Day after day the preaching went on. “I keep Farel here,” wrote James Wildermuth. “I make him preach in the houses, because I know that he can thus do good. It is true that I have to endure many threats in consequence, but I may well learn to disregard them, knowing that God is stronger than man or the devil.” Not only in doors, but out of doors were the blessed tidings preached. The bitter winds of December, and the falling snow, were unable to hinder the crowds who gathered wherever Farel’s voice was heard. If they but saw him in the street, they would throng around him. Each one had some question to ask, and, most of all, the great question Farel was so glad to answer: “What must I do to be saved?”
You will like to hear Farel’s own account of these happy days. He had been there scarcely a week when he thus wrote to his friend, the preacher at Noville, near Aigle: “I would not have you ignorant, dear brethren, of the work which Christ is doing in His own. For against all hope He has here touched the hearts of several. Notwithstanding the tyrannical orders, and the enmity of the men with shaven crowns, numbers have come to hear the Word preached in the city gates, in the streets, in barns, and in houses. They listened eagerly, and nearly all have believed what they heard, though it was the exact contrary to the errors so deeply rooted in their hearts. Therefore join with me in thanking the Father of mercies, and pray for greater blessing. I would gladly return to you at Aigle, but the glory of Jesus Christ and the thirst of His sheep compel me to go forward in the face of sufferings which tongue cannot tell. But Christ makes all things light to me. Oh, my friends, may His cause be to us the dearest thing we know!”
A few days after this, Farel was called away to Morat, where so many had been converted during the summer. The whole town had assembled to decide whether the mass should go on. The greater number carried the day. There was to be no more mass. The gospel alone was to be preached in the church. But as preaching is not worship, the people of Morat had now to consider how, besides the preaching, matters should be ordered so that those who believed in the Lord Jesus should worship God in simplicity. It was to talk over these matters that they desired to see Farel. Many in other towns also wished to see him, and thus the spring of 1530 passed by. His many adventures during that time would make a long story. We hear of Farel in one place after another, and we hear everywhere of the same blessing from God, and the same opposition from the enemy.
“Last Thursday,” on one occasion, wrote the lords of Berne to the Count of Gruyère, “Master William Farel, passing through your country, lodged for the night at St. Martin, and the clergyman of the place, in company with two other priests, assaulted the said Farel, and the vicar reviled him with bad and abusive language, and hit him with a pot, and also struck our officer, who was with him, calling the said Farel a heretic and a devil, which insults we consider to have been directed at ourselves. You will please to make inquiries as to these things, and to bestow the punishment that is due for such offenses.”
This is but one of the many complaints addressed by the lords of Berne to those who had ill-treated Farel and other preachers. On the other hand, they received constant entreaties from the Bishop of Lausanne, and from their allies at Fribourg, who besought them to put a stop to the preaching. In consequence Farel had many warnings from Berne not to go too far—not to preach where he was not wanted—not to give offense — not to break images, or make commotions. Farel regarded these warnings just as much as he considered it right to do so. He did not profess to take his orders from any other than the Master who had sent him, and, though he was thankful for the protection of Berne, he did not consider that his friends there had a right to make his plans, or to limit his movements. “It would be well,” he said, “if the men of Berne were as zealous for the gospel as the men of Fribourg are for idolatry.”
In the month of April of that year, 1530, the priest of Tavannes was singing mass in the village church. Tavannes is a village not very far from Basle. As he sang, two men came into the church, and one of them, going up into the pulpit, began to preach. The priest had no need to be told that it was William Farel. The other man, who was very young, only eighteen or nineteen years old, was Anthony Boyve. Do you remember Anthony Boyve, of Dauphiné? Some say he was a cousin of Farel’s, but I do not know that there is any good reason for saying so, nor do I know why he is generally called by the name of Anthony Froment from the time of his arrival in Switzerland, but by this name you will henceforth hear of him.
He tells us that the sermon at Tavannes was with “such might and power, that no sooner was it ended than the people rose up with one accord and broke down both images and altars.” The priest fled in dismay. The people of Tavannes then wrote to the lords of Berne. “We thank you humbly,” they said, “that you have sent us a preacher to declare to us the holy gospel of God, which we have received, and desire, God helping us, to live according to the same.”
The Bishop of Basle soon heard of these strange doings. He, too, wrote an epistle to the lords of Berne. “A man named Farel,” he said, “is roaming in our diocese and vomiting forth insults against our person, which, doubtless he did not learn in the gospel. He attempts to spread his doctrine amongst our subjects” (the bishop was also prince of a large territory); “he pretends he has a commission from you; but we cannot suffer a stranger to come and sow trouble and discord amongst our people, and hold us up to contempt. A lesser than we would not submit to this. We earnestly request that you will desire the said Farel to leave our country in peace, and to content himself with preaching where he is wanted, and where there are people who find pleasure in hearing him. Otherwise, if he persists, bloodshed might follow, and we should then act, as the case requires, in order to rid ourselves of his presence.”
But Farel was as deaf to the bishop’s complaints as was the bishop to the gospel of God, and the preaching went on as before.
It may interest you to read an account written by a Roman Catholic of this eventful time. It is as follows:
“Farel had a belief in a voice from heaven, which called to him, ‘Forward!’ and forward did he go, resistless as death. He troubled himself neither for red or blue vestments, nor for mantles of ermine, nor for robes of silk, nor for coronets of dukes, nor crowns of kings, nor for holy vessels, nor for pictures, nor for images. All were alike to him as the dust of the ground. History, Christian art, traditions, and forms were only matter to him for insolent mockery. Hoist him up on a railing, he will carry away every passer-by with the magic of his preaching. Take him down into the mines of Mansfeld, and every workman will leave his anvil to hang upon his words and follow his steps. Put him into a pulpit surrounded by images, at once he will fall upon them with a knife or a hammer till he has utterly destroyed every trace of what he calls an idol. Montbéliard, Aigle, and Bienne, stirred up by his words, drove away their monks, and set up a new worship. If he only passed through a town, the inhabitants were sure to come to blows with another. 'The Kingdom of heaven suffers violence', he would say, and forward he went in his remorseless work of noise and ruin. The magistrates themselves, utterly frightened by his doings, dared not keep him in their hands. The revolution finished, they opened to him the gates of the town, and Farel, perfectly happy, took his pilgrim’s staff, and went off on foot across the mountains to find another city or village where his voice might awaken a fresh tempest. His stick meanwhile battered down along the roadsides alike crosses of Christ and the images of Mary.”