John Knox: The Galley Slave Who Freed A Nation
James Joseph Ellis
Table of Contents
Prologue
The story of John Knox as told here illustrates the costliness of standing for God and His Word when it is not popular or safe to do so. Knox lived from 1505 to 1572, a time when many in Western Europe were awakening out of the long sleep of the dark ages into the morning light of the Reformation. It was a time when true-hearted ministers of God’s Word began to turn to the Bible rather than to the Roman Catholic Church and its leaders for guidance and direction. It was also a time when men and women were burnt to ashes for believing what the Bible says.
This period in church history, known as the Reformation, saw many men in many places raised up by God to preach the truth of the sole authority of the Bible and that justification before God is by faith and grace alone. These reformers also preached against the sinful and unscriptural abuses of the Roman Catholic Church. Naturally, this opposition against the long-standing power of the Roman Catholics brought about their wrath on all those who opposed them, especially leaders like Knox who influenced many of the common people to do the same. Thus we see that the truth was recovered with difficulty and much loss of life. Perhaps reading a story like that recorded here will help us to value more the restored truth that we have been freely given by God’s goodness in our day.
As you read, you will also notice that often Knox’s thoughts and sermons were very political and not always along Biblical lines. Had Knox seen the distinction between spiritual leaders and political leaders, he may have avoided some of the troubles he encountered by speaking against the kings and queens of his day. As with any history, however, the purpose of studying it should be to learn from the lives of those who have gone before us, so that we might avoid their mistakes and be encouraged to follow their faith.
We actually don’t know for sure when Knox was born, and we certainly don’t know exactly what he said in all of his conversations, some of which are written below as they might have been based on what history tells us of Knox’s life. But we do know that he was a man who held fast to the Word of God as he understood it, in spite of all the evil forces that were against him. The sorrows and difficulties he went through were always met and surpassed by the joy of serving his Lord. May God grant us, like Knox, the joy of serving Him no matter the cost.
Chapter 1
“Let Her Swim”
“The fear of man bringeth a snare: but whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe”
(Proverbs 29:25).
“John! How could you do that? I thought that you were a quiet, peaceful man, but to throw their painted image of the Virgin Mary into the river was not smart at all! I’m sure we suffer enough already without the awful beating we’ll get when the captain returns and hears from the priests what you did.”
A sturdy Dutchman was speaking. Chains held him, like his companions, fastened to the benches of the galley, a long, narrow warship, propelled by oars and manned by common criminals and prisoners of war. Many of the galley oarsmen at that time in France were enslaved because they actively opposed the Roman Catholic religion.
“I care neither for these idolaters nor for their idols,” said John Knox, a well-built, sturdy Scotchman, whose strong mind manifested itself in every movement of his face and form. “I have put up long enough with their corrupt religion. Whatever happens now, I don’t care.”
“What did he do that you are so nervous about?” an Englishman asked the Dutchman. The Englishman had only been transferred from the land prison to the galley a few hours earlier. “This John Knox seems like the kind to stir up a lot of mischief, and yet I love the man’s strong face. What wickedness have you committed now, fellow slave?” he asked John in a sarcastic voice.
“You are like your nation of England (which I love well, though of course they are only second to the Scotch),” replied Knox, lifting his chained hand to shift the chains, aching as it did from the heavy irons upon it. “You English always like to probe into others’ secrets, but I will let you in on some of our secrets in this case friend. We came from Rouen to Nantes a few weeks ago, and are to winter here on the river Loire until spring, when rumor says that we are to attack the English. All this time I have had to put up with the priests’ bitter mocking that cuts into my soul far more painfully than the whips of the officers on our bare backs.
“But the last straw came this morning when, after the captain went ashore on business, the priests carried a painted wooden image of the Virgin Mary along our benches. They offered the doll to me, wanting me to kiss it. I told them to go away and to stop bothering me. But one priest pushed the doll into my face and made me hold onto it. I grabbed the idol and threw it into the river, and when they gasped in horror I laughed at them and said, ‘Let our lady now save herself! She is light enough; let her learn to swim!’ They fished the idol out of the river and dried its clothes, and right now they are saying masses to make atonement for what they consider an awful sin.”
“They will preach tomorrow that the wooden block has performed a miracle,” said the Dutchman. “Bah! I can’t tolerate their stupidity. And yet if a man refuses to say that he believes this nonsense, they tear him from his home and send him to labor as a slave in the galleys.”
“Better be silent; the officers will probably be along soon,” said a slender Frenchman who was chained to the same bench.
“We don’t have to worry about them,” replied the Dutchman. “They are probably getting drunk in the captain’s room. But let’s continue our conversation. My mind aches for a little friendly chat to liven up the monotony of rowing. Tell me, dear Knox, what brought you here?”
“I was born in 1505,” replied Knox, “at Haddington, in East Lothian, Scotland. The house, with a moderate piece of land, is in a part of the town called Gifford-gate, and had belonged to my ancestors for a number of generations. My father’s side of the family was of noble blood; unfortunately, I didn’t inherit their wealth when I inherited their name. From the grammar school of the town I went to the University of St. Andrews. John Major trained me there. He taught me to think for myself, and not to be content to confine my mind to the intellectual slavery of the priests and kings. I taught at the same university after earning my degree, and in 1530, when I was about 25 years old, I am ashamed to say that I was ordained as a Roman Catholic priest. But I soon became disgusted with the immoral lives of the clergy, and their rituals and unbiblical teachings mocked my desire to know the truth.”
“Yes,” agreed the Englishman, “their teaching is like feeding hungry men with eggshells and chalk. Nothing like the pure Word of God to satisfy and comfort the soul.”
“So I found,” replied Knox. “It was John’s Gospel, chapter 14, which spoke first to my heart. Here, I thought, is what I need, and by faith I grabbed ahold of the Divine Word with the joy and hunger of a starving man. When the human heart feels lost and aching it delights in every syllable of Scripture. How the words glowed with a sweet perfume of love, and how gladly I read them!”
“But did the priests permit you to believe and teach the Scriptural truths that you were finding in the Bible?” asked the Dutchman. “In my experience, wherever men begin to read the Bible and to think for themselves, they break away from the Pope; but, poor things, they usually have to suffer for it.”
“So it was in Scotland! I had spent a few sweet years learning much of the true meaning of Scripture from George Wishart, another of my dear teachers in the things of Christ. Then, about a year and a half before being captured and enslaved myself, that awful Cardinal Beaton ordered the Earl of Bothwell to arrest George. Wishart would not allow me to go and suffer with him, but said to me on the night he was arrested, ‘No, John, don’t let the Cardinal destroy you too. Return to your work, and God bless you. They will kill me. One is sufficient for a sacrifice; besides, you will be needed elsewhere someday.’ They quickly jailed him in the Castle of Edinburgh, and very shortly afterward moved him to St. Andrews at the Cardinal’s command, who, assisted by the Archbishop of Glasgow, began preparations for his trial. In March, 1546, accused on various charges, Wishart defended himself meekly and with a profound knowledge of the Scriptures, but was quickly condemned to burn at the stake. On March 1st he walked out to execution with a rope around his neck and a heavy chain around his waist. When surrounded by flames from the burning sticks at his feet, the dying martyr predicted the violent death of his cruel persecutor, which actually took place three months later.”
“What did you do when he was gone?” asked the Englishman.
“I held on to God and His Word in strong prayer and faith,” replied Knox. “I thought I was all alone, without helper or friend, but soon the comfort of God filled my soul. At that time I was in East Lothian and I began teaching the sons of Hugh Douglas of Longniddry, and since I was not allowed to preach I expounded the Scriptures to my pupils, allowing anyone else to attend who wanted to.”
“And did many strangers come to hear?” queried the Englishman.
“Yes they did, and with great profit to their souls, glory be to God for it,” replied Knox. “But notice the hand of God in what happened next! While the wicked Cardinal Beaton thought of killing me too, some men who had a score to settle with him attacked him and killed him while he was out looking for people who read the Bible. I didn’t find out about his death until a while later, but it seems to me that he reaped what he had sown.”
John Knox continued, “In 1547 I followed my pupils into the castle of St. Andrews, where the men who had killed the Cardinal were hiding, with about a hundred and fifty others seeking freedom from the Roman Catholic priests. It was while we were in St. Andrews that I received my call to the ministry.”
“How was that?” asked the Dutchman.
“It happened like this,” described Knox. “John Rough, the minister over us, had often encouraged me to take the responsibility of preaching but I had always resisted his appeal. Finally, one day during his sermon, he turned toward where I sat and said for all to hear, ‘Brother, you do wrong to avoid the call of God. You are endowed with gifts that the church requires, and I charge you not to wait, but to begin preaching and working as a pastor among us.’
“As I sat unsure of what to do, he turned to the congregation and asked them, saying, ‘Didn’t you charge me with this responsibility?’ It thrilled my heart near to breaking to hear the strong-armed men and gentle women reply, ‘Yes, it is our call.’
“I left the chapel in much mental turmoil, but after long prayer I obeyed the voice of God and began to preach in the congregation.”
Although these men of God rejected the unscriptural power of the Pope and the Roman Catholic priesthood, they still did not realize that Jesus Christ, as Head of His Body, the church, is the one who gives pastors and teachers, and that men with these spiritual gifts do not need to be elected by the church in order to use their gifts. This truth was not fully understood until many years later. But in spite of this misunderstanding of the day, Knox used his position to preach the pure gospel of justification by faith alone, and taught that the Bible was the final authority — not the Church or the Pope — in matters of faith.
“And how successful was your preaching?” asked the slim Frenchman. “I myself have preached, and know how the heart aches when no results follow the earnest pleadings of the preacher.”
“I bless God,” answered Knox, “that many through my words renounced the Pope, but I cannot say if they all have accepted Christ. Many, I fear, will be content with giving up the Pope, and will not worry about following the call of Christ.
“Anyway, in June, 1547, a French fleet besieged St. Andrews, and the city was taken from us. I was brought here, and in spite of the promises made to us when the city surrendered, I was sent as a slave to the galleys.”
“The Pope’s men don’t keep promises when they think that a lie will better serve their purpose,” said the Dutchman. “One day I will tell you how they treated me. But be careful, the men on the reserved seats are making signs. Either the captain or the priests are coming!”
“Reserved seats!” asked the newly arrived Englishman. “What do you mean?”
“Those benches there are the ‘reserved seats,’” replied the Dutchman, pointing forward. “The slaves chained there are the captain’s servants and they never get beaten. They wait on the captain and eat the leftovers from his table. When he dines they all stand with their heads uncovered, as a sign of respect. But silence now, or we’ll get the lash!”
During the following summer (1548) the galleys were sent out in search of English vessels, and as they went, they came near the Scottish coast between Dundee and St. Andrews.
“Can you see the coast?” the Dutchman asked Knox. “Do you recognize your home?”
“Yes, I know it well,” Knox replied wistfully. “I can see the steeple of that place where God first opened my lips to bear testimony to His grace; and weak as I now am I am fully persuaded that I shall not die until I have once more glorified God by preaching there.”
“You ought not to prophesy like that,” said the Dutchman, “and yet it is strange how your words so often come true.”
“Yes, and I trust this shall also come true,” replied John Knox.
The following February (1549) the English fleet attacked the French warships and, after a furious combat, seized the galley in which Knox was confined. The slaves found on board were carried to London and set free. Knox found himself at last released from his chains after nineteen months of hard slavery.
He decided to stay in the foreign and unknown country of England until he could safely return to Scotland. But why he stayed he did not yet know; for with him, as with us, God was leading him graciously by a hidden way, to accomplish the Divine designs that cannot fail. “I will do this. I will do that,” say some people, not seeing that they may only do, in the end, what God permits, and that only by the strength that God gives, for reasons and with consequences known only to God. Each man seems to study navigation out of his own cabin window, but, after all, the Man at the helm guides the ship. We do our own will, as we imagine; but the Lord at the helm carries our ideas and attempts to the port that He intends. “For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that” (James 4:15).
Chapter 2
He Never Feared the Face of Man
“Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant unto thy servants, that with all boldness they may speak thy word”
(Acts 4:29).
“Nearly four o’clock, the candle in the great hall has burned down to the red line, and the call to arms has sounded for the second time; surely he cannot be long now, thought Marjory Bowes to herself as she left her embroidery frame and walked distractedly to the window. The narrow casement was open, and the bustle down on the street hummed musically, for, though not a manufacturing or trading town, Berwick-on-Tweed was still a busy place. Its location on the border between England and Scotland gave it much importance in those times of warfare. Marjory’s father, Sir Robert Bowes, as governor of Berwick, held a position of some rank in the city.
At a spinning wheel placed at the other end of the great parlor sat Marjory’s mother, Dame Bowes, whose sad face and tearful voice contrasted with the smiles and laughing eyes of her daughter. Marjory was fair while her mother was dark; the daughter, indeed, with her long blond curls and blue eyes, was considered to be the beauty of the North.
“Ah, all preachers are not like John Knox!” said Dame Bowes, her eyes staring off wistfully through the open window as she thought of Knox. “I remember when he first landed in England on his release from the French galleys, and the King’s Council sent him here as a preacher for the North. How we marveled at his frank words, and how the Roman Catholics shouted in anger when he called their communion wafer a ‘round, clipped god!’ And how anxious we were when he preached in defense of the gospel before the great assembly at Carlisle, after Tunstall, the Bishop of Durham, accused him before King Edward out of envy and hatred of his doctrine! That was in April of 1550. And the next year the King’s Council placed him in Carlisle and made him one of King Edward’s chaplains. They say that he is doing much the same work at Carlisle, but I sure wish he was still stationed here.”
“That sermon in Carlisle was certainly an amazing sight, mother! I will never forget seeing our church filled with soldiers in their white coats edged with green. How they admired his boldness, as he spoke plainly about their sins and God’s punishment of those who do wrong! I fear, Mother, that is one reason why Father doesn’t like Knox. John has no fear of what other men think, and would just as soon reprove the King and even the Emperor of their sins as he would the lowly fishwives downtown. But other men love him for his very plainness. John Manwell told me once, ‘I don’t love the Scots, and I fight against them with a happy heart; but this maverick Scotsman was a preacher I loved to listen to. At times I felt as if I could break my sword over his head because he showed my wicked life so plainly to all. But I admire a man who says the truth.’
“But here, mother, comes a horseman!”
“It’s him, then, without doubt,” replied Dame Bowes, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. “I am so glad he could come. Tell the maids to prepare him something for him to eat and drink. But, Marjory, before he comes in, let me ask you one question. I wouldn’t be surprised if Knox asks your father for your hand in marriage. I would love him for a son-in-law! Although people say he has a rugged way of speaking, he also has a true loving heart beneath his rough-hewn face. In fact I love him all the more for his strong opinions and for the way that he won’t yield one inch when he believes he is right. He is a man of iron, but that iron will sustain a weak spirit like mine. I love to watch him face the angry faces of those who in their hearts know he is right; he is a soldier in the best sense. So, dear Marjory, I ask you: what would you say to becoming his wife?”
Marjory blushed deep red at the question, and leaned over the window seat to conceal her face. Before she could reply, however, the door burst open and the subject of their conversation strode into the room dressed in a plain broadcloth suit, his face less haggard than when a prisoner in the galleys, and his eyes twinkling with kindness. Knox greeted the ladies and unceremoniously seated himself as if in his own home, knowing well how much his hosts welcomed his visit.
How strong his step! Every word he says makes me feel his strength; indeed, he is a man to lean on in hard times, thought Marjory, as she watched her mother’s sad face breaking into sunshine under the cheering speech of her favorite preacher.
“O mother,” replied Knox to Dame Bowes’s complaints, “don’t pay any attention to Satan’s suggestions! If I had as much evidence of my own election as I can see of yours, I still couldn’t be any surer than I already am of my salvation. Your adversary Satan tempts you by putting these doubts into your mind. Why should you despair and trouble your soul with thoughts that will never, never come true? Is not Christ your all-sufficient strength, and will He desert the soul that hangs helplessly onto Him? Never, never! I’m sure that He cannot do so. It would be as contrary to His nature, as for your husband to play a coward’s part.”
“But you don’t know not how evil I am,” replied Dame Bowes, her face returning again to its habitual gloom. “You have no idea what a wicked heart I have inside me.”
“Didn’t Christ know, Mother?” asked Knox. “Didn’t He know it perfectly, long before He called you by His grace? What kind of love changes like the moon, or depends on our weak and movable feelings? Is He not unchangeable and eternal? O Mother! Let’s not insult Him by thinking that He might fail.”
“Well, John, we need to talk about this more often,” said Dame Bowes, greatly comforted. “I wish you were always nearby to remind me. When I see you so calm and brave, knowing what you have to bear, I feel ashamed of my cowardice; but when I am by myself my mind begins to race and I start to brood, and as I sit alone, thinking over the past, and thinking about myself, I start to feel very anxious and depressed.”
“Mother, don’t sit alone, and, above all, don’t brood; go visit your maids, and talk to them about these precious things of Christ. I don’t believe we should look so much within ourselves, but we should rather spend all our quiet time thinking of Christ. It is as wicked for a Christian to brood and doubt as to steal or swear, and I think that doubting Christ is both theft and blasphemy. It is robbing Christ of the honor due to Him, and it is contempt of His Holy Word.”
“Well, I will work hard to overcome it. I know it’s strange, but I almost enjoy being alone, and at times I feel a strange pleasure in making myself sad; but I know that it is wrong, indeed I do! I won’t do it again, John. But tell me now, what about Carlisle?”
“Dear Mother,” said Knox, “I find that the more I prosper, the more the enemy rages against me and against Christ. In Carlisle I had a lot of difficulty at first, but the Word of God spoken boldly went to the hearts of the brave men of my congregation. My lord, the Duke of Northumberland, became angry when I reproved sin and Roman Catholicism, and he stirred up enemies against me among the Council. But by God’s grace I escaped their anger, and now I am appointed to preach in London and the South of England this year (1553). The lords of the Council will allow me to stay briefly in Newcastle to arrange my affairs there, and then I need to go on to London.”
“Well, I am going to speak to Sir Robert,” said Dame Bowes, rising. “I will be back soon.”
Left alone, John and Marjory sat facing each other for a few moments in awkward silence. John played nervously with the buttons on the front of his suit coat. Finally, working hard to choke down his nervousness, he leaned forward in his chair and said, “Marjory, I’m not very good at saying things like this, but be sure that my heart is stronger than my tongue. I earn, as you know, about forty pounds per year working as one of the King’s chaplains. We can live comfortably, if not in wealth, on that amount. I don’t anticipate a smooth life in the future, and I’ll never be popular, because God has made me like an ax to chop down the trees before finer tools—other servants of God—can more artfully craft their wood. I may often have to do difficult and demanding work, and I’ll have a hard-working and perhaps shameful life to offer you. You and I have thought about each other a long time, and we can read each other’s opinions easily. Tell me, now, will you become my wife, provided your father, Sir Robert, consents?”
“Yes, of course John,” whispered Marjory, hiding her face in her handkerchief.
“Remember, I don’t have any prestige, and I may be called upon to die at the stake as better men have done. This King Edward is weak with illness. There are bad men behind him who don’t care at all for men’s souls, the kind that will become Roman Catholic tomorrow to earn a penny. I foresee a terrible judgment for the half-hearted way in which God’s work is now being done. O Marjory, can you share and endure this with me?”
“I can bear it better with you than alone, and I trust I won’t weaken your faith,” replied Marjory.
“No, I’m sure you won’t,” answered Knox. “I well remember the first time your mother asked me to visit her, and I caught my first glimpse of you. The sight of your face fascinated my heart. I listened to your mother’s story, but all the time I couldn’t keep my mind from thinking about you. When I read back at home, your face lit up my books, and in my dreams the angels of God that I saw coming to defend me looked just like you.
“Dear Marjory! I feel that it is God’s will to give me the priceless blessing of your pure love, and I hope to deserve it. I don’t idolize you, but I hope to share my life in all its joys and sorrows with you. Remember, Marjory, that the minister’s wife will be insulted by those whose consciences bother them when her husband preaches. Many will slander her, and some will find wicked pleasure in adding to her troubles by their coldness and lack of love. Will you be able to put up with this, my dear?”
“Yes, and twenty times worse if Christ helps me. You tolerate far more than this, and a wife delights to share her husband’s pain,” said Marjory, smiling through the tears that had surfaced in the emotion of the moment.
“Spoken like a true woman,” replied Knox wryly, trying to cover up his own tears. “But let me say too that if there are special sorrows in a minister’s life, there are also special delights. If people with evil tongues and hearts attack your reputation, you will also have the peculiar experience of seeing precious souls drink in your speech and be comforted and strengthened by your words. O Marjory, to see a hard face soften into tears, and a wicked man forsake his sins and begin a new life in Christ ... that is an experience that exceeds our ideas of heaven! And then to see the faces of the dying light up with joy as one ministers the word of Christ to them, and to know that they pass away breathing the name of Jesus with their dying lips, thanking Him for sending us with the good news, is a tremendous joy that can’t be described. O Marjory, a minister has joys and sorrows that are out of this world! Are you sure you wish to share them with me?”
“Yes, dearest John, I have no greater desire. I would rather bear your sorrows and joys at your side than possess all the riches and honors of the kingdom of England.”
At this moment Dame Bowes returned to the room, lamenting in a sorrowful voice, “Oh, son John, Sir Robert will not hear of you marrying our Marjory! It’s pride, pride, I know, and a feeling that, should the Pope get the upper hand again in England, father would not want to oppose the King. Oh, but must you two be separated?”
“Don’t worry, mother,” said Knox bravely, though admittedly shocked by the answer. “Don’t worry about me. Marjory and I have given our word to each other, and that is as binding as an oath. If I never see her again, I will always consider her to be my wife. We must wait until God changes Sir Robert’s mind, or at least somehow clears our path. And you, Marjory, what do you think?”
“I agree with you, John. Let’s trust God to clear the difficulties out of our way. We will be true to each other and commit this matter to God.”
And so it was that in April John Knox went on to London alone. His strong heart was very sad, but he did not allow his private grief to hinder his public labors. In fact he worked harder because he felt that the time for work was short. It was shorter than he imagined, for on July 6th, 1553, King Edward breathed his last.
After King Edward died, Knox preached through several counties until the following November, when he returned to Berwick and married Marjory Bowes in spite of her father Sir Robert’s disapproval. Her father was now quickly becoming a staunch supporter of Queen Mary’s religion, so his daughter’s marriage to the likes of John Knox offended him very much. Their wedding was very simple and plain, reflecting the matter-of-fact, common-sense character of the bridegroom.
“Let’s not have a heathen ceremony, Marjory. We are not getting married to entertain our friends but to help one another in the service of God and man. What do we care if men despise us and mock our simplicity as long as we don’t grieve the Holy Spirit by undue lightness? I don’t care one little bit for all men’s opinions.”
“Neither do I,” agreed Marjory. “I want it to be just how you want it to be.”
Shortly after the wedding Knox had to flee from England, leaving his young wife in her mother’s care.
“O Marjory,” he cried as they parted, “my heart aches to leave you like this! It’s hard for me to think about it, but, beloved, we must bear this pain for Christ’s sake. I can’t tell you how much I’ll miss your sweet face and the music of your voice. It will be like half of me is asleep while we are apart. Pray God we may be reunited soon, never to part again.”
On January 28, 1554, Knox landed at Dieppe, France, a lonely exile without money and knowing no one. England’s Queen, Mary Tudor, who was ruling on the late King Edward’s throne, had reestablished Roman Catholicism in the kingdom. Knox’s friends had advised him to flee the country and the wrath of the Queen, which was sure to fall upon him and his Protestant teachings if he remained in England.
Oh! It is hard to be in a foreign city knowing no one and feeling no one’s care. And this especially when the stranger thinks back to a home where weak and needy loved ones wish for his presence, and nearly die because they do not have it! Yet our stout friend Knox set his face like a flint, and carrying his sorrows with a cheerful face went straight forward into the path of duty. In the stern delight of self-sacrifice for the testimony of Jesus, which is the essence of martyrdom, Knox experienced a joy that overcame the anguish of his solitude and separation from Marjory.
So will it be with you, dear reader, if you will go forward in the path that God opens before you. Whether it is a path of suffering or of love, you shall not be forsaken nor ever totally alone.
Chapter 3
An Exile for the Truth’s Sake
“When they persecute you in this city, flee ye into another”
(Matthew 10:23).
John Knox soon made his lonely way from Dieppe to Geneva, Switzerland. There, he briefly visited and conferred with the reformer John Calvin, who, like Knox, was working to oppose the Catholic Church’s influence and false teachings, and had likewise suffered for his opposition. A few months later, Knox left Geneva to serve as a minister to English Protestants living in Frankfurt who were religious exiles like himself, but he was soon forced out of that position and returned to Geneva to consult with Calvin. Again, spending only a brief time there, he cautiously made his way back to Scotland to be with his wife and mother-in-law, and then returned to Geneva for the third time, where he was to spend two years preaching the Word of God. It is this third visit to Geneva, in the year 1556, that we next find Knox in our history.
A group of gentlemen sat in a large apartment overlooking the beautiful Lake Geneva, enjoying the light and warmth of the late afternoon sun. But they were not thinking about the stunning scenery visible from the open window. One of them, almost a skeleton, lean and invalid, sat in a large chair listening attentively to a man whom we easily recognize as our friend John Knox. Worry furrowed his brow and the anxieties of the last two years had made him look older. Nonetheless, there was still a happy twinkle in his eye and a trill in his voice that made his northern accent the more musical as he told about his travels to the citizens and ministers that sat around John Calvin’s chair. For, the thin invalid was none other than Calvin, Knox’s friend and teacher. “Go on, friend,” he said, his eyes lit by a passion for the conquest of the truth. “I’ve heard people call you ‘The Bugle,’ and I think that suits you well. I love to hear about your work. It warms my heart to learn that God’s mercy is not restricted to our little town. Scotland must be a beautiful country. I only wish that its brave sons were Christ’s servants rather than the Pope’s. What a power for God Scotland would be if it devoted its wisdom and courage to advance the kingdom of God!”
“It is a wonderful land,” replied Knox. “Even the heather that grows there has far more beautiful flowers than any of the blooms I have seen on Europe’s mainland. When I first came from Dieppe and stayed here with you, you can’t imagine how I wished to see the heather of Scotland again. After my initial visit here in Geneva, I went to minister to the English exiles in Frankfurt, who had fled from Queen Mary’s persecution. It’s too bad that even some of these exiles felt they must disrupt our worship because we did not use the prayer book of King Edward the Sixth. Imagine! I’m sorry to say it, but they — some of them at least — even went to the magistrates to send me to prison, because, they said, I was a traitor! But the Lord will judge in the matter.”
“Amen! So He will. He who said, ‘Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm,’ will make the matter right,” said Calvin. “I have seen many persecute God’s ministers, and I have also seen how they themselves later suffered for it. Leave them to God, John.”
“I did, but when my wife wrote urging me to come to her now that her father was dead, I determined to make a secret visit to Scotland. I hadn’t seen my wife nor her mother for two years, but when I started for Dieppe in August, 1555, it seemed like it had been three times that long since I had left them. How happy they were to see me, and I to see them!”
“And how were they doing when you were with them?” asked Calvin.
“It was still a difficult time for them so soon after Sir Robert Bowes’s death. I fear that he loved the things of this world more than the things of Christ; just to say it breaks my heart,” said Knox, shaking his head. “He never had a spiritual knowledge of the Gospel, and he would get very angry at my reproofs and warnings about sin and its terrible consequences. But I knew that my tongue wasn’t my own, and that I was not a preacher to please men but to speak the whole counsel of God. When I heard of his death I was at least deeply thankful that his blood would not be required at my hand, because I had made sure to tell him about the way of truth.”
“True,” agreed Calvin, “I have felt the same. Pleasing men will secure temporary honor and gain in this world, but pleasing God yields a happy heart and lasting reward.”
“Sir Robert died a staunch Roman Catholic,” said Knox, drawing his hand over his eyes. “He, unfortunately, wanted to please the cruel Queen, but his conscience was never at peace. He would sit alone for long stretches of time, and would become moody and sullen in his speech. When people talked to him he was irritable and angry, but none dared to talk with him about the gloom that had overtaken his spirit. As much as he had loved sports, he lost all interest in archery and golf.
“Dame Bowes, who struggles herself with depression, tried to comfort him, but he wouldn’t listen to her. “No, no, don’t preach to me,” he would say. So she left her New Testament where he could see it, hoping that he might pick it up and read it. But sadly he never did. So beyond that, all Dame Bowes could do was pray for his soul and leave him with God. It happened one morning that when they went to get him up for breakfast they found him speechless, clasping the little New Testament in his hands. He never said another word on earth, and couldn’t respond to their frantic questions. He died soon after. We must leave him in the hands of God!”
“Yes, God is merciful, but He is also just,” said Calvin, “and His Spirit will not always strive with men. Beyond that, we cannot search into such questions that are too hard, perhaps, for mortal men to understand. ‘The Lord knoweth them that are His.’ And what about Scotland?”
“I found that most of the Protestants continued to attend the Roman Catholic services, even the mass! I pleaded with them, and they agreed to separate themselves from the ungodly,” replied Knox.
“Right! Right!” agreed Calvin. “In the Apostle John’s day the Lord said He would spit the lukewarm professing Christians at Laodicea out of His mouth because they were neither hot nor cold. We cannot serve God acceptably while obeying the devil even a little at the same time.”
“True, but now in Scotland the reformed believers have come out and joined themselves into congregations. I preached in several large houses to all who would come, and I’m happy to say that the meetings had great success. The saints are becoming bold in the Lord, and don’t fear to openly say that they are servants of Christ. Thank God that when the struggle and persecution come, there will be many to stand for Christ.”
“Thanks be to God,” said Calvin. “But didn’t the bishops and the Queen Regent of Scotland try to attack you?”
“News of my preaching did make it to the Court,” replied Knox, “and one said that the preacher was an Englishman. But one proud priest said, ‘No, no, it’s no Englishman, but that troublemaker Knox;’ that’s what he called a poor man who had done him no harm. The Lord forgive him for speaking against me! The clergy also summoned me to attend a meeting at Edinburgh to defend my preaching, not dreaming that I would actually show up. But when I came my adversaries would not appear, and so I was spared for the moment. But at some time I feel that I too shall be delivered up to the stake to be burned. God give me strength to be faithful if that’s the case!”
“As with all of us,” said Calvin. “Pure love for Christ makes a man willing to carry the Saviour’s cross and die for the Lord. But tell us more, John.”
“I sent a letter to the Queen hoping to somehow save her soul. But she threw it away in bitter contempt, so I don’t know if she benefitted from it at all. While I was preaching through the country, an invitation came from the English exiles here in Geneva to become their minister, so I returned with my wife and mother-in-law. It will be better for Scotland if I’m not there right now. The enemies of the Gospel hate me so much that they would persecute the Church just to harm me. There may be a lull in the storm while I’m away.”
“It is strange,” mused Calvin, “that while many love to hear the pure Word of God, people with evil consciences and secret sins can’t stand the faithful preaching of the Gospel, and to distract their consciences they persecute the preacher. Yet we must not change one word of our message in spite of all their hate.
“And what about England? We hear sad news about the persecuted saints there. I hear that nearly a thousand scholars have left that kingdom to avoid death, and that Queen Mary and her bishops burn all who will not accept the Pope and his teaching.”
“It is true, and though I don’t want to cause more trouble, I have spoken in their defense,” said Knox. “The royalty will be angry at my new book, The First Blast of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women, which I wrote to denounce the wicked rule of the Queen, and I believe I have God’s mind in this matter as well.”
“No wonder if they get angry!” chuckled Calvin, raising his eyebrows. “But, John, I can’t say that I entirely agree with you in this matter. A good woman may rule, I think, and promote the truth. Don’t be so sweeping in your remarks. You aren’t really so hard on women are you?”
“I am hard on all who do wrong,” replied Knox firmly. “Just because Queen Mary wears a crown, does that mean we should let her burn and kill God’s servants without saying anything? If she were fifty times more Queen than she is I would speak out to warn her of her sins.”
“Well, your mind won’t change quickly no matter what we say, so we’ll drop it for now,” said Calvin with a wry grin. “But come, let’s go visit Dame Bowes and Dame Knox to show that we at least believe in the government of women to some extent. You won’t blow your trumpet, Knox, against a woman ruling her own kitchen, will you?”
“Come on John,” said Knox, pretending to be upset. “You shouldn’t rile me, though I enjoy a pleasant joke as much as anyone else. But come, let’s go to my house.”
And so along the lovely lake the travelers went to the exile’s house in Geneva.
We must remember that in that time, true-hearted believers in Jesus like John Knox did not fully understand the believer’s heavenly citizenship, that we who confess Jesus as Lord need not become preoccupied with actively opposing or changing the misguided politics and governments under which we have been called by God to live. We are told in God’s Word to submit to the governmental powers that rule over us, however evil they may be, and that our rulers are ordained of God (Romans 13). Of course, if those in authority ask us to disobey God’s Word, we must always obey God rather than men, and then we must be willing to accept the consequences of faithfulness to the truth. We are promised that all those who will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution (2 Timothy 3:12), whether living in the year 1555 or in our current time.
Chapter 4
Pulling Down the Rooks’ Nests
“The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom I will trust; my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower”
(Psalm 18:2).
In 1559, reluctantly leaving his wife with her mother in Geneva, the reformer returned to Scotland. He arrived in time to take his place with four ministers who had been called upon to answer for the crime of celebrating the Lord’s Supper other than in the Roman Catholic method. But the clergy did not want to confront Knox once they realized he had come, so they dismissed the accusation against the five ministers. The Queen Regent then tried to halt the proceedings of the case, but broke her word when a riot at Perth led to her quartering troops in that city in spite of her promise not to do so.
Sensing the ripeness of the moment, two noblemen, who were supported by many of the people, met with Knox to discuss the wisdom of openly beginning the Reformation in Scotland. “We have come to consult about what we should do to reform the scandalous lives of the clergy, and deliver Scotland from its present religious bondage” said Lord James Stewart, introducing the Earl of Argyll to John Knox in the little room in St. Andrews that the reformer then occupied.
“A reformation is exactly what we need,” insisted Lord James. “The Queen Regent is faithless, and her daughter Mary, Queen of Scots, and her husband, the King of France’s son, are both dangerous too. Almost half the land and property of Scotland now belongs to the Roman Catholic Church. Furthermore, the priests are ignorant, morally degraded, and a disgrace to humanity. Politically, the Queen is also setting up for a cruel reign by bringing in all these French troops. With all that said, however, I feel that we must still reform slowly, and spare all that we can that is still good.”
“Never, my lord!” disagreed Knox. “In England the half-hearted attempt to serve God and mammon brought about the persecution under Queen Mary. Though Queen Elizabeth is currently likely to stand by the Reformation, she also is trying to face north and south simultaneously. As I’ve always said, in England, the many things that we thought we could tolerate, and that were therefore left in place, would bring down God’s wrath. I say we need to make a clean sweep, and do it quickly.”
“But shouldn’t we at least try to keep the abbeys and other nice buildings?” asked the Earl of Argyle. “It seems like sheer vandalism to pull them down.”
“My motto is to pull down the rooks’ nests,” replied Knox with a flame in his eye, “and then you will not be bothered by the birds. Take them all away, I say.”
“But don’t you think that Scotland will fall to the French influences of money and armies that will come to the Pope’s aid if we begin a reformation in this way? What can we do, and where can we turn for help?” asked Stewart.
“To God first,” replied Knox, “and afterward to the Queen of England. Now I know that she doesn’t like me, and when I tried to return home through her kingdom, she refused to let me cross the border into her realms. But I have since communicated with one of her officers, and I think she can be persuaded to help out soon. What I fear most, however, is that her armies will come too late. We need to urge her to hurry, and even before that we need to get started ourselves!”
“But how?” asked Argyle.
“I will preach in the cathedral next Sunday — June 11, 1559,” said Knox, “and call on the people to renounce their bad ways and to cast off the shackles of Rome. I already told them that I would speak on this subject.”
“Yes you did, but the Archbishop also said that if you do, he will imprison you, and I’m afraid we can’t defend you against both the Queen and the clergy” said Stewart.
“I call God to witness,” declared Knox, “that I have never preached in contempt of any man, but I cannot agree to not preach tomorrow. God first made me a preacher in that place. Furthermore, when the French, instigated by the bishops, tore me from there and sent me into exile, I expressed my belief, in the hearing of many, that God would bring me back to preach in that church once more. Now in His providence He has granted me the desire of my heart. Allow me to do what I feel to be right. As far as danger to myself, don’t worry yourselves about defending me. I don’t want anyone’s hand nor sword. My life is in the power of Him whose I am, and whom I serve. Oh, sirs, I just want to be allowed to speak what God has placed on my heart! If I am denied this desire, I will seek it where I may have it.”
“Have your own way, then,” said Lord James, silenced by the zealous energy in Knox. “We will stand by you.”
Accordingly, Knox preached on “Take these things hence” (John 2:16), and the magistrates and people of St. Andrews at once proceeded to clean the city of its idolatry. After staying in St. Andrews about a month, Knox accepted a call to become the minister of Edinburgh. But when that place fell into the Queen’s hands, Knox left and began a tour of the country. The Queen Regent was finally formally deposed from her place of authority, and a civil war began. The English Government decided, in their self-interest, to interfere, and in April, 1560, an English army entered Scotland. The Queen Regent died, the French returned to their own country, and a free Parliament was called to settle the affairs of Scotland. Thus the Scottish Reformation was born.
Much had been changed. The Reformation had obtained legal recognition, and had secured for itself the liberty of worship, which was all that it needed to gain its due place and authority. Knox’s wife and her mother had now rejoined him, having been allowed to travel through England. Reinstated as minister in Edinburgh, John Knox commenced a fresh career of usefulness in the service of Christ.
Chapter 5
“Spare No Arrows”
“For the word of God is [living], and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart”
(Hebrews 4:12).
On December 20th, 1560, the first General Assembly of the Reformed Church of Scotland met in Edinburgh. With a full heart John Knox took his place among the six ministers and 35 laymen who composed this gathering. But, if he felt thankful and happy as he saw the fruits of his long and difficult toils, at the same time he was mourning the death of his loving wife Marjory, who had shared his labors but did not live long enough to share in his triumph. As she was dying, she said “I would have been so happy to see our prayers answered. But it is not to be. Stay strong, dear John, for the Lord.”
“You have been a true helpmeet to me,” replied her husband sadly. “You have lightened my sorrows, and I have been a better man because of your prayers. O Marjory, how empty my life will feel when you have gone away! No one will be here to share my sorrows, or to comfort me when I am cast down. What a grief is mine! O Marjory, what will I do when I call your name and no one answers?”
“What you have done in the past, and told others to do also,” replied the dying woman. “Trust in God, and rest on Him alone. Oh, dear John, we have been very, very happy together. We have gone through many troubles, but you have brightened my life, and I hope I have comforted yours a little. I know I have tried.”
“Yes, you have indeed been my joy and life. I don’t know what I should have done without you.”
“God gave us to each other, and now He calls us to give Him back His gift. Shall we not allow Him to do His will?”
“Yes, His will is blessed and all of grace. I will be patient,” said John Knox. “And be sure, Marjory, that your mother will always find a home with me.”
“That is kind of you, and just like your goodness,” said Marjory, managing a weak smile. “She loves you deeply for all the good you have done to her. O John, just think when we shall be united again in heaven!”
They laid her out of his sight, and Knox realized, as we all do, that earthly treasures, however dear, only last for a while. At the same time, however, he could rejoice in his heavenly treasures in Christ, and that Marjory herself was with Christ, both secure where neither thieves nor moths nor rust could ever steal or harm them. To help overcome his grief, John Knox busied himself with his work and comforted the widowed mother, whose natural sadness was increased by the new and bitter anguish of her daughter’s death.
On August 19, 1561, the young Queen Mary of Scots arrived in Scotland, her husband having died in France. She had been taught to bitterly oppose the Gospel and to hate its bold preachers. Soon after her arrival she sent for Knox to come to her palace and tried to win him over by flattery to her point of view.
“Do you think,” asked the beautiful but haughty Queen, “that subjects having the power may resist their lawful princes? I have been taught that the lives and property of all my subjects are mine to use as I wish, and I believe it. Francis, the great king of France, when asked what revenue he drew from some of his provinces, replied, ‘What I please!’ I whole-heartedly believe it should be so in Scotland too!”
“No, madam,” disagreed Knox. “When princes abuse their power, they may be lawfully resisted. Just like a crazy man must be tied up so that he doesn’t harm his children, so princes, when they begin to act angrily or recklessly, must be restrained so that they don’t harm their people,” he explained.
The Queen didn’t respond, and seemed overcome by silent rage. Her beautiful features that had made so many men forget her many faults worked hard to hide the strong passions of anger and ambition that her prudence compelled her to master in the moment. At length she broke the silence, and flinging her fan to the ground, exclaimed passionately, “Well, then, I see what you want. My subjects will obey you and not me. I shall be subject to them, and not they to me.”
“God forbid, madam!” exclaimed Knox firmly. “God forbid that I should take it upon myself to command any of your subjects to obey me or to set them at liberty from their duty to you. No, madam, I don’t advocate for treason. I only wish that both princes and subjects would obey God. O madam, I wish you too were on the Lord’s side!”
“I love the Roman Catholic faith; it does for me all that I need.”
“But, madam, consider that you have been placed in a high place to serve God and to do His will. And you will one day stand before a Judge’s throne where princes can plead no special favors, and where the Judge is not swayed in the least by rank, wealth, or beauty. O madam, the only plea God will accept will be the atonement of Christ, made ours by a living faith. Oh, fair lady, don’t reject the mercy of God! Accept the peace He offers while you still have a chance!”
“My conscience is not disturbed, and I’m quite content to live and die with the Roman Catholics, whom I believe to be the true Church,” replied the Queen angrily.
“Conscience, madam, requires knowledge,” replied Knox. “I’m afraid you lack correct knowledge. The Bible teaches the conscience.”
“You interpret the Bible one way, and my priests another. Whom shall I believe?” asked the Queen furiously.
“Believe the Bible itself, madam,” said Knox earnestly. “It speaks for itself and needs no human help or wisdom.”
“How I wish that my priests were here to silence you,” said the Queen with a frown. “In France, men never dared to dispute my word, but all men agreed with my opinions. Who are you to dare to oppose my will?”
“Madam, I am a man who shall answer before God for the use that I made of my opportunities, and who would willingly give my life to see you become a true disciple of Christ,” said Knox.
“You are very rude! Be gone!” screamed the Queen. “I am hurt that you dare to answer me again!” and, unused to contradiction, she burst into a flood of indignant tears. Attendants hustled the reformer from the apartment while the courtiers endeavored to soothe the angry Queen with flattering words.
For a long time Knox heard no more from the Queen. But when she threw a party to celebrate a massacre in which an inoffensive congregation of French Protestants was ruthlessly butchered by the Duke of Guise, who was annoyed by their singing a hymn to Christ that he overheard while passing, Knox gave a sermon in which he spoke plainly about the wrong. In those days before newspapers, and books were also rare, no other method of protest was as effective as the sermon.
Hearing of the fiery sermon, the Queen at once sent for Knox and accused him of trying to stir up the people against her authority. But after John gave his reason for speaking as he did, she softened her tone and told him, in the future, to come and tell her of anything that he heard to be wrong in her, rather than rushing out to give a sermon. Immediately detecting her snare, Knox replied, “Madam, I would do anything lawful to content you; and if your grace would but come to the preaching yourself, you would hear for yourself what I say, rather than depending on people who try to stir up mischief. Or, if your grace wants, I will come when you ask, and repeat to you what I said in my preaching. But neither my conscience nor my position allow me to wait at your door and whisper in your ear what other people think or say about you.”
Seeing the angry look that the Queen shot his way, Knox calmly continued, “By your grace’s will I am here now, but what will men say of me when they learn I’m always waiting at the court and away from my book?”
“Your book! Your book! You are always reading that book,” shouted the Queen, turning her back.
As Knox left the room, one of the lords-in-waiting said aloud, “A bold man! He’s not afraid!”
With a grimace Knox replied, “I have looked into the faces of many angry men and not been afraid; why should the pleasing face of a woman scare me?”
It was evident that neither snares nor threats could move Knox from the path of duty. Queen Mary regarded him with unchanged fear and hate but restrained herself from doing anything against him until the Roman Catholics reunited to take up arms to destroy the Protestants.
Chapter 6
A Royal Subject
“The most High ruleth in the kingdom of men, and giveth it to whomsoever he will, and setteth up over it the basest of men”
(Daniel 4:17).
During 1560 rumors spread throughout all Scotland about the Queen’s intended marriage. Her first husband, the King of France, as Francis the second, had been dead for some time. The fears of the friends of liberty were aroused, and, above everything, the reformed Christians feared Mary’s marriage to a Roman Catholic prince. The Queen, hearing that Knox had made some reference to this subject in his sermon, sent for him to speak with her yet again in the palace.
“I want to know why you think you have anything to say about my marriage! Who are you in this commonwealth?” she asked, in a tone of strong contempt.
“I’m a subject born within the same, madam,” replied Knox, irritated at her glance of scorn. “And although I am neither earl, lord, nor baron in it, I know that God has made me a profitable member of the same, in spite of your low opinion of me.”
The Queen now began to sob bitterly, as she usually did when someone opposed her will. One of the bystanders praised her beauty and accomplishments in an attempt to stop her crying: “There is not a prince in Europe, madam,” he said, “who would not count himself happy to gain your smile.”
Knox kept quiet until the Queen had sobbed her passion away, and then in a firm tone said, “Madam, I have never yet rejoiced in the distress of any living creature. When my boys cry it gives me great pain, and I am not pleased to see your grace weep. But I had rather tell you the truth and make you weep than wrong my conscience and betray the commonwealth of Scotland by silence.”
“Leave now, rude man, and wait in the next room for my royal pleasure,” screamed the Queen, stamping her foot.
Knox walked at once into the ante-chamber. His friends that had come with him were now afraid to speak to him for fear of further offending the Queen. The court ladies in the ante-chamber mocked him, too, and tittered witty sneers at his expense.
Unafraid, Knox spoke to them too. “Oh fair ladies,” said the reformer earnestly, “how pleasing this life of yours would be if it could only last forever! How happy you fair butterflies would be if it wasn’t for the cold fact of death! Wouldn’t you like to carry your fine dresses to heaven? But, alas, you cannot!”
So Knox bore witness to the truth in the Queen’s court. But in spite of his warnings, the Queen went ahead and married Lord Darnley, whose religion merely reflected the popular opinion of his environment, being either a Protestant or a Roman Catholic as his circumstances demanded. At the time, he was the latter.
Soon after this interview, while Queen Mary was away, some unfortunately overzealous Protestants forced their way into her private chapel and threatened the Roman Catholic priest while he was performing the Mass. We will find throughout history that those acting thus in zealous violence, though perhaps well-intentioned, always do more to hinder the advance of the truth than to promote it, forgetting the Lord’s warning that those who take up the sword shall themselves die by the same (Matthew 26:52). Nevertheless, when the Queen brought these men to trial for an invasion of her palace, Knox, at the suggestion of the Protestants of Edinburgh, wrote a circular letter detailing the circumstances of the alleged crime and defending the perpetrators. The Privy Council declared this letter treason, thereby hoping to please the Queen. She, who regarded human life as a very unimportant thing, now resolved to use this opportunity to get rid of the troublesome preacher whom neither threats nor entreaties could induce to neglect his duty.
As she saw him standing alone at his trial, she burst into a fit of loud laughter.
“That man has made me weep many times by his obstinate disobedience,” she shouted. “I will see now if I cannot make him weep!”
One of the lords who was of her party shouted harshly to John Knox, “Don’t think, sir, that you are now in the pulpit! Remember where you are.”
“I am in the place where I am demanded of conscience to speak the truth; therefore, I will speak the truth, no matter what others may think,” retorted Knox.
In the end, Knox’s able defense won out over the Queen’s accusations, and her threats and entreaties proved utterly useless before the Council. Knox was therefore acquitted in spite of the Queen’s attempt to destroy him.
By 1564, Knox’s late wife Marjory had been with Christ for three years. He decided then to marry Margaret Stewart, the daughter of his friend Andrew Stewart, 2nd Lord Ochiltree. They eventually added three daughters, Martha, Margaret, and Elizabeth, to John’s two sons, Nathaniel, and Eleazar.
Queen Mary forbade Knox’s preaching while the Court remained in Edinburgh, and her new husband, Lord Darnley, declared himself a Roman Catholic to please her. The Roman Catholic method of worship was then publicly restored, and the civil and religious liberties of Scotland once again began to disappear. But the roots of the Reformation were by then too deep to be so easily removed.
In a fateful landslide of events, the Queen’s husband deserted her and assisted some nobles in killing her secretary, David Rizzio, an act which Mary never forgave. Driven from Edinburgh by the Queen’s army in the upheaval of the aftermath, Knox then went to England, where his two sons were being educated. In 1567 the Queen’s husband was murdered, Mary herself being, upon strong evidence, suspected of complicity in the crime. A few months afterward she married the Earl of Bothwell, who also was deeply implicated in the murder of her late husband. She without doubt had married the murderer, and could scarcely disprove her own guilt.
When Mary fled with Bothwell to Dunbar, Knox returned to his pulpit. The Protestant lords then took up arms to secure the infant prince, Mary’s son by Darnley, from Bothwell. The Queen was captured, and compelled to resign in favor of her son, who was crowned King. His uncle, Lord James Stewart, previously the Earl of Moray, was appointed to rule as Regent during the infant King James VI’s minority.
Knox preached a sermon at the coronation of the young King in Stirling. He, with many of the Scottish nation, desired that the Queen should be brought to trial for the murder of her husband, and, if found guilty, demanded that she should be punished as any other criminal would be. This topic of judicial punishment unfortunately found its way into Knox’s sermons at that time. We would rather have heard that he spoke more of the pure gospel of the grace of God and less about political and judicial matters. But we must remember that those were dangerous days for believers in Jesus who wished to live according to God’s Word. As a result, many mistakenly felt they must actively oppose the rulers who attacked them, instead of leaving matters of earthly government and judgment and the protection of God’s people entirely in God’s hands.
The Earl of Moray, acting for the King, restored peace to the Kingdom. But before he had fully secured the civil and religious freedoms called for by the reformers, a man whom he had previously pardoned and spared from death basely assassinated him.
Knox was deeply distressed at the loss of his protector and friend, the dear Earl of Moray. One day soon after, while Knox was preaching, some wicked youth placed a paper in the pulpit, pretending to submit a prayer request. The note, however, referred to the murdered Earl, saying, “Consider now the man whom you held as another god, and consider the end to which his ambition has brought him.”
After his sermon, Knox spoke of the evil men who were glad for the death of the Earl of Moray, saying about the writing, “Whoever the wicked man may be who wrote this paper mocking the grief of the innocent, he shall not go unpunished. He shall die where there are none to grieve for him.”
“He is a madman and speaks nonsense,” said the man who had written the paper to those seated around him. “How can he talk like that about a man he doesn’t know?”
“O brother, that man’s predictions are well-known for their accuracy,” said his sister who overheard the remark. “Repent, if perhaps you may yet be forgiven.”
“Not I,” he laughed. “I will run the risk.”
In time the prophecy came literally true, and the mocker died alone and despised. Did he in his dying moments think of the salvation Knox had preached just before foretelling the unknown enemy’s doom? That, none can tell. To die without repentance toward God and without faith in our Lord Jesus Christ is a serious matter, for after death there is no more opportunity to be saved from the due reward of our deeds, and the destiny of the unrepentant soul is an eternity of suffering in the lake of fire, separated from the love of God. Have you looked to God for the forgiveness of sins that He freely offers? Have you turned in faith to the Lord Jesus Christ and received the salvation He purchased for you through His suffering, dying, and bleeding in your place before God?
“I knew and loved the Regent,” said Knox, as he sat with his family on the day before the funeral. “None of his servants ever heard him use profane language. He had his chaplain read and expound a chapter from the Bible at dinner or supper every day. How the poor loved him, and the rich appreciated him too, as he always acted so unassumingly! Isn’t it strange that just when we need him most, he is taken away from us? Where shall we find another like him to lead us?”
“Oh, John, what shall we do?” asked his wife Margaret, a note of fear creeping into her voice. “I’m afraid that the Roman Catholics will be emboldened by the Earl’s death to attack others who share his ideals!”
“I expect to fall someday by the dagger, or perhaps be poisoned. But, wife, the kingdom of God doesn’t depend on any single one of us. God can do without us all, and He may choose to do without us to humble us and to lead men to rely more steadfastly upon Himself.
“It’s just too bad that I obtained from Moray the pardon of the wretch who did the deed! God forgive me. I only meant to give a hardened man an opportunity of repentance and a fresh start in life. He had deeply injured me and I thought it might soften his heart if I completely forgave him.”
So is it sometimes that our kindnesses are not appreciated, and may even appear to yield the opposite result that we intended. But God has instructed us in His Word that we “not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not” (Galatians 6:9). We must further remember that the ends of things are as yet concealed, and in this world we see only the beginning of actions, whether good or evil. It is a trial to faith, and sometimes a heavy burden, as we wait for the end result! In the meantime, we can rest assured that “all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose” (Romans 8:28).
Chapter 7
A Dead Hand and a Glad Heart
“A desire to depart, and to be with Christ; which is far better”
(Philippians 1:23).
“Oh, Margaret, I am so tired,” said John Knox, as he walked in the front door of his home one evening in 1570. “I have been trying to make Grange see the error of his ways. That man’s soul is very dear to me, and I wish that he would repent while he still has time. He wanted to kill me! I think he would have too if the citizens of Edinburgh hadn’t warned him that they wouldn’t allow him to harm me. It is a very upsetting situation!”
“Don’t worry about him, dear, he cannot harm you,” said Margaret. “Come, supper is waiting.”
“I have little appetite for supper,” said her husband, seating himself wearily, “but perhaps the appetite will come. I’m not afraid for myself, though the future is dark and dangerous. I just worry about that poor deluded man who will, I fear, die in his sins. Oh, poor Grange, to reject God’s offer of mercy and to turn back to sin!”
“Wasn’t he once a member of your congregation?” asked Margaret, who thought it was wise to allow John to express his grief.
“Yes, and I didn’t know another young man with such a bright future as his. He was so lowly in his own eyes, and so earnest in his endeavors to serve God. And he had such a tender conscience! But he has turned aside because he thinks he can do better by serving the enemies of Christ. Alas! He will find, as others have, that serving Satan is bad policy.”
We can well understand Knox’s sadness when this man named Grange apparently turned away from the Lord. For a person to go along for a time with Christians, pretending to be one and enjoying the benefits of outward association with the Christian faith, only to turn away at the last, is a serious, serious matter. Judas, one of Jesus’ twelve disciples, is a prime example of one who turned away from the Lord, never having had true faith. He betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, after living in company with Him and the other eleven disciples for three years. Indeed, the life of evil some people live after turning away from the gospel, though having said they believed it, is such that we can only say “the Lord knoweth them that are His” (2 Timothy 2:19). Thankfully, we are not called on to decide who goes to heaven or not; God is the judge of that, and He judges based on our receiving or refusing to receive His free offer of salvation. The Bible says, “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him” (John 3:36). Those who have real faith in the Lord Jesus Christ have eternal life, and will never be lost.
“Father,” said one of his sons at the dinner table, “I wish, for our sake, that you were not so plain-speaking. We get made fun of because of the things you say. You shouldn’t be so strong in speaking about sin.”
“I am not a lawyer, who has his tongue to sell for gold or the favor of the world,” replied Knox quietly, but firmly. “I must say what I feel to be right. God helping me, no fear of consequences will ever stop me from saying the word of the Lord.”
“Oh, father,” said his son, changing his tone and lowering his voice, “I have something to tell you that I think you will be glad to hear. As I walked down High Street this afternoon, thinking about the sermon you gave last Lord’s Day, it seemed as if a voice cried to me, ‘Do you love the Lord, and will you serve Him too?’ I turned to see, but there was no one near me, and while I thought it over I heard the voice again. I looked once more around me but no one was there, and then the call came a third time. I still don’t know exactly what it was, but I replied with all my heart, ‘Yes, I do love God.’”
At that moment in the conversation, Knox fell limp in his chair.
“What is the matter, Daddy?” exclaimed his son.
His father’s face was strangely contorted, his arm hung powerless, and his head lay back as if the soul of John Knox had already departed. He had had a kind of stroke and it was a long time before he recovered his speech perfectly.
By the time he had regained some strength, his enemies had become more malicious and active than ever. His friends guarded his house during the night time lest the Roman Catholic party should kill him under cover of darkness.
“He must leave Edinburgh, or they will certainly kill him,” said one citizen to Knox’s son.
“Let him go to St. Andrews, and stay there until the danger be past,” said another.
“He will never do that,” replied young Knox with a firmness just like his father’s. “My father will never desert his post because of danger.”
“If he stays, then he will unquestionably be attacked, and we shall fight to defend him,” said the first speaker. “If blood is shed in the fight, as it certainly will be, it will fall upon his head. He should go away now while he still can if he wants to prevent bloodshed.”
This argument prevailed with John Knox, and on the 5th of May, 1571, he left Edinburgh for St. Andrews. But there he had no rest from the incessant demands upon him. He was as vigorous as ever in the pulpit. Said one who knew him then, “When I looked upon his feeble, shattered form, I marveled that he should ever think about preaching. I took out my book to write his sermon. When he opened his text all his feebleness seemed to depart, and I began to tremble and shake, so that I could not write. He flung off the fur around his neck, and stood forward like an energetic young man, striking the pulpit as if he would beat it into tinder, or as if he was eager to fly out of it to punish our sins. Oh, it was a sermon that burned into me like the fire of God. I have never heard one like it.”
On August 17th he left St. Andrews to return to his beloved Edinburgh.
“Here I come, John Knox, with a dead hand but a glad heart,” said he as he entered the city, meaning, in the words of Scripture, that though his outward man was perishing, his inward man was daily being renewed (2 Corinthians 4:16). “I praise and bless God that He will not leave His people alone and helpless, but will raise up for them faithful preachers of His Word. Oh, I am weary of the world, and I am daily looking for the coming of my Lord to finish this battle. Pray for me, good people,” he said, entering his doorway. He turned and looked upon the faces that sadly observed his feebleness. “Pray for me, that God may call me home.”
“He will never come out alive,” said one man wistfully, speaking out loud what all who saw him were thinking.
But in September the couriers brought news about the awful massacre of St. Bartholomew. Before the horror that seized the city had a chance to die down, more and worse details came by following posts, until Scotland had reached a frenzy pitch of anger and horror.
“Carry me to my pulpit,” said Knox, and they did so.
With a mighty effort he summoned all his remaining strength to announce the vengeance of God upon the wicked King who had committed the awful deed. He said, in tones that long lived in the memory of his hearers, “Let the French ambassador tell his master that judgment is pronounced against him in Scotland. Let him say to the King of France that vengeance will never depart from his house unless he repents. Tell this persecutor that his name shall descend through all time with disdain and reproach, and none of his offspring shall possess the kingdom in peace.” The French ambassador left the kingdom in a rage, the Regent refusing to silence Knox.
But the days of Knox’s preaching were nearly over. On Sunday, the 9th of November, he preached in the Tolbooth church, Edinburgh.
“I protest,” he said, “before God, whom I shall shortly see, that I have walked before you all with a good conscience. I have preached the Gospel with all my strength, and I now leave the work in the hands of Him who hath glorified Himself by me.”
He walked up the street leaning upon his servant’s arm, the people following eagerly to catch a last sight of their beloved leader and friend. Through the lines of anxious, loving faces the aged man crept feebly, until he entered his house for the last time.
On Tuesday, just two days later, he was much worse, and the physicians could give him little relief. On Thursday he called his secretary, Richard Bannatyne, and said, “Read to me each day that I am alive the seventeenth chapter of St. John, the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah, and a chapter from the Epistle to the Ephesians. And read especially that fourteenth chapter in John,” he said. “It was there I cast my anchor at first, and there I anchor my soul still. Yes! Yes! My anchors could find no other hold, but I am there held fast. Oh, Richard, anchor your soul firmly in this solid, unchanging hold!”
As he lay a long time silent, Richard paused in his reading and asked, “Oh, master, are you asleep? Can you hear?”
“Yea, I praise God I can hear His true Word, and I understand it far better now than I ever did,” replied the dying man. “Now I see the length and breadth and depth of that word of promise upon which my soul rests. I don’t care for the pleasures of this world. Live in Christ! Live in Christ! Then you will need nothing and fear nothing.”
“What a comfort it must be to you to think about all the good you have done!” said Richard’s wife, who had accompanied her husband into the sick room.
“Tongue! Tongue! Watch your tongue today. The proud flesh doesn’t need anything to puff it up. Do you remember what I said to you when you were still young? You, as well as I, must lay aside our pride, and be humble as a little child in the service of Jesus Christ.”
On the 23rd, which was a Sunday, he cried out form his sick bed: “If anyone is here, let him now come and see the work of God. I am willing to lie here for many years, if but God will shine upon my soul through Jesus Christ ... .” Then, stretching out his hand, he cried, “Lord, Thou knowest my troubles. O Lord, make an end of my sorrows.
“Go read where I first cast my anchor,” he said to his wife. She retrieved his Bible and read out loud the fourteenth chapter of John’s Gospel. “Is it not a comfortable chapter?” said Knox. “Oh, what sweet and wonderful consolations God has given to me in that chapter! Now let me sleep!”
The next day he was apparently in a coma, and when he aroused to consciousness, he sank into a heavy sleep, during which he groaned loudly. The watchers expected every moment to be his last, but after a long time he opened his eyes.
“Why were you groaning so loudly?” asked his son. “Have you been in pain, father?”
“During my life,” said Knox, “I have had many conflicts with the devil, but never have I had such a battle with Satan as now. The great Enemy has often placed my sins before mine eyes and tempted me to despair, but now he has attacked me in quite a different way. He, the tricky old serpent, tried to persuade me that I had merited heaven by faithfully completing my ministry. But, blessed be God, I beat down this temptation too, for the Spirit of God showed me that I should answer, ‘By the grace of God, I am what I am,’ and ‘What hast thou that thou hast not received?’ Now I have gotten the victory, and in a little while I shall depart to be forever beyond pain or noise of battle. No more fighting! No more fighting! Only rest and joy in the Lord!”
At eleven o’clock he heaved a deep sigh and said, “Now it is come! Now it is come!”
Richard Bannatyne drew near and said, “Oh, master, think on the comfortable promises of Jesus Christ that you have often declared to others. Since you can’t speak, can you give us a sign that you die in peace resting upon Christ?”
John Knox lifted up his hands, and sighing twice he departed where sighing and sin can never come!
He was only 67 years old, but his great sufferings had worn out his body more than the strain of years. A widow and five children remained behind to inherit the precious legacy of a devoted man’s prayers.
The cause for which Knox had suffered and toiled did not die when he passed away. His bold and fearless advocacy of the truth had a lasting influence in the hearts of many of God’s people, and gave them courage to confess Christ, and to testify to the mighty power of the grace of God.
Deep-rooted evils and fierce adversaries require qualities such as John Knox possessed in a preeminent degree. His sternness, hardness, and perseverance were all required for him to be an overcomer in the spiritual warfare unique to his day. We too face the same enemies as Knox did — Satan and his servants — although their tactics may be different today than they were in the 1500s. But our God is the same as He whom Knox served, and He is able now, as then, to deliver us and to help us to overcome the forces of evil against us. We must always rely on God and His Word, and doing this, we will succeed, even if called to be martyrs for loving faithfulness to Jesus Christ.