, there were two men whom he could not afford to offend, the Elector of Saxony and the pontiff. To the first he owed the imperial crown. It was Frederick’s influence with the electoral conclave that had placed the crown upon his head; and while the memory of absolute rulers tends to be short with regard to such obligations, Charles could not dispense with the aid and advice of Frederick in governing the empire over which he had so recently been placed. On the other hand, Charles was on the brink of war with Francis I, the King of France. The war was inevitable, and the principle scene of that war was to be Italy. Under these circumstances, he could not afford to break with the pope as his influence would be indispensable in the coming conflict. Charles would have preferred to have detached Frederick from Luther, or to have been able to satisfy the pope without offending Frederick, but as neither of these options were open to him, it occurred to Charles that the monk of Wittenberg might yet be a most valuable card to be played in the game that was about to begin. If the pope should come to his aid against the king of France, then he was quite willing to fling the Reformer to the flames. If, on the other hand, the pope should refuse his aid and side with Francis, the emperor would protect Luther, making him an opposing power against Leo. Meanwhile, negotiations were being carried on with a view to ascertaining whether Leo would stand with the emperor or Francis. Leo, for his part, dreaded and feared both.

“In this fashion did these great ones deal with the cause of the world’s regeneration. . . . The monk was in their hands; so they thought. How would it have astonished them to be told that they were in his hands, to be used by him as his cause might require; that their crowns, armies, and policies were shaped and moved, prospered, or defeated, with sole reference to those great spiritual forces which Luther wielded! Wittenberg was small among the many proud capitals of the world; yet here, and not at Madrid or at Paris, was, at this hour, the center of human affairs.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 322.

Charles had summoned the Diet for January 6, 1521. The many interests that were involved in this meeting combined to bring together a more numerous and brilliant assemblage than any gathering since the days of Charlemagne. From far and near, in unprecedented numbers, the travelers, making their way to Worms, filled the roads of Germany. As the imperial court moved toward Worms, two papal representatives, Caraccioli and Aleander, followed in the emperor’s train.

Charles Racked by Indecision

When the diet opened on January 28, it appeared that Charles did not have a policy established by which to deal with the situation. Amid the splendor that surrounded him, numberless perplexities were continuously distracting him; but all centered around the monk of Wittenberg and the new religious movement. The papal nuncios were importuning Charles day and night to execute the papal bull against Luther. Should he fail to comply, he would certainly offend the pope and send him over to the side of he French king. On the other hand, should be concede to their wishes, he would alienate the Elector of Saxony and kindle a conflagration in Germany that, even with his resources and power, he might not be able to successfully extinguish.

While the emperor vacillated, the Protestant movement advanced from one day to another; and the cause of Rome was continually losing ground. Aleander wrote to Rome with the assurance that unless he had more money to spread around among the members of the diet, all hope of influencing the national body against Luther must be abandoned. Rome responded quickly. Not only did she send more ducats but more anathemas. Her first bull against Luther had been conditional, leaving him sixty days to retract, only threatening to excommunicate him if he failed to comply. The new communication not only confirmed the excommunication, but it went further in that it also included all of Luther’s adherents, placing them under the same curse with him, thus completing the separation between Protestantism and Rome.

But if the new bull simplified matters for Luther and Aleander, it only more certainly clouded the path of the politicians, making even more obscure than before the path of political expediency.

At this moment of crisis, a new plan was struck upon. There was at the court of the emperor a Spanish Franciscan, John Galapio, who held the office of confessor to Charles. An able man, he undertook to accomplish that which had proved an unmanageable conundrum to others. He sought an interview with Pontanus, the councilor of Frederick. Pontanus, on his part, was a man of sterling integrity, competently versed in questions of theology and sagacious enough to see through the most cunning diplomat in all the court. Galapio approached Pontanus with a sigh, and calling Jesus Christ as his witness, expressed his great desire to see a reformation take place in the Church. He asserted that he, as ardently as Luther, desired to see the Church reformed. He indicated that he had often expressed his zeal to the emperor and that Charles was largely in sympathy with him, a fact that would yet be more fully known.

From the generally high opinion that he held regarding Luther’s writings, he made one exception; and that was his work, Babylonish Captivity, in which Luther had so unsparingly attacked the papacy. That particular work, Galapio maintained, was unworthy of Luther’s learning, nor did it express his style. Regarding the rest of Luther’s work, that, he stated, could be submitted to a body of intelligent and impartial men who would allow Luther to explain some things and apologize for others. The pope, exercising his beneficent power, would then reinstate Luther; and the whole matter could thus be amicably settled. Pontanus listened with mind contempt to the plan to trap Luther. When the plot was told to Luther, he met it with feelings of derision. Clearly, Luther’s enemies had misjudged the character of the man with whom they were dealing.

Charles and the Pope Unite

The negotiations between the pope and Charles were now brought to a happy conclusion with the pope agreeing to fully ally himself with the emperor against the French king. The emperor, on his part, agreed to please the pope in the matter relating to Luther. “The two are to unite, but the link between them is a stake. The Empire and popedom are to meet and shake hands over the ashes of Luther. During the two centuries which included and followed the pontificate of Gregory VII, the imperial diadem and the tiara had waged a terrible war with each other for the supremacy of Christendom. In that stage, the two shared the world between them—other competitor there was none. But now a new power had risen up, and the hatred and terror which both felt to that new power made these old enemies friends. The die was cast. The spiritual and the temporal arms have united to crush Protestantism.” Ibid., 325, 326.

As the emperor prepared to fulfill his part, it was difficult to see what might hinder him. With the overwhelming force of arms at his command and with the spiritual sword now joining him, if such a combination of power should fail to succeed, it would be an unaccountable phenomenon, one for which history might search in vain to find a parallel.

The storm did not yet break. Charles had dared to imagine that he would be able to publish his edict without opposition from the states, but such was not the case. Before he could proceed against the Reformer, the constitution of the empire required that he should inquire as to whether the States knew of any better course and if they did, assure them of his readiness to hear them, which he did. While the majority of the German princes cared little for Luther, they had a great deal of respect for their sovereign rights and were weary of the tyranny and grinding extortions of Rome. They believed that to deliver Luther up to Rome would be the most effectual means of riveting even more securely the yoke of Roman servitude about their necks, so they begged time for deliberation. This change in the course of events infuriated Aleander, as he saw the prey slipping from his hands. Charles, however, submitted to the request of the princes; and nothing that Aleander said could move him. When pressed to move from the position that he had taken, Charles laid upon the nuncio the burden of changing the mind of the assembly. In pursuit of this goal, it was arranged that Aleander should be heard before the diet on February 13.

Never before had Rome been called to make its defense before so august an assembly. “This was an important duty, but Aleander was not unworthy of it. He was not only ambassador from the sovereign pontiff, and surrounded with all the splendor of his high office, but also one of the most eloquent men of his age. . . . The elector, pretending indisposition, was not present; but he gave some his councilors orders to attend, and take notes of the nuncio’s speech.” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, chapter 3.

The nuncio spoke for three hours.

“There was no Luther present, with the clear and convincing truths of God’s Word, to vanquish the papal champion. No attempt was made to defend the Reformer. There was manifest a general disposition not only to condemn him and the doctrines which he taught, but if possible to uproot the heresy. Rome had enjoyed the most favorable opportunity to defend her cause. All that she could say in her own vindication had been said. But the apparent victory was the signal of defeat. Henceforth the contrast between truth and error would be more clearly seen, as they should take the field in open warfare. Never from that day would Rome stand as secure as she had stood.” The Great Controversy, 149.

Had vote been taken at the conclusion f the nuncio’s delivery, all, save one, would have undoubtedly given consent to Luther’s condemnation. However, the diet broke up as Aleander sat down; and thus the victory that seemed so certain eluded Rome’s grasp.

When the princes next assembled, the emotions that had been stirred to such a high pitch by the rhetoric of Aleander had largely subsided, and the hard facts of Rome’s extortion alone remained deeply imprinted in the memories of the German princes. These abuses no eloquence of oratory could efface. The first person to address the assembly was Duke George. That fact that he was a known enemy of the Reformer and of the Reformed movement added weight to his words. “With noble firmness, Duke George of Saxony stood up in that princely assembly and specified with terrible exactness the deceptions and abominations of popery, and their dire results. In closing he said:

“These are some of the abuses that cry out against Rome. All shame has been put aside, and their only object is . . . money, money, money, . . . so that the preachers who should teach the truth, utter nothing but falsehoods, and are not only tolerated, but rewarded, because the greater their lies, the greater their gain. It is from this foul spring that such tainted waters flow. Debauchery stretches out the hand to avarice. . . . Alas, it is the scandal caused by the clergy that hurls so many poor souls into eternal condemnation. A general reform must be effected.’” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 7, chapter 4.

The Diet Calls For Luther

A committee was appointed by the diet to draw up a list of the oppressions under which the nation groaned. When it was completed, the document listed a hundred and one grievances. This list was presented to the emperor with the request that in fulfillment of the terms that he had signed at the time he was crowned, he move to effect the reformation of the enumerated abuses. Moreover, the princes demanded that Luther should be summoned to appear before them. It was unjust, they reasoned, to condemn him without knowing whether he was, in fact, the author of the books in question and without hearing what he had to say in defense of his opinions. Before the unified diet, the emperor gave way, though he covered his retreat by asserting that he had serious doubts that Luther actually authored the books.

Aleander was horrified at the emperor’s lack of resolution in dealing with the matter, but he strove in vain to stem the tide that was now moving in a direction that could only end in disaster for the papacy. He had but one hope left, and that was that Luther could be denied a safe-conduct; but ultimately even this proposal was denied him as well. On March 6, 1521, Luther was summoned to appear before the Diet in twenty-one days. Enclosed with the summons was a safe-conduct signed by the emperor and commanding all princes, lords, and magistrates, under pain of displeasure of the emperor and the Empire, to respect Luther’s safety.

A mightier hand than that of Charles was directing in the affairs of the empire. Instead of bearing his witness at the stake, Luther is to bear testimony on the loftiest stage that the world could provide. The kings, the lords of all Christendom must come to Worms and there patiently wait to listen while the miner’s son speaks to them.

Events had so transpired as to prepare Luther in a special way for this, the great crisis of his career. His study of Paul’s writings and the Apocalypse, when compared with history, convinced him that the Church of Rome, as it then existed, was the predicted “Apostasy” and that the dominion of the papacy was the reign of Antichrist. It was this that broke the spell of Rome, freeing him from the fear of her curse. The summons to the diet at Worms found him confident and secure in this knowledge.

On March 24, 1521, the imperial herald arrived at Wittenberg, placing in Luther’s hands the summons of the emperor to appear before the diet in Worms.

Martin Luther, part IV – Melancthon Reformed

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When Charles ascended to the throne, he was in the vigor of youth; and everything seemed to point toward a long and prosperous reign. A prince whose scepter extended over a considerable part of the old world, and even over much of the new, he was the most powerful monarch to appear in Christendom since the days of Charlemagne. It was God who designed, by this arrangement, to teach the important lesson as to the nothingness of all the strength of man when it presumes to measure itself with the weakness of God. Never, aside from the final conflict yet to be fought, was it to be more clearly shown that “God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; and base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to naught things that are: that no flesh should glory in His presence.” I Corinthians 1:27–29.

Melancthon Joins the Reformed Movement

As the result of the debate at Leipzig, the lecture rooms of the university there were speedily deserted, while the number of students in attendance at Wittenberg soon doubled. Perhaps the most significant event to take place as the fruit of the debate, however, was the calling of the theologian of the Reformation—Melancthon. Until this conference, literature had been Melancthon’s great interest; but as he sat quietly listening to the conference, he received a new impulse. From that day forward, theology became his career. Henceforth, he and Luther became close friends, contending together for the truth, the one with the energy of Paul and the other with the meekness of John.

Luther was strengthened by the debate with Dr. Eck. Driven to new inquiries, he arrived at unexpected discoveries. He was astonished at the magnitude of evil that he saw. “Searing into the annals of the Church, he discovered that the supremacy of Rome had no other origin than ambition on the one hand, and ignorant credulity on the other. . . . The Latin Church was no longer in Luther’s estimation the universal Church; he saw the narrow barriers of Rome fall down, and exulted in discovering beyond them the glorious dominions of Christ. From that time he comprehended how a man might be a member of Christ’s church, without belonging to the popes.” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, book 5, chapter 6.

Though Dr. Eck had proclaimed Luther vanquished in their much celebrated debate, he was much less than satisfied with the outcome. Making his way over the Alps, he arrived at Rome where he sought help to find revenge. In the city of Rome, however, he encountered greater difficulties than he had anticipated. The Roman Curia was apathetic. Its members did not yet realize the danger that Luther presented. They scoffed at the idea that Wittenberg could conquer Rome; and in that respect, history showed no evidence to support such an astounding phenomenon. Great tempests had arisen in former ages. Rebel kings and heretical nations had alike beaten themselves to death, seeking to challenge the Church. They no more availed its overthrow than the ocean’s foam to overthrow the rocks. That an insignificant German monk might topple the papal throne was an idea too preposterous to entertain.

In Rome, all appreciated that a move against the monk was not without risks. It was an easy matter for the church to launch a ban, but all depended upon the civil power executing that order. What if it should refuse? Besides, there were not a few more moderate and pious men, even in Rome, who were so displeased with the disorders of the papal court that in their heart they welcomed much of what Luther said. There were others who favored the use of diplomacy. They could not believe that among the many dignities and honors that it was within the power of the Church to bestow, some favor could not be found that would silence the clamorous monk.

In the midst of such indecisive apathy, the indefatigable Eck left no stone unturned to secure the condemnation of his opponent. His zeal in this respect was seconded by that of the banker Fugger of Augsburg. He was the treasurer of the indulgences; and had not Luther so successfully spoiled his business, he would have shown a good gain. This awoke in him a most vehement desire to crush the heresy that was so damaging to the interests of the church, as well as his own.

The news of what was taking place within the Vatican was carried to Luther. At this time of test, these reports caused him no alarm; for he had fixed his eyes on One who was greater than Leo. While all was anxiety and turmoil in Rome, Wittenberg presented a very different picture. Visitors from various countries daily arrived to see and speak with the Reformer. The halls of the university were crowded with youth, and the fame of Melancthon was extending. It was just at this moment that the young Swiss priest, Ullrich Zwingli, approached the papal nuncio in Switzerland, entreating him to use his influence at Rome to prevent the excommunication of the doctor of Wittenberg. This was the first evidence of the breaking of day in Switzerland.

“Rome became more and more exasperated by the attacks of Luther, and it was declared by some of his fanatical opponents, even by doctors in Catholic universities, that he would should kill the rebellious monk would be without sin. One day a stranger, with a pistol hidden under his cloak, approached the Reformer and inquired why he went thus alone. ‘I am in God’s hands,’ answered Luther. ‘He is my strength and my shield. What can man do unto me?’ Upon hearing these words, the stranger turned pale and fled away as from the presence of the angels of heaven.” The Great Controversy, 140.

Luther Excommunicated

At length, Eck triumphed, and on June 15, 1520, the Sacred College brought an end to their lengthy debates regarding the rebellious monk and placed their approval on a bull excommunicating him. With this move, they flattered themselves that they had forever successfully settled the Wittenberg heresy.

Luther, imagining that he might be expelled from Germany, engaged himself in publishing a report of the Augsburg conference. He saw the storm approaching but did not fear it. He desired, however, that when the anathema should arrive, all should know of the struggle between himself and Rome. Spalatin wrote to Luther, on behalf of the elector, asking him not to do so; but the communication arrived too late. Once it became known that the publication had already taken place, the prince gave his sanction to it.

The bull condemned forty-one propositions extracted from Luther’s writings as scandalous, heretical, and damnable. It left room, however, for the recovery of the lost son of the Church if Luther would make proof of the sincerity of his penitence by reading his recantation and committing all of his books to the flames within a sixty-day period. Failing to submit and obey, Luther and all of his adherents were pronounced accursed. All princes and magistrates were enjoined to apprehend and send them to Rome, or banish them fro their country. The towns in which they continued to reside were placed under interdict, and everyone who opposed the publication and execution of the bull was excommunicated from the Church.

“These were haughty words [the pope’s bull]; and at what a moment they were spoken! The finger of a man’s hand was even then about to appear, and to write on the wall that Rome had fulfilled her glory, and reached her zenith, and would henceforward hasten to her setting. But she knew not this. She saw only the track of light she had left behind her in her onward path athwart the ages. A thick veil hid the future with all its humiliations and defeats from her eyes.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 311.

While excommunicating Luther on the one hand, the pope wrote a flattering letter to Elector Frederick. In his communication, the pope referred to the errors of that “son of iniquity,” Martin Luther. He expressed his certainty that Frederick cherish an abhorrence of these errors and in a glowing eulogy, praised the piety and orthodoxy of the elector; he had since drunk at the well of Wittenberg and lost his relish for the Roman cistern. The purpose of the letter was transparently clear, but it produced the opposite effect of that which the pope intended. From that day on, Frederick of Saxony resolved that he would protect the Reformer.

Rome had launched her bull, but she had yet to see it published in every country of Christendom. In order to accomplish this, two nuncios were chosen to attend to the mission—Eck and Aleander. Bearing the bull which he had so large a share in fabricating, Eck viewed himself as the very Atlas who bore up the sinking Roman world. As he passed through German towns, he met with coldness and contempt. His progress was more like that of a fugitive than a conqueror. At times he was even forced to seek shelter in the nearest convent to avoid the popular fury.

While awaiting the arrival of the bull, Luther wrote two publications, the first of which was The Babylonish Captivity of the Church, in which he stated, “I know that the papacy is none other than the kingdom of Babylon, and the violence of Nimrod the mighty hunter. I therefore beseech all my friends and all booksellers to burn the books that I have written on this subject and to substitute this one proposition in their place: The papacy is a general chase led by the Roman bishop to catch and destroy souls.” Ibid., 313.

He next attacked the priest and the Sacrament. “Grace and salvation, he affirmed, are neither in the power of the priest nor the efficacy of the recipient. Faith lays hold on that which the Sacrament represents, signifies, and seals—even the promise of God; and the soul resting on that promise has grace and salvation. . . . ‘Without faith in God’s promise,’ without a jewel, a scabbard without a sword.’ . . . At the very moment when Rome was advancing to crush him with the bolt she had just forged, did Luther pluck from her hand that weapon of imaginary omnipotence which had enabled her to vanquish men.” Ibid.

The bull of excommunication arrived at Wittenberg in October of 1520. “Luther and Leo: Wittenberg and Rome now stand face to face—Rome has excommunicated Wittenberg, and Wittenberg will excommunicate Rome. Neither can retreat, and the war must be to the death.” Ibid., 315.

As Aleander and Eck advanced, they left in their track numerous blazing piles. In many of the towns in the hereditary estates of the emperor, a bonfire was made of Luther’s works. To add to these many fires lighted by Eck and Aleander, Luther kindled one of his own. A Placard on the walls of the University of Wittenberg announced Luther’s intention to burn the pope’s bull and that this would take place at nine o’clock on the morning of December 10. At the appointed time, Luther, accompanied by approximately six hundred students and doctors, as well as enthusiastic and sympathetic crowd of town folks, made his way to the eastern gate of the town. Arriving at the spot, they found a scaffold already erected and a pile of logs laid in order. One of the more distinguished Masters of the Arts applied the torch to the pile; and as soon as the flames blazed up, the Reformer stepped forward, holding in his hand the several volumes which constitute the Canon Law and various other writings of earlier popes, committing them one at a time to the flames. Finally, the bull of Leo was also cast into the flames.

The burning of the pope’s bull marked the closing of one stage and the opening of another in the Reformation. Luther knew that one blow was not the battle, but there was now no question that the war had begun. From this point on, an understanding of the nature of the church more clearly developed. It was his clearer and perfected judgment respecting the two systems and the two churches that enabled him to act with such decision—a decision that astounded Rome, which had never doubted that her bolt would crush the Reformer. Though she had been somewhat in doubt as to whether to launch it, she never doubted that once launched, it would certainly quell the Wittenberg revolt.

When Aleander opened his campaign with a bonfire of Luther’s writings in Cologne, someone asked him of what value it was to burn the books of Luther’s opinions, when the real issue was erasing them from the hearts of men. The legate replied that while this was true, it was proper to teach by signs which all could read. It was his secret desire, however, to bring the author of the books to the pile. He realized, however, that to obtain this objective, he must get Luther into his power. In order to do this, he must detach Frederick from Luther’s side and win over the young emperor. In the legate’s mind, the latter goal seemed to pose little difficulty. Born in the Catholic faith and descended from an ancestry whose glories were closely entwined with Catholicism, there was little question where the emperor’s loyalty lay. Though he had marked out a path which he little doubted would bring the Reformer to the stake, Aleander found that the path was beset with greater difficulties than he had calculated on meeting.

Luther’s Condemnation Sought

Approaching the young emperor, on whose authority Luther’s books had been burned, the nuncio pointed out that while the books had been burned, the air was yet thick with heresy. In order to purify it, he proposed a royal edict against the author. The emperor declined to give a direct answer, deferring until he could ascertain the thinking of the Elector of Saxony on the matter.

Aleander next begged an audience with Frederick. The elector received him in the presence of his counselors and the Bishop of Trent. The haughty envoy, assuming a tone that bordered on insolence, asserted that Luther was rending the Christian State, bringing the Empire to ruin, and that Frederick alone stood between the monk and his justly deserved chastisement. He concluded by demanding that the elector himself punish Luther, or failing in that, deliver him over to Rome.

The elector met the bold assault of Aleander with a plea for justice. He pointed out that no one had yet refuted Luther and that it would be a gross scandal to sentence to punishment a man who stood uncondemned. He proposed that Luther must be summoned before a tribunal of pious, learned, and impartial judges.

The elector’s statement pointed directly to a hearing before the Diet soon to be convened at Worms. Knowing the courage and eloquence of Luther, nothing could have been more disagreeable with Aleander. He dreaded the impression that Luther’s appearance would create, and he had no interest in meeting him in a debate or to win from him any more victories of the sort Eck so loudly boasted. From his travels in Germany, he knew how popular the cause of Protestantism had already become. Wherever it was known that he was the opponent of Luther, it was only with difficulty that he was able to find admittance at a respectable inn; and even in these, the portrait of the monk stared back at him from the walls of almost every bedroom in which he slept. Besides, Luther had already been excommunicated. To grant him a hearing under such circumstances would surely give the appearance that the pope’s sentence might be reversed by secular authority, making the chair of Peter subordinate to the States-General of Germany. On all of these grounds, the papal nuncio was resolved to oppose to the uttermost Luther’s appearance before the Diet.

Martin Luther, part II – The Doctrine of Indulgences

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From Wycliffe, the good seed of the Word of God had been sown throughout Europe. In Bohemia and at Constance, it had been watered with the blood of the saints and proved by fire. A hundred years had passed since the martyrdom of Huss and Jerome. The condition of the church, rather than improving because of the light, had reached new depths of depravity. During the Reformation, the court of Rome had been scandalized by acts of treason, murder, and incest. Even its most respectable members were utterly unfit to be ministers of religion. The Church of Rome had made plain her complete antagonism to the Word of God and to the way of salvation which she professed to know and of which she claimed to be the exclusive channel. By His faithful witnesses, God had sought to call the Church of Rome to repentance; but she would not. If reform could not be brought about within the church, the only course remaining was to do so from without.

Luther’s status as an envoy from Germany obtained him numerous invitations to meetings. At one of these meetings, several of the prelates were openly displaying their buffoonery and impious conversation. He discovered that many of the priests were but playing a part and that in private they held in contempt and treated with mockery the rites which in public they celebrated with such a show of devotion. Surely, he thought, faith and piety must still be found among the dignitaries of the Church. A short time late, he was to find how greatly mistaken he was.

One day he was with some prelates when they humorously related how, when they were repeating the mass at the altar, instead of the sacramental words that were to transform the bread and wine into the flesh and blood of our Saviour, they pronounced: “’Bread thou art, and bread thou shalt remain. Wine thou art, and wine thou shalt remain. Then,’ continued they, ‘we elevate the host, and all the people bow down and worship it.’” D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, book 2, chapter 6, 69. Luther scarcely believed his ears. He was horrified.

Righteousness by Faith

There was, at the time of Luther’s visit, a stairway of marble that was said to have been the stairs which Christ climbed to Pilate’s judgment hall. These stairs were said to have been miraculously transported to Rome by angels. Everyone who climbed them on his knees, it was said, merited an indulgence of fifteen years for each ascent. While climbing the stairs, Luther was startled by a sudden voice which sounded in his ears as thunder saying, “The just shall live by faith.” Luther started to his feet in amazement. In this one truth, which burned itself indelibly into his mind, lay folded the whole Reformation.

Though Luther’s stay in Rome was no more than two weeks, during this short period of time, he learned lessons that remained with him throughout the rest of his life. No more did he have anything to do with relics. He had found that which had a thousand times more efficacy than all of the holy treasure of which Rome could boast.

A few months after his return, Luther received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from the University of Wittemberg. On that occasion, Luther took an oath upon the Bible to defend the faith contained in the Holy Scriptures. From there he turned to the Bible as his lifework.

Truly, “we can do nothing against the truth, but for the truth.” 2 Corinthians 13:8. “The Roman Church had made merchandise of the grace of God. The tables of the money-changers (Matthew 21:12) were set up beside her altars, and the air resounded with the shouts of buyers and sellers. Under the plea of raising funds for the erection of St. Peter’s Church at Rome, indulgences for sin were publicly offered for sale by the authority of the pope. By the price of crime, a temple was to be built up for God’s worship—the cornerstone laid with the wages of iniquity! But the very means adopted for Rome’s aggrandizement provoked the deadliest blow to her power and greatness. It was this that aroused the most determined and successful of the enemies of popery, and led to the battle which shook the papal throne and jostled the triple crown upon the pontiff’s head.” The Great Controversy, 127.

The license to sell indulgences in the various countries was sold to the highest bidder, with the pope to be paid in advance. The indulgences in Germany were farmed out to Albert, Archbishop of Mainz and Madeburg. The Archbishop was in Germany what Leo X was in Rome. In looking for a man to transverse the country extolling and actually selling the indulgences, he found in Tetzel a man who in every way suited his purpose. Tetzel, the son of a goldsmith of Leipzig, had been convicted of a base crime at Innsbruck and had been condemned to be placed in a sack and drowned; but powerful intercession being made for him, he received a reprieve and lived to help, unconsciously, in the overthrow of the system that he espoused.

When Tetzel entered a city, he made his way directly to the cathedral. A cross was set up in front of the altar and a strong, iron box was placed beside it. Tetzel, mounting the pulpit, would expound on the incomparable merit of his wares. Never before had the gates of Paradise opened so wide. “’Indulgences,’ he said, ‘are the most precious and most noble of God’s gifts. . . . Come, and I will give you letters all properly sealed, by which even the sins you intend to commit may be pardoned. I would not change my privileges for those of St. Peter in heaven, for I have saved more souls by my indulgences than the apostle did by his sermons. . . . But more than this . . . indulgences avail not only for the living, but for the dead. Priest, noble, merchant, wife, youth, maiden, do you not hear your parents and your other friends who are dead, and who cry from the bottom of the abyss: “We are suffering horrible torments! A trifling alms would deliver us; you can give it and you will not.”?

‘At the very instant,’ continues Tetzel, ‘that the money rattles at the bottom of the chest, the soul escapes from purgatory, and flies liberated to heaven. Now you can ransom so many souls, stiff-necked and thoughtless man; with twelve groats you can deliver your father from purgatory, and you are ungrateful enough not to save him! I shall be satisfied in the Day of Judgment; but you—you will be punished so much the more severely for having neglected so great salvation. I declare to you, though you have a single coat, you ought to strip it off and sell it, in order to obtain this grace. . . . The Lord our God no longer reigns; He has resigned all power to the pope.’” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 57.

Indulgences Become License

The matter of indulgences quickly became the focal point of discussion from the palace to the university and even in the market place. That a little money could atone for the guilt and efface the stain of the most enormous crimes was a blow at the very foundation of the moral fabric of the nation. The more sensible portion of the population were shocked, and those who had some small knowledge of the Word of God viewed the matter in an even worse light. “The papal key, instead of unlocking the fountains of grace and holiness, had opened the floodgates of impiety and vice; and men trembled at the deluge of licentiousness which seemed ready to rush in and overflow the land.” Ibid., 258.

Leo’s Quest for Gold

When the gold began to pour into Rome, the joy of Leo X knew no bounds. “He had not, like the Emperor Charles, a ‘Mexico’ beyond the Atlantic; but he had a ‘Mexico’ in the credulity of Christendom, and he saw neither limit nor end of the wealth it might yield him. Never again would he have cause to bewail an empty treasury. Men would never cease to sin; and o long as they continued to sin, they would need pardon; and where could they go for pardon if not to the Church—in other words, to himself? He only, of all men on the earth, held the key. He might say with an ancient monarch, ‘Mine hand hath found as a nest the riches of the nations; and as one gathereth eggs, so have I gathered all the earth.’ Thus Leo went from day to day, building St. Peter’s, but pulling down the papacy.” Ibid.

“Men of all characters, righteous and unrighteous, will stand in their several positions in God’s plan. With the characters they have formed, they will act their part in the fulfillment of history. In a crisis, just at the right moment, they will stand in the places they have prepared themselves to fill. Believers and unbelievers will fall into line as witnesses to confirm truth that they themselves do not comprehend. All will cooperate in accomplishing the purposes of God, just as did Annas, Caiaphas, Pilate, and Herod.” Review and Herald, June 12, 1900.

Luther, who acted as confessor as well as preacher, as he sat one day in the confessional, was approached by some citizens of Wittemberg who confessed having committed thefts, adulteries, and other heinous sins. Luther told them that they must abandon their evil course; otherwise he could not absolve them. To his surprise, they replied that they had no thought of changing, in as much as these sins were already pardoned. They then pulled out their indulgence papers obtained from Tetzel. Luther could only tell them that the papers were worthless and that they must repent and be forgiven of God or they would perish everlastingly.

The poor, deluded people, quite unhappy at losing both their money and, at the same time, their hope of heaven, quickly found Tetzel and informed him that a monk in Wittemberg was warning the people against his indulgences. Tetzel was enraged. Kindling a fire in the marketplace of Juterbock, he indicated what would be done to anyone who should presume to obstruct his noble work, declaring that the pope had given him authority to commit all such heretics to the flames.

Luther was unmoved by Tetzel’s angry words. He had no thought but that the pope, if not ignorant of the sale of indulgences, was at least unaware of the frightful excesses that attended their sale; and he became even more strenuous in his condemnation of them.

Tetzel continued his sale of indulgences, and Luther felt constrained to take even more decisive measures. Elector Frederick had recently completed a church-castle in Wittemberg. He had spared neither money nor labor in gathering relics in their settings of gold and precious stones. These were put on public display and shown to the people on the festival of All Saints. On the eve of the festival, October 31, Luther, who had given no hint to anyone of what he proposed to do, joined the crowd that was approaching the church. Pressing his way to the front, he quickly nailed to the door a paper on which he had put forth ninety-five theses, or propositions, against the doctrine of indulgences. The sound of his hammer drew a crowd, and they quickly began to read. These points, Luther announced, he would defend at the university the next day against all who might choose to dispute them.

In this paper, Luther struck at more than the abuses of indulgences. The theses put God’s free gift of salvation in sharp contrast with the pope’s salvation to be obtained by purchase. Though he little realized the full significance of the step that he had taken, Luther had set the stage for the Reformation. The two systems—salvation by Jesus Christ and salvation by Rome—were brought face to face.

The news traveled quickly. Erasmus, on being asked by the Elector of Saxony his opinion on the matter, replied with characteristic shrewdness, “Luther has committed two unpardonable crimes—he has attacked the pope’s tiara, and the bellies of the monks.” Ibid., 263.

A Remarkable Dream

The morning of October 31, the elector said to Duke John, “’Brother, I must tell you a dream which I had last night, and the meaning of which I should like much to know. It is so deeply impressed on my mind, that I will never forget it, were I to live a thousand years. For I dreamed it thrice, and each time with new circumstances.’

“Duke John: ‘Is it a good or a bad dream?’

“The elector: ‘I know not; God knows.’

Duke John: ‘Don’t be uneasy at it; but be so good as to tell it to me.’

“The elector: ‘Having gone to bed last night, fatigued and out of spirits, I fell asleep shortly after my prayer, and slept calmly for about two hours and a half; I then awoke, and continued awake to midnight, all sorts of thoughts passing through my mind. Among other things, I thought how I was to observe the Feast of All Saints. I prayed for the poor souls in purgatory; and supplicated God to guide me, my counsels, and my people according to truth. I again fell asleep, and then dreamed that Almighty God sent me a monk, who was a true son of the Apostle Paul. All the saints accompanied him by order of God, in order to bear testimony before me, and to declare that he did not come to contrive any plot, but that all that he did was according to the will of God. They asked me to have the goodness graciously to permit him to write something on the door of the church of the Castle of Wittemberg. This I granted through my chancellor. Thereupon the monk went to the church, and began to write in such large characters that I could read the writing in Schweinitz. The pen which he used as so large that its end reached as far as Rome, where it pierced the ears of a lion that was crouching there, and caused the triple crown upon the head of the pope to shake. All the cardinals and princes running hastily up, tried to prevent it from falling. You and I, brother, wished also to assist, and I stretched out my arm;—but at this moment, I awoke with my arm in the air, quite amazed, and very much enraged at the monk for not managing his pen better. I recollected myself; it was only a dream.’

“’I was still half asleep, and once more closed my eyes. The dream returned; the lion, still annoyed by the pen, began to roar with all his might, so much so that the whole city of Rome and all the States of the Holy Empire ran to see what the matter was. The pope requested them to oppose this monk, and applied particularly to me, on the account of his being in my country. I again awoke, repeated the Lord’s prayer, entreated God to preserve his holiness, and once more fell asleep.

“’Then I dreamed that all the princes of the Empire, and we among them, hastened to Rome and strove, one after another, to break the pen; but the more we tried, the stiffer it became, sounding as if it had been made of iron. We at length desisted. I then asked the monk (for I was sometimes at Rome, and sometimes at Wittemberg) where he got this pen, and why it was so strong. “The pen,” replied he, “belonged to an old goose of Bohemia, a hundred years old. I got it from one of my old schoolmasters. As to its strength, it is owing to the impossibility of depriving it of its pith or marrow; and I am quite astonished at it myself.” Suddenly, I heard a loud noise—a large number of other pens had sprung out of the long pen of the monk. I awoke a third time; it was daylight.’

“Duke John: ‘Chancellor, what is your opinion? Would we had a Joseph, or a Daniel, enlightened by God!’” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 263-265.

The elector had scarcely finished telling his dream in the royal castle of Schweinitz the morning of October 32, 1517, when Luther, with paper in hand, arrived at the castle church to interpret its meaning.

Bohemia at War, Compromise and Betrayal

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As he was dying, Ziska had named Procopius to be his successor. Though he is not as well known, Procopius was to prove himself an even greater leader than Ziska had been. The son of a nobleman, Procopius had an excellent education and was broadly traveled. Though his spirit was less fiery than that of Ziska, it was not due to a lack of devotion to the Hussite cause, but rather because it was better regulated. Ziska was a soldier and general; but in addition to these qualities, Procopius was a statesman as well.

The enemies of the Hussites, knowing that Ziska, their famous leader, was removed by death, deemed the moment opportune to strike another blow. They confidently expected an easy victory, failing to reflect that the blood of Huss and Jerome was weighing against them. They did not realize that it was not a blind warrior who had defeated them, but that he was merely the instrument of a righteous Power that they would encounter wherever they might raise the sword on Bohemian soil.

A new summons to arms was made. The emperor, having already suffered much for the cause and having no real delight in bitter defeat, was in no great hurry to take up the standard in another campaign. To encourage him, the pope wrote to the princes of Germany, exhorting them to unite in dealing a death blow to the Hussite cause and assuring them that the Hussite heretics were worse than the Turk himself and likewise, a greater threat to Christianity. The letter was soon followed by a bull ordaining a new crusade against the Hussites.

When the first mutterings of the distant storm reached Bohemia, it found the Hussites unhappily divided. There were the Taborites, who acknowledged Procopius as leader; and there were the Calixtines, commanded by Coribut, a candidate for the Bohemian crown. The sudden threat so rapidly approaching, however, had the effect of drawing them together for the common good. Forgetting their differences in the presence of the great danger that faced them, they stood side by side to meet the advancing foe.

The pontiff’s summons had been generally responded to, and the advancing army numbered not less than seventy thousand picked men, though some historians place the number as high as one hundred thousand. Entering Bohemia in three columns, they advanced toward the Hussite camp. Procopius sent a proposal to the invaders that quarter should be given by both sides. The Germans, not anticipating that they would need to avail themselves of this provision, refused to promise it, saying to the Hussites that they were under the curse of the pope and that to spare them would be to violate their duty to the church. “Let it be so, then,” Procopius replied, “and let no quarter be given on either side.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 193.

The Bohemians awaited the early morning attack; entrenched behind five hundred wagons fastened to one another by chains, which formed a somewhat formidable fortification. As the Germans stormed their first line of defense, hacking to pieces the wagons, the Bohemians were resting on their arms, discharging an occasional shot on the foe as they struggled to break through. Having once broken through the first line of defense, the Germans were faced with a weaker line of wooden shields stuck into the ground. They arrived within the second line of defense greatly wearied by the labor that their advance had cost them.

Now that they were face to face with the enemy, the Bohemians raised their war cry and, swinging their terrible flails, exacted a terrible price from their attackers. Rank after rank of the invaders pressed forward only to be felled in the terrible carnage. The battle raged till late in the afternoon. Though they fought with valor, the German knights’ labor was in vain. While the Germans were every moment falling before the rain of arrows that fell upon them and suffering greatly from the buffeting of the iron flails, the Bohemian ranks remained almost untouched. As the day wore to a close, the invaders fled the field in confusion, seeking refuge in the mountains and surrounding woods.

“The fugitives when overtaken implored quarter, but themselves had settled it, before going into battle, and accordingly, now quarter was given. Twenty-four counts and barons stuck their swords in the ground, and knelt before their captors, praying that their lives might be spared. But in vain. In one place three hundred slain knights are said to have been found laying together in a single heap.” Ibid. Of the Hussites, there fell only thirty men, while the loss to the invaders is estimated to have been as high as fifty thousand. The German nobility suffered greatly, nearly all of their leaders being left on the field.

The Bohemians, on the other hand, were greatly enriched by the booty that fell into their hands. This advantage was not, however, as important as the prestige that it gave them. From this day forward, the Hussite arms were looked upon as invincible.

The pope, undaunted, organized an even greater crusade the following year. Realizing that it would be in vain to look for a German prince to agree to such an undertaking, he sought the English for help. To his dismay, he found that the English held little enthusiasm for such an endeavor which, while it was no doubt holy, was also beyond doubt going to be very bloody. It was in Belgium that better fortune awaited him; and from all Western Europe, there was such a response, as Europe had not seen since the early crusades. Contemporary writers give the size of the newly formed army at ninety thousand, with an equal number of cavalry. Though this is but a guess at best, there is no doubt that there was a much larger response to this call to arms than for any crusade against the Hussites to that point.

Led by three electors of the empire, by many princes and counts, and headed by the legate-a-latere of the pope, the mighty host moved toward Bohemia and, as it was believed, toward a victory that would strike such a blow as would redeem all past defeats. Until this time, many of the Bohemian Catholics had opposed their Protestant countrymen; but faced with a common peril, they united forces and marched to meet the invaders. They drew within sight of each other with only a river between them. The crusaders, though in greatly superior numbers, instead of dashing across the stream to meet their foe, stood gazing in silence at them. In the face of the Hussites, whose features were hardened by constant exposure, they seemed to realize all of the terror that had been reported to them and suddenly, panic hit them. In utmost confusion they turned and fled. The legate, seeing his hopes and the result of his labors disappearing before his eyes, sought in vain to stop the human tide that was sweeping past him. The Hussites plunged into the river and were soon falling upon the fleeing enemy. The carnage was increased by the fury of the peasantry, who, having suffered the ravages of the advancing papal army, sought their revenge on the vanquished foe.

Still desiring the Bohemian crown but in utter despair of gaining it by force of arms, Emperor Sigismund resorted to diplomacy. Most of the Bohemians, feeling strongly the gulf which had been created by the violation of Huss’s safe conduct and greatly broadened by the bloodshed since, were adamantly opposed to any discussion of the matter; but Procopius was unwilling to forego the hope of peace if there was a possibility of bringing an end to the bloodshed. Though he was willing to die for liberty, he longed for anything resembling an honorable peace, if it could be obtained. In this hope, he assembled the Bohemian Diet at Prague in 1429, at which he obtained its consent to lay the terms of the Bohemian people before the emperor in person.

The terms of the Bohemian people were essentially the four points which they had held to when the war began—the free preaching of the gospel, Communion that included both the bread and wine, the ineligibility of the clergy to hold secular office and rule, and the execution of the laws in the case of crimes, without respect to persons.

Sigismund refused to listen to the proposal; and Procopius returned to Prague at peace in his mind in the knowledge that he had held out the olive branch, and that if blood must again flow, the responsibility would lie at the door of those who had spurned the overtures of a just and reasonable peace.

The Hussites now assumed the offensive; and those nations which had been so eager to carry war to Bohemia, experienced its miseries on their own soil. Procopius entered Germany in 1429; and during that summer and the summers that followed, the whole of Western Germany felt the weight of his sword. He converted some hundred towns and castles to ruins; and from the wealthy cities he spared; he exacted a heavy ransom as the price for their escape from captivity or death.

There was trembling throughout not only Germany but even Rome. The Hussite arms were the terror of all Europe. With the passing of Martin V in February of 1431, Eugenius IV ascended the papal throne. He proclaimed a fifth crusade against the Hussites. Confessors were appointed to give absolution of even the most heinous crimes, even to the burning of churches and murdering of priests, that the crusader might go into battle with a clear conscience. If he was to fall in battle, he was given the assurance of going immediately to Paradise; but should he survive, there awaited a paradise on earth in the booty that he was assured of gaining.

At last, on August 1, 1431, an army of 130,000 footmen assembled on the Bohemian frontier. The Hussites, day by day receiving news of the approaching horde, lifted their eyes to heaven and calmly awaited the approaching foe. Clouds of foreboding had before darkened their skies, only to be scattered by an omnipotent Hand. The advancing host came on, chanting triumph as they approached. Forming into three columns, the invaders moved forward. Procopius fell back before them, sowing reports as he retreated that the Bohemians had quarreled among themselves and were fleeing. His design was to lure the enemy further into the country and then fall upon them from all sides. On the morning of August 14, the Bohemians marched to meet the foe, who now suddenly became aware of the strategy that had been practiced against them. The terrible Hussite soldiers, once believed to be in flight, were not advancing to offer battle.

Before the Hussites broke into view, the rumble of their wagons and their war hymn, chanted by the whole army as it advanced, could be clearly heard. Suddenly, among the invading force there was a strange movement. As if smitten by some invisible power, it appeared all at once to break up and scatter. The proud army was suddenly only a rabble-rout, fleeing when no man pursued. So great was the supernatural terror with which the crusaders were smitten that many of them, instead of continuing their flight into their own country, wandered back into Bohemia. Others, meanwhile, reaching their own hometowns, did not recognize their native city; and when they entered it, began to beg for lodging as if they were strangers.

Having failed with the force of arms, Rome now resorted to wiles. The victorious Hussites were carrying the war to the enemy’s country. They had driven the Austrian soldiers out of Moravia and had invaded Hungary and other provinces, burning towns and carrying off booty. All of this had effectively opened the eyes of the pope and the emperor to the virtue of conciliation, which until this time they had flatly rejected.

A general council of the Church was called at Basel. Letters from the emperor and legate Julian invited the Bohemians to come and confer on their points of difference. Before leaving Prague, the deputies received instructions that they were to insist on the four points which they had previously submitted to Sigismund. Accordingly, when they appeared before the Council, they made it clear that their deliberations must be confined to these points and that the nation had not empowered them to entertain the question of the renunciation of their faith.

The Council sought to draw the Bohemian deputies into a broader discussion, believing that they could more easily be overcome. The Bohemian delegates, however, proving themselves able to defend themselves on both the broader ground and the four points, showed no inclination to yield. They managed to maintain their ground and proved themselves as worthy antagonists in the Council as well as on the field of battle. After three months of fruitless debates, the Bohemian delegates left Basel and returned home. The Council would admit to no terms other than that the Bohemians agree to surrender their faith and submit fully to Rome. The Council failed to remember that it was the Bohemians who were victorious and that it was they who were suing for peace.

A proposal was made to renew negotiations at Prague. The Hussites, reluctant to again engage in armed conflict, agreed. Many an armed embassy had sought to approach Prague, only to be turned back by the valor of her sons. Under a guise of friendship, the papal messengers were able to bring about that which her armies had been unable to accomplish.

The Bohemians sought to display great courtesy and respect on the occasion, and every expression of public welcome greeted the arriving delegates.

The Diet of Bohemia, convoked in 1434, met with much better success than that which had earlier met in Basel. Though the basis of the treaty, which was eventually signed, had the original four points, which Rome professed to accept, the Church reserved for herself the right to determine their true sense. The agreement, known as the Compactata, while ostensibly preserving the faith and liberties of the Bohemians, was, in fact, a surrender of both. It should have been foreseen that from this point onward, it would be the interpretation, rather than the Articles, that would be the rule.

Many of the Bohemians, and most notably the Calixtines, now returned to their obedience to the Roman See; and Sigismund was not acknowledged as the legitimate sovereign of Bohemia.

Divisions that had existed among the Bohemians from the beginning now widened in proportion as the great struggle relaxed. The party that most closely held to the teachings of John Huss was the Taborites. With them, the defense of their religion was the primary concern, with the defense of their civil rights and privileges taking second place. The Calixtines, on the other hand, had become lukewarm and believed that the rift between their country and Rome was unnecessarily wide. The majority of the city leaders and materially advantaged belonged to this party, helping to carry support for the Compactata with public opinion, in spite of the opposition of the Taborites.

In accepting the agreement, the Bohemians stepped down from a position of unparalleled grandeur. Their campaigns had been among the most heroic and brilliant in the annals of war. A little country, with but a small army, she had managed not only to withstand but to triumph over the armies of Rome with their almost unlimited resources that the Church then had at her command. As long as they remained united in purpose, there was no army in Europe that dared to attack them. From the day that the Compactata was accepted, the tide of national prosperity and prestige began to wane.

The Calixtines accepted and the Taborites rejected the proposed arrangement. The Calixtines were much the larger party, as it included not only the majority of those who had been dissenters from Rome but also the Roman Catholics. The Taborites, under the command of Procopius, though loath to take up arms, were unwilling to accept a peace that was fatal to the nation’s peace and liberty. Rather than witness this humiliation, Procopius again took to the field at the head of the Taborites.

After a series of bloody skirmishes, the two armies met on the plain of Lipan on May 29, 1434. In the battle that ensued, Procopius lost his life. With his passing, the Hussite wars came to an end. It was no longer possible for the Taborites to make an effectual stand.

Sigismund was permitted to ascend the throne of Bohemia but only after having sworn to enforce the Compactata. As could be expected from one who had broken his pledge to John Huss, as soon as he was securely seated upon the throne, he immediately set out to restore the dominance of the Church of Rome. This open treachery provoked a storm of indignation; and the country was on the brink of war when the emperor died in 1437, within a year after having been acknowledged as king by the Bohemians.

The years that made up the remainder of the century were checkered. There were wars with periods of relative peace but never again the unity and strength that the country had when it was united in its opposition to the tyranny of Rome.

Wherever the Taborites looked, there was only error. Resolving to separate themselves from the evils that everywhere prevailed, about the year 1455, they formed themselves into a distinct church under the name of the United Brethren. This step exposed them to the bitter enmity of both Calixtines and Roman Catholics. In the persecutions that followed, they were scattered into the woods and mountains where they met secretly in caves.

Wondering if they were along in keeping the true faith, they sent messengers into various countries of Christendom. These messengers returned to say that though darkness covered the face of the whole earth and prevailed everywhere, they had found isolated confessors of the truth. Most notably, they found in the Alps an ancient church that rested on the foundation of the Scriptures. This news greatly cheered and encouraged them.

Separated from the Church of Rome, the question of ordination caused them considerable perplexity. They had left the Church and had no bishop in their ranks. How were they to perpetuate that succession of pastors which Christ had appointed in His church? After much deliberation, seventy of their chief men met and, after humbling themselves with tears and prayer before God, chose nine of their number. From along these nine members, it was decided that three would be ordained. They then placed twelve pieces of paper in the hands of a boy who had no knowledge of what was taking place. Nine of the twelve pieces of paper were blank; the other three had the word Est—i.e., “It is the will of God,” written on them. He distributed the papers; and it was found that the three bearing the word Est had been given to Matthew Kunwaldius, Thomas Prezelaucius, and Elias Krezenovius. These three then received ordination at the hands of a group of Waldensian pastors.

The accession of Valdislav to the Bohemian throne in 1471 brought an end to persecution. The quiet that the Brethren now enjoyed was followed by an increase in their membership. “Their lot was cast in evil days, but they knew that the appointed years of darkness must be fulfilled. They remembered the words first uttered by Huss, and later repeated by Jerome, that a century must revolve before the day should break. These were to the Taborites what the words of Joseph were to the tribes in the House of Bondage: ‘I die, and God will surely visit you, and bring you out.’ The prediction kept alive their hopes in the night of their persecutions and in the darkest hour their eyes were still turned to the horizon like men who watch for the morning.” Ibid., 213.

The end of the century found two hundred churches of the United Brethren in Bohemia and Moravia. Such was the goodly remnant which, escaping persecution, was permitted to see the day foretold by Huss.

The Trial, John Huss, part 2

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Sigismund, the son of Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV, was born in 1368. Through marriage to Mary, Queen of Hungary, in 1387, he became king of Hungary two years later. In 1396 he led an army of Crusaders against the Turks and received a crushing defeat at what is now Nikopol, Bulgaria. Upon the death of Holy Roman Emperor Rupert in 1410, Sigismund was elected to succeed him. Wherever he looked, the situation in Europe was most distressing. There were three popes, each of whose personal profligacy’s and official crimes were the scandal of Christianity, who yet claimed to be the supreme pastor and chief teacher of the Church. The most sacred things were bought and sold. Everywhere was strife and bloodshed as nation contended with nation. Many of the major nations of Europe were convulsed with internal problems; and to complete the confusion, the Moslem hordes, encouraged by these dissensions, were threatening to break through and subject all Christianity to Mohammed.

The spectacle of Christianity, disgraced and fractured by three popes while the Church was being corrupted by heretics, greatly concerned Sigismund. In considering how to deal with the situation, he hit upon the expedient of calling a General Council. He determined to assemble the whole Church, with all its patriarchs, cardinals, bishops, and princes, and to summon before this august body the three rival popes. He believed that a council of this nature would have sufficient authority, especially when supported by the imperial power, to force the rival popes to adjust their claims and at the same time silence heretics.

In 1414, Sigismund sought to persuade Pope John XXIII to convoke a council. Such a proposition was alarming beyond measure to him. Nor can we wonder at this if he were guilty of half the crimes which have been attributed to him by church historians. John was accused of having cleared his way to the papal chair by the murder of his predecessor, Alexander V; and he lived in continual fear of himself being removed by the same dreadful means by which he had ascended it. He was in the position, however, of having but little choice. He was at war with Ladislaus, against whose armies he had not fared well and from whom he had been forced to flee to Bologna. Rather than offend the emperor, whose assistance he desperately needed, he determined to face the council. A General Council was finally agreed upon, to be convoked at Constance, November 1, 1414.

Amid all of the many dignitaries to attend the Council were three who took precedence of all others: Sigismund, Pope John XXIII, and John Huss. The two anti-popes had been summoned to the Council, but they chose to appear by representation, rather than in person.

Sigismund appeared, professing John XXIII to be the only valid contender to the tiara. Nevertheless, it was his secret purpose to force John to renounce his claim. John, on the other hand, pretended to be quite cordial in calling the Council, while secretly he was determined to dissolve it as quickly as possible should he find it unfriendly to himself. He left Bologna with a substantial store of jewels and money, hoping to be able to use them to corrupt those he could not dazzle with their splendor. All along the way he took care to make arrangements to leave the way clear should he have to leave Constance in haste. As he passed through Tyrol, he made a secret treaty with Frederick, Duke of Austria, to the effect that one of his strong castles would be at his disposal should it become necessary. When he arrived with the league of Constance, he sought to bind the Abbot of St. Ulric to himself by bestowing on him the miter.

“Meanwhile, another traveler was approaching Constance. Huss was conscious of the dangers which threatened him. He parted from his friends as if he were never to meet them again, and went on his journey feeling that it was leading him to the stake. Notwithstanding he had obtained a safe-conduct from the king of Bohemia and received one also from the emperor Sigismund while on his journey, he made all his arrangements in view of the probability of his death.” The Great Controversy, 104, 105. Though he expected to find more enemies in Constance than Christ had at Jerusalem, he was determined not to betray the gospel by cowardice.

Through every town and village on his route, there were indications of the spread of his doctrines and the favor with which they were held. The inhabitants turned out to welcome him in large numbers. At Nuremberg, as well as at other town through which he passed, the magistrates formed a guard of honor and escorted him through the streets that were thronged with spectators, eager for a glimpse of the man who was changing the face of Christianity. Thus, his journey was, of a sort, a triumphal procession.

Soon after his arrival, Huss met with John XXIII, who added his safe conduct to that of the emperor. A short time later, in violation of these solemn promises, Huss was arrested on orders of the pope and cardinals and thrust into a loathsome dungeon.

The imprisonment of Huss excited great indignation in Bohemia. A number of the barons united in remonstrating with the emperor, reminding him of his safe conduct. Sigismund’s first impulse was to set the Reformer free, but Huss’ enemies were determined and malignant in their designs against him. Playing upon the emperor’s zeal for the Church, they brought forward arguments that sought to convince him that he had had no right to issue such a safe conduct in the circumstances without the consent of the counsel and that the greater good of the Church must overrule his promise. In the voice of the assembled Church, Sigismund believed that he heard the voice of God and allowed the enemies of Huss to have their will with him.

Emperor Sigismund was 47 years of age at the time of the Council. Noble in bearing and tall in stature, he was graceful in manners. His understanding had been improved by study, and he spoke with ability several languages. Had it not been for one grave error, the name that has come down to posterity with an eternal blot upon it might have been fair, if not illustrious. Sigismund committed the grave error common to almost all the princes of his age in believing that in order to reign, it was necessary to dissemble and that craft was an indispensable part of policy.

One of the first matters to be taken up by the Council was that of the trial of John XXIII. John, faced with the charges that were drawn up against him, promised to abdicate; but recovering, he was more determined than ever to maintain his cause and, in stealth, fled the city.

In contrast with the pomp with which he arrived in Constance, John left in the disguise of a peasant. His departure had been arranged beforehand with the Duke of Austria, a friend and staunch protector. The duke, on a given day, was to give a tournament. The spectacle was to take place late in the afternoon; and while the whole city was engrossed in the proceedings, oblivious to all else, the pope would make good his escape.

When the pope’s flight became known, the city was thrown into confusion. Everyone thought that the Council was at an end and the merchants shut their shops and packed up their wares, fearful of pillage from the lawless mob into whose hands they feared the city had been thrown. As soon as the initial excitement had somewhat abated, the emperor rode around the city, openly declaring that he would protect the Council and maintain order.

Sigismund hastily assembled the princes and deputies and indignantly declared that it was his purpose to bring the pope back, and if necessary, reduce the duke of Austria by force of arms in the process. When the pope leaned that a storm was gathering that threatened to follow him, he wrote in conciliatory terms to the emperor, excusing his hasty departure by saying that “he had gone to Schaffhausen to enjoy its sweeter air, that of Constance not agreeing with him; moreover, in this quiet retreat, and at liberty, he would be able to show the world how freely he acted in fulfilling his promise of renouncing the Pontificate.” Wiley, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 152.

John, however, appeared to be in no haste to lay aside the tiara, and every few days he moved farther and farther away in his quest for still sweeter air. He had believed that his flight would be the signal for the Council to break up, and in this he hoped to block Sigismund’s plans and avoid the humiliation of deposition.

The emperor was determined not to be put off in his plans, and the Council proceeded. The charges against John were sustained and he was stripped of the pontificate. When the news arrived, John was as abject as he had before been arrogant. He acknowledged the justice of the sentence and asked only that his life might be spared—which no one at that time had thought to deprive him of.

The cases of the other two popes were more easily dispensed with; and by election of the cardinals, Otta de Colonna was unanimously elected to rule the church as Martin V.

Having condemned John for crimes far more grievous than the charges Huss had made and for which he was called to trial, the Council turned its attention to the Reformer.

Called before the Council, Huss naturally wished to reply to the charges, pointing out those which were false. He had uttered but a few words when there arose such a clamor as to completely drown out his voice. Huss stood motionless, viewing the excited assembly with pity rather than visible anger. As the tumult subsided, he again attempted to proceed with his defense. He had gone but a little ways when he had cause to appeal to the Scriptures, and immediately the storm was renewed with even greater violence.

Some Bohemian noblemen who had witnessed the scene informed Sigismund of what had transpired, urging him to be present at the next hearing.

At the next meeting Sigismund and Huss were brought face to face. The chains that bound Huss were a silent but eloquent commentary on the imperial safe conduct. The emperor, however, consoled himself with the thought that while he had been willing to deprive the Reformer of his freedom, he would at the last extremity save his life. There were two things, however, that Sigismund had failed to take into consideration. The first was the firm and unyielding resolve of the Reformer; the other was the awe in which he, himself, held the Council. Too late, he found, as did Pilate, that having once compromised his conscience, there was no room to change. “And so, despite his better intentions, he suffered himself to be dragged along on the road of perfidy and dishonour, which he had meanly entered, till he came to its tragic end, and the imperial safe conduct and the martyr’s stake had taken their place, side by side, ineffaceable, on history’s eternal pages.” Ibid., 158.

While Huss differed from the Church of Rome, it was not so much on dogmas as on great points of jurisdiction and policy. While these differences directly attacked certain of the principles of the papacy, they tended indirectly to the subversion of the whole system. This was perhaps a far greater revolution than Huss perceived, or perhaps intended; for until the last, he did not abandon the communion of the Roman Church. He admitted to the Divine institution and office of the pope, though he made the effacy of their official acts dependent on their spiritual character. “He held that the supreme rule of faith and practice was the Holy Scriptures; that Christ was the Rock on which our Lord said He would build His church; that ‘the assembly of the Predestinate is the Holy Church, which has neither spot nor wrinkle, but is holy and undefiled; that which Jesus Christ calleth His own;’ that the Church need no one visible head on earth, that it had none such in the days of the apostles; that nevertheless it was then well governed, and might be so still although it should lose its earthly head; and that the Church was not confined to the clergy, but included all the faithful.” Ibid., 158, 159.

Already enfeebled by illness and by his long confinement, he was exhausted and worn out by the length of the appearance and the attention demanded to rebut the attacks and reasonings of his attackers. At length, the Council rose, and Huss was led back to prison.

During the interval between Huss’ second and third appearance, the emperor tried ineffectually to induce the Reformer to retract. Not only was he motivated by a genuine desire to save Huss’ life, but doubtless also out of a regard for his honor which was deeply at stake in the issue. The Reformer, while most willing to abjure those things of which he was falsely accused, refused to be moved regarding those truths he had taught. “‘He would rather,’ he said, ‘be cast into the sea with a millstone about his neck, than offend those little ones to whom he had preached the Gospel, by abjuring it.’” Ibid., 160.

At last the matter was brought to the point of whether or not he would submit implicitly to the Council. “‘If the Council should even tell you,’ said a doctor, whose name has not been preserved, ‘that you have but one eye, you would be obliged to agree with the Council.’ ‘But,’ said Huss, ‘as long as God keeps me in my senses, I would not say such a thing, even though the whole world should require it, because I could not say it without wounding my conscience.’ What an obstinate self-opinionated, arrogant man! Said the Fathers.” Ibid. Even the emperor became irritated at what he regarded as obstinacy.

This was the great crisis in the Reformer ‘s life. It was as if the Council had laid aside all charges of heresy and asked only that he give assent to its divine authority as an infallible council. From that moment, Huss had greater peace of mind than at any time since his ordeal had begun, and he calmly began to prepare for his death.

During his imprisonment before his third and final hearing, Huss was cheered by a prophetic glimpse of the dawn of the better days that awaited the church of God.

While awaiting his final hearing and sentencing, Huss’ thoughts often turned to the chapel of Bethlehem in which he had proclaimed the gospel. One night he “saw in imagination, from the depths of his dungeon, the pictures of Christ that he had painted on the walls of his oratory, effaced by the pope and his bishops. This vision distressed him: but on the next day he saw many painters occupied in restoring these figures in greater number and in brighter colours. As soon as their task was ended, the painters, who were surrounded by an immense crowd, exclaimed: “Now let the popes and bishops come! They shall never efface them more!” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, Book 1, chapter 6, 30.

As the Reformer related his dream to his faithful friend, John de Chlum, he was advised to occupy his thoughts with his defense, rather than with visions. “’I am no dreamer,’ replied Huss, ‘but I maintain this for certain, that the image of Christ will never be effaced. They have wished to destroy it, but it shall be painted afresh in all hearts by much better preachers than myself.’” Ibid.

Thirty days elapsed and the Council again called for Huss. The charges against him were again read, following which Huss refused to abjure. This he accompanied with a brief recapitulation of the events that had led up to that moment. He ended by saying that he had come to this Council of his own free will, “‘confiding in the safe conduct of the emperor here present.’ As he uttered these last words, he looked full at Sigismund, on whose brow the crimson of a deep blush was seen by the whole assembly, whose gaze was at the instant turned towards his majesty.’” Wiley, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 161.

Sentence of condemnation was now passed upon Huss. There then followed the ceremony of degradation. One after another of the garments of a priest were brought forward and placed upon him. They next placed in his hand the chalice, as if he were about to celebrate mass. He was then asked if he were willing to adjure. “‘With what face, then,’ he replied, ‘should I behold the heavens? How should I look on those multitudes of men to whom I have preached the pure Gospel? No; I esteem their salvation more than this poor body, now appointed unto death.’” Ibid.

“The vestments were removed one by one, each bishop pronouncing a curse as he performed his part of the ceremony. Finally “they put on his head a cap or pyramidal-shaped miter of paper, on which were painted frightful figures of demons, with the word ‘Archheretic’ conspicuous in front. ‘Most joyfully,’ said Huss, ‘will I wear this crown of shame for Thy sake, O Jesus, who for me didst wear a crown of thorns.’” The Great Controversy, 109.

As the fire began to burn, Huss began to loudly sing, “Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.” Even his enemies were struck with his heroic bearing. One of the observers, AEneas Sylvius, who afterwards became pope and whose testimony is not liable to suspicion, commented on the heroic demeanor of both Huss and Jerome at their executions. It was said that the vehemence of the fire could scarcely stop their singing.

When Huss bowed at the stake, it was the infallible Council that was vanquished, not the martyr. “Heap together all the trophies of Alexander and of Caesar, what are they all when weighed in the balance against this one glorious achievement? . . . From the moment he expired amid the flames, his name became a power, which will continue to speed on the great cause of truth and light, till the last shackle shall be rent from the intellect, and the conscience emancipated for from every usurpation, shall be free to obey the authority of its rightful Lord.” Wiley, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 164, 165.

Already Bohemia was awakening; and within a hundred years, Germany and all Christendom would arise from their slumber to the awakening prophetically seen in the martyr’s dream.

John Huss and the Reformation in Prague

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The Reformation that began in England as the result of the teachings of John Wycliffe was not restricted to England. Though the work appeared to have stopped with the translation of the English Bible, such was not the case. Though Wycliffe had passed from the field of action, the seed he had sown remained and was yet to emerge in a distant land. Oceans could not stop the spread of truth, nor could national boundaries prevent its triumph. In the year 1400, Jerome of Prague returned to his homeland from England, bringing with him the writings of Wycliffe. It was this seed of truth that opened the eyes of John Huss.

Bohemia and Moravia correspond to what is now the western most part of the Czech Republic. It is believed that Christianity first entered this area in the wake of the armies of Charlemagne (742–814), who established his rule over most of western and central Europe. These Western missionaries, ignorant of the Slavonic tongue, could really effect little conversion of the Bohemian people beyond a nominal acceptance of Christianity. “Accordingly we find the King of Moravia, a country whose religious condition was precisely similar to that of Bohemia, sending to the Greek Emperor, about the year 863, and saying: ‘Our land is baptized, but we have no teachers to instruct us, and translate for us the Holy Scriptures. Send us teachers who may explain to us the Bible.’” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 131.

As a result, the Bohemian church, though adopting Eastern ritual, remained under the jurisdiction of Rome. Later, as the schism between the Eastern and the Western Churches fully developed, the Greek liturgy was discouraged by Rome and the Latin rite was introduced. At length, in 1079, Pope Gregory VII issued a bull forbidding the Oriental ritual to be used any longer, or for public worship to be celebrated in the common language. This order effectively closed every church and Bible in Bohemia. So far as instruction in truth was concerned, total night had set in.

At this dark hour, when it appeared that the Christianity of the nation would completely disappear, the arrival of the Waldenses and Albigenses, fleeing from persecution in Italy and France, breathed new life into the movement. They spread themselves in small colonies all over the Slavonic countries, making their headquarters in Prague. Thought they did not dare to preach publicly, they were zealous evangelists and carried the truth from door to door, keeping the truth alive for two centuries before John Huss appeared.

Because Bohemia was so far removed, it was difficult for Rome to enforce its commands. In many places worship continued to be celebrated in the tongue of the people. Powerful nobles were, in many cases, the protectors of the Waldenses and native Christians who brought prosperity to their lands. All through the fourteenth century these Waldensian exiles continued to sow the seed of pure Christianity in Bohemia.

There were three pioneers of truth who preceded Huss in Bohemia. The first, John Milicius, or Militz, was a man of learning and an eloquent preacher. Whenever he appeared to speak, he addressed the people in the common tongue; and the cathedral was thronged. In hope of finding rest for his soul by fasting, he made a trip to Rome. Upon his arrival, he was shocked to find that the scandals he had spoken out against in Prague paled in comparison to the enormities that were practiced in Rome. In departing, he wrote over the door of one of the cardinals, “Antichrist is now come, and sitteth in the Church.” Ibid., 132.

No sooner had he returned home than the archbishop of Prague, under orders of the pope, placed him in prison. Soon, however, murmurs began to be heard among the citizens; and fearing an uprising, the archbishop released him after a short incarceration. He lived to die in peace at eighty years of age in 1374.

With the passage of time, papal persecution was instigated against the confessors in Bohemia. They no longer dared to celebrate communion using the cup openly but sought retreat in private homes or the yet greater concealment of woods and caves. Finally, in 1376, the stake was decreed against all who dissented from the established rites.

John Huss was born in 1373 in the village of Hussinetz on the edge of the Bohemian Forest. He took his name from his birthplace. His father died while he was yet young. Having completed his education at the provincial school, his mother took him to Prague. There at the university he received his Bachelor of Arts in 1393, Bachelor of Theology in 1394, and Master of the Arts in 1396. Two years later, he entered the church and rose rapidly to distinction until the queen, Sophia of Bavaria, selected him as her confessor.

It was in 1402 that Huss’ career really began when he was appointed the preacher at the Chapel of Bethlehem. At this time, the level of morality had sunken to an extremely low level. In addressing these abuses, Huss aroused opposition, but the queen and archbishop acted as his protectors, and he continued to preach.

The Bethlehem Chapel was founded by a certain citizen of Prague in 1392 with the stipulation that the preaching of the Word of God was to be in the mother tongue. In presenting the Bible truth to his listeners, Huss himself grew in faith and understanding. When he began to study the works of Wycliffe, he found himself not altogether opposed to the reforms Wycliffe proposed.

In preaching from the Bible, Huss had begun a movement the significance of which he little realized. Having placed the Bible above the authority of pope or council, he had, without realizing it, entered upon the road of Protestantism, though at the time he had not thought of breaking with the Church of Rome.

One of the events that took place and which helped to encourage the intercourse between England and Bohemia was the marriage of Richard II of England, to Anne, sister of the king of Bohemia. On the death of the princess, the ladies of her court, on their return to their native land, brought with them the writings of Wycliffe, whose follower their mistress had been.

About this time (1404), two theologians from England, graduates of Oxford and disciples of the gospel, arrived in Prague. They came planning to hold public disputations, and they chose as their opening wedge the primacy of the pope. The country was scarcely prepared to be open to such a message and the authorities promptly put a stop to their efforts in that direction. As they considered what avenue they might take to pursue their purpose, an idea presented itself. Both of these would-be missionaries had studied art as well as theology and they proceeded to demonstrate their skill in drawing in the corridor of the house in which they were staying. On one wall they portrayed the humble entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem. On the other they displayed the more royal magnificence of a pontifical procession. There was seen the pope, dressed in his pontifical robes, the Triple Crown on his head, with trumpeters proclaiming his approach. Many were drawn to gaze upon the contrasting pictures. Such excitement was stirred that the artists deemed it prudent to withdraw for a time.

Among those who came to gaze at this antithesis of Christ and Antichrist was John Huss. The effect that it had upon him led him to a more careful study than ever of the writings of Wycliffe. He could not, however, accept the sweeping measure of reform that was advocated by him. The idea of overturning the hierarchy and replacing it with the simple ministry of the Word was an idea so revolutionary as to make him draw back.

One of the things that helped to open Huss’ eyes was the presentation of relics and the lying wonders that were attributed to them. Many doubts were expressed regarding the cures, and the archbishop ordered an investigation into the truth of the matter. As a result, it was discovered that all of the miracles were impostures. In the summer of 1405, under threat of excommunication, all preachers were enjoined to publish to their congregations the episcopal prohibition of pilgrimages.

The events that were transpiring in Prague could not long escape the notice of Rome. In response, Pope Alexander V issued a bull commanding the archbishop of Prague to burn all the books written by Wycliffe. Upwards of 200 volumes, beautifully written and elegantly bound, some of which were ornamented with precious stones, were burned to the tolling of bells. Their beauty and costliness showed that their owners were men of high standing, and their number reflected on how widely the writings of the English Reformer had been circulated in Prague alone.

This act further inflamed the zeal of Huss, and his sermons now attacked indulgences as well as the abuses of the hierarchy. A summons now arrived from Rome demanding that Huss appear in person to defend his doctrines. To obey was certain death. The king, the queen, the university, and many other persons of rank and influence united in sending an embassy requesting the pope to dispense with Huss’ personal appearance, allowing him to be heard by legal counsel. The pope refused to listen and went on to condemn him in absentia, laying the city of Prague under interdict.

On every side there were tokens of doom. The church doors were locked; corpses lay by the wayside awaiting burial. The images which stood at the street corners were covered with sackcloth or laid prostrate on the ground.

A tumult was beginning to disturb the peace; and Huss, following the command of Jesus, when persecuted in one place, fled to another. Leaving Prague, he retired to his native village where he enjoyed the protection of the territorial lord, who was his friend. From there he traveled to the surrounding towns and villages, preaching the gospel as he went.

“The mind of Huss, at this stage of his career, would seem to have been the scene of a painful conflict. Although the Church was seeking to overwhelm him by her thunderbolts, he had not renounced her authority. The Roman Church was still to him the spouse of Christ, and the Pope was the representative and vicar of God. What Huss was warring against was the abuse of authority, not the principle inself. This brought on a terrible conflict between the convictions of his understanding the claims of his conscience. . . . This was the problem he could not solve; this was the doubt that tortured him hour by hour. The nearest approximation to a solution, which he was able to make, was that it had happened again, as once before in the days of the Saviour, that the priest of the Church had become wicked persons, and were using their lawful authority for unlawful ends.” Ibid. 139. It is doubtful that even as he stood at the stake that Huss had the clearness of sight that Wycliffe had developed. He was unable to separate in his mind the true church from the organized structure that represented to him the ship in which all were to obtain safety.

Gradually things quieted in Prague and an uneasy calm settled in. Huss longed to return to his post in the Chapel of Bethlehem. Upon his return, he spoke even more boldly against the tyranny of the priesthood in forbidding the preaching of the gospel.

About this time, the Lord brought Jerome into Huss’ life. Jerome, a Bohemian knight, had returned from having spent some time at Oxford where he had imbibed of Wycliffe’s teachings. As he passed through Paris and Vienna, he challenged the learned men of these universities to dispute him in the matter of faith. As a result, he was thrown into prison but made his escape and returned to Bohemia to spread the doctrines of the English Reformer.

Though much alike in their great qualities and aims, Huss and Jerome differed in minor points to be sufficiently diverse to compliment each other. Huss was the more powerful character while Jerome was the more powerful orator. Their friendship and affection for each other grew and continued unbroken until they were united in death.

About this time, three popes were all contending for supremacy, filling Christendom with strife and tumult. Each, casting about to find means with which to raise armies to support his claim to St. Peter’s chair, offered for sale the blessings of the church. The bishops and lower levels of the clergy, quick to learn from the example set them by the popes, enriched themselves by simony. Of the practices of piety, nothing remained but a few superstitious rites. The words of the prophet certainly applied. “And judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.” Isaiah 59:14.

While this is truly a distressing and melancholy spectacle, perhaps it was necessary that the evil should more fully develop and manifest itself that the eyes of men might be opened and they might see that, “It was indeed a ‘bitter thin’ that they had forsaken the ‘easy yoke’ of the Gospel, and submitted to a power that set no limits to its usurpations, and which, clothing itself with the prerogatives of God, was waging a war of extermination against all the rights of men.” Ibid., 141. As long as men believed that the church was the ship of salvation by which all must stand—the ark of God, which would weather every storm to arrive at last at the heavenly shore—the supremacy of Rome was assured. As long as this delusion was systematically taught and fondly received, reformation was impossible.

As Huss contemplated the frightful condition of society and the church, he was led to study more deeply the Bible and the writings of the early church fathers. He began to see more clearly how far the church had digressed from the purity of doctrine that had once been delivered to the saints. It was at this time that he wrote his treatise On the Church, a work that revealed the extent of his emancipation from the shackles of church authority.

This tract was soon followed by another entitled The Six Errors. In this tract, he set forth a list of errors of the Roman Church, which included: 1) the error of transubstantiation; 2) the confession required of all church members as to their belief in the saints and the pope; 3) the pretension of the priests to remit the guilt and punishment for sin; 4) the implicit obedience required of all to their ecclesiastical superiors; 5) the failure to make a distinction between a valid excommunication and one that is not; and 6) simony.

About this time, the war between the popes reached such a level that it threatened to engulf a divided Bohemia. The king and priesthood of the nation supported John XXIII, while the common people and many of the leading citizens sided with Ladislaus, King of Hungary, who supported Gregory XII. As Huss viewed the contending factions, he spoke plainer and more boldly with every passing day. The scandals which multiplied around him no doubt aroused his indignation, and the persecutions he endured no doubt strengthened him in purpose. In the midst of this turmoil, the archbishop placed Prague under interdict and threatened to continue the sentence so long as Huss remained in the city. He was persuaded that if Huss should retire, the movement would go down and the war of factions would subside in peace. In this, however, he was deceived. Two ages were struggling together, and movement was now beyond the power of any man to control.

Huss, fearing that his presence in Prague might embarrass his friends, again withdrew to his native village. It was from there that he wrote for the first time the prophetic words that were later to be repeated, each time taking a more exact and definite form. “’If the goose’ (his name in the Bohemian language signifies goose), ‘which is but a timid bird, and cannot fly high, has been able to burst its bonds, there will come afterwards an eagle, which will soar high into the air and draw to it all the other birds.’” Ibid., 143.

It was pleasant to lave the strife of Prague for the quietude of his birthplace. Here he could devote himself to study and communion with God and reflect on the result of the work that he had begun. He had been able to partially emancipate his country from the darkness of error. One more act remained for him to perform—the greatest and most enduring of all. As the preacher of Bethlehem Chapel, he had largely contributed to the emancipation of Bohemia; but as the martyr of Constance, he was to largely contribute to the emancipation of Christendom.

 

Reformers and the Church

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In Matthew 16:13, Jesus asked His disciples who He was. This is an important question because a correct understanding can make all the difference between eternal life and eternal death. “And Simon Peter answered and said, ‘You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.’ Jesus answered and said to him, ‘blessed are you, Simon BarJonah, for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven.’” Now in verse 18 there is a play on words that does not come through in the English translation, so I would like to insert the Greek words. “’And I also say to you that you are [petros] Peter, and on this [petra] rock I will build My church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it. And I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.’” Matthew 16:18, 19. This is tremendous authority –not just earthly authority that has to do with eternal life.

Before we examine this question of church authority, let us look first of all at the text that says, “you are petros.” The word petros, which in Latin is the same as Peter, means a stone, while a petra is a very large boulder or rock.

On what rock is the church built? Let us allow Peter to give us his understanding of what Christ meant by the statement He made to him. “Coming to Him as to a living stone, rejected indeed by men, but chosen by God and precious, you also, as living stones, are being built up a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. Therefore it is also contained in the Scripture, ‘Behold, I lay in Zion a chief cornerstone, elect, precious, and he who believes on Him will by no means be put to shame.’ Therefore, to you who believe, He is precious; but to those who are disobedient, ‘The stone which the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone,’ and ‘a stone of stumbling and a rock of offense.’ They stumble, being disobedient to the word, to which they also were appointed.” 1 Peter is talking about Jesus Christ as the Chief Cornerstone.

This agrees with the apostle Paul, who said, “Now therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, having been built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone, in whom the whole building, being fitted together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord, in whom you also are being built together for a dwelling place of God in the Spirit.” Ephesians 2:19-22

All through the Scriptures you will find that Jesus is described as that supernatural, living Rock in which His children hide and find security, stability, safety, and salvation. Jesus spoke of Himself as the Cornerstone when He said, “And whoever falls on this stone will be broken; but on whomever it falls, it will grind him to powder.” Matthew 21:44

In Matthew 18:19, it appears that the keys were given to Peter, though, as we look in other Scriptures, it is evident that they were given to the rest of the apostles and to the entire church. (See John 20:21-23.) It was by the misuse of Jesus’ statement to Peter that the bishops of Rome attained authority over the nations of Europe during the Dark Ages. They said, “We have received apostolic authority from Peter. We have the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and we can shut you out and send you to hell, or we can give you eternal life.” When Bible-believing Christians dissented, before they were burned at the stake they were clothed with robes and miters on which there were painted demons, snakes, and devils. The church authorities would say, “Not only are you going to die, but we are consigning you to hell; and you are going to burn there forever.”

Before Jesus conferred authority on His apostles, He breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” (See Ibid.) This is also clear from Jesus’ statement to Peter when He said, “for flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven.” Only people who are filled with the Holy Spirit have the divine authority of the church.

The question of apostolic succession has agitated the minds in the Christian world for hundreds of years. Who are the successors of the apostles? The way to understand this is to ask a question that was commonly asked in Christ’s day. Who is the true church? Who are Abraham’s seed?
This is a question that agitated the minds of the Jews a good deal. The Jews told Jesus that they were Abraham’s descendants. (See John 8:33.) They believed that they were saved; but Jesus said, “You don’t live like Abraham, You’re not working the works of Abraham. Therefore, you really are not Abraham’s seed.” He denied that they were Abraham’s seed because they did not have a character like Abraham.

The Bible says that we are going to be judged according to our works. That is the same as saying that we are going to be judged according to our character. Historic Seventh-day Adventists still believe that judgment is on the basis of your works—your character. This is why Ellen White said that the day of God would be a day of bitter disappointment to most of the Christian world because they make a profession, but they do not have a character that goes along with it. In the day of judgment, they are going to find out that their profession is worthless unless their character coincides with the profession. (See Seventh-day Adventist Bible Commentary, vol. 7, 970.)

Now if you profess to be Seventh-day Adventist, you profess that you are a member of that church that is mentioned in Revelation 12:17 “who keep the commandments of God and have the testimony of Jesus.” You profess to be a part of that group of people that it talks about in Revelation 14:12 where it says, “Here is the patience of the saints; here are those who keep the commandments of God and the faith of Jesus.” That is what you profess; but if you do not keep the commandments of God and have the faith of Jesus, if you do not have the testimony of Jesus, what good is your profession going to do? It will do no good.

Where did the concept come from that the church is the congregation of goodly men only? It came from the New Testament. Wherever you have a group of people who are filled with the Holy Spirit and are living godly, righteous lives, when they meet together and assemble and worship, that is a church. The Reformers all taught this concept; the Waldenses believed it. By the way, if they had not believed it, they could not have had a church. There would not have been a Reformation. They could not have remained true unless they understood who the church was. That time is coming again. It is right upon us. If you do not understand who the church is, the pressure will be so great that you will not be able to remain faithful and true.

The Bible teaches that it is character that counts. Now do not misunderstand; you do not earn salvation. Salvation is a gift; but let me tell you, it is a conditional gift. If you do not have the character qualification, you are not going to receive the gift. The apostles Paul, Peter, James, and John are all clear about that.

This concept was clearly understood by the great Protestant Reformers. One of the early leaders of the church, Claude of Turin, said, “Know thou that he only is apostolic who is the keeper and guardian of the apostle’s doctrine, and not he who boasts himself to be seated in the chair of the apostle, and in the meantime doth not acquit himself of the charge of the apostle.” J.A. Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 22

There was a remnant of the apostolic church in the land of Italy known as the Waldenses. They were terribly persecuted; and if you read such books as Martyrs Mirror, you will find that one of the main issues in the understanding of the Waldenses was the issue of who and what the church is. The Waldenses believed that they were the spiritual descendants of the apostles, and, therefore, they were the church. They were a perpetual reminder of what the church used to be; and as long as they were around, they testified to how far professed Christendom had departed from the original faith. For this reason they were bitterly persecuted.

You see, the battle of the Reformation had largely to do with the vital issue of who and what the church is. As long as people were afraid that there was someone who could say, “I am going to shut the kingdom of heaven against you and send you to hell,” there could be no Reformation.
On one occasion Tyndale was in a debate with a Roman Catholic by the name of More. During this debate, More said: “We must not examine the teaching of the church by Scripture, but understand Scripture by means of what the church says.”

Tyndale: “What! Does the air give light to the sun? Or the sun to the air? Is the church before the gospel or the gospel before the church? [Now notice his reasoning] Is not the father older than the son? God begat us with His own will, with the word of truth. James 1:18. If he who begets is before him who is begotten, the word is before the church. Or to speak more correctly, before the congregation.”

More: “Why do you say congregation and not church?”

Tyndale: “Because by the word church, you understand nothing but a multitude of shaved and shorn and oiled, which we now call the spirituality or clergy, while the word of right is common unto all the congregation of them that believe in Christ.”

More: “The church is the pope and his sect of followers.”

Tyndale: “The pope teaches us to trust in holy words for salvation, as penance, saints, merits, and friars codes. Now he that has no faith to be saved through Christ is not of Christ’s church.”

Calvin went through a period of great struggle and doubt in his mind over this issue. “The doubts by which his soul was now shaken, drew in strength with each renewed discussion. What shall he do? Shall he forsake the Church? That seems to him like casting himself into the gulf of perdition. And yet can the Church save him? There is a new light breaking in upon him, in which her dogmas are melting away; the ground beneath him is sinking. To what shall he cling?….

“’There can be no church,’ we hear Calvin saying to himself, ‘where the truth is not.’…

“In fine, Calvin concluded that the term ‘Church’ could not make the society that monopolised the term really ‘the Church.’ Highsounding titles and lofty assumptions could give neither unity nor authority; these could come form the Truth alone; and so he abandoned ‘the Church’ that he might enter the Church—the Church of the Bible.” J.A. Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 2, 152, 154

Of John Knox, the Scottish Reformer, it is said, “Knox’s idea of a Church was, in brief, a divinely originated, a divinely enfranchised, and a divinely governed society. Its members were all those who made profession of the Gospel; its law was the Bible, and its King was Christ.” Ibid., vol. 3, 496

Taussan was a Danish Reformer. He drew up a confession which became the confession of the Protestants in Denmark. In this confession it was declared that the Holy Scriptures were to be the only rule of faith, “and the satisfaction of Christ in our room the only foundation of eternal life. It defined the Church to be the communion of the faithful, and it denied the power of any man to cast any one out of that Church, unless such shall have first cut himself off from the communion of the faithful by impenitence and sin.” Ibid., vol. 2, 42

The church is where Christ is. There can be no church without the presence of the deity. “Where Christ is even among the humble few, this is Christ’s church, for the presence of the High and Holy One who inhabiteth eternity can alone constitute a church.” The Upward Look, 315. The church is where the Holy Spirit is. It is where Jesus is, who said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” John 14:6. That is the spiritual building of the church. Now if I leave the truth, what have I done? I have left the church.

For many years Romanists have accused the Protestants of heresy and of separation from the true church; but Ellen White says in The Great Controversy, 51, that this accusation applies rather to themselves because they are the ones who laid down the banner of Christ and departed from the faith that was once delivered to the saints. And when you depart from the faith, when you leave the truth, you have left the church. The church stays right there with the truth because the church is “the pillar and ground of the truth.” The Great Controversy, 376. It was when Calvin began to understand this that it set his mind free. “‘There can be no church,’ we hear Calvin saying to himself, ‘where the truth is not.’… In fine, Calvin concluded that the term ‘Church could not make the society that monopolised the term really ‘the Church.’ High-sounding titles and lofty assumptions could give neither unity nor authority; these could come from the Truth alone.” J.A. Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 2, 154. What is it that gives unity and authority? It is the truth; and if you leave the truth, you have no authority.

It is time for Historic Adventists to wake up to the reality that our profession must coincide with our character or our profession is worthless. (See The Desire of Ages, 107.)

Have you heard somebody say, “Well, the church is going through”? Well, I believe that. In fact, I believe that the church has always gone through. I believe that the church went through in Samuel’s time. Most of the professed people did not go with it. I believe the church went through in Jeremiah’s time and Daniel’s time, and I believe the church went through in the time of Jesus and the apostles. Who was the church in the time of Jesus?

Let me ask you a question. When Jesus came down to this world, do you think that He was here in the flesh? Of course He was. The church is His mystical body. He was the head of it then, and He is the head of it now. So who was the church when Jesus was here? It is very simple, friends; it was the people who followed Jesus. That is who it was, and that is still who it is.

 

A church is not just bricks and mortar or corporations or theology. A church is people who are filled with the Holy Spirit; and as a result of being filled with the Holy Spirit, they are spoken of in the Bible as living stones, stones that emit light all around. Jesus said, “You are the light of the world.” Mathew 5:14

The Jews of Christ’s day called themselves the true church. Jesus said, “If you do not believe that I am the One, you are going to die in your sins.” That is about the most terrible thing that could happen to anyone. If you are a Christian, death is just a moment of silence and darkness. That is not the problem. But if you die in your sins, death will be forever. One of our greatest dangers is that we will be deceived, thinking that we are part of the church because we make a profession but not having a character to back it up. Unless we live the life, we are lost. The time is coming when every eternal destiny will be fixed. May the prayer of each one of our hearts be, “Lord Jesus, help me to have a character that will coincide with my profession.”

The End

Persecution Revived: Enter in Through the Right Gate

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After Henry died in 1547, young and reforming Edward succeeded him to the throne. The Popish faction was still powerful. Had Edward VI lived, it is probable that many things in the worship of the Church of England, borrowed from the Roman Church, would have been removed.

It was a great work that was accomplished in England during Edward’s reign, especially when we consider that it was all accomplished in six short years. Before the Reformation was to be firmly established in England, however, it would yet pass through another severe trial and test.

Following the death of Edward, July 17, 1553, Mary daughter of Henry VIII, began to reign at thirty-seven years of age. Her accession was met with satisfaction, if not with enthusiasm, by the great majority of the nation. It was the general belief that the throne was rightfully hers, though an earlier parliament had annulled her right of succession on the grounds of the unlawfulness of Henry’s marriage to Catherine. Later, another parliament had restored it to her, which was in keeping with Henry’s last will and testament. Under this arrangement, she placed next after Edward, Prince of Wales, and heir to the crown. Few indeed anticipated the terrible changes that would soon sweep the nation. Mary’s education had been conducted mainly by her mother, who had taught her little besides a strong attachment to the Roman Catholic faith. No sooner had the way to the throne been cleared for her than she sent a message to the pope to the effect that she was his faithful daughter and England had returned to Rome. The knowledge of the joy of this would bring to the Eternal City enabled the messenger to make the trip in nine days, something that had taken Campeggio three months to accomplish when he came to pronounce Henry’s divorce.

Realizing that these same tidings would be far from welcome in England, Mary hid her true feelings. To the Reformers of Suffolk, who before espousing her cause sought a commitment from her as to the course she intended to pursue, she bade them put their minds at rest; no man would be molested on the grounds of his religion. Upon entering London, she sent the Lord Mayor the message that she meant not to compel other people’s consciences otherwise than God should persuade their hearts of truth. By these words, her right to the throne was confirmed. No sooner, however, was she firmly established than she threw off all disguise and left no one in doubt that it was her settled purpose to suppress the Protestant faith.

All of the circumstances that had made progress of the Reformation so difficult in England worked in Mary’s favor as she sought to restore the Catholic religion. Large numbers of the people were still attached to the ancient beliefs, as there had not been sufficient time for the light to fully dispel the darkness. A large portion of the clergy, though professing the Protestant faith because of the pressure that had been applied to them as a result of the laws passed during Henry’s reign, were still papal at heart.

Throughout all of England, all men who held any position of influence and who were known to be favorable to the Reformation were removed. During the months of August and September, Ridley, Bishop of London; Rogers; Latimer, the most eloquent preacher in all of England; Hooper of Gloucester; Coverdale; Bradford; Saunders; and others were deprived of their liberty. In addition, some noblemen and gentlemen were deprived of their lands which the king had given them. Many churches were changed, altars were set up, and masses said, even before a law had been passed making it legal.

All of the foreign Protestants were given passports, with orders to leave the country. Nearly 1,000 Englishmen under various guises left with them. Providence had arranged that just as the storm was about to break in England, it had begun to abate on the Continent.

Soon after being confirmed to the throne, Mary considered a marriage to the emperor’s son, Philip of Spain. Parliament begged the queen not to marry a stranger; and the queen, not liking to have her matrimonial interests interfered with, dismissed the members and sent them to their homes. Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester and Lord Chancellor of England, learning that a galleon loaded with gold had just returned to Spain from South America, wrote the emperor, suggesting that for the price of a few millions of his wealth he might be able to buy sufficient votes of influential men, thereby assuring that England would be rescued from heresy. At the same time, it was suggested that it would be an opportunity to add another to the many kingdoms that were already under the Spanish scepter. The idea was agreed to and plans for a wedding moved ahead.

With the year 1555, the stake returned to England. Secret informers were appointed in each district to report on all who did not attend the mass or who otherwise failed to conduct themselves as good Catholics. Among the first victims to suffer for their faith were Rogers and Hooper. The men who were burned during Mary’s reign died mainly because of their denial in the belief of transubstantiation—the actual presence of the body of Christ in the Lord’s Supper. The question was direct and there was no reasoning the matter. “What sayest thou?” was the question put to each of them. If in answer they said “flesh,” they were acquitted; if in reply they said “bread,” they were condemned to be burned.

Rogers had been an associate of Tyndale and Coverdale in translating the Scriptures. On the morning of February 4, he was awakened and led to Smithfield. In the crowd he saw his wife with their eleven children, the smallest still an infant. His persecutors thought that his fatherly instincts might prevail where they had failed, but in this they were mistaken. Refusing the pardon that was offered him, he replied; “That which I have preached will I seal with my blood.” Accused of being a heretic, he calmly replied that this would be determined at the last day.

After this beginning, the work moved ahead rapidly. In order to strike terror to the populace as a whole, stakes were raised all over England. The clergy, thinking that seeing their pastors burned would terrorize the flock, arranged to have the Reformers burned in various places throughout England. Little did they realize that the people might be moved to pity by the sight and, admiring their heroism, would come to despise the tyranny that doomed them to such an awful death. A thrill of horror swept the nation.

Hooper, who had been a companion of Rogers at his initial trial, had expected to accompany him to the stake. Instead, however, he was told that he was to be transported back to Gloucester where he had been bishop. Though he welcomed the privilege of dying anywhere for Christ, to seal his testimony before the flock to which had preached filled him with joy. Arriving in Gloucester, he was met by a crowd of tearful people. Three days were allowed him before his execution. On February 9, he was led out. It was market day and not less than 7,000 people assembled to watch. He did not address those assembled, as he had been forced to give his promise to remain silent by the threat of having his tongue cut out. His courage and the serenity of his countenance, however, preached a more eloquent sermon than any words he might have framed.

Men were able to contrast the leniency with which the Romanists had been treated under Edward VI with the fierce cruelty of Mary. When Protestantism was in the ascendancy, not a single papist had died for his religion. A few priests had been deprived of their offices and revenue, but the vast majority had saved their livelihood by conforming. Now that popery had revived, no one could be a Protestant but at the peril of his life. All over England fires raged. From the child, to the elderly, without regard to sex, the victims were brought, sometimes singly, at other times by the dozens. An England that till now had placed a small price on the Reformation, awoke to a better idea of the value what Edward VI and Cranmer had given it.

The gloomiest year in the history of England was the last year of Mary. Drought and tempests had brought about a scarcity of food. Famine brought plague in its wake. Strange maladies attacked the population and a full half of the inhabitants fell sick. Many towns and villages were almost depopulated, and a sufficient number of laborers could not be found to even reap the fields. In many places the grain, instead of being carried to the barn, stood rotting in the fields. The kingdom was rapidly becoming a satrapy of Spain, and its prestige was year by year sinking in the eyes of foreign powers.

Between February 4, 1555, when Rogers was burned at Smithfield, and November 15, 1558, when five martyrs were burned in one fire at Canterbury just two days before Mary died, no less than 288 persons were burned alive at the stake.

Mary breathed her last on the morning of November 17, 1558. On the same day, but a few hours later, Cardinal Pole died. He along with Carranza, the Spanish priest who had been Mary’s confessor, had been chief counselor in carrying out the deeds that were to crown her reign with such infamy in England. The news of Mary’s death spreading rapidly through London caused general rejoicing. Wherever the news was told, it was heralded with great joy. The nation awoke as from a horrible nightmare.

Elizabeth ascended the throne with the sincere purpose of restoring the Protestant religion. She was faced, however, with a work that was as difficult as it was great. The learned and eloquent preachers who had been the strength of Protestantism in the reign of her brother Edward had perished at the stake or been driven into exile, leaving the pulpits in the possession of the Roman Catholic clergy. On all sides she was surrounded by great dangers. The clergy of her realm were mostly of the Catholic faith. As the daughter of one of those wives of Henry that they disputed, in the eyes of these bishops her claim to the throne was more than doubtful. Abroad, the dangers were equally great.

During the first year of Elizabeth’s reign, the qualified Protestant clergy in England were few indeed, but their numbers rapidly increased as the news reached the cities to which they had been driven by persecution. Their arrivals in England greatly strengthened the work of restoring the Reformation.

As long as Scotland was Catholic in faith, it was a threat to Protestant England. The establishment of its Reformation in 1560 under John Knox, however, made it one in policy, as in faith, with England. At the time when Elizabeth was weakest, this sudden conversion of an ancient foe into a firm ally brought her unexpected help.

The Reformer, John Knox, landed in Scotland on May 2, 1559. A messenger immediately set off to bear the unwelcome news to the Scottish queen. A few days later, by royal proclamation, he was declared a rebel and an outlaw. If the proclamation accomplished nothing else, it succeeded in electrifying all of Scotland with the news.

Until the coming of Knox, a close alliance had existed between Scotland and France, a union of the gravest concern to Elizabeth. Francis II, upon ascending the throne of France, had openly assumed the title and arms of England. He made no secret of his purpose to invade the country and place his wife, Mary Stuart, heiress of the Scottish kingdom, upon its throne. The most obvious way to achieve his purpose, as it appeared to him, was to pour his soldiers into his wife’s hereditary kingdom of Scotland and then descend on England from the North. The scheme was proceeding with every promise of success, when the progress of the Reformation in Scotland and the consequent expulsion of the French from that country of France and converted that very country, in which the Papists trusted to be the instrument of Elizabeth’s overthrow, into her firmest ally.

It now became clear to Pope Pius V that the Reformation was centering itself in England, and, from there, influencing all of Europe. In the throne of England, Protestant forces were finding a focus and developing into a more consolidated and effective Protestantism than had ever before existed in Christendom. It was here, therefore, that the great battle must come which would determine whether the Reformation of the sixteenth century was to establish itself or to end in failure.

On May 3, 1570, Pius V issued his bull excommunicating Queen Elizabeth. Nearly three years before, the Jesuits had begun to infiltrate England. Professing themselves to be Protestant clergymen, they worked to widen the differences and create animosities between the various Protestant groups, eventually breaking the union and peace that had so largely prevailed in England during the first ten years of Elizabeth’s reign. The Massacre of St. Bartholomew, which occurred soon after, in 1572, sent a thrill of terror through the nation. The doom of the Huguenots taught Elizabeth and the English Protestants that Roman Catholic pledges and promises of peace were no security whatever against sudden and wholesale destruction.

To counter the influence of the Reformation movement in England, the Catholic Church founded a university at Douay in the northeast of France. To this school a small group of English youth came to be educated as seminary priests and later were employed in undermining the Reformation in their native land. The Pope so completely approved of the entire plan that he created a similar institution in Rome—the English College.

Before these foreign seminaries had had sufficient time to complete the work of training qualified agents, two students of Oxford, Edward Campion and Robert Parsons, traveled to Rome. While there, they arranged with the Jesuits to carry out the execution of the Pope’s bull against Queen Elizabeth. Returning to England in 1580, they began operations. Assuming new names and different dress each day of the week, they began to traverse England. In their travels, they lodged in the houses of Catholic nobles, seeking to arouse Roman Catholic zeal and the spirit of mutiny. At length, Campion addressed a letter to the Privy Council, boldly avowing to revive in England “the faith that was first planted, and must be restored,” and boasting that the Jesuits of all countries were leagued together for this object. He concluded by demanding a disputation at which the queen and members of the Privy Council should be present. A warrant was issued for his arrest, and he was seized while in the disguise of a soldier and taken to the Tower. According to the act already passed, he was found guilty and, along with Sherwin, Kirby, and Briant, his accomplices, was executed for high treason.

Rome recognized that any hope of reestablishing the faith of Rome in England was hopeless as long as Elizabeth reigned. Finding themselves unwilling to wait for natural causes to make vacant her throne, they watched their opportunity to accomplish her removal. The record of England during the years following 1580 is a continuous record of these murderous attempts, all springing out of and justifying themselves by the bull of excommunication. Not a year passed, after the arrival in England of the Jesuits Campion and Parsons, that there was not a plot to insurrection in some part of the queen’s dominions.

In 1586 came the Babington conspiracy. It originated with John Ballard, a priest who had been educated in the seminary at Rheims. Respecting the bull of excommunication as the product of infallibility, he held that as Elizabeth had been excommunicated by the Pope, for him to deprive her of both her life and throne would be the most acceptable service he could do to God and the surest way of earning a crown in Paradise. The affair was to begin with the assassination of Elizabeth. The Catholics in England were then to be summoned to arms; and while the flames of insurrection were raging within the kingdom, a foreign army was to land upon the coast, besiege and sack the cities that opposed them, raise Mary Stuart of Scotland to the throne, and establish the Catholic religion in England.

By means of intercepted letters and the information of spies, Walsingham, one of Elizabeth’s leading secretaries, early learned of the secret. Soon he was in possession of as clear and exact a knowledge of the plot as the conspirators themselves. Quietly he stood by, watching the conspiracy develop until all was ready. He then stepped in and crushed it. The Englishmen who had plotted to extinguish the religion and liberties of their native land in the blood of civil war and the fury of foreign invasion paid for their crimes on the scaffold. The life of Mary, Queen of Scots, ended for her, not on the throne of England but with a headsman’s ax.

An attempt has been made to present the men executed for their share in this, and similar conspiracies, as martyrs for religion. The fact is, however, that it is impossible to show that a single individual was put to death under Elizabeth simply because he believed in or professed the Roman Catholic faith. In every case, the charges were for promoting or practicing treason. Surely had the Protestant government of Elizabeth thought to put to death Catholics for their faith, those others who had acted such prominent parts in the bloody tragedies under Mary would have been the first to fall. But these men who had murdered hundreds were never called to account for the deeds they had done. Instead, they lived out their lives in ease and peace amid the relations and contemporaries of the men they had dragged to the stake.

As the Bible began to freely circulate in Britain, it soon changed the character of the people, putting an end to the barbaric and bloodthirsty methods that had been the tools long employed by the Church of Rome to suppress all who were in opposition to her authority. In some instances it might be argued that Roman Catholics were treated with unnecessary cruelty, but it must be remembered that England was in a period of transition. The nation was just emerging from the Romish school of blood after centuries of training. Britain and North America are today what the Bible made them; Spain and Latin America are what Romanism made them.

The End