|
"It's not easy living in Antwerp, Master Meadows," William Tyndale
explained over chops and ale, "The Emperor Charles' writ runs strongly
in these parts and his magistrates have title love for translators of
the scriptures - they fear we might be Lutheran fanatics."
"Which you are not, Master Tyndale." It was almost a question.
"No terrorizer I, Master Meadows. A Christian man should not raise his
hand to a fellow Christian and should bow down to princes like the
Emperor and King Henry whom God hath appointed to their estates. But
mark that every man should know the mind of God, to read His scriptures
in that man's own tongue, to make a choice about what is right and
needful for salvation."
"Which is why," Tyndale continued, "That I am so grateful that a
merchant such as yourself should be willing to support with tithes the
work of my translation. In these fearful times faithful benefactors are
few. Mark, I have nearly finished Luke and then there is only the
Gospel of John and I can begin translating the epistles!"
William's dinner companion fastidiously pared a sliver of meat from his
chop with a knife. "To bring enlightenment to the blind, to spread
learning among humankind, these are worthy undertakings. You speak
highly of the King and Emperor. What of the Pope in Rome?"
Tyndale almost spat. Yet he knew enough not to speak ill loudly of the
Pope in such a public place. "The Pope is not my ruler. Mark, his
office is a fond thing vainly invented by men and grounded in no warrant
of scripture, but rather repugnant to the Word of God." The man
opposite nodded, silently.
Tyndale took another swig of the beer. He had warmed to his subject
now. "The biggest obstacle to our cause is not those who hold such fond
beliefs, you know. Often they are simple people of great faith who have
not thought, or have been caused to think, on what the sacrifice of
Christ really means.
"No, what threatens the kingdom is the growing number who have come to
doubt the Church of Rome but have no new faith to take its place in
their hearts. They believe nothing yet say nothing. Silent in the face
of error, they dare not question for fear of receiving civil punishments
rather than divine answers."
Master Meadows drained his mug and then stood up, as if to say he had
heard enough. Tyndale stood also. "Come Master Tyndale," the new
benefactor said, "We must go to my lodgings so I can give you the gold
you deserve."
| 