May 12, 2012

Yesterday I received an e-newsletter from Bible Gateway called “Faithful Through the Ages.” This particular newsletter involved John Foxe, the author of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. Did any other book besides the Bible have such an impact on our Protestant ancestors? For, they reasoned, if other faiths guarded the tales of their martyrs so carefully, if people catalogued the names and stories so those unfortunate souls might be remembered, why then should this newfound faith not do the same? More painful than martyrdom itself was being forgotten. 

There was no shortage of sad tales, for the early Protestants --- especially the French Huguenots --- were a church of martyrs. There has been talk since Foxe’s Book of Martyrs was first published that Foxe may have embellished stories or even outright created some of them for sensational purposes. Some assume that because this may have been the case, none of the book is true. Yet even if Foxe was indeed guilty of embellishment or so forth, that does not in any way say that the entire book is untrue. One needs only to research particular stories and back up facts.  Much can be proven. And few would venture to say that the 1500s and 1600s were not a breeding ground for religious violence. Burnings, hangings, and other horrible punishments simply for the “crime” of holding the Protestant faith were widespread and widely-known.

Copy of Foxe's Book of Martyrs published in 1563.

                                                       

Today’s readers of Foxe’s Book of Martyrs will likely run a gamut of emotions from anger to sadness to pride; anger that such atrocities occurred, sadness that individuals with lives to lead were ripped from the world without mercy, and pride that our ancestors had the strength, courage, and steadfastness to choose faith and God above the countless foibles of the earth. I doubt it will be an easy read, and it is certainly not a “fun” read, but as a Protestant from the “Reformation” faith of Lutheranism, I count it my duty to learn, to internalize, to understand why my ancestors suffered and why the faith was so precious to them. Because they died and because their descendants refused to recant, we are here practicing the “Reformation faiths” today.

Today I am going to start Foxe’s Book of Martyrs. It will be slow going (considering that it was written hundreds of years ago, and also that it is a *long* book) but even reading a page will, I am sure, already fill me with the pride and resolve of my spiritual forebears. It should be noted that while the first edition was printed in 1563, there have been many subsequent printings that include events that occurred throughout time periods as new as the 19^th century.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

May 11, 2012

The French Wars of Religion in Brief

It is fascinating to study countries’ histories and wonder why one country dealt with the burgeoning spirit of Protestantism in one way while another country, not so far away, had a completely different approach. For instance, England early became known as a Protestant country, yet despite the still-large number of Catholics there were no religious wars. Spain refused to allow Protestantism in any way, shape, or form, and so never found itself involved in religious wars. Yet France, with both Protestants and Catholics in large numbers, was the scene of violent religious confrontation that lasted for decades.

There were eight French Wars of Religion in all. The first, beginning in 1562, was unquestionably unavoidable, as the Huguenots had already borne various atrocities since the Protestant faith had spread into France. The church burning at Vassy in March 1562, where Huguenot faithful were burned alive during services by the Duke of Guise’s troops, was the spark that finally combusted into a blazing fire. The siege of Rouen and the Battle of Dreux were particularly harsh engagements. 

Huguenots enjoyed a wary peace until 1567, when the second war began. The subsequent Battle of Saint-Denis led to the Peace of Longjumeau in 1568, but by this time it seemed there was no end to hostilities in sight. This was proven in 1568 when a third war exploded. Huguenots and Catholics of France took no interest in Christian charity . . . their differences were irreconcilable. One of the Huguenots’ main concerns was defending La Rochelle, which by this time had become known as a Huguenot stronghold.

A scene from the siege of La Rochelle, 1572 / 1573

If French Protestants believed there could be nothing worse than war, they were sadly mistaken. On August 24, 1572, the Saint Bartholomew’s Day massacre, in which thousands of Protestants were killed, erupted in Paris and quickly spread. Protestants across Europe were horrified at the scope of destruction. There could be no false sense of security now. None believed that such an atrocity could have been committed; I cannot even imagine how frightening it must have been to live in a country that they knew was capable of such bloodshed. There was nowhere Huguenots might run . . . except back to war.

The fourth war, understandably, began in 1572. During this time was the first such siege of La Rochelle where the city was used as a Huguenot stronghold. The 1573 Edict of Boulogne was bittersweet . . . it was only a slight consolation after so many lives had been lost. This edict gave three military towns to the French Protestants to do with as they wished. One of these was the beloved La Rochelle. Huguenots made good use of this town in later years. In 1574 the fifth war broke out. This war was not particularly notable, but it did lead to the sixth war in 1576. 

The Catholic League, much feared by Protestant Europe, fought at every turn the concessions that had been given to the Huguenots by the Edict of Beaulieu. It was around this time that neighboring countries began to cast their lots with one side or the other, England giving aid to the Protestant Huguenots however it could, Spain helping the Catholic League. King Henri III reneged and took away many of the Huguenots’ rights due to political and religious pressure.

In 1579 the seventh war began. This was less of a “war” and more of an “each side with pitchforks prepared to duel to the death whenever the opportunity might arise.” The tension was tangible. France had been a tinderbox and soon would be again. Henri de Navarre, the Huguenots’ champion, was technically slated to rule France, but Catholic opposition firmly forbade the idea of a Calvinist king. 

The “War of the Three Henrys,” which spanned from 1585 to 1598, was undoubtedly the most costly and probably the bloodiest engagement. This time there were no lukewarm treaties, no kings attempting to play both sides against each other or cosset either. The fighting raged on without end. In 1587 the Battle of Coutras was fought. In 1589, Henri III was killed by a monk, unexpectedly opening the way for Henri IV to step up and lift the Protestant banners high. The Battle of Ivry in 1590 is one of the most well-known of the Wars of Religion. 

A probably aggrandized view of Henri de Navarre at the Battle of Ivry, 1590

Now, if one reads extensively on Henri de Navarre, one cannot help but admire him despite some of the more questionable things he doubtlessly engaged in (especially if one is a proud Protestant who roots for “their side” whenever possible!) but I was actually very disappointed that he converted to Catholicism in 1594. This grand Huguenot champion decided to renounce his faith so he might win the kingdom. If it was a sincere, heartfelt conversion that would be a different matter, but it is very clear that it was for political expedience. 

How did the Wars of Religion finally end? The Edict of Nantes was passed in 1598 (see my post of April 17th). By this time, France was drenched in blood and weary of war. The divisions had opened so widely that the chasm could never be filled again, and Huguenots and Catholics cast wary eyes upon each other. The fighting was finally finished. Yet one cannot help but wonder at what cost. 

Considering the many wars, sieges, massacres, homegrown squabbles, and state-run executions that transpired during the first few centuries of Protestantism, it is amazing that any of our ancestors survived at all. Even more amazing is that our faith survived . . . or perhaps not so amazing, as God has always been in control. It was only by the grace of God that the faith continually rose from the ashes. We must never forget what a proud legacy we bear.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

May 10, 2012

While looking at vacation photos of St. Augustine, Florida, I noticed some in particular that gave me chills. They featured Matanzas Bay ("bay of slaughters," so named after the French Protestant Huguenots who were killed in September and October 1565 just fourteen miles down the coast) which eventually runs out to the Matanzas River where the massacre occurred. Legend has it that the Matanzas Bay will sometimes turn red in an eternal reminiscence of that horrific event. While I do not particularly believe in such things, it was indeed chilling to see how the sun taints those tranquil waters sinister red.

Whether or not the legends of blood-red waters are true,
such sunrise-stained moments are harrowing reminders.

So what can such a scene teach us? Those of us who respect and remember the dead can do our part by keeping their memory alive. If this legendary occurrence has any basis in truth, it may very well be so we never forget one of the most tragic events in the history of America. 

To read more about the Huguenots of Matanzas, read my post of February 26th.


(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

May 09, 2012

Raise the Five Solas High

I remember once reading a Jewish person’s thoughts on the Jewish culture as a whole and how, when a Jew did something extraordinary, all Jewish people who heard of his accomplishment took a certain pride in it as if they themselves had won the glory. It was a tribal thing. An inherited thing. A close-knit phenomenon. I believe that Protestants of the “Reformation faiths” ought to feel the same way. We must never forget the martyr-blood in our veins. It is sanctified by God Himself through the men and women who had the ability to hold high His truth and confess His Word even at the cost of everything they held dear.

Why the glow of satisfaction? When I read of the struggles my early Protestant ancestors, whether Lutheran, Huguenot, or Anabaptist, underwent, and I hear of their faith, strength, and courage, I feel a glow of pride that I might be part of their spiritual legacy.  These were “my” people. I claimed them with great joy. That is why I have always been fascinated by the French Protestants in Florida, though their colony was so ill-fated. Those were my people. Five Solas people. (When I recently visited St. Augustine, Florida, I had an uncontrollable urge to shout Vive la France! But I refrained. Maybe next time . . .!)

There is an old church in Paris known as the Oratoire du Louvre. It became a Protestant church in 1811 and in 1889 became home to an impressive statue of Admiral Gaspard de Coligny, who funded Jean Ribault and René de Laudonnière’s doomed New World settlements and later perished during the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre. Again hearing of the sacrifices my spiritual forebears made filled me with that same “tribal” pride and warmth. 

I often read stories of martyrdom, unshakable, steadfast faith, and courage. My Protestant heart and soul feel wrapped up in these stories that are just as much my own as they could possibly be. These people were amazing. I can think of few greater honors than to be a part of a religious movement that refused to be silenced, and a spiritual descendant of those who pressed on even when the simplest rights were revoked.

The Reformed Church of France has withstood every kind of prejudice and intolerance that came her way. Founded in 1559, she has fought the fight and kept the faith and survived until the present day. The motto of the Reformed Church sums up the survival of the early “Reformation faiths” quite well: “burning, but not consumed.” When I see such statues, read such stories, and ponder that my ancestors and spiritual forebears went through fire and blood and still kept the faith, nothing could make me more excited to believe as I do. What better legacy than to hold their doctrines high like a banner in my heart?

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

May 08, 2012

Comparing Faiths: 16th Century Style

What was the bloodshed about? What did Catholics, Protestants, and Anabaptists find so difficult to reconcile? Where did the heart of the arguments really lie? I have been interested in these questions for years. I have always loved religious comparisons, have always been interested in the 16th century, and come from a strong Protestant tradition, so I decided to try to figure it all out. 

I do not claim to be an authority on this subject and I may be mistaken on a few theological points, but this is my own personal opinion on the differences between the faiths in this time period. I also will admit that many of these arguments are still ongoing and I do not hope to decipher current issues . . . I am only writing from the springboard of the Reformation era. Of course, I am also writing from a Protestant perspective, so I apologize if my judgment is clouded a bit :-)

Between Catholics and Protestants, there were, I think, four major issues: Sacraments, iconography, authority, and Communion. Catholics had been following seven sacraments since the formation of the Church: Baptism, Confirmation, Holy Orders, the Eucharist, Reconciliation, Matrimony, and the Anointing of the Sick. They used both Scripture and other religious writings to base these sacraments upon. The writings of the Church Fathers were also considered indispensable. 

Yet Protestants insisted on using only the sacraments that were found in Scripture: Baptism and the Eucharist. Sola Scriptura, Scripture alone, was their cry. Anabaptists insisted that baptism needed only be given to an adult who understood the sanctity of the sacrament. This splinter group lived an austere life that seemed to take the Protestant Reformation’s “reforms” even further, and both Catholics and Protestants saw them as a threat both politically and religiously.

Iconography and religious statuary was another area in which Catholics and Protestants clashed. Catholics used religious statuary, stained glass windows, and other visual aids that many Protestants, especially those of the Calvinist persuasion, found offensive. Protestant dissenters used Exodus 20:4 to explain their dislike of these things: “You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters below.” On this note, die-hard iconoclasts would often desecrate religious statuary used to decorate churches and cathedrals.

Catholics accepted the ultimate authority of the pope; Protestants did not. Lutherans and Calvinists, especially, preached that only Christ had the right to be the supreme head over Christendom and no mortal man could fulfill this position. This vitriol might have also stemmed from the fact that the pope held almost unswayable power in much of Europe and could deal with “dissenters” as he liked . . . a fact which, in that time, filled many Protestant hearts with fear. 

If there was a “Grand Dame” of troubles between Catholics and Protestants of this era, it was Communion. The Catholic Church championed transubstantiation, the doctrine of bread and wine consecrated during the Mass transforming into Christ’s body and blood, while the Lutherans believed in consubstantiation, the idea that Christ is present “in and among” the bread and wine. 

Calvinists saw both expressions as a violation of Scripture and insisted that Communion was to be done only symbolically. They reminded followers that Christ had often referred to Himself by way of inanimate objects (as a door through which followers could enter, or as a vine) and that, as He was not literally giving His blood and breaking His body when He spoke such words, it was meant symbolically.

These divisions made it impossible for the new denominations of the 16^th century to make peace with the Catholic Church, and each side vehemently defended their own positions. Protestants quickly discovered that new ideas were dealt with quite harshly. They began to feel an unbearable compulsion to return to the folds of the Church and abandon their newfound doctrines. This they refused to do.

There was to be no reconciling in the era of the 16^th century or far beyond. Clinging so tenaciously to the truth of the Gospel meant remaining in Europe and being put to death or fleeing to a promising new land just as they had fled to the newfound doctrines pulled from the pages of Scripture.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

May 07, 2012

First Martyrs: Witnesses of Truth

Who was the first to die for the faith? The first to judge truth and God’s glory more important than life itself? Each of the “Reformation faiths” had their share of witnesses, and here are the first such men for the Lutheran, Calvinist, and Anabaptist traditions. (I apologize if there were others who took the title of “first” --- this is what I found while researching, but I will give honor where it is due if I discover otherwise).

Lutheran

Heinrich Voes and Johannes Esch. These two young men shared a common factor with their spiritual mentor Martin Luther . . . they first stepped into history as Augustinian monks.  These first Lutheran martyrs did not live in Germany but in Belgium, and they were burned at the stake in June 1523. This was six years after the world-changing 95 Theses were posted on the Castle Church door in Wittenberg, Germany. Luther wrote the song “Flung to the Heedless Winds” in honor of Esch and Voes. The lyrics can be found in my post of March 25. 

Huguenot (Calvinist)

Jean Valliere was burned in August 1523 for professing Protestant beliefs. Along with Louis de Berquin and Jacques Pavennes, Jean is known as one of the first “Huguenot” martyrs, but I think they were in fact the first Protestant martyrs in France --- they were of the Lutheran tradition. The Calvinistic tradition with which the Huguenots were associated did not emerge until the 1530s). The year was 1525. Two years earlier the blessed words of Christ had appeared in the French tongue, converting countless souls to this new and joyous doctrine.

I was unable to find the first Calvinist martyr in France, but I did find a man who was one of the first. Pierre Brully, a pastor particularly enthused over John Calvin’s explanation of Scripture, was sentenced to burning in 1545. As Calvinism spread through France during the early 1530s as far as I know, I imagine he was one of the first to give his life for that faith. Brully lived for a time in Strasbourg and died in Tournai in Belgium.

Anabaptist

Felix Manz was considered the first Anabaptist martyr, being condemned in January 1527. The Anabaptists were distrusted by both Protestant and Catholic factions due to their austerity in moral issues and their stance on adult baptism, and Manz was sentenced to drown in the Limmat River in Zurich, Switzerland. Many martyrs chose bits of Scripture to illustrate their confidence in salvation and to prove their ability and willingness to suffer for their faith. Manz said, “into Thy hands, Lord, I commend my spirit.’

Why should we honor and admire the “Reformation faiths” martyrs? It is human nature to protect one’s own life no matter the cost. The idea that there were and are men and women who love Christ and His pure doctrine enough to give up even their very lives in deference to Him is one of the most extreme examples of sacrifice that history has ever yielded. These early martyrs were faced with horrific fates and yet they never reneged on the challenge. They remained calm and steadfast. They fought the fight and kept the faith. They won the crown. The blessed crown of eternity.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

May 06, 2012

Setting the Scene: The 95 Theses

What was going through Martin Luther’s head when he resorted to nail and hammer and fastened the 95 Theses to the Castle Church door? It has been theorized that, since the Theses were written in Latin, he believed that only the scholars would be able to read his incendiary and heartfelt words and provide the catalyst for a proper debate. It is unlikely he expected to change the world or eventually create an entirely new doctrine that differed from what the Catholic Church had been teaching for over a thousand years.

So what was his goal? He wanted to get people to think. To think about indulgences and their practicality --- or lack thereof. To think about the pope’s dominion over Holy Roman Empire-owned Germany. To think about their faith, their conscience, and their future. Martin Luther was deeply offended by contemporary practices and wanted to give the people an alternative to the only Church they had ever known. 

He wanted to teach these valuable words: “The just shall live by faith.” It was a concept few had ever considered. I like to imagine that scene, October 31, 1517. Preparations for All Saints’ Day would have been underway. Perhaps Luther was thinking of that observance. October in Germany was most likely chilly, and I can picture his heavy black robes blowing out in all directions in that certain autumn-scented breeze that we hayride-loving, pumpkin-picking Americans know so well. Few people would have noted his presence. It was commonplace to nail all sorts of notices on the door for the people of Wittenberg to see, and this monk probably interested them very little.

Any scholars might have noted his presence with passing interest, seeing that there would be something new for them to read and perhaps argue about. But once men began to read the 95 Theses, they set to work translating it into German. They put the printing presses to good use. Soon, what began as an invitation to scholarly debate began a revolution of Reformation thought and doctrine that the world had never before seen. Was this Martin Luther’s goal? Most assuredly not. But the result was the freedom of heart, mind, soul, and spirit --- and that was a reaction of which he could be very proud.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved