Burning Bibles to the Glory of God

Sea mist settled over William Tyndale as the ship carried him toward Germany, seeking financial assistance in hopes of continuing his work of translating the Bible into English from its original Greek and Hebrew. This was 1524, and the young scholar had already spent years wrestling with a conviction that would not let him go: that the English people needed access to the Word of God in their own tongue, not locked away in Latin behind the walls of the church.

That conviction had a history. Years before this voyage, Tyndale had approached Bishop Cuthbert Tunstall of London, seeking formal approval from the church to begin translating the Scriptures into the language of the people. It was a reasonable request from a capable scholar, but it was fervently denied. The Roman Catholic Church had no interest in placing its Scriptures into common hands, and Tunstall, a man of considerable learning himself, was not going to be the one to open that door.

Denied at home, Tyndale decided to press on anyway, and it was this decision that sent him across the water toward Germany, searching for the safety and support that England would not give him. He believed, above all else, that the English people needed access to the Word of God, and he was willing to leave his homeland to make that happen.

His first New Testament edition, translated from Erasmus’ Greek text, began printing in 1525 in Cologne, Germany. This secret operation was discovered by opponents to the cause, who were ironically claiming to be members of the “one true church,” and was raided and shut down before it could be completed.

The next year, the edition would be successfully printed and distributed from a new hub hidden in Worms, in the amount of 6,000 copies. The English people could read the Word of God in their native tongue.

The opponents were displeased, to say the least. Tunstall denounced the translation as “poisonous,” and claimed to have personally discovered thousands of errors. He ordered all copies he could find to be burned.

Archbishop William Warham called for more copies to be bought for the sole purpose of being burned. Cardinal Wolsey, in agreement, demanded all “untrue translations” be destroyed. Tunstall ordered that as many copies as could be found or bought be gathered and burned at St. Paul’s Cross. Many such burnings of God’s Word in English occurred there.

While Tyndale certainly was grieved at the thought of his work going up in flames, he was also desirous to produce a new and updated edition. His main obstacle was finding a way to fund it. With his first edition going up in flames, and his second edition awaiting the funds necessary to print, Tyndale was stuck.

Bishop Tunstall, having felt some success in his book burnings, decided that he had not done enough. The work of the banished translator needed to be fully eradicated. Tunstall developed a plan, sometime around 1527, that he would find an inside man to help him find the remaining copies.

Augustine Packington, a merchant in London and supporter of Tyndale’s translation efforts, was chosen as the man for the job. Packington agreed to sell Tunstall the remaining copies of Tyndale’s first edition.

After spending some time gathering as many copies as he could find, Packington supplied his end of the deal and gave what he had gathered to Tunstall. In what I can only imagine as a moment of perceived victory, Tunstall paid Packington for the bounty he had delivered.

Tunstall was not aware of Packington’s continued allegiance to Tyndale. Packington took the Bishop’s money and placed it into the hands of none other than Tyndale himself. The Bishop, in an attempt to stop Tyndale’s translation, served instead to fund his newer and better edition.

It wasn’t long before Tunstall noticed New Testaments still pouring into England, seemingly undiminished by his efforts. He summoned Packington, demanding to know how so many copies were still circulating when he’d been promised they were all bought up. Packington, without missing a beat, told him he actually had purchased everything available, but the presses hadn’t stopped running since. His advice to the Bishop was, in effect, that “you were best to buy the stamps too, and so you shall be sure,” if he really wanted to stop the flow. Tunstall, evidently unable to see the trap he’d walked into, only smiled, and the matter ended there.

There is a lesson in this story that goes beyond one bishop’s failed scheme against one stubborn translator. God is sovereign over all things, even the plans of those who set themselves against His purposes. Time and again throughout history, He has taken the very efforts meant to harm His cause and turned them into the means of its increase, heaping coals upon the heads of those who thought themselves victorious.

Tunstall believed he was starving Tyndale’s work of its lifeblood. Instead, he was funding its next breath. This is no isolated irony. God’s persecuted church has, more often than not, also been God’s growing church. Every generation offers some new adversary convinced that this time, the flame will finally be put out, and every generation, the opposition finds it has only handed the fire more fuel to burn brighter. As the early church father Tertullian put it, the blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church. It is as if God allows adversaries to seek to extinguish the flame of His church, yet only gives them gasoline as a weapon.

Bishop Tunstall meant to extinguish Tyndale’s translation. Instead, he financed its improvement. What Tunstall intended for harm, God intended for good.

Further Reading:

God’s Bestseller: William Tyndale and the Writing of the English Bible —  Brian Moynahan | https://amzn.to/4gWOXFZ

William Tyndale: A Biography — David Daniel | https://amzn.to/4vNoM8s

Foxe’s Book of Martyrs — John Foxe | https://amzn.to/4pJpB0Q

Some links above may be affiliate links. If you purchase through them, this publication may receive a small commission at no additional cost to you. Such proceeds help support the ongoing work of this site