temporize to secure favor with the world, it would have been untrue to God
and to itself, and would thus have insured its own destruction. The
experience of these noble Reformers contains a lesson for all succeeding
ages. Satan’s manner of working against God and His word has not changed;
he is still as much opposed to the Scriptures being made the guide of life
as in the sixteenth century. In our time there is a wide departure from
their doctrines and precepts, and there is need of a return to the great
Protestant principle,—the Bible, and the Bible only, as the rule of faith
and duty. Satan is still working through every means which he can control
to destroy religious liberty. The antichristian power which the protesters
of Spires rejected, is now with renewed vigor seeking to re-establish its
lost supremacy. The same unswerving adherence to the word of God
manifested at that crisis of the Reformation, is the only hope of reform
to-day.
There appeared tokens of danger to the Protestants; there were tokens,
also, that the divine hand was stretched out to protect the faithful. It
was about this time that “Melanchthon hastily conducted through the
streets of Spires toward the Rhine his friend Simon Grynæus, pressing him
to cross the river. The latter was astonished at such precipitation. ‘An
old man of grave and solemn air, but who is unknown to me,’ said
Melanchthon, ‘appeared before me and said, In a minute officers of justice
will be sent by Ferdinand to arrest Grynæus.’ ”
During the day, Grynæus had been scandalized at a sermon by Faber, a
leading papal doctor; and at the close, remonstrated with him for
defending “certain detestable errors.” “Faber dissembled his anger, but
immediately after repaired to the king, from whom he had obtained an order
against the importunate professor of Heidelberg. Melanchthon doubted not
that God had saved his friend by sending one of His holy angels to
forewarn him.
“Motionless on the banks of the Rhine, he waited until the waters of that
stream had rescued Grynæus from his persecutors. ‘At last,’ cried
Melanchthon, as he saw him on the opposite side, ‘at last he is torn from
the cruel jaws of those who thirst for innocent blood.’ When he returned
to his house, Melanchthon was informed that officers in search of Grynæus
had ransacked it from top to bottom.”(299)
The Reformation was to be brought into greater prominence before the
mighty ones of the earth. The evangelical princes had been denied a
hearing by King Ferdinand; but they were to be granted an opportunity to
present their cause in the presence of the emperor and the assembled
dignitaries of church and state. To quiet the dissensions which disturbed
the empire, Charles V., in the year following the Protest of Spires,
convoked a Diet at Augsburg, over which he announced his intention to
preside in person. Thither the Protestant leaders were summoned.
Great dangers threatened the Reformation; but its advocates still trusted
their cause with God, and pledged themselves to be firm to the gospel. The
elector of Saxony was urged by his councilors not to appear at the Diet.
The emperor, they said, required the attendance of the princes in order to
draw them into a snare. “Is it not risking everything to go and shut
oneself up within the walls of a city with a powerful enemy?” But others
nobly declared, “Let the princes only comport themselves with courage, and
God’s cause is saved.” “God is faithful; He will not abandon us,”(300)
said Luther. The elector set out, with his retinue, for Augsburg. All were
acquainted with the dangers that menaced him, and many went forward with
gloomy countenance and troubled heart. But Luther, who accompanied them as
far as Coburg, revived their sinking faith by singing the hymn, written on
that journey, “A strong tower is our God.” Many an anxious foreboding was
banished, many a heavy heart lightened, at the sound of the inspiring
strains.
The reformed princes had determined upon having a statement of their views
in systematic form, with the evidence from the Scriptures, to present
before the Diet; and the task of its preparation was committed to Luther,
Melanchthon, and their associates. This Confession was accepted by the
Protestants as an exposition of their faith, and they assembled to affix
their names to the important document. It was a solemn and trying time.
The Reformers were solicitous that their cause should not be confounded
with political questions; they felt that the Reformation should exercise
no other influence than that which proceeds from the word of God. As the
Christian princes advanced to sign the Confession, Melanchthon interposed,
saying, “It is for the theologians and ministers to propose these things;
let us reserve for other matters the authority of the mighty ones of the
earth.” “God forbid,” replied John of Saxony, “that you should exclude me.
I am resolved to do what is right, without troubling myself about my
crown. I desire to confess the Lord. My electoral hat and my ermine are
not so precious to me as the cross of Jesus Christ.” Having thus spoken,
he wrote down his name. Said another of the princes as he took the pen,
“If the honor of my Lord Jesus Christ requires it, I am ready ... to leave
my goods and life behind.” “I would rather renounce my subjects and my
states, rather quit the country of my fathers staff in hand,” he
continued, “than receive any other doctrine than that which is contained
in this Confession.”(301) Such was the faith and daring of those men of
God.
The appointed time came to appear before the emperor. Charles V., seated
upon his throne, surrounded by the electors and the princes, gave audience
to the Protestant Reformers. The confession of their faith was read. In
that august assembly the truths of the gospel were clearly set forth, and
the errors of the papal church were pointed out. Well has that day been
pronounced “the greatest day of the Reformation, and one of the most
glorious in the history of Christianity and of mankind.”(302)
But a few years had passed since the monk of Wittenberg stood alone at
Worms before the national council. Now in his stead were the noblest and
most powerful princes of the empire. Luther had been forbidden to appear
at Augsburg, but he had been present by his words and prayers. “I am
overjoyed,” he wrote, “that I have lived until this hour, in which Christ
has been publicly exalted by such illustrious confessors, and in so
glorious an assembly.”(303) Thus was fulfilled what the Scripture says, “I
will speak of Thy testimonies before kings.”(304)
In the days of Paul, the gospel for which he was imprisoned was thus
brought before the princes and nobles of the imperial city. So on this
occasion, that which the emperor had forbidden to be preached from the
pulpit, was proclaimed in the palace; what many had regarded as unfit even
for servants to listen to, was heard with wonder by the masters and lords
of the empire. Kings and great men were the auditory, crowned princes were
the preachers, and the sermon was the royal truth of God. “Since the
apostolic age,” says a writer, “there has never been a greater work or a
more magnificent confession.”(305)
“All that the Lutherans have said is true; we cannot deny it,” declared a
papist bishop. “Can you refute by sound reasons the Confession made by the
elector and his allies?” asked another, of Doctor Eck. “With the writings
of the apostles and prophets—no!” was the reply; “but with those of the
Fathers and of the councils—yes!” “I understand,” responded the
questioner. “The Lutherans, according to you, are in Scripture, and we are
outside.”(306)
Some of the princes of Germany were won to the reformed faith. The emperor
himself declared that the Protestant articles were but the truth. The
Confession was translated into many languages, and circulated through all
Europe, and it has been accepted by millions in succeeding generations as
the expression of their faith.
God’s faithful servants were not toiling alone. While “principalities and
powers and wicked spirits in high places” were leagued against them, the
Lord did not forsake His people. Could their eyes have been opened, they
would have seen as marked evidence of divine presence and aid as was
granted to a prophet of old. When Elisha’s servant pointed his master to
the hostile army surrounding them, and cutting off all opportunity for
escape, the prophet prayed, “Lord, I pray Thee, open his eyes, that he may
see.”(307) And, lo, the mountain was filled with chariots and horses of
fire, the army of heaven stationed to protect the man of God. Thus did
angels guard the workers in the cause of the Reformation.
One of the principles most firmly maintained by Luther was that there
should be no resort to secular power in support of the Reformation, and no
appeal to arms for its defense. He rejoiced that the gospel was confessed
by princes of the empire; but when they proposed to unite in a defensive
league, he declared that “the doctrine of the gospel should be defended by
_God_ alone.... The less man meddled in the work, the more striking would
be God’s intervention in its behalf. All the politic precautions suggested
were, in his view, attributable to unworthy fear and sinful
mistrust.”(308)
When powerful foes were uniting to overthrow the reformed faith, and
thousands of swords seemed about to be unsheathed against it, Luther
wrote: “Satan is putting forth his fury; ungodly pontiffs are conspiring;
and we are threatened with war. Exhort the people to contend valiantly
before the throne of the Lord, by faith and prayer, so that our enemies,
vanquished by the Spirit of God, may be constrained to peace. Our chief
want, our chief labor, is prayer; let the people know that they are now
exposed to the edge of the sword and to the rage of Satan, and let them
pray.”(309)
Again, at a later date, referring to the league contemplated by the
reformed princes, Luther declared that the only weapon employed in this
warfare should be “the sword of the Spirit.” He wrote to the elector of
Saxony: “We cannot on our conscience approve of the proposed alliance. We
would rather die ten times than see our gospel cause one drop of blood to
be shed. Our part is to be like lambs of the slaughter. The cross of
Christ must be borne. Let your highness be without fear. We shall do more
by our prayers than all our enemies by their boastings. Only let not your
hands be stained with the blood of your brethren. If the emperor requires
us to be given up to his tribunals, we are ready to appear. You cannot
defend our faith: each one should believe at his own risk and peril.”(310)
From the secret place of prayer came the power that shook the world in the
Great Reformation. There with holy calmness, the servants of the Lord set
their feet upon the rock of His promises. During the struggle at Augsburg,
Luther “did not pass a day without devoting three hours at least to
prayer, and they were hours selected from those the most favorable to
study.” In the privacy of his chamber he was heard to pour out his soul
before God in words “full of adoration, fear, and hope, as when one speaks
to a friend.” “I know that Thou art our Father and our God,” he said, “and
that Thou wilt scatter the persecutors of Thy children; for Thou art
Thyself endangered with us. All this matter is Thine, and it is only by
Thy constraint that we have put our hands to it. Defend us, then, O
Father!”(311)
To Melanchthon, who was crushed under the burden of anxiety and fear, he
wrote: “Grace and peace in Christ—in Christ, I say, and not in the world.
Amen. I hate with exceeding hatred those extreme cares which consume you.
If the cause is unjust, abandon it; if the cause is just, why should we
belie the promises of Him who commands us to sleep without fear?... Christ
will not be wanting to the work of justice and of truth. He lives, He
reigns; what fear, then, can we have?”(312)
God did listen to the cries of His servants. He gave to princes and
ministers grace and courage to maintain the truth against the rulers of
the darkness of this world. Saith the Lord, “Behold, I lay in Zion a chief
corner-stone, elect, precious: and he that believeth on Him shall not be
confounded.”(313) The Protestant Reformers had built on Christ, and the
gates of hell could not prevail against them.
12. THE FRENCH REFORMATION.
[Illustration: Chapter header.]
The Protest of Spires and the Confession at Augsburg, which marked the
triumph of the Reformation in Germany, were followed by years of conflict
and darkness. Weakened by divisions among its supporters, and assailed by
powerful foes, Protestantism seemed destined to be utterly destroyed.
Thousands sealed their testimony with their blood. Civil war broke out;
the Protestant cause was betrayed by one of its leading adherents; the
noblest of the reformed princes fell into the hands of the emperor, and
were dragged as captives from town to town. But in the moment of his
apparent triumph, the emperor was smitten with defeat. He saw the prey
wrested from his grasp, and he was forced at last to grant toleration to
the doctrines which it had been the ambition of his life to destroy. He
had staked his kingdom, his treasures, and life itself, upon the crushing
out of the heresy. Now he saw his armies wasted by battle, his treasuries
drained, his many kingdoms threatened by revolt, while everywhere the
faith which he had vainly endeavored to suppress, was extending. Charles
V. had been battling against omnipotent power. God had said, “Let there be
light,” but the emperor had sought to keep the darkness unbroken. His
purposes had failed; and in premature old age, worn out with the long
struggle, he abdicated the throne, and buried himself in a cloister.
In Switzerland, as in Germany, there came dark days for the Reformation.
While many cantons accepted the reformed faith, others clung with blind
persistence to the creed of Rome. Their persecution of those who desired
to receive the truth, finally gave rise to civil war. Zwingle and many who
had united with him in reform, fell on the bloody field of Cappel.
Œcolampadius, overcome by these terrible disasters, soon after died. Rome
was triumphant, and in many places seemed about to recover all that she
had lost. But He whose counsels are from everlasting had not forsaken His
cause or His people. His hand would bring deliverance for them. In other
lands He had raised up laborers to carry forward the reform.
In France, before the name of Luther had been heard as a Reformer, the day
had already begun to break. One of the first to catch the light was the
aged Lefevre, a man of extensive learning, a professor in the University
of Paris, and a sincere and zealous papist. In his researches into ancient
literature his attention was directed to the Bible, and he introduced its
study among his students.
Lefevre was an enthusiastic adorer of the saints, and he had undertaken to
prepare a history of the saints and martyrs, as given in the legends of
the church. This was a work which involved great labor; but he had already
made considerable progress in it, when, thinking that he might obtain
useful assistance from the Bible, he began its study with this object.
Here indeed he found saints brought to view, but not such as figured in
the Roman calendar. A flood of divine light broke in upon his mind. In
amazement and disgust he turned away from his self-appointed task, and
devoted himself to the word of God. The precious truths which he there
discovered, he soon began to teach.
In 1512, before either Luther or Zwingle had begun the work of reform,
Lefevre wrote: “It is God who gives us, by faith, that righteousness which
by grace alone justifies to eternal life.”(314) Dwelling upon the
mysteries of redemption, he exclaimed, “Oh, the unspeakable greatness of
that exchange,—the Sinless One is condemned, and he who is guilty goes
free; the Blessing bears the curse, and the cursed is brought into
blessing; the Life dies, and the dead live; the Glory is whelmed in
darkness, and he who knew nothing but confusion of face is clothed with
glory.”(315)
And while teaching that the glory of salvation belongs solely to God, he
also declared that the duty of obedience belongs to man. “If thou art a
member of Christ’s church,” he said, “thou art a member of His body; if
thou art of His body, then thou art full of the divine nature.... Oh, if
men could but enter into the understanding of this privilege, how purely,
chastely, and holily would they live, and how contemptible, when compared
with the glory within them,—that glory which the eye of flesh cannot
see,—would they deem all the glory of this world.”(316)
There were some among Lefevre’s students who listened eagerly to his
words, and who, long after the teacher’s voice should be silenced, were to
continue to declare the truth. Such was William Farel. The son of pious
parents, and educated to accept with implicit faith the teachings of the
church, he might, with the apostle Paul, have declared concerning himself,
“After the most straitest sect of our religion I lived a Pharisee.”(317) A
devoted Romanist, he burned with zeal to destroy all who should dare to
oppose the church. “I would gnash my teeth like a furious wolf,” he
afterward said, referring to this period of his life, “when I heard any
one speaking against the pope.”(318) He had been untiring in his adoration
of the saints, in company with Lefevre making the round of the churches of
Paris, worshiping at the altars, and adorning with gifts the holy shrines.
But these observances could not bring peace of soul. Conviction of sin
fastened upon him, which all the acts of penance that he practised, failed
to banish. As to a voice from heaven, he listened to the Reformer’s words:
“Salvation is of grace.” “The Innocent One is condemned, and the criminal
is acquitted.” “It is the cross of Christ alone that openeth the gates of
heaven, and shutteth the gates of hell.”(319)
Farel joyfully accepted the truth. By a conversion like that of Paul, he
turned from the bondage of tradition to the liberty of the sons of God.
“Instead of the murderous heart of a ravening wolf, he came back,” he
says, “quietly, like a meek and harmless lamb, having his heart entirely
withdrawn from the pope, and given to Jesus Christ.”(320)
While Lefevre continued to spread the light among his students, Farel, as
zealous in the cause of Christ as he had been in that of the pope, went
forth to declare the truth in public. A dignitary of the church, the
bishop of Meaux, soon after united with them. Other teachers who ranked
high for their ability and learning, joined in proclaiming the gospel, and
it won adherents among all classes, from the homes of artisans and
peasants to the palace of the king. The sister of Francis I., then the
reigning monarch, accepted the reformed faith. The king himself, and the
queen mother, appeared for a time to regard it with favor, and with high
hopes the Reformers looked forward to the time when France should be won
to the gospel.
But their hopes were not to be realized. Trial and persecution awaited the
disciples of Christ. This, however, was mercifully veiled from their eyes.
A time of peace intervened, that they might gain strength to meet the
tempest; and the Reformation made rapid progress. The bishop of Meaux
labored zealously in his own diocese to instruct both the clergy and the
people. Ignorant and immoral priests were removed, and, so far as
possible, replaced by men of learning and piety. The bishop greatly
desired that his people might have access to the word of God for
themselves, and this was soon accomplished. Lefevre undertook the
translation of the New Testament; and at the very time when Luther’s
German Bible was issuing from the press in Wittenberg, the French New
Testament was published at Meaux. The bishop spared no labor or expense to
circulate it in his parishes, and soon the peasants of Meaux were in
possession of the Holy Scriptures.
As travelers perishing from thirst welcome with joy a living water-spring,
so did these souls receive the message of heaven. The laborers in the
field, the artisans in the workshop, cheered their daily toil by talking
of the precious truths of the Bible. At evening, instead of resorting to
the wine shops, they assembled in one another’s homes to read God’s word
and join in prayer and praise. A great change was soon manifest in these
communities. Though belonging to the humblest class, an unlearned and
hard-working peasantry, the reforming, uplifting power of divine grace was
seen in their lives. Humble, loving, and holy, they stood as witnesses to
what the gospel will accomplish for those who receive it in sincerity.
The light kindled at Meaux shed its beams afar. Every day the number of
converts was increasing. The rage of the hierarchy was for a time held in
check by the king, who despised the narrow bigotry of the monks; but the
papal leaders finally prevailed. Now the stake was set up. The bishop of
Meaux, forced to choose between the fire and recantation, accepted the
easier path; but notwithstanding the leader’s fall, his flock remained
steadfast. Many witnessed for the truth amid the flames. By their courage
and fidelity at the stake, these humble Christians spoke to thousands who
in days of peace had never heard their testimony.
It was not alone the humble and the poor, that amid suffering and scorn
dared to bear witness for Christ. In the lordly halls of the castle and
the palace, there were kingly souls by whom truth was valued above wealth
or rank or even life. Kingly armor concealed a loftier and more steadfast
spirit than did the bishop’s robe and mitre. Louis de Berquin was of noble
birth. A brave and courtly knight, he was devoted to study, polished in
manners, and of blameless morals. “He was,” says a writer, “a great
follower of the papistical constitutions, and a great hearer of masses and
sermons; ... and he crowned all his other virtues by holding Lutheranism
in special abhorrence.” But, like so many others, providentially guided to
the Bible, he was amazed to find there, “not the doctrines of Rome, but
the doctrines of Luther.”(321) Henceforth he gave himself with entire
devotion to the cause of the gospel.
“The most learned of the nobles of France,” his genius and eloquence, his
indomitable courage and heroic zeal, and his influence at court,—for he
was a favorite with the king,—caused him to be regarded by many as one
destined to be the Reformer of his country. Said Beza, “Berquin would have
been a second Luther, had he found in Francis I. a second elector.” “He is
worse than Luther,”(322) cried the papists. More dreaded he was indeed by
the Romanists of France. They thrust him into prison as a heretic, but he
was set at liberty by the king. For years the struggle continued. Francis,
wavering between Rome and the Reformation, alternately tolerated and
restrained the fierce zeal of the monks. Berquin was three times
imprisoned by the papal authorities, only to be released by the monarch,
who, in admiration of his genius and his nobility of character, refused to
sacrifice him to the malice of the hierarchy.
Berquin was repeatedly warned of the danger that threatened him in France,
and urged to follow the steps of those who had found safety in voluntary
exile. The timid and time-serving Erasmus, who with all the splendor of
his scholarship failed of that moral greatness which holds life and honor
subservient to truth, wrote to Berquin: “Ask to be sent as ambassador to
some foreign country; go and travel in Germany. You know Beda and such as
he—he is a thousand-headed monster, darting venom on every side. Your
enemies are named legion. Were your cause better than that of Jesus
Christ, they will not let you go till they have miserably destroyed you.
Do not trust too much to the king’s protection. At all events, _do not
compromise me_ with the faculty of theology.”(323)