CHAPTER IX

The Two Reformers—The Fall of Man—Expiation of the God-Man—No merit in Works—Objections refuted—Power of Love to Christ—Election—Christ alone Master—Effects of this Preaching—Despondency and Courage—First Act of the Magistrate—Church and State—Attacks—Galster.

Though desirous to follow the path of meekness, Zuinglius was not idle. Since his illness his preaching had become more profound and enlivening. More than two thousand persons in Zurich had received the word of God into their heart, made profession of the evangelical doctrine, and were themselves able to announce it.

Zuinglius’ faith was the same as Luther’s, but more the result of reasoning. Luther advances with a bound. Zuinglius owes more to clearness of perception. Luther’s writings are pervaded with a thorough personal conviction of the benefits which the cross of Christ confers upon himself, and this conviction, glowing with heat and life, is the soul of all he says. The same thing doubtless exists in Zuinglius, but in an inferior degree. He had looked more to the Christian system as a whole, and admired it particularly for its beauty, for the light which it sheds into the human mind, and the eternal life which it brings to the world. The one is more the man of heart, the other more the man of intellect; and hence it is that those who do not experimentally know the faith which animated these two great disciples of the Lord, fall into the grossest error, making the one a mystic and the other a rationalist. The one is more pathetic, perhaps, in the exposition of his faith, and the other more philosophical, but both believe the the same truths. They do not, however, look at all secondary questions from the same point of view, but that faith which is one, that faith which quickens and justifies its possessor, that faith which no confession, no article of doctrine can express, is in the one as in the other. The doctrine of Zuinglius has often been so much misrepresented, that it seems proper here to give an account of what he preached at this time to the increasing crowds who flocked to the cathedral of Zurich. The fall of Adam, Zuinglius regarded as the key to man’s history. “Before the fall,” said he one day, “man had been created with a free will, so that he was able, if he chose, to keep the law; his nature was pure, being as yet untainted by the malady of sin; his life was in his own hand. But wishing to be equal to God, he died … and not he only, but every one of his descendants. All men being dead in Adam none can be recalled to life until the Spirit, who is God himself, raise them from death.” The people of Zurich who listened eagerly to this powerful orator were saddened when he set before them the sinful state into which human nature has fallen, but soon after heard words of joy, and learned to know the remedy which is able to recall man to life. “Christ very man and very God,” said the eloquent voice of this shepherd—son of the Tockenburg, “has purchased for us a redemption which will never terminate. The eternal God died for us: His passion then is eternal: it brings salvation for ever and ever: it appeases divine justice for ever in favour of all those who lean upon this sacrifice with firm and immovable faith.” “Wherever sin exists,” exclaimed the Reformer, “death must necessarily supervene. Christ had no sin, there was no guile in his mouth, and yet he died! Ah! it was because he died in our stead. He was pleased to die in order to restore us to life, and as he had no sins of his own, the Father, who is full of mercy, laid the burden of our sins upon him.²” The Christian orator continued, “Since the will of man rebelled against the supreme God, it was necessary, if eternal order was to be re-established and man saved, that the human will should be made subject in Christ to the divine will.” He often repeated that it was for the faithful people of God, that the expiatory death of Jesus Christ had been endured.⁴

Those in the city of Zurich who were eager for salvation, found rest on hearing these good news. But old errors still remained, and these it was necessary to destroy. Setting out from this great truth of a salvation which is the gift of God, Zuinglius forcibly discoursed against the pretended merit of human works. “Since eternal salvation,” said he, “proceeds solely from the merits and death of Jesus Christ, the merit of our works is nothing better than folly, not to say rash impiety. Could we have been saved by our works it had not been necessary for Jesus Christ to die. All who have ever come to God came to him by the death of Jesus Christ.⁶

Zuinglius perceived the objections which some of his hearers felt against these doctrines. Some of them called upon him and stated them. He mounted the pulpit and said—“People, more curious perhaps than pious, object that this doctrine makes men giddy and dissolute. But of what consequence are the objections or fears which human curiosity may suggest? Whosoever believes in Jesus Christ is certain that every thing which comes from God is necessarily good. If, then, the gospel is of God it is good. And what other power would be capable of implanting among men innocence, truth, and love? O God! most compassionate, most just, Father of mercies,” exclaimed he in the overflowing of his piety, “with what love hast thou embraced us, us thy enemies! With what great and certain hopes hast thou inspired us, us who should have known nothing but despair: and to what glory hast thou in thy Son called our littleness and nothingness! Thy purpose in this ineffable love is to constrain us to yield thee love for love!…”

Then dwelling on this idea, he showed that love to the Redeemer is a more powerful law than the commandments. “The Christian,” said he, “delivered from the law depends entirely on Christ. Christ is his reason, his counsel, his righteousness, and whole salvation. Christ lives in him and acts in him. Christ alone guides him, and he needs no other guide.” And making use of a comparison adapted to his hearers, he added, “If a government prohibits its citizens, under pain of death, from receiving pensions and presents at the hands of princes, how gentle and easy this law is to those who, from love to their country and to liberty, would, of their own accord, refrain from so culpable a proceeding; but on the contrary, how tormenting and oppressive it feels to those who think only of their own interest. Thus the righteous man lives joyful in the love of righteousness, whereas the unrighteous walks groaning under the heavy weight of the law which oppresses him.”³ In the cathedral of Zurich was a considerable number of veteran soldiers who felt the truth of these words. Is not love the mightiest of legislators? Is not every thing that it commands instantly accomplished? Does not he whom we love dwell in our heart, and does it not of itself perform what he enjoins? Accordingly, Zuinglius, waxing bold, declared to the people of Zurich that love to the Redeemer was alone capable of making man do things agreeable to God. “Works done out of Jesus Christ are not useful,” said the Christian orator; “since every thing is done of him, in him, and by him, what do we pretend to arrogate to ourselves? Wherever faith in God is, there God is, and wherever God is, there is a zeal which presses and urges men to good works. Only take care that Christ be in thee and thou in Christ, and then doubt not but he will work. The life of the Christian is just one continued work by which God begins, continues, and perfects in man every thing that is good.”⁵

Struck with the grandeur of this divine love which existed from eternity, the herald of grace raised his voice to all the timid or irresolute. “Can you fear,” said he, “to approach the tender Father who has chosen you? Why has he chosen us in his grace? Why has he called us? Why has he drawn us? Was it that we might not dare to go to him?” …

Such was the doctrine of Zuinglius. It was the doctrine of Christ himself. “If Luther preaches Christ he does what I do,” said the preacher of wurich; “those who have been brought to Christ by him are more numerous than those who have been brought by me. But no matter! I am unwilling to bear any other name than that of Christ, whose soldier I am, and who alone is my head. Never was a single scrap written by me to Luther, or by Luther to me. And why? In order to show to all how well the spirit of God accords with himself, since, without having heard each other, we so harmoniously teach the doctrine of Jesus Christ.”

Thus Zuinglius preached with energy and might. The large cathedral could not contain the crowds of hearers. All thanked God that a new life was beginning to animate the lifeless body of the Church. Swiss from all the cantons, brought to Zurich either by the Diet or by other causes, being touched by this new preaching, carried its precious seeds into all the Helvetic valleys. One acclamation arose from mountains and cities. Nicolas Hageus, writing from Lucerne to Zurich, says, “Switzerland has hitherto given birth to Scipios, Cæsars, and Brutuses, but has scarcely produced two men who had the knowledge of Jesus Christ, and could nourish men’s hearts, not with vain disputes, but with the Word of God. Now that Divine Providence gives Switzerland Zuinglius for its orator, and Oswald Myconius for its teacher, virtue and sacred literature revive among us. O happy Helvetia! could you but resolve at length to rest from all your wars, and, already so celebrated, become still more celebrated for righteousness and peace.”

⁴ “It was said,” wrote Myconius to Zuinglius, “that your voice could not be heard three yards off. But I now see it was a falsehood; for all Switzerland hears you.” “You possess intrepid courage,” wrote Hedio to him from Bâle, “I will follow you as far as I am able.”⁶ “I have heard you,” said Sebastian Hofmeister of Schaffausen, writing to him from Constance.” Ah, would to God that Zurich, which is at the head of our happy confederation was delivered from the disease, and health thus restored to the whole body.” But Zuinglius met with opponents as well as admirers. “To what end,” said some, “does he intermeddle with the affairs of Switzerland?” “Why,” said others, “does he, in his religious instructions, constantly repeat the same things?” Amid all these combats the soul of Zuinglius was often filled with sadness. All seemed to be in confusion, as if society were turned upside down. He thought it impossible that any thing new should appear without something of an opposite nature being immediately displayed.³ When a hope sprang up in his heart, a fear immediately sprang up beside it. Still he soon raised his head. “The life of man here below,” said he, “is a war; he who desires to obtain glory must attack the world in front, and, like David, make this haughty Goliath, who seems so proud of his stature, to bite the dust. The Church,” said he, like Luther, “has been acquired by blood, and must be renewed by blood. The more numerous the defilements in it, the more must we arm ourselves, like Hercules, in order to clean out these Augean stables.⁵ I have little fear for Luther,” added he, “even should he be thundered against by the bolts of this Jupiter.”

Zuinglius stood in need of repose, and repaired to the waters of Baden. The curate of the place, an old papal guard, a man of good temper, but completely ignorant, had obtained his benefice by carrying a halberd. True to his soldier habits, he spent the day and part of the night in jovial company, while Stäheli, his vicar, was indefatigable in fulfilling the duties of his office. Zuinglius invited the young minister to his house. “I have need of Swiss help,” said he to him, and from this moment Ständi was his fellow-labourer. Zuinglius, Stäheli, and Luti, afterwards pastor of Winterthur, lived under the same roof. The devotedness of Zuinglius was not to pass unrewarded. The Word of God, preached with so much energy, could not fail to produce fruit. Several magistrates were gained, experiencing the Word to be their consolation and their strength. The Council, grieved at seeing the priests, and especially the monks, shamelessly delivering from the pulpit whatever came into their heads, passed a resolution, ordering them not to advance anything in their discourses “that they did not draw from the sacred sources of the Old and New Testament.” It was in 1520 that the civil power thus interposed for the first time in the work of the Reformation; acting as a Christian magistrate, say some—since the first duty of the magistrate is to maintain the Word of God and defend the best interests of the citizens; depriving the Church of its liberty, say others,—by subjecting it to secular power, and giving the signal for the series of evils which have since been engendered by the connection between Church and State. We will not give any opinion here on this great controversy which in our day is carried on with so much warmth in several countries. It is sufficient for us to point out its commencement at the period of the Reformation. But there is another thing also to be pointed out—the act of these magistrates was itself one of the effects produced by the preaching of the Word of God. At this period the Reformation in Switzerland ceased to be the work of private individuals, and began to be included within the national domain. Born in the heart of a few priests and literary men, it extended, rose, and took up elevated ground. Like the waters of the ocean, it gradually increased till it had overflowed an immense extent. The monks were confounded: they were ordered to preach nothing but the Word of God, and the greater part of them had never read it. Opposition provokes opposition. The resolution of the council became the signal of more violent attacks on the Reformation. Plots began to be formed against the curate of Zurich. His life was in danger. One evening, when Zuinglius and his vicars were quietly conversing in their house, some citizens arrived in great haste, and asked, “Are your doors well bolted? Be this night on your guard.” “Such alarms were frequent,” adds Stäheli; but we were well armed, and a guard was stationed for us in the street.” In other places, means still more violent were resorted to. An old man of Shaffausen, named Galster, a man of piety, and of an ardour rare at his period of life, happy in the light which he had found in the gospel, laboured to communicate it to his wife and children. His zeal, perhaps indiscreet, openly attacked the relics, priests, and superstitions with which this canton abounded. He soon became an object of hatred and terror even to his own family. The old man, penetrating their fatal designs, left his home broken-hearted, and fled to the neighbouring forest. There he lived several days subsisting on whatever he could find, when suddenly, on the last night of the year 1520, torches blazed in all directions through the forest, and the cries of men and the barking of dogs re-echoed under its dark shades. The council had ordered a hunt in the woods to discover him. The dogs scented him out, and the unhappy old man was dragged before the magistrate. He was ordered to abjure his faith, but remained immovable, and was beheaded.