Before we follow Tyndale into his voluntary exile, let us turn aside for a few moments and take note of some faithful and earnest men, whom God was even then training to be witnesses for His truth in England. Around Bilney, at Cambridge, a little band of students had already gathered; for, though he was a timid man, and unfit to cope with the turbulent spirit of his time, the blessing which he had himself received had changed his whole life, and he earnestly sought “to bring to the knowledge of God all who came nigh him.” He met with much opposition on all sides, but the man most active in his efforts to bring the quiet, retiring scholar and his new doctrines into contempt was a member of his university―a priest, of about thirty years of age, whose tall figure was well known to the townspeople, for it was the office of Master Hugh Latimer to carry the university cross in processions.
We all know Latimer’s name, and have read the story of his martyrdom at Oxford. We remember how the old man of eighty-four, in his “poor Bristow frieze frock, much worn,” walked to the ditch over against Balliol College with his fellow martyr, Ridley; and we cannot forget how, when he was chained to the stake, and saw the lighted brand laid at Ridley’s feet, he lifted up his voice in words of triumphant cheer, which still move our hearts as we read them, like the sound of a trumpet― “Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle, by God’s grace, in England as I trust shall never be put out!”
But who would have recognized in the aged martyr of Queen Mary’s reign the man who, in the early days of the time which we call the Reformation, was one of the most bitter enemies of that “new doctrine,” which was, indeed, the old―the faith once delivered unto the saints?
Hugh Latimer was the son of a Leicestershire farmer, and was sent away from his country home, where he had been used to feed the cows and tend the sheep, to Cambridge, when a boy of fourteen; for his parents, as Foxe tells us, seeing him to be of a ready, prompt, and sharp wit, thought they would make a scholar of him. The country boy, with his studious face and his quick answers, was noticed by his teachers as one likely to leave his mark upon his time; and, as he grew up, his earnestness increased, forever before his mind, as a great reality, was the thought that he and his fellows―those light―hearted young students whom he met day by day in hall and at lecture―must, each one of them, give account of himself to God. If these things were so, he thought, then life was real, life was earnest, indeed.
Becoming a priest, Latimer attended with scrupulous diligence to every ceremony prescribed by the Church, though many a time, as he performed the service of the mass, the fear that all was not right, the tormenting doubt as to whether anything had been left out―any little point omitted by which the sacrifice might be rendered of no avail, disturbed his spirit. If even in the services of the Church he found no rest, where could he hope to find it? Perhaps in waging a stern warfare with those who were, as he believed, her enemies―who could say?
Latimer doubted not that the cause of the Church was the cause of God. He became aware that there were some members of the university who were not attentive to the rites and ceremonies enjoined by her; further, the rumor reached him that a few students, and even some scholars of the university, were wont to meet together every day simply to read the Holy Scriptures, and that Master Stafford, Bilney’s friend, a man of deep learning, was present, giving the sense from the Hebrew and Greek, so he determined to learn for himself how far this matter had gone.
Latimer, therefore, one day surprised the little company at their reading, and earnestly besought them to cease studying the Bible, “spitefully railing” against their teacher, and bidding the youth of Cambridge abandon him and his heretical teachings. But his hard words and his entreaties were alike of no avail; and though he publicly preached against Stafford, the students still clung to him.
At last a favorable opportunity for showing his zeal for the Church offered. Latimer was to deliver a Latin oration before the university. He chose for his subject, “Philip Melancthon and his Doctrines,” and in a learned discourse arrayed all his eloquence against the friend of Luther, especially holding up to ridicule his view of the Scriptures as the touchstone by which everything should be tested.
While many applauded, there was one among Latimer’s hearers that day in whose heart the tones of that eloquent voice, pleading against the very truth of God and His word, awoke a brotherly pity and a deep longing that he might, by the grace of God, win this bold champion of error to the side of truth. It was Bilney who, little of stature, unperceived among the crowd, listened to Latimer, and longed after his soul.
But how should he speak to one who shunned him as a heretic, and as a corrupter of the young one with whom a true son of the Church should have nothing to do?
As Bilney thought and prayed, a strange device came into his mind. “He will not hear me if I argue with him,” he said to himself, “but he cannot refuse to hear my confession.” So he went to Latimer as a penitent, and besought him, in God’s name, to hear his confession. And what did Bilney confess as he knelt low at Latimer’s feet, he poured out the whole story of what God had done for a soul, once far from Him, seeking rest in the service prescribed by his religious teachers, but ever seeking it in vain, now brought nigh by the blood of Christ. He spoke of the deep anguish he had suffered, an anguish which no penance imposed by the Church could remove, from which no indulgence purchased by money could buy release. But we know the story of Bilney’s conversion; we know how he once read in the Greek Testament of Erasmus the” faithful saying, “which brought peace and rest unspeakable to his weary soul, that” Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,” and we can in some degree imagine what this strange confession was like.
Latimer listened amazed. At first, as Bilney described his own trouble and restlessness of spirit, his words found an echo in the heart of his confessor; presently he tried to interrupt him, but Bilney went on with the tale of the grace of God to him, the chief of sinners, and before he rose from his knees Latimer had heard all. He was no longer contending against doctrines, but was brought face to face with a living witness to their truth and power; and he was, as Foxe, who tells us the story, says, “through the good Spirit of God, so touched, that whereas before he was an enemy, and almost a persecutor of Christ, he was now a zealous seeker after Him.” The confessor took the place of the penitent, and with bitter tears bewailed his former hard speeches against Bilney and others, and going to Master Stafford, entreated his forgiveness.
We soon rind Latimer preaching constantly in Latin to priests and students, and in their own tongue to the people, who heard him gladly, and wondered as they saw him going abroad with Bilney, whom he had once so bitterly opposed.
We can hardly imagine places more dreadful than the dark cells in which poor maniacs were then confined, but even to such abodes of despair these servants of God found their way, if haply they might speak peace and the comfort of the Gospel to some sorely stricken one, used only to the harsh arguments of the chain and the whip. Then passing on to the house of the lepers outside the town, they tried to alleviate their sad, hopeless condition by tenderly caring for their bodily wants, while they spoke the word of God to them. The prison doors, too, opened to the gospelers, and they preached to the captives deliverance, not from the bondage into which their evil deeds had brought them, but a greater deliverance―even from sin itself, with its bitter fruits, and from the cruel tyranny of Satan, who had so long bound them as with fetters of iron.
One sermon preached by Latimer made a great stir at the time, and has come down to us, so that we can read it in his strong, homely words. He gave as his text the message of the Pharisees to John the Baptist in the wilderness, when they sent to ask him, “Who an thou?” Then, passing from the actual application of the Scripture, the preacher bade every man and woman who heard him that day, “of a good and simple mind―contrary to the Pharisees intent―ask this question, Who art thou? What substance, what virtue, what goodness art thou of thyself? Which question,” he went on, “if thou rehearse oftentimes to thyself, thou shalt well perceive and understand how thou shalt answer to it; which answer must be made in this wise: I am of myself and by myself, coming from my natural father and mother, the child of the anger and indignation of God, the true inheritor of hell, a lump of sin, and working nothing of myself but all towards hell, except I have better help of another than I have of myself.” Then the preacher spoke of the goodness of God, who spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all; and of the love of Christ, who, at the Father’s will, “being willing to deliver man out of this miserable way, was content to suffer cruel passion in shedding His blood for all mankind.” And then, again asking the question, “Who art thou?” he showed the blessedness of the answer which he who “had taken on Christ’s religion” could give― “I am a christian man, a christian woman, the child of everlasting joy, through the merits of the bitter passion of Christ.” “This,” he said, “is a joyful answer.”
Not only did Latimer thus preach in plain language, which a child could understand, but when his sermon was over he went from house to house among the poor townspeople, and from room to room among the students of the university, seeking to bring home to the hearts of those who had heard him the great truths which he had preached, that they might not be forgetful hearers, but doers of the word; and he continued his house to house evangelizing all the more diligently when forbidden, as he soon was by the Bishop of Ely, to preach in any church in Cambridge.
Meanwhile, at the White House at Cambridge, the readings of the Greek New Testament still went on. As those who attended them were seen making their way through streets thither, they were sometimes greeted by the cry, “There are the Germans going to Germany!” for the priests of the Romish Church looked upon Luther and his country as the source of all heresy. But these readings were times of blessing such as those who mocked at them never dreamed of. “So oft as I was in the company of these brethren,” said Thomas Becon, a young student who was much attached to Latimer, and has preserved notes of many of his sermons, “methought I was quietly placed in the new, glorious Jerusalem.” C. P.