THE Durham Book, that early translation of the Gospels into English, of which we were speaking last month, is full of interest to us, not only because of its own beauty and value, but from the wonderful way in which it has been kept through the changes of twelve centuries, while so many other things have perished, leaving not even their names behind. Many stories are told of the perils of this manuscript by sea and land, and it still bears upon its pages the marks of salt water. But While it was a great blessing for our country that this Book of the Gospels should have been made, we must not imagine that it was a perfect translation. In many places, from not thoroughly understanding the Latin which he was turning into English, the translator seems to have tried to guess at the meaning of words, and very curious some of these guesses are.
It is impossible to say how far this early version of the Gospels made its way among the people, and we cannot find that after the Conquest any further attempt was made to give them the scriptures in their own tongue. The poor people went to church, but only to hear psalms chanted and prayers read in a language unknown to them. At last, in the reign of Henry the Third, in a great council, it was declared that henceforth no translation of any part of the Bible save the Psalms, and parts of sacred hymns, which had been introduced into the service books of the church—such as the words of Mary when she said, "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour"—might be made in the speech of the people.
The Lord Jesus came to "preach the Gospel to the poor," and the messengers of John the Baptist were bidden to tell their master that "to the poor the Gospel was preached," when he desired to know whether Jesus was indeed the Christ who was to come. How terrible to think that those who bore the name of Christ's servants were at this time the very ones to take from the poor and unlearned the word of God!
Those who thus led the people astray did not themselves read the Bible, or they might have trembled at the solemn. "Woe unto you!" pronounced by the Lord when He was upon earth upon those teachers of the Law who had taken away the key of knowledge—those blind guides who shut up the kingdom of Heaven against men, neither going in themselves nor suffering those who would to enter. As we pass on to the time of Edward the Third, we find it had become the fashion to make rhyming verses about the gospel histories, and these verses were repeated by the priests on Sundays and holidays, and sometimes sung by minstrels to their harps at merry meetings. Even through such means God, no doubt, taught many souls, and brought them to Himself. You would be surprised, if you could read some of these old ballad-sermons, to see how very little that was true and how much that was false and mischievous they contained. Upon the cover of one book, the “Cursor Mundi," is this inscription—
“This is the best book of all,
The course of the world, men do it call."
It is full of stories from the Old and New Testaments, with here and there a curious and sometimes very foolish legend. From such a book as this, we may see that when people begin to take away from God's word, they are not afraid also to add to it.
We read but little in the New Testament about the infancy of our Lord beyond the story of His wondrous birth—the great fact that the eternal Son of God became for our sakes a little helpless Child. When the wise men came to present their gifts to Him who was born King of the Jews, they found Him, wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger, an Infant of days. But the maker of the song about the birth of Christ, which is in the "Cursor Mundi," represents Him sometimes as a Child, sometimes as a Man. In the story of the flight into Egypt, for instance, when Joseph and Mary are frightened at the wild beasts which they meet in the desert, the Child goes before His parents to guard them, and bids them not fear,
“For all the beasts that are so wild
Before Me must he tame and mild."
Then when Mary becomes weary and thirsty with long travel, at the word of the Child Jesus, a palm bows low at her feet and lays its fruit in her lap, while at its root a clear spring bursts forth to refresh her. Again, when they arrive at an Egyptian city, Mary, with the Child in her arms goes to the temple, where the people are worshipping their idols, and at sight of Him the idols fall shattered to the ground.
Those who have watched during the long cold night hours tell us that it is just when the darkness is deepest that the first gleam of dawn springs up in the eastern sky. Even so it was in the history of our country. In a quiet village home in Yorkshire, in those dark and evil days, a boy was growing up, thoughtful and studious, who will ever be remembered as the man whom God used to give us for the first time the whole Bible in a tongue “understandeth of the people." You may have heard Wycliffe spoken of as the Morning Star of the Reformation, but you cannot understand how deservedly the name was given him unless you have some idea of the depth of that darkness upon which he, through God's goodness to him, caused the truth to shine. Let us see how it shone first for him in his own soul.
It was when he was a young man at Oxford, already looked upon as a good scholar, that a terrible pestilence, coming from Asia, swept over the greater part of Europe. Men called it the Black Death, and well they might, for we read that in one year half the people in England died of the plague. Death was brought very near to the young scholar, and with the thought of death came that other thought which makes it so terrible, the thought of judgment to come, and of the long eternity beyond. Wycliffe, we are told, "passed days and nights in his room, groaning and sighing, and calling upon God to show him what path he ought to follow."
And how did the answer come? "The entrance of Thy word giveth light," said the Psalmist, and it was through the study of God's word that light came to Wycliffe. No wonder that word grew dear to him, and that his strong spirit rose in indignant defiance against those who tried to keep from the people that message of God which he counted every man had a right to read for himself, as if sent to him alone.
Wycliffe became the parish priest of Lutterworth. He preached to the people, explaining the gospel to them in their own household speech. He appealed to the Bible as the one ground of faith, the sole authority which was binding upon every man's conscience in the sight of God.
“All truth," he wrote, "is contained in scripture: we should admit of no conclusion not approved there. Though there were a hundred popes, and all the friars were turned into cardinals, yet should we learn more from the gospel than from all that multitude. True sons will in no wise go about to infringe the will and testament of their heavenly Father." Again he asks, "If the Holy Spirit gave the apostles the gift of tongues, that every man might hear in his own tongue the wonderful works of God, why should not the living Disciples of Christ now open the scriptures to the people so clearly and plainly that they may verily understand them?”
When Wycliffe was forty years old his spirit was so stirred by what he saw all around him, that he cried with a loud and bitter cry against those who dared to pretend to sell the pardon of God for money, and against the begging friars who swarmed everywhere, eating up the substance of the poor, like locusts.
Against these evil deeds Wycliffe made his voice heard like the voice of a trumpet. He also called upon young men, like-minded with himself, to arise and go from place to place preaching the gospel—bidding them imitate the friars, in making their way to the remotest villages; "but while they teach the people legends of the saints," said he, "do you preach the gospel—it is the sublimest work; and after your sermon is ended, go visit the sick, the aged, and the blind, and succor them according to your ability.”
So the "poor priests," as they were called, went forth and pursued their mission much as Aidan and Cuthbert had done. When they came near a village they would begin to preach in the fields, or going on into the towns, take their stand in the market place and speak to the people with a simple eloquence which won their hearts. So beloved were these missionaries that when the clergy tried to stop their mouths, and sent the constables to lay hands on them, the people rescued and protected them; and so each day, through God's mercy, some ray of His gospel-light was brought to the homes and hearts of the people.
About this time Wycliffe fell sick, and was at the point of death. Beside his bed stood some who tried to persuade him that this sickness was but the beginning of the judgment of God which must fall swift and sure upon the man who had dared to speak and write against the sacred doctrines of the church.
“You have death on your lips," they cried, "be touched by your faults; retract all you have said.”
Bidding his servant lift him up, Wycliffe fixed his eyes upon his accusers until they quailed before his fearless gaze, and said: "I shall not die, but live, and again declare the evil deeds of the friars.”
But God had better work for His servant to do. He had been fearless and keen in his warfare with evil; he had wielded the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God, with a strong hand; and the last years of his life—for he did recover from his dangerous sickness—were to be spent in translating that word into the plain speech of the English people. C. P.