GEORGE MARSH
George Marsh lived quietly for many years with his wife and children on a farm in the countryside. When his wife died, he attended the University of Cambridge to become a minister, serving for a while in Lawrence Sander’s curate. Marsh preached for some time before being arrested and imprisoned for four months by the bishop of Chester, who did not allow him any visitors and had the names of any who asked for Marsh reported to him.
He was brought before Dr. Cotes several times but maintained the theology he had been taught during Edward’s reign and would not be moved, although he did admit, “I want to live as much as yu do. But I cannot deny my master, Christ, or He will deny me before His Father in heaven.” Marsh was condemned as a heretic and turned over to the sheriffs.
Since he wasn’t allowed any visitors in prison, Marsh’s friends would stand by a hole in the outer prison wall and call out, asking how he was. He always replied that he was fine, anxious to die as a witness of God’s truth and trusting Him to help him bear it bravely. On the day of his execution, Marsh was brought out in irons. Some people tried to hand him money, which criminals being executed would accept to bribe a priest to say masses for them, but Marsh told them to give their money to prisoners or the poor, not him.
Outside the city near Spittle-Boughton, by the stake, the deputy chamberlain of Chester showed Marsh the pardon he would receive from the queen if he recanted. Marsh said he would love to accept it, that he even loved the queen, but he could not recant.
The fire was poorly made, so Marsh suffered terribly, bearing it with patience. He had been in the fire for a long time — his flesh broiled and puffed up so much that the chain around him couldn’t be seen — when he suddenly spread his arms and called, “Father in heaven, have mercy on me,” and died. Many people who witnessed Marsh’s death said he was a martyr who died with patience and godliness, which caused the bishop to preach a sermon saying that Marsh was a heretic, burned like a heretic, and was now a firebrand in hell.
WILLIAM FLOWER
William Flower, sometimes called Branch, was born at Snow Hill, Cambridge. He entered the Abby of Ely and was made a monk at the age of seventeen, observing all the rules of the order, becoming a priest, and celebrating Mass. But at the age of twenty-one, Flower left the order, abandoned his habit, became a secular priest, and returned to Snow Hill. There he celebrated Mass and taught children for about six months.
He moved to several other places before he settled in Tewkesbury for a while and married; then he moved to London. One Easter morning, Flower saw a priest giving communion to the people in St. Margaret’s Church in Westminster. Suddenly offended at the ceremony and the priest, he drew his knife and slashed the priest on the head, arm, and hand, causing the chalice with its consecrated host to fall to the floor, where it mingled with the priests’s blood.
When he was brought before Bishop Bonner, Flower admitted he had acted in an unchristian manner by striking the priest and should be punished for that. But as far as his beliefs about communion went, he refused to submit. He told the bishop that he could do as he chose with his body, but he had no power over his soul, which belonged to God.
Given a few hours to think about it, Flower returned to the bishop, who asked him to reconsider his views of communion. “I’ll stand by what I’ve said,” Flower stated. “Let the law punish me.” Every time he was see by the bishop, his answer was the same: “I have nothing to say. I’ve already said all I have to say, and I won’t change that.”
On April 24, Flower was brought to St. Margaret’s churchyard to be burned. First his left hand was held behind him while his right hand was cut off, then the fire was lit. As he burned, he cried aloud three times, “O Son of God, have mercy upon me!” Then he spoke no more, holding the stump of his arm up as long as he could with his other hand.
JOHN CARDMAKER AND JOHN WARNE
John Cardmaker was an observant friar before the dissolution of abbeys. After that, he served as a married minister then was appointed a reader at St. Paul’s under Edward’s reign. The papists in that church were so upset by Cardmaker’s doctrine that they cut and mangled his gown with their knives.
At the beginning of Queen Mary’s reign, Cardmaker was brought to London and jailed with Barlow, the bishop of Bath. After the chancellor examined both men, he declared them faithful Catholics — probably so he could use them as an example to encourage others to recant, although they might have weakened, too. It is known that in every examination that followed, the chancellor held Barlow and Cardmaker up as examples of discreet, educated men. Whatever really happened, Barlow was freed and continued to bear witness to the truth of Christ’s gospel during the rest of his life. Cardmaker was returned to jail while the bishop of London announced to the public that he would shortly be freed after accepting transubstantiation and some other articles of faith. However, he was never set free.
John Warne, an upholsterer, was charged with not believing in transubstantiation and refusing to accept communion, charges he willingly plead guilty to. No matter what the bishop said or threatened, Warne refused to budge from his beliefs.
On May 30, John Cardmaker and John Warne were led to the stake together. Warne said his prayers and was bound to the stake, and the wood and reeds were piled around him; all that was needed was the torch. Meanwhile, the sheriffs had taken Cardmaker aside and were talking to him rivately, until the crowd became convinced that he was about to recant. Cardmaker left the sheriffs, approached the stake, and knelt down to pray, still in his clothes. By now the people were sure he would be freed. When he finished his prayers, Cardmaker took off his clothing and kissed the stake, comforting Warne as they bound him, too.
Realizing that Cardmaker had refused to save himself, the crowd called out blessings to him as the fire was lit under both men.
THOMAS HAWKES
On Februrary 8, 1555, six men were brought before Bishop Bonner: Stephen Knight, William Pigot, Thomas Tompkins, John Lawrence, William Hunter, and Thomas Hawkes. All of them were condemned the following day.
Thomas Hawkes, a tall, good-looking man with excellent qualities, was born in Essex and raised as a gentleman. He was known for his gentle behavior toward others and his dedication to true religion and godliness. Hawkes entered into the service of the Lord of Oxford, staying there as long as Edward VI lived, enoying a good reputation and being well loved by everyone in the household. But when Edward died, everything suffered: Religion decayed, the godly fell into danger, and the houses of good men came on hard times. Rather than change his religious beliefs to fit those of Queen Mary’s court and Lord of Oxford’s house, Hawkes left the nobelman’s service and returned home, hoping to worship in peace there.
Soon after, Hawkes had a son. Since he refused to have the baby baptized in the Catholic Church, he put the sacrament off for three weeks and was reported to the Earl of Oxford for contempt of the sacraments. The earl was either unable or unwilling to argue matters of religion with Hawkes; he sent him to Bishop Bonner of London.
Hawkes told Bonner that he had nothing against baptism itself, just against its Catholic embellishments.
“Would you agree to have your child christened by the book that was set out by King Edward?” the bishop asked.
“Yes. That’s exactly what I want,” Hawkes replied.
When Bonner could not convince Hawkes that the Catholic service was as effective as the Protestant one, he called in Mr. Harpsfield, the archdeacon of London.
“Christ used ceremonies,” Harpsfield began. “Didn’t He take clay from the ground, spit on it, and make the blind man see?”
“I know that,” Hawkes replied. “But He never used it in baptism. If you want to use it, use it as Christ did.”
“Suppose your child should die unchristened?”
“So?”
“Why, then both you and your child would be damned.”
“Don’t judge further than you may bythe scriptures,” Hawkes retorted.
“Don’t you know your child is born in original sin?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How is original sin washed away?”
“By true faith and belief in Christ Jesus,” Hawkes replied.
“How can your baby believe?”
:His deliverance from sin is grounded in the faith of his parents.”
“How can you prove that?”
“Saint Paul, in First Corinthians seven, verse fourteen, says: ‘For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband; else were your children unclean; but now are they holy.’”
“Recant, recant! Don’t you know that Christ said, ‘Except ye be baptized, ye cannot be saved?”
“Does Christianity depend on outward ceremonies?” Hawkes asked.
“Partly, yes. What do you think about the Mass?”
Hawkes replied, “I say it’s detestable, abominable, and useful for nothing!”
“Useful for nothing? What about the epistle and gospel?”
“That’s good, if it’s used as Christ left it to be used.”
“How about the confessional?”
“that’s abominable and detestable. It’s blasphemy to call upon, trust, or pray to anyone but Christ Jesus.”
“We don’t ask you to trust anyone, just call on them and pray to them. You know that you can’t speak with a king or queen withhout first speaking to someone else.”
“You mean I should call on those I don’t trust? Saint Paul said, “How shall they call on him in whom they have not believed?”
“Don’t you want someone to pray for you when you’re dead?”
“No,” Hawkes replied. “Once you’re dead, no man’s prayers can help you. Unless you can prove otherwise by scripture.”
“Don’t the prayers of the righteous prevail?”
“Only for the living. David said, ‘None of them can by any means redeem his brother, nor give to God a ransom for them.”
“Wht books do you have?”
“The New Testament, Solomon’s books, and the Psalter.”
“Will you read other books?”
“Certainly. If you give me the ones I want.”
“What do you want?
“Larimer’s books, my lord of Canterbury’s books, Badford’s sermons, and Ridley’s books.”
“Take him away! The books he wants all support his heresies.”
The next day Fecknam came to talk to Hawkes. “Are you the one who won’t have his child christened unless it’s done in English and will have no ceremonies?”
“Whatever scripture commands done, I will do,” Hawkes replied.
They continued for a while, Hawkes standing his ground and quoting scripture to prove each point they debated. The following day Dr. Chedsay and Bishop Bonner talked with Hawkes, asking him what he thought of the Catholic Church.
“It’s a church of vicious cardinals, priests, monks, and friars, which I will never give credit or believe, “he replied.
Bonner explained to Chedsay, “He won’t come to my chapel to hear Mass. His services have to be in English.”
“Christ never spoke English,” Chedsay replied.
“Neither did He speak Latin,” Hawkes retorted. “What good does it do me to hear a language I don’t understand?” Hawkes went on to say that the Catholic Church engaged in the worship of idols, praying to saints, holy bread, and holy wine, none of which are found in or commanded by scripture. On February 9, 1555, he was condemned as a heretic. He remained in prison until June 10.
A little before his death, some of Hawkes’s friends asked him a favor. They were afraid for their own lives and wondered how long faith could stand in the midst of the fire. Hawkes agreed to lift his hand over his head if the pain was tolerable and his mind was still at peace. When he had been in the fire so long that he could no longer speak, his skin had shrunk, his fingers had been burned off, and everyone thought he was dead. Hawkes suddenly raised his burning hands over his head and clapped them together three times! The people there — especially those who understood his gesture — broke into shouts of praise and applause as Thomas Hawkes sunk down into the fire and gave up his spirit.
(To be continued …)
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