This great sorrow was followed by a great joy. When October came, there arrived at Strasbourg no other than dear Master Faber himself! Gerard Roussel came with him, and other French friends who had fled likewise from the persecutions of Louise, Duprat, and Bédier. A good man, named Capito—who might have been called, like Gaius, the host of the whole Church—took them all, and others also, to live in his house. What a happy party it must have been! Master Faber was at first afraid to be known in the town, and therefore he took the name of Anthony Pilgrim, and Gerard Roussel took the name of Solnin; but the old man was soon known by everyone, old and young, and even the children bowed respectfully when they met him in the street. He was cheered and delighted to find that the gospel he had first preached at Paris—when there were none who believed it—was now preached freely in the churches at Strasbourg; and of readings, prayer meetings, and godly converse there were enough to last from morning to night. The old doctor was lost in wonder, love, and praise. He encouraged his dear William to go on preaching boldly, but he could not himself cast off all his fears and his “prudence of the flesh;" or, rather, he had not the faith to do it. “We can do all things through Christ, who strengthens us.”
William was much better pleased to see his old master an outcast and an exile, than to think of him working hand in hand with the Bishop of Meaux. At Strasbourg, at least, Master Faber could stand aloof from priests and masses; but like the hare that returns to the field from which it has been hunted, Master Faber was ready to go back to his old path when it was no longer dangerous to do so. William had not been hunted forth. When the Lord brings His people out of evil, “with a high hand brings He them out of it.” But it may be that William had grace and patience to bear with the infirmities of his master, while others could only blame him. Young Peter Toussaint, who often took upon himself to advise and lecture Farel, was very much disgusted with Master Faber.
“He is utterly devoid of energy,” he said; “let him wait, and temporize, and dissimulate as long as he pleases, he will never be able to separate the offense of the cross from the preaching of the gospel.” This was very true, but it is true also that the Lord commanded Timothy not to rebuke an elder, and it is a bad sign when a young believer thus cries down an old one, especially for infirmities and timidity. Like Peter, who said, “Though I should die with Thee, yet will I not deny Thee in any wise,” this other Peter, in later years, was himself tempted to deny the Lord; and in his case it was want of heart, not want of courage, which made him yield, in a great measure, to the temptation. Master Faber was, no doubt, happier at Strasbourg than ever before or after. He delighted in the company of so many earnest believers. Sometimes he wished that many more would come to the Bible-readings to learn the blessed truth in which he found such joy and peace.
“It is sad we are so few,” he said.
“Do not mind that,” answered William; “numbers are no proof of God’s favor. The devil will always have more scholars than the Lord Jesus.” Thus the peaceful days at Strasbourg passed in Christian fellowship, in reading and preaching the word, and in prayer.
But bright days and dark days come alike to an end. The year 1526 was to bring many changes to the subjects of Francis I. Early in that year the king was set free from his imprisonment in Spain. He returned to France, to the great joy of his sister Margaret. Not only for his sake and for her own, but for the sake of God’s persecuted people, did Margaret rejoice. Though Francis cared as little for God and for His people, as his mother did, yet for Margaret’s sake he would be willing to put a stop to the persecutions of those whom she loved. The parliament had made haste to sentence Louis Berquin to be burnt unless he would say that he had been in error; but the king at once commanded that Berquin should be released from his prison.
One by one the banished preachers were called back to France by the Princess Margaret. Messages came to Strasbourg—to Master Faber, to Gerard Roussel, to all, except only William Farel. The princess would have them all come back and place themselves under her care, all but Farel only; for all the rest were willing to own fellowship with the Church of Rome, though they meant to preach the gospel at the same time. This was just the course that Margaret approved. She liked to hear the gospel, but she did not like the offense of the Cross. One by one the French preachers left Strasbourg. William saw them go with longing eyes. He too would have gone, heart and soul, to carry back the glad tidings to his beloved France, but dear as was France to his heart, Christ was dearer; and if he were to go back at the cost of giving up the path of separation from evil, rather would he never see France again. So Farel stayed behind, and waited for the Lord to show him where he should go, and what he should do. It was a solemn moment in his history. Perhaps never before had he been so sorely tempted to turn aside from the straight path of simple obedience to God. On the one hand there was France with her perishing millions, and not only might he safely return there, but live under Margaret’s protection in peace, and even in honor. He might preach the glad tidings to his beloved countrymen, with Margaret’s full approval. And all this if only he would outwardly conform to the services and ceremonies, which, after all, Master Faber would say, “are out outside things; and who can say,” Master Faber would add, “how soon all those may be reformed, if only we preach the gospel of Christ, and wait for the result. We must endeavor to cleanse the house of God, not to destroy it.” All this William well considered, and there were moments when it sounded well, and the way to France seemed to open before him as if it were the path in which God would have him go. Then, on the other hand, the weary waiting in a strange land, where he could not preach, because he did not know the language, and where he seemed to be of no use, though he was longing to tell the glad tidings far and wide. Then, besides, he had beseeching letters from France. Peter Toussaint and Gerard Roussel wrote to him, entreating him to come back and labor with them. He was just the man, they said, that France needed. He might be the means of saving countless souls. He would have, from them at least, the warmest welcome. Could he refuse them? What should he do? Thus month after month passed by, and of all the French believers William remained alone at Strasbourg. The honor of Christ was at stake, and the longings of his own heart and the entreaties of his friends would not weigh with him against that.
At last Gerard Roussel owned in one of his letters that though he might preach as much as he liked, he was “obliged to keep back half the truths of the gospel to avoid giving offense.” But he resigned himself to preaching the other half. Farel would rather preach none, till the Lord should open the way for his “declaring the whole counsel of God.” And the Lord remembered Farel in his banishment. “Blessed are all they that wait for Him.”
In the meanwhile he had to learn other sad lessons. A great dispute arose at Strasbourg as to the teaching of Martin Luther. Luther said that whilst the bread and wine in the Lord’s Supper remained bread and wine, they were notwithstanding really and truly the body and blood of Christ. Farel was much grieved that Luther taught this error, and that many of those who believed the gospel took part with him. He wrote strongly to Luther, insisting that the bread and wine were in remembrance of the body and blood of Christ, and only in remembrance. But Luther turned a deaf ear, and a sad and sorrowful time of disputing and arguing followed. Farel had had to learn by bitter experience how little dependence is to be placed even in the men whom God raises up to do His work, and to whom He gives light and knowledge. It made his path a lonely one, for much as he loved Luther, and Faber, and Roussel, and Hausschein, there was not one amongst them all who was willing to cast off popery fully and completely, and to go back to the Word of God alone. Thus the happy time at Strasbourg became clouded and dark. But Farel meantime was learning to look less to man, and more to God. It was no doubt a time of great sorrow to him. We are told that “a word of dishonor spoken of Christ moved him more than the thrust of a sword,” and that Luther, who was now the teacher of thousands, should thus mislead them, was a bitter disappointment to him. In this way the days passed till the autumn of 1526.