Chapter Ten
Monologues
Telling It Like It Was
Preaching In The First Person
Often, those remembered as heroes by the church have been clergy. Since the vast majority of constituents in the church are laity, it is meaningful for them to see that many of the persons who kept their integrity in times of great difficulty have been laypersons. Thomas More was a person of strong faith who did not give up his principles when they became inconvenient. He was cautious, not bold, but when circumstances required that he give up his integrity or his life, he found the courage to maintain his integrity. People facing difficult choices today need to know that others have faced great challenges and remained faithful to what they believed.
I wanted to prepare a message for Reformation Sunday. After reading several books on Thomas More, I developed a story line that I thought would help the congregation understand how the events of history have impacted and changed the church. Telling it from the perspective of an involved participant would keep it from being simply a history lesson. Having a devout Roman Catholic tell of events leading to the establishment of Protestantism in England would lead to a greater appreciation of our shared heritage.
The proposition that guided the development of the sermon was as follows: "As we learn about one who was faithful to his convictions, we are helped to be faithful to our convictions." I decided that I would represent More as speaking in his prison cell just before being taken to his execution. Since many in the congregation would not know for sure what finally happened to More, I had the following statement printed in the worship folder under the sermon title: "Thomas More was beheaded on July 6, 1535. On the scaffold he said, 'I die the king's good servant, but God's first.' "
A Man Of Integrity
Philippians 4:4-9
"It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in princes." So says the Psalmist. And I have found it so in my own life. I had known it from the beginning of my career, but the events of history made it impossible for me to keep aloof from the influence of princes. So it is that you see me now, bereft of family, career, titles, wealth -- and soon to be bereft of my head, for tomorrow the headsman will have that -- and I am left only with the temporary use of this prison cell, and with my integrity. Like the Apostle Paul, I know what it is to abound, and also what it is to be abased. May God continue to give me the strength I need for one more day to meet the great challenge that still lies ahead.
My name is Thomas More, sometime lord chancellor, that is, prime minister, of all England, and close confidant of my prince, King Henry VIII. How my star has fallen since those days -- and all for conscience sake. Let me tell you about it.
I was born in London in 1478. At the age of fourteen I was sent to Canterbury College, Oxford, where I would have been happy to continue in the scholarly and contemplative life of the clergy, but my father wanted me to become a lawyer and enrolled me instead in the study of the law. I eventually concluded that it was my calling to be a layman rather than a priest, and I embraced the law, though I have always preferred the simplicity of dress, food, and drink I experienced among the monks.
Following my entrance into the practice of law, I turned to public affairs and was elected to the House of Commons at the age of 24. Life was pleasant for me. I married Jane Colt, who bore me four children in five years. My practice was prospering. I was appointed to be undersheriff of London, which was a judgeship.
When my wife died suddenly, I quickly married a widow with children of her own, for I needed someone to manage the household, and our families were happily merged. Worship was most important to me. We observed morning and evening prayers, we listened to the Scriptures being read at meal time, and we attended mass daily. We felt that our blessings were to be shared, so we built a house for the poor which was cared for by the whole family. While we were a pious family, our house was filled with mirth and games and plays and the learning of music, which was shared by the whole household. I lamented that I did not have the time to be a real scholar, but as a family man, it was important that I spend time with the family.
In 1509, Henry VII died, and his son, Henry VIII, was crowned king. We who were educated looked forward to his reign, for the new king was educated in Latin, theology, philosophy, science, and letters. He was a bonnie prince. We believed that the tyranny we had experienced under the former king was over. With such an enlightened prince coming to the throne, we felt there would be an improvement in the lot of the common man. Alas, we did not understand the corrupting nature of power.
A constellation of circumstances was already taking shape that none of us had the ability to foresee, but which would have a profound effect on England, the Church, and ourselves. Before ascending the throne, Henry had married a Spanish princess, Catherine of Aragon. She had previously been married to Henry's brother, Arthur, but Arthur had died before the marriage was consummated. Normally the Church did not allow a person to marry his brother's wife, but since the marriage had not been consummated, the pope gave a dispensation, allowing Henry to marry her. Some questioned the validity of the dispensation, including the archbishop of Canterbury.
As Henry assumed the crown, he turned often for advice to Thomas Wolsey, an ambitious man I had known from my time at Oxford. Wolsey encouraged Henry to make war on France and Scotland, for he hoped to advance his own cause in the settlements. Somehow, I caught Wolsey's attention and he had me appointed to a diplomatic delegation to Flanders. I was away for six months, which greatly affected the income of my law practice. During that time I developed ideas for a book about the kinds of changes that would be necessary in society to bring about the ideal commonwealth. It was about a society ruled by reason. It was also a protest against social injustice. I called the book Utopia. It was published in 1516.
In 1515, Thomas Wolsey was made a cardinal in the Church. That same year Henry made him lord chancellor of England. Henry wanted to put me on the royal payroll because of my service in Flanders. I declined because I felt it would compromise my position as a judge. In 1516, a daughter, Mary Tudor, was born to Henry and the queen, Catherine. The king was pleased to have an heir, but mentioned privately that he really needed a son.
On May Day, 1517, an angry crowd was beginning to riot in London over social conditions. I spoke to them and, as a consequence, what could have been a revolution was averted. Wolsey was convinced that the king needed my services and insisted that I enter the royal payroll as the king's counselor. I acquiesced and entered into the life at court. All the while the king was learning statecraft from his lord chancellor, Wolsey, who taught him to be ruthless in the exercise of power. One of England's leading nobles was jailed for treason, found guilty, and executed. I marked well how the king managed to accomplish his will within the law but to use the law to his advantage. It would not be healthy to incur the wrath of the king.
I now became familiar to the king and queen. I was frequently invited for conversation with them, but, as they might request my presence at any time, day or night, I feigned dullness in conversation so they would call on me less, and I could spend time with my family, which was my personal priority. Even so, the king and I worked together frequently on matters of state, and we came to like each other. I worked with the king to seek an alliance with France, and for my services the king made me a knight and elevated me to the office of sub-treasurer of the exchequer. The king treated me as a close friend, occasionally even coming to my home unannounced for meals. My son-in-law, William Roper, was much impressed by this friendship, but remembering the noble who had been executed, I pointed out to him that if my head would bring the king a castle in France, the king would be quick to give it.
For his part, Wolsey, who had brought me into such familiarity with the king, was becoming increasingly isolated in his grandeur. He was lord chancellor of England, cardinal of the Holy Roman Church, and supreme ecclesiastical authority in England. The opulence in which he lived exceeded that of the king. There was no end to his avarice and thirst for power.
Events, seemingly disconnected, continued to weave a web that would eventually change England and the Church, and in the process, bring me to my present circumstances. As is often the case with royalty, the king dallied with many women at court. One of the ladies in waiting, Mary Boleyn, eventually became his mistress. Her younger sister, Anne, observed that this brought nothing to Mary, and concluded that if she ever had the interest of the king, she would arrange things differently. Anne became involved in a romance with a young noble, and Wolsey sent her off to the country to get over it. For this, Anne developed a hatred of Wolsey.
Henry continued to have problems with the king of Spain, who was also the emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, and nephew of the queen.
Henry was also heard to say how important it was for him to have a son, but he feared that Catherine was now past child-bearing age.
By this time some of the writings of Martin Luther were coming to us in England. I wrote numerous papers against this heresy and in defense of our Holy Catholic faith. The king did likewise, writing a treatise in support of the papacy. He also had books by Luther burned publicly. For this the pope bestowed on Henry the title, "Defender of the Faith," a title which delighted Henry and added to his self-understanding as a person significant in the life of the Church.
The king directed Wolsey to pursue further negotiations with France, and he told Wolsey to include me in the negotiations. Negotiations continued to move along well. Indeed, the king was so satisfied that he made me chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster.
The king was pleased with everything but his marriage. He began to mutter aloud that perhaps his marriage to Catherine was flawed. Though he had received a papal dispensation to marry his brother's wife, he now wondered if the papacy had had all the facts. Wolsey fanned the flames of Henry's distress as he was now favorable to the idea of having Henry free to marry a French princess, thereby sealing an alliance with France and giving Wolsey even more influence.
In the meantime, Anne Boleyn had returned from the country and had managed to capture the attention of the king. Not wanting to end up as a discarded mistress, as her sister had, Anne continued to tantalize the king for years, as the king became ever more disenchanted with his marriage. In 1527, Wolsey decided to act on the king's behalf by setting up a trial that would look into what was now called the king's illegitimate marriage. Wolsey even made arrangements to have Henry marry a French princess when Henry would be free, not realizing Henry's interest in Anne -- and Anne's interest in being queen -- a fatal blunder for Wolsey. Wolsey asked the pope to grant Henry an annulment, but the Pope continued to put off a decision, because the king of Spain, Catherine's nephew, opposed it.
When I returned to England in 1527, the king summoned me to his chambers, presented his case, and asked for my opinion. I protested that it was a theological matter, and therefore beyond my field. Though he often asked, I never gave my opinion to him or to anyone. Henry asked the pope for a dispensation allowing him to marry without settling the annulment issue. When nothing happened on that score, the king summoned Wolsey to explain why Henry was getting no satisfaction. Anne was present and openly humiliated Wolsey, apparently with Henry's permission, showing who now had the king's favor.
A trial was eventually held. It proceeded with intentional slowness, came to no conclusion, and was eventually transferred to Rome, much to the anger of Henry and Anne. At issue was the interpretation of a text in the Old Testament book of Leviticus which stated that a man must not lie with a brother's wife and that as punishment they shall be childless. Henry contended that God was not blessing his marriage with a son because he was wrongly married to his brother's wife. Since the matter involved biblical interpretation, one of Henry's advisors suggested that the matter be decided by the biblical faculties of the European universities. The king agreed.
Wolsey was now clearly out of favor for having been unable to require the pope to act on Henry's request. The king stripped Wolsey of his chancellorship and his wealth and banished him to his country home. Soon thereafter he was accused of treason and arrested. He did not come to trial, for he became ill and died on the trip to London.
Henry then appointed me to the office of lord chancellor in 1527. I tried to avoid entanglement in the king's domestic problems, and instead spent my time and energy hearing cases, making judgments, and reforming the English court system. The opinions from the universities were beginning to come in, but they were inconclusive. Those faculties subsidized by Henry voted in his favor. Those subsidized by the king of Spain voted against Henry. Once again Henry appealed to the pope to grant him an annulment, but still the pope procrastinated and at the same time gave orders that no clergy could marry Henry while the case was under review.
Henry was at the end of his patience. He needed to have a church in which he could accomplish what he wanted to accomplish, so he called a convocation of English clergy. When they were assembled, he advised them that they were all suspected of disloyalty because they had taken a vow to obey the pope. They were all accused of treason. The only way the charges would be dropped would be for the clergy to accept Henry as the supreme head of the Church in England. Recognizing what had happened to others who frustrated the king, the clergy agreed to Henry's terms.
The king moved quickly now to fulfill his wishes and sever ties with the Church at Rome. In July, 1530, he left his wife and installed Anne Boleyn in Catherine's apartments. He required the House of Commons to withhold revenue that was to have been sent by the Church to Rome. Through threat of punishment, on May 15, 1532, he required the clergy to sign a document known as the Submission of the Clergy. Henry had set himself up to be the head of the Church of England.
The next day I surrendered my credentials and resigned as lord chancellor. I pleaded ill health, but actually I could no longer serve a government that was interfering with the Church. I said nothing that was critical of the king, but I was aware that silence alone would not satisfy the king. My own wealth had been spent in public office, my resignation prevented me from receiving a pension, and I felt it inappropriate to practice law, having been lord chancellor. I took to writing, but mostly religious tracts, criticizing the Lutheran heresy and defending the clergy, but there was not much money in it. I advised my family that we needed to be prepared to live in austerity. I thought it appropriate also to acquaint my family with the lives of the martyrs, those who had died for what they believed. They needed to be prepared for what might come.
Henry saw to it that one of his supporters was elected archbishop of Canterbury, the highest office in the English Church. Parliament then passed a bill giving the archbishop the authority to settle the case of the king's divorce. The archbishop announced that Henry's marriage to Catherine had been no marriage, and that her daughter, Mary, was therefore illegitimate. Catherine was maintained in seclusion. In January, 1535, Henry secretly married Anne, who presented him with a daughter, Elizabeth.
Anne's coronation as queen was to be splendid. I was urged to be present, but I declined, pleading poverty. The king was offended by my absence and by my failure to speak out in favor of his actions. Subsequently, numerous charges were brought against me, but each time, they were dismissed for lack of evidence. Some officials promised me favors if I would simply approve the king's divorce and acknowledge him to be head of the Church of England. That failing, they reminded me that the indignation of a prince means death. I needed no reminder. I was sure that the king would not let the matter lie.
In 1534, a commission was set up whose purpose it was to extract an oath of obedience from any they chose to examine. Those examined were required to acknowledge Henry to be the head of the Church of England and thereby renounce all obedience to the pope. I was eventually summoned and required to subscribe to the king's supremacy over the Church. If I refused, I knew that death was certain and that my family would suffer. My family prevailed upon me to give in, pointing out that all the bishops had done so and gone free. I was imprisoned in the Tower while the commission waited for my answer. The imprisonment became increasingly severe, and I was informed of the agonizing deaths of those who refused to take the oath. I was denied access to my books, to writing materials, and eventually to my family.
Thus far I had not denied the king's supremacy; I had simply not taken the oath. To be strictly legal, the court would need evidence that I denied Henry's supremacy. I felt that the oath was a two-edged sword: if I should speak against it, I would procure the death of my body; if I should consent to it, I would procure the death of my soul.
Since I failed to take the oath, I was finally taken to trial just a few days ago. I was accused of four offenses: giving a malicious opinion of the king's marriage; encouraging a priest to resist the oath of supremacy; refusing to acknowledge the king's supremacy; denying the king's supremacy and in so doing denying the king's royal authority. I was told that the king was merciful. If I would change my opinion, I would obtain pardon. I indicated that none of the charges was true, for I had never opened my conscience to anyone on these matters. One fellow, however, eager to advance himself with the king, perjured himself, saying that I had said that Parliament could not make the king the supreme head of the Church. The jury met for fifteen minutes, found me guilty, and sentenced me to death. I concluded that it was not for the supremacy that my life was being sought, but for my failure to approve the king's second marriage. I was marched back to the Tower of London where my dear daughter, Meg, was waiting. She kissed me, but could not speak.
What can I say about all of this? I am not an heroic person. I have not sought death or been indifferent to the dangers. I have not sought to incur the wrath of the king by openly challenging him. What the king would do in his personal life was the king's business, not mine. But if we are to have a civilized society, a person must not be forced to violate conscience under threat of death. What I am doing in refusing to take an oath regarding the king's supremacy in the Church is a matter of conscience. The king has sought to bend me to his will. I am the king's subject, but I am God's subject first. That priority is something each of us must decide for ourself.
I wanted to prepare a message for Reformation Sunday. After reading several books on Thomas More, I developed a story line that I thought would help the congregation understand how the events of history have impacted and changed the church. Telling it from the perspective of an involved participant would keep it from being simply a history lesson. Having a devout Roman Catholic tell of events leading to the establishment of Protestantism in England would lead to a greater appreciation of our shared heritage.
The proposition that guided the development of the sermon was as follows: "As we learn about one who was faithful to his convictions, we are helped to be faithful to our convictions." I decided that I would represent More as speaking in his prison cell just before being taken to his execution. Since many in the congregation would not know for sure what finally happened to More, I had the following statement printed in the worship folder under the sermon title: "Thomas More was beheaded on July 6, 1535. On the scaffold he said, 'I die the king's good servant, but God's first.' "
A Man Of Integrity
Philippians 4:4-9
"It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to put confidence in princes." So says the Psalmist. And I have found it so in my own life. I had known it from the beginning of my career, but the events of history made it impossible for me to keep aloof from the influence of princes. So it is that you see me now, bereft of family, career, titles, wealth -- and soon to be bereft of my head, for tomorrow the headsman will have that -- and I am left only with the temporary use of this prison cell, and with my integrity. Like the Apostle Paul, I know what it is to abound, and also what it is to be abased. May God continue to give me the strength I need for one more day to meet the great challenge that still lies ahead.
My name is Thomas More, sometime lord chancellor, that is, prime minister, of all England, and close confidant of my prince, King Henry VIII. How my star has fallen since those days -- and all for conscience sake. Let me tell you about it.
I was born in London in 1478. At the age of fourteen I was sent to Canterbury College, Oxford, where I would have been happy to continue in the scholarly and contemplative life of the clergy, but my father wanted me to become a lawyer and enrolled me instead in the study of the law. I eventually concluded that it was my calling to be a layman rather than a priest, and I embraced the law, though I have always preferred the simplicity of dress, food, and drink I experienced among the monks.
Following my entrance into the practice of law, I turned to public affairs and was elected to the House of Commons at the age of 24. Life was pleasant for me. I married Jane Colt, who bore me four children in five years. My practice was prospering. I was appointed to be undersheriff of London, which was a judgeship.
When my wife died suddenly, I quickly married a widow with children of her own, for I needed someone to manage the household, and our families were happily merged. Worship was most important to me. We observed morning and evening prayers, we listened to the Scriptures being read at meal time, and we attended mass daily. We felt that our blessings were to be shared, so we built a house for the poor which was cared for by the whole family. While we were a pious family, our house was filled with mirth and games and plays and the learning of music, which was shared by the whole household. I lamented that I did not have the time to be a real scholar, but as a family man, it was important that I spend time with the family.
In 1509, Henry VII died, and his son, Henry VIII, was crowned king. We who were educated looked forward to his reign, for the new king was educated in Latin, theology, philosophy, science, and letters. He was a bonnie prince. We believed that the tyranny we had experienced under the former king was over. With such an enlightened prince coming to the throne, we felt there would be an improvement in the lot of the common man. Alas, we did not understand the corrupting nature of power.
A constellation of circumstances was already taking shape that none of us had the ability to foresee, but which would have a profound effect on England, the Church, and ourselves. Before ascending the throne, Henry had married a Spanish princess, Catherine of Aragon. She had previously been married to Henry's brother, Arthur, but Arthur had died before the marriage was consummated. Normally the Church did not allow a person to marry his brother's wife, but since the marriage had not been consummated, the pope gave a dispensation, allowing Henry to marry her. Some questioned the validity of the dispensation, including the archbishop of Canterbury.
As Henry assumed the crown, he turned often for advice to Thomas Wolsey, an ambitious man I had known from my time at Oxford. Wolsey encouraged Henry to make war on France and Scotland, for he hoped to advance his own cause in the settlements. Somehow, I caught Wolsey's attention and he had me appointed to a diplomatic delegation to Flanders. I was away for six months, which greatly affected the income of my law practice. During that time I developed ideas for a book about the kinds of changes that would be necessary in society to bring about the ideal commonwealth. It was about a society ruled by reason. It was also a protest against social injustice. I called the book Utopia. It was published in 1516.
In 1515, Thomas Wolsey was made a cardinal in the Church. That same year Henry made him lord chancellor of England. Henry wanted to put me on the royal payroll because of my service in Flanders. I declined because I felt it would compromise my position as a judge. In 1516, a daughter, Mary Tudor, was born to Henry and the queen, Catherine. The king was pleased to have an heir, but mentioned privately that he really needed a son.
On May Day, 1517, an angry crowd was beginning to riot in London over social conditions. I spoke to them and, as a consequence, what could have been a revolution was averted. Wolsey was convinced that the king needed my services and insisted that I enter the royal payroll as the king's counselor. I acquiesced and entered into the life at court. All the while the king was learning statecraft from his lord chancellor, Wolsey, who taught him to be ruthless in the exercise of power. One of England's leading nobles was jailed for treason, found guilty, and executed. I marked well how the king managed to accomplish his will within the law but to use the law to his advantage. It would not be healthy to incur the wrath of the king.
I now became familiar to the king and queen. I was frequently invited for conversation with them, but, as they might request my presence at any time, day or night, I feigned dullness in conversation so they would call on me less, and I could spend time with my family, which was my personal priority. Even so, the king and I worked together frequently on matters of state, and we came to like each other. I worked with the king to seek an alliance with France, and for my services the king made me a knight and elevated me to the office of sub-treasurer of the exchequer. The king treated me as a close friend, occasionally even coming to my home unannounced for meals. My son-in-law, William Roper, was much impressed by this friendship, but remembering the noble who had been executed, I pointed out to him that if my head would bring the king a castle in France, the king would be quick to give it.
For his part, Wolsey, who had brought me into such familiarity with the king, was becoming increasingly isolated in his grandeur. He was lord chancellor of England, cardinal of the Holy Roman Church, and supreme ecclesiastical authority in England. The opulence in which he lived exceeded that of the king. There was no end to his avarice and thirst for power.
Events, seemingly disconnected, continued to weave a web that would eventually change England and the Church, and in the process, bring me to my present circumstances. As is often the case with royalty, the king dallied with many women at court. One of the ladies in waiting, Mary Boleyn, eventually became his mistress. Her younger sister, Anne, observed that this brought nothing to Mary, and concluded that if she ever had the interest of the king, she would arrange things differently. Anne became involved in a romance with a young noble, and Wolsey sent her off to the country to get over it. For this, Anne developed a hatred of Wolsey.
Henry continued to have problems with the king of Spain, who was also the emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, and nephew of the queen.
Henry was also heard to say how important it was for him to have a son, but he feared that Catherine was now past child-bearing age.
By this time some of the writings of Martin Luther were coming to us in England. I wrote numerous papers against this heresy and in defense of our Holy Catholic faith. The king did likewise, writing a treatise in support of the papacy. He also had books by Luther burned publicly. For this the pope bestowed on Henry the title, "Defender of the Faith," a title which delighted Henry and added to his self-understanding as a person significant in the life of the Church.
The king directed Wolsey to pursue further negotiations with France, and he told Wolsey to include me in the negotiations. Negotiations continued to move along well. Indeed, the king was so satisfied that he made me chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster.
The king was pleased with everything but his marriage. He began to mutter aloud that perhaps his marriage to Catherine was flawed. Though he had received a papal dispensation to marry his brother's wife, he now wondered if the papacy had had all the facts. Wolsey fanned the flames of Henry's distress as he was now favorable to the idea of having Henry free to marry a French princess, thereby sealing an alliance with France and giving Wolsey even more influence.
In the meantime, Anne Boleyn had returned from the country and had managed to capture the attention of the king. Not wanting to end up as a discarded mistress, as her sister had, Anne continued to tantalize the king for years, as the king became ever more disenchanted with his marriage. In 1527, Wolsey decided to act on the king's behalf by setting up a trial that would look into what was now called the king's illegitimate marriage. Wolsey even made arrangements to have Henry marry a French princess when Henry would be free, not realizing Henry's interest in Anne -- and Anne's interest in being queen -- a fatal blunder for Wolsey. Wolsey asked the pope to grant Henry an annulment, but the Pope continued to put off a decision, because the king of Spain, Catherine's nephew, opposed it.
When I returned to England in 1527, the king summoned me to his chambers, presented his case, and asked for my opinion. I protested that it was a theological matter, and therefore beyond my field. Though he often asked, I never gave my opinion to him or to anyone. Henry asked the pope for a dispensation allowing him to marry without settling the annulment issue. When nothing happened on that score, the king summoned Wolsey to explain why Henry was getting no satisfaction. Anne was present and openly humiliated Wolsey, apparently with Henry's permission, showing who now had the king's favor.
A trial was eventually held. It proceeded with intentional slowness, came to no conclusion, and was eventually transferred to Rome, much to the anger of Henry and Anne. At issue was the interpretation of a text in the Old Testament book of Leviticus which stated that a man must not lie with a brother's wife and that as punishment they shall be childless. Henry contended that God was not blessing his marriage with a son because he was wrongly married to his brother's wife. Since the matter involved biblical interpretation, one of Henry's advisors suggested that the matter be decided by the biblical faculties of the European universities. The king agreed.
Wolsey was now clearly out of favor for having been unable to require the pope to act on Henry's request. The king stripped Wolsey of his chancellorship and his wealth and banished him to his country home. Soon thereafter he was accused of treason and arrested. He did not come to trial, for he became ill and died on the trip to London.
Henry then appointed me to the office of lord chancellor in 1527. I tried to avoid entanglement in the king's domestic problems, and instead spent my time and energy hearing cases, making judgments, and reforming the English court system. The opinions from the universities were beginning to come in, but they were inconclusive. Those faculties subsidized by Henry voted in his favor. Those subsidized by the king of Spain voted against Henry. Once again Henry appealed to the pope to grant him an annulment, but still the pope procrastinated and at the same time gave orders that no clergy could marry Henry while the case was under review.
Henry was at the end of his patience. He needed to have a church in which he could accomplish what he wanted to accomplish, so he called a convocation of English clergy. When they were assembled, he advised them that they were all suspected of disloyalty because they had taken a vow to obey the pope. They were all accused of treason. The only way the charges would be dropped would be for the clergy to accept Henry as the supreme head of the Church in England. Recognizing what had happened to others who frustrated the king, the clergy agreed to Henry's terms.
The king moved quickly now to fulfill his wishes and sever ties with the Church at Rome. In July, 1530, he left his wife and installed Anne Boleyn in Catherine's apartments. He required the House of Commons to withhold revenue that was to have been sent by the Church to Rome. Through threat of punishment, on May 15, 1532, he required the clergy to sign a document known as the Submission of the Clergy. Henry had set himself up to be the head of the Church of England.
The next day I surrendered my credentials and resigned as lord chancellor. I pleaded ill health, but actually I could no longer serve a government that was interfering with the Church. I said nothing that was critical of the king, but I was aware that silence alone would not satisfy the king. My own wealth had been spent in public office, my resignation prevented me from receiving a pension, and I felt it inappropriate to practice law, having been lord chancellor. I took to writing, but mostly religious tracts, criticizing the Lutheran heresy and defending the clergy, but there was not much money in it. I advised my family that we needed to be prepared to live in austerity. I thought it appropriate also to acquaint my family with the lives of the martyrs, those who had died for what they believed. They needed to be prepared for what might come.
Henry saw to it that one of his supporters was elected archbishop of Canterbury, the highest office in the English Church. Parliament then passed a bill giving the archbishop the authority to settle the case of the king's divorce. The archbishop announced that Henry's marriage to Catherine had been no marriage, and that her daughter, Mary, was therefore illegitimate. Catherine was maintained in seclusion. In January, 1535, Henry secretly married Anne, who presented him with a daughter, Elizabeth.
Anne's coronation as queen was to be splendid. I was urged to be present, but I declined, pleading poverty. The king was offended by my absence and by my failure to speak out in favor of his actions. Subsequently, numerous charges were brought against me, but each time, they were dismissed for lack of evidence. Some officials promised me favors if I would simply approve the king's divorce and acknowledge him to be head of the Church of England. That failing, they reminded me that the indignation of a prince means death. I needed no reminder. I was sure that the king would not let the matter lie.
In 1534, a commission was set up whose purpose it was to extract an oath of obedience from any they chose to examine. Those examined were required to acknowledge Henry to be the head of the Church of England and thereby renounce all obedience to the pope. I was eventually summoned and required to subscribe to the king's supremacy over the Church. If I refused, I knew that death was certain and that my family would suffer. My family prevailed upon me to give in, pointing out that all the bishops had done so and gone free. I was imprisoned in the Tower while the commission waited for my answer. The imprisonment became increasingly severe, and I was informed of the agonizing deaths of those who refused to take the oath. I was denied access to my books, to writing materials, and eventually to my family.
Thus far I had not denied the king's supremacy; I had simply not taken the oath. To be strictly legal, the court would need evidence that I denied Henry's supremacy. I felt that the oath was a two-edged sword: if I should speak against it, I would procure the death of my body; if I should consent to it, I would procure the death of my soul.
Since I failed to take the oath, I was finally taken to trial just a few days ago. I was accused of four offenses: giving a malicious opinion of the king's marriage; encouraging a priest to resist the oath of supremacy; refusing to acknowledge the king's supremacy; denying the king's supremacy and in so doing denying the king's royal authority. I was told that the king was merciful. If I would change my opinion, I would obtain pardon. I indicated that none of the charges was true, for I had never opened my conscience to anyone on these matters. One fellow, however, eager to advance himself with the king, perjured himself, saying that I had said that Parliament could not make the king the supreme head of the Church. The jury met for fifteen minutes, found me guilty, and sentenced me to death. I concluded that it was not for the supremacy that my life was being sought, but for my failure to approve the king's second marriage. I was marched back to the Tower of London where my dear daughter, Meg, was waiting. She kissed me, but could not speak.
What can I say about all of this? I am not an heroic person. I have not sought death or been indifferent to the dangers. I have not sought to incur the wrath of the king by openly challenging him. What the king would do in his personal life was the king's business, not mine. But if we are to have a civilized society, a person must not be forced to violate conscience under threat of death. What I am doing in refusing to take an oath regarding the king's supremacy in the Church is a matter of conscience. The king has sought to bend me to his will. I am the king's subject, but I am God's subject first. That priority is something each of us must decide for ourself.
