1522—1523
Little Sodbury, England

“If God Spare
My Life”

Now faith . . . is the gift of God, given us by grace. . . . I never deserved it, nor prepared myself unto it; but ran another way clean contrary in my blindness, and sought not that way; but he sought me, and found me out, and showed it me, and therewith drew me to him. And I bow the knees of my heart unto God night and day, that he will show it all other men; and I suffer all that I can, to be a servant to open their eyes. For well I wot they cannot see of themselves.

—William Tyndale, An Answer unto Sir Thomas More’s Dialogue

A Tutor to Little Boys

It was inevitable that a clash with the local clergy would come. Leaving Cambridge, Tyndale returned to his home county of Gloucestershire to the tiny village of Little Sodbury, where he settled into the manor of John Walsh¹ as tutor to John’s two sons. What could have been his motive in accepting an unimportant position in a tiny hamlet when his talents could be exercised more prominently? Had he not yet determined his life’s work and returned home to contemplate his future? Did he need a recluse to further his studies and preparation?

In Gloucestershire, the resolve to bring the Bible’s voice to his countrymen became Tyndale’s grand obsession. The stifling life of the university had become distasteful to him, closing off the occupation of lecturer. Scripture was his passion, but teaching or translating it was not welcome at Oxford or Cambridge.

Tyndale was an ordained priest, but this avenue of support was also repugnant to him, especially in light of the contrast between what he learned from scriptural research on the primitive church
and current clerical practices. While at Cambridge, he had surely
witnessed the 1520 visit of Cardinal Thomas Wolsey and the
ceremonial splendor in which he was received, complete with
fulsome eulogies and fawning praise. All of this would have excited in Tyndale an already growing mistrust of church leadership. His comfort level in performing the Catholic sacraments, many of which had no foundation in scripture, was an additional hindrance to his assuming the office of a priest. Yet he had to earn his living some way.

It is almost certain that William’s brother Edward played a lead role in securing his position at the Walsh manor. Was the position deliberately created to allow Tyndale time to continue his studies with the Greek New Testament? His duties with the manor’s little boys were minimal. Little Sodbury provided a quiet environment, free of time-consuming obligations, in a comfortable, supportive atmosphere. Whatever Tyndale’s motives were, he moved into an attic room in the Walsh manor.

“If I Preach Not the Gospel”

Tyndale did not quietly retire into a life of teaching occasional grammar or math lessons with free time spent in private pursuits with his books. The knowledge he was gaining from the New Testament needed an outlet. The words of Paul, which Tyndale perused so deeply and frequently, found resonance in his own situation. “Though I preach the gospel, I have nothing to glory of: for necessity is laid upon me; yea, woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel!” (1 Corinthians 9:16).

The two active poles of Tyndale’s life began to augment each other. His knowledge created a desire to share what he was discovering, and the need to edify and feed a scripturally famished
population fueled his search for more nourishing truths. But where could he preach? And what danger would it entail?

A small private chapel dedicated to St. Adeline, the patron saint of weavers, stood just a few yards from the manor house. Here was a starting place, but the limited confines of a private family chapel did not give proper scope to Tyndale’s expanding desires. Instead, he would soon preach in the open air like the apostles of old and in any venue he could secure. Since the time of the Lollards, preaching was discouraged and dangerous. It was associated with dissent for good reason. In time, preaching became as effective a weapon for Protestants as the printing press. Comparing Tyndale’s later preaching in London to his early Little Sodbury forays, Foxe related that he preached “according as he had done in the country before, and especially about the town of Bristol, and also in the said town, in the common place called St. Austin’s Green.”²

Field preachers were not new in England. They offered spiritual edification as well as entertainment, depending on their talents. The “Green” Foxe referred to is a parcel of open ground in front of an old Augustinian convent in Bristol. To reach Bristol, fifteen miles from Little Sodbury, required a healthy walk.

Tyndale’s preaching differed in major ways from traditional approaches in that he drew significant portions of his sermons directly from the words of Jesus and the early evangelists. For his listeners, Tyndale’s preaching was akin to seeing a distant hazy landscape suddenly brought into view with the persistent fog melting away. It is a fair assumption that he emphasized the saving power of faith in Christ as stressed by Paul—void of the necessity of the confessional, indulgences, relics, appeals to the saints, pilgrimages, or other acts of penance that the clergy insisted upon and from which they received a large portion of their monetary gains. All of this could not have failed to bring Tyndale under the scrutiny and animosity of the local religious establishment, but it was his private dinner conversations at the Walsh table with the clerical dignitaries of the day that broke the camel’s back.

Secret Grudges

The table of an English manor, such as the Walsh family kept, included many guests of high standing. Because the church held
considerable property, and the bishops, archdeacons, and other church authorities wielded notable ecclesiastical and economic authority, their presence in the Walsh household would be expected and frequent. Yet here they met an upstart young priest, versed in Greek and Latin. What galled them further, he obviously had a better grasp of scriptural truth than they did. A suspiciously heretical twist accompanied his conversation, and he preached in the open so all could note the difference between the clergy’s lives and teachings and his own.

Tyndale, though of a gentle disposition, was not retiring, timid, or overawed by authority, and even in this company he let his views be known, which shows the standing this servant-tutor had gained in the eyes Sir John and Lady Walsh. Richard Webb, of Chipping Sodbury, a neighboring village, reminisced about Tyndale’s confrontations with the district priesthood.

“This gentleman, as he kept a good ordinary commonly at his table, there resorted to him many times sundry abbots, deans, archdeacons, with divers other doctors, and great beneficed men; who there together, with Master Tyndale sitting at the same table, did use many times to enter communication, and talk of learned men, as of Luther and of Erasmus; also of divers other controversies and questions upon the Scripture,” Webb noted.

“Then Master Tyndale, as he was learned and well practised in God’s matters, so he spared not to show unto them simply and plainly his judgment in matters, as he thought; and when they at
any time did vary from Tyndale in opinions and judgment, he
would show them in the book, and lay plainly before them the open and manifest places of the Scriptures, to confute their errors, and confirm his sayings. And thus continued they for a certain season,
reasoning and contending together divers and sundry times, till at length they waxed weary, and bare a secret grudge in their hearts against him.”³

Though Tyndale’s adversaries in the Walsh dining hall were “learned,” a dearth of true scriptural knowledge existed among those entrusted with the spiritual welfare of the people. They had a basic grasp of the formulas and rituals, but many could not read the
Latin they were using. Even the church itself openly acknowledged ignorance in certain theological areas, particularly regarding the New Testament. It is not surprising that Tyndale bested them in table discussions.

A church survey conducted in Gloucestershire in 1551 by Bishop Hooper discovered that of 311 clerics, nine did not know how many commandments God gave to Moses on Sinai, 33 did not know where to find them in the Bible, 168 could not repeat them, 39 did not know where to find the Lord’s Prayer in the New Testament, 34 did not know the author of the prayer, and 10 could not even recite it. In 1560, the London diocese prohibited 22 out of 56 clerics from practicing because of their ignorance.⁴

Tyndale was frank and guileless. It probably never crossed his young mind that older well-positioned men might not take his corrections kindly, no matter how seasoned his arguments or mild his conversation. Nor did he immediately prevail with Sir John and Lady Walsh.

On one occasion, certain “beneficed doctors” held a supper with the Walshes without the presence of the disturbing Tyndale. Here they talked “at will and pleasure, uttering their blindness and ignorance without any resistance or gainsaying.” Returning home, the Walshes called Tyndale and related the conversations of the evening. When Tyndale corrected the prelates’ doctrine with the scriptures, Lady Walsh skeptically replied, “Well, there was such a doctor who may dispend [spend] a hundred pounds, and another two hundred pounds, and another three hundred pounds: and what! Were it reason, think you, that we should believe you before them?”⁵ The association of wealth and position with knowledge and truth was not easy to surmount, but Tyndale had an idea that swung the balance in his favor.

Handbook for a Christian Knight

Rather than reply, Tyndale bided his time and drew to his defense the most respected mind of the day, that of Erasmus. His ally was Erasmus’ book the Enchiridion Militis Christiani. Enchiridion is a Greek word for “handbook”—a handbook for the Militis Christiani, the Christian soldier or knight. The book, whose thesis arose from Paul’s counsel in Ephesians that the faithful “put on the whole armour of God” (Ephesians 6:11), was extremely popular throughout Europe. Tyndale translated it from Latin into English for his employers. The power of the Enchiridion lay not only in its logic and sound morals but also in its emphasis on the study of scripture and its reliance upon holy writ to validate all claims of religious truth.

Up to this point, salvation depended upon the church, and authority resided in her officers. But the word alone represented a powerful authority, and salvation rested in repentance and the atoning mercy of Christ. An alternative voice for mankind was sounding, and the richness of its tones struck responsive ears.

The Christian knight’s sword was God’s word sheathed in the pages of the Testaments. The word constituted a higher authority than the clergy or the bishops of Rome. Tyndale was naturally drawn to Erasmus’ handbook. The common man needed the armor and sword that only God’s word, plainly and openly read, could provide. Tyndale no doubt agreed, and hoped his patrons would agree, with such words as the following: “Honourest thou the bones of Paul hid in a shrine and honourest thou not the mind of Paul hid in his writings? Magnifiest thou a piece of his carcass shining through a glass and regardest not thou the whole mind of Paul shining through his letters?”⁶ Tyndale’s translation did the trick.

“He delivered [it] to his master and lady; who, after they had read and well perused the same, the doctorly prelates were no more so often called to the house, neither had they the cheer and countenance when they came, as before they had: which thing they marking, and well perceiving, and supposing no less but it came by the means of Master Tyndale, refrained themselves, and at last utterly withdrew, and came no more there.”⁷

The Prelates’ Revenge

Having been bested (though they knew not how) by an upstart youth, a mere tutor of children unworthy to share the same table with them, the prelates plotted their revenge. Beaten in the dining hall, they were determined not to be defeated in an arena they knew well, that of the church. In private they railed upon Tyndale, denouncing him as a heretic, the one accusation, if they could make it stick, that was sure to silence the voice that probed too deeply into their own failings. Tyndale found himself an accused defendant before the authorities of the diocese.

Troubling information—some true, some invented—had been given to John Bell, the bishop’s chancellor. This was serious business, for heretics were burned, and the bishop’s chancellor was the authority responsible to see that it was done, attending the executions in person. Bell had dealt with Lollard heretics already and knew the remedy. He was harsh and unsympathetic, a man to be wary of. Two accounts of Tyndale’s first dangerous brush with the stake have survived—one recorded by Tyndale and one reported by Richard Webb to John Foxe.

“There was a sitting of the bishop’s chancellor appointed, and warning was given to the priests to appear, amongst whom Master Tyndale was also warned to be there,” Foxe reports. “And whether he had any misdoubt by their threatenings, or knowledge given him that they would lay some things to his charge, it is uncertain; but certain this is (as he himself declared), that he doubted their privy accusations; so that he by the way, in going thitherwards, cried in his mind heartily to God, to give him strength fast to stand in the truth of his word.”⁸

The environment was openly hostile. Tyndale was accused of being “an heretic in Sophistry, an heretic in Logic, an heretic in his divinity and so continueth. But they said unto him, you bear
yourself boldly of the Gentlemen here in this country, but you shall be otherwise talked with.”⁹ This last threatening comment referred to the protection Sir John Walsh had provided him, not to mention Sir John’s wife’s family. She was a Poyntz, and they held considerable power in the vicinity and beyond. A relative of Lady Walsh, Thomas Poyntz, would later selflessly render aid to Tyndale.

Tyndale wrote his account of the Little Sodbury troubles in the preface to his Pentateuch, published in 1530. Speaking of the jealous nature of his antagonists, he wrote: “When they come together to the ale house, which is their preaching-place, they affirm that my sayings are heresy. And besides that they add to of their own heads, which I never spake, as the manner is to prolong the tale to short the time withal, and accused me secretly to the chancellor and other [of] the bishop’s officers.”¹⁰

One disparity of the inquisition was that accusers were allowed to remain secret. Often the accused did not know who was informing against them, nor the specific nature of the charge. With no chance to face his adversaries, the accuser had to prove his innocence nevertheless.

“And, indeed, when I came before the chancellor,” Tyndale recalled, “he threatened me grievously, and reviled me, and rated me as though I had been a dog; and laid to my charge whereof there could be none accuser brought forth, (as their manner is not to bring forth the accuser,) and yet all the priests of the country were the same day there.”¹¹

Alone in the Lion’s Den

Alone in the lion’s den, surrounded by silent smiles of satisfaction, Tyndale stood his ground with meek yet firm words. “I am content,” he said, “that you bring me where you will into any country within England, giving me ten pounds a year to live with. So you bind me to nothing, but to teach children and preach.”¹²

It was a disarming answer and one that invited no contentious reply. The chancellor, having spent his oratory fury and not desirous of provoking the Walsh and Poyntz families, let the matter end with the rebuke and threat. He had slim evidence of heresy and knew it, disappointing as it was to the others in the room. Yet there was gratification in the perception that the too-knowledgeable, Greek-reading Bible quoter from Oxford and Cambridge had been put in his place. Had they known what the impertinent young man would one day do, they would have made the heresy charge stick. For now he had been humbled, and that was enough.

The encounter was a turning point for Tyndale. Unless he remained silent, which he was not content to do, another attack was certain. Then, perhaps, even his powerful friends could not save him. Presently he received warning of his still-imminent danger.

“There dwelt not far off a certain doctor, that had been an old chancellor before to a bishop, who had been of old familiar acquaintance with Master Tyndale, and also favoured him well: unto whom Master Tyndale went, and opened his mind upon divers questions of the scriptures: for to him he durst be bold to disclose his heart. Unto whom the doctor said, . . . Beware what you say . . . it will cost you your life.”¹³

“If God Spare My Life”

For Tyndale, the problem lay in ignorance of the word. If scripture were open for all to read, surely all would come to the same conclusion because they could discern the difference between present practices and the true teachings of Jesus and his disciples. Both the wheelwright and the priest needed a Bible they could read in the simple, strong language of the mother tongue. With his acquired and God-given skills, could Tyndale make such a translation? Reflecting on this crucial point in his life, he wrote:

“Which thing only moved me to translate the new Testament. Because I had perceived by experience, how that it was impossible to establish the lay-people in any truth, except the scripture were plainly laid before their eyes in their mother-tongue, that they might see the process, order, and meaning of the text. . . . When I was so turmoiled in the country where I was, that I could no longer there dwell, . . . I [on] this-wise thought in myself: This I suffer because the priests of the country be unlearned.”¹⁴

Ironically, all attempts to silence him awakened a shout within, one that soon sounded from cottage and cathedral. The resolve that had lingered in the shadows of his mind since those early Oxford days now emerged into the broad open sunlight. There it stayed, growing stronger with each passing year and each effort to stop him until he uttered his final prayer with the sticks piled around him and the rope drawing tight against his throat just seconds before his death. If his own experience was not enough, had not the great Erasmus drawn the map Tyndale was now adamantly committed to follow? In the preface to his Greek New Testament, Erasmus had written these moving and inspired words:

“I vehemently dissent from those who are unwilling that the sacred scriptures, translated into the vulgar tongue, should be read by private persons. Christ wishes his mysteries to be published as widely as possible. I would wish even all women to read the gospel and the epistles of St. Paul, and I wish that they were translated into all languages of all Christian people, that they might be read and known, not merely by the Scotch and the Irish, but even by the Turks and the Saracens. I wish that the husbandman may sing parts of them at his plow, that the weaver may warble them at his shuttle, that the traveller may with their narratives beguile the weariness of the way.”¹⁵

Tyndale took these words to heart. That his life’s calling was well founded before he left Little Sodbury for London is attested to in what may have been his most famous declaration. Though he had escaped a close brush with imprisonment or fire, Tyndale was not content to sink into silent complacency or the safety of the status quo. Soon after his arraignment before the church authorities, he threw down the gauntlet.

“Master Tyndale happened to be in the company of a learned man, and in communing and disputing with him drove him to that issue, that the learned man said: ‘We were better be without God’s law than the pope’s.’ Master Tyndall, hearing that answered him: ‘I defy the pope and all his laws’; and said: ‘If God spare my life, ere many years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough shall know more of the scripture than thou dost.’”¹⁶

Three hundred years later, a fourteen-year-old ploughboy in Palmyra, New York, would reflect over and over on the testimony of James—a testimony put into heart-riveting English by William Tyndale.

Notes

^1. Also spelled Welch in some sources.

^2. Foxe, Acts and Monuments,5:117.

^3. Ibid., 5:115.

^4. Daniell, William Tyndale, 78.

^5. Foxe, Acts and Monuments,5:115—16.

^6. Erasmus, Enchiridion, 115—16; spelling standardized.

^7. Foxe, Acts and Monuments,5:116.

^8. Ibid.

^9.  Foxe, Acts and Monuments (1563), 513—14, as cited in Daniell, William Tyndale.

^10. Greenslade, Work of William Tindale, 97.

^11. Ibid., 97.

^12.  Foxe, Acts and Monuments(1563), 514, as cited in Daniell, William Tyndale.

^13. Ibid., 5:116—17.

^14. Greenslade, Work of William Tindale, 96.

^15. Erasmus, in Mozley, William Tyndale, 34.

^16.  Foxe, Acts and Monuments(1563), 514, as cited in Daniell, William Tyndale; emphasis added; punctuation standardized.