June 14, 2012

The Power Behind the Words

They are such simple words, “grace” and “faith.” “Grace” comes from the Old French “grace”, meaning “pardon” or “mercy.” This word was taken from the Latin “gratia.” “Faith” came from the Old French “foi”, meaning “belief” and “trust.” “Foi”, in turn, stemmed from the Latin word “fides.” Such simple words, aren’t they? But “grace” and “faith” are two of the most powerful words in Scripture simply because of the God-breathed way in which they were put together. “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith.” Powerful stuff!

I often think we cannot even begin to comprehend God’s mercy and love, the far-undeserved lifeline He threw out to us by making such a beautiful statement. “By grace through faith” is such an amazing and revolutionary concept . . . and, in the case of our early Protestant ancestors, it was to die for. The Reformers had nothing but praise for this most merciful offering. Martin Luther said, “Faith is a living, daring confidence in God’s grace, so sure and certain that a man could stake his life on it a thousand times.” 

Amen and amen.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

June 13, 2012

Often while I am researching the 1500s and the Reformation era, I think of the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre, and it brings tears to my eyes. It is an utterly disturbing thought that we should forget the horrific massacres that colored Protestant history. The St. Bartholomew’s stands out as “the Big One.” Thousands of nameless victims were slaughtered in Paris and beyond. French Protestants must have believed the world was ending. They were massacred simply for their faith, by the same men they had likely spoken with and exchanged pleasantries with just a few hours before. Few crimes against our Reformation predecessors of various denominations and perhaps even against our ancestors have been so great, and this event must never be forgotten. 

Following is a poem I wrote:

The Stones Cry Out

(c) Joyously Saved

Where did the houses stand, tottering half-timbers, in that hot August of 1572?

The homes where visiting Huguenot families dreamed grand dreams

And were so violently awakened at the bell’s toll and the assassin’s knock?

Are their foundations still soaked with blood, silent ghosts clawing at the stones?

How long did the screams echo as men and women were cut down one by one?

Risen from bed in nightshirts or naked, killed in their own peaceful chambers

Or dragged to the shadow-darkened blood-drenched streets and silenced?

Where was justice to acquit them of the non-crime of Protestantism?

Where did the blood of innocents flow, washed down the grimy streets

Numbly watched by uncaring passers-by who marveled at the sight?
Where are the ancient stone walls against which the blood was splashed

And the foundations where the slain were once heaped with abandon?

When did twisting medieval streets once choked with the dead become clean

When did the horrific sights of endless injustice and carnage end?

Where did their earthly temples go, unceremoniously buried by laughing laborers?

Why is there no trace of the massacre in today’s bright and precocious Paris

And no overwhelming desire to remember and mourn for the dead?

Grand old Saint-German l’Auxerrois still stands, thinking herself absolved

From her turrets rang the bell that began a massacre without parallel

Smugly she overshadows Parisian streets; did the walls cry out in protest?

How many other foundations remain, bloodstained and spirit-choked

As witnesses to the horrific “cleansing” Parisian zealots so desired?

Or has the old given way to the new and such notions been lost?

Where did they fall? Where did they cry out? Where did their souls take flight?

Where did they pass from the living to the dead, to Christ’s unending mercy?

Where did the inferno break loose on earth, urged on by the spirit of destruction?

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

June 12, 2012

Good Christian fiction concerning the Huguenots is hard to come by. It’s been my experience that many such books are written in what I call “old-speak” and are difficult to “get into.” Those that remain are few and far between. I have, however, chosen Golden Keyes Parsons’ “In the Shadow of the Sun King” as my second-favorite book. (I reviewed my favorite, Miles Harvey’s “Painter in a Savage Land,” in my post of May 23). 

“In the Shadow of the Sun King” begins in the 1670s, as France’s Protestants are nearing the “boiling point” that will explode into the rights-revoking Edict of Fontainebleau in 1685. The family in question is the Clavells. The main characters are Madeleine Vaudois-Clavell, her husband François Clavell, their children Evangeline (Vangie), Charles, and Philippe, François’ loyal brother Jean, a cruel dragoon commander named Paul Bovée, and Paul’s illegitimate adult son Pierre. 

Each character was lovingly and three-dimensionally crafted, which is always a gift. They were believable and interesting people I could have known; not stiff and stereotyped as many book characters have the misfortune of being. I must confess that strong-minded, proud, faithful Madeleine was actually not my favorite character in this book. Rather, I liked François Clavell best. He was a genuine believer, gentle but strong, the sort of gentleman who was not afraid to stand up for his beliefs. In fact, the book intimates that he and Madeleine first met when he was a very young man escaping persecution. 

There were many places throughout the tale that François was tempted to convert in order to restore peace to his family, but his quiet and steadfast refusal to do so, along with the tender spirit with which Ms. Parsons so ingeniously infused him, endeared him to me. I also enjoyed the parts featuring Francois’ courteous and witty brother Jean, though he made some choices that I was very uncomfortable with (read the book to find out!).

Long story short, dragonnades (King Louis XIV’s Catholic soldiers known for their brutality toward the Protestant families in whose homes they billeted) take over the Clavell estate, resulting in flight for Jean, Philippe and Charles and bullying for everyone else. Young children were often kidnapped and sent to convents and monasteries in this time. Madeleine, who has a romantic history with Louis that may have been more serious than anyone anticipates, attempts to restore the king’s favor to her family and to stop the cruelty. After many twists and turns François is slated to be a galley slave (one of the worst tortures a Protestant could suffer, as it was considered to be a long and drawn-out death).

I loved the way Ms. Parsons wrote, the way she “colored” her characters, and the way that there was no end to either thought-provoking dialogue or fast-paced adventure. The people were so real that they could have lived in modern times just as well as the 17^th century, but they never went “out of their element” . . . luckily she refrained from modern terminology and even added a few French words for authenticity’s sake. 

The sad part was that every sort of horrific event of which she writes actually happened. Children were taken from their parents. Houses were desecrated and burned. Families were accosted continuously while soldiers billeted in their homes. Louis XIV did make life for French Protestants worse than death. “In the Shadow of the Sun King” did not mince words while describing how difficult times were, but I as a reader was caught between drama, excitement, and intrigue, so the story did its job.

The sequel, “A Prisoner of Versailles,” was also good but not quite as gut-grabbing as the first. And the third in the series, “Where Hearts Are Free,” which deals with a grown-up Philippe Clavell making a life in America, was not one of my favorites either. But “In the Shadow of the Sun King” is definitely in my top five!

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

June 11, 2012

What If England Had Become Catholic?

I often muse that, had the Reformation not started when it did, and had England not embraced it, it is unlikely that both English and foreign Protestants --- the ancestors of countless descendants now living in America --- would never have been allowed to settle the “New World.” In the 1600s, England, known by this time as a thoroughly Protestant country, was a bastion of strength and a well-sought ally by the French Huguenots in their distress. 

Louis XIV of France

The French Calvinists took for granted that Protestant England would disregard their Frenchness (France and England had long been enemies) and instead think of them as fellow Protestants in danger. Throughout the 17^th century the Huguenots flocked to England as a haven from persecution. Little did they know that in 1670, Protestantism was in grave danger of being suppressed.

The date: June 01, 1670. The event: The “secret treaty” of Dover. The instigator: King Charles II of England. It was sort of an “I’ll scratch your back, you scratch mine” endeavor . . . he promised to help France win the war with the Netherlands if France would help him return Catholicism as the official faith in England. Countless Protestant families remained largely ignorant of this treaty formed with King Louis XIV. One hates to think of what would have happened if Louis, who became known for his brutal treatment of the Huguenots throughout the next few decades, had given Charles II advice on how to “persuade” English Anglicans and Puritans to adopt Catholicism.

Charles II of England

Charles promised to become a Catholic openly and publically after the treaty was ratified and when certain terms were met. But England had not had a Catholic monarch since “Bloody” Mary Tudor, and memories of those horrendous “burning times” would have certainly been enough to send a ripple of fear through the English people. In 1672 Protestants began to get suspicious. King Charles II showed an alarming amount of tolerance to Catholics; this in itself was not reprehensible, but it was worried that he would showcase tendencies that might open up England’s Protestants to acts of great cruelty.

Parliament exercised a healthy dose of caution. They forbid even King Charles to supersede former decrees, and his ideas of aligning with France and returning England to Catholicism were duly crushed. Few families probably had any idea how close they might have come to being in a situation very much like that of the Huguenots for whom they had such sympathy.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

June 10, 2012

What Will "Round Two" Hold?

My Protestant pilgrimage to Matanzas Inlet, the site where nearly 250 French Protestants were martyred in September and October of 1565, was a life-changing experience, but I sense it is not over. I prayed and commemorated and honored, yet I feel I can never return to St. Augustine, Florida, playing tourist and having a grand old time, without paying homage to the men killed for their faith. I have always felt that the memory of these slaughtered Protestant men still dogs the quaint Spanish city of St. Augustine, whispering of the injustice and slaughter that formed a foundation for Spain’s first permanent colony in what would become the United States.

When I return, I plan to also return to Fort Caroline, the reconstructed Huguenot fort in Jacksonville which I was unable to enter this year due to construction work. My plan for my next pilgrimage is to leave a cross at Fort Caroline as I did at Matanzas. I want to buy a French flag at the Fort Caroline visitor center and subsequently leave it at the massacre site fourteen miles south of St. Augustine. I have not yet decided if or what I will read, but I am sure the perfect suggestion will come. It is an eerie feeling, standing where hundreds of men died for their faith. As a “Reformation” Lutheran it gives me a shiver of solidarity when I think of gazing upon those dunes once more, but I would never consider failing to return. It is too bound up in my blood now. I am a witness. I am a commemorator. I will not forget.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

June 09, 2012

The Marian Persecutions

So, was she? Bloody? Mary I of England, daughter of the infamous Henry VIII, has certainly garnered a bad reputation. While in the 21^st century we might be tempted to chalk that up to propaganda of the day, Protestants of the era --- and we their descendants --- cannot find much to admire. That is because of the Marian persecutions. Mary’s brother Edward VI was a Protestant; during his reign, Protestantism was encouraged in England, and many took up the five solas of the Reformation like a banner. (“Grace alone,” “faith alone,” “in Christ alone,” “Scripture alone,” and “for the glory of God alone.”) Yet after Edward’s death, Mary I, his elder half sister, did everything in her power to return England to its former Catholic state.

Mary I was a zealot who believed that the only way to nurture peace in England and to restore God’s favor was to burn Protestant believers. It is believed that the martyrs were burned instead of hanged, drawn, and quartered, as was the standard practice, because stake-burning was the norm in Spain. Mary was briefly married to Spanish king Philip II. As was often the case, Protestant ministers, those who taught the faith, were the first to die. Mary I’s “reign of terror” produced about three hundred Protestant martyrs. While some might argue that that is not such a “great number” compared to those killed in other persecutions, even one person suffering and dying unjustly at the hands of a tyrant is unacceptable. 

To pick a random Protestant believer killed during the Marian Persecutions of the 1550s, Joan Trunchfield died February 19^th, 1556. She was known, along with others, as the Ipswich Martyr. She was married to a middle-class laborer. Like many men and women imprisoned for their Protestant faith, she endured horrid imprisonments. She was sentenced to burn at the stake, and it is said that she managed a surreal amount of fortitude and even sympathy toward her fellow martyrs, proving herself an example of steadfastness and faith.

That is only one. In the 1550s, England, a country that would soon become known as a Protestant nation, would soon assist the French Huguenots by opening their gates to these much-beleaguered believers, and would soon become known as the starting point for America’s founders --- the Puritans --- was overshadowed by an all-encompassing cloud of smoke that issued from Mary I’s burnings. If she hoped to stamp out Protestantism, she only succeeded in strengthening resolves and cementing convictions.

Mary I died in 1558. Elizabeth I, who held at least some Protestant tendencies and would gradually lead her country in that direction, became queen. The English Protestants’ suffering was over.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

June 08, 2012

 Anabaptist Little-Knowns: Hans Zug

Concerning the greats of the Protestant Reformation, history is concerned with the “big people,” yet, in my blog, I like to bring out the “little people,” the everyday husbands and wives who may not have done anything spectacular in their lives but were giants in God’s eyes simply for keeping the faith and remaining courageous in the face of adversity. I like to showcase unknown Protestants of the 16^th and 17^th centuries that perhaps would not otherwise be known, and one day I came across the story of Hans Zug.

The Anabaptists, like the Huguenots, were a martyr church. As the predecessors of the modern-day Amish and Mennonites, they were a peaceful people who did not believe in a government-like church hierarchy. They advocated a very simple lifestyle that took the idea of “reformation” further than the Calvinists and Lutherans had, and they wrote beautiful hymns expressing both their painful earthly lives and the hope and peace they felt in Christ. Hans Zug or Zaug was born in Switzerland, a country that, by the time of his birth in the 1630s, was already known as a haven for the persecuted French Huguenots.

Hans’ early life remains obscure. However, he married a woman of uncertain origin and subsequently became the father of several children. He is thought to have been an Anabaptist minister and thus more “dangerous” to the authorities than an ordinary believer. Both Catholics and Protestants found the Anabaptists’ doctrines offensive and saw them as annoying nonconformists. In 1659, Hans was taken prisoner in the Swiss city of Bern. 

A Zug family history says that Hans’ prison had once been an orphanage and mentions that the manual labor to which the Anabaptist prisoners were subjected was grueling. Hans and his fellow prisoners bore ugly insults and physical altercations day after day until they were given a choice. The first choice was to convert. Like the French Huguenots who chose to die rather than abjure their Protestant faith, the Anabaptist Hans Zug ignored such requests. 

The second choice was to subject himself to the galleys. Persecuted Huguenots would later share this particular torture after the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685. Being a galley slave was, many said, worse than death, for being forced to row for years on end until one died of malnutrition or illness, having been beaten at every interval, was too infernal a fate to even imagine. The third choice was immediate martyrdom. Hans Zug survived his first prison sentence. It is uncertain how he managed to avoid these three choices, but it is known that he fled back to Switzerland after having been taken aboard ship, apparently to serve as a galley slave.

Many men would have remained in hiding after having survived such an ordeal. But Hans Zug refused to hide his light under a bushel. He stepped forth to attend a family gathering, and immediately upon doing so, he was ambushed and returned unceremoniously to prison. It is difficult to believe how long he was incarcerated the second time around: ten years. Ten years . . . and yet he never gave up his faith! It would have been easy. Perhaps the idea tortured him as he lay in fetid straw and heard the scuttling of rats hour after hour, day after day, month after month, year after year. But whether or not he was so tempted, he fought his temptations, fought the fight and kept the faith. 

This time period began in 1661 and ended in 1671. Hans Zug’s release came about due to the compassion of distant Good Samaritans who took pity on his situation. The happy ending was marred by the authorities’ insistence that Hans should leave them all his property and emigrate from Switzerland. He was forbidden to return. Now he was not only persecuted for his Anabaptist faith, but he had no home. Yet he took the bull by the horns and chose a new place to settle. This was in Darmstadt, Germany.

At any time in his life, Hans Zug could have given up and accepted conversion. Ten long years in prison could have been avoided. But then we would not remember him, but he would have simply been “Hans, the man who followed societal norms.” We remember him because of his courage and because his hardships remind us of the “big God” he served. Martyrs’ and faith warriors’ stories always echo back to God. Just as they should.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved