Hope for the Ploughboy | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Hope for the Ploughboy | Previous Challenge Entry
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03/11/15
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Dinner over, Lord Sodbury led his guests to the drawing room. He was pleased; dinner had gone surprisingly well. The cooks had excelled themselves and conversation had been lively, although civilised. His guests, consisting of members of the local clergy and William Tyndale, tutor to his children and scholar, made themselves comfortable as they admired the newly finished woodcarvings. The waiting fire crackled and roared, just like the religious debates going on all around England at the time, including in this very room.

“As I was saying, Master Abbott,” Tyndale leant forward and stoked the fire. “I heartily believe that all the problems of today’s church of the 1520s go back to one thing: that Scripture is hidden from the eyes of the masses.”

The local abbot put down his goblet. “Do you really believe that, Master Tyndale? Why do they need Scripture when the Pope tells us how to obtain salvation?”

Tyndale bristled. “Because the Scripture tells us that salvation cannot be earned or bought. We are saved by faith alone - that is, by accepting God’s free gift of salvation. Unless the people can read or hear the Scriptures in their own tongue, how can this be? Where, then, is their hope of salvation?”

“So! You are convinced by Luther’s heresies, then?”

“All I know is this: the Pope’s false teaching —”

The abbot’s fists pounded the table. The empty goblet teetered, then crashed to the floor. “You dare speak of His Holiness in this way? You may be a master linguist and scholar, Master Tyndale, but you have already been brought before the bishops’ chancellor under suspicion of heresy. You are aware, I suppose, that His Majesty takes a very serious view of heretics?”

Tyndale, trying to remain calm, drew a deep breath before replying. “My years of studying the Bible have convinced me that our hope of salvation is found in God alone, revealed in His Word, alone. Why is there a need for any man-made laws?”

The abbot sniffed in disgust. “We would be better off without God’s laws than the Pope’s!”

“I defy the Pope and all his laws!” Tyndale’s pulse quickened. However much he wanted to maintain his composure, there was no denying this comment had incensed him. “And, if God grants me the years, I shall see to it that the ploughboy understands more of the Scriptures than you do!”

“Are you seriously suggesting translating the Bible into the common tongue, Tyndale?” gasped the local priest, horrified. “His Majesty would never permit such blasphemy.”

***

Taking one final sweeping glance up and down the street, Tyndale slipped out. He hurried through the streets, checking every so often that his precious cargo was still tucked safely under his mantel and that he wasn’t being followed. He couldn’t be too careful; even Worms, which was sympathetic to Protestant ideas, could be crawling with spies, be they the Pope’s, the Holy Roman Emperor’s or King Henry’s. Tyndale was a man whose ideas and dream had made some powerful enemies, all desperate to catch him...

In his hands was the finished first edition of the New Testament in English, ready to be printed and smuggled into England. He checked around one more time before entering the printer’s offices, hoping that the ploughboy would soon know the gospel’s message of hope and salvation. If only the King would agree...

***

The candle flickered, casting eerie silhouettes across the cell's walls. Tyndale shivered as the autumn breeze meandered through his cell, threatening to extinguish his precious candle. He had spent nine years on the run since publishing his New Testament, back in 1526. Nine years of translating, revising and writing. Then, he let his guard down with Henry Phillips, and his so-called friend delivered him straight into the hands of Holy Roman Emperor. The eighteen months of incarceration hadn’t been a complete waste; at least he had been able to persuade his keepers to allow him to continue writing. Now, only too aware of the urgency, Tyndale's furious zeal burnt brighter than ever as his pen scratched and scraped ever faster across the page. But his greatest concern was not for himself: he was in no doubt of where he was bound for. But what about the ploughboy? Would he have the same hope?

From the pile of gunpowder and twigs, Tyndale offered his hope as a final prayer:

“Lord, open the King of England’s eyes!”

***
Author’s notes:

Fiction, but based on the story of William Tyndale (?1494-1536), who translated most of the Bible into English and was burnt as a heretic in Belgium. Many details in this story are fiction based on the sources below. According to Foxe, Tyndale’s last words were ‘Lord, open the King of England’s eyes.’ At the time he died, Henry was in the throes of breaking with Rome and only a few years after Tyndale’s death, he authorised an English translation of the Bible, his Great Bible. Tyndale’s work was used, but his name did not appear. However, it fulfilled Tyndale’s greatest hope.

Sources: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Tyndale
Tyndale Society website http://www.tyndale.org/
Foxe’s Book of Martyrs: accessed through http://ccel.org/f/foxe/martyrs/fox112.htm
Many of the lines of dialogue are paraphrased from direct quotations of William Tyndale’s or the work of David Daniell, accessed via http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/William_Tyndale
The Most Dangerous Man in Tudor England, BBC2 Documentary written by Melvyn Bragg, first aired 6th June 2013.

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