August 28, 2012

Struggling For Equality

Many of my readers know that I have made the Huguenot martyrs of Matanzas, who died in Florida in 1565 for refusing to recant their Protestant faith, a “pet project” of mine. I have dedicated myself to remembering and honoring these 245 men and doing what I can to keep their memories alive. A few days past, when I opened a St. Augustine local newspaper online, my heart jumped when I saw the title “Remembering the Martyrs.” I have long believed that far too little is being done and said about the Matanzas martyrs. Yet I soon learned that the martyrs in question were Franciscan priests. There was a very nice article about these Catholic friars and their deaths at the hands of disgruntled Native Americans. One man in particular, Agustín Ponce de Leon, is to be remembered with a special religious service.

Though I am always glad to see people of any religion remembered for their sacrifices, it also made me incredibly sad. The Huguenot martyrs of Matanzas certainly deserve the same kind of recognition. It is so disheartening that few people have written the same kind of touching articles about the men of Matanzas and what they suffered.

Part of that newspaper story called “Remember the Martyrs” said many St. Augustine Catholics are grateful that the names and sacrifices of their Catholic martyrs from the 1500s and beyond are finally coming to light. They are relieved that these men will not suffer the ultimate fate of being forgotten. I think that, as American Protestants, we should do the same for these forgotten Huguenots. There is talk of a display for Agustín Ponce de Leon at the mission of Nombre de Dios in St. Augustine. I would like to see mention of the Matanzas martyrs in other museums in that ancient city, places where the public might learn what really happened.

It is maddeningly ironic that there was such violence against early Protestants in America, a land which for much of its history was known as a Protestant nation. “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church,” the Church Father Tertullian said. The story of the Matanzas massacre is one of America’s most harrowing tales and yet it remains largely forgotten. If a small but insistent group of St. Augustine Catholics have cared for and loved their martyrs enough to elevate them back into the history books, so should American Protestants from across the country remember and love “their” Huguenots, the men of Matanzas. It is a great tragedy that their sacrifice is often cheapened, overlooked, and unremembered.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 27, 2012

“Behind Every Great Man . . .” --- Katharina von Bora Luther Quiz

Try to guess the answers or check the answers below!

1.       How old was Katharina von Bora when her father Hans, a struggling nobleman, sent her to a convent in Brehna, Germany?

2.       Which man who would become known as a Protestant reformer did Katharina write to in the early 1520s, pleading for assistance in escaping the convent?

3.       What food item was generally carried in the sort of barrels in which Katharina and her fellow nuns escaped the convent of Marienthron?

4.       In what season did Katharina von Bora and Doctor Martin Luther marry?

5.       What were two affectionate titles Luther had for her?

6.       What fellow Protestant reformer would have Katharina “accepted” marrying if Martin Luther had not been available?

7.       How many sons did Katharina have? How many daughters? What were their names?

8.       Which of Katharina’s children died young?

9.       What was Katharina’s cause of death, and how old was she?

(1)    Five years old (1504)

(2)    Martin Luther, who in 1525 became her husband

(3)    Herring. They were transported by Leonhard Koppe of Torgau

(4)    Summer (June 13, 1525)

(5)    “My Lord Katie” and “the Morning Star of Wittenberg”

(6)    Nikolaus von Amsdorf (who, like Luther, was sixteen years her elder)

(7)    Three sons (Hans, Martin, and Paul), three daughters (Elizabeth, Magdalena, and Margarethe)

(8)    Magdalena (thirteen)

(9)    Katharina became ill after being bedridden due to a cart accident. She died at 53 years old

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 26, 2012

Victims of the Saint Bartholomew’s Day Massacre: Pierre Monnet, His Wife and Son

It was just a random name I discovered while searching for those who died in the St. Bartholomew’s. “Pierre Monnet,” the genealogical entry said. He was born in Poitou, France, in 1523, and was forty-nine at the time of the massacre. Records show that his parents were Abraham Monnet and Susanne Chastian (possibly meant to be Chastain, a notable Huguenot family). It has been said that Catholic and Protestant families in France were easy to tell apart, since the Catholics tended to use saints’ names and the Huguenots preferred more Biblical names (Abraham, Isaac, David, etc). 

Pierre Monnet (or Monnett) married in 1545 at the age of 22 and had at least one child, Pierre. This child, either twenty-two or seventeen years of age depending on the source, was apparently killed in the St. Bartholomew’s massacre as well. History seems to suggest that the elder Madame Monnet bore the same fate. What may have happened to any other possible children is unknown. A few sources list the elder Pierre’s wife and younger Pierre’s mother as Marie Guillamart.

As always, there are two things that bother me about this story. First, there is modern man’s quest to justify and explain away the massacre by saying it was “how times were” (evil has always been evil, let us not forget!), that it is wrong to judge because it was “right at the time” (which is truly sad), and that the Parisian mob thought they were acting in a Christian manner (which, as we know, could not be more wrong). There have always been people who implied that the massacre was undertaken so the Catholic dominance of the day might be protected. I cannot see how the deaths of a father, mother, and son could have “protected” anyone, let alone how the deaths of thousands could have! We ought to remember events such as the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre without justifying, explaining away, or failing to properly commemorate and honor. Do it for the Monnets, and for thousands of other families. They died for their faith. They deserve our remembrance.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 25, 2012

Victims of the Saint Bartholomew’s Day Massacre: Felix la Rue

On my post of August 15^th I mentioned Felix La Rue or Le Roux, a victim of the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre. Being intrigued by this man’s life, as he popped out at me as someone in danger of being forgotten, I decided to study further. Felix La Rue (or Le Roux) had an exciting start in life. As the rumored grandson of King Francis I of France through a clandestine relationship with a Mademoiselle de la Rieux, he must have undergone some interesting adventures. He was born around the year 1521, and it is uncertain when he converted to Protestantism, which first became popular in France in the 1530s. Felix was thirty-five when a failed Huguenot colony in Brazil was overrun by Portuguese mariners. He was forty-one when explorer Jean Ribault first claimed “La Floride” for France. Did he long to embark on these voyages? Did he ever wonder what life in the New World would be like?

I also like to imagine physical appearances. Though there is no way to know, I have noticed that many Frenchmen featured in portraits from this time period had a typical “French look,” with the same kind of nose structure and dark hair. Blue and brown eyes are both seen, though I imagine brown would be more common. It is very likely Felix had this sort of a look. I do love to speculate over such things. It helps put a face and an identity to an otherwise nameless victim.

Felix’s children are unknown, save for one son named Justin. Family lore says Justin was a child during the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre and that he escaped by being spirited away to Germany. Other sources say he was born in 1545, thus in 1572 he would have been twenty-seven and hardly a child. Felix’s fate is marked out clearly. He died on August 24, 1572, during the St. Bartholomew’s. He was about fifty-one years of age. His brother Louis became Catholic, and another brother, Bertolet, remained Protestant and escaped.

As Huguenots were forbidden to inherit land or retain titles, brother Louis became the head of la famille de la Rue. There was apparently a de la Rue chateau in or near Orleans, France, though I am uncertain if it still exists. It seems that “La Rue,” “Le Roux,” “Leroux,” and “de la Rieux” are all common spellings of this surname. Long story short, Felix La Rue died a martyr. I do not know the exact circumstances; I do not know if he fought or if he was taken in his bedroom without the slightest chance to defend himself, but it does not matter. He fell for his faith. In his enemies’ eyes, he warranted such treatment simply for believing as he did.

Rest in peace, Monsieur. Today your name is spoken once again.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 24, 2012

This page is black for a reason.

440 years ago today, possibly the worst historical crime against Protestant Christians took place in France. August 24, 1572 heralded the horrific St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre that filled Europe’s Protestants with dread and fear and still elicits a strong response of horror, shock, and overwhelming grief. The injustice is appalling. Since my first such article on the St. Bartholomew’s captured, I think, the exact essence of how I felt about the event, I will repost my post of March 02^nd today:

Paris had grown quiet. Men and women still tired from dancing welcomed sleep amid visions of the royal wedding they had just witnessed. Thousands of Huguenot attendees bedded down all over the city. Perhaps now that Marguerite, King Charles’ sister, and Henri, the Huguenot ruler of Navarre, had married, there would be peace between Catholics and Protestants in France. Countless heads dozed peacefully against their pillows. Then the church bells began to ring.

Men ran swiftly through the streets, sporting white armbands and distinctive white crosses sewn to their caps. They pounded on doors. Children awoke in terror . . . mothers rose from their beds in a flurry while fathers sleepily answered the knocks only to be slaughtered where they stood. None but the perpetrators understood that a massacre of horrific proportions was crafted to follow this most beautiful and deadly wedding. All over Paris, Protestant families awoke to screams and shouts, curses and jeers. Doors were broken down. Blood ran freely. Chains were set up so that none might escape.

Everywhere one looked, there was carnage. A man’s status in life did not matter. Even Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, loved and respected by many, once a mentor of King Charles, was a fatality of this night. From the highest official to the ‘common folk’ who had come only to see the marriage of Henri de Navarre, every Huguenot was in danger.

Rumors would later deflect the blame. Detractors believed the Huguenots were planning an attack, as many of the Huguenot nobles had recently protested certain affairs of state. Many said Catherine de’Medici, the queen mother and formerly King Charles’ regent was to blame. It is currently believed that Charles himself most likely had a part in the decision after Catherine convinced him the Huguenots meant to take his life, though he did not fathom how many would die. There was probably some truth in each rumor. Perhaps the assassins took their marching orders and added their own twists; they ran wild and created even more chaos than was planned. We will never know for sure.

The “Saint Bartholomew’s Day massacre” went on for days. Not only in Paris, but in the countryside and surrounding territories, claiming the Protestant faith meant instant death. The demand for burials was overwhelmingly high. Many broken bodies were thrown into the Seine. The attitude of the day dictated that Huguenots did not deserve burial in sacred ground.

Unfortunately, this is not a fiction story. This event did occur, beginning on the 24th of August, 1572. Though some of the details are guesswork and the number of casualties has fluctuated greatly from historian to historian, the bulk of the account is as accurate as can be expected. The sheer horror of the massacre is difficult to comprehend. The casual attitude that the perpetrators showed toward their victims after the slaughter is nearly as disturbing as the bloodlust these men-at-arms showed during the bloodshed.

No one will ever know how many innocent souls lost their lives at this time. But Protestant Christians can take comfort in the fact that God knows each and every one of those souls. When I was writing this post I thought of Luke 12:7. “Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered.” I realized that the Lord must certainly know the Saint Bartholomew’s Day martyrs. He remembers, loves, and cherishes their sacrifice so much more than we mortals ever could. To God be the glory!

For other posts concerning the massacre, see:

July 26, 2012 (The St. Bartholomew’s Massacre and My Soul Cry)

July 04, 2012 (St. Bartholomew’s Day and the “Miraculous” Hawthorn)

June 21, 2012 (Victims of the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre: Charles de Teligny)

June 13, 2012 (The Stones Cry Out, my poem)

March 09, 2012 (Admiral Gaspard de Coligny: A Life in Brief)


My blog will remain black until Monday the 27th of August to honor and remember the Huguenot victims of the St. Bartholomew's.


(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

August 23, 2012

***NOTE***


I had planned to put up a special blog post tomorrow for the 440th anniversary of the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre, but my Internet connection has been giving me no end of trouble today. If I still have a connection, sometime within the next few hours I will put up tomorrow's post so I can be sure it will be up.

August 23, 2012

Here is another poem I wrote.

“Tears in Gethsemane”

(c) 2007 Joyously Saved

The whisper of the angels' wings are carried on the breeze,

The Holy Spirit gently sings between the garden trees,

The men who sleep beyond the gate are deaf to Jesus’ prayer,

They do not have the knowledge that their Savior suffers there.

The Savior kneels with heavy heart and knows His life will end,

He knows that fate will triumph through betrayal by a friend,

In all His pain He does not doubt the Father's perfect plan,

But looks for peace among the trees, that great and tender Man.

His eyes look sadly on His friends; oblivious they lie,

They still cannot imagine in what way their Lord will die,

He pleads with His disciples, warns them not to laze around,

But then returns once more to find them sleeping on the ground.

The whispers are now silent as the angels wait above,

They know their blessed Savior will give up His life for love,

Then Judas gives the deadly kiss, his heart set to betray,

Lord Jesus is the calming force; disciplines join the fray.

No malice does He harbor, no revenge grows in His heart,

He knows He is no common man but has been set apart,

To save His Father's blessed sheep from evil in the flock,

The world is tossed upon the sea but Jesus is the rock.

Without remorse they taunt and mock the Savior in His pain,

The tears of His disciples coat the barren earth like rain,

The ragged cross is lifted high on bleak Golgotha’s face,

The Son of God and Son of man surveys the human race.

Those born and all those yet to come, He thinks upon with love,

His blood rains down – a blessing from the Sovereign Lord above,

All inhumanity Christ bears without a brutal word,

He dies within the first day but He rises on the third.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved