by Lance Ralston | Aug 9, 2015 | English |
This episode is titled “Cracks.”
One of the great concerns of the Roman Church at the outset of the Reformation was just how far it would go, not so much in terms of variance in Doctrines, although that also was a concern. What Rome worried over was just how many different groups the Faith would split into. After all, division wasn’t new. There’d already been a major break between East and West a half century before. In the East, the Church was already fragmented into dozens of groups across Central Asia.
But up till the Reformation, the Western Church had managed to keep new and reform movements from splitting off. Most had eventually been subsumed back into the larger reach of the Church structure.
The Reformation brought an end to that as now there were groups that defined themselves, not by the Roman Church, but by more local and national churches and movements. It didn’t take long till even some of the early Reformers began to worry about how far the break from Rome would go. The cracks that formed in the Church kept spreading, like a nick on a car windshield sends out just a tiny crack at first, but keeps spreading.
The Reformation ended up spinning out dozens of groups; some big, many small.
There were Lutherans, Presbyterians, Huguenots, Swiss Brethren, dozens of Anabaptist groups, Mennonites, Hutterites, etc. etc. etc..
In Episode 90, we touched briefly on the tragedy that struck at Munster when the Anabaptist movement strayed from its moorings in God’s Word and replaced it with the lunacy of a couple of its leaders who went way off the rails in an apocalyptic frenzy that ended up destroying the town.
Munster became a cautionary tale for other Anabaptists and Reformers. The explanation given for the tragedy was Munster’s abandonment of the pacifism preached and practiced by other Anabaptists. Anabaptists regarded the Sermon on the Mount as their guiding ethic and said it could only be followed by a Faith that was committed to the practice of a love that resigned consequences to God’s hands.
A leading figure among the Anabaptists was Menno Simons, a Dutch Catholic priest.
Simons was moved to reconsider the rightness of infant baptism when he witnessed the martyrdom of an Anabaptist in 1531. Five years later, the same year the leaders of Munster were executed, Simons left his position as a parish priest and embraced Anabaptism. He joined a Dutch fellowship, where his followers came to be known as Mennonites.
Although persecution was fierce, Menno survived and spent his time traveling through Northern German and Holland, preaching and encouraging his followers. He also wrote a large number of essays of which Foundations of the Christian Doctrine in 1539, became the most important.
Menno was convinced pacifism was an essential part of true Christianity, and refused to have anything to do with Anabaptists of a revolutionary flavor. He also held that Christians ought not offer any oaths, and shouldn’t take occupations requiring them. But he maintained Christians should obey civil authorities, as long as they weren’t required to disobey the Lord.
Menno preferred to baptize by pouring water over the head of adults who confessed their faith publicly. He said neither baptism nor communion confer grace, but rather are outward signs of what takes place inwardly between God and the believer. Mennonites also practiced foot-washing as a reminder of their call to humility and a life of service.
Even though the Mennonites were so manifestly harmless, they were classed as subversive by many governments simply because they wouldn’t take oaths and as pacifists refused to join the military. Persecution scattered them throughout Eastern Europe and Western Russia.
Many Mennonites eventually left for the New World where they were offered religious tolerance. In both Russia and North America they ran into trouble when the authorities expected them to serve in the military and they declined yet again. Though the US and several other countries eventually granted Mennonites an exemption from military service, before that exemption came, many Mennonites moved to South America where there were still places they could live in isolation. By the 20th C, Mennonites were the main branch of the old Anabaptist movement of the 16th C, and now they are highly-regarded for their determined pacifist stance and on-going acts of social service for the public good.
As the Reformation carved up Europe into a seemingly hopeless hodge-podge of political and religious factions, different attempts were made to resolve the tensions, either by war, by treaty, or alliance.
I have to say, the history of 16th C Europe is a tangled mess. If we dive into the details, what you’ll hear are a lot of names and dates that’s the very kind of history reporting we want to avoid here. A part of me feels like we’re leaving out important information. Another part gives an anticipatory yawn at all the historical minutiae we’d have to cover. Things like The Peace of Nuremberg, The League and War of Schmalkalden, Philip of Hesse, Duke George of Saxony, Henry of Brunswick, Emperor Charles V staunchest ally in northern Germany.
Hey, I can already hear the yawns out there.
But there’s some interesting tidbits and moments scattered all through this that move me to say maybe we should dive into it.
Like the fact that Philip of Hesse, leader of the League of Schmalkalden, got permission from Martin Luther, his protégé Philip Melanchthon, and Martin Bucer, the Reformer of Strasbourg to commit polygamy! Yes, you heard me right.
Philip of Hesse’s marriage was a mess. He and his wife had not been together for years, but were still married. Philip wanted companionship and asked these three Reformation giants if he could quietly take another wife. They agreed, saying the Bible didn’t forbid polygamy, and that Philip could take a second wife without setting the first aside. But, they said, he needed to do it in secret, because while polygamy wasn’t a sin in the eyes of God, it was a crime in the eyes of man. So Philip married another woman, but was unable to keep it secret. When it became public, the scandal toppled Philip from his place at the head of the League of Schmalkalden and put the three Reformers in hot water.
And that’s just one little vignette from this time. è Fun stuff.
While the Lutherans and Catholics wrestled over the territories of Germany, further North in neighboring Scandinavia, Lutheranism was making inroads. In Germany, it was the nobility that embraced Protestantism as a lever to use against the predominantly Catholic monarch. In Scandinavia it was the opposite. There, monarchs took up the Reformation cause. Its triumph was theirs.
At that time, Denmark, Norway, and Sweden were technically a united kingdom. I say technically, because the king ruled only where he resided, in Denmark. His power in Norway was limited, and Sweden was virtually independent due to the powerful house of Sture who acted as regents. But even in Denmark, royal authority was limited by the fact the king was appointed by electors who managed to gain ever more power by cutting deals with the next would-be monarch.
When the Reformation began in Germany, the Scandinavian throne was held by Christian II, who was married to Isabella, Emperor Charles V’s sister. The Swedes refused King Christian’s control of their land, so he appealed to his brother-in-law and to other European princes for support. Time for a royal smack-down of those uppity Swedish Stures!
With a sizeable foreign force, Christian II moved into Sweden and had himself crowned at Stockholm. Although he’d vowed to spare the lives of his Swedish opponents, a few days after his coronation he ordered what’s known now as The Massacre of Stockholm, in which Sweden’s leading nobles and clerics were murdered.
This engendered deep resentment in Sweden, Norway; even back home in Denmark. Lesser rulers feared that after destroying the Swedish nobility, Christian would turn on them. He claimed he only sought to free the people of Sweden from oppression by its aristocracy. But the treacherous means by which he’d done it and the now intense religious propaganda against him, quickly lost him any support he might have won.
King Christian then tried to use the Reformation as a tool to advance his own political ends. The first Lutheran preachers had already made their way into Denmark, and people gave them a ready ear. People were savvy enough to recognize the King’s embrace of Lutheranism as merely a political ploy and reacted strongly against him.
Rebellion broke out, and Christian was forced to flee. He returned eight years later with the support of several Catholic rulers from other parts of Europe. He landed in Norway and declared himself the champion of Catholicism. But his uncle and successor, Frederick I, defeated and imprisoned him. He remained in prison for the rest of his 27 years.
Frederick I was a Protestant and ruled over a people and nobility which had become largely Protestant. At the time of his election, Frederick promised he’d not attack Catholicism nor use his authority to favor Lutheranism. He knew it was better to be the de-facto king of a small kingdom than the wanna-be ruler of a large one. So he gave up all claim to the Swedish crown, and allowed Norway to elect its own king.
The Norwegians promptly turned around and elected him. Frederick consolidated the power of the crown in the two kingdoms in a peaceful manner. He kept his promises regarding religious matters and refused to interfere in Church matters. Protestantism made rapid gains. In 1527, it was officially recognized and granted toleration, and by the time of Frederick’s death in 1533 most of his subjects were Protestants.
Then came a plot to impose a Catholic king by means of foreign intervention. The pretender was defeated, and the new ruler was Christian III, a committed Lutheran who’d been present at the Diet of Worms and greatly admired Luther both for his doctrines and courage. He took quick measures in support of Protestantism and in limiting the power of bishops. He requested teachers from Luther to help him in the work of reformation. Eventually, the entire Danish church subscribed to the Confession of Augsburg.
Events in Sweden followed a similar course. When Christian II imposed his authority, among his prisoners was a young Swede by the name of Gustavus Erikson, better known as Vasa. He escaped and, from an overseas refuge, resisted Christian II’s power grab. When he learned of the Massacre of Stockholm, in which several of his relatives were executed, he secretly returned. Working as a common laborer, living among the people, he recognized their hostility toward the Danish occupation and organized a resistance. Deeming the time had come to up the ante, he proclaimed a national rebellion, took up arms with a band of followers, and managed to secure one victory after another. In 1521, the rebels named him the new regent of the kingdom, and, two years later, crowned him king. A few months later, he entered Stockholm in triumph.
But Vasa’s title carried little authority since the nobility and clergy demanded their ancient rights be recognized. Vasa wisely embarked on a subtle policy of dividing his enemies. He began by placing limits on corrupt bishops no one had sympathy for. Then, he began to carve off the support of the common people for nobles who resisted him. This was easy to do since he’d adopted the life of a commoner for some time,. He was a man of the people and they knew it. Vasa drove an effective wedge between the nobility and the people. Then he called a National Assembly and shocked everyone by inviting not just the usual nobles and clergy, but some of the merchant-class and peasantry. When the clergy and nobility banded together to thwart Vasa’s reforms, he resigned, declaring Sweden wasn’t ready for a true king. Three days later, threatened by chaos, the Assembly agreed to recall him and give assent to his program.
The higher clergy lost its political power and from then on, Lutheranism was on the rise. Gustavus Vasa was not himself a man of deep religious conviction. But by the time he died in 1560, Sweden was a thoroughly Protestant realm.
One of the lessons this period of history in Europe makes clear is how influential even the nominal faith of a ruler has on the political and religious environment of a nation.
by Lance Ralston | Aug 2, 2015 | English |
This episode is titled, “Wars of Religion”
In our review of the Reformation, we began with a look at its roots and the long cry for reform heard in the Roman church. We saw its genesis in Germany with Martin Luther and Philip Melanchthon, its impact on Switzerland with Zwingli and later with the Frenchman John Calvin. John Knox carried it to his native Scotland and Thomas Cranmer led it in England.
We’ve taken a look at the Roman Catholic response in what’s called the Counter-Reformation, but probably ought to be labelled the Catholic Reformation. We briefly considered the Council of Trent where the Roman Church affirmed its perspective on many of the issues raised by Protestants and for the first time, a clear line was drawn, marking the differences in doctrine between the two groups. We saw the Jesuits, the learned shock-troops of the Roman Church sent out on both mission and to counter the impact of the Reformation in the regions of Europe being swung toward the Protestant camp.
Let’s talk a little more about the Catholic Counter-Reformation because Europe is about to plunge into several decades of war due to the differing religious affiliations of its various kingdoms.
There were at least four ingredients in the Counter-Reformation.
The first concerned the religious orders of the Catholic Church. There was a spiritual renewal within older orders like the Franciscans, Dominicans, and Benedictines. Reform among the Franciscans led to the founding of the Capuchins in 1528. Their energetic work among the Italian peasantry kept them loyal to Rome.
Second, new orders sprang up. Groups like the Theatines [Thee a teen] who called both clergy and laity to a godly lifestyle. The Ursulines [Ursa-leens] were an order for women who cared for the sick and poor. And then of course, there were the Jesuits.
The Society of Jesus, or Jesuits, were the most important of the new orders. Founded in Paris in 1534 by Ignatius of Loyola, the order required total obedience of its members for the furtherance of the interests of the Roman church. While there were good and godly Jesuits, men who worked tirelessly to expand the Kingdom of God, there were also some whose motives were less noble. Okay, let’s be frank; they were diabolical. Utterly unscrupulous in their methods, they believed it was permissible to do evil if good came of it. They resurrected the Inquisition in the 16th C making it an effective tool in stomping out the Reformation in Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Belgium.
Jesuits infiltrated government offices and used every means fair or foul to advance the cause of the Rome. Lest Catholic listeners take offense to this, understand that their power became so great and their methods so immoral, the Pope suppressed the order from 1773 to 1814.
Also, it should be noted when Ignatius launched the Society, a counterattack on the Reformation was not in view. His ambition was missionary with a keen desire to convert Muslims. The three major goals of the Jesuits were to convert pagans, combat heresy, and promote education. It was their solemn oath to obey the Pope that led to their being used as a tool of the Counter-Reformation.
A third aspect of the Counter-Reformation was the Council of Trent. The cardinals elected a Dutch theologian as a reform pope in 1522. He admitted that the problems Rome had with the Lutherans came because of the corruption of the Church, from the papal office down. As was saw a couple episodes ago, in 1536, Pope Paul III appointed a special panel of cardinals to prepare a report on the condition of the Church. That report gave Luther much ammunition for his critique of Rome. It conceded that Protestantism resulted from the “ambition, avarice, and cupidity” of Catholic bishops.
The Roman Church realized it needed to address the issues raised by the Reformers. The Council of Trent was the answer. It met in three main sessions, under the terms of three different popes, from 1545 to 63. Participants came from Italy, Spain, France, and Germany. The Council decided a wide array of issues.
In direct response to Lutheran challenges, the Council abolished indulgence-sellers, defined obligations of the clergy, regulated the use of relics, and ordered the restructuring of bishops.
The doctrinal work of Trent is summarized in the Tridentine Profession of Faith, which championed Roman Catholic dogma and provided a theological response to Protestants. Trent rejected justification by faith alone and promoted the necessity of meritorious works as necessary for salvation. It validated the seven sacraments as bestowing merit on believers and their necessity for salvation. It affirmed the value of tradition as a basis of authority alongside the Bible. It approved the canonicity of the apocryphal books of the Old Testament; made official the existence of purgatory; the value of images, relics, indulgences, the invocation of saints; and the importance of confession to a priest. It also defined more specifically the sacrificial aspects of the mass and decided that only the bread should be distributed to the laity.
The Tridentine statement made reconciliation with Protestantism impossible.
The Council’s work constituted a statement of faith by which true Roman Catholics could determine their orthodoxy. No such comprehensive statement existed before. If it had, perhaps the force of the Reformation would have been blunted in some places. What the Council of Trent did, in effect, was to make official dogmas of the Church the various positions Luther had challenged in his break with Rome.
A fourth aspect of the Counter-Reformation was a new and vigorous kind of spirituality that bloomed in a remarkable series of writings and movements. Some devotional books from this movement, such as the Imitation of Christ by Thomas a’Kempis and the Spiritual Exercises by Loyola, have received proper attention, but most of have not.
This new kind of devout life was characterized by a systemic examination of conscience, prayer, contemplation, and spiritual direction. Its roots lay in the Middle Ages with groups like the Carthusians, who put great emphasis on the contemplative life. It was these works that fueled the calls for reform in the Roman Church before Luther arrived on the scene. They were the reading material of groups like the Brethren of the Common Life and The Oratory of Divine Love which provided many of the best church leaders in the years leading up to the 16th C.
The Reformation sparked a series of religious wars across Europe. The last of these was the Thirty Years’ War, which last from 1618–48.
As we saw in a previous episode, the Peace of Augsburg in 1555 put Lutheranism on a legal basis with Roman Catholicism in Germany. The prince of a region determined the religion in his territory; dissenters could immigrate to another territory if they wanted to.
Now, that may seem obvious to highly mobile moderns like many listening to this, but it wasn’t for people at that time. Due to feudal rules, people weren’t allowed to move without consent of their ruler. The Peace of Augsburg marked a significant change in commoners’ mobility. To preserve Catholic domination of southern Germany, the agreement mandated that Catholic rulers who became Lutherans had to surrender rule. The agreement left out Calvinists, Anabaptists, and other Protestants. So for many, Augsburg solved nothing.
Beginning in Bohemia, the Thirty Years’ War ravaged Central Europe and Germany and involved all the major European powers. The Peace of Westphalia, which ended the war in 1648, resulted from long and complicated negotiations. France and Sweden gained large amounts of territory, and German princes gained greater power and influence at the expense of the Emperor. The treaty finally recognized Calvinism, along with Lutheranism and Catholicism, as legal religions and permitted each ruler to determine the religion of his state.
The effects of the War were devastating for Christianity as a whole. Religious issues were increasingly treated with indifference by political leaders. Secular, self-serving matters were now the chief concerns of the growing uber-worldly nation-states. The barbarity and brutality of the war left many questioning the Christian Message. How could a Faith that produced such atrocities be true? Doctrine took a backseat to doubt. Faith was met with skepticism. All this coming at the dawn of, and no doubt hastening, The Age of Reason.
In reply to those who criticize Christianity for the wars fought at that time, it ought to be recognized that in every case; political, economic, and social considerations were as important as the religious, if not more. Much of the time, there was no real struggle between Roman Catholics and Protestants. And on some fronts of the war, BOTH Catholics and Protestants fought alongside each other as comrades because their conflict was political rather than religious. We call this period the “Wars of Religion,” but in truth it was rarely religion that sparked or drove the conflict; it was political and economic, hiding behind a mask of religion because that tends to stir the people actually doing the fighting better than some prince wanting more land.
Nine times out of ten, if you want to know the real cause of something, follow the money.
We turn now to the impact of the Reformation on France and one example of how tragic things can turn – ostensibly, because of religion, but really because of politics.
As the 16th C wore on, the Roman church in France fell into a progressively deplorable condition. The Concordat of Bologna in 1516 gave King Francis I the right to appoint the ten archbishops, thirty-eight bishops, and 527 heads of religious houses in France. That meant the Church became part of a vast patronage system, and individuals won positions in the Church not for ability or religious zeal but for service to the crown. Simony & bribery was de-rigor.
Conditions became genuinely bad. Literacy among priests dropped to a mere ten-percent. Since the king was head of the French Church, and he depended on its patronage system for income, we see why Francis I and Henry II were so zealous in their persecution of French Protestants. They couldn’t afford to permit the system to crumble. They certainly weren’t zealous for Catholicism except as a tool to achieve their political ambitions.
The French Protestant movement was stoked by what was happening in Geneva in Switzerland under Farel and Calvin. The French Bible, Calvin’s Institutes, and numerous other Protestant publications fueled the movement. So naturally, the most literate element of the population was won over. Converts were numerous at the universities and among lawyers and other professionals, the merchant class and artisans, lower clergy, friars, and the lesser nobility. The illiterate peasantry was hardly touched and remained firmly Catholic.
Politics and economics played into the mix. The Middle-class and lower nobility of France were tired of King Francis’ imperial ambitions, funded on their backs. They were urged into the Protestant cause out of a desire to get rid of the King. It’s estimated that two-fifths of all nobles joined the French Protestant cause. Few of them were authentically converted but sought to use the Protestant movement to weaken the trend toward King Francis’ oppressive version of royal absolutism.
In spite of persecution, Protestants increased rapidly. At the beginning of the reign of Henry II in 1547 they numbered over 400,000. By the end of his reign in 1561 they were known as Huguenots and numbered 2 million; ten-percent of the population. The Presbyterian system of church government gave organization and discipline to the Huguenot movement.
In order to understand the course of events the French Reformation took and see why it became embroiled in civil war, it’s necessary to look at the political and social conditions of the times.
First, that many of the younger nobility joined Protestant ranks is of great significance. Accustomed to carrying swords, they became protectors of Huguenot congregations during troubled times. They often protected church meetings against hostile bands of Catholic ruffians.
Second, and this is key; there were four major groups of nobility vying for the rule in France.
The ruling house with a tenuous grip on the throne was the Valois.
The Bourbons of Western France were next in line should the Valois falter. Their leadership were decided Huguenots.
The powerful Guises [Guy-zuhz], were equally committed Roman Catholics with extensive holdings in the East.
The Montmorencys controlled the center of France; their leadership divided evenly between Huguenots and Catholics.
Third, when Henry II died, he left three sons all dominated by his queen, Catherine de Medici. She was determined to maintain personal control and advance the power of her government. She was opposed by many of the nobility jealous of their rights and wanted to restrict the power of the monarchy.
Fourth, as the likelihood of civil war in France percolated, the English and Spanish sent aid to their factions to serve their respective interests.
Such animosities provided the tinder to ignite armed conflict. Eight wars were fought between Roman Catholics and Protestants in France. Leading the Protestants early in the conflict was Gaspard de Coligny. But he lost his life along with some 15 to 20,000 Huguenots in the massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Day, in August, 1572. After that, Henry of Navarre, of the Bourbon family, led the Protestants. His maneuvers were successful, and eventually, with the death of others in the royal line, he became heir to the French throne. Because he didn’t have enough strength to complete his conquest, he converted to Catholicism and won the crown as Henry IV. Judging from his conduct, Henry’s religious principles sat his shoulders rather lightly. His switch to the Roman Church was for purely political reasons. Most likely he simply sought to turn off the blood bath drenching France.
In 1598, Henry published the Edict of Nantes, a grant of toleration for the Huguenots. It guaranteed them the right to hold public office, freedom of worship in most areas of France, the privilege of educating their children in other than Roman Catholic schools, and free access to universities and hospitals. The edict was the first significant recognition of the rights of a religious minority in an otherwise intolerant age. Though the Huguenots enjoyed a period of great prosperity after that, King Louis XIV revoked the edict in 1685. Thousands were driven into exile, to the benefit of England, Holland, Prussia, and America where they fled for refuge.
by Lance Ralston | Jul 26, 2015 | English |
This episode of CS is titled is titled “English Candles.”
We’ve spent the last several episodes looking at the Reformation & Counter-Reformation in Europe. In this episode we’ll take a look at how the Reformation unfolded, specifically in England.
The story of the Church in England is an interesting one. The famous, or infamous, Henry the VIII was king of England when Luther set fire to the kindling of the Reformation. Posturing as a bulwark of Catholic orthodoxy, Henry wrote a refutation of Luther’s position in 1521 titled “Defense of the Seven Sacraments” and was rewarded by Pope Leo X with the august title, Defender of the Faith. Ironic then that only about a decade later, Henry would hijack the church, officially ousting the Pope as head of the Church IN England and making himself head of the Church OF England.
What makes the story of these years in England so interesting is the marital & political shenanigans Henry VIII played. The intrigues played out for the thrones of Spain, France & England all make for the best drama and most people don’t realize that so many of the famous names of history all lived right at this time and knew each other, at least by reputation. If the story was a movie dreamed up in Hollywood, most would consider it too far-fetched.
Without getting into the minutiae of the details of Henry’s multiple marriages, it was his lust for power & desire to produce a son & heir that motivated him marry, divorce, re-marry and do it all over again. Henry persuaded the Pope to allow him to marry his sister-in-law, that is, his dead brother’s wife, Catherine of Aragon, herself the daughter of Queen Isabella & King Ferdinand of Spain, sponsors of Christopher Columbus. Catherine gave Henry a daughter named Mary but no sons. So Henry put her aside and married his mistress, the vivacious & opinionated Anne Boleyn.
In order to set Catherine aside so he could wed Anne, Henry had to persuade the Pope, who had taken some persuading to allow him to marry Catherine in the first place, to annul that marriage, saying he ought never have been allowed to marry her in the first place. The archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Cranmer was employed by Henry to put pressure on Rome to grant the annulment. But Pope Clement VII wouldn’t budge. So in 1531, Henry announced to the clergy they were from then on to look to him as the head of the Church in England. It’s at that point we may say that the Church IN England, became the Church OF England.
For the next few years, there was effectively little difference between Roman Catholicism and what later came to be called Anglicanism. But under Thomas Cranmer’s guidance, the Church of England began a halting process of departure from its Roman past.
It seems this departure can be assigned in part to Anne Boleyn. A woman of astute intellect & firm convictions, she found much merit in the Reformed position and had a hand in seeing Thomas Cranmer appointed as Archbishop of Canterbury.
Cranmer is an interesting figure. He seems in his early years to vacillate in his opinions and comes off as being anything but the stalwart bulldog of protestant ideals, as a Luther or Calvin. Yet, he went to the stake at the end of his life rather than recant his most dearly held beliefs. And what he did in the Church of England was truly remarkable.
Once the break with Rome came, Cranmer quietly set about to install the Reformation ideas of Calvin in England. He didn’t really do much while Henry VIII sat the throne but as soon as his reform-minded son Edward became king, he went to work in earnest.
Cranmer was born in Nottinghamshire and attended Cambridge, where he was ordained a priest. He threw himself into his studies, becoming an outstanding theologian, a man of immense, though not original, learning. In 1520, he joined other scholars who met regularly to discuss Luther’s theological revolt in Europe.
Cranmer’s theological leanings remained merely academic until he was drawn into the politics of the day. In August 1529, King Henry VIII happened to be in a neighborhood Cranmer was visiting, and he ended up conversing with the king. Henry was trying to figure out how to divorce Catherine so he could wed Anne Boleyn. Impressed with Cranmer’s reasoning, Henry commanded Cranmer to write a treatise backing the king’s right to divorce and then made Cranmer one of his European ambassadors.
It was in this capacity that Cranmer made a trip to Germany, where he met the Lutheran reformer Andreas Osiander, and his niece, Margaret. Both Osiander’s theology and niece so appealed to Cranmer, despite his vow to celibacy, he married Margaret in 1532. Because of the complex political situation in England, he kept this a secret.
In August 1532, the aged archbishop of Canterbury died, and by March of the next year, Cranmer was consecrated as the new archbishop. Cranmer immediately declared the king’s marriage to Catherine void & the king’s previously secret union w/Anne Boleyn valid.
Cranmer advocated the policy of royal absolutism, or what is popularly known as The Divine Right of Kings. Cranmer said his primary duty was to obey the king, God’s chosen, to lead his nation and Church. Time and again in Henry’s rocky reign, Cranmer was ordered to support religious policies of which he personally disapproved, and he always obeyed the king. And for this, Cranmer has been labeled a vacillator, a waffler – a leader of uncertain loyalty and fidelity to the Lord. Let’s hold off judging that judgment till we see his end.
In 1536, he became convinced, he said, by questionable evidence, that Anne had committed adultery, and he invalidated the marriage. In 1540, he ruled Henry’s proposed marriage to Anne of Cleves was lawful—and when Henry sought a divorce from her just 6 months later, Cranmer approved it on the grounds the original marriage was unlawful!
We’d be wise to be careful of assigning the archbishop the title of lackey. Yes, his flip-flopping on Henry’s marital life is distressing, but given what we know about the King, what would have happened if he’d opposed his wishes? He’d have quickly been shorted by about 9 inches and Henry would have appointed a replacement bishop who gave him what he wanted. Cranmer had important work to do in reforming the Church of England and understood he was uniquely positioned to do it. Yeah, Henry VIII was a piece of work. But Cranmer was installing reforms in the Church that would make sure future kings couldn’t get away with what Henry was getting away with. Though he bent to the king’s will regarding his marital state, time and again, Cranmer alone of all Henry’s advisers pleaded for the lives of people who fell out of royal favor, like Sir Thomas More, Anne Boleyn, and Thomas Cromwell. He even publicly argued against Henry’s Six Articles, which were aimed at moving England back into the Roman Church. Then, in an apparent sign of weakness, when the Six Articles were approved by Parliament, he went along with the king’s policies. But again. What else could he do?
Some would say he ought to have stood strong, like Luther at the Diet of Worms. But if he had, it’s debatable if the Church of England would have become the Anglican Church. And lest we assume that Henry was just an tyrannical spoiled brat who happened to be king, he intervened on Cranmer behalf when court politics threatened the archbishop’s position and life. It was Cranmer Henry asked for on his deathbed.
With Henry’s death & his sons Edward VI ascension to the throne in 1547, Cranmer’s time arrived. The young king’s guardian, Edward Seymour, began to make the Church of England determinedly Protestant. Cranmer took the chief role in directing doctrinal matters. He published his Homilies In 1547, which required all clergy to preach sermons emphasizing Reformed doctrine. He composed the first Book of Common Prayer which was only moderately Protestant, in 1549, then followed it up in 1552 by a 2nd edition that was more clearly Protestant. Cranmer also produced the Forty-Two Articles a year later. This was a set of doctrinal statements that moved the Church of England even further in a Reformed, and I mean Calvinist direction.
These documents became critical to the formation of Anglicanism, and the Book of Common Prayer (BCP), though revised over the years, still retains Cranmer’s distinctive stamp and is used by millions of Anglicans worldwide.
When Edward VI died in 1553, Cranmer supported his cousin, the Lady Jane Grey as the new sovereign. She was even more reform minded than Edward had been. While monarch, Edward had changed the rules of succession to ensure she’d receive the crown, and his older half-sister Mary Tudor, as the daughter of Catherine of Aragon, a staunch Roman Catholic, from gaining the throne. But Lady Jane Grey was deposed in only 9 days, and Mary triumphantly entered London.
Parliament immediately repealed Henry VIII and Edward VI acts and reintroduced the pro-Catholic heresy laws. Mary’s government began a relentless campaign against Protestants. Cranmer was charged with treason and imprisoned in November 1553. After spending nearly 2 years in prison, Cranmer was subjected to a long, tedious trial. The foregone verdict was reached in February 1556, and in a ceremony carefully designed to humiliate him, Cranmer was degraded from his church offices and handed over to be burned at the stake. He was just one of thousands of Protestants to know Queen Mary’s fury, earning her the title Bloody Mary.
Cranmer’s long imprisonment and harsh treatment combined to weaken his resolve. Hoping to avoid the stake, he became convinced he should submit to a Catholic ruler and repudiate his reforms. He signed a document that said, “I confess and believe in one, holy, catholic visible church; I recognize as its supreme head upon earth the bishop of Rome, pope and vicar of Christ, to whom all the faithful are bound subject.”
Even with this confession in hand, the Royal Court & Parliament believed Cranmer had to be punished for the havoc he’d wreaked on the Church. The plan was still to burn him at the stake—but he’d be allowed to make one more profession of his Catholic faith and so redeem his soul though his body would perish in the flames.
On the night before his execution, Thomas Cranmer was seated in an Oxford cell before a plain wooden desk, weary from months of trial, interrogation, and imprisonment, trying to make sense of his life. Before him lay the speech he was to give the next morning, a speech that repudiated his writings that had denied Catholic teaching. Also before him was another speech, in which he declared the pope “Christ’s enemy and antichrist.”
Which would he give on the morrow?
The next morning he was led into a church, and when it was his turn to speak, he drew out a piece of paper and began to read. He thanked the people for their prayers, then said, “I come to the great thing that troubles my conscience more than any other thing that I ever said or did in my life.” Referring to the recantations he had signed, he blurted out, “All such bills which I have written or signed with my own hand are untrue.”
Loud murmurs sped through the congregation, but Cranmer continued, “And as for the pope, I refuse him as Christ’s enemy and antichrist, with all his false doctrine. And as for the sacrament—” But no more words were heard by the crowd because Cranmer was dragged from the stage out to the stake. The fire was kindled and quickly the flame leapt up. Cranmer stretched out his right hand, the one who’d written the previous recantation, into the flame and held it there as he said, “This hand has offended.” He died with the words of many of the martyrs, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!”
Within just 2 years, Elizabeth I ascended the English throne and moved the church back in a Protestant direction, revising Cranmer’s 42 Articles to 39, and adopting his Book of Common Prayer as the guide to worship. Today Anglicanism & its New World counterpart in Episcopalianism, is the expression of faith for 50 million worldwide.[1]
As we end this episode, I want to mention 2 more who lost their lives in Bloody Mary’s purge; Nicolas Ridley & Hugh Latimer.
Ridley was Thomas Cranmer’s chaplain when Cranmer was Archbishop of Canterbury. He eventually became the bishop of London. He helped Cranmer write the Book of Common Prayer. Ridley was instrumental in altering the interior of the churches of England. He replaced the stone altars with simple wooden tables for the serving of Communion. He shifted the work of priests from sacramental & sacerdotal work inside the church to pastoral work outside it.
Hugh Latimer started out as a passionate preacher of Catholicism. When he received a degree in theology in 1524, he delivered a lecture assailing the German Lutheran heir to Luther’s legacy, Philip Melanchthon, for his high view of Scripture.
Among Latimer’s listeners was Thomas Bilney, leader of the Protestants at Cambridge. After the lecture, Bilney asked Latimer to hear his confession. Believing his lecture had converted the evangelical, Latimer readily agreed. The “confession,” however, was a stealthily worded sermon on the comfort and confidence the Scriptures can bring. Latimer was moved to tears, and to Protestantism.
Latimer’s sermons then targeted Catholicism and social injustice. He preached boldly, daring in 1530 to give a sermon before King Henry VIII that denounced violence as a means of protecting God’s Word. For this he won the king’s respect.
He became one of Henry’s chief advisers after the king’s break with Rome. Appointed bishop of Worcester, he supported Henry’s dissolution of the monasteries. However, when he opposed the Henry’s retreat from Protestantism in the Six Articles, he was put under house arrest for 6 years.
Freed during the reign of Edward VI, he flourished as one of the Church of England’s leading preachers. But with the ascension of Mary, he was again imprisoned, tried, and along with Ridley & Cranmer, condemned to death.
According to Foxe’s Book of Martyrs, Ridley arrived at the field of execution first. When Latimer arrived, the 2 embraced and Ridley said, “Be of good heart, brother, for God will either assuage the fury of the flame, or else strengthen us to abide it.” They both knelt and prayed before listening to an exhortation from a preacher, as was the custom before an execution for heresy.
A blacksmith wrapped an iron chain around the waists of Ridley and Latimer. When the wood was lit, Latimer said, “Be of good comfort, Mr. Ridley, and play the man! We shall this day light such a candle, by God’s grace, in England, as I trust never shall be put out.”
As the fire rose Latimer cried out, “O Father of heaven, receive my soul!” and he died almost immediately. Ridley however, hung on, with most of his lower body having burned before he passed from this earth into Heaven’s waiti ng arms.[2]
[1] Galli, M., & Olsen, T. (2000). 131 Christians everyone should know (372–374). Nashville, TN: Broadman & Holman Publishers.
[2] ibid
by Lance Ralston | Jul 12, 2015 | English |
This episode is titled Point – Counter Point and details The Catholic Reformation.
We’ve spent the last several episodes considering the Protestant Reformation of the 16th C. The tendency is to assume the Roman Church just dug in its heels in obdurate opposition to the Protestants. While the 17th C will indeed see much blood shed between the religious factions of Europe, it would be wrong to assume the Roman Church of the early decades of the Reformation was immediately adversarial. Don’t forget that all the early Reformers were members of and usually priests in the Roman Church. And reform was something many had called for a long time prior to Luther’s break. The Conciliar Movement we talked about some episodes back was an attempt at reform, at least of the hierarchy of the church, if not some of its doctrine. Spain was a center of the call for Reform within the church. But Luther’s rift with Rome, and the floodgate it opened put the Roman Church on the defensive and caused it to respond aggressively. That response was what’s called the Catholic Counter-Reformation. But that title can be misleading if one assumes the Catholic Church became only more hide-bound in reaction to the Protestants. Several important reforms were made in the way the Church was run. And Protestant theology urged Catholic theologians to tighten up some of theirs.
I like the way one historian describes the 16th C in Europe. If the 16th C was likened to a football game, with every 25 years representing a quarter, by the end of the 1st quarter, the Protestants were winning 7 to 0.
By halftime, it was Protestants 35, Roman Catholics 7
By the end of the 3rd quarter its 42-35 in favor of the Protestants.
But by the end of the game, it’s 42 to 45 in favor of the Catholics.
I apologize to our European listeners who find American Football a mystery. Don’t worry, many Americans do as well.
The point is—Protestants had some quick gains, but by the end of the 16th C, largely because of the Jesuits, the Roman Church had recouped many of its losses and had gone on to a revitalized church and faith.
When Rome realized the seriousness of the Protestant challenge, it mobilized its spiritual warriors = The Society of Jesus, better knowns as the Jesuits. They convened a new and militant council and reformed the machinery of Church Hierarchy. Faced with the rebellion of half of Europe, Catholicism rolled back the tide of Protestantism until by the end of the 16th C it was limited to the northern third of Europe.
Well before Luther posted his theses on Wittenberg’s castle-church door, an aristocratic group at Rome had formed a pious brotherhood called the Oratory of Divine Love. They had a vision for reformation of both Church and Society but one that began within the individual soul.
The Oratory was never larger than fifty members, yet had huge influence. It provoked reform in the old monastic orders and contributed leaders to the Church of Rome as it laid plans for a general council to deal with internal reform and the emerging Protestant movement. Among the members of the Oratory who later emerged as significant figures were Sadoleto, who debated with Calvin; Reginald Pole, who tried under Bloody Mary to turn England back to Rome; and Pietro Caraffa, who became Pope Paul IV.
But throughout the 1520s and 30s, when the Protestants were making their most rapid advancements, the Catholic Church took no real steps toward reform. The reason was political. The changes that needed to be made had to be settled in a Council and Emperor Charles V and popes fought a running battle over the calling of that Council. The feud lasted twenty years. They couldn’t agree on where it was to be held, who would be invited, nor what the agenda would be. All these had far-reaching consequence. So the Council was never called; and the reforms it might have adopted were delayed.
There were all kinds of other intrigues between the Emperor and Popes as Charles waged war with what were supposed to be Catholic kings and rulers beholden to the Pope. At one point, Charles ordered his troops to march on Rome. In May 1527, when their commanders were killed, Spanish and German mercenaries stormed Rome and pillaged, plundered, and murdered for weeks. The pope took refuge in the Castle of St. Angelo, but finally had to surrender and endure half a year of imprisonment. Many saw this sack of Rome as evidence of how out of hand things had gotten. They took it as a manifestation of divine judgment, enhancing the need and call for reform.
Reform came with the arrival of Pope Paul III in 1534. He was a most unlikely candidate for spiritual leadership. He had four children. But the sack of Rome sobered him. He realized time had come for reform to begin in the House of God. He started where he felt a change of heart was most urgently needed, in the College of Cardinals. He appointed a number of advocates for reform. Among them, leaders of the Oratory of Divine Love. Pope Paul then appointed nine of the new cardinals to a commission on reform. The head of the commission promoted an agenda that included reconciliation with the Protestants and a return to the faith of the Apostles; radical ideas indeed!
In 1537, after a wide-ranging study of conditions in the Church of Rome, the commission issued its official report. Titled, Advice … Concerning the Reform of the Church, it said disorder in the Church could be traced directly to the need for reform. The papal office was far too worldly. Both popes and cardinals needed to give more attention to spiritual matters and stop dabbling in secular pursuits. Bribery in high places, abuses of indulgences, evasion of church law, prostitution in Rome, these and other offenses must cease.
Pope Paul took action on several of the recommendations in the report, but his most significant response was a call for a General Council of the Church. After intense negotiations he agreed with Emperor Charles V on a location for the assembly, a town in northern Italy under imperial control called Trent.
Even then, however, no Council assembled for years, because King Francis I of France did everything he could to prevent it. In his lust for control of Europe, Francis feared a council would strengthen Charles’s hand. He even incited the Turks against the Emperor. Two wars between Francis and Charles delayed the opening of a Council until 1545, almost three decades after Luther’s hammer sounded on Wittenberg’s door.
By 1545, reform at Rome was on the rise. Pope Paul’s new rigor was apparent in the institution of the Roman Inquisition and an official Index of Prohibited Books—works that any Catholic risked eternal damnation by reading. All the books of the Reformers were listed, as well as Protestant Bibles. For many years in Spain, merely possessing one of the banned books was punishable by death. The Index was kept up to date until 1959 and was finally abolished by Pope Paul VI.
In Catholic Spain, reform preceded the arrival of Martin Luther in Germany. The euphoria at evicting the Muslims in the Reconquista, coupled with devotion to medieval piety and mysticism fueled reform. When Queen Isabella began her rule in 1474, she brought a heart to reform Spanish Catholicism and quickly gained papal approval for her plan. Cardinal Francisco Jimenez, archbishop of Toledo, was Isabella’s main supporter in reorganizingthe Church. Jimenez and Isabella embarked on a campaign to cleanse corruption and immorality from the monasteries and convents of Spain. They required renewal of monastic vows, enforced poverty among clergy, and emphasized the necessity of an educated priesthood.
Believing the key to effective leadership was high standards for scholarship, they founded the University of Alcala, outside Madrid, which became a center of Spanish religious and literary life. The University was instrumental in publishing a new multilingual edition of the Bible, which included Hebrew, Greek, and the Latin Vulgate—in parallel columns.
The Spanish Reformation, like the Protestants who formed break away groups all over Europe during the 16th C, knew little of the idea we enjoy today of religious toleration. We’ll talk more about his in an upcoming episode as we look at the European Wars of Religion. The Pope gave Isabella and her husband, King Ferdinand, authority to use the Inquisition to enforce compliance with church doctrine and practices. The Jews were special victims of Spanish intolerance. In 1492, the Spanish crown decreed all Jews must either accept Christian baptism or leave Spanish territories. Over 200,000 Jews fled Spain as a result, losing land, possessions, and in some cases, lives. The crown passed similar laws aimed at Muslim Moors. Jimenez, now the Grand Inquisitor, ruthlessly pursued their forced conversion.
In 1521, the year Luther stood before the Emperor Charles V at the Diet of Worms, a Spanish nobleman was fighting in the Emperor’s army against the French. A cannon-ball shattered one of his legs. During a long and painful recovery, bored to tears, he picked up a couple inspirational books popular at the time. One was on the lives of the saints and the other a life of Christ. The long process toward his conversion had begun.
Weary of the army, he entered the Benedictine abbey of Montserrat, where he exchanged his nobleman’s clothes for a simple pilgrim’s smock and turned in his sword and dagger. For nearly a year, in the little town of Manresa, thirty miles north of Barcelona, he gave himself to an austere life of begging door to door, wearing a barbed girdle, and fasting for days at a time. A dark depression settled over his soul. He considered suicide. Then he had what many a mystic has known—a spiritual breakthrough so intense it felt like an incandescent illumination. A wave of ecstasy engulfed him and Ignatius Loyola, became, in his own words, “another man.”
In an attempt to hang on to what he’d gained, Loyola produced a plan for spiritual discipline, a kind of spiritual military manual for Christian storm-troopers dedicated to the Pope. The result was the Society of Jesus, the Jesuits, the greatest force in Catholicism’s campaign to recapture the territory, both literal and spiritual, lost to the Protestants.
It was the reforming Pope Paul III, who approved Loyola’s new Society of Jesus. The daring soldiers of Christ promised the Pope they’d go wherever he sent them; whether that was to the Turks, the New World, or the Lutherans.
While a youth, Ignatius left his home in the castle of Loyola near the Pyrenees and entered the court of a noble family friend. There he grew into something of a “playboy” who spent his days playing military games, reading popular romances, and his nights pursuing the local girls. Then he went off to war, and everything changed.
After his recovery and time at Manresa, Ignatius came to a very different conclusion about man’s spiritual condition to that arrived at by Martin Luther. Luther was convinced the human will is enslaved; man cannot save himself. Only God can deliver him. Loyola came to the belief man has the power to choose between God and satan. By the disciplined use of his imagination man can strengthen his will to choose God and his ways. That strengthening comes through the spiritual disciplines Loyola devised.
One of his spiritual exercises aimed to make the horrors of hell real. Loyola wrote – “Hear in your imagination the shrieks and groans and blasphemous shouts against Christ our Lord and all the saints. Smell the fumes of sulfur and the stench of filth and corruption. Taste all the bitterness of tears and melancholy and growing conscience. Feel the heat of the flames that play on and burn the souls.” The same technique, of course, could be used to represent the beauties of the Nativity or the glories of heaven. By proper discipline, Ignatius said, the imagination could strengthen the will and teach it to cooperate with God’s grace.
Ignatius concluded that fully surrendering to God meant more education. He entered a school in Barcelona to sit with students half his age to study Latin, then threw himself into a year of courses at the University of Alcala. Out of it came his conviction learning must be organized to be useful. The idea eventually grew into the Jesuits’ famed plan of studies, which measured out heavy but manageable doses of the classics, humanities, and sciences.
Ignatius became such a fervent advocate for his views, the Inquisition examined him more than once about his theology. Disturbed they’d question his devotion, he left for Paris, where he spent seven years at the university, and became “Master Ignatius.” He gathered around him the first of his companions: including the young Spanish nobleman, Francis Xavier; not the leader of the X-Men. This guy was a lot older and not a mutant.
Ignatius shared with these men his program for sainthood, called the Spiritual Exercises. A review of his religious experiences following his conversion, the Exercises prescribe several periods or phases of intense meditation on various aspects of Faith and Practice.
Ignatius charted a path to spiritual perfection that included,
- Rigorous examination of the conscience
- Penance, and
- A rejection of guilt once God’s forgiveness was given.
The Exercises became the basis of every Jesuit’s spirituality. Later popes prescribed them for candidates for ordination, and Catholic retreats applied them to lay groups.
In 1540, Pope Paul III approved the, at-that-time, small Society of Jesus as a new religious order. Following Ignatius’ metaphor, they were chivalrous spiritual soldiers of Jesus. Adopting the military theme, they were mobile, versatile, ready to go anywhere and perform any task the Pope assigned. As a recognized order, they added to their earlier vows of poverty and chastity the traditional vow of obedience to their superiors and a fourth vow of special loyalty to the pope. They were governed by a Superior General elected for life. Their choice for the first General was of course, Ignatius.
The aim of the order was simple: To restore the Roman Catholic Church to the position of spiritual power and influence it had held three centuries before under Innocent III. Everything was subordinated to the Church of Rome because Ignatius believed firmly that the living Christ resided in the institutional church exclusively.
One of the most fascinating feature of the Jesuits was their attempt to live in the world without being of it. Loyola wanted them to be all things to all men. They almost succeeded.
That first generation under Loyola’s leadership rode at a full gallop into their new assignments which were to convert the heathen and re-convert Protestants. Francis Xavier went to India, then Southeast Asia, and all the way to Japan. More than any others, the Society of Jesus stemmed, and at times reversed, the tide of Protestantism in Europe. When Ignatius died in 1556, his order was a thousand strong and had dispatched its apostles to four continents. By anyone’s reckoning, that’s an amazing feat.
No mission of that first generation of Jesuits proved more decisive than the part they played in the Council of Trent from 1545 to 63. Only thirty-one council fathers led by three papal legates were present for the opening ceremonies of the council. None of them could have guessed their modest beginning would lead to the most important Council between Nicea in 325 and Vatican II in 1962. Under the influence of two Jesuits, Trent developed into a powerful weapon of the Counter-Reformation.
The council fathers met in three main sessions.
- The 1st was from 1545–47,
- The 2nd from 1551–52, and
- The last from 1562–63.
During the second series of sessions several Protestants were present, but nothing came of it. From start to finish the Council reflected the new militant stance of Rome.
While there are points of agreement between Catholic and Protestant theology on many issues, the distinctive doctrines of the Protestant Reformation, things like sola scriptura and sola fide were vigorously rejected at Trent.
While the Reformers stressed salvation by grace alone; the Council of Trent emphasized grace AND human cooperation with God to avoid, in Loyola’s terms, “the poison that destroys freedom.” Ignatius advised, “Pray as though everything depended on God alone but act as though it depended on you alone whether you will be saved.”
Protestants taught the religious authority of Scripture alone. Trent insisted on the supreme teaching office of the Roman popes and bishops, as essential-interpreters of the Bible and sole-arbiters on what constitute Biblical Orthodoxy.
Trent guaranteed Roman Catholicism would be governed by a collaboration between God and man. The Pope remained, seven sacraments were retained, and the doctrine of transubstantiation was affirmed. Saints, confessions, and indulgences all stayed.
After four centuries, we look back to the Reformation Era and see the unity of Western Christendom was permanently shattered. Men and women in Loyola’s lifetime did not see that truth. The fact dawned on Europe slowly. It would paint the Continent red in the following Century.
by Lance Ralston | Jul 5, 2015 | English |
This episode is titled, The Ultimate Fighter; Reformation Edition.
The pioneer of Protestantism in western Switzerland was William Farel. Some pronounce it FAIR-el, but we’ll go with the more traditional Fuh–REL.
He began as an itinerate evangelist; always in motion, tireless, full of faith and fire. He was bold as Luther but more radical. He also lacked Luther’s genius.
He’s called the Elijah of the French Reformation and “the scourge of priests.”
Once a devoted Roman Catholic who studied under pro-reform professors at the University of Paris, Farel became a loyal Protestant, able only to see only what was wrong with the Catholicism of his past. He loathed the pope, branding him antichrist, as did many Protestants of the time. Of course, the popes returned the favor and labeled Reformation leaders with the same title. Farel declared that all the statues, pictures and relics found in Roman churches were heathen idols which ought be destroyed.
While Farel was never officially ordained, he thought himself divinely called, like a prophet of old, to break down idolatry and clear the way for the worship of God according to God’s Word. He was a born fighter and echoing Jesus, said he came, not to bring peace, but a sword. He contended with priests who carried firearms and clubs under their frocks, and fought them with the spiritual sword of the Scriptures. Once he was fired at, but the gun blew up. Turning to the man who’d shot at him, he said, “I’m not afraid of your shots.” He never used violence himself, except in the verbal salvos he was fond of firing at critics.
Farel was never discouraged or dissuaded by opposition. On the contrary, persecution stimulated him to even greater labor. His outward appearance gave no hint to his indomitable will: he was of short stature and looked frail. His pale complexion was oft sunburnt. His red beard was left to grow wild.
What his appearance lacked, his voice made up for. When he spoke, he used both gestures and language that commanded attention and produced conviction. His contemporaries referred to the thunder of his eloquence and of his earnest and moving prayers.
His sermons were extemporaneous but sadly weren’t preserved. Their power lay in their delivery. Farel was the George Whitefield of the 16th C.
His strength ended up a weakness. His lack of moderation and discretion unburdened him from second guessing himself, so he would speak his mind without the need to put a fine point on everything for fear of breaking a few eggs, so to speak. But his outspokenness got him into trouble again and again, not only with Roman Catholics but with his Protestant peers.
He was an iconoclast. His verbal violence provoked unnecessary opposition, and often did more harm than good. One Reformation leader of the time wrote Farel saying, “Your mission is to evangelize, not curse. Prove yourself to be an evangelist, not a tyrannical legislator. Men want to be led, not driven.” Shortly before his death, Zwingli exhorted Farel not to be so rash.
That may be a good way to see Farel’s contribution to the Reformation. His work was destructive rather than constructive. He could pull down, but not build up. He was a conqueror, not an organizer of his conquests; a man of action, not a man of letters; a preacher, not a theologian. In a large construction company, the first team that comes in is the demolition crew. They’re job is to clear away the old and prepare for the new.
Farel was a one-man demo squad; a religious wrecking-crew.
The thing is, he knew it, and handed his work over to the genius of his younger friend John Calvin. You’ll remember it was William Farel who persuaded Calvin to help out in Geneva. In the spirit of genuine humility and self-denial, he was willing to decrease that Calvin might increase. This is the finest trait in his character.
William Farel, the oldest of seven children of a noble but poor family, was born in 1489 at Gap. No, he wasn’t born in the changing room of a clothing store in the mall. Gap was a small town in the Alps of SE France, where the Waldensians once lived. He inherited the Roman Catholic faith of his parents. While still young, he made a pilgrimage with them to a supposed piece of miracle-working wood believed to be taken from the original cross. He shared in the superstitious veneration of pictures and relics, and bowed before the authority of monks and priests. He was, as he later said of that period of his life, more popish than the Pope.
At the same time he had a great thirst for knowledge, and was sent to Paris to further his education. There he studied ancient languages, philosophy, and theology. His main teacher, was Jacques LeFèvre, pioneer of the French Reformation and translator of the Scriptures who introduced Farel to Paul’s Epistles and the doctrine of justification by faith. LeFèvre told Farel in in 1512: “My son, God will renew the world, and you will witness it.” Farel acquired a Master of Arts in 1517 and was appointed teacher at the college of Cardinal Le Moine.
The influence of LeFèvre and the study of the Bible brought Farel to the conviction salvation can be found only in Christ, that the Word of God is the only rule of faith. He was amazed he could find in the NT no trace of the pope, a church hierarchy, indulgences, purgatory, the mass, seven rather than two sacraments, a sacerdotal celibacy, or the worship of Mary and saints.
When LeFèvre, was charged with heresy in 1521, he retired but remained an advocate for reformation within the Catholic Church, without separation from Rome. We’ll talk about the Catholic Counter-Reformation in a later episode.
In retirement, LeFèvre translated the NT into French, and published it in 1523. This was virtually simultaneous with Luther’s German NT. Farel and several others of LeFèvre’s students followed him and began preaching a Reformation message under his influence. But Farel proved too radical and was forbidden to preach.
He returned to his hometown and made some converts, including four of his brothers; but the people found his doctrine strange and drove him away. France became dangerous as the persecution of Protestants had begun there as in already had in other places.
Farel fled to Basel, Switzerland. Since Reformation ideas were tolerated there, he held a public disputation in Latin on thirteen issues, in which he affirmed the inspiration of the Scriptures, Christian liberty, the duty of pastors to preach the Gospel, the doctrine of justification by faith, and denounced images and celibacy. This speech led to the conversion of a Franciscan monk named Pellican, a distinguished Greek and Hebrew scholar, who became a professor at Zurich. Farel delivered more public lectures and sermons. But as his popularity grew, so did his bombast, and Erasmus persuaded the town council to brand him a disturber of the peace and expel him.
After bouncing around for a few years as an itinerate preacher, he arrived in Neuchâtel in December, 1529 where he was instrumental in bringing the Reformation to the city.
Farel stopped at Geneva in early Oct. 1532. The day after he arrived he was visited by a number of distinguished citizens of the Protestant French Huguenots. Farel explained to them from an open Bible the Protestant doctrines that would complete and consolidate the political freedom they’d recently achieved. But rather than receive this with joy, they were troubled and demanded Farel and his friends leave! Farel refused. He said he wasn’t trying to create trouble; he was simply a preacher of truth, for which he was ready to die. He showed them letters of reference from several Reformation leaders which made quite an impression.
When the Roman clergy in Geneva began to harass Farel, this only further ingratiated him with the Protestants there. But the Catholics became so angry at Farel’s refusal to budge, the entire city was set on edge. The Council demanded he leave immediately.
He barely escaped as the priests pursued him with clubs. He left covered with spit and bruises. Some of the Huguenots came to his defense, and accompanied him across Lake Geneva.
Since the Reformation in Geneva was gaining ground and the city was seen as key, the Catholics called Guy Furbity, a Dominican doctor of Theology, to come refute the Protestants. He stirred the Catholics of Geneva into a violent mob. All preaching in the City had to be approved by him. You can imagine how Farel felt about that. He returned with a guarantee of protection from the city of Bern, and held another public disputation with Furbity at the end of January of 1534, in the presence of both the Great and Small Councils of Geneva and delegates from Bern. He was unable to answer all Furbity’s objections, but he denied the right of the Church to impose ordinances which were not authorized by Scripture, and defended the position that Christ was the only head of the Church. He used the occasion to explain Protestant doctrines, and to attack Roman church hierarchy. Christ and the Holy Spirit, he said, are not with the pope, but with those whom he persecutes. The disputation lasted several days, and ended in a partial victory for Farel. Unable to argue from the Scriptures, Furbity confessed: “What I preach I cannot prove from the Bible; I have learned it from the Summa of St. Thomas,” meaning of course, Thomas Aquinas.
Farel continued to preach in private homes aa tension grew between Protestants and Catholics. He was the eye of the storm. As more and more Genevans embraced Reformation ideas, priests, monks, and nuns left, and the bishop transferred his See to another city.
In Aug. 27 1535, the Genevan Council issued an edict of the Reformation. That was followed several months later with an even more thorough embrace of Reformation ideals. The mass was abolished, images and relics removed from churches. Citizens pledged themselves by an oath to live according to the precepts of the Gospel. A school was established for the education of the young. Out of it grew the academy of John Calvin. All shops were closed on Sunday. A strict discipline, which extended even to the head-dress of brides was introduced.
This was the first act in the history of the Reformation at Geneva. It was the work of Farel, but only preparatory to the more important work of Calvin. The people were anxious to get rid of the Catholic rule of the Duke of Savoy and the bishop, but had no conception of evangelical religion, and would not submit to discipline. They mistook freedom for license. They were in danger of falling into the opposite extreme of disorder and confusion.
This was the state of things when Calvin arrived at Geneva in the summer of 1536, and was urged by Farel to assume the great task of building a new Church on the ruins of the old. Though 20 years his senior, Farel willingly took a subordinate position to Calvin. He labored for a while as Calvin’s colleague, but was banished from Geneva with him when their reforms were deemed by the City Council as too ambitious and narrow. Calvin then went to Strasburg while Farel accepted a call as pastor at Neuchâtel where he’d worked before.
The remaining twenty-seven years of his life, Farel remained the lead pastor there.
by Lance Ralston | Jun 28, 2015 | English |
This Episode is titled, Knox, Knox, Who’s There?
John Knox was born in 1514 in the small burgh of Haddington, south of Edinburgh. At the age of 15 he entered the University of St. Andrews to study, not golf, but theology. After 7 yrs he was ordained a Roman Catholic priest and became a notary since his studies specialized in the Law. Being a gifted speaker, he was employed as a tutor for the sons of some local lairds, a term referring to lower rung of Scottish nobility.
Dramatic events unfolded in Scotland during Knox’s youth. Many were angry with the Roman church which owned more than half the land and gathered an annual income of almost 20 times that of the crown. Bishops and priests were more often than not political appointments, and many so morally corrupt, they didn’t even try to hide their debaucheries. Cardinal Beaton, archbishop of St. Andrews, openly consorted with concubines, fathering ten children.
The constant traffic between Scotland and Europe saw much Protestant literature smuggled into the country. Church authorities were alarmed by the pernicious German “heresy” as they labeled it and tried to suppress it. Patrick Hamilton, an outspoken Protestant convert, was burned at the stake in 1528.
In the early 1540s, while tutoring the sons of Protestant families, Knox came under their influence, and at the preaching of Thomas Guilliame, joined them. Knox then became a bodyguard for the firebrand Protestant preacher George Wishart, at that time touring Scotland.
In 1546, Cardinal Beaton had Wishart arrested, tried, strangled, and just to make sure everyone knew how mad he was, Wishart’s body was burned. The Protestants decided such outrage would not go unanswered. So sixteen Protestant nobles stormed the castle, assassinated Beaton, and mutilated his body in retribution for what he’d done to Wishart, who posthumously could wonder where they’d been earlier. Might have been a little smarter for them to take the castle when he was still a prisoner. Oh well.
With the castle now in Protestant hands, a fleet of French ships arrived and laid in a siege. Catholic France was an ally to Catholic Scotland. Though Knox was not party to the Cardinal’s murder, he did approve of the action, and during a break in the siege, joined the besieged inside the castle to show solidarity.
This siege wasn’t your typical surrounding of a castle where the attackers try to starve the besieged into submission. It was a half-hearted, partial siege, more about appearances than an earnest attempt to bring the Cardinal’s killers to justice. So, life wasn’t disrupted for the people in the castle all that much. Things went on pretty much as normal.
Then, during a church service one Sunday, Protestant preacher John Rough spoke on the election of ministers, turned to John Knox and asked if he’d please take on the office of resident preacher. When the congregation confirmed the call, Knox was overwhelmed and reduced to tears. At first he declined, thinking himself unqualified, but eventually submitted to what he quickly realized was the call of God. It was a short-lived ministry. In 1547, the siege of St. Andrews Castle was laid on in earnest and the Protestants had to surrender. Some were imprisoned while others like Knox were made galley-slaves. Which, if you know anything about that, sends a shiver up your spine. You’d be hard pressed to find a lower lot for a man to sink to. An ironic post for a man who’d just wept in humility at being called to pastor a church.
A year and a half passed before Knox and his fellow galley-slaves were released. That they lived a year and a half is a miracle in itself. Knox spent the next five yrs in England, and his reputation for preaching boomed. When the Catholic Queen Mary Tudor inherited the throne from her brother Edward VI in Oct 1553, Knox fled to France. Smart move, since Mary did her best to reverse the path toward Protestantism her brother had followed. She executed so many she’s known to history as “Bloody Mary.”
Knox’s choice of France as a place of refuge seems odd, since things were little better there than in England. He soon realized that as well and made his way to Geneva, where he met John Calvin. Calvin described Knox as a “brother … laboring energetically for the faith.” Knox was so impressed with Calvin’s Geneva, he called it, “the most perfect school of Christ that was ever on earth since the days of the apostles.”
Knox was then sent by Calvin to the German city of Frankfurt to pastor a church of Protestant English refugees. There, he quickly became embroiled in controversy. The Protestants couldn’t agree on an order of worship. Arguments became so heated one group stormed out, refusing to worship in the same building as Knox.
I mention this little moment in Knox’s life because it becomes sadly indicative of what begins to happen all across Europe as the Reformation spread. Once people split off from the Roman Church, they kept splitting off from each other. While it’s difficult for us to understand this in our age of pluralism, the people of Europe in the 16th C assumed you had to be a part of some church. And that group was either allied with the State, or wanted to be. There just wasn’t a large block of people who were unaligned religiously. Atheism was simply not tolerated. So once the monolithic hegemony of the Roman Catholic church was broken, the cracks that formed in religious faith kept going, like a windshield. And the various groups thought they needed to grab some kind of power or they’d end up the victim of someone else’s. This helps explain why the usually pacifist Anabaptists became militant in Munster, as we saw in an earlier episode.
My point here is that the rift that formed in Frankfurt over whether or not to use the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, and whether or not people ought to kneel while taking Communion was typical of the battles the Protestant church faced at this time. Looking back, we might shake our heads at such pettiness. But let’s be careful. Do not our churches sometimes split over issues just as petty? We might think they aren’t, but would believers 500 years from now call them so?
While Knox was in Germany, Protestants in Scotland redoubled their efforts, and congregations formed all over the country. A group called “The Lords of the Congregation” vowed to make Protestantism the religion of the land. In 1555, they invited Knox to return to Scotland to inspire the reforming task. Knox spent nine months preaching all over Scotland before he was forced to return to Geneva.
There in Geneva he published some of his most controversial tracts. In his Admonition to England he attacked leaders who allowed Catholicism back into England. In The First Blast of the Trumpet Against the Monstrous Regiment of Women he argued that a female ruler, like the English Queen Bloody Mary was “most odious in the presence of God” and that she was “a traitoress and rebel against God.” In another broadside he extended to ordinary people the right—indeed the duty—to rebel against unjust rulers. As he later told Mary, Queen of Scots, “The sword of justice is God’s, and if princes and rulers fail to use it, others may.”
Not really sure where Knox got that idea from Scripture, since Romans 13 does say it IS the duty of the civil government to wield the sword and citizens are to submit to that authority. It also says Vengeance belongs to the Lord – HE will repay. In any case, Knox made a case for rebellion against unjust government many found to their liking.
Knox returned to Scotland in 1559, and again deployed his formidable preaching skills to increase Protestant militancy. Within days of his arrival, he preached a rousing sermon at Perth against Catholic “idolatry” which caused a riot. Altars were demolished, images smashed, and churches destroyed.
In June, Knox was elected the Minister of St. Giles Church in Edinburgh, where he continued to exhort and inspire. In his sermons, Knox typically spent half an hour calmly exegeting a biblical passage. Then as he applied the text to the situation in Scotland, he vigorously pounded the pulpit, calling for people to immediately install the application.
The English, now under the Protestant Queen Elizabeth I, came to the aid of the Protestant Scots while the French aided the Catholics. Fired up by Knox’s preaching, The Lords of the Congregation armed themselves and occupied several cities. In 1560 at the Treaty of Berwick, the English and French agreed to leave Scotland. The future of Protestantism in Scotland was assured.
The Scottish Parliament then asked Knox and five colleagues to write a Confession of Faith, the First Book of Discipline, and The Book of Common Order—all of which cast the Protestant faith of Scotland in a distinctly Calvinist and Presbyterian mode.
Knox finished out his years as preacher at St. Giles, helping shape the developing Protestantism in Scotland. During this time, he wrote his History of the Reformation of Religion in Scotland.
Though he remains a paradox to many, Knox was clearly a man of great courage: one man standing before Knox’s open grave said, “Here lies a man who neither flattered nor feared any flesh.” Knox’s legacy is large: his spiritual progeny includes some 750,000 Presbyterians in Scotland, 3 million in the US, and many millions more worldwide.
When visiting Edinburgh some years ago, I had a chance to visit St. Giles. It’s an impressive cathedral church. You can definitely see the difference from a classic Roman Catholic Cathedral, which it was before the Reformation. But long Protestant occupation has removed many of the ritual furnishings of a Catholic church.
Down the street from St. Giles is Knox’s house where he lived before being elected Minister at St. Giles. He lived there when Catholics ruled and he was banned from preaching in public. His multi-storied house juts out into the street, forming a little corner traffic has to flow around. So it was something of a bottleneck. Knox couldn’t obtain a license for public preaching, but no one could stop him from saying whatever he wanted in his own home. So Knox would open his window overlooking the street and preach fine messages, knowing large crowds gathered outside to listen. He even engraved scriptures in his window and door frames.
What’s sad is that Knox’s grave lies right next to St. Giles. But being some of the most prime real estate in all Scotland, just a few yards of the Royal Mile, today it lies under a parking space. Seriously! There’s an asphalt parking lot with white lines for cars to park. And smack dab in the middle of one parking spaces is a little plaque marking that this is the burial place of John Knox.
Hardly anyone knows it’s there. When people are shown it, the response of many is, “Who’s John Knox?”
by Lance Ralston | Jun 21, 2015 | English |
This 92nd episode of CS is titled “The School of Christ” and is part 2 in our look at the Reformer, John Calvin.
We left off with Calvin back in Geneva after being banished for a few years following a run in with the City Council. They realized how much they needed him to design the reforms they felt they had to make so they asked him to return and accommodated themselves to being the agents by which his plans could be implemented.
While Calvin designed the policies enacted by the city government, he kept himself to his role as a minister in the church. Besides preaching and teaching almost daily, he served as a professor of Old Testament studies three times a week. He was a busy pastor, offering guidance in church matters and assisting the deacons in the administration of their task by offering sage counsel.
While later nay-sayers cast Calvin as a kind of dictator in Geneva, that’s certainly NOT what he was. He was appointed and paid by the city council as an advisor. He could have been dismissed by them at any time, as he in fact was in 1538 for a year and a half. Don’t forget that he was a Frenchman, living in Switzerland. He didn’t even become a citizen till his last years.
Calvin’s authority was more due to his moral and spiritual gravitas than anything else. His influence was the result of other’s acceptance of an authority gained from God’s call. It stemmed from his conviction he was simply the agent of God’s Word and will. While there’ve been many throughout history who got drunk on the power-potion and became abusive, Calvin was humbled that such influence had been given him and labored to wield it in a manner that brought glory to God alone and would work genuine and long-lasting good among others.
As listeners to CS know, I attempt to present as unbiased a presentation of church history as I can. But I will occasionally insert my personal perspective. When I do, I mark it off with a verbal parenthesis. One follows now …
I’m not an adherent of Calvinism and Reformed Theology. While an Evangelical Protestant, I’m more of the Traditionalist camp in regards to my theological position. So while I disagree with several points of Calvin’s theology, especially in regard to the doctrines of Election and Determinism, I recognize Calvin himself was apparently a man of unimpeachable character. God alone sees the heart, but from what history tells us, John Calvin was someone who consistently practiced what he preached. A good and humble man committed to God’s glory and love of his fellow man.
Later critics who fault him for some of what happened in Geneva during his time there make the all-too-common mistake of applying modern sensibilities to the past. They lack historical perspective. It is no more right to condemn Calvin for the failures in Geneva than it is to blame doctors during the Black Death for not knowing about germs and viruses. Like it or not, we are all the product of our time. It’s the height of arrogance for today’s 20 year old, sitting in the comfort of a college classroom, to condemn those of the 16th Century because they failed to live by standards and a moral code that didn’t even emerge till many years later.
The evidence tells us Calvin was a moral and spiritual standout whose sole flaw was that he could have been less intense, less severe. è So! It’s at this point we must speak to a tragic moment in Geneva’s history and Calvin’s part in it.
Michael Servetus arrived in Geneva in 1553 after having fled from Catholic authorities seeking to arrest him as a heretic. Servetus denied the Trinity, a position considered blasphemous throughout Europe in the 16th C. Servetus probably thought the Reformation center of Geneva would be more tolerant of his ideas. After all, the Catholics hated the Genevans too. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?
Well, not in this case.
Geneva was no more inclined to allow heresy than Rome. The brilliant but erratic Spanish physician was arrested but refused to recant. Everyone knew a heretic’s fate; immolation = burned at the stake. Calvin wanted a less severe punishment for Servetus, but this was a moment when certain elements on the Geneva city council were at odds with him. If Calvin had pushed his point and demanded a lightening of Servetus’ punishment, Calvin’s opponents would have had ammo to use against him. So Calvin failed to push for the lesser sentence his conscience told him was just. Servetus was burned at the stake, as were so many at this time in Europe.
Let’s pause here and take the time to dig down a little on this execution. As I said, a common fate for those found guilty of heresy. It all seem ludicrous to us today – that someone could be executed as an act of official state policy simply because they dared to announce a belief in something others didn’t agree with. After all, freedom of speech is a treasured value of modern democratic societies. Radicals are allowed to say all kinds of things, and as long as they take no harmful action or plot to carry out violence, they can shout all day long. So it’s difficult for us to understand a society that would kill someone simply because they held an idea others found offensive.
Well, heretics were put to death, not because what they said was offensive – but because what they said was considered DANGEROUS. I’ll explain it this way >>
What happened to Julius and Ethel Rosenberg when found guilty of selling nuclear secrets to the Soviets? They were executed. Why? All they did was talk. All they did was pass some pieces of paper and film to others? How is that a problem?
Well, that material contained information that allowed the Communists to build an atomic bomb a lot quicker than they could have on their own. This was at a time of the Red Scare, when millions of Americans believed Communists were eager to attack the Free World and take over with their evil brand of atheistic socialism. What the Rosenbergs did made most Americans feel profoundly less safe. They imperiled the lives of millions – or so the thought went. When they were executed, not many wept tears of regret at how narrow-minded and intolerant the Federal government was being.
Now: It was be too late for what the Rosenbergs had done. The secrets were out and in the hands of the Soviets. So why execute them? Simple: A message had to be sent to any other would-be traitors and spies: This is what happens when if you spy on the US.
Take that mentality to the execution of heretics in Europe during the Middle Ages and later. Michael Servetus didn’t sell States secrets to enemies. But what he did so was deemed just as dangerous. He espoused beliefs that if picked up by others could, and most likely would, lead to a break-down of society and all kinds of social problems. And all because: Ideas have consequences. It was this realization that moved civil governments to hearken to the advice of religious authorities, apprehend heretics, try them, then sentence them to torture and execution. It told the populace at large, “Mess with what we believe and you’ll pay.”
Now, I’m obviously not advocating death for heretics.
But, and this is important as students of history, it’s crucial we be cautious about our tendency to have a knee-jerk reaction to the perceived stupidities of the past. Turns out in most cases, once we understand ALL the complexities that bear on a people’s practice, the what and why of their behavior becomes a lot more clear. We may not agree with them, but we can at least understand how they arrived at their position.
Knowing what we do about John Calvin, he likely wanted a less severe punishment for Servetus because he hoped to convince him to turn from his err regarding the Trinity to a more orthodox and Biblical view. Persuasion is better than persecution. But the Genevan council was determined to make an example of Servetus. They didn’t want to become a refuge for heretics.
Proof of Calvin’s humility and devotion to the Reformation cause was that he drove himself beyond his body’s limits. When he was no longer able to walk the couple hundred yards to church, they carried him in a chair. When the doctor forbade him going out into the cold air, his students crowded into his bedroom. When friends urged him to rest, he asked, “Would you have the Lord find me idle when He comes?”
I don’t want to give the impression, one easily gleaned from some of the biographies of Calvin and his tenure at Geneva, that everyone loved him. He had plenty of opponents and his popularity was a roller-coaster. Some tried to drown out his voice by loud coughing while he preached. Others fired guns outside the church. Dogs were set on him. There were anonymous threats against his life.
All this took a toll on the aging Calvin, whose patience gradually wore away. He became unsympathetic and curt. It’s said Martin Luther also became cantankerous in his later years. It had to be difficult getting old during this time. Hey, it’s hard enough now! In Calvin’s later years he showed little attempt to understanding the views of others with whom he disagreed, even less kindness, and definitely less humor, which was always in short supply.
While he finally wore out in 1564, his influence didn’t. If anything, it’s grown massively. Calvin’s ideas have been both blamed for and credited with the rise of capitalism, individualism, and western democracy. He was a major influence on people like George Whitefield and Karl Barth, as well as entire movements, such as Puritanism and today’s neo-Reformed Resurgence.
Calvin’s central belief and the core of his theological work was the absolute sovereignty of God. Calvin said that God was the “Governor of all things.” He contended that, from the remotest eternity, God in His wisdom has decreed what He would do, and by His own power, executes what He’s decreed.
This sovereignty is much more than a general guidance. Calvin held that the Bible teaches God’s particular direction in individual lives. Not a sparrow falls to the ground unknown to the Father. He gives babies to some and withholds them from others. This, Calvin said, wasn’t just a relentless fatalism in nature, but the personal decrees of Almighty God, who moves men to walk in His ways.
If Luther’s core text was “the just shall live by faith,” Calvin’s was, “Thy will be done.” He saw the doctrine of predestination as a source of religious devotion. More than a problem of the mind, Calvin considered divine election to eternal life the deepest source of confidence, humility, and moral power.
While Calvin did not profess to know in an absolute sense who God’s elect were, he taught that three tests constituted a measure by which to judge who might be elect:
1) Participation in the sacraments of Baptism and Communion
2) An upright moral life –and–
3) A public profession of the faith.
Calvin maintained that genuine faith resulted in a lifestyle of strenuous effort to introduce the Kingdom of God on Earth. Though the Christian was no longer judged by the law of God, he/she finds the law to be a pattern for moral character. People aren’t justified by works, but no one who’s justified is without works. The desire to be holy is a mark of saving faith and evidence of being elect. This determined pursuit of moral righteousness was one of the main features of Calvinism and provides a core theme for the Puritans.
Calvinism’s emphasis on God’s sovereignty also led to a special view of civil authority. Luther considered the State supreme and the German princes determined where and how the Gospel would be preached. Calvin said no man—whether king or bishop, had claim to absolute power. He encouraged representative assemblies and affirmed their right to resist tyranny. This resistance to arbitrary power by monarchs was a key factor in the development of modern constitutional governments.
While the church, Calvin said, wasn’t subject to secular government except where church life intersected the secular sphere, the church was obligated to guide secular authorities in spiritual matters. Calvin’s followers went throughout Europe as a kind of informal spiritual conspiracy to overthrow false religion and oppressive governments.
Geneva became a beachhead established by God. It seemed a foretaste of better things to come and zealous converts left there to carry the vision far and wide across Europe.
Calvinism remained a minority in France but, thanks to some converts among the nobility, the movement gained an importance out of proportion to its numbers. Known as Huguenots, French Calvinists appeared about ready to seize control of the country. So thousands of them were massacred on St. Bartholomew’s Day in 1572. They remained a significant minority but never again a serious challenge to the Catholic throne. We’ll come back to this sad chapter in a later episode.
In the Netherlands, Calvinists united to oust the oppressive Spanish from their land.
In Scotland, Calvinists created something unique in 16th C Europe: a land of one religion ruled by a monarch of another. That ruler was Mary, Queen of Scots, an 18-year-old who lived abroad. She married into the French royal family, and the Scots as well as many Englishmen feared she’d deliver Scotland to the French. One man, however, preached everywhere the notion that the people of Scotland could challenge the rule of their queen. That man was John Knox who we’ll look at next time.
As we conclude this episode, I again want to say “Thank you” to those who’ve visited the CS FB page and given us a like. And thanks to those who’ve rated and reviewed the podcast on iTunes. While people access the podcast though different feeds, iTunes in one of the most important because that’s how podcasts are evaluated in terms of popularity. The more 5-star ratings we get and written reviews, the more it bumps us up in the ratings.
Every so often I remind listeners they can donate to help defray the expenses of associated with the podcast. CS got hammered a while back by fraudsters making bogus donations to the site that ended up costing several hundred dollars, so we had to install some safeguards. As you know, CS isn’t monetized. There are no sponsors or ads on the site. It’s funded purely by the kindness and generosity of listeners like you. You can donate by going to sanctorum.us. You’ll see the link there. That’s all I’ll say about that.
by Lance Ralston | Jun 14, 2015 | English |
This episode is titled, Thrust Into the Game.
So far we’ve marked the rise of 2 of the 3 major branches of the Reformation. We’ve considered Lutheranism and the Radical Reformers or Anabaptists. Over the next few episodes we’ll consider the 3rd branch, called Calvinism, AKA, Reformed Christianity.
I begin with a summary of the opening section of Bruce Shelley’s excellent, Church History in Plain Language and his chapter of John Calvin.
Because the road to Strasbourg was closed by the war between France and Spain, the young French scholar had to pass thru Geneva. His plan was to spend a night. He ended up spending many.
The city was in disarray. Immorality was rampant, the political situation a mess, and there was little prospect for help.
The fiery reformer, William Farel had preached in Geneva for four years, and masses at the Catholic church were halted. But Geneva’s embrace of the Reformation was more out of political ambition than sincere allegiance to Protestant theology. No one had taken the lead in transforming the city’s institutions along Biblical lines. Geneva needed a manager; someone who could step into the political and spiritual vacuum and bring order. When Farel heard John Calvin was spending the night, he made it a point to call on him. He found Calvin to be a candidate to meet Geneva’s need, and urged him to stay and help establish the work.
Calvin begged off, saying he had further studies he needed to pursue. Farel told him, “Bah! You’re only following your own wishes! If you don’t help us in this work of the Lord, He will punish you for seeking your own interest rather than His.” Calvin was terror–stricken. The last thing he wanted was to offend God. So he stayed and took up the cause of installing the principles of the Reformation in Geneva.
Years later, Calvin remarked, “Being by nature a bit antisocial and shy, I always loved retirement and peace.… But God has so whirled me around by various events that He’s never let me rest anywhere, but in spite of my natural inclination, has thrust me into the limelight and made me ‘get into the game,’ as they say.”
Thus >> the title of this week’s episode.
John Calvin was born in the small town of Noyon, 60 miles NE of Paris. His father was a lawyer and eager to see John and his two brothers become priests. It was clear from an early age John was both intelligent and serious, so a local wealthy family sponsored his education. He entered the University of Paris at 14 and quickly mastered Latin. He then entered the school of philosophy where he showed brilliance in writing and skill in logical argument. People might not like what Calvin said but they couldn’t misunderstand what he meant. He left the University in 1528 with a Master of Arts degree. He was 19.
John turned to the study of law at the University of Orleans, but after his father’s death in 1531, Calvin returned to Paris as a student of the classics, intent upon a career as a scholar. His studies brought him in contact with new and dangerous ideas circulating round Paris. The Reformation had arrived. It wasn’t long before Calvin was converted to faith in Christ and the task of Reformation. He gave up his career as a classical scholar and identified with the Protestant cause in France.
In the Fall of 1533, Nicholas Cop, rector of the University of Paris gave a strong Protestant address. Many suspected it was Cop’s close friend, John Calvin, who’d written it. The University was thrown into such an uproar, Calvin had to flee the city. He took refuge in Basel, Switzerland, where in March, 1536, he published the first edition of his highly influential Institutes of the Christian Religion – the Reformation’s first systematic theology.
A systematic theology is one that devotes chapters to specific doctrinal subjects. There’s a chapter on God …
- another on Christology = the study of God the Son,
- one on Pneumatology = the Holy Spirit,
- Soteriology = Salvation,
- Scripture,
- Ecclesiology = The Church,
- even a theology of Anthropology = Human Beings.
- Many systematic theologies often conclude with a chapter on what’s called Eschatology = the Study of the End Times.
Calvin’s work was the most cogent, logical, and readable explanation of Protestant doctrine the Reformation produced. It gave its young author overnight fame. Calvin worked on the Institutes for the rest of his life, adding more volumes and editing the existing content. But 20 years later it was essentially the same work though much larger. His core ideas never changed. At first it was a slim volume but five revisions later saw the last in 1559 containing four books of 80 chapters.
The preface to the Institutes was addressed to King Francis I of France. It defended the Protestants from the criticisms of their enemies, vindicating their rights to fair treatment. No one had spoken so effectively in their behalf, and with this letter Calvin was assigned the leadership of the Protestant cause after Martin Luther.
Speaking of Luther, a comparison between he and Calvin would be proper here. Keep in mind that only about 20 years separated them. Calvin certainly knew of Luther and Luther heard of the young Frenchman in Geneva.
While the cornerstone of Luther’s theology was the doctrine of justification by faith, Calvin’s was the sovereignty of God. They both had a massive sense of the majesty of God, but for Luther that all just added to the richness of the miracle of forgiveness. Calvin’s emphasis rested on the unassailability of God’s purpose.
Calvin shared Luther’s four central Protestant beliefs, but he was born a generation after Luther in a different land and was a far different sort of person.
Luther was a monk and university professor. Calvin was a scholar and city manager. While both men lived and worked during a time of great social turmoil, their realms of influence were different.
Luther saw himself as the point man for an entire movement in the Church, calling it back to what God intended it to be. Calvin followed in Luther’s train but to a highly specialized work in it – to implement Biblical principles in the civil sphere.
The differences between Calvin and Luther are reflected in their portraits. As Luther aged, he filled out and his face softened, though his tone became more acerbic. As Calvin aged, though thin to begin with, he lost weight. His face became angular and lined. He looks as if he’s cut from stone.
Calvin’s exceptional administrative abilities enabled him to build on the work of Ulrich Zwingli. The reform he started at Zurich spread rapidly in German-speaking Eastern Switzerland. The Swiss Reformation spread to the important German city of Strasbourg where Martin Bucer was more sympathetic to Zwingli than Luther.
When Zwingli died at the Battle of Kappel, the Reformation in Switzerland was left without a leader. Zwingli’s student Heinrich Bullinger did a fine job of leading the church in Zurich but that was pretty much the limit of his ability. The success of what Calvin was doing in Geneva shifted the focus away from Eastern Switzerland to the West, French-speaking Swiss city of Geneva.
When Calvin fled Paris for Strasbourg in the Summer of 1536, his brother, sister and 2 friends went with him. They put up for a night at an inn in Geneva. But word spread quickly that the author of the Institutes was in town. Farel was ecstatic. Desperate for help, he rushed to the inn and pleaded with Calvin to stay. Upon his consent, Farel convinced the Geneva city council to appoint Calvin to lead the Reformation there. Interestingly, Calvin never held an official political post and didn’t even become a citizen until 1559.
Calvin’s goal was to make Geneva a “holy commonwealth” where the Law of God became the laws of man. He preached daily and twice on Sunday. He started a school for training young people and arranged for the care of the poor and needy. Under Calvin’s direction, Geneva became a model of Reformation belief and practice.
And by model, I mean EXAMPLE. Protestant refugees from all over Europe flooded into the City. They sat under Calvin’s teaching, and when they returned home, took his theology and Geneva’s example with them. This explains the dramatic spread of Calvinism throughout Western Europe.
In addition to his strenuous preaching schedule, Calvin was a prodigious writer. He penned lectures, theological treatises, and commentaries on 33 books of the OT, along with the entire NT sans Revelation. Church historian Philip Schaff claims Calvin was the founder of the modern historical-grammatical method of studying the Bible.[1] Calvin also carried on a massive correspondence with people all over Europe.
But, Calvin’s launch at Geneva got off to a rocky start. A mere 18 months into his new position both he and Farel were banished for disagreeing with the city council. Calvin resumed his prior journey to Strasbourg, where he settled down and pastored for 3 years, married the widow of an Anabaptist and became the adoptive father to her two children.
By 1541 Calvin’s reputation had spread. He wrote three more books and revised his Institutes. He’d become good friends with leading Reformers Martin Bucer and Philip Melanchthon. He was asked to return to Geneva by the authorities, and spent the rest of his life establishing a theocratic society there.
Calvin believed the Church should faithfully mirror the principles laid down in the Bible. He argued that the NT taught four orders of ministry: pastors, elders, deacons, and doctors, by which he meant ‘teachers.’ Geneva was organized around these four offices.
Pastors conducted church services, preached, administered the sacraments of Communion and baptism, and cared for the spiritual welfare of parishioners. In each of the three parish churches, two Sunday services and a catechism class were offered. The Lord’s Supper was celebrated every three months.
The Doctors or as we would call them, teachers, lectured in Latin on the Old and New Testaments; Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays. Their students were mostly older schoolboys and ministers, but anyone could attend.
Elders kept an eye on spiritual affairs. If they saw someone was often snockered from too much ale, or that Mr. Smith beat his wife, or Mr. Jones and Mrs. Faraday were seeing a little too much of each other, they admonished them in a brotherly manner. If the behavior continued, they reported the matter to the church’s governing body, which would summon the offender for an inquiry. Excommunication was a last resort and remained in force until the guilty party repented.
Finally, social welfare was the charge of the Deacons. They were the hospital-management board, social-security executives, and alms-house supervisors. The deacons were so effective, Geneva had no beggars.
The system worked so well for so many years, when the Scotsman John Knox visited Geneva in 1554, he wrote a friend that the city “is the most perfect school of Christ that ever was in the Earth since the days of the Apostles.”
We have a lot more to look at with Calvin and Geneva, but we’ll get too it in our next episodes.
[1] Schaff, 8:118–119
by Lance Ralston | Jun 7, 2015 | English |
This episode is titled, Taking It Further.
History, or I should say, the reporting of it, shows a penchant for identifying one person, a singular standout as the locus of change. This despite the recurring fact there were others who participated in or paralleled that change. Such is the case with Martin Luther and the Swiss Reformer Ulrich Zwingli. While Luther is the “historic bookmark” for the genesis of the Reformation, in some ways, Zwingli was ahead of him.
Born in Switzerland in 1484, Ulrich Zwingli was educated in the best universities and ordained a priest. Possessing a keen mind, intense theological inquiry coupled to a keen spiritual struggle brought him to a genuine faith in 1516, a year before Luther tacked his 95 thesis to Wittenberg’s door. Two yrs later, Zwingli arrived in Zurich where he spent the rest of his life. By 1523, he was leading the Reformation in Switzerland.
Zwingli’s preaching convinced Zurich’s city council to permit the clergy to marry. They abolished the Mass and banned images and statues in public worship. They dissolved the monasteries and severed ties with Rome. Recognizing the central place the Bible was to have in the Christian life, the Zurich reformers published the NT in their own vernacular in 1524 and the entire Bible 6 yrs later; 4 yrs before Luther’s German translation was available.
Zwingli didn’t just preach a Reformation message, he lived it. He married Anna Reinhart in 1522.
In one important respect, Zwingli followed the Bible more specifically than Luther. Martin allowed whatever the Bible did not prohibit. Zwingli rejected whatever the Bible did not prescribe. So the Reformation in Zurich tended to strip away more traditional symbols of the Roman church: the efficacy of lighting candles, the use of statues and pictures as objects of devotion, even church music was ended. Later, in England, these reforms would come to be called “Puritanism.”
But more than the application of Reformation principles, Zwingli’s bookmark in history is pegged to the Eucharistic controversy his teaching stirred. He was at the center of a major theological debate concerning the Lord’s Table. Between 1525 and 8, a bitter war of words was waged between Zwingli and Luther. During this debate, Luther would write a tract and Zwingli would reply. Then Zwingli would pen a treatise and Luther would reply. This went back and forth for 3 yrs. It was a war fought with pamphlets as the ammunition.
Both sides rejected the Roman doctrine of transubstantiation—that the prayer of a duly authorized priest transformed the elements into the literal body and blood of Christ. Their disagreement centered on Jesus’ words, “This is My body.” Luther and his followers adopted the position known consubstantiation, which says Jesus is present “in, with, and under” the elements and taking Communion spiritually strengthens the believer.
Zwingli and his supporters regarded this as an unnecessary compromise with the doctrine of transubstantiation. They said Jesus’ words had to be understood symbolically. The elements represented Jesus’ blood and body, and Communion was merely a memorial. An important memorial to be sure, but the bread and wine were just symbols.
The debate remains to this day.
It should be noted that during his last years, Zwingli seems to have moved to a new position in regard to Communion. He came to recognize a spiritual presence of Christ in the elements, though reducing the idea to words is a proposition far beyond the capacity of this podcast to do. This later position of Zwingli was the position of Philip Melanchthon, Luther’s assistant and spiritual heir.
Following hundreds of years of tradition, Zwingli, along with many other Reformers, believed the State and Church should reinforce one another in the work of God; there should be no separation. That’s why the Reformation became increasingly political and split Switzerland into Catholic and Protestant cantons, and eventually saw all of Europe carved up into differing religious regions. The terrible Wars of Religion were the result.
Switzerland at that time was a network of 13 counties called cantons. These were loosely federated and basically democratic. Culturally, the north and east were German, while the west was French, and the south was Italian. The Reformation spread from Zurich, chief city of the capital canton, to the rest of German Switzerland, who were nevertheless reluctant to come under the politic al control of Zurich. Several cantons remained militantly Roman Catholic and resisted Zwingli’s influence for largely economic reasons.
As political tensions grew, several Protestant cantons formed the Christian Civic League. Feeling pressed and threatened, the Catholic cantons also organized and allied themselves with the king of Austria. A desire to avoid war led to the First Peace of Kappel in 1529. But as often happens, once a treaty was hammered out, the only option left was war. Sure enough, two yrs later, five Roman Catholic cantons attacked Zurich, which was unprepared. Zwingli fought as a common soldier in the Battle of Kappel in 1531 and died in the field.
The Second Peace of Kappel hammered out at the end of the year prohibited further spread of the Reformation in Switzerland. Heinrich Bullinger, Zwingli’s son-in-law, took over leadership of the Protestant cause in Zurich and enjoyed great influence across Europe.
An important aspect of Zwingli’s impact on the Reformation was that he cast it along civic lines, with a view to establishing a model Christian community. He persuaded the city council to legislate various details of the Reformation. He aimed at political reform as well as spiritual regeneration.
The inter-canton struggles of this period led to the growing independence of the city of Geneva, which became the home of John Calvin, the other great Reformation luminary. The Swiss Reformation and Zwinglian movement ended up merging with Calvinism later in the 16th C.
Often overlooked in a review of the Reformation are those we might call the REAL reformers – better known as the radical reformers.
Not all those who broke with Rome agreed with Zwingli, Luther, or Calvin. As early as 1523 in Zurich, there were those whose vision of Reform outstripped Zwingli’s. This movement coalesced around 2 leaders: Conrad Grebel and Felix Manz.
On the 21st of Jan, 1525, a little group met in the home of Felix Manz. The Zurich City Council had just ordered Grebel and Manz to stop teaching the Bible. Four days earlier the Council ordered parents to baptize their babies within eight days of birth or face exile. But a group of Zurich’s citizens questioned the practice of infant baptism. They met in Manz’s home to decide what to do. After a time of prayer, they agreed they’d obey what their conscience told them God’s Word said and trust Him to work things out. In an immediate application of that decision, a former priest named George Blaurock asked Conrad Grebel to baptism him in the fashion modeled in the Book of Acts. So, upon confession of His faith in Christ, Grebel baptized him, then Blaurock and Grebel together baptized the others.
Anabaptism, another important expression of the Protestant Reformation, was born.
As a term, anabaptist means “to baptize again.” The Anabaptists stressed believer’s baptism, as opposed to infant baptism. But the term “Anabaptist” refers to diverse groups of Reformers, many of whom embraced radical social, political, economic, and religious views. Some Anabaptist groups are known as the Swiss Brethren, the Mennonites, Hutterites, and the Amish. While those names may conjure up images of buggies, overalls, bonnets and long beards, it’s important to recognize that the Anabaptist tradition lies at the heart of a far larger slice of the Christian and Protestant world. Many modern groups and independent local churches could rightly be called Anabaptist in the bulk of their theology, though ignorant of their spiritual heritage.
While the theology of the Anabaptist groups ended up being widely spread across the doctrinal spectrum, their main stream adhered to the sound, expository teaching of the Scriptures, the Trinity, justification by faith, and the atonement of Christ. What got them in trouble with some of their Reformation brethren was their rejection of infant baptism, which both Catholic and most other Protestant groups affirmed. They argued for a gathered, voluntary church concept as opposed to a State church. They advocated a separation of church and state and adopted pacifism and nonviolent resistance. They said Christians should live communally and share their material possessions. Counter-intuitively to all this, they preached and practiced a strict form of church discipline. Any one of these would mark them as distinct from other Reformation groups; but taken together, the Anabaptists were destined to run into trouble with Lutherans and Calvin’s followers.
That’s what happened in Zurich. Zwingli’s reforming zeal produced an intolerance of his disciples Grebel and Manz who simply wanted to take the reforms further. They tried to convince Zwingli to follow thru into a genuine NT pattern, but all they did was provoke him to urge the City Council to fine, imprisoned, and eventually martyr them and their followers.
The rise of Anabaptism ought to have been no surprise. Revolutions nearly always spin off a radical fringe that feels its destiny is to reform the reformation. Really, that’s what Anabaptism was; a voice calling moderate reformers to take it further; to go all the way into a genuine NT model.
Like most such movements, the Anabaptists lacked cohesion. By lifting up the Bible as their sole authority, they resisted framing a cogent set of doctrinal distinctives. That meant the movement fragmented into several theological streams with no single body of doctrine and no unifying organization prevailing among them. Even the name “Anabaptist” was pinned on them by their enemies and was meant to class them as radicals at best and at worst, dangerous heretics. The campaign to slander them worked well.
In reality, the Radical Reformers rejected the idea of “rebaptism” they were accused of because they never considered the ceremonial sprinkling of infants as valid. They preferred to be called simply “Baptists.” But the fundamental issue wasn’t baptism. It was the nature of the Church and its relation to civil government.
The Radical Reformers came to their convictions as other Protestants had; by reading the Bible. Luther taught that common people had a right to read, understand and apply the Scriptures for themselves, they didn’t need some specially-trained church hierarchy to do all that for them. So, little groups of Anabaptists gathered around their Bibles.
Picture a home Bible study. They discover in the pages of Scripture a very different world from the one the official church had concocted in their day. There was no state-church alliance in the Bible, no so-called “Christendom.” Rather, the Church was comprised of local, autonomous communities of believers drawn together by their faith in Jesus and nurtured by local pastors. And while that seems like a massive “Duh!” to many non-denominational Evangelicals today, it was a revolutionary idea in the 16th C.
You see, though Luther stressed a personal faith for each believer, Lutheran churches were understood as linked together to form THE Church of Germany. Clergy were ordained by a spiritual hierarchy and the entire population of a region were de-facto members of that region’s church. The Church looked to the State for salary and support. In those years, Protestantism differed little from Catholicism in terms of its relationship to the civil authority. If the State was society’s arm with the strength to enforce, the Church was its heart and mind with the insight to inspire and inform.
Or, think of it this way, for 16th C Catholicism, Lutheranism and Calvinism, in society, the State was the body, the Church was the soul. They saw the Radical Reformers insistence that the Church and State were separate as creating a headless monster destined to do great harm.
The Radical Reformers, as we’d suspect, responded with Scripture. Hadn’t Jesus said His kingdom was not of this world? Hadn’t he told Peter to put away his sword? And besides, hadn’t history amply proven that secular, civil power corrupts the Church? All true, but it seems reason and evidence didn’t endear the Radical Reformers to their opponents.
The Anabaptists wanted to reinstall “apostolic Christianity” by which they meant, the Faith as practiced in the NT, where the only members of the Church were those who were genuinely born again, not everyone who happened to be born in a province with a Christian prince.
The True Church, they insisted, is always and only a community of dedicated disciples seeking to live faithfully in the midst of a wicked world.
So that little group that gathered in Manz’s home in January 1525 knew what they were doing was a violation of Zurich’s city council. Persecution was sure to follow. Shortly after the baptism they withdrew from Zurich to the nearby village of Zollikon. There, late in January, the first Anabaptist congregation, the first free church in modern times, was born.
The authorities in Zurich couldn’t overlook what they deemed blatant rebellion. They sent police to Zollikon and arrested the newly baptized and imprisoned them for a time. But as soon as they were released the Anabaptists went to neighboring towns where they made more converts.
Time and warnings passed and the Zurich council ran out of patience. A little over a year later they declared anyone found re-baptizing would be put to death by drowning. “If the heretics want water, they can have it.” Another year went by when the council followed thru on their threat and in Jan, 1527, Felix Manz was the 1st Anabaptist martyr. The authorities drowned him in the Limmat. Just 4 yrs later, the Anabaptists in and around Zurich were virtually wiped out.
Many fled to Germany and Austria where their prospects weren’t any better. In 1529, the Imperial Diet of Speyer declared Anabaptism a heresy and every region of Christendom was obliged to condemn them to death. Between 4 and 5 thousand were executed over the next several years.
The Anabaptists had a simple demand: That a person have a right to his/her own beliefs. What we may not realize is that while that seems an imminently reasonable and assumed axiom for us—it was an idea bequeathed TO US by them! It’s not at all what MOST people thought in the 16th C. No way! No how! The Radical Reformers seemed to Moderate Reformers like Luther and Zwingli to be destroying the very fabric of society. There was simply little conception of a society that wasn’t shaped by the Church’s influence on the State with the State’s enforcement of Church policy.
We hear the Anabaptist voice in a letter written by a young mother, to her daughter only a few days old. è It’s 1573, and the father has already been executed. The mother, in jail, was reprieved long enough to give birth to her child. She writes to urge her daughter not to grow up ashamed of her parents: “My dearest child, the true love of God strengthen you in virtue, you who are yet so young, and whom I must leave in this wicked, evil, perverse world. à Oh, that it had pleased the Lord that I might have brought you up, but it seems that it is not the Lord’s will.… Be not ashamed of us; it is the way which the prophets and the apostles went. Your dear father demonstrated with his blood that it is the genuine faith, and I also hope to attest the same with my blood, though flesh and blood must remain on the posts and on the stake, well knowing that we shall meet hereafter.”
Persecution forced the Anabaptists north. Many of them found refuge on the lands of a tolerant prince in Moravia. There they founded a Christian commune called the Bruderhof which lasted for many years.
A tragic event happened among the Anabaptists in the mid-1530’s that’s another frequent historical trait. The very thing the Lutherans feared, happened.
In 1532, the Reformation spread rapidly throughout the city of Munster. A conservative Lutheran group was the first form of the Reformation to take root there. Then immigrants arrived who were Anabaptist apostles of a shadowy figure named Jan Matthis. What we know about him was written by his critics so he’s cast as a fanatic who whipped the Munster officials into a fury of excitement that God was going to set up his kingdom on earth with Munster as the capital.
The bishop of the region massed his troops to besiege the city and the Anabaptists uncharacteristically defended themselves. During the siege, the more extreme leaders gained control of the city. Then in the Summer of 1534 Jan of Leiden, seized control and declared himself sole ruler. He claimed to receive revelations from God for the city’s victory. He instituted the OT practice of polygamy and took the title “King David.”
With his harem “King David” lived in splendor, but was able to maintain morale in the city in spite of massive hunger due to the siege. He kept the bishop’s army at bay until the end of June, 1535. The fall of the city brought an end to his and the Anabaptist’s rule. But for centuries after, many Europeans equated the word “Anabaptist” with the debacle of the Munster Rebellion. It stood for wild-eyed, religious fanaticism.
Munster was to the Anabaptists what the televangelist scandals of the 80’s were to Evangelicalism; a serious black eye, that in no way reflected their real beliefs. In the aftermath of Munster, the dispirited Anabaptists of Western Germany were encouraged by the work of Menno Simons. A former priest, Menno visited the scattered Anabaptist groups of northern Europe, inspiring them with his preaching. He was unswerving in commanding pacifism. His name in time came to stand for the Mennonite repudiation of violence.
As we end this episode, I want to recommend if anyone wants a much fuller treatment of the Munster Rebellion, let me suggest you visit the Hardcore History podcast titled Prophets of Doom. This podcast by Dan Carlin is an in-depth 4½ hr long investigation of this chapter of Munster’s story.
by Lance Ralston | May 31, 2015 | English |
This episode of CS is titled Luther’s Legacy.
Long time subscribers to CS know that while the podcast isn’t bias free, I do strive to treat subjects fairly. However, being a pastor of a non-denominational, evangelical Christian church in SoCal, I do have my views and opinions on the material we cover. When I share those opinions, I try to mark them as such. So >> Warning; Blatant opinion now ensues …
We live in the Era of the Instant. People expect to have things quickly and relatively easily. Technology has produced an array of labor-saving devices that reduce once arduous tasks to effortless, “push a button and voila” procedures. Sadly, many assume such instantifying applies to the acquisition of knowledge as well. The internet enhances this expectation with ready access to on-line information, not just thru a desktop computer, but via smartphones where ever we are.
And of course, if it’s on the interwebs, it must be true.
But knowledge and understanding are different things. Knowing a fact doesn’t equal understanding a concept, truth or principle. And many people now want their history in condensed form. They don’t really care to understand so much as to “get an A on the quiz” or, be able to answer trivia game questions. They can answer multiple choice but wouldn’t have a clue how to write an essay.
I say all this as we fill in some of our gaps on Martin Luther for two reasons.
First – The very nature of this podcast, short snippets on Church history, can easily foster a cavalier attitude toward our subject. So I need to make a MASSIVE qualifier and say that if all someone listens to is CS, they must never, ever assume they know Church History. My entire aim is to give those who listen reference points, a broad sweep of history with just enough detail to spark your embarking on your own journey of studying this fascinating subject. Pick one era, maybe just 1st C, and one region, then study everything you can find about it. Become an expert on that one span of history. Press in past the dates and people and places, seeking to truly understand. Then use that to expand your study either backward or forward in time.
Second – When we think of someone like Martin Luther, we tend to make him an index for a certain idea or movement. “Martin Luther: Father of the Reformation.” The problem with this is that we then tend to assume Luther was born with the intent of breaking away from the Roman church, as our last 2 episodes have shown was not at all the case. The evolution of Luther’s thoughts was an amazing microcosm of what was happening in at least hundreds, and probably thousands of people at that time. He just happened to be positioned as the lightening rod of change.
In this episode, I want to fill in some of the gaps the previous couple episodes left because of our time-limited routine here on CS. What follows is a bit of a hodge-podge meant to provide a little more context for understanding Luther and how he came to the ideas he articulated and millions ended up embracing.
Martin Luther ranks as one of the most influential figures of the last thousand years. While Marco Polo and Columbus opened new lands, Shakespeare and Michelangelo produced some of the most sublime art, and Napoleon and Stalin changed the political face of their times, Luther triggered a change in the human spirit that’s reached billions all around the world. The ideas announced in his sermons and written in books have affected virtually every realm and sphere of human activity, from politics to art, work to leisure. Truth be told, Luther’s main body of work was a conscious part of the early American character and continued to play a central role until recently. It was Luther who played wet-nurse to the Modern world’s emergence from Medievalism. We can neither credit nor blame Luther for the whole of what eventually became Protestantism, but as one who played a critical role in the emergence of a new movement and a new way of life for millions of people, the influence of his actions and beliefs on the past 500 years is beyond calculating. The modern world can barely be understood without Luther and the Reformation he sparked.
Once Martin Luther was ordained a priest and settled into his ministry at Erfurt, his superiors in the Augustinian order decided he should continue with his theological studies. Having gained a Master of Arts, he was qualified to lecture on philosophy. But he knew he needed more study to qualify as a lecturer on the Bible.
The first step toward that end was to lecture on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, a standard theology textbook of the Middle Ages, which collected extracts from Scripture and the early church Fathers, arranged under topical headings to enhance discussion of theological issues. Under the guidance of Johann Nathin, a Professor of Theology and a senior member of Luther’s order, Luther set to work studying texts such as Gabriel Biel’s Dogmatics, a commentary on Lombard’s Sentences. Luther devoured Lombard’s theology.
Meanwhile, Johann von Staupitz had been involved with the German Prince and Elector, Frederick the Wise, in establishing a new university in a small town called Wittenberg, 100 miles NW of Erfurt. In the Winter of 1508–9, he invited Luther to move and teach there. Staupitz was himself Lecturer in Biblical Studies in Wittenberg, so the idea was for Luther to help with the teaching of Aristotle’s Ethics. At the same time, he would work towards his doctorate, the ultimate qualification to teach theology in the church and university. After a single term, he was recalled to Erfurt for a further two years to fill a gap in the teaching program, but eventually returned to Wittenberg in 1512. Luther was placed in charge of teaching younger Augustinian friars in the order’s house in town. He received his doctorate in mid-October and enrolled as a full teaching member of the university.
These years also saw the growth of Luther’s profile within the Augustinian Order. In 1510, he was sent with a fellow friar to Rome to try to sort out a complex internal matter connected with the order. They assumed his training as a lawyer positioned him as perfect for the job. The trip proved unsuccessful, but it was Luther’s only trip outside Germany.
The Modern and mostly uninformed view of the Middle Ages is that it was a time when the people of Europe assumed they knew everything, and that the everything they knew was colossally wrong. But we Moderns NOW know è WE know everything. Ha!
It does not take much investigation to realize this image of medieval thought is far from true. Erfurt, like most German universities of the time, was a place of wide theological variety. For several centuries, theology in the universities of Europe had been dominated by The Scholastics.
By the time Luther came on the scene, there were three main types of Scholastic theology in operation. The first two, following the teaching of Thomas Aquinas and Duns Scotus were by then known as the ‘old way’ or Realists. Alongside this was emerging a new kind of theology, called the ‘modern way’, o r Nominalists.
One central question medieval theologians often pondered concerned the parts played by God and humans in salvation. The question of how we can come into a right relationship with God or, as the theologians called it, the doctrine of justification, was a hot topic. Contrary to what we might think, no one in late-medieval theological circles believed that a person could earn salvation purely by their own efforts. All agreed that God’s grace was necessary for salvation. The point at issue was how much and what kind of help was needed, and what part people played in the process. The Church’s teaching on this question was far from clear, and a number of different positions were held, not least among the Nominalist faction.
One group took their cue from the great 5th C Bishop of Hippo, St Augustine. When it came to the doctrine of justification, they held that humanity was helpless. Only God himself, by his sovereign mercy, could intervene and save people. Another group of Nominalists, the group that had an early influence on Luther, such as William of Ockham and Gabriel Biel, thought there was something which could be done to initiate the process of salvation.
When Luther read Biel’s textbook, he was persuaded by the idea that God has entered into a covenant, or pact, with humanity. If the sinner did what lay within him, then God would not deny him grace. Within the framework of this agreement or covenant, sinners were capable of making a small moral effort on their own, without the help of God’s grace. This initial effort was required before God would respond. This might involve feeling a genuine sorrow for sin, or generating a sense of love for God. In response to this, God would give a supply (‘infusion’ was the technical term) of His grace to help fan this spark into a flame. But this initial gift of grace was not enough to access salvation on its own. The Christian then had to cooperate with God’s grace and, by the exercise of good works done with God’s help, perfect this contrition for sin and love for God, so that salvation could truly be attained.
At the same time one group of Nominalists was scratching this out, another movement with its origins a Century earlier scorned all these movements within scholastic thought. The Renaissance, which had begun in Northern Italy, spread into Germany. It captured the allegiance of many younger scholars, with its exciting promise of returning to the sources of classical Greece and Rome as a model for literature, art, architecture, law and rhetoric.
‘Humanism,’ as this program was known, isn’t to be confused with modern humanism, that is, secular humanism, which is atheistic. While it did have a high view of human dignity, the 16th C version was religious in character, something most colleges and universities today neglect to mention. Renaissance humanism, or the study of the humanities wasn’t so much a set of ideas or philosophical opinions, as a yearning for all things classical. The great motivating desire was to acquire eloquence and skill with words and language. So, everything was devoted towards a new kind of education, which involved making the study of classical texts possible—as these were thought the best models of eloquence available. These texts could be Greek literature, Roman law, classical poetry or early Christian theology. So, the humanists promoted the study of Greek and Hebrew, alongside Latin, the language of all scholarly work in the Middle Ages, so that these texts could be read in the original, avoiding what they felt was the misleading filter of medieval translations.
Humanists took particular exception to the methods and products of scholastic theology, of every stripe, Nominalist or Realist. They felt that the scholastic method encouraged the asking and answering of a series of irrelevant questions. They also objected to the method of using medieval commentaries, rather than the original texts themselves. For the humanist, lengthy medieval interpretations simply got in the way of the brilliance of the original authors. Humanists wanted a direct encounter with the original text of classical authors, the Bible and the Fathers, rather than have all that muddied by an extra layer of explanations made by lesser, more recent scholars, writing in crude and verbose medieval Latin.
So, using the recent invention of the printing press, humanists reproduced of a whole series of ancient Christian texts, which made a new kind of scholarship possible. Three works in particular were important.
First, in 1503, Erasmus published the Enchiridion or Handbook of the Christian Soldier. It laid out a program of reform for the Church.
Second, in 1506, an 11-volume edition of the Works of Augustine appeared. For the first time in centuries, it was possible to read the greatest authority in Western theology in full, in context, and without the help of medieval commentators.
Third, and most important was Erasmus’s greatest achievement, his Greek New Testament published in 1516. Although this edition was not as reliable as it might have been since Erasmus had a limited number of texts to work from—it became the first-ever printed edition of the Greek text, so that, for the first time, theologians all over Europe had the chance to compare the standard Latin Bible text with the original. A number of disturbing things emerged. For example, medieval theologians were unanimous in seeing marriage as a full sacrament of the church, alongside holy communion and baptism, on the basis of Jerome’s translation of Ephesians 5:32, which referred to it as a sacrament. When Erasmus’s edition appeared, it became clear that the original Greek word really meant ‘mystery’. The scriptural basis for regarding marriage as equal in value to baptism and Communion was shaken. So, the work of Erasmus and the other humanists played a major part in loosening the hold of the church’s authority in the minds of many educated laypeople.
While they didn’t engage in outright warfare, scholasticism and humanism jostled in the lecture halls and universities across Germany in the early years of the 16th C. Erfurt where Luther was, was no exception. The two schools of thought were both present in the university, although relationships between them were, on the whole, fairly amiable. Luther was known for his knowledge of classical writers. He likely attended lectures by humanist teachers.
This was the theological landscape at the time Luther’s mind was being formed. Taught theology by nominalists, Luther believed as long as he did his best, God would give him grace to help him to become better. Humanist texts allowed him to study the great authorities of the Bible and the Fathers with fresh eyes. From 1509–10, he studied Augustine’s works and Lombard’s Sentences, and some of the notes he made in the margins of these works have survived to this day. They show him to be a not particularly original adherent of the theology of the Modern Way. He’d followed his teachers well, and there was little sign at this stage of departure from them.
Luther was often plagued by bouts of depression. He wondered whether God really did hold good intentions towards him, sensing rather the stern stare of Christ as judge, demanding from him an impossible level of purity. He wondered whether these feelings were evidence he wasn’t chosen at all, but that he was among those destined to be damned to eternal suffering.
On the shelves of the library of the Augustinian friary in Erfurt were copies of several works by Bernard of Clairvaux. Bernard was something of a hero to monks like Luther, having developed a rich spiritual theology in the 12th C, and lots of advice on the spiritual life. Luther read these and heard them read over meals. He noticed Bernard’s close attention to Scripture, and a piety which kept returning to the sufferings and humility of Jesus. Bernard advised his readers to meditate on the cross of Christ, especially when anxious or depressed. One of the virtues gained from such meditation was humility, a virtue greatly valued by God. Bernard said humility’s abiding image was the crucified Christ, and how God used the experience of suffering, even seasons of doubt, to bring humility to the human soul. à This was a tonic to the oft-tormented Luther.
This emphasis on the Scriptures and pondering the cross, passed on by earlier scholars like Bernard and Augustine plowed and planted the field of Luther’s mind for the fruit it would later produce in the central doctrine of the Reformation – Justification by Faith Alone.
A recent biographer called Martin Luther “A catastrophe in the history of Western civilization.” If we look only at the religious wars which were part of the Reformation, that verdict seems fair. But if we widen the criteria of our evaluation to Luther’s role in calling the church to a simpler, more just and communal vision, in puncturing the conceited abuse of power and hierarchical oppression of a moribund institution which nearly all admit was grotesquely corrupt, not to mention the inspiration which his theology has been to countless people over the centuries since, that judgment isn’t fair.
Luther was a man of immense personal courage, fierce intelligence, and furious stubbornness. A mind steeped in the theology of his time, an ability to see quickly to the heart of an issue, and an eloquence that enabled him to express his ideas with clarity, was a powerful mixture. He inspired deep loyalty, even ardent love on the part of his supporters. He had a capacity to enjoy life in a huge way. He could be both tender and sharp, and his absence left an irreplaceable gap. As Melanchthon put it at Luther’s funeral, now they were ‘entirely poor, wretched, forsaken, orphans who had lost a dear noble man as our father’. At the same time, Luther was a man with deep flaws, who made enemies as quickly as friends, and whose brilliant language could be used to hurt as much as to heal.
As we end this episode, I wanted to share something I found that I thought was really good in regards to Luther’s Enduring Legacy. It has to do with his doctrine of Justification by Faith. These thoughts are sparked by Graham Tomlin’s Luther and His World.
Our Postmodern culture isn’t concerned with the same questions that dominated the 16th C. People today don’t agonize, as Luther did, over where to find a gracious God. Modern men and women aren’t in the least bit concerned about the demands of a whole series of religious rules. But they do experience the constant demand to live up to standards of beauty set by the glamour industry; to levels of achievement set by business targets, or to standards of talent set by entertainment and sports. How to understand the self is a persistent and difficult problem modern psychotherapy aims to ameliorate.
While Luther obviously worked before the development psychology, his doctrine of justification by faith has something to say to modern man. It says that human worth lies not in any ability or quality we possess, but in the simple fact that we are loved by our Creator.
At the Heidelberg Disputation of 1518, Luther claimed: “Sinners are attractive because they are loved, not loved because they are attractive.” He used to say that our value lies not inside us, but outside us; in Christ himself. The righteousness of the Christian, in which he/she stands before God, is not their own righteousness, but is Christ’s own righteousness, received by faith. They can know their true value is found not in any good quality in themselves, nor any good actions they’ve performed, but in the fact they’re loved by God. Luther’s location of value entirely ‘outside ourselves’, in God’s love manifested in Christ, safeguards a sense that our worth is unshakeable. Whether in work or unemployed, able-bodied or disabled; red or yellow, black or white we’re ALL precious in God’s sight. Even if we experience doubt over our worth through despair at our own capabilities, virtue or reputation, this sense of ultimate value cannot be taken away and can become the foundation of a secure and steady self-image because it’s received rather than achieved.
But there’s more and this is where the doctrine of justification by faith can touch and heal our shattered world. The doctrine reverses the way in which we tend to evaluate other people. If a person’s value lies in a quality or feature which they possess, such as a particular skill or ability or ethnicity, it can make distinctions between people. Some people are more valuable and some are less; and we’re back to Apartheid, slavery, and the Holocaust. If, however, as justification by faith insists, a person’s true value lies not in anything they possess but in something ‘outside themselves’; that they are loved by God—then we can’t make such distinctions. Each person has dignity and value, and deserves equal treatment, regardless of age, skills, social utility or earning capacity.
The Biblical Doctrine of Justification by Faith utterly upends Critical Theory which carves people into groups and sets worth solely by their identity IN that group. For the Biblical truth of Salvation by Grace through Faith resets human identity in only two groups; the lost and saved = Both of which are loved eternally by God, a love made manifest in the Cross of Christ.
There is, however, at the same time a sobering honesty about Luther’s doctrine of justification. He insists that the first step to wisdom, to a rock-solid, immovable sense of self-worth, is to take a good look into the depths of one’s own soul. It means to face up honestly to the self-centeredness, lack of love for one’s neighbor, cowardice and indifference towards those who are suffering that lurks there. This is no easy doctrine which glosses over the reality of sin and evil in the human heart, the capacity to inflict pain and injustice which lies in everyone. For Luther, God has to help us to look into this abyss before we can go any further. This is far from that pleasant middle-class religion which assumes that everyone is good and nice, and which refuses to look beneath the surface. Luther’s God insists on facing up to the dark secrets inside, the selfish motivations and hidden desires.
But this is only preliminary. Some forms of religion have implied that this is the sum of religion—making us feel bad about ourselves. Luther insists this is merely a necessary first step—a means to an end, but not an end in itself. God breaks up the fragile foundations of a sense of self-worth based in our own virtues, in order to establish a much firmer rock upon which to build. Luther would have been wary of psychological techniques which try to build self-worth by positive thinking and self-talk.
Justification by faith is a reminder to Christians that they approach God not on the basis of who they are, but on the basis of who Christ is. Self-worth, value and forgiveness are gifts, not rights. It’s nothing to do with achieving an elusive goal of becoming the idealized person they might like to be in their most hopeful moments. It is a reminder that it is only when they stop trying to be someone else, and start being honest about who they really are, that they can begin to receive God’s acceptance of them à In Christ.
It doesn’t get any more Biblical than that!
by Lance Ralston | May 24, 2015 | English |
This episode of CS is titled, Luther’s Struggle.
As we saw last time, Luther’s situation after appearing before Emperor Charles V at the Diet of Worms didn’t look hopeful. The majority of officials there decided to apply the papal bull excommunicating Luther and removing his protection. Some of the nobles knew they could incur the Pope’s favor by taking matters into their own hands and assassinating the troublesome priest. But the German prince Frederick the Wise, one of the Emperor’s most important supporters, arranged to air-quotes à “kidnap” Luther on his way back to Wittenberg. He secreted Luther to his castle at Wartburg under an assumed identity. Now in hiding, Luther used the time to translate the NT from Greek into a superbly simple German Bible. He finished it in the Fall of 1522 and followed it up with an OT translation from Hebrew. This took longer and wasn’t finished till 1534. The completed Bible proved to be no less a force in the German-speaking world than the King James Version was later to be in the English sphere, and it’s considered one of Luther’s most valuable contributions.
The revolt against Rome sparked by Luther’s list tacked to the castle church door at Wittenberg began to spread. In town after town, priests and town councils removed statues from churches and abandoned the Mass. More priests and monks stepped forward, adding their voice to the call for reform, many more radical than Luther. More importantly, an increasing number of civil officials decided to back Luther in defiance of the Emperor and Pope.
By 1522, it was clear to Luther he could safety return to Wittenberg and put into practice the reforms he was convinced the Church needed to install. What he did there became the model for a good part of Germany. He abolished the office of bishop because he couldn’t find it in Scripture. Local churches needed pastors who were servants, not a religious royalty.
During his time at the Wartburg, Luther gave much thought to the issue of celibacy. He wrote a tract called On Monastic Vows where he expounded on the idea that a sequestered life wasn’t really Biblical. When he returned to Wittenberg, he dissolved the monasteries and ended clerical celibacy. The resources of the monasteries were used to relieve the poor, and marriages between former celibates became the order of the day. Erasmus noted that the tragedy of the break with Rome looked like it would finish as a comedy; with everyone married and living happily ever after.
Luther himself took a wife in 1525, the former nun, Katherine von Bora. The story goes she was an eminently practical woman but not all that attractive. When her fellow sisters got married, she was left single and approached Luther, saying it was his fault she was now alone and without support. She suggested it was his duty to remedy her situation. When he asked how he as supposed to do that, she replied marrying her was his best option. So he did.
A new image of full-time ministry appeared in western Christianity—the married pastor living like any other man with his own family. Luther later wrote, “There is a lot to get used to in the first year of marriage. One wakes up in the morning and finds a pair of pigtails on the pillow which were not there before.” By all accounts, while Martin and Katherine’s marriage began as a purely pragmatic arrangement, the love between them grew into a rich joy. Luther was deeply affectionate to his wife, who often was instrumental in keeping Luther’s frequent dark moods from overwhelming him. They had six children.
Martin and Katherine lived in what had been the Augustinian convent. Their house was nearly always full of guests who enjoyed sitting at their table. Some of his students the Luthers had in for meals took down their conversation, now published in a work called Table Talk.
Luther understood if Reform was to take root and grow, it had to be fueled by the study of the Bible. Studying Scripture required the ability to read it and to reason logically. So he placed a great emphasis on education and urged parents to send their children to school. To assist in the education of youth, he composed a Large Catechism in 1528, then a more popular Small Catechism a year later. In the Small Catechism, Luther gave a simple exposition of the Apostles’ Creed, the Lord’s Prayer, the Ten Commandments, and the two sacraments. He offered forms for confession, morning and evening prayers, and grace at meals.
Keep in mind Luther hadn’t begun in 1517 with a fully developed theological position and a plan to Reform the Roman church or break away and start a separate religious franchise. That was nowhere on the horizon. When he tacked his list on Wittenberg’s church door, it was simply a reflection of his desire that church officials begin examining both long-held traditions and more recent innovations by holding them up to the light of Scripture. As things progressed, Luther realized he had to follow his own advice.
Many Protestants have heard of Luther’s 95 Theses but they’ve not read them. It’s surprising to see what he calls for people to examine there. Turns out, there’s little in Luther’s List that ended up in the core doctrines of the Reformation. But once Luther embraced the principle of reviewing everything in the light of God’s Word, a far more complete doctrinal picture began to take shape. He saw his way clear in the matter of justification by grace thru faith. When he applied this to the issue of indulgences is when he popped up on Rome’s radar. His emerging understanding of the priesthood of all believers was a threat Rome couldn’t ignore because it threatened their religious hegemony. Soon, everything was being scrutinized in the light of Scripture.
Luther translated the Latin liturgy into German. People began receiving Communion in both bread and wine. The emphasis in church services switched from the celebration of the Mass to the preaching and teaching of God’s Word.
In 1524, Germany got a taste of how far reaching Luther’s call for reforms could reach. His insistence that church and society follow the commands of Scripture led to an uprising of the peasants against the nobility. The people applied the concept of the freedom of the Christian to the economic and social spheres. Long kept under the domineering thumb of the nobility, the peasants revolted against their feudal lords. They demanded an end to medieval serfdom, unless it could be justified from the Bible, and relief from the excessive services demanded of them which kept them in virtual slavery.
At the beginning of their protest, Luther agreed with the peasants and recognized the justice of their complaints. What he stridently warned against was the use of violence to enforce their will on a recalcitrant nobility. When violence did break out, he lashed out against the peasants. Since the printing press was already a major part of his work, he employed it again and wrote a pamphlet titled, Against the Thievish and Murderous Hordes of Peasants. In it, Luther called on the princes to “knock down, strangle, stab … and think nothing so venomous, pernicious, or Satanic as an insurgent.”
In 1525, the nobles crushed the revolt at a cost of some 100,000 lives. The survivors now called Luther a false prophet. Many of them returned to Catholicism or turned to more radical forms of the Reformation.
Luther’s conservative political and economic views devolved from his belief that the equality of all men before God applied to spiritual rather than secular matters. Though these views alienated the common people, they proved a boon to Luther’s influence with the German princes, many of whom became Lutheran in part because Luther’s views allowed them to control the Church in their territories, thereby strengthening their power and wealth.
In 1530, a conference of Reformation leaders convened in Augsburg to draw up a common Statement of Faith. The leadership of the movement had already begun to move beyond Luther. He was still an outlaw and unable to attend. So the task of presenting Luther’s ideas fell to his colleague, a young professor of Greek at Wittenberg, Philip Melanchthon. The young scholar drafted the Augsburg Confession signed by Lutheran princes and theologians. And though a growing movement of the German nobility now threw their weight behind the Reform, Emperor Charles V, who depended on their support, was no more inclined to join the movement than he’d been a Worms.
After 1530, Charles made clear his intention to crush the growing heresy. The Lutheran princes banded together in 1531 in the Schmalkald League, and between 1546 and 55 there was scattered, on-and-off-again civil war. The combatants reached a compromise in the Peace of Augsburg, which allowed each prince to decide the religion of his subjects, with the only acceptable options being Lutheran or Catholic, and ordered all Catholic bishops to give up their property if they turned Lutheran.
The effects of this treaty were profound. Lutheranism became a State religion in large portions of the Empire. It spread north to Scandinavia. Religious opinions became the private property of princes, and individuals had to believe what their prince chose.
Luther remained engaged in unending debate with the Roman Church. And it wasn’t long before he found himself embroiled in disagreements with other reformers. Outspoken and combative, he often collided with equally fierce opponents. These controversies took on a bitter edge that saw Luther hurling vicious epithets at his opponents. The insults he’d once used for the Pope were turned on fellow Reformers. All this greatly hampered reform.
For example, Luther became entangled in a controversy with the humanist scholar and reformer Erasmus. The two had much in common, sharing concerns for scholarship, for opening up the Scriptures, and for doctrinal and practical reform. Still, they differed sharply in character and theological approach. Under pressure to declare himself either for Luther or against him, Erasmus turned to the important issue of the freedom of the will and published a work titled, Diatribe on Free Will in 1524. To this Luther made a scornfully sharp reply a year later in his Bondage of the Will. This work is a powerful statement of the Augustinian position that in matters of righteousness and salvation human will has no power to act apart from God’s enabling grace. Erasmus replied to Luther’s reply, but Luther ignored it. Erasmus then aligned himself with opponents of the Reformation, although still urging reform and maintaining friendly relations with other reformers.
The Lutherans themselves experienced a split over how to understand Communion. Like a bulldog, Luther clung to the words of Jesus “This is my body” as supporting his belief that Jesus was present in the elements. When the Southern Germans and Swiss broke away saying that the elements were meant ot be understood as symbolic, Luther published a couple of scathing responses in 1526 and 7. There’s a coarseness to his style in the second of these that may indicate Luther had no desire to win his opponents, only to insult them.
Since this is a history and not theology podcast, I’m not going to go into all the nuances of the Eucharistic debate that ensued between the Lutherans and other Reformers. Suffice it to say, it became one of the major issues of controversy between them.
Luther ran into other difficulties, too.
He hoped at first that the renewing of the Gospel would open the way for the conversion of the Jews. When that didn’t pan out, he made virulent attacks on them, planting a deep stain on his record. Philip of Hesse, a champion of the Reformation, became an embarrassment to Luther when he gave assent to Philip’s bigamous marriage in 1540. The development of armed religious alliances in the empire worried Luther, for while he accepted the divine authorization of princes and valued their help in practical reformation, he struggled hard for the principle that the Gospel does not need to be advanced or defended by military power. He was spared the conflict that came so soon after his death.
Even his sympathetic biographers have found it hard to justify some of Luther’s actions in his declining years. By the time of his death in 1546, says biographer Roland Bainton, Luther was “an irascible old man, petulant, peevish, unrestrained, and at times positively coarse.” As chance would have it, his schedule brought him to Eisleben, the town of his birth, where he died on Feb. 18, 1546.
Fortunately, the personal defects of an aging rebel don’t in any way detract from the greatness of Luther’s achievements, which transformed not only Christianity but Western civilization. He took four basic concerns and offered vital new answers.
To the question – How is a person saved, Luther replied: not by works but by faith alone.
To the question – Where does religious authority lie, he answered: not in the visible institution called the Roman church but in the Word of God found in the Bible.
To the question—What is the church?—he responded: the whole community of Christian believers, since all are priests before God.
And last, to the question—What is the center of the Christian life?—he replied: serving God in any useful calling, whether ordained or not.
by Lance Ralston | May 17, 2015 | English |
This episode of CS is titled, Martin’s List.
In the summer of 1520, a document bearing an impressive seal circulated throughout Germany in search of a remote figure. It began, “Arise, O Lord, and judge Your cause. A wild boar has invaded Your vineyard.”
The document was what’s called a papal bull—named after that impressive seal, or bulla bearing the Pope’s insignia. It took 3 months to reach the wild boar it referred to, a German monk named Martin Luther who’d created quite a stir in Germany. But well before it arrived in Wittenberg where Luther taught, he knew its contents. 41 of the things he’d been announcing were condemned as à “heretical, scandalous, false, and offensive to pious ears; seducing simple minds and repugnant to Catholic truth.” The papal bull called on Luther to repent and publicly repudiate his errors or face dreadful consequences.
Luther received his copy on the 10th of October. At the end of his 60-day grace period in which he was supposed to surrrender, he led a crowd of eager students outside Wittenberg and burned copies of the Canon Law and works of several medieval theologians. Included in the paper that fed the flames was a copy of the bull condemning him. That was his answer. He said, “They’ve burned my books. So I burn theirs.” That fire outside Wittenberg in December of 1520 was a fitting symbol of the defiance toward the Roman Church raging throughout Germany.
Born in 1483 at Eisleben in Saxony to a miner, Luther attended school at Magdeburg under the Brethren of the Common Life. He then went to university at Erfurt where he learned Greek, graduating w/an MA in 1505. His plan was to become a lawyer, but the story goes that one day he was caught in a thunderstorm; a bolt of lightning knocked him to the ground. Terrified, he cried out to the patron saint of miners: “St. Anne, save me! And I’ll become a monk.” To his parents’ dismay, Luther kept the vow. 2 weeks later he entered the Augustinian monastery at Erfurt where he became a dedicated brother. Some years later he said about his being a monk, “I kept the rule so strictly that I may say that if ever a monk got to heaven by sheer monkery, it was I. If I had kept on any longer, I should have killed myself with vigils, prayers, reading, and other work.” Luther pushed his body to health–cracking rigors of austerity. He sometimes engaged in a total fast; no food OR water, for 3 days and slept without a blanket in winter.
In the Erfurt monastery he did further theological study and was made a priest in 1507. When he transferred to Wittenberg in 1508, he began teaching moral theology, the Sentences of Peter Lombard, and the Scriptures. A visit to Rome on Augustinian business in 1510 opened Luther’s eyes to the corruption so prevalent among the higher clergy there. When he returned to Wittenberg in 1512 he earned his Doctorate in Theology and was appointed to the Chair of Biblical studies which he occupied for the rest of his life.
But throughout this time, Luther was consumed by guilt and the sense his sinfulness. While the majesty and glory of God inspired most, it tormented Luther because he saw himself as a wretched sinner, alienated from an unapproachably holy God.
While performing his first Mass, Luther later reported, “I was utterly stupefied and terror-stricken. I thought to myself, ‘Who am I that I should lift up mine eyes or raise my hands to the divine majesty? For I am dust and ashes and full of sin, à and I am speaking to the living, eternal and true God?’” No amount of penance nor counsel from his peers could still Luther’s conviction he was a miserable, doomed sinner. Although his confessor counseled him to love God, Luther one day burst out, “Love God? I do not love Him – I hate him!”
Luther found the love he sought in studying the Word of God. Assigned to the chair of biblical studies at the recently opened Wittenberg University, he became fascinated with the words of Christ from the cross, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?” Luther found an odd solace in the idea that that Christ was forsaken. Luther was a sinner. Christ wasn’t. The answer had to lie in Christ’s identification with sinful humans. Luther began to ponder the possibility that Jesus endured estrangement from God for us.
A new and revolutionary picture of God began to develop in Luther’s restless soul. Finally, in 1515, while pondering Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, Luther came upon the words of Ch1v17 “For therein is the righteousness of God revealed from faith to faith: as it is written, The just shall live by faith.”
This was the key that turned the lock and opened the door to everything else that would follow. He said, “Night and day I pondered until I saw the connection between the justice of God and the statement that ‘the just shall live by his faith.’ Then I grasped that the justice of God is that righteousness by which through grace and sheer mercy God justifies us through faith. Thereupon I felt myself to be reborn and to have gone through open doors into paradise.”
Luther saw it clearly now. Man is saved only by his faith in the merit of Christ’s sacrifice. The cross alone removes sin and save from the grasp of the devil. Luther had come to his famous doctrine of justification by faith alone. He saw how sharply it clashed with the Roman church’s doctrine of justification by faith and good works—the demonstration of faith through virtuous acts, acceptance of church dogma, and participation in the sacraments.
The implications of Luther’s discovery were enormous. If salvation comes through faith in Christ alone, the intercession of priests was unnecessary. Faith formed and nurtured by the Word of God, written and preached, requires neither monks, masses, nor prayers to the saints. The mediation of a Church magisterium crumbles.
At first, Luther had no idea where his spiritual discovery would lead. It took a flagrant abuse of church finances to move him to the center of rebellion in Germany, and into a revolutionary position regarding papal authority.
The sale of indulgences, introduced during the Crusades, remained a major source of church income, especially that destined for Rome. The theology behind indulgences is rather complex and a subject we could spend considerable time on, but the upshot is this: Jesus and the saints have done far more good than they need for themselves and have lived lives that produce an excess of righteousness others can draw upon. The Church hierarchy, specifically the Pope and his agents, are able to open what’s called the “Treasury of Merit” all this excess goodness has gone in to, and assign it to less worthy individuals. So, in exchange for a meritorious work—like, making a pilgrimage, going on a Crusade, or making a financial contribution—the Church offered the sinner exemption from acts of penance.
All too often, the peddlers of indulgences made them seem a sort of magic—as though a contribution automatically earned the one seeking it a reward, regardless of the condition of their soul. Sorrow for sin was conveniently overlooked. And some even implied you could buy permission to sin before committing it. All this deeply troubled Luther.
So, armed with his new understanding of faith, he began to criticize the theology of indulgences in his sermons. He ramped things up in 1517 when the Dominican John Tetzel was preaching throughout Germany on behalf of a Vatican fund–raising campaign to complete the construction of St. Peter’s basilica in Rome. In exchange for a contribution, Tetzel boasted, he would provide donors with an indulgence that would even apply beyond the grave and free souls from purgatory. Tetzel was a clever sloganeer who understood the power of marketing. He came up with the catchy ditty – “As soon as the coin in the coffer rings, the soul from purgatory springs.”
To Luther, Tetzel’s preaching was more than bad theology, it bordered on blasphemy. Irked by Tetzel’s fleecing of the common people and provoked by his studies in Scripture, Luther drew up 95 propositions for theological debate and on October 31st of 1517, following university custom, posted them on the Castle Church door at Wittenberg, the place people put public notices. Among other things, Luther’s list argued that indulgences can’t remove guilt, do not apply to purgatory, and are harmful because they create a false sense of security. Little did anyone know that the spark had just been lit that fired the Reformation.
Within a short time, Tetzel’s fellow Dominicans in Germany denounced Luther to Rome as guilty of preaching dangerous doctrines. A Vatican theologian issued a series of counter-theses to Luther’s list, claiming that anyone who criticized indulgences was guilty of heresy.
At first, Luther was willing to accept a final verdict from Rome. But he quickly shifted to the position that his critics show him in Scripture that he was wrong. As his appeal to the Bible grew, he began to question the doctrine of purgatory. During an 8–day debate in 1519 with Church theologian John Eck at Leipzig, Luther said, “A council may sometimes err. Neither the Church nor the Pope can establish articles of faith. These must come from Scripture.”
Luther had moved from his first conviction—that salvation was by faith in Christ alone to a second. Scripture, not popes or councils, is the standard for Christian faith and behavior.
John Eck didn’t miss Luther’s spiritual resemblance to Jan Hus. After the Leipzig debate, he asked Rome to declare Luther a heretic. Luther put his case before the German people by publishing a series of pamphlets. In his Address to the Nobility of the German Nation, Martin called on the princes to correct abuses within the Church, to strip bishops and abbots of their wealth and worldly power, and to create a national, German Church.
In his work titled, The Babylonian Captivity of the Church Luther spoke not to the Papal Schism of a century and a half before but how the doctrine of justification by faith had reformed, get this, his doctrine of the Church. He argued that Rome’s sacramental system held Christians “captive.” He attacked the papacy for depriving individual Christians of their freedom to approach God directly by faith, without the mediation of priests. He said that in order for a sacrament to be valid, it had to be instituted by Christ and exclusively Christian. By these tests Luther could find no justification for five of the Roman Catholic sacraments. He retained only Baptism and the Lord’s Supper, and placed even these within a community of believing Christians, rather than in the hands of an exclusive priesthood.
All this had sweeping ramifications for the Church. It brushed aside the traditional view of the church as a sacred hierarchy headed by the pope and returned to the early Christian view of a community of Christian believers in which all believers are priests called to offer spiritual sacrifices to God.
In his 3rd pamphlet published in 1520, The Freedom of a Christian Man, Luther set forth in a conciliatory but firm voice his views on Christian behavior and salvation. This work is probably the best introduction to his central ideas. He wrote. “Good works do not make a man good, but a good man does good works.”
On the eve of his excommunication from the Roman Church, Luther removed the necessity of monasticism by stressing that the essence of Christian living lies in serving God in one’s calling whether secular or religious. All useful callings, he said, are equally sacred in God’s eyes.
In June of 1520, Pope Leo X issued his bull condemning Luther, giving him 60 days to turn from his heretical course. The bonfire at Wittenberg made clear Luther’s intent, so his excommunication followed. In January of 1521 the pope declared him a heretic.
The problem now fell into the hands of the young emperor, Charles V, who was under oath to defend the Church and remove heresy from the empire. Remember that all Church hierarchy can do is examine those suspected of heresy and declare them innocent or guilty. Punishment was not the duty of priests or monks. That was for the civil magistrate to carry out. So when Luther was declared a dangerous heretic and booted from the Church, it fell to the Emperor to carry out his execution. He summoned Luther to the imperial assembly at Worms, called a Diet, to give an account of his writings. Charles V understood how highly charged the political situation around Luther was since he’d become the hero for a good part of the German nobility Charles desperately needed in his contest with France and the Turks. The emperor wanted to make sure Luther was a verifiable heretic and not just someone Rome wanted to be rid of.
While the exact record of the Diet at Worm s is a little cloudy, it seems one day, as Luther was shown a table full of books purported to be his, wherein his radical ideas were expressed, when asked if they were indeed his, and if he stood by all that he had written in them, he hesitated and showed some uncertainty. Whether his hesitation was due to his concern that maybe there were books there he’d NOT authored, or that some of his earlier writings may not have been as accurate in reflection of his present views – or that with the Emperor watching him he was being faced with a potentially life-ending challenge – we don’t know. In any case he was allowed to retire for the day where he reflected on what he was really being challenged by and emerged to stand before the assembly on the morrow were he once again insisted that only Biblical authority would sway him. In a famous and oft quoted line he stated, “My conscience is captive to the Word of God. I will not recant anything, for to go against conscience is neither honest nor safe. Here I stand, I cannot do otherwise. God help me. Amen.”
Bold. Courageous. But Charles V was not impressed. He declared Luther an outlaw. He pronounced, “This devil in the habit of a monk has brought together ancient errors into one stinking puddle, and has invented new ones.” Luther had 21 days for safe passage to Saxony before the sentence fell. It never came. Luther was saved from arrest and death by Duke Frederick the Wise, the prince of Saxony whose domains included Wittenberg. The Duke gave Luther sanctuary at his lonely Wartburg Castle. Disguised as a minor nobleman, and given the alias Junker George, Luther stayed for a year. He used the time to translate the New Testament into German, an important first step toward reshaping public and private worship in Germany.
