September 14, 2012

Trouble in Germany: What Exactly Gave Birth to the Reformation?

I often imagine the explosion of excitement --- and danger --- that erupted so suddenly onto the European scene in the early 1500s and beyond. The Protestant Reformation was such a driving force, such a complete deviance from the norm, such a revolution, that it is difficult to imagine how exactly it unfolded. Germany was certainly not high on the list of “countries to make a splash” at the time. So why Germany? Why did Protestant thought flourish here in the Holy Roman Empire when countries such as France and Spain never accepted the “new religion”? I have a few ideas.

I have studied German history back to the Roman era and beyond, and one thing that became crystal clear was that Germans, “barbarians” as their enemies called them, violently resisted any form of Romanization. They had no intentions of accepting Roman rule as the Celts and other native tribes later would. Thus, as Christianity was spread on the tip of a sword via a fellow Germanic tribe known as the Franks, and as Roman church proceedings probably always remained foreign to German-speakers, there must have been a sense of uneasiness with Catholic doctrine that other countries might not have felt. Over time, however, it became so ingrained that the German populace became accustomed to it.

Another issue was the illiteracy of the common medieval German, and the fact that the average man or woman of the 16^th century had little access to religious literature. People had no way to distinguish for themselves whether a new “fad” was beneficial or dangerous. They obediently believed whatever was pressed upon them. In Martin Luther’s era, the sale of indulgences skyrocketed, and men such as Johann Tetzel put a new spin on the idea. 

Tetzel appealed to German emotions by employing plays and posters that showed their loved ones in torment. He explained that if they did not pay a certain amount of money, their beloved departed friends and relatives would moan and lament that their own children did not desire to save them. Faced with this horror, Germans hurried to empty their pockets, playing right into the manipulation of those trying to raise money for Rome. This particular thought always bothers me, since, having mostly German ancestry, I think of my ancestors being subjected to these “skits” and feeling such great desperation that they needed to do whatever they could to save their loved ones. 

The average 16^th century German was hard-working and devout, but he began to see that a great amount of his earnings never reached his family. The medieval Catholic Church funneled German coins into the construction of St. Peter’s and other projects. Perhaps without Martin Luther’s teachings ordinary Germans would have rebelled on their own, but Luther’s sudden promise of a Christian life without spending every coin on indulgences came like a godsend. They greedily drank up the idea that would be a Christian without the self-denial and blind obedience to which medieval and Renaissance man was subjected. 

When Protestant thought emerged, the German populace moved away from indulgences and began to ponder questions of a more theological nature. The printing press produced various pamphlets explaining the Reform and encouraging Germans to think for themselves instead of taking marching orders from local officials. It is indeed fascinating to ponder why Germany never suffered religious wars as did France, and never became a center for religious bloodshed as did France and Spain. Why, when Italy, Spain, and France remained unfailingly Catholic, did Germany, the “Holy Roman Empire,” cling so faithfully to the five solas of the Reformation? 

One might say that the Lord works in mysterious ways.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

September 13, 2012

"Massacre at Matanzas": Analyzing a Portrait Bit-By-Bit

On March 27, 2012, I stepped into the wilds of Matanzas Inlet, fourteen miles from St. Augustine, Florida, intending to honor the lives and memories of about 245 French Protestant men martyred here in September and October 1565. Though it was indeed an incredible feeling to see this marker for myself (above) I took note that there were a lot of things that did not really make sense on the portrait, things that may not be 100% accurate. So I decided to break down the image and see what was true and what was false. I apologize for the quality of the photos, as the marker is very old and at times hard to see.

What the marker shows: Every captured Frenchman except one is dressed in what appears to be dark trousers and blue shirts.

The probable truth: It is very unlikely that each man would be dressed exactly alike. Also, breeches were much more voluminous in this era, not fitted and to the knee like these appear to be. (There might have been some who wore more practical breeches, but there is nothing to suggest that these men did). While sailors might have all worn the same kind of shirts, they still would have been in various stages of disarray. 

What the marker shows: A man dressed in black kneeling in the bottom left. I do not know who this is supposed to represent. Is it one of the Catholic priests that came along on Pedro Menéndez de Avilés’ expedition? Is he praying for the men to be released or believing, as many did in those days, that the actions were justified? Is he meant to be a Protestant minister praying before his martyrdom? Is he meant to be French admiral Jean Ribault, whom I believe is wearing red and is featured up further on the portrait? If a priest, who? If a minister, there were no Protestant ministers at Matanzas.

The probable truth: Since I believe the man in red to be Jean Ribault, and the man in black standing at the top of the dunes to be Pedro Menéndez, the only logical explanation is that this was probably meant to be Father Francisco López de Mendoza Grajales, who was indeed present at the Matanzas massacres (at least the one in September) and wrote about the event in his annals.

  

What the marker shows: Two men lying dead, while the rest quietly await their martyrdom.

The probable truth: This is not how Matanzas happened. Men were ferried across Matanzas Inlet by tens and maneuvered behind the sands so their fellow Frenchmen would remain in the dark about Spanish intentions. There would not have been two men already vanquished while the rest stood and looked on.

What the marker shows: A man in red standing in the center right, dressed finely.

The probable truth: This is likely meant to be Admiral Jean Ribault. I imagine that even after a shipwreck he would have found some way to make himself presentable, and though he may not have worn bright red, it is fairly obvious that the figure is meant to be Ribault.

What the marker shows: A man standing at the top of the sand dunes, holding a sword and a Spanish flag. I cannot make out the flag. A red-and-white flag below, however, is probably the banner of Castile and Leon.

The probable truth: This is almost undoubtedly Pedro Menéndez de Avilés, who “masterminded” the raid on French La Caroline and was responsible for both Matanzas massacres. He even looks ominous standing up there, waiting for more Frenchmen.

What the marker shows: Spanish soldiers carrying various weapons, as well as weapons sticking up out of the ground. Most appear to be spears. The soldier at the far bottom right carries a nasty-looking halberd

The probable truth: Conquistadors would have carried a wide range of weapons, including spears and halberds. Why exactly the artist chose to have them sticking in the ground, I am not sure.

In closing: The men were brought over in small boats, ten at a time (see small red boat in middle right of marker, and Frenchmen waiting on the other side of the inlet). They were forced to cross the Matanzas Inlet to get to the other side in the attempt of (what they thought was) surrendering. Though I am uncertain why a small “island” has been drawn in the middle of the inlet, the rest of the scenery is probably accurate . . . mostly sand, some beach grass, and plenty of water.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

September 12, 2012

Lutheran Hymnal: Music to the Ears

Instead of my regular jaunt around Cyber Hymnal, I found a site called Lutheran Hymnal (http://lutheran-hymnal.com/) that had some great hymns. Many were new to me. Here is my offering for today:

“Grace! T’is A Charming Sound”

Philip Doddridge, Augustus M. Toplady

Grace! T’is a charming sound,

Harmonious to the ear;

Heaven with the echo shall resound,

And all the earth shall hear.

Grace first contrived the way

To save rebellious man,

And all the steps that grace display

Which drew the wondrous plan.

Grace first inscribed my name

In God’s eternal book;

T’was grace that gave me to the Lamb,

Who all my sorrows took.

Grace led my wandering feet

To tread the heavenly road;

And new supplies each hour I meet

While pressing on to God.

Grace taught my soul to pray

And made mine eyes o’erflow;

T’was grace that kept me to this day

And will not let me go.

Grace all the work shall crown

Through everlasting days;

It lays in heaven the topmost stone

And well deserves the praise.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

September 11, 2012

Edward VI of England: How Protestant Was He?

Of all the nations I enjoy researching during my 16^th century studies, England is one of the most fascinating, because without England becoming Protestant it is highly unlikely that my ancestors would have been allowed to settle in America. That said, there were many different people --- many different factors --- that turned England from a dominion of Catholicism to a stronghold of Protestantism. One of the movers and shakers of this revolution was named Edward Tudor. And he was only nine years old. It could be argued that, as he died very young, he might have converted to Catholicism as an adult. But he never did. Instead he chose a Protestant successor --- Lady Jane Grey --- and touched her fate as well.

England’s Protestant flavor was enhanced by the fact that as Edward was a child, a council had been chosen to protect and advise him. These men were committed Protestants. As Edward lay at death’s door they created a document that said England could never again be controlled by a Catholic king or queen, and nor could Catholicism be the official religion. Were it not for his minority (and for powerful and influential Reformation-minded men being in charge) that time in history could have unfolded very differently.

Sometime in Edward’s young life, he changed from lukewarm Catholic to vibrant Protestant, taking great comfort in the five solas of the Reformation and desiring everyone else to do likewise. He was one of the rare children who did not have to be encouraged to spend long hours reading Scripture. He read voraciously every day of his own volition. Scholars believe that the ‘Act of Uniformity,’ passed in 1552, completed England’s exodus from Catholicism to Protestantism. One of the Act’s purposes was to introduce more Reformation-minded theology into the Church of England.

Though Edward VI died at just fifteen years of age, his reforms resounded in England clearly enough that people joyfully took them to heart --- for the most part. When his sister Mary I ascended the throne it became clear why the nation had wished to deter religious fanatics of any stripe from taking the throne. Somewhere around three hundred Protestants were burned at the stake due to Mary’s rabid adherence to orthodox Catholicism. Yet after Mary’s death, Elizabeth I quickly determined to follow her brother’s footsteps --- at least in action. When Protestant England defeated the armadas of Catholic Spain and became one of the strongest European nations the world had ever known, the policies that Edward VI and his advisors had put into place were brought full-circle.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

September 10, 2012

What Would You Do?

You are living in Paris in the year of our Lord 1565. There are four things you know very well: one, how fast disease travels; two, that the Catholic church of the sixteenth century does not like dissention; three, that poor hygiene and unsanitary conditions run rampant; and four, that warfare is frequent and deadly. Life for you has been, as the old saying goes, “nasty and brutish,” but you hope it will not also be “short.” Imagine the scene. Narrow medieval streets with old half-timbered houses on either side, pointed roofs reaching to the heavens. Handsome churches scattered near and far. You cannot help but smell the Seine River (which is not referred to as an open sewer without cause). You take note of women in long, sharp-waisted gowns and linen ruffs, and of men in those puffed and slashed sixteenth century “bloomers” that will make future generations chuckle.

16th century map of Paris, by Belleforest

It is a simple day. Not being Catholic, you are exempt from the feast day celebrations --- at least by your own reckoning --- and decide to take a stroll. You figure that since the “Edict of Amboise” was passed in March of 1562, you will be relatively safe, for the first War of Religion has ended and there is forced peace between France’s Catholics and Protestants. But the issuing of an edict does not mean anyone will obey it. There are many fanatics in Paris who would gladly run you through with the business end of a sword. You have never understood what it means to be equal. In the eyes of your countrymen you are a heretic, unfit to walk the earth. You were born looking over your shoulder. Now is no exception. But today you are young and have a life full of dreams just waiting around the corner. Now is not the time for melancholy thoughts.

A sudden rustling alerts you to an unwanted presence. A group of soldiers, some of whom appear to be half-drunk, comes out of the shadows. They demand to know your faith. In the sixteenth century, flushed with the liberties of the Reformation, you fully and truly profess the Protestant faith to be the only manifestation of God’s Word, the fulfillment of Scripture, and the whole truth of the Gospel. To accept another denomination is unthinkable. You believe the medieval church contains errors with which you could never reconcile. You take a deep breath; it seems you have been waiting your whole life for this moment, knowing it would come and only wondering when. But you are not afraid. Be still and know that I am God, a voice lingers in your mind. “Protestant,” you say. Despite the cost.

Back to the twenty-first century. If you could time-travel, if you found yourself in such a situation, what would you do? It is difficult even for modern-day Americans to imagine the brutality of that long-ago era. Whenever we are faced which tough challenges, it helps to remember our hearty, faithful ancestors and the sacrifices they made. They understood that admitting their Protestant faith would mean death or at the very least imprisonment. They understood that they would never see their loved ones again on this side of life. But their faith meant so much to them that they pressed ahead anyway.

They loved life, but they loved Christ more.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

September 09, 2012

Huguenots of Martinique: Their Unique Situation

The phrase “you learn something new every day” applies to history and religious studies very well. Just when you think you’ve exhausted the study of 16^th century clothing or 17^th century religious thought, you come upon something new and interesting. My Protestant Reformation studies have always been that way --- never a dull moment.

While doing some Huguenot studies, I discovered that there was apparently a large collection of French Huguenots in a place you wouldn’t expect . . . the Caribbean island of Martinique, which was known as part of the French West Indies. It was fortunate for these Protestant settlers that there was little religious authority in the Antilles during the early-to-mid 17^th century, as the rules on Protestants immigrating were rather lax. As a result, a few brave Huguenot souls decided to mix the mundane hardships of homesteading with the beautiful views and tropical island vibes we still imagine when we dream of the Caribbean.

This is not to say that the Huguenots were not without opposition. King Louis XIV, known for the Edict of Fontainebleau that denied his Protestant subjects even the simplest of rights, was greatly incensed that many of the men successfully accumulating wealth were “heretics.” Beginning in 1686, the Huguenots’ image of Martinique changed entirely. No longer was it a tentative opportunity for religious equality. Instead, Louis set it up as a sort of “prison” where recalcitrant Protestants were dropped off until they could learn to “play nice,” i.e. convert to the Catholic faith.

This intolerance on the part of King Louis XIV and his associates stunted Martinique’s financial growth. In the 1680s, most of the previous Huguenot patrons and their more recent, persecuted coreligionists sought British territories where they might be permitted to practice their faith. As I enjoy “pulling out” names of those men and women who bravely lived their beliefs and settled new frontiers, I was pleased to discover some of the Protestant colonists who enjoyed a brief period of colonization in Martinique. One such man was named Philippe Casier.

Philippe was about twenty-one years of age when he came to Martinique, and his occupation was listed as farmer. He and his wife Marie had at least eight children, two of whom, a son and daughter, were born on the island. According to family tales, Philippe originally settled in St. Christopher, another Caribbean locale, but came to Martinique around 1635 with other enterprising men. No one is certain why the Casiers returned to France in the 1640s. With the strangling Edict of Fontainebleau still 25 years in the future, perhaps they felt safe enough to do so.

 At any rate, the beautiful island of Martinique still echoes with the memories of brave Protestant souls like Philippe Casier and many others . . . those who put their backs to the tasks at hand and thrived, those who were brought by force, and those who endured. Surely even the most difficult tasks must have seemed easier, surrounded by waving palms, wide open shores, and emerald seas . . .

One can only hope they at least had peace in that.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

September 08, 2012

William Hunter and His Sacrifice

Today I lift up the name of William Hunter, an English Protestant stolen from a life of relative prosperity as a silk weaver and persecuted for his faith. At first glance one might picture him as an old and well-seasoned man, for he would not participate in Catholic doctrines he could not force himself to believe. He also showed a great amount of courage, even daring to read English Scriptures in places where his act of “dissention” might be seen. These “deviances” earned him a condemnation to the stake on the 27^th of March, 1555. William Hunter faithfully died a Protestant at the ripe old age of . . .

. . . nineteen.

As late as the 1840s, the “Martyr’s Elm” still grew in Brentwood, England, but I am uncertain if it still stands today. There is, however, a plaque that commemorates William’s sacrifice. When we think of martyrs we often think of old men with long venerable beards, or perhaps of mothers, fathers, sturdy folk with years of experience. Seldom do we think of people who had not yet reached their twentieth birthday.

Rest in peace, William Hunter.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved