1 John Wicliffe.

John Wicliffe. At the time of which I am about to write, you, dear young friends, who are the children of many prayers, and who have been taught from your earliest infancy to lisp the sweet name of Jesus, can have little or no idea of the spiritual darkness that hung over our land. You have been accustomed all your lives to hear the bells ringing out all around you, calling you Sunday after Sunday to hear the Word of God. You have been taught sweet hymns, and sweeter texts, all about the saving love of our tender Saviour and you know that your confession of love to Christ would be received with the deepest joy and thanksgiving by your loving Christian parents. But if you had lived in the thirteenth century how different would have been your lot. There would have been none then to gently lead you to the feet of Jesus, telling you of His free grace and dying love. If perchance your conscience was troubled about your sins, and you said in trembling tones, "What must I do to be saved?" there would have been none to answer lovingly, "Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." A shaven priest with austere countenance would perhaps have taken you by the hand and leading you to some dreary cell, would have shewn you a gaunt man, with haggard face and weary eyes, prostrate before a cross, and with the marks of the scourge upon his back. He would have told you that this man was doing his best by prayers and penances to reach at last the kingdom of heaven, and he would have advised you to go and do likewise. If, appalled by the sight, you shrank away, thinking to put off till another day your soul’s salvation, a priest of quite another kind would perhaps have taken you under his care, and with a smile on his round red face would have told you of a far easier way to obtain the forgiveness of your sins. He would have whispered to you that the Church required money, and that by the payment of a certain sum he was able to forgive you all you had committed, or even would commit. The youngest of my readers would laugh to scorn such a thought, but in those days, from the king on the throne to the beggar by the wayside, there was scarcely one who would have dared to say, "God alone can forgive sins."

You will say, But how could this be! I will tell you. In all our fair land there was not a Bible written in a language that the people could understand, and so the sweet words of the Lord Jesus were unknown. Thus the people were kept in utter ignorance, under the power of priests and friars, many of them wicked men who kept the truth from the poor souls around them, that by so doing they might enrich themselves, and add to their own power. How early had those who called themselves the followers of the Lord Jesus Christ forgotten His words! He, the gentle lowly One, had said, "Ye are not of the world even as I am not of the world." He had taught them that he who would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven, must be the least. At this time the whole of Europe was under the power of one man, who called himself the Vicegerent of Christ upon earth. He was named Pope Innocent III. He professed to have the disposal of the souls of all men in his hand, and the power to send them to heaven or hell at his will. Kings trembled before him, for he was mightier than all earthly kings.

King John was then reigning over England; and, having dared to oppose the will of this mighty pontiff, all England was placed under his terrible edict. The king had offended, and the whole nation must be punished with him! We, with the brightness of heaven’s own truth shining around us, can have no idea of the terrors of such a sentence as this; but to the men of those days upon whom the doom fell, it meant that the gates of heaven were locked against them. All who died must wander wretched, unhappy spirits — in some doleful region until it pleased this dread Pope, who carried the keys, to open the gates and let them out. The whole country was plunged in the deepest gloom. The whole nation put on, as it were, sackcloth and ashes. Church doors were closed, lights on the altars were extinguished, bells ceased to ring, infants were baptized outside the church doors, the dead were buried in ditches and in fields; none dared rejoice, or eat flesh, or pay decent respect to his person or his clothing. King John braved this state of things for two years, but at last yielded to the will of the Pope. Craving an interview with the Pope’s legate he humbly resigned "England and Ireland to God, St. Peter, St. Paul, and to Pope Innocent." He consented to hold his dominions in trust only to the Church of Rome, and to pay to it the sum of twelve thousand marks yearly. Taking his crown, he laid it humbly at the feet of the legate, who, to show the mightiness of his master, spurned it with his foot as a worthless bauble, and then stooping down, he placed it on the head of the poor craven monarch. Never in the annals of England’s history was there a moment of deeper humiliation. But God had not forgotten poor dark priest-ridden England. The darkest part of the night is just before the breaking of the morning; and before long God would raise up one who would dare, in the face of Pope, bishops, and priests, denounce this wicked system of Popery. A light was about to gleam forth that should never be extinguished, but that should broaden and brighten until the world should be bathed in its glow.

John Wicliffe was born in the North Riding of Yorkshire, in the Manor house of the parish of Wicliffe, in the year 1324. Little or nothing is known of his boyhood, except that he was early destined for the Church, and received his first training at a seminary of the neighbourhood. At the age of sixteen he was sent to Merton College, at Oxford: he made rapid progress, and soon became noted for his learning. Fox says, "He was famously reputed for a great clerk and schoolmaster, and no less expert in all kinds of philosophy." But it was a higher and a deeper teaching that laid the foundation for Wicliffe’s greatness. Amongst the scholars of the day whose learning shed a lustre over the college was Branwadine; he had early been drawn to the study of the Bible, then written in Latin. His soul, weary of the empty philosophy of the day, had drank in the precious words of life. He rejoiced in the doctrines of free grace, and then, lifting the veil, he unfolded the way of life to the students who crowded round him with eager attention. Wicliffe was one of these students: and as he listened to the great master day by day, telling out the sweet story so new and strange, a light began to dawn upon him, and he learned to turn from all the wretched thoughts of the day, and seek only for truth as it was found in the Bible.

Just at this time the world was visited by a terrible pestilence, known in history as the "Black Death." It is said that "appearing first in Asia it took a westerly course, and swept on and on, carrying death and desolation everywhere. Even those who were on the ocean were not exempt from this awful disease. Ships were wafted to the ports silent and still, and all on board were found lying cold and lifeless." At last it reached England in one town only, as many as fifty in a day died, and were laid together in one deep pit. In London, Fox says, "the vehement rage thereof was so great, and did increase so much, that from the first of February till the beginning of May, in a churchyard then newly made in Smithfield, about two hundred corpses every day were buried, besides those which in other churchyards of the city were laid also." This awful visitation "sounded like the trumpet of the judgment day in the heart of Wicliffe." Again he went to his Bible, not now merely as a scholar, but as a poor lost sinner seeking salvation. The shadow of death was all around him, and in an agony of soul he went to God crying, "What must I do to be saved?" Standing on the brink of the pit, he says he felt how awful it was to go down into the eternal night and "inhabit everlasting burnings." After much agony of soul peace came, and in the joy of his escape from an everlasting doom, he felt what a trifling matter the mere life of the body was, compared to the everlasting life he had received for his soul. This blessed assurance never left him, and clad in this armour Wicliffe went forth into the battle.

If we consider the conspicuous place that Wicliffe occupied in the eyes of the world, it is remarkable how little is known of the merely personal incidents of his life.

We know that he had a singularly sweet charm of manner, arising from a rare humility, and that he led a blameless life in an age of great wickedness. From his portrait that has been preserved, we can form some idea of his personal appearance. The broad calm brow bespeaks severity of character; the firm set, yet kindly mouth tells of firmness tempered with gentleness; and the keen dark eyes show great penetration. Altogether the picture is of a man of noble aspect and commanding mien, and quite agrees with all we know of the character of the great Reformer. By this time Wicliffe had become bachelor of Theology, and the privilege had been granted him of giving public lectures in Oxford on the books of Scripture. The deep research needed for a work like this was of the greatest use to him, and he was becoming unwittingly prepared for his great life work — that of reforming the church. The strength of Wicliffe lay in his fearless submission to the Bible. Turning away from all other teachers, and from the dogmas of the thousand years that had gone before, he placed himself, like a little child, before the Word of God, and bowed to the voice of God speaking to Him in its pages. And as he pored over those luminous pages light began to dawn upon him, and he began to perceive what a darkness there was hanging, like a black pall, over England, and how his beloved country was groaning under a bondage worse than that of Egypt. At this time the country was infested with monks of different orders, black, white, and grey, emissaries of the Pope, who combined not only to blind the eyes of the people as to the truth of God, but to fleece them of their gold. The Pope, too, gave away all the richest livings (so-called) to foreign priests, who subverted the laws of the kingdom and devoured its substance. Heavy taxes were extorted from the people without the consent of the king, and sometimes this very money was turned against them, being sent away to support the war that the French were carrying on with us! You will understand this when I tell you the Pope himself was a Frenchman. And all this was done in the name of religion, by those who professed to be the followers of the gentle lowly Jesus.

What a horrible mockery must all this have appeared to Wicliffe, as he gazed at it in the light of Scripture. It must not be supposed that he saw the whole truth at once. It is God’s way to lead on a step at a time, but if the first step be taken in faith, He will surely give light for another and another, until the whole path, at first so dark, and so surrounded with bewildering mists, becomes sun clear. So it was with Wicliffe, and as the fetters began to be unloosed from his own soul, and the scales to fall from his eyes, he longed to free his poor countrymen from the galling Papal yoke. And now, with all the earnestness of his great soul, we find him by lectures and by writings doing his utmost to open the eyes of those around him. He taught the barons and commons of England that the Pope had no temporal power over the people; at the most he only had spiritual. "The Apostle Peter," said he, "never exacted money from any. Why does this man? Peter only took freewill offerings. What right, then, has Pope Urban to extort money from us, whether we will or not? His duty is to give spiritual counsel, not to fleece us of our gold. I find not in Scripture that God gave Peter temporal power over the kings of the earth, yet this man makes himself king of kings."

Such were the doctrines that he taught everywhere, until all England was becoming filled with them, and the halo that had encompassed the Papal fabric during the middle ages began to wane, and men took courage to look into a system to which before they had blindly submitted. And so the soul of England began to bound upward.

It was just at this time that Pope Urban, not reading as he might have done the signs of the times, advanced upon England a most insolent demand.

You will remember that I told you in my last paper how poor weak King John, a hundred years before this, gifted away his kingdom to Pope Innocent III., and how he promised to pay the yearly sum of a thousand marks to him. For the last thirty-five years this sum had been discontinued, when now it was suddenly demanded by the Pope with an intimation that should the king fail to pay not only the annual tribute, but all arrears, he would be at once summoned to Rome to answer to his liege lord, the Pope, for his disobedience. This was too much for a people who, although still submitting to Rome for its spiritual affairs, were beginning to feel very restive under these constant demands for money and subjection. It was too much, too, for King Edward III., the hero of Cressy and Poictiers, and with the laurels of his triumphs still fresh on his brow, to tamely submit to pay a thousand marks a year for wearing a crown that he was so well able to defend. No, the Pope had gone too far. Calling his Parliament together, the king laid the Pope’s insolent letter before them, and asked their advice upon the matter. They asked for one day to consider the subject, which the king readily granted. On the morrow all Parliament assembled to consider the momentous question — Shall England, now becoming mistress of the seas, bow at the feet of the Pope? It was a great crisis: and it is with deep interest that we look back and scan the earnest faces of that assembly. Wicliffe was there, and it is to him that we are indebted for an account of the speeches. And now it was that the great services of Wicliffe became manifest, for it is admitted by all that the sentiments expressed in Parliament were but the echo of his teachings at Oxford.

Without a dissentient voice, Parliament resolved to free England from the Papal tyranny, and an answer, short and decisive, was sent to the Pope. It run thus: "Forasmuch as King John nor any other king could bring his realm and kingdom into such thraldom but by common consent of Parliament, the which was not given, therefore that which he did was against his oath at his coronation, besides many other causes. If, therefore, the Pope should attempt anything against the king by process or other matters indeed the king with all his force should resist the same."

One man alone in the country stood up in defence of the Pope. A monk, whose name has not come down to us, boldly asserted that as the Pope was the vicar of Christ upon earth, he was the feudal superior of kings, and lords of their kingdoms. He maintained, therefore, that their obedience and tribute was his due; and further that King Edward had forfeited his throne by the nonpayment of the tribute. Then singling out Wicliffe by name, he challenged him to deny what he had advanced, thus proving that he knew full well who was the leader in this controversy. In spite of all the perils that made the task a hazardous one (for it was no light matter to defy the Papacy) Wicliffe boldly took up the challenge.

He did not at that time touch upon the spiritual power of the Pope, but contented himself by objecting to his temporal power. He pressed home the rights of men, the laws of England, and the precepts of holy writ. By all these he argued that the Papacy had no claim upon them as a country. "There cannot," said he, "be two temporal sovereigns in one country. Either Edward is King or Urban. We make our choice, we accept Edward of England and refuse Urban of Rome."

Perhaps in the whole of England’s history there was not a moment of graver interest than this. The eyes of all Europe were watching with the deepest anxiety, this conflict between England and the great power that was seeking to reduce the whole earth to vassalage; and the decision of England was hailed with joy by all nations as a great victory won in the cause of religious freedom.

I have told you all this, dear children, because I want you to understand the means God used to free our country from these Papal chains, and how he was opening the flood gates so that a river of truth might sweep over our land, bringing joy and gladness to the fainting souls who would stoop and drink. At this day you are enjoying benefits and blessings which resulted from this great triumph; and it must not be forgotten that although King Edward and his Parliament were in the foreground, Wicliffe was the real champion for the truth. The next great battle that Wicliffe was called upon to wage, was of quite a different kind. As he grew in the knowledge of the truth, we find that his merely political struggles gave place to battles for the truth of God. He began to perceive that the Papal spiritual power was utterly contrary to the Scriptures, and that if he would follow the one he must finally renounce the other. This decision was not come to without many sighs and groans.

One great crying evil was now beginning to force itself upon his notice, and roused his righteous soul to anger. At this time England was swarming with monks and friars of different orders, known as the mendicant Friars. Upon these men the Pope professed to have conferred the power of forgiving sins; and with such a hearty good will did they perform their office, that criminals of the deepest dye flocked to them for remission of their crimes. They sold to such, indulgences, or "pardons," the money for which they spent in erecting palatial buildings, and in sumptuous tables. "The sum of all piety," said they, "was to obey the Pope, pray to St. Frances, and to give alms to the friars." This unscriptural and corrupt system roused Wicliffe to intense opposition, for well he knew the great gulf that was fixed between salvation by the blood of the Lamb, and pardon by the Pope. About this time he published his "Objections to the Friars," and grandly does he preach in it the Gospel to them, and to his countrymen. "There cometh," says he, "no pardon but of God. The indulgences of the Popes, if they are what they say they be, are a manifest blasphemy. Think not that God has given the keys to Innocent of Rome; think not that the friar carries heaven in his wallet; think not that God sends His pardons wrapped up in bits of paper which the mendicants carry about with them, and which they sell for a piece of silver. Listen to the voice of the Gospel: "Ye are not redeemed with corruptible things, such as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, the Lamb without blemish and without spot." "Oh everyone that thirsteth, come ye to the waters. Come ye, buy and eat, yea come buy wine and milk without money and without price." Thus did Wicliffe begin to preach the acceptable year of the Lord, and to proclaim liberty to the captive, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound.

Wicliffe was now beloved and reverenced by the people, and trusted and honoured by the king. As a proof of this we find his name placed second in the list of delegates, who were sent to Pope Gregory XI. in the year 1374. They were sent to him in the hope that a grievance that was growing almost intolerable might be remedied. They prayed that the foreign priests, who by the Pope’s agency were occupying all the best livings in England, and draining the land of its wealth, might be removed, and that the king should have the power to appoint whom he would. For two years these delegates were kept at Bruges, negotiating about the matter, but all to little or no purpose, for the Pope would give them no satisfactory answer. At the end of that time Wicliffe returned home, weary and disheartened at the poor result of this mission. But the time had not been wasted, and doubtless God had ordered his visit there so that he might see, with his own eyes, the iniquity of the Papacy. The nearer he came to the so-called sacred city, and the throne of God’s high priest upon earth, the more his soul revolted from the avarice, ambition, and hypocrisy, that abounded there. He found this Rome to be a scene of false priests, clothed, not in the beauty of holiness, but in far other vesture. It was all a cheat and a lie; and this great true-hearted man, with his soul filled with indignation, came home to proclaim it so in trumpet tones, that rang through the land. In his public lectures he now spoke of the Pope as “Antichrist, the proud worldly priest of Rome."

Soon after his return from Bruges he was appointed by the king to the rectorship of Lutterworth, Leicestershire, and from his pulpit there, and from his chair in Oxford, he shrank not to oppose with boldness and eloquence, the blasphemous assumptions of the Pope. His sentiments soon began to find an echo in public opinion. The murmurs of the people became louder against the foreign monks, and not long after this the Parliament — well called the "Good Parliament" — proclaimed that the Pope should no longer have power to install his foreign favourites here, and that "no Papal collector or proctor should remain in England under pain of life and limb."

Great was the rage of the Pope at this measure, and loudly did he storm, but all to no purpose. England remained firm; and so was won a more lasting victory and one nobler in its efforts than that of Cressy or Poictiers.

Think not that Wicliffe could thus daringly oppose the Papacy without suffering. We read that, "The whole glut of monks and begging friars were set in a rage of madness, which (even as hornets with their stings) did assail this good man on every side." The Pope ordered his writings to be examined; and his doctrines, you may be sure, highly incensed the Papal court. If the world came to be of Wicliffe’s opinion, farewell to the spiritual and temporal power of the Popes. Bulls, or edicts, were sent to England; one to the Archbishop of Canterbury, one to the king, and the last to Oxford. They were all of one tenor, blaming the English clergy for not having crushed long ere now this dangerous heretic, and commanding them to take steps at once to silence him. But though they thirsted for his blood, God took care of him, and in a most wonderful manner preserved him from their hands.

You see he had a great work to do for God, and not all the power of earth or hell could touch him until it was finished. He came out from the furnace with garments unsinged.

Each time that he was brought before his judges, we are struck with the calm dignity of his mien. He was first called to appear at Our Lady’s Chapel, in St. Paul’s, to answer for his teaching. He did not stand alone, for the bold baron, John of Gaunt, and Lord Percy, Earl Marshall of England, pushed roughly through the crowd of monks that surrounded him, and took their stand by his side. If not on religious, on political grounds they then held the Reformer in high esteem, and they were determined to support him when he was before the tribunal of bishops.

"Percy," said Bishop Courtney sharply, more offended at seeing the humble rector of Lutterworth so powerfully attended, than at their rough passage through the church, "had I known what masteries you would have kept in the church, I would have kept you from coming in hither."

"He shall keep such masteries though you say nay," said John of Gaunt, gruffly.

"Sit down, Wicliffe," said Percy, "sit down, you have many things to answer for, and have need to repose yourself on a soft seat."

"He must and shall stand," said Courtney, still more chafed, "it is unreasonable that one on his trial before his ordinary should sit."

"Lord Percy’s proposal is but reasonable," said burly John of Gaunt; "and as for you," addressing bishop Courtney, "who are grown so proud and arrogant, I will bring down the pride, not only of you, but that of all the prelacy in England." To this menace the bishop made some hypocritical remark about his trust being not in man, but in God, when suddenly the church doors were burst open by an angry mob, demanding the release of Wicliffe. Their clamour drowned the voices of the bishops, and all was now in confusion and uproar. To proceed with the trial was impossible. The bishops, in a sad fright, hastily retreated, and Wicliffe, who had never spoken, quietly returned home. So the Lord delivered him from them.

It was not till a year after that he was again ordered to appear before Archbishop Sudbury. When the day came for his trial, an immense crowd besieged the doors of the palace of Lambeth, and when he appeared they opened reverently to allow him to pass. As many as could pressed in after him, and soon filled the chapel. The primate and his peers, not liking the appearance of things, were consulting together how they might best turn out or silence the intruders, when a messenger entered with a letter, the contents of which filled them with consternation. It was a message from the Queen Mother, forbidding the bishops to pass sentence on Wicliffe. The dismay of the prelates was unbounded, and the proceedings were instantly stopped. "As reeds shaken by the wind they became," said one who describes the scene, "and their speech turned soft as oil, to the public loss of their dignity, and the damage of the church." In all the tumultuous assembly, Wicliffe alone stood in calmness and self-possession. A second time had the Lord fought the battle for him, and again he passed from his accusers uncondemned and unhurt. But a time was coming when his powerful friends would fall back and leave him, and when God would train His servant to walk alone with Him. There comes a moment in the lives of all those who would be faithful to the Lord (it may come to you, dear children) when they feel painfully that their place is one of isolation and loneliness. The voice of Christ comes to them from over the dark, stormy deep, as it came to Peter, saying "Come;" and if they would be true, they must follow, though friends look coldly upon them, and loved faces grow strange and distant.

Wicliffe was soon to pass into a region unknown to the powerful friends, who loved him merely as a patriot; a region that bold, kindly-hearted John of Gaunt and Earl Percy could not enter, and yet it was a place where, of all others, the sublimity of faith could be displayed, for he walked alone there with his God.

Just before the time that Wicliffe commenced his great life-work — the translation of the Bible — he fell sick, nigh unto death. Unbounded was the joy of the monks. "Now," said they, "he will be overwhelmed with borrow and remorse for all his evil deeds," so they would go to him and receive his last message of penitence and sorrow. In a very short time his bedside was surrounded by shaven monks, exhorting him as one on the brink of the grave to make full confession, and express his deep grief for all the injuries he had inflicted on their orders. Wicliffe lay quite silent until they had made an end of their speeches; then, asking his servant to raise him on his pillow, he fixed his keen eyes upon them and said sternly, "I shall not die, but live, and declare the evil deeds of the friars." In dismay and astonishment, the monks rushed from the room, and soon his words were verified, for his sickness left him, and he rose from his bed to commence his most glorious work — that of giving to the English people the Bible in their own tongue. It was to the ignorance of God’s will that Wicliffe traced the evils that afflicted our kingdom.

Pope Gregory, one of the greatest of Wicliffe’s enemies, was just at this time stricken down by death, and the cardinals met together to elect another Pope. As most of them were Frenchman, the Roman people were fearful that they would again choose one of their own countrymen to fill the Papal chair. So with loud tumults and terrible threats, they surrounded the palace where the cardinals were assembled, and demanded that a Roman should be elected for their Pope. "Not a cardinal should leave the court alive," they said, "unless their demand was complied with." So to appease the mob, an Italian was chosen. However, the cardinals soon grew tired of this Pope, who proved to be a mean, selfish man, and fleeing to France, they declared their former election to be null, seeing it was made under pressure, and they now elected a Frenchman. So was created the great controversy that raged in Christendom for over half-a-century.

It was with feelings, almost of horror, that all good Catholics saw the Papal throne as it were divided, and two men, each of whom claimed to be the Pope. The great question that all felt called on now to settle, was Which is the true Pope? Into whose hand has God committed the keys of heaven and hell? Their souls’ salvation hung, they believed, on the solution of this question. The Christian world was rent in twain.

Popes were hurling curses at one another’s heads, and torrents of blood were being shed by their devoted followers. In the midst of these thunderings of Papal wrath, the humble rector, Wicliffe, was forgotten.

Far away from this seething, surging ocean of contention, he retired, and in the midst of his beloved flock at Lutterworth, he sought the rest and quiet he so much needed.

Far off was the din of strife and battle, but the sounds broke and died away before they reached his peaceful rectory. And here, with God’s fair country all around him, and forgotten by his enemies, he commenced his sublime work — the translation of the Bible.

Spring, with its fair flowers and sweet wild-voiced songsters, came and found him at his work; June’s roses lived and died, and shed their crimson petals, and autumn’s golden sheaves were gathered in, and yet he laboured on. Winter, with its frost and snow and red-breasted robins, came and went, and still the white-haired man bent unweariedly over his God-appointed task.

Four times the seasons rolled away before he rose, and said, "My work is done." We can imagine how great his joy would be, when he was able to place in the hands of his countrymen their true Magna Charta. He knew that this Book would be to them as a pillar of fire, leading them on into happy liberty. Yes, the long night of England was near its close, and its realms were about to be flooded with the glorious light of the scriptures, before which the ghostly terrors and superstitious fears of the people would flee away, as night phantoms before the beams of day.

It mattered not to Wicliffe what they did now with his body; they might rack or burn it as they pleased, but they could never extinguish the light that he had kindled.

But, although the translation was finished, there was still the laborious work of publishing to be commenced. There were no printing presses in those days, whereby thousands of copies could be produced in a very short time. All the copying had to be done by the hand, and such was the interest that Wicliffe’s work created, that a hundred expert copyists came forward and offered their services in multiplying the Bible. Great was the joy of the English people, when, for the first time, they read the tender, loving promises of God in their mother-tongue.

Long had they been kept afar from Him, by priests and bishops, and now they learnt with exceeding gladness, that He had Himself made an open way to the divine mercy seat, and that even as a tender Father yearning for his children, He had devised means, "that his banished be not expelled from him." They needed not, as Rome had taught, the intercession of numberless saints, that were dead. There was but one Mediator, even Christ, and in that sweet name they found that they could boldly approach God’s throne. The blessed tidings sped with amazing rapidity. In humble cot and lordly hall the silent messenger entered, and often found a welcome; and broken hearts were healed, and wearied ones found rest. Great was the consternation of the priests when they discovered what Wicliffe had done. They had been hoping that the old man would soon die, and that his work would be stamped out, but now they saw that another Preacher was to take his place mightier than he; One that they could not bind nor burn. A great clamour was raised. He was called a heretic, a sacrilegious man, who had committed a crime unheard of in former times; for he had taken the sacred things of God, and had cast them before common men, like pearls before swine, only, said they, to be trampled under foot.

Again was he called upon to appear before his judges to answer for his blasphemous conduct. No great man or baron stood by him now. He stood alone, and with calm dignity faced his accusers. A vast company had assembled to witness his trial. With his venerable head uncovered, and with his steady searching gaze fixed upon his enemies, he commenced his defence and such was his rare eloquence and unflinching boldness, that he won the admiration even of those who were against him. He would retract nothing, and would neither crave nor accept acquittal at their hands. Such was the grand dignity with which he spoke, that he and his accusers seemed to have changed places. He was the judge, and they were at his bar. So smitten were they by his words that sped like arrows to their hearts, that they could neither move nor speak. "Ye are the heretics," said he in closing, "not I. With whom, think you, are you contending? With an old man on the brink of the grave? No! with truth — truth which is stronger than you, and which will overcome you!" And then he turned and left the court. His enemies had no power to stop him. Even as his divine Master at Nazareth, he passed through the midst of them. But the time had almost come for the faithful servant to be called home. The primate, the king, and the Pope were working together to compass his destruction. Wicliffe himself expected soon to receive a violent death. A "chariot of fire" he thought would carry him to the skies. But God had willed it otherwise. One fair Lord’s Day morning, when he was surrounded by his beloved people at Lutterworth, the message came. They were all in the little rural church that Wicliffe loved so much. The little church, where, in the summer-time the fragrant breezes blew in through open windows framed in ivy, and where the birds’ songs mingled with their hymns of praise. It was in the midst of this peaceful scene, and while he was in the act of blessing the bread and wine before administering the Lord’s Supper, that the Voice came to him saying, "Come up hither." His grief-stricken brethren lifted him gently from the pavement where he had fallen, and carried him home to the rectory, where, ere the day closed, he quietly passed away. And so ended his noble life.

Through the appalling darkness of the middle ages, Wicliffe shines out like a star of the first magnitude. Well has he been called the day star of the Reformation, for with his rise the night of Christendom began to flee away.

There is very much of Wicliffe’s life that I have been unable to touch upon. I have merely glanced at some of the leading features of his long life work. Much relating to his doctrinal controversies you would not be interested in, and could scarcely understand; but I hope I have said enough to enable you to think with reverential interest of one of God’s greatest men.