Wycliffe had now risen to high distinction, and had received many marks of the royal favor. In the end of the year 1375, he was presented by the crown to the rectory of Lutterworth in Leicestershire, which was his home throughout the remainder of his life, although he frequently visited Oxford. But dangers were gathering around him from other quarters: he had incurred the displeasure of the pope, and the prelates. At Lutterworth and in the villages around, he was the plain, bold, vernacular preacher; at Oxford, he was the great master. But whether in town or country, he raised his voice against the discipline of the church, the scandalous lives of churchmen, their ignorance, their neglect of preaching and the abuse of their privileges as ecclesiastics to shelter notorious criminals. It was only natural that such plain speaking should give offense. The professor was accused of heresy, and summoned to appear before the convocation which commenced its sittings in February, 1377.
Wycliffe answered to the citation and proceeded to St. Paul's Cathedral, but not alone. He was accompanied by John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, and Lord Percy, marshal of England. The motives of these great personages were no doubt political, and added no real honor to the name or to the cause of Wycliffe. But we find a strange collision and confusion of religion and politics in the history of all the reformers. William Courtenay, son of the Earl of Devon, was then bishop of London, and appointed president of the assembly by Archbishop Sudbury. The proud and haughty bishop was moved to great displeasure when he beheld the heretic supported by the two most powerful nobles in England. So great was the concourse of people to witness this exciting trial, that the Earl-marshal assumed the authority of his office to make a way to the presence of the judges. The indignant bishop resented this exercise of the marshal's power inside the cathedral.
"If I had known, my lord," said Courtenay to Percy, sharply, "that you claimed to be master in this church, I would have taken measures to prevent your entrance." Lancaster, who at that time administered the kingdom, coldly replied, "that the marshal would use the authority necessary to maintain order in spite of the bishops." When they reached the court in the Lady Chapel, Percy demanded a seat for Wycliffe. Courtenay now gave way to his anger, and exclaimed in a loud voice, "He must not sit down, criminals stand before their judges." Fierce words followed on both sides. The duke threatened to humble the pride, not only of Courtenay, but of all the prelacy of England. The bishop replied with a provoking, specious humility, that his trust was in God alone. A scene of great violence followed; and, instead of the proposed inquiry, the assembly broke up in confusion. The partisans of the bishop would have fallen upon the duke and the marshal; but they had force enough for their protection. Wycliffe, who had remained silent, escaped under their shelter.
Although the people were then all Roman Catholics, there were many who favored reform; these were called Wycliffites, and they prudently remained in their own houses during this excitement. The clerical party that had thronged St. Paul's filled the streets with their clamor. The populace arose—a wild tumult began. The rioters first attacked the house of Percy; but after bursting open every door, and searching every chamber, without finding him, they imagined that he must be concealed in Lancaster's palace. They rushed to the Savoy, at that time the most magnificent building in the kingdom. A clergyman who had the misfortune of being taken for Lord Percy was put to death. The ducal arms were reversed like those of a traitor; the palace was plundered, and further outrages might have been committed but for the interposition of the bishop, who had cause to fear the consequences of such lawless proceedings.