“Let Her Swim”
“The fear of man bringeth a snare: but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe”
“John! How could you do that? I thought that you were a quiet, peaceful man, but to throw their painted image of the Virgin Mary into the river was not smart at all! I’m sure we suffer enough already without the awful beating we’ll get when the captain returns and hears from the priests what you did.”
A sturdy Dutchman was speaking. Chains held him, like his companions, fastened to the benches of the galley, a long, narrow warship, propelled by oars and manned by common criminals and prisoners of war. Many of the galley oarsmen at that time in France were enslaved because they actively opposed the Roman Catholic religion.
“I care neither for these idolaters nor for their idols,” said John Knox, a well-built, sturdy Scotchman, whose strong mind manifested itself in every movement of his face and form. “I have put up long enough with their corrupt religion. Whatever happens now, I don’t care.”
“What did he do that you are so nervous about?” an Englishman asked the Dutchman. The Englishman had only been transferred from the land prison to the galley a few hours earlier. “This John Knox seems like the kind to stir up a lot of mischief, and yet I love the man’s strong face. What wickedness have you committed now, fellow slave?” he asked John in a sarcastic voice.
“You are like your nation of England (which I love well, though of course they are only second to the Scotch),” replied Knox, lifting his chained hand to shift the chains, aching as it did from the heavy irons upon it. “You English always like to probe into others’ secrets, but I will let you in on some of our secrets in this case friend. We came from Rouen to Nantes a few weeks ago, and are to winter here on the river Loire until spring, when rumor says that we are to attack the English. All this time I have had to put up with the priests’ bitter mocking that cuts into my soul far more painfully than the whips of the officers on our bare backs.
“But the last straw came this morning when, after the captain went ashore on business, the priests carried a painted wooden image of the Virgin Mary along our benches. They offered the doll to me, wanting me to kiss it. I told them to go away and to stop bothering me. But one priest pushed the doll into my face and made me hold onto it. I grabbed the idol and threw it into the river, and when they gasped in horror I laughed at them and said, ‘Let our lady now save herself! She is light enough; let her learn to swim!’ They fished the idol out of the river and dried its clothes, and right now they are saying masses to make atonement for what they consider an awful sin.”
“They will preach tomorrow that the wooden block has performed a miracle,” said the Dutchman. “Bah! I can’t tolerate their stupidity. And yet if a man refuses to say that he believes this nonsense, they tear him from his home and send him to labor as a slave in the galleys.”
“Better be silent; the officers will probably be along soon,” said a slender Frenchman who was chained to the same bench.
“We don’t have to worry about them,” replied the Dutchman. “They are probably getting drunk in the captain’s room. But let’s continue our conversation. My mind aches for a little friendly chat to liven up the monotony of rowing. Tell me, dear Knox, what brought you here?”
“I was born in 1505,” replied Knox, “at Haddington, in East Lothian, Scotland. The house, with a moderate piece of land, is in a part of the town called Gifford-gate, and had belonged to my ancestors for a number of generations. My father’s side of the family was of noble blood; unfortunately, I didn’t inherit their wealth when I inherited their name. From the grammar school of the town I went to the University of St. Andrews. John Major trained me there. He taught me to think for myself, and not to be content to confine my mind to the intellectual slavery of the priests and kings. I taught at the same university after earning my degree, and in 1530, when I was about 25 years old, I am ashamed to say that I was ordained as a Roman Catholic priest. But I soon became disgusted with the immoral lives of the clergy, and their rituals and unbiblical teachings mocked my desire to know the truth.”
“Yes,” agreed the Englishman, “their teaching is like feeding hungry men with eggshells and chalk. Nothing like the pure Word of God to satisfy and comfort the soul.”
“So I found,” replied Knox. “It was John’s Gospel, chapter 14, which spoke first to my heart. Here, I thought, is what I need, and by faith I grabbed ahold of the Divine Word with the joy and hunger of a starving man. When the human heart feels lost and aching it delights in every syllable of Scripture. How the words glowed with a sweet perfume of love, and how gladly I read them!”
“But did the priests permit you to believe and teach the Scriptural truths that you were finding in the Bible?” asked the Dutchman. “In my experience, wherever men begin to read the Bible and to think for themselves, they break away from the Pope; but, poor things, they usually have to suffer for it.”
“So it was in Scotland! I had spent a few sweet years learning much of the true meaning of Scripture from George Wishart, another of my dear teachers in the things of Christ. Then, about a year and a half before being captured and enslaved myself, that awful Cardinal Beaton ordered the Earl of Bothwell to arrest George. Wishart would not allow me to go and suffer with him, but said to me on the night he was arrested, ‘No, John, don’t let the Cardinal destroy you too. Return to your work, and God bless you. They will kill me. One is sufficient for a sacrifice; besides, you will be needed elsewhere someday.’ They quickly jailed him in the Castle of Edinburgh, and very shortly afterward moved him to St. Andrews at the Cardinal’s command, who, assisted by the Archbishop of Glasgow, began preparations for his trial. In March, 1546, accused on various charges, Wishart defended himself meekly and with a profound knowledge of the Scriptures, but was quickly condemned to burn at the stake. On March 1st he walked out to execution with a rope around his neck and a heavy chain around his waist. When surrounded by flames from the burning sticks at his feet, the dying martyr predicted the violent death of his cruel persecutor, which actually took place three months later.”
“What did you do when he was gone?” asked the Englishman.
“I held on to God and His Word in strong prayer and faith,” replied Knox. “I thought I was all alone, without helper or friend, but soon the comfort of God filled my soul. At that time I was in East Lothian and I began teaching the sons of Hugh Douglas of Longniddry, and since I was not allowed to preach I expounded the Scriptures to my pupils, allowing anyone else to attend who wanted to.”
“And did many strangers come to hear?” queried the Englishman.
“Yes they did, and with great profit to their souls, glory be to God for it,” replied Knox. “But notice the hand of God in what happened next! While the wicked Cardinal Beaton thought of killing me too, some men who had a score to settle with him attacked him and killed him while he was out looking for people who read the Bible. I didn’t find out about his death until a while later, but it seems to me that he reaped what he had sown.”
John Knox continued, “In 1547 I followed my pupils into the castle of St. Andrews, where the men who had killed the Cardinal were hiding, with about a hundred and fifty others seeking freedom from the Roman Catholic priests. It was while we were in St. Andrews that I received my call to the ministry.”
“How was that?” asked the Dutchman.
“It happened like this,” described Knox. “John Rough, the minister over us, had often encouraged me to take the responsibility of preaching but I had always resisted his appeal. Finally, one day during his sermon, he turned toward where I sat and said for all to hear, ‘Brother, you do wrong to avoid the call of God. You are endowed with gifts that the church requires, and I charge you not to wait, but to begin preaching and working as a pastor among us.’
“As I sat unsure of what to do, he turned to the congregation and asked them, saying, ‘Didn’t you charge me with this responsibility?’ It thrilled my heart near to breaking to hear the strong-armed men and gentle women reply, ‘Yes, it is our call.’
“I left the chapel in much mental turmoil, but after long prayer I obeyed the voice of God and began to preach in the congregation.”
Although these men of God rejected the unscriptural power of the Pope and the Roman Catholic priesthood, they still did not realize that Jesus Christ, as Head of His Body, the church, is the one who gives pastors and teachers, and that men with these spiritual gifts do not need to be elected by the church in order to use their gifts. This truth was not fully understood until many years later. But in spite of this misunderstanding of the day, Knox used his position to preach the pure gospel of justification by faith alone, and taught that the Bible was the final authority — not the Church or the Pope — in matters of faith.
“And how successful was your preaching?” asked the slim Frenchman. “I myself have preached, and know how the heart aches when no results follow the earnest pleadings of the preacher.”
“I bless God,” answered Knox, “that many through my words renounced the Pope, but I cannot say if they all have accepted Christ. Many, I fear, will be content with giving up the Pope, and will not worry about following the call of Christ.
“Anyway, in June, 1547, a French fleet besieged St. Andrews, and the city was taken from us. I was brought here, and in spite of the promises made to us when the city surrendered, I was sent as a slave to the galleys.”
“The Pope’s men don’t keep promises when they think that a lie will better serve their purpose,” said the Dutchman. “One day I will tell you how they treated me. But be careful, the men on the reserved seats are making signs. Either the captain or the priests are coming!”
“Reserved seats!” asked the newly arrived Englishman. “What do you mean?”
“Those benches there are the ‘reserved seats,’” replied the Dutchman, pointing forward. “The slaves chained there are the captain’s servants and they never get beaten. They wait on the captain and eat the leftovers from his table. When he dines they all stand with their heads uncovered, as a sign of respect. But silence now, or we’ll get the lash!”
During the following summer (1548) the galleys were sent out in search of English vessels, and as they went, they came near the Scottish coast between Dundee and St. Andrews.
“Can you see the coast?” the Dutchman asked Knox. “Do you recognize your home?”
“Yes, I know it well,” Knox replied wistfully. “I can see the steeple of that place where God first opened my lips to bear testimony to His grace; and weak as I now am I am fully persuaded that I shall not die until I have once more glorified God by preaching there.”
“You ought not to prophesy like that,” said the Dutchman, “and yet it is strange how your words so often come true.”
“Yes, and I trust this shall also come true,” replied John Knox.
The following February (1549) the English fleet attacked the French warships and, after a furious combat, seized the galley in which Knox was confined. The slaves found on board were carried to London and set free. Knox found himself at last released from his chains after nineteen months of hard slavery.
He decided to stay in the foreign and unknown country of England until he could safely return to Scotland. But why he stayed he did not yet know; for with him, as with us, God was leading him graciously by a hidden way, to accomplish the Divine designs that cannot fail. “I will do this. I will do that,” say some people, not seeing that they may only do, in the end, what God permits, and that only by the strength that God gives, for reasons and with consequences known only to God. Each man seems to study navigation out of his own cabin window, but, after all, the Man at the helm guides the ship. We do our own will, as we imagine; but the Lord at the helm carries our ideas and attempts to the port that He intends. “For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that” (James 4:1515For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that. (James 4:15)).