(Continued from sh. 64).
IT was not difficult to find willing hearers. At one town after another crowds came together, anxious to know what the great preacher of the Pays de Vaud had to say. At Morat great numbers seem to have been truly converted. They gathered from distant villages, and arrived in troops from the mountains, warning one another by the way not to “fall into the heretic’s trap.” But as Farel preached, one after another were cut to the heart, and sat lost in wonder at the great and glad tidings. Like Whitefield, Farel saw their eyes fixed upon him with streaming tears, as he told them of the Saviour who had sent him. In Morat, and in many other places great multitudes believed.
The good councilors of Berne sent messages of encouragement to the converted people. They told them that, as far as in them lay, they would protect them from all ill-usage, they only desired them to cleave fast to the Lord. “Be not afraid,” they said, “trust to the Lord, who has made heaven and earth, and who upholds all things by the word of His power. Only trust in Him, and leave Him to care for His own.” On the other hand, the priests everywhere stirred up those who remained in unbelief, and there were often stormy scenes, to which Farel was by this time well inured. But they were glorious days, which well repaid him for toilsome journeys and rough treatment. Not a few of the priests themselves believed and were saved. All around were those to be found who were casting their idols to the moles and to the bats. And from many a village and mountain chalet the worship that is in spirit and in truth began at last to ascend to God.
The Bernese warned Farel not to proceed too hastily to the destruction of the images. Such measures should be taken deliberately, not in a moment of excitement. And many might be found ready to drive away the priests and break the idols, who were not equally ready to take up the cross and follow Christ. It was wise advice which was given by the councilors of Berne. “Since you have received the word of God, it is right and seemly that you should give to every man his due, and not go beyond you authority. For the word of God does not preach liberty to the flesh, but liberty to the spirit, and to the conscience.” So passed the last six months of the year 1529.
And now, as time went on, Farel had had the joy of seeing the four Bernese parishes of the Pays de Vaud turned from their idols to the living God. During the last six months, he had been able to rejoice over multitudes in other parts of western Switzerland, who had believed in the Lord Jesus, and received eternal life.
But there were three large towns where, as yet the Gospel had not been preached. These three towns were Lausanne, Neuchatel, and Geneva. You will remember that Farel had twice attempted to preach at Lausanne. Twice he had been driven away unheard. He would go there again some day, if the Lord would make the way. But in the meantime he would turn his steps to the place towards which his thoughts had often turned—to the old town of Neuchatel.
You will find Neuchatel on the northern shore of the lake, which bears its name. It is a quiet pleasant town, on the slope of the vine-clad hills, the lake below, the steep hills of the Jura above it; and opposite, far away across the blue waters the snowy peaks of the Alps, range behind range, stretching back as far as the great Moni Blanc amongst the mountains of Savoy. It was on a November day, in that year 1529, that a weather-beaten, sunburnt man, with a red beard and flashing eyes, arrived, staff in hand before the walls of Neuchatel. “He had come,” we are told, “to take possession of Neuchatel in the name of the Lord Jesus.”
There it stood, the old popish town, with its fine castle, and its churches, and its convents—five large convents—besides the great college of the canons, and these amongst them owned the land on every side. Everything was in the hands of the priests and monks, who had it all their own way, for the governor of Neuchatel was all they could desire, an obedient servant of Rome.
This governor, George de Rive, represented the real sovereign of Neuchatel, Jeanne de Hochberg. She was the heiress of the earls of Neuchatel, but had married a French prince, the Duke of Orleans, and she liked better to live a gay life in France than to be shut up in the quiet old castle of Neuchatel, where, according to the simple manners of the Swiss, the kitchen was her state apartment, and the citizens’ wives the only company. She was a vain, extravagant, pleasure-loving princess, and she was glad that George de Rive should look after everything at Neuchatel and never trouble her about business, except to send her the revenues of the little state to spend in Paris.
Such was the condition of affairs when Farel arrived. He was well aware that the very sound of his name would rouse the priests and people into fury. He was known now far and wide as the great heretic preacher—the image breaker—the blasphemer. And had his face been as well-known as his evil deeds, he might expect worse treatment than any he had yet received. But Farel knew what he was doing when he thus invaded the dark old town. He brought with him the weapon before which “every high thing shall be cast down, which exalts itself against the knowledge of God.” He brought with him the word which “is as fire, which is as a hammer that breaketh the rocks in pieces,” and what could five convents, or five thousand convents, do against the power of the Lord, when His time was come to seek and to save the lost?
What was to be done first? How was Farel to begin the attack upon this stronghold of Satan? He turned his steps towards the little parsonage of Serrières. This village, which is the port of Neuchatel, belonged, not to Neuchatel, but to the town of Bienne, which had already, through Farel’s preaching, received the truth. And Farel had heard that the curate of Serrières, Emer Beynon by name, “had some liking for the Gospel.” To him, therefore, he would go. Thus did God remember this solitary priest, in his little village, whose heart was longing after something better than the dead forms, and the senseless ceremonies of his church.
Emer Beynon had not yet made one step out of Rome. But God can see where there is but a spark of the light which shines from the face of Christ. And where but one ray has shone into the soul, that ray will shine forth. What light we have, we give out, and we can give out no more. No eloquence, no talent, no energy can ever make a spark of light shine forth, beyond that which has shone into the heart from God, and where there is but a longing of the soul for Christ, some light will go forth around. If you turn to the 6th verse of the 4th Chapter of II. Corinthians, yet will there see some words which are not perhaps very clearly translated in the English Bible—the verse expresses that, “God has shone in our hearts, for the shining forth of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” This was true of Paul, and true of all into whose hearts any ray, however faint, of that wondrous light has shone. And from the poor earthen, vessel, the village curate of Serrières, there shone forth light enough to guide the steps of Farel to the door which the Lord had opened.
It was a memorable day in the poor curate’s life, when the stranger knocked at the door of his little parsonage, and told him that he was William Farel. God had at last answered to the desire of his heart. He not only received Farel gladly, and welcomed him warmly, but immediately bethought himself how the preaching could at once begin. It would be a bold step to ask Farel to preach in his church. “And that too, is forbidden,” he said; “but why not in the churchyard? No one has forbidden that—and then there are fields and hillsides, which do just as well for preaching places as a little church.”
Farel lost no time. As the people came to the mass, he stood up, like John Wesley, at Epworth, on a stone in the churchyard, and there he preached the Gospel. Crowds gathered around and the tidings spread to Neuchatel that the great heretic preacher was come. “But he preaches beautiful things,” said the people of Serrières; “he tells us of the love of God, and of Christ in Heaven.”
The citizens of Neuchatel determined to hear for themselves, and throngs of men, women, and children poured out of the old town, and filled Earner Beynon’s churchyard. In vain, the governor, the canons, the priests, and the monks threatened and warned the people. These hungry souls seemed as though they could never hear enough. If ever you go to Neuchatel, you may still see the stone which was Farel’s pulpit.
Amongst the citizens of Neuchatel was a brave soldier, called James Wildermuth. He had heard of Farel’s preaching at Aigle, and at other places. And, moreover, he had himself believed the glad tidings of the grace of God. Great was his joy when he was told that Farel was come. “The poor, pious Farel,” he wrote to Berne, “has arrived here, and he presented a letter inviting those in the town to hear him preach the Word of Christ, which he would gladly have done with all his heart, but the authorities forbid it. There upon I went to the governor, George de Rive, to see what I could do.” But George de Rive had no intention to allow a heretic to preach in the town. Whereupon, the brave James Wildermuth, with other citizens, determined to take the matter into their own hands. They went to find Farel. They led him in triumph through the old castle gate, along the steep street into the market place. There was the first Gospel sermon preached in Neuchatel.
You, who have often heard the glad tidings, who can never remember the time when you did not hear it, can hardly imagine how strange, how wonderful, and how blessed were those words of grace to these poor Swiss people. “That sermon,” says the old Chronicle of Neuchatel, “won many hearts.” Around the preacher stood the wondering crowd—the weavers and the vine dressers, the merchants and the laborers—eager to catch every word. Farel spoke with a solemn reality, with an authority which awed them into silence. But suddenly a cry arose:— “Down with the heretic! kill him! Drown him in the fountain!” The monks had glided in amongst the throng, and they made a sudden rush upon the preacher. But Farel had now defenders enough. The monks soon found it would be at the risk of their lives, were they to harm the man whom God had sent.
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?”
F. B.