Wicliffe’s great work was accomplished, but his labors were not yet over. A brief period must elapse before he shall be called home to receive his reward. He was old and feeble, and needed repose; but the honor of God and the welfare of his country were dear to his heart, and once more he girded himself for the conflict; this time turning to attack the doctrinal system of the Church of Rome.
The doctrine of Transubstantiation, one of the chief supports of the Romish Church, was brought into England by the Norman priests at the time of the Conquest. In this dogma the Church of Rome teaches “that by the sacramental words duly pronounced by the priest, the bread and wine upon the altar are transubstantiated, or substantially converted into the true body and blood of Christ; so that after consecration there is not in that venerable sacrament the material bread and wine which before existed, considered in their own substances or natures, but only the species of the same, under which are contained the true body of Christ, and His blood — not figuratively, but essentially, substantially, and corporally; so that Christ is verily there in His own proper bodily presence.”
In the spring of 1381, Wicliffe posted up at Oxford twelve theses, or short propositions, in which he denied the dogma of transubstantiation, and challenged those of a contrary opinion to debate the matter with him. The first of these theses was as follows: “The consecrated host which we see upon the altar is neither Christ nor any part of Christ, but an efficacious sign of him.” Wicliffe argued that the bread and wine were as truly bread and wine after as before their consecration.
The publication of these theses caused great commotion at Oxford. At this time the larger portion of the honors of the University was possessed by the religious orders. All shouted heresy, but no one dared to prove it to the author of the objectionable sentences.
A council of twelve — four secular doctors and eight monks — was summoned by William Barton, the Chancellor of the University, and unanimously condemned Wicliffe’s opinions as heretical, and threatened heavy penalties against any one who should teach them in the University or listen to the teaching of them there.
Wicliffe was seated in his chair as professor, lecturing upon the eucharist to his pupils in the School of the Augustinians, when an officer entered and read the sentence of condemnation passed upon him by the council.
For a moment he remained silent; he then rose and said, “You ought first to have shown me that I am in error,” and then he challenged his opponents to refute his published opinions.
Receiving for reply that he must either submit to silence or imprisonment, he said, “Then I appeal to the King and the Parliament.”
The Duke of Lancaster, becoming alarmed, hastened to his old friend, and begged him — even ordered him — to trouble himself no more about this matter. But the reformer was firm; it might cost him his life, but he would abide by the truth.
As some time must elapse before the Parliament again met, Wicliffe withdrew to Lutterworth; and there, while quietly ministering to his flock, he, by his voice in the pulpit, and by his pen, still further diffused those sacred truths which he had drawn from the Word of God. He now published his tract, entitled The Wicket, an explanation in English of the words, “This is my body.”
In the summer of 1381 the people, oppressed by their heavy burdens, and the severity of the tax-collectors, rose in rebellion, and, led by Wat Tyler and a dissolute priest named Ball, marched upon London. Strengthened by the lower orders of the city, they burnt the magnificent palace of the Duke of Lancaster in the Savoy, and seizing Sudbury the Primate, then Chancellor of the kingdom, they beheaded him in the Tower. Other officers of State were also condemned to death. In a few days the insurrection was quelled, and its leaders, together with hundreds of their followers, executed.
The enemies of the Reformation endeavored to lay the blame of this insurrection to the teaching of Wicliffe, and to cast opprobrium upon him and his cause in consequence. But the Gospel incites not to deeds of violence, and the sympathy of the insurrectionists with the mendicant friars — the avowed enemies of Wicliffe — is proof that he was not the one who led the people on to rebellion.
Immediately after the insurrection of Wat Tyler and his followers, Courtenay, the Bishop of London, was made Primate in the place of Sudbury. His translation to the primacy was secured by a bull from Pope Urban VI, and this increased his scrupulous submission to the pleasure of the papacy. He was a most zealous opponent of the reformer, and, as soon as the pall — the badge and insignia by which the Pope conveys to bishops the authority to act in his name — arrived, he convoked a synod to try the Rector of Lutterworth.
The court met on May 17th, 1382, in the hall of the Dominican Monastery, Blackfriars, London. It consisted of eight prelates, fourteen doctors, six bachelors of divinity, fifteen mendicant friars, and four monks. Truly an impartial assembly to try the Gospel doctor!
The members had just taken their seats, and were proceeding to business, when an earthquake shook the city. The monastery trembled. The members of the court, much alarmed, turned to its president, and demanded an adjournment. It seemed as if the Divine displeasure rested upon their inquiry.
The Archbishop skilfully applied this incident to his own purpose. “Know you not,” said he, “that the noxious vapors which catch fire in the bosom of the earth, and give rise to these phenomena which alarm you, lose all their force when they burst forth? Well, in like manner, by rejecting the wicked from our community, we shall put an end to the convulsions of the Church.” The trial proceeded.
An officer of the court read out twenty-four propositions selected from the writings of the reformer. After the “good deliberation” of three days, it was agreed that ten of these were heretical, and the remainder erroneous. The sentence of this court was sent to the Bishop of London — the metropolis being scarcely less, infected by Wicliffe’s doctrines than Oxford — and to all his brethren, the suffragans of the diocese of Canterbury; and also to the Bishop of Lincoln, in whose diocese Lutterworth was situated; and it was accompanied by the commands of Courtenay, as “Primate of all England,” that they should look to it that these pestiferous doctrines were not taught in their dioceses.
Another mandate was addressed to the Primate’s Commissioner at Oxford, enjoining him to publish throughout the University the decisions of the synod, and commanding that all persons holding or maintaining the errors specified, be holden in the strictest abhorrence under the penalty of the great anathema.
The University was, however, a hot-bed of heresy, and was but little inclined to carry out the commands of the Archbishop. Courtenay, therefore, carried his complaint to the young King Richard II. “If we permit this heretic,” said he, “to appeal continually to the passions of the people, our destruction is inevitable; we, must silence these Lollards.”
Many circumstances at this time made it appear politic for the Crown to approach nearer to the Church. It was easy, therefore, for such a prelate as Courtenay to prevail. The King gave authority “to confine in the prisons of the State any who should maintain the condemned propositions.”
A motion was carried through the House of Lords to this effect, but was not passed by the Commons. Although without the consent of the Commons it could not become law, an ordinance, dated May 26th, 1382, was placed on the statute-book substantially embodying its requirements.
A fierce persecution now commenced against the reformer and his followers. Lancaster, who upheld Wicliffe so long as the struggle was a political one, feared to follow him into the region of heresy. Some of his disciples forsook him; enemies closed around; but his trust was not in man, his hope was in God; and, while persecution was being carried on against those who professed his tenets, and threatened to strike him down himself, he prepared to go yet another step forward.
Parliament reassembled on November 19th, 1382. Wicliffe, who felt that he might be struck down at any moment, resolved that his countrymen should not be ignorant of the opinions for which he suffered. He, therefore, made haste to present his appeal to the King and the Parliament.
In this document he pointed out four grievances, and for each he demanded a very sweeping measure of reform. He first declared against the monastic orders, and pleaded for their abolition. Secondly, he asserted that secular lords might lawfully and meritoriously, in many cases, take away temporal goods given to the Church. He next affirmed that even tithes and voluntary offerings should be withdrawn from priests who were guilty of great sins. In the last he pleaded that the doctrine of the eucharist, as taught by Christ and His apostles, might also be taught openly in the churches.
This appeal made a great impression upon the Commons. They presented a petition to the King requiring that the persecuting statute, obtained by the Primate, might be disannulled, and declaring that it was not their intention that either they themselves or their successors should be further bound to the prelates than were their ancestors in former times. The King granted their request, and the statute was repealed.
Both the Parliament and Convocation were at this time assembled at Oxford. Baffled in the Parliament, Courtenay turned to Convocation. Here he could count upon having a more subservient court.
The clergy assembled were informed “that their business was to grant a subsidy to the Crown; and to remedy certain disorders which had too long disgraced the University, and were rapidly extending to the whole community, of whose spiritual safety they were the properly constituted guardians.”
In this meeting the Archbishop had concentrated his whole strength. Six bishops, many doctors in divinity, and a host of inferior clergy, were there; the concourse being swelled by the dignitaries and youths of Oxford. Before this assembly Wicliffe was cited to appear.
Forty years had passed since he entered Oxford as a scholar; its halls had witnessed the toils of his youth and the labors of his manhood, but now it appeared to be turning against him.
He came now to be tried, perhaps condemned, and, if his judges were able, to be delivered to the civil power for punishment as a heretic. A solemn silence reigned as the reformer stood alone before his judges, calm and firm.
The indictment turned specially upon transubstantiation. Did he affirm or deny that cardinal doctrine of the Church? Lancaster had advised him to submit in all doctrinal matters to the judgment of his order. But he was bound by his conscience and the Word of God, and he could not deny. Raising his venerable head, and looking with his clear, piercing eyes straight at Courtenay, he reproached the priests for disseminating error in order to sell their masses, and then, stopping, uttered these simple but energetic words, “The truth shall prevail.”
“Having thus spoken,” says D’Aubigné, he prepared to leave the court. His enemies dared not say a word; and like his Divine Master at Nazareth, he passed through the midst of them, and no man ventured to stop him.”
Leaving Oxford, he retired once more to Lutterworth.
And is this all? Can reason do no more
Than bid me shun the deep and dread the shore?
Sweet moralist! afloat on life’s rough sea,
The Christian has an art unknown to thee:
He holds no parley with unmanly fears;
Where Duty bids he confidently steers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,
And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all.