What are they doing?
Digging for bones.
They're trying to rid the church of a memory.
One that's haunted them for over 40 years.
Who was he?
His name was Wycliffe.
Doctor John Wycliffe.
You knew him, father.
Oh yes, my son.
I knew him.
What did he do to deserve this?
I shall tell you about him.
He was a man...
whose life should be remembered as long as this English nation of ours loves its
freedom.
I first met him when I was a student at Oxford.
He was the best teacher I ever had.
The best preacher I ever heard.
He quickened both heart and mind.
He found us as boys...
and led us to manhood.
He's known throughout Europe as the most brilliant scholar and philosopher of this
age.
But we who watched him...
saw that it was his study of the scriptures...
that really released his enormous energies.
His biblical research...
convinced him that our beloved church had long since departed from the New
Testament.
Couldn't keep silent.
He called for drastic changes.
And that is when his troubles began to mount.
The Holy Father has again sent warning.
John Wycliffe must be got into line quickly and completely.
My Lord Archbishop, let me assure you that I am most zealous to perform the Holy
Father's bidding.
We must not fail again this time, Bishop Courtney.
I have assured His Holiness that you have the matter under control.
The political tide has shifted to our favor, Your Grace.
Wycliffe would have been silenced long ago but for John of God's protection.
But now we have the upper hand.
Besides, Wycliffe's own words in writing...
is all the case we need.
I will see to it that His Holiness is pleased.
I am apprehensive.
My brothers, we must not see only the threat.
I have longed for this opportunity.
At my trial at St. Paul's a year ago, I did not get to say a single word in my
own defense.
My supporters and my opponents argued over protocol.
And then the mob disrupted the trial.
Nothing was settled because nothing was discussed.
Now at least, Bishop Courtney, has moved this trial to Lambeth where,
God willing, we should be free of outside disturbance.
I still think the outside disturbance may have saved your life.
If the bishops will listen to reason, if they will answer me from Scripture,
if we can agree that the glory of God's church is to be found in devotion and
faith and service, not in power and wealth, well, Nicholas, just think of the
many doors this trial could open.
I only hope it doesn't lock a door, the one to your cell.
Uncle, I wish you wouldn't go.
My dear niece, I'm sorry to leave you alone.
I'm worried.
I fear I'll not see you again.
I had a terrible dream last night.
I dreamt you were alone on an island of rock in the middle of a vast sea.
Now, don't be afraid.
Are we not in the hands of the Lord?
I expect he has much more for both of us to do.
The friars are saying you are a heretic, that you're besieged.
It's certainly like them to plague a good woman with false fears.
The friars are angry with me because I say they have no right to act like parasites.
Acquiring riches by leeching off the poor, yet not acquiring enough learning to read
a simple Bible passage.
Have no fear.
I shall be back before long.
All the same, it will be dangerous.
Promise me you'll be careful.
O Lord, King of heaven and earth, my mind is spinning and finds no rest.
How often I've been tempted to submit and withdraw my writing, yet just as often
I've been led back to the authority of thy holy word.
Facing this trial, I'm a man walking the edge of a precipice at midnight.
And yet, Father, I cannot deny the truth of thy scriptures.
I thank thee that thou art altogether wise and gracious.
Lord, give me the wisdom to defend thy word.
Whatever trials there may be, lend me the grace to endure them.
Into thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit, whether for life or death,
for prison or freedom, according to thy holy will.
In the name of our risen Lord Jesus.
Good morning, Nicholas.
Good morning, Doctor.
Do you think we shall keep pace with these students?
That, my dear John, is a question I frequently ponder before entering my
classes.
Well said.
I've received word that we are to stop on our journey to confer with John of Gaunt.
He's aided you greatly in the past, Doctor.
He has indeed.
He's been as devoted a patron to me as he has been to Geoffrey Chaucer.
You may need him more than ever now.
We shall soon see.
But now we must make haste.
Good morning, John.
God save you, Doctor Wickliffe, gentlemen.
Good day to you, Sheriff.
You part your duties?
That's right, sir.
These fine fellows are high women.
Been robbing travellers round these parts for some time past.
But it's the hangman's rope from now, all right?
These young gentlemen your students, Doctor?
Yes, Sheriff.
Look well on this wretch, young sir.
And remember the fate of men who fall from the grace of God.
You can save your insults, Sheriff.
I have not fallen from God's grace.
My sins are as surely forgiven as the sins of any man in England.
Silence, you dog!
Shall this good Doctor hear your blasphemy?
Please, Sheriff.
Please let him speak.
I am interested to hear what he has to say.
God bless you, Father.
I have been a soldier of the King and I do not deserve this ill treatment.
Why have you taken to this dishonourable life of stealing?
Well, you know as well as I do, Father.
You know the law.
It's almost 25 years now since they fixed labourers' wages, said they couldn't go up
no more.
But the cost of food goes up all the time.
A man just can't afford to earn an honest living no more.
My son, I know you believe you have good cause to be bitter.
But nothing can excuse the breaking of God's laws.
But what did you mean that you assured the forgiveness of your sins?
Oh, well, I went to my priest and I bought an indulgence, paid good money for it too.
My priest promised me that I had the stored graces of the Holy Church for my
forgiveness.
I may be a thief, Father, but I've always been a good Christian.
Well, tell me this, good Christian.
Did Jesus sell indulgences like yours?
Well, my indulgence is good, I'll tell you.
Man, the forgiveness of God is not to be purchased by a few coin.
Yeah, but I paid good money.
My priest promised the indulgence was good.
What are you saying?
It's worthless?
Believe me, my son.
God's forgiveness and grace will give you true assurance.
No indulgence can do that.
I'll ask the sheriff to send for my vicar at Lutterworth Church.
And he will hear your confession and help you find true repentance.
It is never too late.
The repentant thief who died next to Christ upon the cross got the best
assurance of all.
Today, Christ told him, thou shalt be with me in paradise.
That thief needed no indulgence.
He needed only to turn to Christ.
I... I almost begin to believe you, Father.
Good sirs, if you please, good sirs.
They say in the village that one of you be a great doctor of the church.
If that be so, may a poor man ask for some help?
How can I help you, sir?
I do not ask for money, doctor, just a little of your time.
How can I be of service?
It is my wife that needs the help, doctor.
She's beside herself with grief for the boy child we had last year that died.
I try to reason with her and comfort her, but my words avail as little as a cold
wind.
She will not be comforted.
For myself, I try not to get too fond of a child till it gets to be six years of age
or so.
So many of the little ones die, you know.
Has your wife spoken to the parish priest?
That's the pity of it, Father.
The babe was not baptized.
Not baptized?
It was my fault, doctor.
There was a special levy from the church for the Pope's army, and I had no money
for a donation.
And the priest would not baptize without a donation?
No, Father.
Oh, generation of vipers.
And before I could earn the money, the poor babe was carried off by a fever.
Many months have passed, but my poor wife spends every day in weeping.
Will you help her, good sir?
May the Lord bless you and give you peace, my daughter.
I thank you for your kindness, good doctor.
But my heart is so broken, it will not be comforted.
You see, sir, what did I tell you?
God will bring peace to your mind and your heart if you will only give him leave.
His love is especially lent to broken hearts like yours.
Father, I will tell you why my heart aches so.
Some months ago, a traveling partner came through our village, and this friar told
me that the spirits of unbaptized infants are cursed.
To wanderers, fireflies...
He told you that?
Yes, father.
And now, whenever I see the fireflies rise in the summer twilight, I fear that maybe
the spirit of my own poor lost child is there.
Woman, you know that God has given us a holy book to lead us into all truth.
The Bible, father?
Yes, my daughter.
And I spent my life in study of these scriptures, and I tell you truly,
there's nothing in God's book of this old wife's tale of the fireflies.
No, father.
No, no.
Have you ever heard of the great King David?
Yes, father, in the mystery plays at festival time.
His story is told in the scriptures, and the book reveals that one day the
great King David had one of his own baby children grow sick and die.
And when the child was dead, David rose up and said, my child will not return to me,
but I shall go one day to be with him.
And that was many years before the institution of baptism.
Doctor, you speak so comfortingly, but how shall I know that one day I shall
go to be with my child?
Keep your eyes fixed on that other babe, born so many years ago in Bethlehem,
whose death did break the heart of his own dear mother, the Holy Virgin.
Keep in your heart that Christ died to purchase our souls by his hard suffering
on the bitter cross.
And remember that he rose again at Easter to call us to himself in glory.
I'm amazed, Doctor, at the comfort you give these troubled souls you meet.
Their countenance changes in your very presence.
It is the sharing of the scriptures that gives the comfort, is it not?
Well, we are less than one hour from John of Gaunt's.
We shall soon see what words of comfort he has in store for us.
Don't look to me this time, John Whitcliffe.
I cannot save you again.
I came to your rescue at St. Paul's, but at Lambeth you will be alone.
My lord, I cannot...
I cannot intervene again.
I would do you more harm than good now.
It is only a few short months since the death of my beloved father, King Edward.
Now we have a ten-year-old boy on the throne.
Our dear Richard is no more than a puppet in the hands of ambitious men,
men who are afraid lest I should usurp their newfound power.
Now is not the time to have John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, at your side.
However, though I shall not be present to pluck you out of trouble again,
I would give you a little instruction how to deport yourself at Lambeth.
For God's sake, Whitcliffe, you are sometimes so naive.
This time you must try and grasp the politics of the situation.
My lord, your advice is always welcome, but politics is your lordship's study,
not mine.
So you have always said.
I remember when my father sent you as a delegate to the peace conference in
Bruges.
Your arguments were good and sound, but your approach so stiff and unbending.
Even now you still do not comprehend the thrust and tally of politics.
It is like fighting.
Scorn you be!
Defend yourself!
Politics is conflict, my dear Whitcliffe, like a duel or battle.
Fight a political enemy as you would a military enemy with tactics.
Strategy.
Know when to attack, when to defend, and
when to beat an honourable retreat.
I try mercy, sir.
In battle, that would have cost you your life, squire, and me a good man.
Be off with you.
Whitcliffe, have you been listening, man?
I hear you, my lord, but I cannot see how this applies to my case.
Then let us be a little more specific.
At Lambeth Palace, your most dangerous enemy will not be Sudbury, but Bishop
Courtney.
He seeks your downfall.
He makes no secret of it.
Do not let your quick tongue fill his quiver with arrows for your own
destruction.
Be diplomatic.
Be moderate.
Fight a tactical battle.
Attack when you can.
Retreat when you must.
My lord knows that I shall speak truly and remain steadfast in my opinions.
That is exactly what I expected you to say.
You and your sacks and stubbornness.
My lord would prefer me to exercise Norman duplicity?
Oh, if this were still an age of champions.
I recall the glorious challenge my late brother, the Black Prince, threw down to
the King of France.
That they should decide the issue of a whole war in single combat.
Think of it.
What both our nations would have been spared.
Yes, I know.
John, in ecclesiastical matters you are my champion and the champion of England.
You have helped restore to the crown its dignity and prerogative as derived from
God.
Maybe now at last we shall see an end to the dominion of popes and prelates.
This English nation will be a mighty one when it finds the will to rouse itself.
Saxon or Norman, we stand or fall as Englishmen.
But the point I make in my writing is that lordship comes from God and can only be
exercised as by a steward in his service.
I confess I am sometimes appalled by the interpretations the political man put upon
my words.
Yet I have written nothing but what I have learnt in God's law.
Make no mistake, I take my stand on the scriptures.
As you will argue, no doubt, at Lambeth in your customary contentious manner.
Circumstances will govern my actions, my lord, as the young squire's thrusts
governed yours a few moments ago.
Wickliffe, you are exasperating, and I love you for it.
Stick to your scriptures, then, and be a David to bring down the Goliath
Courtney.
And may you conquer, for he is a tool of Rome, and his ambition would enslave us
all.
Fear not, great duke.
I place myself in the mighty hands of God.
Well and good, doctor.
But at Lambeth, you might find that he delivers you by the hands of a woman.
My lord?
Doctor Wickliffe, you have heard the charges against you, you have heard the
accusers.
You are satisfied that your teachings have been accurately presented to this court?
I deny only that they are unorthodox.
We would have you questioned by Bishop Courtney, who has studied minutely the
merits of your theses.
Bishop Courtney?
Thank you, my lord archbishop.
Doctor Wickliffe, we rejoice that you have condescended to obey our summons.
And I rejoice that you have studied minutely my theses, Bishop Courtney.
You profess, doctor, that the authority of human government can be higher than that
of God's church.
I have taught that all dominion comes equally from God.
I can only be rightfully exercised in obedience to God.
Should the church corruptly or evilly misuse its powers, then the civil
authorities would have the right and the duty to correct that abuse.
And who will be judge of this?
That same civil authority?
Indeed, doctor Wickliffe, is not this famous theory of dominion a mere
justification for the crown to usurp the property and prerogative of the church?
No, my lord, it is not.
But in the matter of property, seeing that you refer to it, I see no
basis in the word of God for the church to possess extreme material wealth.
Ah, can it be that doctor Wickliffe is jealous that he has not received the share
that his great talents deserve?
One third of the land of England is owned by the church, my lord Bishop.
Such ownership is not the business of the church.
Christ and his apostles lived in poverty.
Might we not do well to imitate their example?
And why do you suggest that we should dispose of the church's goods?
By presenting them perhaps to the English nobility?
I'm sure the Duke of Lancaster and his party could put them to good use.
No, my lord Bishop, but I do have a suggestion.
Rather than pay fat stipends to the large number of foreign churchmen, whom the Pope
has appointed to absentee English benefices, the church might better use its
wealth to feed the poor and starving common people of this realm.
Let us begin there.
Your own mouth condemns you, Wickliffe.
First you seek to undermine the authority of the church, of the bishops,
and even of the Pope.
And now you instruct us how best to bring about our own downfall.
You leave little room for doubt what the verdict of this court must be.
One last question, Dr. Wickliffe.
What spiritual authority would replace the one that you have just so effectively
demolished?
Your own fevered brain.
No, Bishop Courtney, the only true authority, the word of God, the holy
scriptures.
Let me pass.
I have an important document for the Archbishop.
Brothers in Christ, this is a letter from our Queen Mother, Joan of Kent,
speaking on behalf of her son Richard, who at his majority will ascend the throne
of this realm.
Her Majesty declares that Dr. John Wickliffe has rendered long and valued
service to the crown, the which she asks this court to recognize.
Further, she requests that there be no harassment of Dr. Wickliffe.
And lastly, she requests that this court shall refrain from pronouncing any final
judgment.
She has no right!
No right, Bishop Courtney, no right.
The Queen Mother has spoken and we shall listen respectfully.
Dear brothers, let us proceed.
We will confine ourselves to the consideration of the points at issue in
Dr. Wickliffe's thesis and refrain from any judgment of the man himself.
John of God!
I perceive his foul hand in this.
The Queen Mother will not have written so, not without his prodding.
So, once again Wickliffe escapes our grasp.
You would have delighted in his destruction, my lord.
Delighted?
Oh God, I should hope not.
Do you think I have relished this conflict?
I would rather have Wickliffe with us than against us.
He's a brilliant man.
His life is spotless.
His devotion to God is beyond question.
Dangerously attractive qualities.
But the man is misled.
He is a heretic and he must be silenced.
If he is not checked, his voice could poison all of Christendom.
It is said his following grows daily.
His name and influence spread like the plague.
You have heard, my lord, of the many itinerant priests he has sent into the
countryside to preach the scriptures.
Considering what a mockery so much of the preaching of our friars and partners has
become of it, I can hardly condemn him for that.
Sometimes I wonder, is mine the only voice to be raised in defense of the true
church?
What is to be done when at the head is such a weak, tall, sundering, blows hot
and cold with a great puff of wind?
He's a coward.
Archbishops do not live forever, my lord.
Very true, brother Mark.
But if we wait to fill dead men's shoes, we may wait too long.
You have some action in mind.
Oh, yes.
Yes, indeed.
The bird may have flown beyond our grasp, but the nest is still there for the
taking.
Oxford is the key.
If Oxford is purged of Wycliffe and his Lollard heresies, they will lose their
credibility.
Without the endorsement of the academic world, the nobility will find them less
attractive.
Ideas are only as powerful as the men that hold them.
Besides, if the peasants get any more troublesome than they are already,
the nobility will be the first to cry for law and order.
And where will they turn for help?
To the church.
But Wycliffe was allowed to remain at Oxford.
Pope Gregory died and chaos ensued.
The church broke apart with the election of two rival popes.
England and most of Europe went with Pope Urban VI in Rome.
France and a few allies supported Pope Clement VII in Avignon.
In the confusion that followed, John Wycliffe was left free to continue
his writing.
His ideas grew more and more bold.
This is most strange.
I don't understand.
Grace!
Ah, there you are, daughter.
What a hunt we had today.
You should have seen us.
Two boars dead within the first hour.
The second nearly got poor Newbery.
But why such a grim face?
We were discussing the election.
We were discussing this new book, fresh from the copiers, Father.
It arrived the day before yesterday.
Well, if a book will take away my daughter's pretty smile, I regret that I
ever allowed her to be taught her letters.
Oh, it must be very serious indeed.
Well, Father, it is by your old chaplain, John Wycliffe.
What has the man done now?
Why, Father, haven't you heard?
This book is Wycliffe's attack on the church doctrine, on transubstantiation.
Against the mass.
This time this priest has gone too far.
Square handling!
Get your horses ready, we ride for Oxford!
My lord, it cannot be!
You have gone too far, John Wycliffe, this time.
You have gone too far!
Noble Duke.
I have just seen what you have written on the Holy Eucharist.
You have dared to attack the doctrine of transubstantiation, the very central
doctrine of the church.
Yes, my lord, I have.
Is that all you have to say, you wretch?
You stand there in your bearded innocence and simply say yes, my lord?
No.
An attack on transubstantiation is an attack on the mass.
An attack on the mass is an attack on the foundation of the holy church.
Retract, retract it at once!
My lord, the holy scriptures tell us that Jesus Christ is the foundation of the
church.
Don't quibble, doctor.
You are attacking Jesus' sacrifice.
I think not, my lord.
Transubstantiation is a modern doctrine, unknown to the fathers of the church.
Pope Innocent III and the Fourth Lateran Council first proclaimed it less than two
hundred years ago.
I care not when it was proclaimed.
It is believed, believed throughout the whole of Christendom.
My noble duke, the fact that something is believed by the multitudes does not
necessarily make it true.
Weakling!
You know why I ask this thing of you.
Yes, my liege, I think that I do.
We have known each other for many years.
A great many years.
You gave loyal service to the old king.
God rest his soul, I wish he was alive today.
John, you know well the hold you now have upon the hearts of the people of this
nation.
If you do not recant this folly, a wound may open which might never heal.
Already there is rebellion in the air.
My nephew Richard is surrounded by fools and flatterers.
My lords of Gloucester and Arundel pull the strings upon which he dances.
And they are dangerous men.
I am fearful of what chaos may be let loose in England.
You do well to be fearful, my lord.
The poor of this realm have suffered too much, too long.
And you would do well to be fearful if you persist in this new teaching.
I can do no more.
Your stubbornness puts you at Courtney's mercy.
I can only continue the work I have begun.
Man may attack the body, my lord, not the soul.
You would not have me buy the protection of Courtney by selling my soul.
May God bless your courage, John.
My lord, it has been my privilege to serve you all these years.
I thank you for all you have done to shield me.
If you have to step back from me now, have no fear.
The Lord will be my shield.
I might not see your face again.
God keep us then, till we meet in his kingdom.
Farewell, John.
Farewell, great Duke.
This is madness, John, you know it is.
Their leader, John Ball, has escaped from prison.
That could only mean trouble.
We have no business being here.
How many times have I appealed on behalf of the poor of this country, Nicholas?
I am identified with their cause.
Why should I not speak to these peasants when they ask to meet me?
They are on the brink of insurrection.
If it is believed that you helped to fan the flame...
Well, let us at least ask what they have to say.
Ah, Mr. Wickliffe, you have come.
Yes, as you asked, but why this secrecy?
For all our sakes, Doctor, we take a certain risk in talking to you.
And we know that you be in certain considerable danger.
Your poor preachers come into our villages and tell the Bible stories.
They be our friends.
We think you are our friend, too.
We think you are on our side.
I think, my friend, I have already declared myself on your side.
Well, answer me this, then.
Who is right?
The poor laborers who cannot fill their children's bellies no matter how hard they
work?
Or the governors, who have not given them a rise in nigh on thirty years?
Take care, John.
This is a powder keg.
You are fully justified in what you say.
It's time things were changed.
Aye, it's time for a change.
It's time to overthrow the tyrants.
Doctor, we are many thousands strong.
Every man amongst us knows and honors your name.
If you would help us.
The purpose of my life is to help all God's people.
But tell me, is it true that John Ball has escaped from prison?
I don't know about that.
As a matter of fact, yes, it is so, sir.
Then it is he who has stirred up this revolt?
No, he may have stirred it up.
But the pot has been brewing for a long time now.
He knows what to do.
Brothers, listen.
Our Lord Jesus lived in an age of cruelty and injustice far worse than our own.
He came to overthrow tyranny.
But not with the methods of tyranny.
His kingdom will prevail.
But we must work for it in his way, following his word.
Words, words.
The time for words is past.
Now is the time for weapons to speak.
Consider, I beg you.
We've had enough of your fine gentleman's words.
What made us think that this fine Oxford gentleman would dirty his hands in our
cause?
He doesn't care.
That is neither just nor true.
I don't care, you say.
How many times have I spoken for your cause?
Pleaded on your behalf.
For mercy.
That your wrongs might be righted.
I've appealed to the church, begged them to look to the needs of the poor.
And now my church censures me.
I am spurned for my efforts by the civil authorities.
The royal court distrusts me.
And you say I do not care?
You must understand.
The way of violence is not Christ's way.
It cannot be my way.
Nor should it be the way of any Christian man.
You are a good man, sir.
We are not evil men, neither.
Your priests have shown us the way of Christ and we want to follow it.
But it won't put wool on our backs nor bread in our mouths.
Religious talk can't stop us now.
There's been too much talk with too little results.
My brothers, wait!
Our Lord was not of the landed gentry.
He was a common man, a carpenter, who left his trade to become a servant to
others.
He washed his disciples' feet.
If you let him, God will wash the rancor from your hearts and lead you in his way.
We will see things change.
Believe me, we will.
You've got to understand, sir.
It's gone on for too long.
Far too long.
Now we fight!
We fight!
Chaos and bloodshed came to England with the outbreak of the Peasants' Revolt.
Thousands of the poor marched on London, smashing every authority except that of
the young king, Richard II.
The knighthood, once gathered in force, put down the rebellion.
But it was a time of disorder and violent protest against all the institutions that
oppressed the common people.
The nobility and many in the church began to hold John Wycliffe to blame for the
revolt.
It was charged that his doctrines made the peasants think that they were important in
the eyes of God.
And thus they might have earthly rights too.
Simon Sudbury, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was beheaded by the mob.
And in the aftermath, Pope Urban appointed Thomas Courtney as the new Archbishop of
Canterbury.
With the supreme ecclesiastical power in England in his hands at last, Archbishop
Courtney wasted no time in moving against Wycliffe.
To Chancellor Rigg at Oxford, without delay.
So, John Wycliffe, let's see who's master now.
It had to come, John.
Since my appointment, I've fought for your liberty to teach what you would within
these walls.
Doctrines condemned by the papal court, teaching forbidden by the Lambeth Council,
but it couldn't last.
You both knew that.
Courtney has appointed a council of twelve to oversee the university.
My authority is by license of that council.
They have issued their first orders.
See for yourself.
I am to be deprived of all academic privileges.
I do not wish to submit.
God knows.
You have no choice, Chancellor.
While the university remains an arm of the church, you have no choice.
If you resist...
If I resist, Pope Urban will place an interdict to the university.
The university will lose all its hard-won privileges.
I do not lose mine.
Precisely.
Though I fear that would be the end of the matter.
Other heads will roll.
I'm sure of that.
Probably mine too.
They have no regard for this place as the greatest center of learning in the
Christian world.
They care only for conformity and proper obedience.
Sir, I am to be forbidden to teach.
And am I also to be denied access to the libraries for my studies?
That is undoubtedly what the council has in view.
John, its intention is simply to cut you off from everything you stood for.
How can I continue my work?
Ask my old friend.
I'm...
I don't know.
Good day to you, Doctor.
Doctor!
I did not see you there.
I'm Steve Coburn.
That is right, sir.
I'm sorry we disturbed your meditation.
No disturbance.
I have time for my students always.
You too are near the end of your studies, are you not?
You will be returning to your homeland before long.
Yes, sir.
And we have something to tell you.
Whilst we have been at Oxford, we have copied all your work.
Every one of them.
Every one?
Every one.
The complete works of Dr. John Wycliffe.
We copy everything.
Your books go with us back to Bohemia.
What should I say?
I'm astonished.
And delighted.
Sir, Bohemia is such a beautiful country.
In Prague, your name is already famous.
Won't you come with us?
Things are so sad for you here now.
We hear you are forbidden to teach.
There is danger for you here.
In Prague, you would be honoured as you deserve.
A moment ago, I was in deep despair.
Now, I'm full of joy.
I thank God for two such good friends.
Your invitation tempts me.
I am an academic.
I've always lived amongst academics.
And I confess I'm frightened by the condemnation that's heaped upon my head.
Please come with us.
You will find the protection you need to continue your work.
No, I think not.
Somehow I feel it's not yet finished.
I think there's still work for me to do here in England.
We promise, Doctor.
Whatever happens here in England, you, your teaching, will live on in the
fortress mountains of Bohemia.
How marvellous the God's ways.
May He ever continue to do His work through you, my dear sons in Christ.
You see, in a way, I do go with you to our homeland.
Yes.
Yes, I see.
I give thee thanks, Lord.
Yes.
Oh, yes.
Now I understand.
Lutterworth.
Oh, Lord, it shall be.
Thy will be done.
Lutterworth?
What will you do at Lutterworth?
Why not?
Have I not these eight years past been raptor, Lutterworth?
Why should I not resume my pastoral duties?
Perhaps it's about time, considering the number of sermons I've preached against
absentee clerics.
Oh, you know full well you've never neglected your pastoral duties.
Neither there nor at Oxford.
Last night in my prayers I suddenly saw quite clearly that the divine hand of
providence was guiding me back to Lutterworth.
As pastor?
Yes.
And the work I must do there will be the most challenging that I shall ever face in
my life as a scholar.
As a scholar, sir?
What do you mean?
My entire career has slowly led me to see that our ultimate authority is not to be
found in traditions or in councils, in the church or even in the pope.
Our authority is the word of God alone.
Over the centuries that authority has been eroded, usurped, and now our nation,
our whole people, our civilization, starves for lack of the word of God.
How can men live under the authority of God's word if they do not know God's word?
The clergy, most of them, do not even know their Latin.
They know still less than God's word.
My task now,
our task, if you will, Nicholas, John, if you will, is to use this exile to
translate the holy scriptures, all of them, into English.
Our native English tongues, so they can be heard and understood by all our people.
It will be a glorious undertaking, Doctor.
Most of your students will want to help.
There will be no lack of workers.
You realize the shockwaves this will send through the Curia, not to mention your
opponents at Canterbury.
You already stand accused of heresy.
Translating the Bible will be seen by some as nothing less than insurrection against
our mother church.
Yet I see it as nothing less than my sacred duty as a loyal son of Christ's
church.
It's so plain to me now.
How did we ever lose it?
The New Testament was written in the coiny Greek, the language of the people.
St. Jerome's Latin Bulgarian Translation was in the common tongue.
Our English will never be deprived of the word of God, because it is locked up in a
foreign language.
How can we keep a faithful church without the word of God, as it's bred for hungry
souls?
My dream is to see the unquenchable fire of God's word.
Kindled in the hearts and minds of all our people.
All our people.
Good day to you, Forrest.
Forrest?
Yes, Doctor?
I don't think I shall be needing this any further.
No, Doctor.
Thank you.
God be with you, Doctor Wycliffe.
And with you, Forrest.
For months we laboured at our great task.
Day after day, close attention to the Holy Scriptures became for us a source of
revelation and constantly new insight into the truth of God.
Our hearts were set aflame with the word of God.
The research, translation and copying of that word became not a task, but a supreme
act of worship.
Throughout this time, Doctor Wycliffe was sustained by an amazing energy.
While still performing his parish duties and continuing to write and speak in
public against the corruption within the church which so deeply distressed him,
he nevertheless managed to supervise personally details of the translation
work.
But he soon began to realise that the translation of the word into English was
only the first step.
Now, the word had to be taken to the people.
In his second year at Lutterworth, Wycliffe suffered a stroke which left him
partly crippled.
But he would not permit his affliction to disrupt his work.
Brothers in Christ, I rejoice to greet you at this blessed time.
And I thank God that he has spared me to see this day.
You know, all of you, that I first began to send out my little flock of poor
priests during my years at Oxford.
They were a gallant band.
But after my banishment, I never thought to preside over such a commissioning
again.
Yet here you are, my brave new flock.
I bless you.
And oh, how much I thank God for you.
Within this bill, we have uncovered the damnable heresies of this pernicious
schoolman, John Wycliffe.
When shall we be spared the venom of his pen, the subversive threat of his
presence?
See for yourselves how low he has sunk.
This man of former great reputation, the jewel of Oxford, fame throughout
Europe for his knowledge of the scriptures and the Fathers.
Look now at his depraved teachings.
He attacks the very foundation of the church.
He declares it lawful for any man to preach the word of God, refutes the
necessity of the authorization of the apostolic see.
This Wycliffe will have the people here preaching from any common man who could
open a copy of the scriptures.
Every man is called to be a steward of God.
Every man is responsible to God for what he does with his life.
Every man must stand alone before the final judgment of God.
God has given us the scriptures that we should learn how to think and believe and
live.
Oh, my good brethren, let us make it known that it is every man's right to examine
the scriptures for himself, to read them in his own tongue, that he may learn how
to serve God.
It is not enough to leave their interpretation to the church.
He has been condemned for a heretic, forbidden to canvass his pernicious
doctrines in pulpit or school.
Oxford has been cleansed of his influence so that it is no longer a center of
heresy.
And yet this learned doctor still remains a thorn in the flesh of the mother church.
For now what do we learn?
That he and his acolytes have been engaged from the moment he went to Lutterworth in
translating the holy scriptures into the common English tongue.
Shall God's law, which has come down to us in the language of learning, be so
debased, so stripped of majesty, so enfeebled of meaning?
How shall the vulgar tongue of common men adequately convey its wisdom?
Do we really dare to give the word of God in the common tongue into the hands of the
common people?
Do we fully understand what we are doing?
Will some not abuse, misuse and misinterpret the scriptures?
My brethren, of course some will.
But has keeping the scriptures as the property of the hierarchy and the clergy
prevented misuse?
No, indeed.
It has furthered its abuse.
We will give God's word to God's children and his spirit will guide them.
It will take time for growth and understanding.
But I fear what judgment may befall us if we dare not give out this word.
Did not the blessed St. Augustine declare that it was necessary only for God's
ordained to understand the holy scriptures?
That they alone should communicate this knowledge?
God has committed the treasure of his word to the keeping of his holy church.
That ignorant men shall not misinterpret them to their own damnation.
It is reported, Your Grace, that Wycliffe's intention is to release another
band of ragged preachers upon the countryside.
This time armed with copies of the new translation.
Then they must be stopped.
It shall be ordered that under King Richard's seal and upon certification from
a bishop, that henceforth all itinerant priests shall be arrested and imprisoned.
My friends, the way will be hard.
Hunger, bitter cold, foul words, physical attack awaits you.
It may be you will be persecuted, imprisoned.
Then, like Christ, you will turn the other cheek, if need be, again and again.
Love him and serve him always.
Therein lies your strength.
Furthermore, it is the mandate of this synod that the condemnation of John
Wycliffe be set forth with all speed.
He shall at last be delivered into our hands for the judgment and condemnation he
deserves.
Wycliffe never appeared at the third trial.
He suffered another stroke whilst attending mass, which left him paralyzed.
The trial went on in his absence anyway, but was interrupted by a rare and violent
earthquake.
Both Courtenay's followers and Wycliffe's saw in it the hand of God's judgment on
the other.
Master Purvey, I'm glad you are with me now.
My teacher.
My son, our work must go on.
It must, and it will.
A time must come when, by God's grace, every man and every woman in this kingdom
must have the word of God in
the English language, in their heart.
After his death, his work and influence continued to spread, not only here in
England, but in Europe too, with John Huss of Prague.
Severe persecution followed.
Many of us were put on trial, ordered to recant.
Shamefully, some of us did.
But some of us later renounced our recantations.
But why do they dig up his grave?
Why do they burn his bones?
My lad, thirteen years ago, thirty years after Dr Wycliffe's death, the Council of
Constance ordered that John Huss be burned at the stake, and that the bones of John
Wycliffe be dug up and burned to ashes.
But why?
Well, somehow, they think by burning his bones that they can erase his memory and
destroy his influence.
But they never will.
The chronicler Fuller wrote, They burnt his bones to ashes, and cast them into
Swift, a neighbouring brook running hard by.
Thus this brook hath conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into Seven, Seven into the
narrow seas, they into the main ocean.
And thus the ashes of Wycliffe are the emblem of his doctrine, which now has
dispersed the world over.
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