Upon This Rock

The year was 1562. Antony of Navarre, the Bourbons, the Guises, Henry IV, Catherine de’ Medici, mother of King Charles IX, and a host of outsiders were all eyeballing a glittering French crown, either for themselves or their descendants.

The country was divided by an aging and corrupt Roman Catholic church and a growing number of reformed Christians known as Huguenots. The key to claiming the crown was going to be in choosing which religious tradition was most likely to succeed.

Theodore Beza, a respected preacher and theologian of the reformation, was moving through the French countryside and preaching to crowds of up to 40,000, and rarely less than 8,000 people, all eager to leave Rome behind and return to a more biblical faith.

His status among the nobility meant he also had the ear of many people of royal blood. He chastised those who, like the Prince of Navarre, were willing to return to Rome just for a few extra votes among the elite.

Beza warned those who were willing (and had already begun) to slaughter (by the thousands) the faithful Huguenots that, “the church is an anvil on which many a hammer had been broken.” Meaning, that the church would prevail and continue by God’s kindness to grow, while those who opposed it with violence may well find themselves dashed to pieces.

…and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. (Matthew 16:18)

This has always been the confidence of the faithful. Not that blood would not be shed, but that it would not be shed in vain. Not that the church would have it easy, but that God would uphold her to the end.

Bloodshed was to follow. Ten years later in 1572, the bloody insanity of Rome gripped the nation and up to 70,000 faithful Huguenot citizens—men, women, and children—were murdered.

Many of those who survived, or who saw the danger approaching, made their way to the Americas and other parts of Europe, where their godliness and faithfulness have had a significant impact on the growth of Christianity in various parts of the world to this day.

Even after only a few years it was clear that those who had orchestrated the massacre had achieved nothing. Catherine de’ Medici was dead, King Charles IX was dead. Those who supported their blood-lust were dead, but the reformed church continued.

As G. K. Chesterton once put it,

Christendom has had a series of revolutions and in each one of them Christianity has died. Christianity has died many times and risen again; for it has a God who knows the way out of the grave.

This is our testimony, and we are called to be faithful to it. Come what may, we are to remain faithful to Christ whose church will always prevail.

When called to stand, we are to stand upon the Rock, and not the opinions and favour of fickle man. When called to suffer, we are to suffer for our obedience to Christ and conscience, not the current madness of the world.

Jesus loves His church and has assured us, not only of its victory in this world, but that at His return, He will not be confronted by some scruffy and toothless bride with knee-high ugg boots, torn denim jeans and a fag perched between broken fingernails, but a bride made beautiful. A bride perfected by grace. Pure, lovely, and victorious.

This is our confidence. Not that we are confident of ourselves, but confident that Christ will do all that He has promised to do in order to bring His bride to a land of milk and honey.

Hoc enim contendimus, hoc petimus.

For this we labour, for this we pray.