John was a big man, strong as an ox. Muscles bulged out under his home­spun shirt and it was said he could fell trees with one hand tied behind his back. Good-natured and friendly, but desperately poor, he worked hard. Most of his days were spent ploughing the small strips of land the lord of the manor had allotted to him. It was the year of our Lord 1521 and conditions were not easy for peasants living in the English countryside.

In the spring of 1522, John's wife Mary con­tracted the sweating -illness. Her tempera­ture soared and she lay help­less and weak, unable to do any more than whisper "afraid" to her husband John. Clumsily he spoke to her, but he too was afraid of the enemy stalking about in the cottage - he too was ter­rified of death. His huge frame knelt on the straw-covered floor by the bed and shook with weeping. Hens scratched about by his feet but he paid them no heed. As he wept a shadow fell on his form. Someone had come in through the open wooden door behind him. Mary stirred uneasily on the pallet and John turned his head. An old woman stood in the middle of the cottage. Believed by many in the neighbourhood to have mag­ical powers, she was feared and avoided.

John got up but kept his large body pro­tectively in front of Mary. "I hear you have the sickness." The old woman spoke slowly and peered greedily at the hens. John stepped towards her. "I don't believe in your black power. Go away, old woman." The woman spat on the floor by his feet and when he did not move, she turned and left. John fol­lowed her to the doorway and stood by the wattle-and­daub wall watching her go. She glanced back at him and he could hear her chant:

Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind worm's sting, Lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Her voice died away. John sighed and turned back to look at Mary. Perhaps the priest, perhaps Father Thomas would come. He was a gambling, drinking priest, and one who would demand payment for a visit, but he was a possible link to God. As the old woman disap­peared down the road to the right, John turned and ran to the left. The tavern wasn't that far away and he was sure to find Father Thomas there.

Raucous laughter hurt John's ears even before he opened the tavern door. Searching the stale-smelling, dark room quickly with his eyes, he found Father Thomas directly. Slouched and drunk, the priest half-sagged in a chair. The jew­elled crucifix around his neck hung in a mug of ale. Disgusted, John turned and went out again, slowly push­ing his feet homeward. He knew that most people died of the sweating sickness. His head sank between his shoulder blades. Even the comfort of a priest was denied Mary now. And she was so afraid of death • of her sins - of hell. What could he say to her? He was afraid too. His head sunk even lower and he did not see Father William Tyndale until he bumped into him.

"Father William - I'm sorry." John had difficulty in keeping his voice steady. "What is it, lad? Can I help you?" Everyone knew Father William. He often visited the poor in the neigh­bourhood and taught young children a bit of Latin as he walked about the country­side. He was the tutor Lord Walsh, one of the local gen­try, had employed for his children. "It's Mary, my wife, sir. She's that sick and the priest can't come. He's drunk... and Mary's so scared..." He stopped and looked at Father William imploringly. Father William reached out his hand. "I'll go with you, lad. Show me where you live."

When Mary opened her fever-filled eyes a little later, the face of Father William smiled down at her. "Now then, Mary, what's this I hear. You're feeling a bit poorly, are you?" His voice was so loving that she smiled at him despite her discom­fort. "We'll pray together, Mary, to our heavenly Father. We'll ask Him to take away your fear." Father William's strong voice rang through the small cottage, filling it with the power and love of God. Afterwards he spoke to both Mary and John of Jesus, of the One Who had died on the cross for the sins of His chosen people.

A few hours later Mary's fever abated. John wept again - for joy - and Father William walked back to the Walsh manor thanking God.

That evening there was a dinner at the Walsh's. As usual, many important churchmen came. They eyed the table, laden with good food, hungrily. The main talk was about Martin Luther, a German monk who had just translated the Bible into German. "The Bible should not be in any lan­guage but Latin," said one fat abbot as he chewed a chicken leg. "Our Lord Jesus did not speak Latin," responded Father William. A dozen heads turned to look at him. Vastly outnum­bered, Father William was not intimidated but talked on. "Most of you cannot even pray the Lord's own prayer. And when you do pray, you pray with your lips and not with your hearts." A bishop retorted angrily, "I have a copy of Martin Luther's portrait on my desk. I keep it there so I can spit on it. You know that our Cardinal Wolsey has said that all Luther's work is the devil's work."    Father William stood up. He banged his fist on the table. The food trembled. "And is it not the devil's work to drink yourself under the table - to gamble all day instead of praying with peo­ple who need to know God's love for them? I tell you that the Bible is there for all people to hear. And hear they will, for with God's help I will translate the Bible    into English." The churchmen exchanged looks.     "The boy out there," Father William con­tinued, pointing out to them field, England, "who ploughs the field, will one day he able read the Bible and he will know it better than you do "

Probably born at No! North Nibley, Gloucester shire, England, (in the same year that Columbus discovered America), not much is known about William Tyndale's childhood - who his parents were or what they did. We do know though, that he was a stu­dent at both Oxford and Cambridge universities, and that he was a very good stu­dent. God had set a special task aside for him, (Eph. 2: 10), and these universities equipped William with the special tools he would need for that task. In 1521 Tyndale was ordained as priest. With love he preached that salvation was free and that it was not to be bought by giving money to the church. He also spoke out against the drunkenness and gambling of many priests. It was not long before many people within the Roman Catholic church began to hate William Tyndale fiercely. A number of bishops tried to accuse him of heresy. They were not successful, even as they were also not successful in their attempts to kill him. Protected by the common people whom he loved very much, Tyndale's desire to translate the Bible grew daily.

Because Tyndale was refused the church's permis­sion to translate the Bible in England, he sailed across the sea to Germany. He was very poor but there were merchants who helped him. They provided him with a home to live in and food to eat. Sometimes he worked so hard that he forgot to eat. Once the house caught fire and friends put it out while he kept working, oblivious to the crackling of the flames and the smell of smoke. There was nothing in his mind but that he must trans­late the Word of God into English. Finally he complet­ed the New Testament. Thousands of copies were printed and then smuggled back into England from Germany in barrels of flour and bolts of cloth.

Buyers travelled from all over England to seacoast warehouses to see if they could purchase a New Testament. There were storekeepers, wheelmakers, candlemakers and hatters. There were ladies, saddlers and tailors. Their hunger for Bible knowledge far out­weighed the risk of punish­ment. One man, arrested because he had a New Testament, was set back­wards on a horse. Copies of the New Testament were fas­tened to his cloak. Led through many streets as an example to others, the fellow was mocked by attending priests. A big bonfire had been lit in London's town-square and, while he was being whipped, the man had to unfasten the copies attached to his cloak and throw them into the fire.

One day a merchant came to Tyndale. "I have a buyer for you," he said, "a buyer who is willing to pay ready cash for a thousand copies of the New Testament." "Who is the buyer?" "He is the Bishop of London." "The bishop of London will bourn them," Tyndale responded with passion, "and I am glad because two good things will come of this. First of all, the money he will pay for these books will get me out of debt and secondly, the whole world shall cry out upon the burning of God's Word. And with the extra money that is left after I pay my debts I will be able to correct this New Testament and print it again; and the second print­ing will be better than the first."

Cardinal Wolsey, the head of the Roman Catholic Church of England, came to the burning of Tyndale's books. He wore a purple silk sash, purple gloves with great rings over them and a purple skull-cap. His shoes were embroidered with gold and silver, and inlaid with pearls and precious stones. Thirty-six abbots and priors of the church followed him. They were also dressed rich­ly. As the procession wound its way towards the great square in London, these rich men passed many sickly beggars who would die of hunger at their gates before the year was out. And even while dogs licked the sores of these poor      men, Cardinal Wolsey spoke. "Today we have the pleasure of burning the evil works of Tyndale. He has twisted the holy words of the Bible by putting them into English and he has smuggled them into this country secretly. Anyone who reads his work is a heretic. The fire that burns these books today is pleas­ing to God." He signaled for the fire to start. Five heretics were led around the fire three times. Each one of them was forced to throw in a piece of wood and then a copy of the New Testament. The burning began but even as the bright flames licked up the Bibles turning them into dark ashes, Tyndale's pen covered new pages. The Word was the light of the world and the darkness of the ashes could not over­come it.

The Bible was in England to stay. The flame of the stake was strong but the flame of the Spirit was stronger. Even though the church said that Tyndale's New Testa-ment translation was "the food of the death", the people who ate it found it to be the Word of Life.

Revising the New Testa­ment, Tyndale also began translating the Old Testament. In which city he did his translating is not pre­cisely known. By 1534, believing it would be safe for him to come out of hid­ing, Tyndale settled in Antwerp, Belgium. He con­tinued his writing and like­wise gave himself to good works, saying, "My part be not in Christ if mine heart be not to follow and live according as I teach." Mondays he spent minister­ing to immigrants who had fled England because of persecution and Saturdays saw him seeking Antwerp's alleys and doorways for the poor. When a man by the name of Henry Phillips came to Tyndale's room one day asking, "Can I borrow forty shillings, kind sir, for I have lost my purse," Tyndale lent the money to him cheerfully. Appearing overwhelmed by Tyndale's generosity, Phil­lips bowed and said, "Mr. Tyndale, I must repay you for this kindness please be my guest for dinner."          "No, indeed," Tyndale responded, "you shall be my guest." He put on his cloak and the two went down from Tyndale's room to the street. Conversing in a friendly manner with the man, Tyndale walked through a narrow alley right into a trap. Phillips, who had been hired by the English bish­ops, had posted soldiers to arrest the translator.
 

Betrayed, Tyndale was taken to a prison in the castle of Vilvorde, some eighteen miles from Antwerp.

Tyndale was in prison - but the words he had translated would set many free from the bonds of sin. In his cell Tyndale talked unceasingly about his Lord and Saviour to anyone who would listen. During the eighteen months he was kept there, his wit­ness was so strong that the prison guard and other mem­bers of the castle household were converted.

The prison cell was damp and chilly. Tyndale wrote a letter to the governor of the castle prison which, in part, read:

"I beg your highness to send me a warm hat because my head is very cold, and possi­bly also a warm coat. Above all, I appeal to your generos­ity to ask the prosecutor to allow me my Hebrew Bible, grammar book and dictio­nary, so that I can pass the time with study."

It is not generally known whether this request was heard, but it was a request much like one Paul made in 2 Tim. 4:13.

After eighteen months in prison, Tyndale was con­demned as a heretic. His only crime had been that he had wanted his fellow coun­trymen to read the Bible. On Friday, October 6, 1536, he was led to a cross. The cross, fashioned by two huge beams, had a chain and a rope hanging from it. Tyndale was chained to the cross and strangled with the rope before his body was burned. Until his death his tongue had been the pen of a skillful writer (Ps. 45:1) and his last cry was "Lord, open the King of England's eyes." He was only forty-four years old. As he died this sweet singer of England was gathered up in the arms of angels and forty-four years of love passed on into eternity.

Bibliography⤒🔗

De Kerk Van Alle Tijden (Volume 2) by Louis Praamsma

Foxe's Book of Martyrs

The Reformation by Owen Chadwick

The Reformation of the Sixteenth Century by Leonard W Cowie

A History of the Christian Church by Walker

To All Generations by Frank C. Roberts

The Progress of the Protestants by Haverstick

The Bible Smuggler by Louise A. Vernon

Medieval Days and Ways by Gertrude Hartman

The Pictorial History Book by Sampson Low

Notes←⤒🔗

- Tyndale's translation coined new English words - words which had never been used before ­words like beautiful, longsuffering, peace‑maker, scapegoat, and filthy lucre.

- Tyndale's style of writing was unique and his aim to let the common person under­stand God's word was accom­plished. He deliberately dropped words with Roman Catholic connotations and sub­stituted new words. Charity, referring to good works which earned merit, became love. Priest bcame senior (and later elder). Church, referring sole ly to Rome, became congrega­tion.

- Tyndale also greatly influenced English spelling. For example, he changed "wen" to "when", "thers" to "theirs", and "synners" to "sinners". Later Bible translations such as the Coverdale,  (Miles Coverdale completed Tyndale's work on the Old Testament in 1635), the King James, (James I gave a group of about 50 Puritan ministers permis­sion to make a new translation of the Bible into English - this was completed in 1611), and the Revised Standard Version relied heavily upon Tyndale's work.

- Tyndale's dying prayer was answered the king of England's eyes were indeed opened. In 1538 Henry VIII required clergy to set up in each parish church one book of the whole Bible. When his daughter, the Protestant Elizabeth I, came to the throne in 1558, she reinforced this principle.
People now had free access to God's word and were not per­secuted any longer for reading it. Tyndale wrote comforting words in a tract for persecuted Bible readers:

"Let it not make thee despair, neither yet discourage thee, 0 reader, that it is forbidden thee on pain of life or goods . . or treason... to read the Word of thy soul's health;... for if God be on our side, what matter maketh it who be against us, be they bishops, cardinals or popes...

"They say our tongue is too. rude (for the Bible). It is not so. Greek and Hebrew go more easily into English than into Latin. Has not God made the English tongue as well as oth­ers? They suffer you to read in English of Robin Hood, Hercules and a thousand rib ald or filthy tales. It is only Scripture that is forbidden. It is therefore clearer than the sun that this forbiddal is not for love of your souls, which they care for as the fox doth for the geese."

- During Tyndale's time trials for heresy in the Low Countries were led by special Roman Catholic commissioners. They were carried out in private. The prisoner would not appear in public until the commis­sioners w e r e ready to announce a verdict.

- The spring of 1536 saw Tyndale's trial. It was carried out in writing. A paper debate was held between Tyndale and the inquisitors. Back and forth the accusations and rebuttals passed and Tyndale's docrines were scrutinized       In August 1536 Tyndale was con­demned as heretic, degraded from the priesthood and hand­ed over the secular authorities for punishment.

- Degradation of priest­hood was a separate cer­emony held before heresy            punishment.Tyndale was led before local bishops clad in his priest's robes. His hands were scraped with a knife - to symbolize the scraping away of the oil he had been anointed with. Bread and wine were put in his hands and then taken away to symbolize that he could not longer partake of sacraments. Lastly his priestly robe was taken from him as a final humiliation before he was handed over to the secular authorities.

-Compare, for interest's sake, Coverdale's Psalm 23, with your own version of it.

'The Lorde is my shepherde, I can wante nothinge.

He fedeth me in a grene pas­ture, and ledeth me to a fresh water.

He quickeneth my soule,

& bringeth me forth in the waye of rightuousnes for his names sake.

Though I shulde walke now in the valley of the shadowe of death,

yet I feare no euell,

for thou art with me: thy staffe & thy shepehoke comforte me.

Thou preparest a table before me agaynst mine enemies: Thou anoyntest my heade with oyle,

& fyllest my cuppe full.

Oh let thy louynge kyndnes & mercy folowe me all the dayes of my life,

that I maye dwell in the house off the Lorde for euer.