Author: Sarah Monzon
Category: Christian
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Whose prayers did the Lord answer? For surely men in the Vatican prayed for the recantation of men like Luther and Zwingli just as piously as the reformers prayed for a change in the Church. Did the Lord bend his ear to one group and not the other? What of her, who knew not which side held the arm of truth and righteousness? Did God heed her own whispered words though her heart straddled a fence so weak she felt it would crumble beneath her weight?
She made the sign of the cross and kissed the back of her fingers before descending the rickety steps into the undercroft’s belly. Though Hette had brought Lorenz a midday meal, the scholar needed to be made aware of the danger nipping yet at his heels. Her eyes scanned the damp room and fixed on the form in the far corner. She’d expected the invalid to be resting, but he knelt, head bowed, palms pressed together.
She approached on silent feet, wary to come too close lest her presence disturb his audience with the Heavenly One.
He reached a hand out to his side and beckoned her forward with his fingers. “Join me in prayer?”
Still maintaining her distance, she knelt and arranged her skirts around her legs. She bowed her head but peeked at the man through her lashes. She had never heard another besides Bishop Wilmer offer a prayer. Did Anabaptists pray differently than priests? Did they invoke the saints to intercede for them? Offer a number of Ava Marias or recite the Apostles’ Creed?
Lorenz blinked his brilliant blue eyes open and stared at her with a small smile.
Her skin flushed. “I…My apologies.”
His smile traveled upward and, if possible, lit his eyes to shine even brighter. “Apologies are not necessary. Like Daniel, I am not shy about my prayers to God.”
She tilted her head. “It is to God himself you speak then? Not through a saint?”
He winced as he shifted off his knees and extended his legs in front of him, gingerly resting his back against the stone wall behind him. “Jesus Christ alone is my intercessor. He who died and rose and is now at the right hand of God. The saints have no power, being but dead men.”
Blasphemy. She could almost hear the accusation flying with spittle from Bishop Wilmer’s lips, her own father closeting her away from such a declaration lest her mind be tainted by heresy.
But neither the venerable Bishop nor her father were present. And her soul craved an assurance. One she’d never felt, though her fingers had grazed relics and her feet had trod upon the marble of the Holy City itself.
She eyed Lorenz. He had changed out of his black scholar garb and donned the extra clothing Hette had gathered from her brother Nikolaus. He had also washed with the water and small basin provided him and no longer resembled a man left for dead among the underbrush. But no amount of scrubbing could erase the kindness from his face or the wisdom that creased his brow.
Could this man, humbly attired compared to the scarlet and violet robes worn by the church’s hierarchy, and unassuming compared to the clergy’s haughty expressions, lead her to water where she would thirst no more?
She remembered Kampff then. And the landsknecht captain. Their lips curled in sneers, hunger in their eyes, and thirst in their own bellies. Thirst for heretic blood.
For Lorenz’s life.
She would not make this man a sacrificial lamb for her own curiosity. She had a Bible, translated into her own language, hidden in her chambers. If God was really speaking to men outside of the Church, then mayhap He would speak and show His truth to a woman as well.
Though she knew he must be the man for whom the duke searched, she wanted confirmation. If there were another out in those woods…
“Are you from Zurich?” she asked.
He studied her with that piercing gaze of his. “I am. I was once a student of Urlich Zwingli. Have you heard of him?”
Bile rose in her throat. “Too recently.” She pushed down the acidic flavor on her tongue, sickened that so-called men of God could act in such a torturous manner toward their fellow men. “How is it that your teacher has turned against you?”
He looked past her, as if he were staring into another place, another time. “Sola gratia, sola fide, sola scriptura.” His gaze captured hers. “Do you understand these things?”
The Latin words she understood—by grace alone, by faith alone, by Scripture alone—but grasping their meaning was as difficult as clutching the wind in her fist.
“By grace alone. There is nothing we can do to achieve salvation. It is a gift, freely given and needing only to be freely received. As a gift, it cannot be earned. There are no works. Only grace.” His brow smoothed and he steepled his fingers in his lap. An energy radiated off him, an excitement. His vitality reminded her of her father’s prized stallion. Muscles bunched and rippling under a palomino coat, chomping at the bit to extend his stride, to not be held back.
She could imagine Lorenz as a teacher, standing in front of a rapt class as he extrapolated from the Scriptures. In such as place he would be as a mountain lupine in a meadow: where he belonged.
She studied him closer. Did he not feel as if he were wasting his breath explaining to a woman? Most thought the weaker sex only useful in producing male heirs, that their minds and faculties could not grasp nuances like a man. Yet no condescension marred his smooth features. He leaned forward, his gaze earnest.
“Only faith.” His rich timbre echoed in the deep room and bounced off the hewed stone walls. “And I add to this, in Christ alone. Faith in Christ works in man a transformation and renewing of the mind and soul.” He sat back, a smile playing across his lips. “And finally, Scripture alone. The book of Timothy describes this tenet best. ‘All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness.’ The Scriptures are the instrument through which God reveals himself, not unlike an artist using a brush to paint a beautiful fresco. The Holy Writ reveals the beauty of salvation through faith in Christ.”
She settled into a more comfortable position, albeit comfortable, at this moment, lacking its usual charms. Instead of the tufted couches and rich furnishings she was accustomed to, her palm scratched across the dirt floor so she could shift her weight. It was surprising, her presence here in the underbelly of the castle when she was raised to grace its opulent halls. And yet, instead of feeling as if she were lowering herself, she somehow felt lifted up. As if, by setting aside the expectations of her station, she was allowing herself to be raised up to a status even beyond her birthright.
She inclined her head, not wanting to miss a word or meaning from the teacher’s lips. “These three solas, they are what caused a fissure between student and teacher?”
“Nay. The solas are the foundation on which all these teachers have built their theological arguments. Much like the stones you see all around us in this very room.”
“Pray, forgive me. I do not think I understand.” But how she wanted to.
“If you think of these men as masons, each building upon the sola truths they discover through the Holy Spirit and the Scriptures, you may begin to understand the picture. Some masons are quick to build, hewing stones only as much as is necessary to build a strong edifice and therefore erecting each course of stones rapidly. Others deem it necessary to continue hewing the first course of stones until it is completely smooth, thus taking much longer to erect each course. Some of Zwingli’s students, myself included, were dissatisfied with the slow and cautious pace of the reform in Zurich as well as the extent of the reforms. We believe there is a need to return to the apostolic faith and the church of the New Testament.”
An earnestness glowed from his skin. Where his countenance had once paled because of loss of blood and injury, it now radiated an inner fervor. Christyne did not doubt that if he were able, Lorenz would jump to his feet and pace before her. Though his body was held back while he regained his strength and his flesh knit together once more, his mind was free to roam, to inspect, to dive, and to soar. She wished she could turn herself into a butterfly and let
the currents lift her to such heights. His enthusiasm nearly convinced her that it was possible.
“After much prayer and study, my fellow scholars and I became convinced that the baptism of infants went against Scripture and was not true baptism because the sacrament came before a true repentance and confession of faith. Therefore, though we knew it was against the law and would label us heretics and dissenters, we baptized one another.”
“Do you not fear for your life? Already you have been hunted and shot like a buck by an archer. Would it not be better to recant publicly and then live out your faith in a private manner where death does not seek to end your days?”
“‘The Lord is on my side; I will not fear: what can man do unto me?’ Also ‘Whosoever therefore shall confess me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven. But whosever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven.’”
He closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again, conviction shone brighter than the moon in its full phase. “Though Zwingli and the city council have passed laws against the Brethren and have urged all the authorities within the empire to arrest us, I will not recant the truths of the Scripture that I have hidden in my heart. Already, others have died for their faith. My good friend and one of the first to be baptized a second time, Felix Manz, was bound and thrown into the Limmat River. A special force known as Täuferjäger—Anabaptist hunters—are chasing others this very moment.” His gaze held no regret when it captured hers. Instead, he offered an encouraging smile. “Alas, you can see how it is impossible for me to recant. For to do so would be to deny Christ as Peter once did. And though I am but a man, I remind myself that I need not fear those who can kill my body, because they have no control over the destiny of my soul.”
Chapter Eleven
Present Day, Germany
Amber seethed. How dare he? Taking away the younger kids’ shoes had been bad enough, but Seth’s actions had only gotten worse as the day went on. Her tongue was near raw with how much she’d been biting it to keep from reaming him out in front of the players. But now the last teenager filed out the center’s door, the required after-soccer tutoring hour having ticked its last tock.
The door clicked shut behind Roy, a shy boy Seth had playing goalkeeper who could speak a marginal amount of English.
Finally. No audience.
Amber spun on her heel, her fists planted on her hips. “Care to tell me what in the world you were thinking out there? The older kids were about to toss their cookies after the amount of running you had them do. And what if one of the younger ones had cut themselves on a sharp rock? We’re supposed to be helping those kids, not torturing them.”
Seth met her gaze with a steady one of his own. His eyes didn’t spark with anger at her accusation, but he did widen his stance.
Good. He’d need it. She’d only gotten warmed up.
“Don’t you think those kids have been through enough? That the world has been tough enough on them? We need to be a safe place, Seth. Not just another person yelling at them and pushing them and telling them how worthless they are.”
“I never told a single one of those boys or girls that they were worthless.” His nostrils flared, the only indication that her words were having any effect on him.
“Not in those words, but how do you think they felt to have a stranger shouting at them in a language they are just beginning to grasp, putting them through the same drill over and over again. Don’t you think they got the message that you didn’t think they were good enough?”
“Were they good enough? Could these kids work together on the pitch to beat another team?”
“No, but it isn’t about winning. It’s about—”
“I beg to disagree.”
Her brows jumped to her hairline. “Excuse me?” If he really thought the most important thing here was a bunch of hurting kids winning a stupid sports game, there was a lot more she had to say to him.
“It is about winning. Not football, but in life. You’re right, this world has been hard on them. Harder than any one of those kids deserves. But I have news for you—life isn’t going to ease up. It’s going to continue to be tough, especially for them. So, yeah, I’m going to be tough too. But I’m not tearing them down, Amber. I’m helping to build them up, together. They need to learn to work as a team so that they’ll have each other when this world tries to tear them down again. Together they’ll be stronger.”
The hot blood pumping through her veins cooled a little. She’d been surprised when little Yara had prattled on in accented English. Four years old and trilingual. When Amber had asked, the girl had said that her baba always spoke English to her and her brother at home. She’d started crying at the mention of her father, and Amber had remembered Seth saying the man had died in the war in Syria. All Amber had wanted to do was scoop Yara up and cradle her to her chest. “And you think your method is the best way to do that?”
Amber couldn’t. She would never be able to bring herself to be steel around those kids. Not when they made her insides turn to mush. She wanted to smooth back their hair and kiss their booboos and reassure them that everything would be okay. Even the big teenage boys that towered over her. They may have scowled and acted tough, but she could see their pain. If pushing them and acting like she didn’t care when her heart wanted to cry for them was the best way to help…well…this would be yet another arena in which she wasn’t equipped to do the job.
“The best way?” Seth turned his body slightly away and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Is there only one right way?”
Wasn’t there? Wasn’t that how life worked? Black and white. Right and wrong.
But people weren’t two-dimensional. They weren’t a true or false question on a pop quiz. They were heart and soul. Mind and strength. If Seth could speak to one part of them, maybe God could use her to reach another part. Then their two halves would make a whole. She could hope. And pray.
She licked her lips, feeling a little sheepish for laying into him when all he’d been trying to do was help the best way he knew how. “Sorry for…” She gestured between them. “You know.”
He shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s good for someone to fight for them for a change.”
Amber smiled, then remembered something. “At the end of each practice I saw you handing out slips of paper to everyone. What was that?”
Color climbed his neck. “My phone number. Most of those kids are in their flats by themselves while their mothers work long shifts.” He opened a box that had been left on one of the tables and then pulled out a striped shirt with a number on the back. The newly ordered jerseys for the kids. He glanced back up at her. “If they ever needed anything or find themselves in trouble, they know they can call me. Any time, for anything.”
Amber’s tongue thickened in her mouth. Moments ago, she’d boiled with how angry she was at the man before her. Now she flushed for a different reason.
How? How could another person have such control over her body?
Biologically speaking, it didn’t make sense. Then again, she had barely passed her high school anatomy and physiology class. Maybe she’d missed something important.
Philosophically speaking, she knew of Plato and Aristophanes’ idea of soulmates. That humans originally had four arms and four legs and were split apart by the gods, forever to seek their other half. And then the Jews had their idea of bashert, or destiny, found in the proverb that marriages were made in heaven. Two souls predestined to be together for all time.
But those were cerebral ideas. Ones she’d learned about in the classroom and could discuss with a certain amount of distance.
This? Her quickening pulse, the tingles she felt along her scalp, the queasiness in the pit of her stomach, and the perspiration dotting behind her ears? These symptoms were not academic philosophies that she might weigh and measure their merits. These were physical displays over which it seemed she had no
control, as if her body revolted against the confines of her mind, seeking its own will. And its desire was to draw closer to Seth. To breathe in his scent, musky though it may be from running practice drills all day. To trace the black lines of the tattoo that marked his bicep. Push up the sleeve of his shirt and get a good look at what he wanted to commemorate on his skin for the rest of his life.
She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump that formed there and get her thoughts back on the right track. She averted her gaze as her face flamed. If anyone could see inside her mind, feel the things that hummed just under the surface of her skin, they’d kick her out of the theology program for sure. She could almost hear members of the older, stauncher faculty quoting verses about thinking only on pure and good things and not falling to the lust of the eyes or flesh.
Is that what this was? Lust?
Shame filled her, causing her chin to fall to her chest. She wanted to hide, afraid her thoughts would be written clearly across her face. She twisted the purity ring around on her finger. A physical reminder of the promise she’d made to stay chaste until marriage.
Her jaw firmed. She hadn’t done anything wrong, so why should she feel guilty? If the deep study of the Bible in her theology classes had taught her anything, it was to study the Scriptures for herself. There were too many personal interpretations found among the different denominations. Conservative. Liberal. Moderate. They each wanted to tell her something different, to get her to believe the same as they did. But she wasn’t a baby anymore, needing someone to spoon feed her doctrines and creeds.
Like a gentle spring breeze dissolving the mist, her mind cleared. In her Intermediate Hebrew course, the class had translated the first five chapters of Genesis together. “Your desire will be for your husband…” The words of God to Eve. The original word for desire was the Hebrew Teshuqah—a rare word that was used only three times in the whole Bible—twice in Genesis and once in Song of Solomon. It meant…