Menno Simons nodded. “What is your message for me?”
“I…” Johan hesitated. “I have a message from your brother, Pieter.”
Menno drew back, his eyes narrowed. “My brother is dead, murdered at the Abbey of Bloemkamp.”
“Yes, yes.” Johan lifted his hand. “But he lived several days after the battle in the home of Julius de Boer, who tended his wounds. Pieter asked Julius to deliver a message to you, but he could not come for he is a suspected Anabaptist. So he asked me to come in his stead.”
Menno stood aside. “Please come in, Johan.” Menno waved him into the simple room. Book-filled shelves lined the walls and a small fire burned in the grate. A steaming teapot, a loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a pitcher of milk stood on a bare wooden table beside a large open book.
“I was just sitting down to eat,” Menno said. “Would you care to share my table?”
Johan nodded. “Please, I would be grateful.” He had left early before the household awakened and had not stopped for breakfast. Menno brought two cups and sat across from him. He cut the bread and cheese.
Johan looked at the open book. “Is that a Bible?”
“Yes, this is one of the Dutch Bibles printed at Antwerp. I try to read in it every day. I am ashamed to say this, but when I became a priest in 1515, I had never read the Bible, for I felt it would influence me away from the teachings of the church. That shows you how foolish men can be.”
As the two men enjoyed their simple repast and made small talk Johan learned that Menno had been born in Witmarsum but had moved to Pingjum as a child. While Menno poured more tea and sliced another chunk of cheese, Johan shared a little about his childhood in Switzerland. Menno listened, smiling at Johan’s description of the Alps.
“I have heard of the beauty of your Alps, but I have not yet seen them. Perhaps someday…” He set his tea down. “If you don’t mind me asking, how did you get to Friesland from Switzerland?”
Johan hesitated. He had told no one his secret although Frederich and Magda both knew who he and Isabella were. He looked into Menno’s eyes.
Lord, can I trust this man?
Although not audible, the response was immediate. Yes.
He smiled. “The story is long.”
“I have all day. More tea?”
“Yes, please.” Johan slid his cup closer. “My family became Anabaptists not long before the persecutions in Basel began. The Reformists arrested my aunt and uncle and turned them over to the Catholics, who burned them at the stake for repudiating infant baptism.”
Menno frowned. “Oh, dear God,” he whispered.
“My family fled Basel, but my mother died in Görlitz. My father, sister, and I buried her there and continued to Krakow, where my father and I found work in the stables of Sigismund, the King of Poland. It was there I met my wife.”
“Oh, are you married?” Menno seemed surprised. “Where is your wife?”
“She stayed in Pingjum with our child and our friend Magda and her brother and sister, Maarten and Annika.”
“Would that be Maarten de Jonge?”
“Yes, the same.”
Menno smiled. “Pieter and I knew the de Jonges well when we were children. And how did you come to know Magda?”
“We met her when we were traveling to Münster to escape trouble in Poland.”
“Trouble?”
Because he felt God had told him he could trust this kind man, Johan told him his story. “My wife is Isabella, Princess of Poland, and daughter of King Sigismund and Queen Bona. I met Isabella when I worked for her father as a stable boy and we fell in love. We kept our love secret for a long time, but then her parents tried to force her into a political marriage, so we left Krakow. An old Anabaptist pastor married us in the woods somewhere in Germany. We left there and traveled to Leipzig where we met Magda. From there we traveled to Münster.”
Menno’s brow creased. “We have heard of the missing princess, even here. Did you go to Münster because you believed the reports of a New Jerusalem and an Anabaptist empire?”
Johan shrugged. “We thought we could just be Johan and Bella and live a simple life, waiting for the return of Jesus to establish his Kingdom on Earth.”
“But I see it did not turn out like that.”
“No, it did not.” Johan grimaced and felt a chill run down his back. “Matthys and Bockelson led the people astray with lies and false teaching, yet the Anabaptists succumbed to their promises and their demands. By the time von Waldek marched in, those who hadn’t prepared for the siege were eating rats and leather and dying in the streets. But they followed Bockelson, believing Jesus was coming any day. That belief ended when von Waldek broke into the city and killed them all.”
Menno offered Johan more tea. “My first introduction to the Anabaptists occurred a few years ago when the Catholics beheaded a man named Sicke Snijder at Leeuwarden for being rebaptized. The concept of rebaptism sounded strange because I was a Catholic priest. But for the first time, I searched the scriptures and could find no mention of infant baptism.”
Menno took another piece of bread, broke it, and handed some to Johan. “I discussed the issue with my pastor, searched the church fathers’ writings, and even read the works of Martin Luther and Heinrich Bullinger. That was when the Catholic Church sent me here…” He smiled, “To keep a closer eye on me, I think. There is a large monastery here and I must make weekly reports to the Abbot.” He shrugged. “It is my penance for questioning the dogma, I suppose.” Then Menno looked at Johan. “So, Johan, you are an Anabaptist then?”
“To be honest, I do not know what I am.” Johan shook his head. “My aunt taught against infant baptism, and her teachings brought her death. She also taught that men and women should love one another. The Catholics and Reformists drove us from our home and my mother did not survive the journey. I hated them for what they did to us. When I came to Münster with Bella, the experiences of my past filled me with hate and I wanted to strike back at those who caused me so much unhappiness. Yet, when I killed my first Catholic soldier…”
Johan folded his arms on the table and put his face down. “He was only a boy, and yet the hatred on his face… I could not comprehend that men could have such hatred for one another,” he sobbed.
Johan heard Menno sigh and get up from the table. He came around and put his hand on Johan’s shoulder. “So many questions, eh? The Anabaptists here preached and practiced what they called Believer’s Baptism. Then disciples from Münster came and stirred up the village. Many left to go to the ‘New Jerusalem,’ as they called it. I felt they were fanatical and misled, but I admired their zeal. Their views of the Bible, the purpose of the church and discipleship intrigued me, but still the militant stand they took…” he paused. “The hatred they held for the Catholics did not meet Christ’s standard for love.”
Johan felt Menno pat his shoulder. “You are a good man, Johan Hirschberg, and you have opened your heart. So now I know I can trust you, I would hear the message for me from Pieter. What is it?”
Johan sat up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “On the last night of Pieter’s life, Julius was sitting with Pieter, who was reading to him from the Bible. Pieter read the verse where Jesus says, And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other, and him that taketh away thy cloak forbid not to take thy coat.”
Menno leaned forward, amazement on his face. He shook his head. “But the last time I saw Pieter he wanted to kill every Catholic and Reformist. I don’t understand.”
“Pieter told Julius that he had been wrong to fight the Catholics and the Lutherans, that Christ does not tell us to conquer the world for him. Instead, he tells us to win the hearts of our enemies with love. And then Pieter read to Julius from Matthew chapter five and verse forty-four. But I say unto you, love your enemies…”
Menno whispered, “… bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which persecute you.”
Johan looked at Menno. There were tears in the priest’s eyes as Johan went on. “Pieter told Julius, ‘you must tell my brother. You must convince him that Catholicism is wrong, that Luther is wrong, and the violent Anabaptists are wrong. The lost people of this world will never see Jesus unless they see him in us—in our words, in our deeds, in our behavior. Go to him and tell him, Julius, please.’ Those were his final words. At the end, your brother was thinking of you, Menno.”
Menno’s face twisted. He stood and went to the window and harsh sobs racked his body. “Pieter, Pieter…”
Johan watched as Menno poured out his grief. In a while, Menno turned. “I thank you, Johan Hirschberg, for delivering this message from my beloved brother. It has shaken me to the core. I pray to God that he would forgive my unclean walk and unprofitable life. I have not followed Christ as I should have.”
Menno returned to the table and sat across from Johan. “If you would care to stay, I would welcome your company tonight. Perhaps we can explore the Word of God. You seem like a man who has many questions as have I.”
Johan nodded. “I would be honored, and yes, I have many questions. Let us finish this good bread and then perhaps you would open the Bread of Life.”
That night, a fire warming their bodies and a candle lighting the text, the two men poured over the scriptures. They talked of the true church, something Menno saw as a bride, pure and unstained, waiting in the dark night of the world for her bridegroom to come and take her to the Father’s house. Johan listened as Menno strode about the room, speaking of the life of Jesus, how he showed grace and mercy. And Johan told more of the terror of Münster and the violence that only led to the death of gullible people who followed men instead of Christ.
At one point, Menno slammed his fist into his palm. “I fear the Münster rebellion has only created a cauldron of hate and fear that the established church will visit on the Anabaptists for years to come. If it were not for that, I might follow the Anabaptist way, but I still have questions. How can I reconcile it with the Catholic teachings? A great gulf lies between Melchior Hoffman’s teachings and the Pope’s infallible words. Does the Eucharist become Christ’s flesh? Was Mary also born of a virgin and her grandmother before that and so on back to Adam?” Menno threw up his hands in despair. “I don’t know, Johan. The practices ingrained in my flesh want to overpower the truth I find here.” He held up the book.
Johan nodded. “Perhaps if we believed God is who he says he is in his Word, and that he does what he says he will do, and that he has given us everything we need in the Bible…”
Menno’s face lit up. “Yes, yes, the apostle Peter said the same thing.” He turned the pages. “Here, in second Peter one and three it says According as his divine power hath given unto us all things that pertain unto life and godliness, through the knowledge of him that hath called us to glory and virtue. And how do we find that knowledge of him?”
Johan put his hand on the Bible. “I believe all knowledge of Christ is in this book.”
As Johan prepared to leave the next morning, Menno said, “Last night, I realized I need someone like you to challenge me, to ask questions, to assist me with my studies—to be my friend. Would you consider bringing your family here to live with me in the rectory?”
Johan’s mouth dropped open. “Me? But I am just a stable boy…”
“No, Johan, you are much more than that. You are a man with deep thoughts and a tender heart. I’d like you to be my assistant, to do the mundane tasks around the church like cleaning, maintenance and so forth, while I study and conduct parish visits. But I would also like you to be my sounding board, someone I can come to when I lose my way. I have much to discover, but I cannot embark on this journey by myself. I will give you and your family a place to stay, your board, and a small allowance the Church allows me to use for help.”
Johan looked long and hard at the gentle face of the Catholic priest.
So this is where you’ve been leading me, God, this is the purpose for which I was born.
He smiled and took Menno’s hand. “Yes, we will come.”