July 15, 2012

Lutheran Humor: To the Extreme

In the course of my 16^th century / Protestant history / Reformation-era studies, I inevitably happen upon Youtube, which has a lot of information but not always a high level of helpfulness. Last night I came across a comedy skit about Martin Luther. The program, Horrible Histories, is a terrific kids’ history show from Great Britain (one which I admittedly love) that showcases odd bits of history to make the subject more palatable and interesting. This particular sketch was about Luther’s physical ailments (read: bowel upsets) that he suffered during much of his adult life. 

I know what you’re probably thinking --- this is the man who gave us the five solas, a man after God’s own heart, a man who could be both crude and scholarly and did not care how anyone perceived him when he showed either tendency. If I as a Lutheran admire him as the founder of my denomination, should I not be offended at a comedy sketch that showed the high premium he placed on his bodily functions? Should I not gasp in uncomfortable horror as he describes writing letters to his friends to inform them of his toilet activities? Should I dare to laugh when he mentions building his office around his toilet because he spent so much time there? (This is supposedly true). 

Though the skit was not offensive in a moral sense, it was definitely what some might call disrespectful. But then I got to thinking . . . aren’t Lutherans well-known for satire and poking fun at themselves? Is that not what distinguishes us? Horrible Histories’ Martin Luther sketch was startlingly raw and funny and what was some might call “cute” (if they enjoy that sort of humor!) But what would have Martin thought about it?

What do we know about the father of the Protestant Reformation? He was witty --- so much so that wit is one of his best-known talents --- and had an engaging, if occasionally rude, sense of humor. He could be forceful and antagonistic. He loved and trusted God and appreciated intensely that we are “saved by grace through faith.” He was earthy and down-to-earth. He made no bones about important thoughts, even personal ones, and saw no embarrassment in admitting his troubles. Martin Luther was a man unashamed of himself. Thus, I think he would actually find such a skit amusing. I cannot see him growing indignant or angered. Rather, I think he would give a rueful smile and a self-deprecating but somehow confident laugh and say, "ah, they’ve nailed it. That’s what I did, all right!"

You’ve got to love a man like that. 

So what can a corny Horrible Histories sketch about Martin Luther teach us as Protestants? It can remind us to enjoy life and not be so serious. Having fun and seeking humor are certainty not contrary to the Christian spirit . . . God gave us humor and made it natural for us to laugh at certain things. As long as comedy is not immoral, violent, or disrespectful to God or to our fellow human beings, Lutherans will usually give it an A+. The Lord never meant for us to be puritanical (in the sense meaning straight-laced; no offense to actual Puritans and their descendants!) Martin Luther’s doctrines balanced a healthy acknowledgement of sin’s unfortunate power in our lives and an open applause of the joys of everyday life. Music was beloved. Satire was much-sought-after.

Martin Luther might not have wholly approved of the ‘toilet sketch,’ but I definitely think he would have made his peace with it. When his enemies found some choice tidbit with which to taunt him, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. “I admit it; so what of it?” would have likely been his attitude. If something was common knowledge, why deny it?  Did he shut down when ugly gossip surfaced? No. He was an unstoppable man driven by the Savior. And he openly and earnestly dared to speak of things which most people would probably feel uncomfortable discussing. Again I say: what’s not to love?

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

July 14, 2012

The Valley of Vision

Lately I have been studying and comparing doctrinal differences (i.e. Lutheranism, Anabaptism, and Calvinism and, as an extension, Puritanism) and, perhaps due to curiosity, I picked up a book on my shelf called “The Valley of Vision: A Collection of Puritan Prayers and Devotions.” Though, not being Calvinist, it is sometimes difficult for me to grasp a few of the deeper concepts, I have always been fascinated with the Puritans. I wondered what gems of wonder I might discover and was pleased to find this: 

O Lord God, thou art my protecting arm,

Fortress, refuge, shield, buckler.

Fight for me and my foes must flee;

Uphold me and I cannot fall;

Strengthen me and I stand unmoved, unmovable;

Equip me and I shall receive no wound;

Stand by me and Satan will depart;

Anoint my lips with a song of salvation

and I shall shout thy victory;

Give me abhorrence of all evil,

as a vile monster that defies thy law,

             casts off thy yoke,

             defiles my nature,

             spreads misery.

Teach me to look to Jesus on His cross

and so to know sin’s loathsomeness in thy sight.
There is no pardon but through thy Son’s death,

             no cleansing but in His precious blood,

             no atonement but his to expiate evil.

Show me the shame, the agony, the bruises of incarnate God,

that I may read boundless guilt in the boundless price;

May I discern the deadly viper in its real malignity,

             tear it with holy indignation from my breast,

             resolutely turn from its every snare,

             refuse to hold polluting dalliance with it.

Blessed Lord Jesus, at thy cross

may I be taught the awful miseries from which I am saved,

             ponder what the word “lost” implies,

             see the fires of eternal destruction;

Then may I cling more closely to thy broken self,

             adhere to thee with firmer faith,

             be devoted to thee with total being,

             detest sin as strongly as thy love to me is strong.

And may holiness be the atmosphere in which I live.

The Puritans certainly had a way with words!

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

July 13, 2012

Dirk Willems: Anabaptist Martyr and Child of God

I have been interested in the stories of the Protestant martyrs for as long as I can remember, but there are some stories that really touch me. One is the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre of 1572. Another is the Huguenot massacre near St. Augustine, Florida, ending French hopes of settling the New World. A third is the story of Dirk Willems. I think many who have studied religion conflict in the 16^th century have heard at least snatches of this story, and it seems a central theme, but I wanted to recount it here because it is so amazingly powerful.

The tale began in the Netherlands. No one knows exactly how old Dirk was when he accepted the adult baptism that marked him as an Anabaptist or ‘re-baptizer,’ but it is clear that his newfound zeal drew a wary eye from Catholic officials. In 1569 he was imprisoned for his faith but managed to employ a homemade rope so he might lower himself down out of a window. He was almost free, but then it happened . . . his pursuer slammed through the ice with a mighty crack and was in immediate danger of drowning. What did Dirk do? He stopped, went back, and rescued the man who had sworn to apprehend him. 

So let’s set that scene. It was a frozen day, a barren landscape of white, most likely with a chill wind whistling. The young fleet-footed man felt his pulse throbbing in his chest and echoing in his ears as he fled across the ice. Perhaps, after having been imprisoned, it was difficult to run. He heard shouts and barking dogs, and he looked back just briefly to see that a man from the prison had given chase. Suddenly time was of the essence. Dirk Willems picked up his steps, each breath exhaling a silent prayer, until he heard a mighty crack and a strangled cry of surprise.

He stood and pondered. With this man out of the way, he could easily escape. Freedom was so close that it beckoned to him beguilingly. He had been abused, neglected, and subjected to horrific words concerning his Anabaptist faith. It was only a matter of time until he would have been carted away to the stake, or taken to be drowned. It would be easy to believe that God had destined the unfortunate guard to die. But Dirk, with a Christian heart and spirit, surged ahead, retracing his steps without taking time to ponder the ramifications. He could not walk away and do nothing. 

So, even knowing that he might still be put to death, he ran back over the crystal surface and pulled his pursuer out of the hole. A thousand different thoughts must have fled through his mind. But he did not allow fear and uncertainty to cloud his judgment. There was a fellow human being in need, and gaining freedom by another’s man death was not a sacrifice he was willing to make. So what did the drenched man do to repay Dirk Willems’ kindness? Some sources say he took him back to prison. Some say he asked his authorities to set Dirk free, which they refused to do. The Good Samaritan was carted to prison once again.

On May 16^th, 1569, he was burned at the stake.

I always found it stunning and admirable that my Lutheran, Huguenot, and Anabaptist ancestors and spiritual predecessors could choose to die for their faith in general, but to think that there were some who managed to rescue their tormenters in addition to sacrificing their lives for God’s Word! That is beyond inspiring. Dirk Willems was definitely a blessed man, in heaven if not on earth, and will forever be remembered with respect and admiration.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

July 12, 2012

America's Early Germans: Defenders of Protestant Principles

Prior to the early 1700s it may have seemed that German Protestants were lucky. Although they suffered the tragic calamity of the Thirty Years’ War throughout the 1600s, they escaped the religious wars that butchered France during the Reformation era, and they were not subjected to the burnings Spain liked so well to employ. Reformed and Lutheran families became the backbone of German culture. Yet they did face persecution of a different kind: Earlier laws stated that if one’s prince was Reformed, one must be Reformed, and if one’s prince was Lutheran, one must be Lutheran. This caused much grief for families who could not sensibly travel from one region to another. 

In the first years of the 18^th century, the War of Spanish Succession exploded across Europe, and Catholic France --- still persecuting her own Protestant subjects --- moved into Germany’s Palatinate. Many German Protestants were terrified at the prospect of being occupied by the same country that had subjected French co-religionists to such heartache.  Thus began the exodus of German Protestants to the New World. Over the decades the reasons for emigration varied: religious freedom, desire for wealth, starting a new and exciting life. Land and industry were extremely beguiling reasons as time passed. 

The Germans brought their deep Christian faith and reverence for Scripture, and they became possibly the largest Protestant group in the New World at the time. Many settlers of different cultures incorrectly saw the Germans as simple illiterate farmers. Yet men such as Martin Luther and Johann Sebastian Bach had sprung from Germany, as did many other religious reformers, scholars, musicians, and so forth. 

The Germans (known especially in Pennsylvania as “Deutsch,” the native word for “German,” then corrupted to “Dutch”) became numerous and contributed much to America’s cultural heritage and to the Protestant tradition. They passed their love of Scripture down through the generations, becoming the ancestors of godly families for whom church was not a chore but a blessing. 

The German Protestants were noted for three characteristics:

(1) A deep reverence for the Word of God and for the faith that sprang from the Reformation

(2) A thorough understanding of the ‘Protestant work ethic’ and a desire to succeed

(3) A rich dialect that is similar to modern-day German but has its own unique differences

The German Protestant immigrants, beginning in the late 17^th century and continuing through the 18^th and beyond, gave rise to countless families that established the five solas (Christ alone, faith alone, Scripture alone, grace alone, for the glory of God alone) in the New World and established firm, unapologetic Protestant principles. I am proud to call myself a descendant of these hearty German immigrants. And I am very proud to uphold their faith.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

July 11, 2012

One cannot reasonably study the Protestant Reformation and other important events of the 16^th century without paying homage to England’s lion-hearted Queen Elizabeth I. Through her influence, England become known as a Protestant country responsible for scouting the New World and laying the groundwork for a land of religious freedom. She ruled in a time when religious wars, internal intrigues, and hatred between European nations ran rampant, and she handled her realm with grace and aplomb. She later extended a hand to the suffering French Protestants but refused to show favoritism for much of her reign, proving herself something very unusual for that day and age: a tolerant monarch.

Queen Elizabeth was the perfect Anglican. She did not believe in Catholic ritual, but neither did she ascribe to Calvinist ideas that all church decoration and ceremony should be omitted. As one of the most influential leaders of the Protestant world, she headed a strong Reformation-minded bastion in a world where Catholicism held sway.

Elizabeth I's "Armada Portrait," painted in 1588

Such a monarch provided a refuge in the storm both for her own Protestant subjects and for those viewing her from abroad. She was strong-willed, clever, unshakable, and daring. Though women at that time were expected to be forever submissive, Elizabeth did not subscribe to such a concept. She was a proud individual who knew exactly who she was and what she could accomplish. I wondered what such a person might have to say about faith and life in general. I found some of Elizabeth’s quotes quite telling:

“I would rather go to any extreme than suffer anything that is unworthy of my reputation, or of that of my crown.”

“A clear and innocent conscience fears nothing.”

“There is one thing higher than Royalty: and that is religion, which causes us to leave the world, and seek God.”

“Where minds differ and opinions swerve there is scant a friend in that company.” (And people of the 16^th century knew this all too well!)

Elizabeth I was definitely one of the most definitive Protestant personas of the era, and she shaped even what would become the modern world without having any awareness of the consequences of her New World expeditions . . .

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

July 10, 2012

Grandchemin: Forgotten Victim of Florida’s French Fort Caroline

Neither his Christian name nor his age have come to light, but the man known as Grandchemin was one of the Huguenot settlement of Fort Caroline’s most tragic victims. He was a tailor and apparently also a soldier. Nothing is known of his family or if he traveled to La Caroline with relatives, with friends, or alone, or why he originally came to the New World. The French painter Jacques le Moyne du Morgues mentions Grandchemin’s tragic end in his narrative, stating that after the Spaniards had attacked Fort Caroline and he found himself running for his life, he had come upon a fellow Protestant in flight. It seemed there was nowhere to turn. If they went back they would likely be martyred, but if they went in any direction they could be alternately attacked by Timucuan tribesmen, swallowed up in the swamps, or dispatched by hunger. 

The two men walked for about a day, encountering hurricane rains, muddy paths, and the constant possibility of death. They must have weighed their options over and over again, but no one idea seemed best. Grandchemin decided to return to La Caroline. Le Moyne begged him not to, reminding his companion that they had already seen the violence of which the Spanish conquistadors were capable, but Grandchemin hoped that the bloodlust had passed and he might now be the recipient of leniency. He reasoned that if the Spaniards showed mercy, his life would be saved, but that if not, he would perish soon enough due to some other fate. Le Moyne’s narrative, as recounted in Miles Harvey’s “Painter in a Savage Land,” describes why this proved to be Grandchemin’s death: 

“But he embraced me, saying, ‘I will go; so farewell.’ In order to see what should happen to him, I got up to a higher spot on the hill and watched. As he came down from the high ground, the Spaniards saw him, and sent out a party. As they came up to him, he fell on his knees to beg for his life.” Though the following description is too violent to recount, let it be said that his pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. What one wonders is how, after having seen such horrors at La Caroline, Grandchemin could have believed mercy was an option. What was there in his spirit, his disposition, his life that would have driven this man to trust, even in a position where trust seemed foolish? Did he believe that men were basically good and would revert to their milder natures when their bloodlust was spent? Did he act on the spur of the moment? Was he simply too tired and desperate to do anything but appeal to men who had also been created in the image of God and erroneously thought they were acting on His behalf?

Rest in peace, Monsieur Grandchemin.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved

July 09, 2012

The Huguenot Méreau: Coin of Acceptance

Throughout the 16^th and 17^th centuries and possibly beyond, the French Protestant churches had an interesting way of proving membership. Each parishioner was entitled to a gold coin known as a méreau (plural méreaux) only if he or she had taken care of the actions central to the faith: attending church previously, studying the appropriate classes, and refraining from disruptive or damaging behavior. When such a coin was bestowed, it was carefully guarded, for only those with méreaux could attend Communion. 

During Communion --- which, although the Huguenots celebrated it only symbolically and attached no actual “transformation” to the act, was a very important part of Huguenot religious life --- a parishioner would receive their coin from an elder and then go forth to partake. Those who had lost their coins or had not been given one due to bad behavior or failed obligations would bear not only the loss of Communion but also the scorn of the community.

One could look at this practice in two ways: First, it seems exclusive, for only those with méreaux were allowed to attend services and take Communion. Yet, second, it shows that the French Protestants had so much reverence for their churches and their Savior that they took it upon themselves to make sure only those who were serious about their faith could attend and partake of the glorious Presence of God.  These coins were a symbol of one’s Protestantism. Those who exchanged them understood they were part of a network of believers. This was also a handy way to determine if one’s conversational partner was a Huguenot or a Catholic.

Throughout the 1500s straight through to the 1700s, it was very dangerous to be a Protestant in France. It was necessary to distinguished between “us and them,” as they so believed, and the carrying of méreaux which one would surreptitiously offer while paying a fellow Protestant for some item was one way of garnering information and sharing solidarity. 

So what did the méreaux look like? The coins were two-sided, the front carrying an image of Christ the Shepherd and the back depicting a Bible which read “Have no fear, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Such encouraging words were cherished and must have brought peace even in times of hardship. It reminded Huguenots that no matter how difficult their lives might be, they were beloved of God and would continue to endure. They were “crushed but not abandoned, persecuted but not destroyed.” 

It is believed that the méreaux measured about one inch. What they were called depended on the region in which they were given; in Poitou, for example, they were called “marques,” quite different from the word “méreau.” The majority of méreaux were constructed of pewter but there could even be some made of materials such as leather depending on what was available or popular at the time. I do not know if any méreaux are still in existence. Like the Huguenot cross, the méreau was a way for Huguenots to feel solidarity and show a measure of pride in belonging. This particular item is known only to French Protestants and as such is a very important part of Huguenot history.

(c) 2012 Joyously Saved