5 Ulric Zwingle.

Ulric Zwingle. In the south-east of Switzerland is the long and narrow valley of the Tockenburg. Here, in a quaint little cottage standing on a green meadow, its walls formed of the stems of trees, its roof weighed down with stones to protect it from the mountain gusts, and with a limpid stream flowing before it, was born about three hundred years ago, Ulric Zwingle. His father, Huldric Zwingle, was greatly respected by his neighbours for his upright character as well as for his office, for he was the bailiff of the parish. He was a shepherd, and his summers were passed in company with his sons on the mountains tending his sheep.

Day by day as the verdure mounted higher on the mountain sides, the shepherds with their flocks continued to ascend. As the long days of midsummer came, the herds would browse on the very skirts of the eternal snows, where a luxuriant herbage was nourished by the burning July sun, and the waters of the melting ice. When the long night and the fading pasturage told them the winter was drawing nigh, they would descend by the same stages as they had mounted, and arrive at their home by the time the autumn winds were beginning to wail through the valleys. In such high-lying localities as the Tockenburg, little out-door work can be done as long as the winter, so wild and dreary, holds its reign on the mountain tops, and darkens the valleys with mists and tempests. Then the peasants, assembling by turns at each other’s hearths, beguiled the long evenings with songs and musical instruments, or by brave tales of adventurous exploits. Many a story would be told of shepherds climbing the precipice to rescue some silly sheep which had strayed from the fold, or braving the furious tempest to save the life of a comrade lost in the snow.

Often, while the glare of the blazing firwood lit the room with its crimson glare, would young Ulric listen with kindling eye to such tales of valour, or to others and still more daring deeds, performed on the field of battle, where their fathers were wont to meet the spearmen of Austria, or the steel-clad warriors of Gaul.

Thus was the spirit of valour kept alive in the boy, and his brave, lofty, liberty-loving nature strengthened from year to year. But in that little cottage was another who was destined to take a part in the training of the future Reformer, and this was the boy’s grandmother. Often would she call him to her, and making him sit beside her, would tell him of heroes of a far loftier type than those who had shed their blood for their country. She would tell him of those mighty men of valour taken by God from the plough, the sheep-fold, or the vineyard, who drove back the enemies of the Most High with great slaughter. She would tell him of those grand patriarchal shepherds of old — Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob — who fed their flocks on the hills of Palestine of old, with whom the Lord God deigned to converse. Or she would take him to the cradle of Bethlehem, to the cross of Calvary, or to the open sepulchre from whence the glorious Redeemer had walked forth unharmed from the darkness of the tomb. Then she would tell him of the first missionaries hurrying away to tell the great news of the Gospel, of their persecution, of their fortitude under terrible trials, and often of their cruel death. Thus, day by day, was the young Zwingle trained for his future great task.

Doubtless the grand aspects of nature around him contributed their share in the formation of his character. It could not be but that the sight of the dashing cataract, and the towering mountain peaks, the sound of the torrents’ roar, and the echoing voice of the mighty thunder helped to elevate his soul, and fill it with sublime awe. With delight his father marked the amiable disposition and the truthful character of his son, for very early the fruits of the Spirit were manifested in him.

He saw, too, in him, manifestations of a lively genius, and soon perceived that he was fitted by nature for a higher occupation than that of tending sheep. When Ulric was eight years old it was found necessary to provide him with better instruction than could be found in his native valley. His father resolved to send him to his uncle, the Dean of Wesen, and place him under his superintendence. And so one day the father and son climbed the green summits of the Ammon: and from these heights, for the first time, young Ulric caught his first glimpse of the world, lying around his native valley of Tockenburg. The Dean loved the boy as though he had been his own. He sent him to the public school, but very soon the quick genius of the boy had enabled him to take in the slender stock of knowledge which the teacher had to impart, and it became necessary to send him to another school. His father and uncle decided to send him to Basle. And now Ulric left behind him the white peaks of the mountains, and passed on to the fertile district of the Rhine.

Young Zwingle was very fortunate in regard to the master under whose care he was placed at Basle. He was a man of gentle temper and a loving heart; under his care his pupils made great progress, and very soon Zwingle distanced his schoolmates and stood abreast of his teacher. Again it became necessary to change his school, and now it was determined to send him to the most distinguished school at that time in Switzerland, that of Berne; and now, bidding adieu to the carpet-like meadows and gentle hills of Basle, Zwingle recrossed the Jura and stood once more in sight of the mighty peaks of the Shrikhorn and the Eijer, and, towering above all, the pearly summits of the Jung Frau.

Lupullus, the master under whose care Zwingle was placed at Berne, was accomplished beyond the measure of his day. He had travelled over Italy, Greece, and Syria, and had mastered the long-forgotten tongues of these celebrated countries. And while feasting his eyes upon their exquisite scenery, he had drank in the spirit of the Roman and Greek poets and orators, and so was well able to communicate the fervour of ancient liberty and philosophy to his pupils. The genius of Zwingle rapidly expanded under such a master, and it was no wonder that in such sympathetic company, and with nature around him in its sublimest form, that his poetic vein was developed, and his style became marked for its classical and chastened beauty. He cultivated, too, his musical talents; and often, when weary with his intellectual pursuits, he would take his lute and soothe his tired mind with the beautiful airs of his native land, or wandering out along the banks of the Rhine, or climbing the mountains of the Black Forest, would awake the echoes with his tuneful horn. His frank, joyous, open nature soon drew around him a large circle of friends, among whom was Leo Juda, the most loved of all. He shared Zwingle’s two master passions — the love of truth and the love of music, — and when the hours of labour were fulfilled, they would mingle the sounds of their instruments and voices in soul-stirring harmonies. A covenant of friendship was formed between them that lasted till death.

It was by this loved friend that Zwingle was led to the feet of Wittembach, — one who was destined to exert no small influence over his pupil’s future life.

Thomas Wittembach was a native of Bienne, in Switzerland, and a disciple of Reuchlin, the famous Hebraist. But he had a higher wisdom than any he could glean from man, for he had drank deeply at the fountains of divine knowledge. From his lips Zwingle first heard and received the wondrous and (to him) astounding doctrine, that "The death of Christ is the only ransom for our souls."

It was not long after this that the door was opened which ushered him into the arena of his great labours. At this juncture, the Pastor of Glarus died, and the people of Glarus, who were mostly shepherds, having heard of the repute of the son of their neighbour, the Bailiff of Wildhaus, sent an invitation to Zwingle to become their pastor. He accepted the invitation, was ordained at Constance, and arrived at Glarus to begin his work. This took place in the year 1506, Zwingle being then in his twenty-second year.

"He became a priest," says Myconius, "and devoted himself with his whole soul to the search after divine truth, for he was well aware how much he must know to whom the flock of Christ is entrusted." But yet, at this time, he was a more ardent student of the ancient classics than of the Scriptures, and it was now that he founded a Latin school at Glarus. The youth of the best families of his parish were sent to him, and were won over by him to the cause of letters and noble aims; and soon, in place of the gross licentiousness of manner that had — united with a fiery martial spirit — distinguished the inhabitants of Glarus, they became noted for unwonted refinement of style. But now a pause came in his classical studies, for the men of Glarus with their cardinal-bishop at their head, marched out by order of their war-like Pope, Julius II., to encounter the French on the plains of Italy, and fight for "The Church." Ulric Zwingle was compelled to accompany them. And now it was that a ray of light found its way into his mind, and his eyes began to open to the abominations of the Papal system which, with its wars and intrigues, was bringing such misery and beggary upon his native land. Could such a system be of God?

Turning from the classic writers, whom he had so enthusiastically admired, but who were so powerless to help him now, the young priest placed himself before the Word of God, to see if he could discover there, God’s mind upon the matter. This study of the Word had a blessed effect upon Zwingle. From the gloomy wilderness of scholastic philosophy, with all its barrenness and confusion, he turned with delight to the smiling fertile fields of Scripture, and there found food for his soul.

"The Scriptures," said he in a burst of joy, "come from God, not from man, and even that God which enlightens will give thee to understand that the speech comes from God. The Word of God cannot fail; it is bright, it teaches itself, it discloses itself, it illumines the soul with all salvation and grace, comforts it in God, humbles it, so that it loses and even forfeits itself, and embraces God in itself." And thus, like our own Wycliffe, Zwingle placed himself like a little child before the Bible, and submitted himself to its teachings; and so, while all was densely dark around him, the light of truth broke upon him direct from heaven.

While he was thus occupied in searching the Scriptures, and communicating its truths to those around him, he was invited (1516) to be preacher in the Convent of Einsiedeln. Its Abbot was a gentleman of rank, who cared nothing for the superstitious usages of the Church, and who in his heart had no affection for the mass, and who had dropped the celebration of it. The Convent of Einsiedeln was beautifully situated. It stood on an eminence close to the lovely town of Zurich. Near by were the noble expanses of water forming the lakes of Zurich and Wallenstadt. Their gently swelling banks were clothed here with smiling vineyards, and there with sombre pine forests. It looked down upon peaceful hamlets, where white villas enlivened the scene, while far away on the horizon the gleaming glaciers blended with the golden clouds. To this lovely spot Zwingle retired but not to bury himself. In this convent was a shrine, which was the most famous in all Switzerland, for it boasted an image of the Virgin, which had the alleged power of working miracles. At all seasons of the year parties of pilgrims could be seen toiling up the mountain side, carrying in one hand tapers to be burned in honour of "Our Lady of Einsiedeln," and in the other money to buy the pardons which were sold at her shrine. Deeply moved was Zwingle by the sight, and he saw now why God had brought him hither. With a heart bleeding with pity for them he told them that all in vain had they come this long journey, that they were no nearer God on the mountain-top than in the valley; that they were on no holier ground before the shrine than in their own closets; that they were spending "their money for that which is not bread, and their labour for that which satisfieth not." But Zwingle was not satisfied with reproving them for their superstition. He preached to them the Gospel; he spoke to them of Christ and Him crucified; he told them of the loving tender One, who had died for them, and who was waiting even now with yearning heart to receive them. One who wanted not their fastings, scourgings, and vigils, but who delighted in a "contrite heart." As "cold water" to one who is athirst seemed the preacher’s words to many weary souls. Not in vain had been their toilsome journey. Such "good news" as this was well worth coming for and returning with a well of peace in their hearts they published abroad the strange and welcome tidings.

Ere long the well-worn pilgrim track began to be disused, the shrine to which it led forsaken, and so it came about that the chief stronghold of darkness in all Switzerland was converted into a centre of God’s own light. In 1519 Zwingle was chosen as preacher in the Cathedral of Zurich. At this time Zurich was the chief town of the Swiss Confederation, and every word spoken from the pulpit here had double power. Well did Zwingle know this, and he determined with the help of God, that His truth should be sounded out from this place, and resound to all the cantons; and faithfully and boldly did this intrepid man rebuke superstition, and preach the Gospel.

Soon the repute of his wondrous eloquence spread far and wide, and multitudes were drawn to attend his sermons.

Beneath him, crowding every bench, sat men of all ranks and conditions, and as the calm face of the ocean reflects the sky that is hung above it, so did the upturned faces respond to the varied emotions of the fervid preacher. With what delight did he tell out in simple, clear, yet earnest words, the story of a "free salvation" — a gift sent down from God to be received without money and without price! How thrillingly tender grew his tones as with winning words of love, he beseeched men in Christ’s stead to be reconciled to God!

What strange, what wondrous tidings were these for the poor priest-ridden Swiss! Bending forward with intense eagerness, the audience drank in his words, and men were heard to say one to the other as they retired from the cathedral, "Glory be to God! This man is a preacher of the truth. He will be our Moses to lead us out of Egyptian darkness." And so a fountain of new life seemed opened at the heart of Switzerland. Earnest students everywhere were poring over the pages of Scripture, and earnestly calling upon God for light to enable them to understand its meaning. And God heard their prayers: for thousands had their eyes opened to see Christ the Saviour as the all-perfect sacrifice for sin, and in their joy, unable to keep silence, they told out to others around the blessed truth which they had learned.

We have seen in another place how, at this very time, Rome had prepared a great market for the sale of indulgences or pardons for sin. And we have also seen how, while in Germany, she was sending out her hawkers, stamping her indulgence tickets, and fixing the price of sins, God was sending out His evangelists to preach the true Gospel of forgiveness without money and without price. And so we will find that in the same wonderful way God was preparing hearts in Switzerland to resist the tide of evil that was about to sweep over the land. The sale of indulgences in Switzerland was given into the care of one Barnardin Samson, guardian of the convent at Milan. "He discharged his mission in Helvetia," says Gerdesius, "with not less impudence than Tetzel in Germany." Forcing his way through the snows of the St. Gothard, and descending along the stream of the Reuss, he and his band arrived in the canton of Uri. A few days sufficed to fleece these simple mountaineers, and the greedy troop passed on to Schwitz. As soon as Zwingle heard of their approach he set out to confront them. The result was Samson was obliged to decamp, and from Schwitz he went on to Zug. Here he set up his stage and displayed his wares, while crowds from the little towns on the lake came forth eager to purchase the Pope’s pardons.

Samson continued his journey, filling his coffers as he went, until he approached Zurich. And now he heard that Zwingle was thundering against him from his pulpit in the cathedral. Notwithstanding this he pressed on, thinking, doubtless, that he would soon silence the preacher. As he approached, Zwingle waxed the bolder and plainer. "God only can forgive," said the preacher, with a solemnity that awed his hearers, "none on earth can pardon sin. You may buy this man’s papers, but be assured you are not absolved. He who sells indulgences is a sorcerer like Simon Magus; a false prophet like Balaam; an ambassador of the king of the bottomless pit, for to these dismal portals rather than to the gates of paradise do indulgences lead." When Samson reached Zurich he found its gates closed against him. Not in vain had the Gospel of the grace of God been ringing in the ears of the people. And with great thankfulness Zwingle saw Samson ignominiously sent away without selling a single pardon. Not long after this another terrible visitant appeared in Switzerland, and was used by God to help on His own work. This was no less than the plague, or "Great Death." It broke out in the August of that same year, (1519), and spread from valley to valley with terrible rapidity, inflicting frightful ravages everywhere. What a mockery to the poor dying creatures seemed now the pardons which a few months back they were so eager to purchase! Soon it reached Zurich, and Zwingle, who had gone to the baths of Pfeffers to recruit his exhausted health, hastened back to his flock. Day and night he spent almost all his time at the bedsides of the sick, whispering words of life-giving comfort to many an agonised sinner’s heart, and sustaining his brethren in the faith with holy cheer, while the cold waters of death were closing around them. At last he, too, was stricken down, and lay at the very point of death. While he was utterly prostrate, and with all hope of life taken away, he breathed forth this little hymn, so simple, and yet so full of faith and gentle resignation: —

"Lo, at the doorI hear Death’s knock! Shield me, O Lord,My Strength and Rock.The hand once nailed Upon the tree,Jesus, uplift,And shelter me.Willest Thou, then,Death, conquer me In my noon-day?So let it be!Oh! may I die,Since I am Thine;Thy house is madeFor faith like mine." And so we see him at the very point of death firmly trusting in the Gospel he had preached. God brought him to this awful test, and then, in His mercy restored him to health, and sent him forth, chastened, solemnised, and purified, to preach again this Gospel which he had found enough to sustain his own soul at the very portals of the grave.

It was a solemn moment when Zwingle and the citizens of Zurich again assembled at the Cathedral. They were only just emerging from under the awful shadow of the Great Death." Their beloved pastor had been given back to them from the very portals of the grave; most of them were mourning the absence of some dear one who had left a vacant chair at their fireside, and solemn deathbed scenes were still fresh before their minds. In the presence of all this how bright had shone this new gospel, this reformed faith, brought to them by their pastor! Chastened and subdued they listened as they had never listened on any other occasion, to words spoken by Zwingle with an earnestness never heard before. And now the Zurichers needed no argument to convince them that his words were true. They had seen how the old popish religion, with all its pomp and ceremonies, had failed them utterly at the moment of their souls’ direct need. What could it do to sustain their souls at the point of death? Nothing. When the awful gloom of its shadow was upon them, lo! its lights had gone out, and they were left in utter darkness.

How different from this had they found the warm life-giving love of the Saviour. A love which, once received, penetrated the whole being, quickening, purifying, comforting, filling the conscience with peace, and the heart with joy. The Cathedral, although a large building was too small for the crowds that flocked to it, and Zwingle laboured indefatigably to diffuse the life-giving doctrines for which their souls were craving, and God so caused his work to thrive that in 1519, in a letter to Myconius, Zwingle says that "at Zurich upward of 2,000 souls had been so nourished and strengthened by the milk of the truth, that they could now bear stronger food, and anxiously longed for it."

It was impossible that a movement like this could be confined within the walls of Zurich; and so we find that the light diffused from it soon began to radiate the mountain tops of Eastern Switzerland. The precious seeds of truth which were being wafted far and wide, were destined to take root and germinate, and many of the Helvetine cantons were at no distant day released from the debasing yoke of papal tyranny. With intense interest did Zwingle perceive the rays of divine truth penetrating into his dear native valley of Tockenburg. To many there he was bound by the sweet associations of his youth, and by ties of blood and friendship.

Hearing the villagers were about to assemble to decide whether they should receive the new doctrine or continue in the faith of their fathers, he addressed a letter to them in which he said, "I praise and thank God who has called me to the preaching of His Gospel, that He has led you, who are so dear to my heart, out of the Egyptian darkness of false human doctrines, to the wondrous light of His Word." Then he goes on to earnestly exhort them to add to their profession of the Gospel, the practice of every gospel virtue, and thus bring glory to it and profit to their own souls. "This letter," says Wylie, "decided the victory of Protestantism in the Reformer’s native valley. The Council and the community in the same summer, 1524, made known their will to the clergy, "That the Word of God be preached with one accord." In 1525, Zwingle commenced his work of protesting against monastic establishments. He showed that these institutions were alike contrary to the laws of nature, the affections of the heart, and the precepts of Scripture. "To snore behind the walls of a cloister," said Zwingle in one of his sermons, "is not to worship God. But to visit widows, and orphans, that is to say, the destitute in their afflictions, and keep one’s self unspotted from the world, this is to worship God."

"As melts the ice on the summit of the Alps when spring sets in," says Wylie, "so did the monastic asceticism of Zurich give way before the warm breath of evangelism." In June 17, 1523, the Council of Zurich gave permission to the nuns to return to society, and numbers quitted the cloisters for ever. The next year a resolution was passed to reform the monasteries. Fearing that the monks would offer resistance to the dissolution of their orders, the Council wisely decided to take them by surprise. One afternoon the members of the Council, accompanied by delegates from the various guilds, the three city ministers, and followed by the town militia, presented themselves in the Augustine monastery. Summoning the inmates into their presence, they told them that by command of their Council their Order was dissolved. The monks, taken by surprise, and awed by the sight of the armed men, yielded at once and so, without a struggle, the victory was gained.

Soon after this, Zwingle publicly married a lady of great beauty and noble character, Anna Reinhard, and this marked the completion of another stage in the Swiss Reformation, for by so doing he set at nought the unscriptural law forbidding ministers to marry. Many others took advantage of the change in the law as to marriage, among others, Leo Juda, Zwingle’s friend. And thus step by step, and very peacefully, the movement advanced.

Space will not allow us to follow Zwingle much further, or we could tell how he attacked the worshipping of saints and images, and how the time came when all the useless images were removed from their churches, and men came together to worship God without any of these idolatrous adjuncts. Still further than this did God’s truth, through His servant Zwingle, advance. This led to the doing away of the popish mass, and to the people partaking of the Lord’s Supper, in the simple way laid down in the Scriptures. This was first done on the Thursday of Easter week. The gorgeous altar was replaced by a wooden table covered with a white cloth, on which were placed two wooden plates of bread, and wooden goblets filled with wine. The words in 1 Corinthians 11:20-29 were read, prayers were offered, a hymn was sung, a short address delivered, and then the bread and wine was partaken of by those in communion.

"This celebration of the Lord’s Supper," says Christoffel, "was accompanied with blessed results. An altogether new love to God and the brethren sprang up, and the words of Christ received spirit and life. The brotherly love of the first centuries of Christianity returned to the Church with the Gospel." "Peace has her habitation in our town," wrote Zwingle, "no quarrel, no hypocrisy, no envy, no strife. Whence can such union come but from the Lord, and His doctrine, which fills us with the fruits of peace and piety."

It would have been well if Zwingle had been content to serve his Lord by preaching the true Gospel and denouncing the errors of the papacy. But, alas, he was not. He forgot, or perhaps never knew, that our citizenship is not an earthly one, and that as a Christian it was no work of his to endeavour to set right that which he found so wrong governmentally. He did not see why the Protestant states should not resist, to the extent of the power which God had given them, the treacherous plots which were being hatched on all sides for the destruction of their faith and liberty. And so the Reformer who ought to have been a son of peace, took up the sword to fight for the maintenance of the truth which God had revealed through his word to him.

Thus it came about that Zwingle died on the battlefield. On the 9th. of Oct. 1531, the five Cantons who disapproved of the Reformation declared war against Zwingle and his adherents, and on the 10th. the Zurichers received the alarming intelligence that a large army were marching towards them. About 700 men went out to meet them, Zwingle going with them as army chaplain. But although they fought we are told, with the bravery of lions, yet they did not succeed. They became entangled in a bog and were surrounded, and nearly all cut to pieces by the infuriated papists.

Although Zwingle was on the battle field he did not use the sword, but restricted himself to his duties as chaplain. While stooping down to whisper words of comfort to a dying man he was struck with a stone upon the head, and fell to the earth. Recovering a little he rose, but a spear dealt him a fatal stab and he lay bleeding to death upon the ground. "What matters it," he was heard to murmur, "they may kill the body but they cannot kill the soul." These were his last words. As he lay on the ground, his hands clasped and his lips moving in prayer, some of the camp followers who were prowling around came upon him. Seeing that he was dying, they said, "Do you wish for a priest to confess yourself?" Zwingle was past speaking, but he shook his head. "At least" they said, "call in your heart upon the mother of God." Again he shook his head. Curious to see who this obstinate heretic could be, one of them raised his head and turned it to the light. "It is Zwingle!" he exclaimed, letting the head fall. Now it happened that an African named Bockinger from Unterwalden, one against whom Zwingle had often had occasion to denounce for holding and teaching error, was near. "Zwingle!" cried he, "is it that vile heretic and traitor Zwingle?" and raising his sword, he struck him on the throat. Yielding to this last blow Zwingle died.