August 22, 2012

Martin Bucer: The “Second Martin” of the Reformation

He never founded a church, yet many Reformation-based Protestant faiths consider him indispensable. He is seldom spoken of, yet he was quite influential. His name was Martin Bucer. In an era when issues like predestination, communion, and infant baptism were tearing denominations apart instead of uniting them, he sprinkled a bit of everything in his theology. As a result, Lutherans, Huguenots, and Anglicans managed to find at least one thing in his teaching that they admired.

Interestingly, Bucer, like John Calvin, Martin Luther, and others, started out as a Catholic priest. The first of many iconic meetings came in 1518 when Bucer was living in Heidelberg. Upon discovering that Luther would be speaking on theology, Bucer made it a point to see the controversial reformer for himself. It had only been six months since the 95 Theses had been posted in Wittenberg. One might say that the following weeks were Bucer’s “road to Damascus” moment, when he found himself dangerously perceptive to the “new thought” that was sweeping across Europe.

In another parallel with Martin Luther, Bucer, after disavowing the priesthood and joining the Protestant camp, married a woman who had lived much of her life as a nun. Her name was Elisabeth Silbereisen. Bucer was excommunicated in 1523. To the Catholic world, excommunication meant they were cut off from the Church and denied a chance of salvation. To Bucer, it meant freedom. He went on to intercede between Luther and Zwingli, putting his own thoughts on doctrine into the mix. One of his ecumenical controversies was distributing works by Martin Luther and other reformers while adding his own personal opinions. This naturally caused a rift between the various camps.

Martin Bucer soon before death

Throughout the early 1530s, when very new Protestant denominations struggled to get their doctrines down into individual confessions, the extent of disagreement between Bucer, Zwingli, Luther, and others became all too evident. The Lutherans had the Augsburg Confession. Bucer and those in agreement championed the Tetrapolitan Confession. Then, of course, there were the dueling organizations. The “Schmalkaldic League” was a Protestant creation designed to join Lutheran nobles and provide protection for believers in Germany and beyond. This, of course, was countered by the Holy Roman Empire, the Holy See, and the giants of sixteenth century Catholicism.

Martin Bucer was very well known for his association with Strasbourg in Alsace, a region that has historically gravitated between Germany and France. Under Bucer’s direction and with the help of other reformers, Strasbourg became a Protestant locale, one of the centers of the Reformation. Eventually his position put him in danger, and he was banished to England. He counted himself lucky that Protestant King Edward VI was on the throne at the time.

Bucer was tired of disunity. He was grateful for the Reformation but disgusted by the persecution between denominations, and so he determined that all Christians should unite. “We must aspire with the utmost zeal to edify as many people as we possibly can in faith and in the love of Christ – and to offend no one,” he said. Unfortunately, the sixteenth century was awash in blood due to various religious conflicts, and the liberation of the Gospel had been twisted to suit men’s needs so that it also opened up a Pandora’s Box of warfare.

So how did it end for Martin Bucer? He died in England on February 28, 1551. He joined first wife Elisabeth in death and was survived by his second wife Wibrandis Rosenblatt, their daughter Elisabeth, and possibly a few children with his first wife (little is known about them). Even in death, Bucer was controversial. England’s “Bloody Mary” added insult to injury by digging up his earthly remains and burning them. This was in 1556. Three years later, Protestant queen Elizabeth I came to power, and another burial site was constructed so Martin Bucer’s spirit might rest in peace.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 21, 2012

Historical Revision in the Nation's Oldest City

I have mentioned many times throughout this blog that I am particularly driven to remember and honor the French Protestants killed near St. Augustine, Florida, in September and October 1565. It is my “calling,” a cause I feel I was chosen to uphold, and I think often of what I can do to keep these men’s memories alive. The Matanzas massacre is a story not very often told. Many might think it insignificant, but I personally feel it was a huge part of early American history and an invaluable reminder of the necessity of religious freedom.

While looking for references about the Huguenots of Matanzas, I came across an online book called “The Catholic Church in the United States of America,” which mentioned St. Augustine founder Pedro Menéndez de Avilés. It has always bothered me how I see terms like “the Matanzas massacre revised” and “rethinking the Matanzas massacre.’ It is as if people seek to diminish the horror. This particular book said of Menéndez: “There is but one blot on his fame, that of the Matanzas massacre, nor is the shame of it palliated when it is ascribed, not to fanaticism or bigotry, but to the reasons assigned by his master – the desire not to risk his own people. If this was, indeed, his motive, it was a worthy one.”

Stop there. This is, sadly, a sentiment I have heard before, that the massacre was “justified” if it was done so that the Spaniards would not starve. They apparently could not risk ‘more mouths to feed.’ Yet even by the cruel standards of 1565, slaughtering Frenchmen because they were a “burden” was not “worthy.” The author went on to say that he does not believe it was done purely for self-preservation, but then continued, “But we must not allow our judgment to be so outraged by this cold-blooded murder as to blind us to his {Menéndez’s} signal merits . . .”


If he had shown remorse, asked forgiveness, expressed regret, I agree. But he never did. It seems that some are desperate to prove the Matanzas massacre was not a religious martyrdom, even though there are various letters (from Menéndez himself and from his chroniclers, including Father Francisco López de Mendoza Grajales) that clearly state it was done for religious reasons. ‘Evil sect’ is but one way these men referred to the Huguenots’ Protestant faith. I have never understood why I feel so strongly about the 245 Frenchmen slaughtered fourteen miles from St. Augustine. I have been visiting the city for over a decade; it is deep in my heart and soul, and I have stood at the spot where the men were killed. I cannot bear to hear people justifying, revising, re-editing.

I will not forget.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 20, 2012

Ah, the olden days. I dug up a poem I wrote a few years ago about the Protestant Reformation. Enjoy!

“The Hammer Still Echoes”

(c) 2010 Joyously Saved

In honor of the 1517 nailing of the 95 Theses

When freedom of religion was spoken of no more,

When Rome had taxed her people and bled them to the core,

The peace found in the Savior seemed lost forevermore,

But the pounding of the hammer was heard on every door.

With Scripture in the tongue of every common man,

No longer would he writhe beneath a heavy hand,

“What only priests could read, now peasants understand!”

The blessed Word of God was then in high demand.

They braved the threat of death and torture every day,

They trusted in the Savior to guide them on their way,

Though thousands lost their lives, at Jesus’ feet they lay,

Their sacrifices still resound in us today.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 19, 2012

Remembering One of America's Prettiest Churches

On March 30^th, 2012, a day after visiting Flagler Memorial Presbyterian Church in St. Augustine, Florida, I wrote this post. Lately I have wanted to do another post with more photos and more explanations. Though I am not Presbyterian, I was truly humbled to visit this beautiful, stunning church, not only for its wonderful architecture but also for symbolism’s sake. For 198 years (and then again for 37 years after the Protestant British period of occupation) St. Augustine was Catholic. The slightest mention of Protestantism seemed out of place, and the Oldest City had already garnered a reputation for religious persecution due to the Matanzas massacre site just outside of town. I find it wonderfully ironic that this church, with doctrines much like those of the Huguenots, has become one of St. Augustine’s most recognizable landmarks.

This church is indeed a painter’s paradise, a beautiful place to relax and reflect. The gardens alone are worth contemplation. Though there are many pretty churches in St. Augustine, this is definitely the one of the most stunning.

The entrance of Memorial Presbyterian Church pays homage to patron Henry Flagler’s daughter Jennie Louise Benedict, who, along with baby daughter Marjorie or Margery, died in 1889. Both are buried within the attached mausoleum along with Henry and his first wife Mary Harkness.

Just inside the entrance is the first of many small stained glass windows located unusually close to the floor. This was one of my favorite interior features.

The church’s interior is just stunning. Everything is big and wide and open, with formidable walls, a domed ceiling, and soaring windows. It must make even the tallest --- and haughtiest --- person feel like an ant!

I personally liked the tile-work on the floor. Not only is the Greek key design impressive, but there is even tinier detail work beyond the border.

This hanging cross was, I believe, meant to be a chandelier of sorts. It was located in a side room just off the main sanctuary.

This side room was impressive and simple. I especially liked the Scripture verse running along the walls.

If you ever get the chance, come and see Memorial Presbyterian Church! It is definitely a place you will never forget.


(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 18, 2012

Cyber Hymnal Never Disappoints

Yesterday I took another peek around Cyber Hymnal. Often I search for words from my blog’s theme, and so, searching for hymns with that all-important message, I usually come across spectacular work by Fanny Crosby. What a gifted individual! The Lord showed His meticulous planning when He chose her to pen such endearing lyrics. The song I discovered is called “Glory Ever Be to Jesus,” and it was written in 1887.

“Glory Ever Be to Jesus”

Glory ever be to Jesus,

God’s own well belovèd Son;

By His grace He hath redeemed us,

“It is finished,” all is done.           

Refrain

Saved by grace through faith in Jesus,

Saved by His own precious blood,

May we in His love abiding,

Follow on to know the Lord.

Oh the weary days of wand’ring,

Longing, hoping for the light;

These at last all lie behind us,

Jesus is our strength and might.

Refrain

Saved by grace through faith in Jesus,

Saved by His own precious blood,

May we in His love abiding,

Follow on to know the Lord.

In His safe and holy keeping,

’Neath the shadow of His wing,

Gladly in His love confiding,

May our souls His praises sing.

Refrain

Saved by grace through faith in Jesus,

Saved by His own precious blood,

May we in His love abiding,

Follow on to know the Lord.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 17, 2012

Philippe and Richard de Gastines

Yesterday, a very good friend of mine dutifully took my advice to “adopt a martyr.” The name that “spoke” to her was that of Philippe de Gastines of Paris, a man I had heard of only briefly and knew very little about. Thus I launched an “inquiry” into his life, and this is what I found. De Gastines was a typical Protestant of the 16^th century: passionate about his faith, practicing his doctrines “under the radar,” and constantly subject to danger from violently-Catholic Parisians. Philippe and his son Richard were willing to risk imprisonment --- or worse --- to hold religious services in their home. They managed to survive in Paris until 1569.

Then their luck ran out.

Who knows how the truth became known? A rumor here, an observance there, nosy neighbors seeking gossip. Philippe and Richard were cornered and jailed. A relative and neighbor, Nicolas Croquet (in a tragic case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time) was seized as well. It was not enough for superstitious Parisians to consign the de Gastines to jail and eventually to death. They obliterated the house in which these “heretical” practices had taken place, unsatisfied until the deed was done.

Sources vary on how the men fared in prison. Some say that Richard de Gastines preached Protestant doctrines and extorted fellow prisoners to state their sins only to God, but Richard himself said in court that he had not done such things. The Protestants said he had; the Catholics had dueling views even among themselves. In the end, the fact and fiction did not matter. Father and son both died for the “crime” of Protestantism.

And what became of the extended Gastines family? Richard had been married with a family, and his wife was killed during the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre of 1572. Her children were forced to watch. I am uncertain of what happened to them. Another family member, Jacques, was related to the Le Merciers by marriage. The Le Merciers, too, were slaughtered during the St. Bartholomew’s. According to the book “The French Wars of Religion” by Mack P. Holt, a Le Mercier daughter who witnessed her parents’ deaths was told in no uncertain terms that, “if ever she became a Huguenot, the same would happen to her.”

The “Gastines cross” marked the spot where the Gastines house had once stood. Catholics revered it almost like a shrine; Huguenots hated it. It took until December 1571 to tear it down. Even then, superstitious Parisians refused to let it go. They thronged the workers and tried to force them away from the cross. To them it was a symbol of victory over “evil.” Eventually the cross was moved to a nearby cemetery. It is no longer in existence.

But the memories remain.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 16, 2012

 "Adopting" Martyrs and Telling Their Stories

Yesterday I mentioned the concept of “adopting” a martyr. While you could choose either a famous person or people or someone in obscurity, I personally chose men who might not otherwise be known, victims who are truly in danger of being forgotten. The two Reformation-era tragedies that have always touched my spirit the most are the “Matanzas massacre” of Huguenots in 1565, and the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre of 1572 (each have been mentioned in previous posts; if interested, check the “search” box to see which posts). I chose one person from each of these events to remember and bring to light.

First is Monsieur Sainte Marie, whom I spoke of in other posts. His first name has already been lost to history. He was a captain, and died October 12, 1565, for refusing to recant his Protestant beliefs. This event took place at Matanzas Inlet near St. Augustine, Florida after a whirlwind of bad luck for the French. According to the book “Pioneers of France in the New World” by Francis Parkman, he was one of several officers who consulted with René de Laudonnière and Jean Ribault over what should be done to defend the French fort of La Caroline.

Second is François de Caumont, born about 1524. He was a man of high standing before the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre, being the Lord of Castelnau. Yet when the massacre erupted, the respect and honor due to him was forgotten, and he was slaughtered for his Huguenot faith. François was the son of Charles de Caumont and Jeanne de Pérusse. On May 15, 1554, he married Philippa de Beaupoil de la Force. They had a son named Armand, who, about seventeen years old, was also killed. Another son, Jacques, born in 1558, survived to age 82.

I find it interesting that both Monsieur Sainte Marie and François de Caumont were captains. While de Caumont was a military captain, I am unsure if Sainte Marie was a military or a ship captain. On a side note, my very good friend did her part to “adopt a martyr” as well. She chose Philippe de Gastines, who died in 1569. His story will come tomorrow.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved