Gleams of Light in Deepening Darkness: Suffering Saints in Olden Times
Unknown Author
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Dark Days in Europe, With Light in the Alpine Valleys
Tyranny and oppression flow from the will of man, and appear only in varied forms according to the circumstances of time and place. The fairest lands have been stained with the blood of the children of God, and the cry of the oppressed has been uttered far and wide. Throughout Europe, from the blue skies of Italy and the sunny clime of Spain, to our own favored Britain, the dark stream of hate and violence has, at different times, swept many before it with resistless force. The meek, the unoffending, the harmless, were the sufferers, while the haughty and overbearing tyrant triumphed in their destruction again and again.
It is an intense relief to turn from the havoc made by man, and look upon the works of God which are far beyond the human hand to destroy. Thus from the city of Rome, so fraught with memories of guilt and cruelty, the eye can be attracted peacefully to the cloudless heavens above, or around on the Italian landscape spread out to view. In France, too, one can look away from many a priest-ridden town and valley steeped in ignorance and superstition, to where some stately mountain raises its hoary head, commanding a long and admiring gaze. The very purity of the snow and ice of God’s own giving, which rest on the summit, may well point the ignorant human mind from thoughts of man to his Creator-God. If in our island-home we have not the white-capped Alps, or Italian skies, we have yet much to remind us of God’s beautiful creation, as well as of man’s sin and folly in marring everything committed to his trust.
For centuries of that which men call “the Christian era,” Europe was wrapped in error and superstition, yet there were ever a few faithful ones who desired to obey God rather than man. These may often have seemed merged in the multitude, but “The Lord knoweth them that are His,” and not one of His believing people could possibly be forgotten by Him. As soon, however, as these obedient souls became known to their fellow-men by seeking to “depart from iniquity,” the storms of persecution began to assail them with ever increasing force, till many were swept onwards to perish by the enemy’s violence.
The sword was freely used for speedy destruction, but when the numbers of the faithful were great, the most common way of putting them out of the world seems to have been by fire. A very public place was usually the scene of martyrdom, unless in cases where the opinion of the people was feared as being strong on behalf of the victim. Priests and soldiers were generally prominent in the procession to the place of death.
When fire was the means employed, a stake was driven into the ground for each one who was to die. Round this, great fagots of wood were piled, the prisoner was bound in the midst, and then the lighted torch applied. Shortly before that last touch was given, it was usual to entreat the doomed one to change his mind. If he took this opportunity to confess Christ, his mouth was immediately gagged, but the gag was generally removed at the last if by any means a denial of the truth might be obtained.
Sometimes the end came speedily by suffocation from the smoke; at others, the body slowly smoldered in the flames. Many a martyr thanked God for being honored to die for Christ, and not a few prayed for their murderers with their latest breath. Others cheered their comrades, or spoke to the spectators as from the brink of eternity. Even the sound of singing could be heard, for many employed the last moments of their lives in praising God.
Ah! could the martyr and the persecutor have changed places for a moment, what a totally different scene would have been beheld! No patience, no endurance, neither peace nor joy in the man in the flames, but agony intense, both bodily and mental! But could the martyr have taken the persecutor’s place? Never! for the follower of the meek and lowly Jesus would have sought only to bless, and words of holy peace and counsel would have dropped from his lips. But places they could not change, and the fire was only a chariot to conduct a ransomed spirit to the presence of God. The hatred of man and the enemy’s ire were only hastening on to a glorious end the weary pilgrim feet.
The sword of the executioner was sometimes used, and this was a much less painful death than that of the fire and the stake. But that very fact made it less popular, because the enemies of God’s truth found inhuman pleasure in looking upon the lingering agonies of their victims. Kings and queens, lords and bishops, high and low, each and all took delight in the torture of those who were led forth to die. Therefore, for their depraved taste, the slower the method the greater the enjoyment.
In Psalms 76 we read these words, addressed to Jehovah by the inspired writer: “Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee: the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain.” How abundantly this was proved in the death-scene of many a martyr to the hatred and enmity of man! The more time there was allotted to the victim at such a moment, the longer could he openly testify to the worth of the holy One for whose name he was dying. If permitted to be heard, the martyr could speak with solemn power as face to face with death. When a hearing was denied, silent suffering to the end could still be the medium through which to show the meekness and gentleness of Christ. For all that was lovely in their lives or their words, was only the outcome of that which God had wrought in them for the glory of His Son.
While the times known as “the dark ages” held in slumber the European nations, one little light was shining brightly in the Alpine valleys of the south. As far back as the beginning of the fourteenth century, a people existed there who sought to maintain the purity of the truth so far as they knew it for themselves. When the night of error was at its darkest, God graciously gave power to some precious souls to hold forth the word of life, and that in the face of many a difficulty and countless dangers.
Separated from the outer world by the lofty mountains in which they had found a home, they passed their days in quiet seclusion and peace, far from outer scenes of fashion and folly. In the pursuits of agricultural life, and the daily toil which fell to their lot, that simple people endeavored to “live peaceably with all men,” and sought to obey God according to what they knew of His will. Their villages nestled in the valleys of the Alps, where these mountains rise in majestic grandeur, and form the boundary between France and Italy.
On the western side, where the range slopes to French soil, those Christians received the name of Albigenses; but on the east, where the valleys are within the Italian boundary, they are known by the name of Waldenses; and of the latter, perhaps, we may have heard most. Writers vary as to the origin of the name, but we usually think of them as “dwellers in the valleys,” so we speak of both Albigenses and Waldenses as Vaudois, which conveys that thought to our minds.
Some of the valleys were far up among the mountains, and could only be reached by steep and rugged ways. The lower lands are rich and fertile, but when such great heights are reached the climate is found to be cold, and the soil comparatively barren. The difficulties and dangers connected with their mountain homes were thoroughly understood, and a Vaudois could thread his way safely through all, when a stranger might have been lost or killed. And thus it was that these persecuted ones often escaped imprisonment and death, because so skillful in getting beyond reach of the enemy.
Chapter 2: The Vaudois, a Peace-Loving People, Harassed and Massacred
During months and years as might be, these devoted Christians were now and then permitted to live in peace their quiet, simple life, undisturbed by any outward foe. The jealousy of some haughty pope, however, or the wrath of an imperious potentate, ofttimes broke out in startling fury, and then, indeed, peace was a stranger to these poor hunted people, save that which existed in their own hearts, or was manifested in their lives. Ah! blessed thought for such in like circumstances now is the knowledge that they may enjoy, in spite of the rage of the enemy, “the peace of Christ which passeth understanding!” Outward turmoil there may be, but throughout all time the words of the prophet Isaiah, addressed to Jehovah, will be fulfilled: “Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on thee, because he trusteth in thee.”
The Vaudois believers, therefore, as far as they possessed this practical peace, could bear the fierce sun of persecution which so often rose upon them, and yet quietly go on their way in spite of every effort to turn them aside. As the fathers so were the children—a simple, God-fearing generation, seeking only to serve God in the way which they believed to be right. They were a hardy and industrious people, making their homes where the indolent inhabitant of a more fertile soil would possibly have starved. On the rocky mountain side, where the sure-footed goat and the nimble chamois were at home in its dangers, the Waldensian was as free as the air he breathed in nature’s simple freedom.
There, amid nature’s solitudes, he could lift up his voice and speak to God, where no human ear need hear his words. His hymn of praise might be sung alone on the mountain, or in his home in the valley, none daring to make afraid. For the believing Vaudois could speak of God not only as Creator, but as “a just God and a Saviour.”
The only human safeguard for these poor hunted Vaudois was the mountain fastness, hidden cave, or sheltered valley. At times when persecution was strong against them, individuals could only venture down to the plains or towns, at the risk of life, for when any were found by their enemies, they were immediately taken prisoner, and carried off (as slave-traders used to take the poor heathen) to bondage. In the case of the former, however, it was to torture and to death, in the vain hope that in time these Bible-loving Christians would be stamped out. Those thus captured by main force, were taken to one of the principal towns in the locality, and there ruthlessly committed to the flames by popish hands, in false religious zeal.
Fires kindled by the hatred of Rome could not touch the truth of God, however, though they did bring suffering to the persons who sought to follow its teaching. Not only were many individually made captive and burnt, but strong armies were sent upon the harmless people, when numbers were mercilessly put to the sword. No matter what the cost in time or money to get ready an army, or what unjust means had to be resorted to by the oppressor, the Vaudois who resisted popery must be destroyed one and all. So thought the pope, and so he gave command to his people, telling them that if these dwellers in the valleys and mountains refused to give up their faith, they were to be crushed like venomous snakes.
“My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.” And so it proved that with all the papal zeal and force of men and arms, the, persecuted Vaudois continued to praise God in their mountain homes, and bowed not to Rome or the pope. Doubtless there must have been some who only followed the religion of their forefathers, but who knew not the salvation of God. For there are empty professors everywhere, who willfully, or in ignorance, merely copy the reality. It is only an outside imitation, however, and will not bear the time of trial and temptation. Hence, when persecution arises, they can, with little conscience, change their religion to save their lives.
Thus it was that some of the Vaudois gave up the form so familiar to them from their childhood, preferring to accept popery rather than death. And who need wonder that it was so, if there was no divine life within to prompt to better things, and to sustain the sufferer till the end?
Others, through timidity, denied the faith while face to face with death and suffering. Where there was a real work of God, however, in such a soul, repentance usually followed, and a courageous confession of Christ, while humbly owning their sin in denying Him. Hundreds there were besides, who steadfastly bore all that met them, from the moment of capture to that of death. When any of the Vaudois fell into the hands of the troops sent against them, neither age, nor sex, nor position was of any avail to shield them from the deadly wrath of the enemy. A cruel inquisitor once took a hundred and fifty men, a great number of women, and even helpless little ones, led them to one of the French towns, and burnt them all.
The armies let loose from time to time upon them, were usually composed of men fired with popish zeal, and with no scruples of conscience or tenderness of heart. In addition to these fanatic soldiers there were, however, generally a large proportion of worthless men who were thus occupied only for the sake of gain. Some thought to obtain a position of note in a corrupted church, by the pope’s acknowledgment of their services; others expected a better position in the army, or to attain to a post of honor in their country. Many also sought to enrich themselves only as robbers by plundering all they met. The law would neither shelter nor protect the maltreated Vaudois, who were thus at the mercy of every ruffian and thief who might approach them.
Let us notice, for a few moments, one memorable scene, which shows the sorrowful hardships of those Christians, and the hatred of their enemies. In the end of the fifteenth century, Pope Innocent III. gave forth a harsh and cruel edict against these harmless and defenseless inhabitants of the Alpine valleys. He held out the promise of rich rewards to those who would enlist in the war, and made it quite a religious mission, such as would atone for sins of wicked men. In blind ignorance and fanatical zeal, he urged all to take up the cross, and go forth to fight in a religious cause. Ah! little knew that infatuated dignitary of Rome that it was not thus that the cross could be taken up! None but the disciple of the meek and lowly Jesus can take up his cross daily, as he follows his Lord and Master. Only divine power, by the indwelling of the Holy Ghost and the love of Christ constraining, can give to poor frail man the courage thus to suffer. The cross tells of suffering, but these poor, deluded soldiers were giving suffering to others, instead of accepting it for themselves.
Alas! the response which this papal proclamation met was a terrible force brought to bear against the Vaudois, wherever they were found, it was so overwhelming, that little short of a general massacre could be expected as the result. A French army assailed the Albigenses on the western side, and on the east the Italian soldiers streamed in upon the Waldenses. In addition to that combined army, all, in every land, were called upon to put to death the hated people, if any were found far from their native valleys.
The Val de Loyse was entered by one of these forces, and the inhabitants put either to the sword or to flight. It was a deep gorge, where the mountains towered high overhead, and to mount their rough and rugged sides formed the only way of escape. Many betook themselves at once to this when the enemy first came in sight. The youngest children with the aged men and women were hurriedly put into any vehicle which could be quickly obtained. Any provisions which were at hand were as hastily snatched, while their flocks were sent up the height before them towards a place of shelter.
Courageously they began their upward march—that band of hunted men, women, and children! As they toiled up the rocky sides of the well-known mountain, it was with sounds of praise which must have sounded very strange in the enemy’s ear. There was a company impelled onwards, at the point of the sword, leaving behind them, house and home and earthly possessions. Did shouts and screams of terror rend the air as they fled for their lives? No; they cheered their hearts and employed their voices with the strains of many a familiar hymn. And so those sufferers mounted to a place of safety, many of them happier far in their flight than the infuriated soldiers who followed them.
Not a few, however, met death on the way, for those who were overtaken by the enemy received no quarter. The object of their ascent was to reach a large cave where all would find shelter, and to which the foe might see it to be almost impossible to come. This spot could not be reached save at the risk of life, and it was only those who knew well each rock and crag and precipice who could ascend in safety. But at last all had entered, and many a heart was filled with thankfulness that the enemy was out of view. Not for long, however, for the soldiers were quickly ordered to climb the mountain overhead and were then let down one by one to the rock from which the cave was accessible.
The poor Vaudois were completely taken by surprise, and before they could decide how to act, soldier after soldier descended, and rapidly began the work of death. They piled a quantity of wood where they stood, and then setting fire to it, left its fumes to fill the cave and suffocate all who were within, while those who attempted to escape from the smoke were met by the sword. It is said that about three thousand Vaudois thus speedily found a grave in that mountain cavern. The mother, the infant, the old man and the child, the youth and the maiden, all alike had to encounter death, as well as strong men who had kept watch in the face of the foe.
Such was one example of very many persecutions which took place among the Vaudois on both sides of the Alps. Their valleys were often depopulated, and yet they never died out, for even in the present day, the Waldensian pursues his secluded life in quiet simplicity and peace.
Chapter 3: Baron Budowa of Bohemia Goes to the Block
We have heard of the old and the young, the youthful and the middle-aged, the noble and the peasant, each witnessing for the Lord, whose precious blood had bought them long before. I would now tell you of a very learned, clever nobleman, whose life was rudely taken from him when seventy years of age. His joyful words and happy dream may both be interesting to the youthful mind.
Wenceslaus, Baron of Budowa, was not only exceedingly accomplished, but he had also filled very high positions under more than one monarch. He was therefore a gentleman well worthy of much confidence and honor. His character is given by a writer in the most glowing terms, speaking of him as “the glory of his country,” a “bright shining star,” and “as rather the father than the lord of his dependents.”
The love and respect of many could not, however, save that precious life, but probably only the more marked Baron Budowa for death. He was arrested and put into prison and condemned to die. Yet when his liberty had been thus harshly taken from him, he was able joyfully to testify to the grace of God, in the happy freedom of his spirit and conduct.
Someone told him of a report that had gone forth, that he had died of grief. The baron’s answer to that was really jubilant. “Died of grief! I never experienced such happiness as now. See here!” he continued, as he drew attention to the Bible before him, “this is my paradise; never did it regale me with such store of delicious fruits as now. Here I daily stray, eating the manna of heaven, and drinking the water of life.”
A few days before sentence of death had been pronounced upon him, a remarkable dream made a great impression on his mind. He thought that he was walking in a green field where all around was fair and pleasant. His mind was, even in his dream, naturally much occupied with the probable issue of his imprisonment. Suddenly a bright messenger approached, placed in his hand a small book, and, having done so, quickly departed from his sight.
On opening the book thus strangely given, he found that its leaves were of pure snow-white silk, all blank, with the exception of one scripture written thereon. It was that most encouraging verse in Psalms 37 “Commit thy way unto the Lord; trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass.”
While Wenceslaus’ thoughts were resting on those divine words, another being came towards him with a white dress in his hand. That was thrown over the dreamer, and with the action, he awoke.
Afterward, when ascending the scaffold to die, he referred to this significant act, by speaking of the divine righteousness which had been put upon him as being like that white robe in his dream.
Cruel, crafty priests did not cease their endeavors to disturb the condemned nobleman, even on his last day on earth. They came to his prison early in the morning, but all their efforts to shake the faith of that aged believer were unavailing. They began by praising his great learning, and professed to be desirous of doing his soul good. His answer to them was very discreet, yet also firm and decided: “Would you were as sure of your salvation as I am of mine, through the blood of the Lamb!”
“Good, my lord,” they further urged, “but do not presume too much; for doth not the scripture say, ‘No man knoweth whether he deserves grace or wrath’?”
“Where do you find that written? Here is the Bible, shew me the words,” said the truth-loving nobleman.
“If I be not deceived,” said one, “it is in the Epistle of Paul to Timothy.”
“You would teach me the way of salvation,” answered the baron, “thou who knowest thy Bible so ill! But that the believer may be sure of his salvation is proved by the words of the Apostle Paul: ‘I know whom I have believed,’ and also, ‘There is laid up for me a crown of righteousness.’”
“But Paul says this of himself, not of others,” once more ignorantly answered the Jesuit.
“Thou art mistaken,” boldly replied the baron, “for it continues: ‘Not to me only, but also to all who love his appearing.’ Depart, and leave me in peace.”
Thus courageously did the brave Baron Budowa confess the truth which he believed and loved. He was not ensnared by the fear of man, but counted his suffering position to be an honor and a privilege. When the moment came, therefore, for him to mount the scaffold, he did so without fear or dismay. He passed his hand over his flowing white beard, and said, “Behold! my gray hairs, what honor awaits you; this day you shall be crowned with martyrdom!”
It must have been a touching scene and a profitable one, to witness that venerable nobleman thus pass on with joy, amid surroundings in themselves most ignominious. To have lived seventy years in the world, and then go out of it like the worst criminal in the land, was what the natural heart would shrink from. But looking at the event in the light of God’s own unchanging love, the Baron Budowa could see that it was only stepping from that shameful scaffold to the paradise of God.
This aged believer, like many others, spent his last moments in prayer to God, ere going to His presence forever. He prayed for the church, for the land of his birth, for all who had done him wrong, and finally committed himself to Christ his Saviour. Then the executioner did his deadly part, as that aged head bent before his sword, and the faithful witness was freed from every link that had bound him to earth—his learning, his talents, his worth, his piety, all to live in the memory only, for that living voice had gone forever.
Such was the earthly side of things, but brighter far was the heavenly, with which alone he had now to do. Gone to be with God, to bask in eternal sunshine, to enjoy that immeasurable love, to drink of those never-failing streams of richest, purest bliss on high!
Was it not strange that men could look unmoved on such an unwonted sight in their daily life as a human being passing rejoicingly into eternity, amid these painful circumstances? One would think that it was enough to turn any stubborn heart to see what God could work in and for man! Such callousness, however, only reminds us that the natural heart is dead to everything that is of God. It is only when divine life is implanted in man, that he can look at things in the light that comes from above.
There have been cases in which some of the spectators, by the mercy of God, have been converted through witnessing such a moral triumph. But these were few, compared with the many who found an inhuman pleasure in the scene. Even a word of sympathy from an onlooker was enough to bring him speedily within the stern grasp of the law.
It is sorrowful to witness how man in power oppresses his fellow-man in weakness, simply because he finds in that his pleasure. The human heart does not understand how the wicked should thus triumph even for a short time. It is only as God’s thoughts on the matter are learned from the scriptures, by the Spirit, that the difficulty is made plain to the soul. The experience of David, the king of Israel, on this point, is given in Psalms 73, and has been instructive to many with like thoughts.
“When I thought to know this, it was too painful for me, until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end.” Then he also learned what he was in himself, in common with the rest of humanity: “So foolish was I, and ignorant, I was a beast before thee.”
Chapter 4: The Huguenots Hated, Hunted, and Slain by Heartless Enemies
The Huguenots were little companies of Christians, scattered principally over France, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, who refused to conform to the ceremonies of the Romish religion. The meaning of the word is given in two ways. Some consider Huguenot to be a term of contempt and reproach, while there are others who think that it implies association or union. Be that as it may, it may truly be said that both hold good. The Huguenots were thoroughly hated and despised, while they also clung to each other with marvelous unity of purpose.
The ordinary privileges of other subjects of France were denied to them, and any papist might tyrannize over them with impunity. There was no redress for a suffering Huguenot, no relief for his grievances from an earthly king, except the death which that king might choose to inflict. Blood-thirsty soldiers wielding the sword, assailed these Huguenots with cruel havoc from time to time, while suffering, from some source or other, was their continual portion.
Perhaps nothing brought this people more prominently before the world at large, than the heartrending slaughter which took place among them on the 24th of August, 1572. On that most memorable day an unparalleled scene of bloodshed began, known as “The Massacre of St. Bartholomew,” with which every student of history is painfully familiar. Avoiding many harrowing details, a brief notice of the actual facts will suffice for the young readers of these pages.
Thousands of Huguenots perished in a night, and the terrible slaughter was continued without intermission for three days. On the fourth it was lessened a little, but still the awful carnage continued till the end of the seventh. A more murderous week had possibly never been known in France, Europe, or the world.
And Paris, with all its civilization and refinement, was the center and source of the crime!
All had been planned beforehand, and the murderers acted under royal authority. King Charles IX. was a weak, though also a wicked man, and never could have carried all into effect, had not the iron will of his mother been in action. That blood-thirsty woman not only had a principal share in making the plans, but she even did her utmost personally to see them carried out. Fearing that the king might at the last recoil from the overwhelming guilt he was about to bring upon himself, she remained with him till the signal sounded forth, which finally assured the execution of the atrocious design.
Everything had been most carefully devised and arranged, so that the terrible crime about to be committed might be as effective as possible. The great bell of the Palais de Justice was to be tolled at day-dawn, as the call for the deadly work to commence. A torch was then to be seen in every window, so that no mistake should occur from want of light. The houses of the Huguenots had been previously marked, and that death-sign was the murderers’ guide. Soldiers were ready to fill the streets, so that escape should be impossible, and death certain.
Orders had been given for the Roman Catholics to be so distinguished by their dress, that there could be no danger of any of them being slain in the inevitable confusion consequent upon such awful deeds. The distinctive mark consisted of a white cross on the hats, and a linen scarf, also white, fastened to the left arm. The image of the virgin Mary was, in many cases, suspended from the neck, probably as a fancied protection as well. With these human safeguards, noblemen, gentlemen, soldiers, and citizens were alike to be in readiness to act, as soon as the bell’s expected peal should be heard.
Far too slowly the moments seemed to pass after midnight, as the queen-mother occupied herself with seeking to divert the mind of her son from any possible change of purpose. Ever fearing the withdrawal of the royal command, that unwomanly heart devised a new plan to meet her wicked impatience. At one o’clock in the morning, she gave orders that a bell, nearer than that of the Palais de Justice, should be tolled at once, and thus matters would proceed more rapidly.
The morning was that of the Lord’s Day, when the stillness of the city was broken by the bell’s first ominous peal. Scarcely had it sounded, when a pistol shot was heard; the great bell began, others were tolled; and the night air was filled with sounds innumerable. Amid the pealing of bells rose the shrieks of countless victims, the wild shout of the murderer, and the clash of deadly weapons. Cries of “Kill! kill!” were heard on every side, and the streets were soon filled with the bodies of the slain. “Open by the command of the king!” was the cry given at the door of each Huguenot home, and death to all within entered by the opened door. Those who looked out of the windows to know what was wanted, were shot in an instant, and, indeed, every Huguenot who could be seen or reached, was put to death without a word of warning. Any who attempted to escape, were captured and slain, or cast into the river and drowned.
The whole had been planned with fiendish skill, and men seemed to act more like demons than aught else. The king had made sure of having the hated Huguenots in one particular part of the town, so that it was the more difficult for any to escape. Besides, a much larger number were in Paris than usual, many having come at that time from distant places to the capital, to be present at a royal marriage. Begun with the most unsparing severity on the first day of the week, the work of death was continued to its close. Thousands of peaceful citizens fell in that ruthless slaughter, where mercy was an unknown word, and pity there was none.
The scenes enacted in the capital, were repeated in the provinces, till bloodshed filled the land from one end to the other. During two whole months, that woeful massacre, begun on St. Bartholomew’s day, continued to rage with more or less vehemence. In that short time, France lost a multitude of her best and most industrious subjects, having gained nothing in exchange which could be any compensation for the loss. A few did escape, but only through most terrible circumstances, and to them the frightful carnage, begun on August 24th, 1572, must have remained as a never-to-be-forgotten scene till their dying hour.
Poor deluded France! what iniquity and guilt was thine when thou didst so sin against that holy God who is light and love, and whose “eyes behold the children of men!” Sad indeed it is to think of a beautiful country being defiled by a system of religion which opposes God while professing to serve Him! Under the name of Christianity, too, have these dark deeds of tyranny and cruelty been committed by men who considered themselves as enlightened as their fellows.
While speaking of the errors of a system so contrary to God, let us not forget, however, that it is sin which defiles a land or people. Therefore, in a country like our own, where the Bible is read and honored, there may also be much done in the name of religion which is truly hateful to God. With gospel light and liberty, our highly privileged British Isles may have sins of deeper dye than the most darkened lands: “For unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall be much required.”
Chapter 5: Protestants - Their Protest, Persecutions, and Preachers
Protestant, as a name, seems to have been first given to a particular class early in the sixteenth century. Its origin, at all events, dates from the protest which was signed at Spires, in Germany, on April 25th, 1529. After that day, it became a common thing to speak of all who protested against Popery as Protestants. The name, therefore, now includes people of many nations who thus made a public resistance to Rome.
When the monarch on the throne was Roman Catholic, the Protestants were the objects of his hatred and oppression. In some reigns they come much more prominently forward as a people than in others. Sometimes, also, a more public stand was made than at others, or a leading man of unusual talent could not refrain from raising his voice in the land. There were, here and there, at various times, brave and noble men whose writings were scattered broadcast through many countries, and who exercised a mighty influence over multitudes of souls.
Persecutions of the most heartless and sanguinary character marked the life of that cruel despot, Louis XIV., during the years that he sat upon the French throne. The people against whom the king’s rage was directed, had committed no crimes against their sovereign, other than to hold religious meetings of their own, which were different from what the king wished. He enjoined popery upon all his subjects, and they protested against its errors, and refused to submit to the king’s religion.
So was it with other papists in power, when it pleased them to persecute or put to death. A common way of maltreating the Huguenots was by demolishing the building in which they usually met. When the sovereign stooped to inflict this indignity, the people simply shewed by their actions that brick and mortar were not essential to the faithful. They met in the ruins of that which once had given them shelter, or afar off in lonely caves, beyond the reach of the enemy’s ear to hear, or eye to see.
Nor did the preacher cease to preach when he had no longer a comfortable building around him. Many pious and devoted men continued to minister to the people, according to the light they themselves possessed, and suffered in consequence. Such an one was Monsieur Homel, a Huguenot, whose continued preaching was considered a crime not to be tolerated. He was therefore arrested, imprisoned, tried, and condemned. The sentence which was given was that most barbarous one of being broken to death on the wheel.
The person about to die in this way was bound in a half-circular form upon a wheel, while he received repeated blows from a heavy iron bar, till all the principal bones in his body were broken. Forty times the massive iron fell on the defenseless Homel, and then he was left for his life to ebb slowly away. During as many hours as he had suffered blows, that dying believer lingered in his agony. Then death mercifully ended his pain, and gave him the paradise of God as his happy exchange.
The Lord kept this dear sufferer in perfect peace, and proof against all the wiles of the enemy. He knew that recantation would have put a stop to the continuance of torture, yet yielded not in the least. Great firmness was given, enabling him to endure to the end. An affectionate wife was the sorrowful witness of that which he bore for the name of Christ. It must have been with an aching heart—even if in spirit she was glad in the Lord—that she sought to comfort and to encourage her husband. The one who had been her companion in life was fast departing, but she seemed fully to understand that it was to be “with Christ which is far better.”
The words which fell from the lips of that patient sufferer, during his last hours, were very touching. “I count myself happy,” he said, “that I can die in my Master’s service. What! did my glorious Redeemer descend from heaven and suffer an ignominious death for my salvation; and shall I, to procure a miserable life, deny my blessed Saviour, and abandon His people?” Though his sorrowing wife had the pain of seeing her husband on the wheel, she was thus wonderfully comforted in the hour of her sorrow. Even while his enemies were breaking his bones, rapturous words from the lips she loved fell upon her ears. On the wheel he said to her, “Farewell once more, my beloved spouse! Though you witness my bones broken to shivers, yet is my soul filled with inexpressible joy.”
Even after the cruel persecutors had done their work of torture, and death in mercy had set the suffering victim free from their grasp, yet their malice was not spent, for they then proceeded to vent their wrath upon the lifeless body. Happily for Homel, however, his spirit was far beyond the reach of their vile touch. The indignities put upon the empty tabernacle were powerless to affect him then. He had gone to be with Christ, in whose eternal presence there could be “no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain.”
Thus nobly did a Christian man lay down his life for the Lord for whom he counted all else but loss. Yes, though his dearest on earth stood by his side, and he knew that he should soon see her no more, his thoughts were occupied with Christ. The earthly tabernacle was being destroyed in a most painful way, yet its dissolution only made manifest the light that shone within. And so the words of triumph from his lips were but the overflowings of his inward joy and peace. Homel’s wife was left a sad and desolate widow, but she had been a privileged witness of her husband’s victory.
My dear reader, whoever thou art, hast thou found this peerless Treasure before which every other possession pales? Naught and worthless, empty and without value, are all earth’s stores, if the Saviour be unknown. Natural affection brings its joys and its sorrows, earthly relationships yield both pleasure and sadness; but the love of Christ alone can satisfy the soul. Ah, if your heart is seeking only the joys of this present life, let me warn you of their vanity, and entreat you, in all sincerity, to turn to that which is real. Nothing but a living, perfect Person will answer to the needs of your soul. That holy One you will find by faith at the right hand of God—the living One who was dead, but is “alive for evermore.”
Let not the sinner forget that, long years ago, the blessed Son of God suffered on the cross for sin. Far beyond what mere man could ever endure, were the unparalleled agonies of the cross of Christ. He “suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God.” Will you, dear unsaved one, allow the Saviour to bring you there?—into the presence of God, without spot or stain, because able to say with other believers, “His own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree.”
“By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God; not of works, lest any man should boast.”
Chapter 6: Claude Brousson - A Servant Sent Forth to a Suffering People
Claude Brousson was the name of a well-known lawyer—clever, popular, and just, who lived in the south of France about the middle of the seventeenth century. He was born in the little town of Nismes in the province of Languedoc, in the year 1647. After the study of law, and the usual examinations connected with his profession, he commenced his career as an advocate. He soon became well known as a Huguenot, for he boldly used his talents in pleading the cause of the oppressed among them. All his sympathies were on their side, and, as we shall afterward see, his life proved that he was a converted man, and loved the Saviour for whom many of the Huguenots suffered.
While pursuing his profession, he was frequently engaged in defending those with whom he was one in faith, and, on such occasions, his pleading was especially earnest and powerful.
But darker days came for this lawyer, in common with his suffering brethren. The Huguenot advocate was then obliged to give up public life for a time, and seek the quiet retreat of an ordinary citizen in his native town. While there, an attempt was made to take him prisoner, but happily for him and the suffering Huguenots, he succeeded in escaping to Switzerland. There he resumed the practice of his profession in the town of Lausanne, but only to give it up again, for the needs of his countrymen weighed heavily on his heart.
At last, leaving law altogether, Monsieur Brousson gave himself to the occupation of writing on behalf of the people whom he loved. Sometimes he addressed letters directly to them, full of sympathy and affection. At others, he wrote to Roman Catholics holding positions of power, vainly hoping to reach their hearts and consciences about the persecuted Huguenots. In other varied ways, too, did this devoted man seek to benefit those of his suffering brethren, who, like himself, had found a shelter in other lands while exiles from their own.
Although thus usefully occupied, the heart of this dear servant of God yearned with unselfish love over those he had left behind in his beloved France. To these dear ones his thoughts would often go back, and he longed to be in their midst once more. There were many who could not leave their country, but who needed there the help of one who knew their difficulties and temptations.
He thought of the weak ones who could be strengthened to stand true to Christ by suited counsel, and considered that those who were fitted to render such timely aid ought not to have remained exiles because of persecution. Therefore, carrying his thought into words and actions, he wrote to several persons entreating them to return to the suffering scattered people left behind in their native country.
Strange to say, however, there were few of those who had professed to feed the flock of God who were then prepared to do so at the risk of their lives. The work had seemed easy in times of peace, but they preferred the quiet of foreign lands to the persecutions of stormy France in those perilous days. The lawyer’s appeals were therefore by no means welcome, and one taunted him with the question: “Why do you not first return to France yourself?” These scornful words were not unheeded, for the man on whose ear they fell was willing to risk his life as truly as he had urged such a step upon others.
Claude Brousson had thought to send forth able men by words of exhortation from his pen, but he found that while few would go, God had given him the desire to go personally. What could he do? he asked himself. At least comfort and encourage, his heart could truly answer, if he could not preach. The conflicting desires in connection with these thoughts made him so ill, that some even feared he would die. But no; that brave man had other work to do, and a different end to meet.
In the midst of his illness, in which an anxious, loving wife watched over him, he startled her one day by saying, “I must set out: I will go to console, to relieve, to strengthen my brethren groaning under their oppressions.” In great distress, his wife entreated him to give up the idea for her sake, and that of his children. The dear man fondly loved both her and them, yet he loved the Lord still more, and he believed that he was divinely called to go. His friends also tried to hinder by telling him that imprisonment and death lay before him. But that courageous heart stood firm, saying only that which he believed: “When God permits His servants to die for the gospel, they preach louder from the grave than they did during life.”
Here was a pastor whom God had made, and not man. His heart desired to look after the sheep, and the chief Shepherd, of whom Peter wrote in his first Epistle (ch. 5:4), had bestowed on him the pastoral gift. The divine Giver had given both power and desire to his servant to go forth and serve the Lord by serving His people. The object of such a gift was the glory of God, and the cost of using it was nothing less than to the hazard of life itself.
Nine willing companions set out with this brave man, all fired with love and zeal. Earthly reward there was none, yet bravely they went forth to that land of persecution. Devoted hearts and lives were theirs, and they pursued their onward journey, desiring simply to do what they could. Very soon, however, the little band was thinned by the enemy’s hand, ever eager to shed the blood of the servants of Christ. Soldiers and spies tracked their steps, and some were, consequently, led from their midst to die a martyr’s death. Still Monsieur Brousson continued his self-denying course, and his labors met with much acceptance. His visits to the homes of the people were greatly prized, for there he read the scriptures, counseled and encouraged by its truths, and helped them much by prayer.
Sometimes it seemed well to gather a number of people together so as to form a large meeting. Then, greater secrecy than usual was required. Night was the most favorable time, and some hidden cave a suitable place. Very quietly was the message given from one to another, and none were told but such as were believed to be like-minded. At a given hour, under cover of the darkness, the people consequently flocked from all parts. They were compelled to shape their course very cautiously, for a number together, or many going in one direction, might have suggested to an enemy what was going on.
Certainly it was at much risk that these persecuted Huguenots thus met, even when the enemy was supposed to be asleep; yet it was great joy to their hearts to gather together, yes, even if never to see their homes again. Here and there on the trees they hung their lanterns, to give the little light which they dared to use. Around the scene of their meeting stood the sentinels, who kept both ears and eyes open to the advance of an enemy. These were usually strong young men, able to run at a moment’s notice to give warning of danger. On the appearance of the foe, the nearest watcher ran instantly to the place of meeting, and reported the fact. The answer to this alarm was the immediate scattering of the people hither and thither as fast as they could.
With such precautions, the soldiers sometimes did not reach the spot till all had quietly departed. The sentinel knew directly where to run, but the soldiers, on the contrary, had to look for the place. On some occasions, a much worse foe than the open enemy brought the soldiers in time to the spot. One would pretend to be a Huguenot, and on that ground, get information about the proposed meeting. Then, by telling it to the authorities, that hypocrite or spy was considered to have done a good deed, and deserving of reward. Imagine a happy company thus assembled, while the soldiers were on their track, knowing well both time and place. Then an awful scene usually followed. Sentinels were shot before the alarm could be given, the dragoons suddenly bursting upon the unsuspecting people, whilst the gun and the sword were most unsparingly used.
The preacher was generally the person most sought for, and, after him, as many of the hearers as could be caught. Blood was freely shed, and mercy at the hands of the persecutors was not to be thought of. Men, women, and children alike fell by the ruthless hands of the pursuers.
When no surprise took place, the people spent a happy time. They sang praises to God, and listened to the scriptures as read by the preacher, while his lessons therefrom were grateful to their ears. When all was still around, the people quietly dispersed, and the preacher walked on to another part of the country. The soldiers sometimes heard of a night meeting after it had taken place. How to find the principal man in it, was, however, a difficult task, for hours before they knew, he had been rapidly passing onward to do the same work elsewhere.
Chapter 7: A Pastor Preserved by God From the Power of the Enemy
One very interesting feature in those days of persecution, was the marvelous way in which God preserved His own till the moment when the appointed time had come. Although there were many who coveted the honor of dying for Christ, yet there were others who shrank from death and suffering. They loved their Saviour none the less that they desired to give a living, rather than a dying testimony. Though ready to be offered, if need be, yet were they glad to have the precious days prolonged which could be used for God. Since their bodies, as well as souls, had been redeemed by the precious blood of Christ, it must have been pleasing to the Lord to see all due care taken of them.
Claude Brousson, the Huguenot pastor, had some very narrow escapes, in which only the power of God could have preserved him. At one time he had returned to his native place, and had been quietly living there for some months, when the order was given for his arrest. Four hundred soldiers were sent to the little town to carry out the king’s wishes. The well-known pastor was to be one of the first for whom search was to be made, but there were other Huguenots also to be made prisoners.
Although the royal wrath was able to vent itself on not a few defenseless inhabitants, yet signal failure met the attempts to arrest Claude Brousson. Four hundred armed men could not touch the peaceful Christian man, who had still more work to do for God. He escaped their grasp and fled from Nismes, though it would have been an easy thing for many in the town to have aided in his capture. A reward was publicly offered to the person who would tell where Monsieur Brousson might be found, and yet none betrayed the divinely-kept servant of God.
Imagine that fearless man listening to the proclamation setting a price upon his own head, and yet none to lay hands upon him, or do him harm! With what mingled feelings must his ears have caught those deadly words, as they entered by the open window of the house in which he stayed! Yet none were permitted to touch that precious life so nobly held for God. Any one such as he, would have been suspected if found leaving the town; he therefore remained three days longer where he was. Then in disguise he succeeded in leaving Nismes, to go forth from persecuting France to friendly Switzerland.
At another time, Monsieur Brousson was still nearer capture while fleeing from the pursuit of his enemies. He had passed a cheerless night in the rain and cold, to which want of shelter had exposed him. In the morning he made his way towards a village, in the hope of getting his clothes dried. As he approached, however, he suddenly came near to a body of soldiers, the sight of whom rapidly turned him from his purpose. He knew too well how pleased they would be to capture him, and so he retired into a wood till they had passed. No sooner had he done so than another party followed, and, like the first, marched quite close to his hiding-place.
When these two detachments had joined, the whole was separated into four companies to search everywhere for the hated Brousson. One of these went to the very house whither the wet and weary fugitive had intended going. Happily, the search was all in vain, and the pastor, whom God had kept, was free to go on his way rejoicing. Once more had his life been marvelously preserved, in order that he might continue to serve the Saviour whom he loved.
On another occasion, when staying, or rather hiding, with some friends in his native town, he, with his own hand, put his enemies on the track. Having written a petition to the king signed by himself, and posted in the town, his dwelling-place for the time was revealed. When he saw what he had done, he took the precaution of leaving Nismes for the shelter of a friendly house not far off. To this place of refuge his foes succeeded in tracing him, and ere long a party of soldiers had surrounded the spot, and were searching diligently for the missing man.
Before that armed party had arrived, however, the person to whom the house belonged had been wisely guided to a way of evading the pursuers. A well adjoining the house afforded a place of concealment, to which the visitor was speedily conveyed. Descending this somewhat dangerous place, where a slip might have plunged him in the water, he managed to get into the little recess near the bottom, in safety. No sooner was this accomplished, than the soldiers had scattered themselves all over the place, sure of finding the man whom they knew to be there. They were, however, completely foiled, for nowhere could they see the person whom they sought. Every nook and corner was carefully searched—in the house and out of it. Cupboards, chimneys, beds, everything and every place which could have held a man; but happily for their intended victim, he was not to be found.
The well attracted their attention as other places did, and many a time did they look into its depths. But Claude Brousson they could not see, nor did God permit them even when one pair of eyes came nearer. One of the soldiers went down as far as to the edge of the water, groping all around him, but still in vain. So at his own request, the soldier was drawn up, firmly believing that wherever Claude Brousson might be, he was certainly not in the well at that moment. Poor foolish men! armed as they were, and keen sighted as they thought themselves, they could not say with Paul, as Claude Brousson could, “If God be for us, who can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31).
Another striking example of God’s preserving care occurred in the history of this worthy pastor whom the Huguenots loved so dearly. Soldiers were often on his track, and were ever glad to have any reports of him. An enemy in the garb of a friend, told them at one time that a secret meeting had been held, and that in a certain house, which was pointed out, the famous pastor had slept afterward. This was indeed good news to their cruel hearts, and they hurried off to capture their prisoner, as they thought. But once again God saved His suffering servant, in the most simple way possible.
Monsieur Brousson had barely time to get behind a door when the soldiers entered. They looked in every place which they could think of, but no one turned to look behind the open door. Yet there stood their man, barely hidden, and, indeed, it only needed to have their searching gaze turned in that direction, to have beheld one pair of feet very plainly. The little gap between the door and the floor showed Brousson’s shoes distinctly, yet the soldier’s eyes saw them not. As the men were leaving the house, a little child endeavored to draw the officer’s attention to the fact, by calling out, “Look here, sir, look here!” But even that voice failed, for though addressed to the leader of the party, he paid no heed to what he only thought the idle cry of a little child.
It was indeed of God’s ordering, that the whole party of armed men turned away in disappointment, having failed to use either eyes or ears, as they might have done. On the evening of the same day, Monsieur Brousson dressed himself as a working man, and so escaped from further danger. A friend went with him to show him the way. Brousson, in the garb of a wool-comber, carried a parcel as if attending to his employment, the other looking like a companion in toil.
It was in such ways that Claude Brousson evaded his persecutors, even when a large reward had been offered for his capture. He was truly a man of peace, for, unlike many who lived in his day, he would not defend himself by force. At one time he had carried a sword, but believing that to be unlike a preacher of the gospel of peace, he laid it aside. In keeping with his own attitude in this, he requested the people who attended his meetings, also to come unarmed.
Brousson’s place of concealment was often found out, and still he escaped unnoticed. He could enter his native town and live there, and his life continue as safe as in a hidden cave or mountain fastness. He left when it suited him, and passed by his watchful enemies, unheeded and unknown. It was God who preserved that faithful man till the day came when he was called upon to die for his Lord.
Chapter 8: Sorrowful Scenes in France and Scotland
During nearly four years and a half the affectionate pastor went in and out among his Huguenot brethren, and the Lord blessed him in his work. His beloved wife and family were sorely needing his help and company, however; so, at the end of that period, he left France to visit them. His own health was also greatly shattered, so much so that even to his wife he scarcely looked the same man. In the happy society of those he loved best on earth, Monsieur Brousson recovered a little more strength, and this he longed again to spend in the service of his Lord, and with His people.
So the devoted pastor resumed his faithful labors, even during the fifteen months which he spent in Lausanne. The scattered Huguenots in other countries were also, for a time, the objects of his care. He therefore visited Holland and England, where many such had taken refuge. After this, he again went to France, comforted many friends by private visits, and also held a large secret meeting near Sedan. A few more visits to dear ones in Holland, a little while in the bosom of his family, and a third time the brave Monsieur Brousson went forth to his native land, no more to leave it, till he went on high to be with the Lord.
At last the popish authorities had the satanic pleasure of capturing the noble, fearless pastor. A letter written by himself to a protestant friend, fell into the hands of an informer bearing the same name. The latter speedily made the fact known, and in consequence, Monsieur Brousson was arrested by the authorities. He submitted in meekness, acknowledging with all openness that his name was Claude Brousson. Imprisonment in various places followed, until Montpellier was reached. On his way thither he could very easily have escaped while his guards slept, but he was too honorable to steal his liberty. After being kept for a time in the citadel of Montpellier, he was led forth to undergo a mock trial. The judges had but one end before them, and that was the death of this notable Huguenot. Still, with a show of justice, the trial began, and charges were formally made against the prisoner.
Brousson owned to that which was true, such as preaching contrary to the king’s command. But he firmly denied the false, when he was charged with an attempt to bring a foreign army into the country. Of course, his words were unheeded, and sentence was pronounced against him. Calmly the brave man listened to what lay before him, yet wavered not. The torture of the rack was first to be his, then his bones were to be broken on the wheel, and finally he was to be executed. In perfect submission he heard it all, and when the moment came, he bore unmurmuringly every blow which the wrath of man chose to put upon him.
The sufferings of the rack were generally used to extort from the victim the names of others like-minded with himself. Every effort thus to obtain information from Claude Brousson was, by the grace of God, totally unsuccessful.
Seeing how unavailing these proved, his persecutors then ceased their attempts to obtain information by such means. The priests, as usual, did their utmost to make him recant, but all in vain. God kept His dear servant firm and steadfast during that dreadful ordeal, and all it entailed.
The final part of the sentence passed upon Monsieur Brousson was carried out at Montpellier, on the fourth of November, 1698. It was sunset, and an unusually large crowd of people collected to see the end of such a noted man. The number was considered to be at least twenty thousand. Many came out of mere curiosity, and not a few because of their enmity to the preacher, who had long told out the love of God to suffering men and women. A large number of those, however, who mingled in that multitude, in all probability, were there out of affection for the self-denying pastor. The sight was to them one of pain and sorrow, yet they lingered around their loved one during his last moments, hoping once again to hear his welcome voice.
The place was an elevated part of the town called the Peyrou, then used principally for the execution of those who refused to worship according to the king’s religion. Everything connected with it as a spot where man’s hatred to God was displayed, caused it to be a vile spot indeed while Louis XIV. reigned in France. Nature had made it extremely attractive, for a splendid view of the works of God met one’s view on every side. The distant snow-capped mountains, the beautiful Cevennes, and the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean, gave each their own peculiar beauty to the scene. In the present day it forms a very fine promenade, and is greatly admired.
Degraded as the Peyrou was in the days of Claude Brousson and the many who suffered there, yet the loveliness of nature was the same then as now. As that devoted man mounted the scaffold, his heart and lips were occupied with God while he passed slowly onwards. Soldiers guarded that man of peace, but they little knew how satisfied he was to exchange the earth for the heavens. He attempted to say a few parting words of affection to the loved ones in the crowd, but many drums were beaten to drown his voice, so that nothing could be heard. Then, at last, amid the din and noise of the world around, that happy spirit was freed to wing its way from the hatred of man, to the presence of God, whose love is everlasting.
Let me now carry my young reader in thought to a touching incident which occurred farther north, towards the close of the same century, bringing death more rapidly than was the case with Claude Brousson the Huguenot.
Marion Cameron was a young Scotch-woman, well known for her piety, and beloved by many. The dragoons who were then ever on the search for such victims in Scotland, heard of her, and went, without delay, to take her from the quiet of home, to cruel punishment. With two friends, however, she succeeded in escaping their grasp, and fled to a moor close by. There the three companions hid themselves from their pursuers, causing the latter to be completely baffled for a time. But, alas! it was only for a very brief space indeed. Marion and her two friends were wearied with their flight, and accordingly looked for a suitable place to rest their aching bodies. When this was obtained, they committed themselves to the care of God by prayer, and desired also to sing one of the psalms. Therefore, fearless of the consequences, their voices rang soft and clear through the air, while their hearts were glad and rejoicing in the Lord. It was a hateful yet welcome sound to the soldiers whose ears the notes had reached. Hateful, for they loved neither God, His people, nor His Word; welcome, because it betrayed more victims for their merciless swords.
When the spot was reached, the soldiers found themselves face to face with the friends whom they sought. The latter were now at their mercy, and the malice of the soldiers’ hearts rejoiced in the fact. Yet they made a show of offering a way of escape. Life was offered to the three Christians on the condition that they would burn their Bibles. A miserable alternative, indeed, which was instantly refused by the noble trio! Full well the soldiers knew that it would be so. They only sought an excuse for shedding the blood of these helpless victims.
Inflamed with Satanic zeal, these wretched messengers of royalty leveled their guns and fired. The aim was sure and those three faithful ones who had been friends in life passed out of it together. Away from the sorrows of earth and time, they left the turmoil of the present scene, for the eternal joys of the Lord’s presence. After the departure of the soldiers, kind and sorrowing neighbors hastened to the moor where the dead bodies lay. Many a tear was shed over those youthful martyrs, for they had been truly loved. After a grave had been dug, loving hands committed “dust to dust,” there to sleep in peace till the resurrection morn shall dawn.
Such scenes make one think of the words of Psalm 102:19-20: “For he hath looked down from the height of his sanctuary; from heaven did the Lord behold the earth; to hear the groaning of the prisoner, to loose those that are appointed to death.” With what tender pity and love must the eyes of God fall upon such a spectacle, and how truly His ear is open to the cry of the oppressed. But, on the other hand, He beholds the evil as well as the good, and will not forget the sorrows which the enmity of man has brought on His people. What a solemn day of reckoning has yet to be met by those who are to be “judged according to their works!”
Think of the thousands who have found a fiendish pleasure in shedding the blood of the saints of God. Could we name them each one, what a long and terrible list would rise up before us! Yet all are known to God, not one will be forgotten, not one whose body will continue in the grave after that moment when called to stand before God. Ah! what a contrast will that scene before the “great white throne” be to the triumph of their deadly deeds here! On earth they acted as kings, queens, noblemen, judges, officers, soldiers, exercising their human authority. Popes, prelates, priests, and all the would-be dignitaries of popish rule, held their sway till death took them hence. But what are they all in that awful day yet to come, as pictured in Rev. 20? John writes: “The sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which was in them: and they were judged every man according to their works.”
My clear reader, you may not have been guilty as these men were, but if you are judged according to your works, where will you be in that day of woe?
Chapter 9: Streaks of Light in Scotland’s Night
Bright was the day that dawned for Scotland when Columba, settled on the little island of Iona to preach the gospel of the grace of God to a heathen nation. That Culdee colony then became a center of light, which shed its cheering rays into surrounding darkness. From those sea-girt shores, the Scottish people heard the joyful sound, which brought life and liberty to many a soul in the land. The truths of Christianity spread far and wide, continuing to do so during the next six hundred years. Then followed dark and direful days, consequent upon the errors and superstition of man being put in the place of the truth of God.
The blind zeal of a Scottish king changed the simplicity of the Culdee settlement into the mummery and follies of popish life. Not content with compelling many of his subjects to exchange Christianity for popery, king David even brought foreigners to his kingdom to teach the same vile system. He gave the best positions to papists, and enforced the ignorant subjection of the people. Thus deeply struck the roots of that evil tree in Scotland’s soil, becoming a shelter for sinful deeds and corrupt ways under the name of religion.
During four hundred years, the darkness of Romanism continued to envelop the people, while monasteries, convents, and cathedrals, covered the land. But brighter days followed that long, dark night, for the work of God could not be crushed by the will of a pope. The beginning of the fifteenth century witnessed the courageous testimony of men like James Resby, who dared to teach that “the pope was not Christ’s vicar.” A popish fire kindled at Perth, and a martyr bound to the stake in its midst, was the answer of Romanism to that voice.
Similar scenes followed, for godly men would not be silenced, till the wrath of man sealed their lips in death. The light of God was being brought in upon the darkness, and faithful ones were raised up from time to time, who fearlessly held it forth. Such noble witnesses make one think of what Paul says in his letter to the people of God at Philippi: “Among whom ye shine as lights in the world; holding forth the word of life.” There in that precious, priceless book of God, is indeed found the secret of life, and light, and liberty.
The revelation of God’s mind and will, as given in the scriptures, was being read in the country, and that was the power which was felt, as its light gleamed forth amid the darkness. Scotland had welcomed to her shores the Word of God, translated by Wycliffe into the English language. Deeds of darkness hate the light, hence the people who dared to give the word of life an entrance, were made to pay the penalty with their blood.
So popery and the pope ordered, but in spite of all, the Word of the Lord had free course, and true hearts bowed before its teachings and rejoiced in its truths.
It was in the early years of the sixteenth century that the first copy of Wycliffe’s translation was brought to Scotland. A couple of years afterward found a brave and faithful preacher of its truths, ready to serve in the face of danger or death. This was a young nobleman of royal descent, named Patrick Hamilton. At the age of twenty-one, with life and worldly position all before him, that noble heart stood a witness for God in his native land. Going forth with his life in his hand, he courageously braved the wrath of man, as he spoke of human depravity and God’s salvation.
The conduct of this wise preacher of the gospel reminds one of the common but important saying, that “Charity begins at home.” Patrick Hamilton began in his own family, the work of an evangelist, and God honored him there in the conversion of souls. His desires then took a wider sphere, and carrying the glad tidings of God’s love, he went forth to the neighboring houses of his friends. Blessing followed his footsteps as he sought to tell high and low of the manifold grace of God. When the laborer in the field was having his mid-day meal, Hamilton might have been seen by his side, speaking of God and His word.
Then gathering others around him, as their time would permit, that noble evangelist told forth the glad and joyous news of a Saviour for sinners, so far as he knew the truth himself.
Respected as of noble family, honored as the great-grandson of a Scottish king, and loved for his own sweetness of character, Patrick Hamilton met with a welcome everywhere he went. But more than all, as an honored servant of the living God, the evangelist went forth armed with “the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” Therein lay his true greatness and felt power, and in the noblest of all missions he rejoiced to be an ambassador for Christ.
Still wider than family, friends, or surroundings, went this dear man’s sympathies towards the perishing. For before the royal family itself, he carried the glad tidings of God’s grace, and pointed out the errors of man. Surrounded by everything that spoke of popery, that bold champion of the truth stood up before the congregation assembled in a religious edifice, and denounced the empty forms and doings within its walls. He shewed the folly of dead works, and pointed his hearers to the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ. A very short quotation from one of his addresses will serve to show the character of his preaching.
“Knowest thou what this saying means, ‘Christ died for thee’? Verily, that thou shouldest have died perpetually, and Christ, to deliver thee from death, died for thee, and changed thy perpetual death into His death; for thou madest the fault, and He suffered the pain.”
The building called “The Church of St. Michael” was in Linlithgow—a town in the palace of which royalty apparently delighted, for at that time it was a very favorite abode. Patrick Hamilton’s home was near Linlithgow, so who, and what he was, were well-known facts to all who heard. The young nobleman made many an enemy through his faithful preaching, but he also had the joy of knowing that the good seed had taken root in others, who heard and believed. Popish power was strong in Scotland at the time, and this was soon put forth to stop the mouth of that God-fearing preacher. The question to be solved was not what should be done with him, but how was it to be accomplished without any resistance from king or people. King James V. was young and easily managed, and he was advised to take a journey just at that time. Patrick Hamilton had relatives who might have hindered his death by main force, but they, too, were thwarted in their attempts. Friends also would have started to the rescue of the beloved preacher, but everything was too cleverly managed to allow of any possibility of deliverance.
Hamilton was therefore arrested in the midst of his godly work, imprisoned, tried, and burnt, in a very short space of time. When brought to trial, certain charges were made against him by the pope’s representatives, and these were under consideration for a few days. During that time the noble victim was allowed to go free, that his friends might not suspect that only certain death awaited him. Prominent amongst other charges of a similar kind, was the fact, that Hamilton had preached salvation through faith alone. Rome considered that an unpardonable crime had been committed, when the faithful evangelist had declared that good works could only be the outcome of faith, and not the foundation on which one’s salvation rested.
These truths which the preacher had learned from the Word of God, were discussed by those popish judges, and, as was ever the case in such mock trials, the death of the “heretic” was considered the only antidote to the whole. Archbishop Beaton was the presiding man in the scene, and it was with a fiendish satisfaction that he got everything his own way. Cunning and deceitful in himself, that bloodthirsty man left no stone unturned to make as sure of obtaining his prey, as his wicked heart could wish.
“Those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man. For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders.”
Chapter 10: Patrick Hamilton - A Faithful Witness Amid True Friends and Treacherous Foes
Patrick Hamilton was finally arrested, by Beaton’s orders, under cover of night—truly a fitting time for the dark and malicious deed. A little company, like-minded with himself, had met to spend the evening with their beloved friend, and, as the hours sped on, they were in no haste to depart. They held converse together on those things which were dearest to every heart, and their sympathies very specially flowed forth to the young nobleman round whom they gathered. Far into the night those dear friends lingered—ah! little knowing that they should witness a rough and speedy parting, ere they left that hallowed room.
When all was quiet in the stillness of the night, footsteps were heard, and a knocking for admittance told every ear that danger was at hand. Who, then, could or would open that door and let in the intruders? None other than the man they sought. With calm serenity he presented himself before the men who stood there. “Whom do you want?” was his demand. “I want Hamilton,” was the reply. “I am Hamilton,” answered the brave servant of God, and without the slightest resistance, he stood ready to be led away. His only request was that the friends who were around him, might be permitted to depart in peace.
A company of armed men then escorted their prisoner through the streets of St. Andrews to the tower by the seashore. There he was left for the night, and the cruel Beaton had, at last, the gratification of knowing that the young and courageous Patrick Hamilton was in the iron grasp of the law, a victim to the vile hatred of popery. But ah! more sweetly rested that brave disciple of the Lord in his prison by the sea than did the iniquitous Beaton in his splendid palace. For a heart at peace with God beat within that noble prisoner’s breast, while evil thoughts and desires raged in the bosom of the man who was bringing him to an early death. Beaton had not finished his persecution of Patrick Hamilton when he lodged him a prisoner in the castle of St. Andrews. The next step was to lead the noble preacher out to die, and thus silence forever on earth that faithful voice, so loved by his friends and hated by his foes. Immediately before being led to the stake, Hamilton was called upon to answer the questions of a friar who seemed pleased to have a last opportunity of insulting the faithful servant of God. That examiner was a man who had privately owned to Hamilton that the truths for which he was now to die, were in accordance with the Word of God. No wonder, then, that to stifle his conscience, that worthless friar could not be too loud and harsh, in his cruel offensive words before those popish dignitaries.
Patrick Hamilton boldly but gently gave distinct and decisive answers to his accuser, and thereby increased the fury of all. As the Jews did of old to the meek and lowly Jesus, so did this archbishop and his companions to the disciple as he stood before them. “Away with him,” broke forth from angry lips; and the cry was, “To the stake! to the stake!” The archbishop, having thus succeeded in getting the opinion of many on his side, without further delay, sentenced Patrick Hamilton to be handed over to the executors of the law, as a heretic.
The greater the speed with which the sentence could be carried out, the better would the archbishop’s object be served. Hamilton was therefore fully aware, that a very short time would elapse between his last appearance before his judges, and the final carrying out of their desires.
From the presence of his accusers, he was led back to the castle of St. Andrews, but carefully guarded by a body of armed men as he passed through the streets on his way. Preparations were then made for the fire, and everything hastened on as rapidly as possible. No terror, no fear marked that noble servant of Christ, so soon to suffer death. He spent his closing hours in conversation with those he loved, and we may well imagine that he spoke of the Master with whom he was very shortly to be.
Twelve o’clock struck, and Patrick Hamilton calmly met the governor who had come to lead him forth, and as serenely he left the castle to die. A devoted attendant followed him, some dear friends walked by his side, while in his hands he held in affectionate reverence, a copy of the New Testament. Soldiers surrounded, and the crowd looked on; but no face was more placid, no step more secure, than the peaceful countenance and steady pace of the man who was about to die.
As the martyr neared the stake and the wood, he paused, and reverently uncovering his head, spent a few moments in prayer to God. Then passing onwards, he stood still for a little before being bound to the stake. His beloved Testament he gave to a friend, and the kind of cloak which he wore was given to his servant, as well as the cap which had covered his head. These little tributes of affection being bestowed, the noble martyr parted from the objects of them, and walking forward a few paces to the place where he was to be bound, his last steps on earth were over.
All being now ready, Hamilton was fastened to the stake, while wood and gunpowder surrounded that beloved man, and bitter enemies formed a still wider circle to see the end. But God in heaven looked down, and heard those trustful words from His servant’s lips, and doubtless answered them, too: “In the name of Jesus, I give up my body to the fire, and commit my soul into the hands of the Father.”
The fire burned very slowly, so that for six hours that suffering body was in the midst of the flames. Yet not the slightest impatience did he shew, nor was any murmur heard from his lips. Nay more, while he was undergoing the agony of burning, Patrick Hamilton was able to refute the enemy in the person of the wicked friar who continued to revile him. That unhappy man ceased not to reproach the dying believer, until he could no longer bear the searching words addressed to him by the preacher whom he had accused. At last, in great terror, he fled to his monastery, where in a very short time he became insane, and died a wild maniac as the result of his falsity and wickedness.
What a contrast was the end of that wretched man to the closing moments of the peaceful martyr at the stake. The latter was asked near the end to make a sign that he was holding fast in death the truths which he had taught in life. In reply, Patrick Hamilton stretched forth his right hand, on which only three fingers remained, and held it thus till they, too, were consumed in the flames. The last words which were heard falling from his lips were those of prayer for his country, and the peaceful committing of his spirit in faith to the Lord Jesus Christ. “How long, O Lord, shall darkness overwhelm this realm? how long wilt Thou suffer this tyranny of men? Lord Jesus, receive my soul.”
Though death had been lingering while the patient sufferer steadfastly endured, it came at last, and set that ransomed spirit free. Brightly had the young man entered on his noble course, and brief comparatively had been his useful life. All that birth, education, position, could procure were his; yet the one Treasure on which his heart was set, was the priceless Christ of God. Everything else paled before one divine Object, and for that ever worthy One nothing was withheld—not even life itself. And as he lived, so he died—that brave, true-hearted servant of God, who preached during life, and suffered unto death.
The date was February 28th, 1528, the place was at that time the chief seat of learning in Scotland; and the heart that planned his death was that of a man who had taken the positions of priest, archbishop, and cardinal. Such was the popish religion in those dark days, when the sword and the stake were its most powerful weapons. But Patrick Hamilton, and many more, will yet be able to sing eternally: “Unto him that loveth us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.”
Chapter 11: St. Andrews - An Ancient Seat of Learning in Times of Trial and Testimony
I should like, before leaving this scene of martyrdom, to tell my young reader a little that may be of interest about the place itself. The town of St. Andrews is built on the shores of a small but lovely bay, on the east coast of Fifeshire, in Scotland. Its natural situation is very good, while its past history contains much of thrilling interest, especially to the child of God. No longer is it the first seat of learning in the kingdom, the fine old castle which was once its pride lies in ruins, and the events in connection with its ancient cathedral, live only in the memories of the past. But the men who lived and ruled there have left impressions which continue for good or for evil, according to the source from which they sprang.
It is now a good many years since, for the first time, I looked upon that fine old city, and, though I have never seen it again, those few hours have left very distinct memories in my heart. The name rarely, if ever, comes before me without bringing thoughts of the dust of long departed ones, which is dear to God. There I stood by the grassy spot where sleeps the pious Samuel Rutherford. As his godly writings come before the mind, surely we may well thank God that such a devoted heart ever testified to the matchless worth of God’s Christ who is “all the glory in Immanuel’s land.” No more is “fair Anworth by the sea” his home, nor ever again can the prison walls of yonder northern city contain him. His happy ransomed spirit has long been in the presence of the Lord, and his body rests in the quiet graveyard of St. Andrews till the trump of God shall call it from the tomb.
A quaint old wooden pulpit rises before my mind now, whence thundered a voice which shook not only that important town, but morally sounded through the length and breadth of the land. The preacher was the bold, uncompromising, courageous John Knox. At one time, the archbishop, having heard that Knox purposed preaching in the cathedral, hastened from a small town near, to be present there also. To hear what was good, was it? Alas! no; his object in coming thus speedily to St. Andrews was to hinder, not to help. Poor foolish man! destitute of moral power, he presented himself armed with the secular force of a body of soldiers to prevent Knox from preaching. The latter had received a message from the archbishop on Saturday evening, to the effect that if he dared to do as he had arranged, he would give orders to his soldiers to shoot him then and there. In spite of that deadly threat, however, the brave and noble preacher gave forth a most powerful testimony against the errors of Rome the following day. Thrilling the hearts of his hearers, and rousing many a slumbering conscience, John Knox boldly delivered his message, and none dared to do him harm.
Those burning words, issuing from that religious edifice in St. Andrews, sent echoes far and wide in a country which longed to throw off the papal yoke. We cannot follow the course of events which resulted from John Knox’s appeal, but only touch upon this important incident as having taken place in the ancient city of St. Andrews.
Near the sea stands a castle, now in ruins, which was once the princely home of the archbishops in the days when popery reigned. One of its windows has a solemn history, reminding one of the death of God’s saints so precious in His sight. From that spot, Cardinal Beaton had gazed upon the burning of a servant of Christ—George Wishart, whom he was causing to die. He and his ungodly company rested there in ease and luxury, whence their cruel eyes could gaze with pleasure on that solemn sight. Not three months later, the crafty, wicked cardinal was lying a cold corpse within that very room, a murdered man. Thus he who had caused so many to suffer, fell by the ruthless revenge of man at last.
There is much more of interest in that old Scottish city, but I merely give a few passing glances, as I tell my young reader of my own brief visit there. Although Scotland possesses not the sunny clime of southern lands, yet it has its bright days and blue skies, all the more cheering, perhaps, that they are not every-day occurrences. Then the glowing sunshine lights up its lovely scenery, making as fair a picture as other lands display. It was under such a summer sun that I saw the blue waters of the bay of St. Andrews sparkling beneath the glowing rays, and all nature appeared in its fairest dress. No wonder, then, that the contrast to my mind was very great—between nature’s brightness and the sufferings of the saints whose memories were called up before me there. But there was one glad fact to cheer: the hatred of men brought forth from their victims fruit that shall yet “be found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.”
The university of St. Andrews was founded as early as the beginning of the fifteenth century, and Romish dignitaries had made the town their center. Religious error and learning formed many a proud bigot in that fair city, and man oppressed his fellow-man in consequence. But God had His chosen vessels, too, and these were endowed with wisdom and power which made Rome’s votaries quake, and melted human hearts by the gospel message. In that seat of pride, pomp, and vanity, God’s glad tidings were proclaimed, and man’s evil ways exposed, by the light of His truth. Hence, not seldom were the flames kindled in St. Andrews, the way by which many a saint, whom earth would not retain, went home to God.
Paul Crawar, a Bohemian, suffered in 1431; Patrick Hamilton in 1528; Forrest, Straiton, and Gourlay, followed only a few years later; and George Wishart in 1545. These, and many more, were bound to the stakes set up in St. Andrews, and fires lighted by popish hands, broke “the silver cord” of life which bound them to earth. Then popery might rage, and bigotry defame, for far beyond the reach of their malice, had gone the objects of their hate. But God’s hand could not thus be stayed, for if one servant was gathered home, another could be raised up to fill his place. And with all the enemy’s wrath, there were some preaching truth in their very faces, whom popery was unable to hinder, or put out of the way.
These courageous men were, no doubt, made to suffer in life, but man was not allowed to quench their testimony by death. Thus it was with John Knox who, after hardships, perils, imprisonment, and even the galleys, died peacefully in his own bed, surrounded by many whom he loved.
It seems wonderful that such a fearless and eminent preacher should have escaped martyrdom, exposed as he was to the enmity of a popish queen. Instead of death, however, in the prime of his days, John Knox was permitted, for some wise purpose, to live to a good old age. Yet the royal head of Mary Stuart, who had so revengefully desired to put Knox out of the way, was made to fall by the ax of the executioner. This brings us to an important part of the history of the Scottish nation, when Mary had passed off the scene, and her son had become king.
James VI. sat upon the throne, and though, in an outward way, he tried to please his subjects, yet in heart he early followed the advice of his popish counselors. Strenuous efforts were put forth to persuade the young king to become a Roman Catholic, and thus bring his kingdom within the power of the pope. The fact of the Scottish monarch being also the nearest heir to the English crown, rendered him an object of double importance in the eyes of these scheming papists.
The people became alarmed at this attempt to pervert their king, and, at his suggestion, bound themselves to be true to that form of religion which they considered to be right. This agreement was called the National Covenant, and because it was first signed by king James and his household, it was also called The King’s Confession. That event took place on January 28th, 1581, and was a distinct public protest against popery.
Fifteen years afterward witnessed a renewal of this covenant by the people, but this time, it was without their king. The latter had openly sought to enforce a form of religion upon his subjects, which they determined, at all hazards, to resist, so that the stand now made was more against prelacy than popery. That we leave for another chapter, however.
Chapter 12: Covenanters and Conventicles
The struggle, begun in the father’s reign, was continued during that of his son Charles I. When he openly enforced the same religious system upon his northern subjects, they once more renewed their national pledge to that which they believed to be right. And thus, a third time, the covenant became the standard round which many an honest-hearted Scot rallied, although many a mistaken notion existed as to how their desires should be carried out. It was a touching and never-to-be-forgotten scene which was witnessed in Greyfriars’ churchyard in Edinburgh, on the memorable first of March, 1638! The spirit of the nation was aroused, and all classes were represented there. Crowds pressed to sign, till every space was filled on which a name could be written.
The signing of this document gave the name of covenanters to those who did so, and all who took up a similar course afterward, were called by the same name. Their ruling desire was to be allowed to serve God according to their conscience, though, with it, a good deal of attention was given to the maintenance of that civil form of government which was preferred. Other covenants had been made and signed, such as the “First” in 1557, the “Second” in 1559, the “Solemn League and Covenant” in 1643; but we enter not into the details of each or any.
The struggle extended over many years, and suffering even to death, followed in cases where liberty of conscience was dearer than even life itself, and the honor of Christ more precious than the favor of the king.
So bitter did the contest between king and people become, that at length it was considered a crime to be found in companies, singing psalms, praying, or reading the Word of God. Consequently, men, women, and children, were wont to meet in secret hiding-places unknown to their cruel persecutors. The hillside, the sheltered valley, the mountain cave, each afforded the quiet spot of concealment which was necessary to escape the watchful eye of the enemy.
Such gatherings have ever been common in lands where liberty of conscience was denied, and where a possibility existed for the people of God to come together in this way. In the days of Wycliffe, these secret meetings were called conventicles, and by this name we also speak of the secret meetings of the covenanters and many other persecuted Christians.
In the days of the Huguenots, the buildings in which they were accustomed to meet had been demolished by the king’s command, and, at first, the people met amid the wreck and ruin of that which they had held so dear. Hunted from such well-known places, they then took refuge in hills and valleys far from the eyes of their cruel persecutors.
With the Scotch, the case was slightly different, yet in principle, it was the same. In their country, both preacher and people were obliged to resort to open-air meetings, not because their buildings were destroyed, but because they looked upon them as dishonored by the pride and will of man. So they turned their backs on places, hitherto sacred to them as spots where the name of God was revered, and made the hills and dales their meeting-places. Many an hour was thus spent by preacher and people, happy in the hallowed occupations of the time, though they nearly always met at the risk of their lives.
To avoid detection, they often came together in the darkness of the night, or at break of day, as seemed most suitable at the time. In addition to these hidden hours of night, the noon-day sun did not hinder, but sometimes looked down upon a persecuted people holding a conventicle in God’s free air, under the blue canopy of heaven. On the green sward, or the purple heather, their hearts were glad to escape from the tyranny of men, to listen to the teaching which they truly valued. Large numbers thus met as covenanters, though many, doubtless, may only have been attached to a form. Still, there were not a few believers in the Lord Jesus Christ, who were ready to suffer and to die while they endeavored to follow Him.
By the laws of both England and Scotland, in the latter part of the seventeenth century, any person over sixteen years of age could be fined, imprisoned, or even transported, for attending a conventicle. Any gathering was considered such where five persons were met privately for religious purposes, in addition to those composing the household. Every care, therefore, was required when such a meeting took place. Watchers were posted near, and these gave the alarm when the enemy came in sight. Sometimes the whole of the people suddenly dispersed, and the dragoons could find no one to torment. On other occasions, they arrived in time to scatter them in confusion. Yes, and they used to the utmost their murderous weapons, in blind hatred and fanatic zeal.
Large conventicles were held in places where the country for nearly fifty miles round could be watched. This left ample freedom for the voice of praise to be raised in the singing of psalms, and the preacher’s tones could not reach the enemy’s ear. One writer describes such a meeting as being surrounded by three circles of sentinels, each within the other.
The men farthest off were ready to give the signal the instant that the enemy could be seen. The second circle took it up, and passed on the notice to the inner one, and this last made known the fact to the assembly of people within. All could be very quickly done by some familiar signal, such as the firing of a gun, so that the nearest mounted sentinel could speedily reach the company thus encircled.
On such occasions thousands met in some suitable hollow, where rising grounds on every side enabled the sentinels to keep watch over a large tract of country. These watchers were men interested in the conventicles, like those who listened, but who, for the good of the whole, were content to be at a distance from the beloved company. They were quick to perceive the presence of any person unfavorable to them, hence it is not surprising that the covenanters were able to meet often, and separate unmolested.
At such meetings the Bible was read and explained by the preacher, fervent prayer went up to God, and the Psalms of David, arranged in meter, were sung with great solemnity. The people were encouraged and counseled to persevere even unto death. And such it often proved to be, for they were sometimes rudely surprised, and the whole company suddenly routed by a party of soldiers. Then, indeed, a sad and mournful sight ensued. Defenseless women and helpless children touched not the hearts of these ruthless men. The weak and the aged suffered alike, for their pursuers seemed to have hearts of stone. So the green sward was dyed with the blood of the slain, and the prisoners’ groans fell sadly on the ear.
Like the Vaudois and the Huguenots, the Covenanters of Scotland took up arms in self-defense when oppression was heavy upon them. We touch not on their battles or warfare, however, leaving that to able historians to write of, desiring rather to look upon the patient, peaceful side, when they suffered wrong even unto death. While many sat listening to the gospel, armed and ready to fight in case of need, not a few chose the better part of refusing to defend themselves by warlike weapons.
The grand old mountains of Scotland, the smiling valleys of the south of France, and the rocky heights where dwelt the Vaudois, have all been witnesses of similar scenes. There were occasions on which the eye might have gazed on a goodly company, reverently occupied with the invisible God. On bended knee, with uplifted heart and hand, they took Him to witness that they desired to serve the living and true God. Approaching that holy One in the precious, all-prevailing name of Jesus, the Son of God, their words were known and heard in His unsullied light. Many a heart poured out its tale of sorrows, and the cry rose up to heaven in the ear of Him who hears and answers prayer.
The soothing power of God’s own Word was sweet indeed to these suffering ones, and they were desirous of obeying the truths they learned there. Contrasted with those hallowed, memorable days, there were others equally notable, but full of woe. Then violence, bloodshed, slaughter, rent their hearts and thinned their homes, as they wandered hither and thither in deepest suffering. For those dread hours of sorrow and for the happy moments of peace, they had, however, the same unchanging God. They tasted of His love as it flowed forth to them in life through Jesus the Saviour, and it was their solace in death, as they passed onwards to the ceaseless joys of a glorious eternity.
“What heights and depths of love divine,
Will there through endless ages shine!”
Chapter 13: Conclusion
Long years have rolled past since the events recorded in these chapters were living realities, but even now, many a heart can re-echo the truth spoken by Solomon, and say, “The memory of the just is blessed.” Yes, blessed, eternally blessed! for God forgets none of His, and never will; “God is faithful.”
Souls may have clung to a doctrine, and died rather than give it up, and yet have had no intimate acquaintance with a living Saviour. Many may have had scruples about things which affected the conscience before men, while in their hearts they knew not peace with God. But the presence of persecution and death often strengthened the weak and gave courage to the faint. God knew whether there was that which would endure when death lay in the path, and He gives the faith before He tries it. The Holy Ghost has said, “If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strength is small.”
It is marvelously beautiful to see the value the Lord sets upon that which is His own gift, yet which He graciously puts down to the credit of the faithful believer. “That the trial of your faith being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ.” Gold is valued, treasured, and even loved by the heart of man, but God looks upon it as that which perisheth. Faith is often misunderstood, misjudged, ridiculed, and despised, but God esteems it, when proved, as much more precious than gold.
As faith accepts the divine word, so conscience seeks to obey that which it understands of the will of God. It is only as regulated according to scripture, however, that its obedience is truly acceptable, though God respects the desire to be true to Him. Hence, the dying testimony derived its character from that which the martyr understood of God’s revelation to man. The suffering body was only the vehicle of bearing witness to the truth held in the soul, according to the measure possessed.
Political difficulties were frequently mixed with religious scruples, and then conscience seemed the most prominent thing. For example, one man in the days of the Commonwealth in England, accepted his death with the words, “Ten thousand deaths, rather than defile my conscience!” As he looked in his wife’s face for the last time, he stood up in the cart which was conveying him to death, and waving his hat, touchingly exclaimed, “To heaven, my love! to heaven! and leave you in the storm.” A spectator called out, “This is the most glorious seat you ever sat on!” and was answered with joy, “It is so, indeed!”
Such souls thought of heaven as a divine place and their future home. They would not be disappointed, but happier still, and more assuring it was to know that a living, loving Saviour was waiting to receive the departing spirit. Heaven and the Father’s house are splendid realities, but a living Person is more comforting to the heart, bringing “joy unspeakable, and full of glory.”
Heaven is the present home of the believer whose affections are already there. In proportion as this is known, the hear gratifies or denies itself, while absent from the sphere to which it belongs.
I read lately of one who said he had met many going to heaven, but few coming from it. Which are you, my young reader? Is it your home at present, or only in the future?
We have reason to be thankful for the absence of such forms of persecution as would imprison, maltreat, or kill, those who endeavor to obey God in our land. Let us therefore use, to the glory of God, the peace and the quiet we at present enjoy, for the enemy who persecutes is as active as ever. He only changes the form of evil to suit his own purpose, yet cannot go farther in those cruel efforts than God permits for some wise end.
“What will it be to dwell above,
And with the Lord of glory reign,
Since the blest knowledge of His love
So brightens all this dreary plain?
No heart can think, no tongue can tell,
What joy ‘twill be with Christ to dwell!”