In the meantime a storm was brewing. The Franciscan monks began to complain loudly of the new teaching. It was a sad time for them, when money was spent in gospels which might otherwise have found its way into their pockets. They went to the bishop, and besought him to put a stop to the heretical preaching. But the bishop stood firm. He preached from the cathedral pulpit that the monks were Pharisees and hypocrites, and that the new teachers were from God. The monks knew where to go for the help which the bishop refused. They appeared at Paris, and reported to Noel Bédier all that was going on at Meaux. Noel Bédier heard with joy that his old enemy, the bishop, was now likely to bring down a terrible sentence upon his own head. He brought the matter before the parliament of Paris. He was all the more rejoiced at this opportunity of hindering the gospel, because he had just had a grievous disappointment in the case of Louis de Berquin. This young nobleman had, through his study of the Bible, been truly converted, not to Protestantism only, but to God. He had diligently employed himself in writing, translating, printing, and circulating gospel tracts and books. The parliament, stirred up by Bédier, had seized upon his books and papers, and put him into prison.
It was decided that he should be tried before the bishop of Paris as a heretic, and for this reason he was to be removed from the public prison to the bishop’s house. But at this moment the royal guards appeared at the prison gate, bearing a letter from the king, commanding that Berquin was to be delivered up to him, not to the bishop. It would seem that the Princess Margaret had interceded for him. The parliament reluctantly gave up their prisoner, and contented themselves with burning his books in the place of Notre Dame. The king set Berquin at liberty, and he retired to his estate in Picardy.
You can well believe that Bédier was now doubly anxious to lay hands upon a “Lutheran,” and thus wreak his vengeance upon the bishop, since Berquin had escaped him. Backed by the whole of the Sorbonne, he soon succeeded in stirring up the parliament to inquire into the strange doings at Meaux. The bishop was speedily called to account for his evil deeds. He was accused, in the first place, of preaching heresy, and of aiding and abetting the chief heretics who had so long troubled the University of Paris; that he had himself invited them to Meaux, had helped them and encouraged them by his labors and his money; that he had even allowed young William Farel, who was not ordained at all, but was a pestilent heretical layman, to preach freely in the city of Meaux.
It must have been just at this point that William Farel left the old city. He must have had a sad parting with Master Faber, and with the little band of believers whom he was leaving behind; but the time was come when he must turn his back openly upon Rome, and upon those who, like his dear old master, still hung back from the great step of coming out to Christ only, apart from all that man had invented. Where did William betake himself? We read in the history that God has written of His servants, of Benaiah, the son of Jehoiada, who tracked the lion in the snow to the pit where it lay. In like manner, just now, when Bédier had so nearly wreaked his vengeance upon Louis de Berquin, and had stirred up all Paris to the attack upon the bishop, it was to Paris that William Farel returned. He there spoke boldly and faithfully of Christ and His gospel. He openly denounced the wickedness and idolatry of Rome. But the door was shut. None would now receive the message. The wonderful thing is that none laid hands on him. We know not how this was, but we shall find it was often so in his remarkable history. Farel gave his last message to the Paris University, and he gave it to deaf ears. He then, for the last time, turned his back upon the great city, and returned by way of Metz to his old home at Les Farelles.
Meanwhile, what was happening to the bishop of Meaux? He listened with terror to the accusations and threats of the parliament and of the monks. He well knew how narrowly Master Faber had escaped being burnt alive. He could foresee the fate that was hanging over Louis de Berquin, should he again fall into the hands of Bédier. What should he do? On the one hand disgrace and the stake, on the other hand his miter and throne, the favor of the court and parliament, and the respect of all who owned the pope as their master! Should he deny Christ? Satan whispered to him that there was a middle course. He need not give up the gospel, but he might make an outward show of satisfying Rome. He might serve two masters. This he resolved to do. He said he would give up Luther’s writings, and he would consent that the Virgin should be worshipped. “I can always tell people,” he said to himself, “that it is through Christ alone she can have power to help.” But would he give up his beloved friends, Master Faber and the Roussels? Again Satan put into his heart the cowardly excuse, that were he to banish them from Meaux they would but carry the light elsewhere; he would thus be serving the cause of the gospel. Thus did a deceived heart turn aside this miserable man.
On the fifteenth of October, 1523, he published three commands. First, that prayer was to be made for the dead, and that the virgin and the saints were to be worshipped. Second, that no one was to buy, borrow, read, or possess Luther’s writings; on the contrary, they were to be torn, scattered to the winds, or burnt. Third, that the doctrine of purgatory was to be taught. A month later he forbade the priests of Meaux to permit the “Lutherans” to preach. The gospel teachers were by this time called “Lutherans,” though, as we have seen, Farel had known and believed the gospel more clearly than Luther had done, and had even preached against the errors held by Luther.
In the following January the bishop proclaimed that the images were to be held in veneration. The first president of the parliament and a councilor, called Verjus, went to Meaux to observe the bishop’s proceedings. In their presence he had to preach in opposition to the new heresies. They returned to Paris fully satisfied with him, and the only punishment inflicted on him for his past offenses was the payment of a heavy fine. Their next attack was upon Master Faber, who still remained at Meaux. But the king a second time stood up in his defense. He respected his learning, and despised the monks and doctors for the ignorance shown in their arguments against him. Therefore Master Faber was again left in peace. He could not preach publicly at Meaux, but he taught privately, and tried to make himself happy in the sight of many souls really turned to the Lord. But his conscience would sometimes reproach him when he thought of Louis de Berquin’s imprisonment, and of Farel, who had boldly disowned all fellowship with Rome. Still Master Faber was true to the faith he taught, and in contrast with the bishop, we may think of him as a faithful but weak servant of the Savior whom he truly loved.