In the month of June Farel appeared again at Neuchâtel. Anthony Froment came with him. During the six months of his absence many more of the people of Neuchâtel had turned to the Lord. Farel began again to preach in the streets, and in private houses. But one day the people led him to the hospital. They said he should preach to them in the hospital chapel. In vain did the priests attempt to block the way. Like a mighty wave the people pressed in, Farel in their midst. “Long ago,” said Farel, “the Son of God came down from Heaven—it was amongst the poor, and in a stable, that He was welcomed on the earth—and here, at Neuchâtel, His welcome is amongst the poor and the maimed in a hospital.” There amongst the poor and the maimed was the gospel now to be preached. Farel spoke of Christ, the living Savior in heaven. The poor people listened in joy and wonder.
“And now,” said Farel, “what do we, who have a living Christ, need with these dead images and pictures? Let us cast them away, and have in their place the living God and Savior.”
With his own hands he then took down the crucifix, the images, and the pictures which adorned the chapel. The people carried them out, and destroyed them.
The governor now thought it was time to bestir himself. He called the citizens to account for these outrages. But they, in their turn, appealed to the Council of Berne, who sent messages to the governor, and to Farel. To the governor they said that they desired that amongst all their allies, liberty of conscience should be allowed. They would see to it if it were withheld from the people of Neuchâtel. To Farel they said that he must be careful not to use force, nor to attempt more than the bold preaching of the gospel, as he had no authority to make any changes in the town of Neuchâtel. They must be made by the citizens themselves, if they were brought to believe the gospel. The governor, who knew how needful it was for the little state to have the protection of Berne, dared make no further opposition to the preaching. He could only look on in displeasure and grief. And the preaching, therefore, continued in the town and in the villages round.
Not long ago there was still to be seen a memorial of those wanderings. Some village artist painted in a rough way on a cottage wainscot the picture of the preacher who was come amongst them. This rude picture was preserved with care till a few years since. “It represented,” we are told, “the preacher on his journeys, stick in hand, in a dress poor and mean, just as he had been seen traveling through the valleys, exhorting, encouraging, praying with his people, spending, and being spent for them. He had no doctor’s robe, no doctor’s cap; he was nothing, he would be nothing but the messenger of Him who preached the gospel to the poor, and who had not where to lay His head.” Such was the servant the Lord had sent.
Thus the summer days passed by—and in the meantime many lost sinners were saved—many blind eyes were opened —many who were athirst came and drank of the water of life freely. Amongst them were three priests of the college. Emer Beynon now dared to come forward and confess his faith in Christ. But so many of his parishioners were converted, it caused far more joy than grief in the village of Serrières. “You have sometimes called me a good priest,” said Emer Beynon, “I hope you will find me a better pastor.”
A great day was now at hand in the town of Neuchâtel. It was on the 23rd of October, of that year (1530) that Farel was preaching, as was his wont, in the hospital chapel. He said he was glad to preach there; “but yet,” he said, “it is sad that the mass is still honored in Neuchâtel more than the gospel. In the large church which holds so many, the mass is sung. In this little chapel, where so few can listen, the gospel is preached.” At these words his hearers rose in a body. “The gospel shall be preached in the great church!” they said; and, moving as one man, they seized upon Farel and carried rather than led him through the streets, up to the great church in the upper town.
We are told much of the grandeur and wealth of this large and ancient church. It contained no less than thirty chapels, ranged around the nave and choir. Twenty-five altars glittered with gold and jewels; images and pictures stood all around. Many were the saints who were worshipped there. But till these blessed days no glad tidings of great joy had ever sounded in those solemn aisles. Masses had been sung there, candles had been burnt there—plays had been acted there on the great festivals. Such were the sermons of popery, acted and spoken dramas, where monks and priests, men, women, and boys, acted the parts of prophets and apostles, of David and of Judas, of Esther and of Adam, in strange confusion.
There, dressed in gaudy finery, might be seen on these festival days a medley of the men and women of Bible history, and of later history, and of no history at all—St. George and the dragon; St. Christopher the giant; St. Peter, and St. Paul; and, awful to say, the Lord Himself. These were the lessons given to the people of Neuchâtel. Nothing wiser, nothing better had been heard or seen in the “good old times,” in that beautiful old church.
But a new day had dawned. It was a crowd of earnest men who now pressed into the great door, and who led Farel in their midst. The priests and monks shrunk back in helpless fear.
Farel went up into the pulpit, and looked around on the glittering finery of the altars and chapels. He looked down on the eager faces of those who were thirsting for the living water. He looked up to Christ in Heaven. And he preached, says the chronicle, the “mightiest sermon that he ever yet had preached in Neuchâtel.” He told the people how far they had wandered from the one living way—he told them of the one Savior for sinners, and of the one true worship which the saints of God can offer up in spirit and in truth.
Suddenly a cry arose in the crowd below, which was taken up by one and another till it echoed from every corner of the great church—“We will follow Christ, and the gospel, and in that faith alone will we and our children live and die.” And then, rising altogether as one man, they fell upon the altars and the images, upon the pictures and the crucifixes, and shattered them upon the pavement. The honored image of the Virgin, set up by the mother of the Countess Jeanne, shared the fate of the rest. Not an altar, not an image was left standing. The golden vessels used for the mass, and for the incense, were thrown over the churchyard wall into the streets of the lower town. The holy wafers were divided amongst the people, and they ate them there and then, “to show,” said they, “that they are nothing more than bread.”
In vain did George de Rive appear amongst them. His voice was unheard amidst the tumult.
There were four priests who were in charge of the church; but strange to say, they, too, were to be seen breaking the images and overthrowing the altars. “For it is plain,” they said, “that Master Farel has the Bible on his side.” That mighty sermon had not only cast down the idols of wood and stone, but the idolatry of the hearts of men.
The people of Neuchâtel then put up a brass plate, on which these words were written, “This year, 1530, the 23rd day of October, idolatry was removed and abolished by the citizens.” If you ever go to Neuchâtel, you may still see that brass plate, with those memorable words, on a pillar on the left of the communion table, in the great church on the hill.
There was also an inscription put up over the pulpit, as follows:—“When the sun of October 23rd arose, there arose also the sun of life for the town of Neuchâtel.” For 600 years had the old church resounded with Latin masses and idolatrous prayers, and now, “in one hour was the judgment come.” Not a trace was left of the dark ages of the past.