Reformation violence and the fruit of the reformers

Jackson: Hey Lena, I was thinking about that famous line from the Gospels—you know, the one about judging a tree by its fruit? It’s such a simple way to look at character, but what happens when we apply that to the giants of the Reformation?

Lena: That’s a heavy question, Jackson. We usually think of Luther and Calvin as these heroic figures of faith, right? But if we look at the "fruit" of their leadership, we find some pretty jarring violence—like the fact that during the German Peasants' War, which Luther was linked to, between 100,000 and 300,000 people were killed.

Jackson: Exactly! It makes you wonder: was the heart of this movement actually justice and mercy, or did it produce a kind of violent hatred? I mean, how does a "pristine doctrine" lead to someone like Michael Servetus being baked alive over a slow fire of green wood?

Lena: It’s a massive tension to unpack. We have to ask how these leaders justified such brutality while claiming to follow a Jesus who taught us to love our enemies. Let’s explore how their specific interpretations of the law started to overshadow the grace of the New Testament.

Jackson: So, if we’re looking at the architecture of this whole thing, I have to ask—how does a movement that claims to be "reforming" the faith end up mirroring the very systems of control it was trying to escape? It’s almost like they swapped one version of systemic control for another, isn't it?

Lena: That’s a really insightful way to put it, Jackson. You’re touching on what some historians call the "Age of Systemic Control." Between 1100 and 1500, the institutionalized church had already built this massive apparatus of power—courts, prisons, even armies. They had the earthly authority to decide who was "safe" and who was "dangerous." We’re talking about the Inquisition, where even questioning a doctrine was a literal crime.

Jackson: Right, and they even had Bible bans back then—treating Scripture in the common language as a threat. So, when the Reformation comes along, you’d expect a total break from that, right? A move toward freedom?

Lena: You would think so! But instead, we see these patterns of "high place evils" becoming entrenched in the new systems too. Even though the Reformation began with honest, biblical questions, the institutional response was often more of the same—arrogance claiming divine right and control enforcing uniformity. By the time we get to the 1500s and 1600s, we see Bibles being burned and reformers being executed for the very act of translating the Word.

Jackson: It’s wild because it feels like the tool of "discipleship" shifted from love to fear. Obedience became more important than the actual truth they were searching for. I mean, look at Geneva. John Calvin was invited back there in 1541 specifically to help resolve church discord, and the city council approved his Ecclesiastical Ordinances. That created the Consistory—a church tribunal that governed the moral conduct of every single citizen.

Lena: Exactly. And while the Consistory itself couldn't execute people, Calvin had immense influence over the city magistrates who could. This is where the "fruit" starts to look pretty bitter. Take the case of Jacques Gruet. He was a theologian who had some differing opinions—he even placed a note in Calvin’s pulpit calling him a hypocrite. The result? He was arrested, tortured for an entire month, and then beheaded in July 1547. They even burned his house down and forced his wife into the street to watch.

Jackson: A month of torture for a note on a pulpit? That feels so far removed from the "gentleness" Paul talks about in his letters. It makes me wonder about the theological logic behind this. How do you get from "love your enemies" to "torture the guy who calls you a hypocrite"?

Lena: That is the million-dollar question, isn't it? It seems to come down to a very specific, and some would say flawed, way of interpreting the Bible. Calvin basically rejected the idea that the Old Covenant was made obsolete by the New. He sidestepped passages in Hebrews and Galatians that say the Law was just a tutor to lead us to Christ. Instead, he maintained that the moral laws of the Torah—specifically the ones about executing blasphemers—were still a "perpetual rule" for the Church.

Jackson: So he was essentially reaching back into the Old Testament to find a legal basis for violence that the New Testament doesn't seem to support?

Lena: Precisely. He would cite Leviticus 24:16, which says anyone who blasphemes the name of the Lord must be put to death. In Calvin’s mind, if you distorted his "pristine doctrine," you weren't just wrong—at that point, you were a criminal against God who deserved the ultimate penalty. It’s a logic that feels more like a "holy war" than a mission of mercy.

Jackson: It’s fascinating and terrifying at the same time. It’s like they created a system where the "Heavenly Judge" was interpreted through the lens of a "savage prince." But what about the other side of the coin? Were there voices back then actually calling this out? Was there anyone saying, "Hey, maybe burning people isn't what Jesus had in mind?"

Lena: There absolutely were. And that’s what makes the era so complex. It wasn't just a monolithic block of violence. There were people like Balthasar Hubmaier, a contemporary of Luther, who wrote one of the earliest statements for religious freedom: "Concerning Heretics and Those Who Burn Them." He argued that inquisitors were the greatest heretics of all because they were acting against the example of Christ. He said Christ didn't come to butcher and burn, but to give life more abundantly.

Jackson: So the "fruit" wasn't just violence—there was also this emerging seed of conscience and mercy, even if it was being suppressed by the powers that be.

Lena: Right. But for guys like Hubmaier, the cost of that mercy was often their own lives. He was eventually burned at the stake in 1828, and his wife was drowned in the Danube just three days later. It shows you just how high the stakes were when you dared to suggest that "truth is unkillable" and shouldn't be enforced by the sword.

Jackson: It really puts a different perspective on the whole "justice and mercy" question. It seems like the Reformation was this massive collision between the desire for biblical truth and a deep-seated addiction to institutional control.

Jackson: I want to dig deeper into this idea of Calvin "sidestepping" the New Testament. It feels like a massive leap to go from the teachings of Jesus to justifying the execution of theological rivals. How did he actually frame that in his mind? Was he just ignoring the "love your enemies" part?

Lena: It’s more subtle than just ignoring it, Jackson. It’s more like he re-contextualized it into a very rigid legal framework. Calvin believed that God’s honor was the highest priority—higher even than human life. He famously wrote that when God’s glory is at stake, "humanity must be almost obliterated from our memories." Think about how intense that is. He was essentially saying that being "holy" meant being "implacably severe" against anyone who insulted God.

Jackson: That sounds so counterintuitive. If God is the source of love and mercy, wouldn't defending His honor look like... well, showing love and mercy?

Lena: You’d think so, right? But Calvin followed a line of reasoning that he actually picked up from Augustine. Augustine had used a parable from the Gospel of Luke—the one about the Great Banquet. In the story, the master tells his servants to "compel people to come in" so the house will be filled. Augustine, and later Calvin, interpreted that word "compel" as a justification for using force—even death—to keep people within the "true" faith.

Jackson: So they turned an invitation to a party into a mandate for execution? That is a wild hermeneutical stretch.

Lena: It really is. And it led Calvin to some very dark places. He didn't just support these executions; he seemed to find a kind of theological satisfaction in them. In a letter to his friend Farel, he wrote that he was persuaded it was the "special will of God" that certain criminals endured "protracted torment at the hands of the executioner." He actually believed God ensured they suffered longer during torture to reflect His divine vengeance.

Jackson: That’s... that’s chilling. It sounds less like the "fruit of the Spirit" and more like a total eclipse of grace. I mean, Paul specifically tells Timothy that a servant of the Lord must be "kind to all" and "correct those who are in opposition with gentleness." Calvin seems to be doing the exact opposite.

Lena: He really was. He dismissed Paul’s guidance on gentleness in favor of a "perpetual rule" he felt he found in the Old Covenant. He believed that whoever argued against putting heretics to death was actually sharing in their guilt. To him, it wasn't just a political necessity; it was a divine command. He said, "It is not human authority that speaks, it is God who speaks."

Jackson: So if you disagreed with Calvin, you weren't just disagreeing with a man—you were disagreeing with God Himself. That’s a very dangerous position for anyone to be in.

Lena: Exactly. And that’s exactly what happened in Geneva. In 1552, the city council officially declared Calvin’s *Institutes of the Christian Religion* to be a "holy doctrine which no man might speak against." At that point, theology became law. Disagreeing with Calvin’s take on something like predestination could get you whipped at every major intersection of the city and then expelled.

Jackson: It’s like the "fruit" of his life became this absolute, iron-clad control over people's thoughts and beliefs. It makes me think back to what you said about the "Age of Systemic Control." Even though they were breaking away from Rome, they were building a new system that was just as—if not more—unforgiving.

Lena: And the irony is that Calvin saw himself as a "lead pastor" and an "organizer," not a tyrant. He wrote commentaries on almost the entire Bible and preached constantly. He even laid the foundation for the University of Geneva. But alongside all that intellectual work was this willingness to use the "sword of justice" to punish what he called "domestic evil"—which often just meant people who didn't interpret the Bible his way.

Jackson: It’s such a jarring contrast. On one hand, you have this brilliant scholar dedicated to the Word, and on the other, you have a man who expressed gratitude for the "protracted torment" of his enemies. It really forces us to look at the "fruit" and ask: does the brilliance of the doctrine excuse the brutality of the actions?

Lena: That’s the core of the struggle, Jackson. And it wasn't just Calvin. We see these same tensions in the wider Reformation movement. Even the "just war" tradition, which Calvin tried to position himself in, was often used to justify incredible violence. He argued that princes were "appointed protectors" who had the right to take up arms against tyranny—which sounds good in theory—but in practice, it often led to "indiscriminate and promiscuous slaughter."

Jackson: So even when they were trying to be "just," they were still caught in this cycle of violence. It makes me wonder if the "fruit" of the Reformation was more about power and control than it was about the peace and love of Jesus.

Lena: It certainly raises that question. When you see someone like Michael Servetus being "baked alive" for half an hour while crying out for mercy to Jesus... you have to wonder where the heart of the movement truly lay. Was it in the "pristine doctrine" that led to the fire, or was it in the cries for mercy from the man in the flames?

Jackson: That’s a heavy thought to sit with. It seems like the "justice" they were pursuing was a very cold, legalistic kind of justice—one that didn't have much room for the "mercy" that’s supposed to be at the heart of the faith.

Jackson: You mentioned Michael Servetus earlier, and I can't stop thinking about that image of him being "baked alive." That is such a visceral, horrifying detail. Can we talk more about what actually happened there? Because it feels like the ultimate test of the "fruit" of Calvin’s leadership.

Lena: It really is the most famous—and most damning—example. Servetus was a Spanish physician and a brilliant biblical scholar, but he had some radical views. He denied the Trinity and infant baptism, which made him a target for both Catholics and Protestants. He actually had a long-standing acquaintance with Calvin, but things turned sour when Servetus sent Calvin a copy of his *Institutes* with critical notes scribbled in the margins.

Jackson: Oh man, I can only imagine how Calvin took that. He doesn't seem like the type to appreciate "critical notes."

Lena: Not at all! Calvin’s response was immediate and personal. He wrote to a friend, "If he shall come, I shall never permit him to depart alive, provided my authority be of any avail." That was in 1546—seven years before Servetus actually showed up in Geneva.

Jackson: So this wasn't just a heat-of-the-moment thing. This was a premeditated intention to see the man dead.

Lena: Exactly. And when Servetus finally did come to Geneva in 1553—oddly enough, attending one of Calvin’s Sunday services—he was recognized and arrested. He was hit with 38 official charges of heresy. The city magistrates eventually sentenced him to be burned at the stake. Now, to be fair, Calvin did advocate for a quicker, "more merciful" death by beheading, but the council ignored him.

Jackson: I guess beheading is "mercy" compared to being burned alive, but it still feels like a pretty low bar for a Christian leader.

Lena: Right? And the execution itself was uniquely brutal. They used green wood for the fire, which burns much slower and produces a lot of smoke. It took half an hour for Servetus to die. He was literally being consumed from the feet up while he prayed to Jesus and cried for mercy. And the whole time, the theological book that was considered "heretical" was strapped to his body, burning right along with him.

Jackson: That is just... it’s beyond words. And what was Calvin’s take after it was all over? Did he have any regrets?

Lena: None at all. In fact, he doubled down. He later wrote that Servetus "suffered the penalty due to his heresies" and that it was his own "arrogance" and "impiety" that destroyed him. Calvin even framed it as an act of "vengeance" for the man’s "execrable blasphemies." He truly believed that by killing Servetus, he was doing God a service.

Jackson: It’s so jarring to hear that language of "vengeance" coming from someone who is supposed to be a follower of Christ. It makes you realize that in Geneva, the "fruit" wasn't just a strict moral code—it was a culture where disagreement was literally a capital offense.

Lena: And it wasn't just the famous cases. The city records show a man was whipped at every major intersection just for publicly opposing Calvin’s doctrine of predestination. The Geneva Council even declared Calvin’s writings to be "holy doctrine" that no one was allowed to speak against. It was a total merger of church and state, where the "sword of justice" was used to enforce theological uniformity.

Jackson: It’s like they created this "theocratic" structure, even though Calvin himself claimed to reject the idea of the clergy having direct civil authority. He talked about "two spheres"—the church with the "sword of the Spirit" and the state with the "sword of justice." But in practice, those two swords seemed to be swinging in the exact same direction.

Lena: That’s a perfect way to put it. Calvin believed pastors should preach the Word and magistrates should punish evil, but he was the one defining what "evil" was. He had this incredible influence over the magistrates. He could "persuade" them to exercise their power against anyone who opposed him theologically. So while he didn't light the fires himself, he was the one who provided the "biblical justification" for them to burn.

Jackson: It makes me think about what that does to a community. If you’re living in Geneva at that time, are you following Jesus out of love, or are you just keeping your head down so you don't get whipped or burned?

Lena: It’s a culture of fear, Jackson. And that fear was justified as "saving the soul." They believed that by "compelling" people to follow the "true" faith—even through force—they were actually doing them a favor. It’s a very distorted version of the Great Banquet parable we talked about earlier. Instead of a house filled with guests, you have a city filled with people who are terrified to step out of line.

Jackson: It’s a far cry from the "peace and love" that the listener was asking about. It seems like "justice" was redefined as "retribution," and "mercy" was almost entirely lost in the process.

Jackson: So we’ve looked at the "fruit" of Calvin’s Geneva, and it’s... well, it’s pretty dark. But I want to go back to those "wild boars" you mentioned earlier—the ones who were calling for a different path. Because if we’re judging the tree by its fruit, we have to look at the whole orchard, right?

Lena: Absolutely. And that’s where the story of Balthasar Hubmaier and the "Radical Reformation" gets so fascinating. Hubmaier was a contemporary of Luther and Calvin—he was a Catholic priest and a theology professor who eventually moved toward Reformation ideas. But he took a path that was very different from the magisterial reformers.

Jackson: In what way? Was he just more "radical" in his theology?

Lena: It was more than that. He was one of the first to really challenge the idea of a "Christian state." At the time, both Catholics and Protestants believed that if you were born in a certain region, you were automatically a member of that region's church. It was tied to infant baptism—it was a way of ensuring total social and religious uniformity.

Jackson: So baptism wasn't just a religious rite; it was a form of citizenship?

Lena: Exactly. Hubmaier and the "Anabaptists"—or "Rebaptizers"—rejected that. They argued that baptism should only be for those who had a personal, conscious faith in Christ. They renounced their infant baptisms and were baptized again as believers. This was seen as a massive threat to the social order because it suggested that the state didn't have the right to control your religious identity.

Jackson: Wow, so they were essentially inventing the idea of the separation of church and state 500 years ago?

Lena: In many ways, yes. And Hubmaier went even further. In 1524, he wrote that treatise I mentioned, "Concerning Heretics and Those Who Burn Them." He argued that non-Christians and heretics should be met with "patience and prayer," not with the sword or fire. He said that a law to burn heretics was an "invention of the devil."

Jackson: That feels so much closer to the "fruit of Jesus" than anything we’ve seen from Calvin or the Inquisition. It’s a voice of pure grace in the middle of all that violence.

Lena: It really was. Hubmaier believed that truth is "unkillable" and doesn't need to be defended by killing people. But the powers that be—both Catholic and Protestant—didn't see it that way. To them, Hubmaier was a dangerous "heretic" who was undermining the very fabric of society.

Jackson: And he paid for it, didn't he?

Lena: He did. He was arrested in Zurich—a Protestant city—and was tortured so badly that he actually recanted his views. But once he was released, he "recanted his recantation." He famously said, "I may err—I am a man—but a heretic I cannot be, because I ask constantly for instruction of the word of God." He eventually fled to a more tolerant region, but he was captured again and burned at the stake in Vienna in 1528.

Jackson: And his wife too, right? You said she was drowned?

Lena: Yes, Elizabeth Hugline. She was drowned in the Danube just three days later. It’s a heartbreaking example of the "fruit" of that era—where even the most peaceful calls for conscience were met with state-sanctioned murder.

Jackson: It’s such a stark contrast. On one side, you have the "great reformers" using the law to justify execution, and on the other, you have these "radicals" using the Gospel to justify freedom—and being executed for it. It really makes you rethink who the "true" reformers were.

Lena: It’s a powerful lesson, Jackson. Hubmaier’s work is one of the earliest statements for religious liberty in the Reformation era. He saw that you can't "compel" faith—that it has to be a free response to grace. And he was willing to die to protect that truth.

Jackson: It’s interesting how that "fruit" has lasted, though. Even though he was killed, those ideas of religious liberty and the "unkillable" nature of truth eventually became the foundation for modern societies.

Lena: Exactly. It’s like that seed of mercy was planted in the middle of all that violence and eventually grew into something beautiful. But at the time, it was being trampled by the "wild boars" who were more interested in control and uniformity.

Jackson: It really forces us to look at the "fruit" of someone's life—not just their books or their preaching, but how they treated the "least of these" and those who disagreed with them. Hubmaier’s fruit looks a lot more like "peace and love" than the "violent hatred" we see in some of the other leaders.

Lena: It’s a good reminder that "justice and mercy" aren't just abstract concepts—they have to be lived out, especially when it’s difficult. Hubmaier lived it out to the very end, even when they were "salting his beard" with gunpowder at the stake.

Jackson: We keep coming back to this tension between the "word of God" and the "sword of justice." It seems like the major reformers—Luther, Calvin, even Zwingli—all felt that the sword was a necessary tool for the Reformation. Why was that? Why couldn't they just rely on the "sword of the Spirit" like the Bible says?

Lena: It’s a complicated mix of theology and politics, Jackson. You have to remember that they weren't just trying to reform a church; they were trying to build a whole new social order. They believed that a "godly society" required the magistrate to enforce both "tables" of God’s law—not just the ones about murder and theft, but also the ones about worshiping God correctly.

Jackson: So in their mind, if the state didn't punish heresy, it was failing in its divine duty?

Lena: Exactly. There were voices like John Knox who argued that kings were "subjects to be judged by God by the word" and had a responsibility to "strike where God commandeth." To them, a ruler who spared a heretic was actually "guilty of wickedness." They saw it as an act of "holy zeal."

Jackson: It’s that same logic Calvin used—that God’s honor is more important than human mercy. But wasn't there any pushback within the Reformed movement? Were they all really okay with this?

Lena: Well, that’s where it gets interesting. Some modern scholars try to distance Calvin from the violence, pointing out that it was the city council, not Calvin himself, who did the burning. But as we’ve seen, Calvin’s own writings were used to justify it. He even wrote a whole treatise after the Servetus execution, defending the idea of "corporal punishment" for those who deny the Trinity.

Jackson: And yet, some people today still defend that position, don't they? I mean, I’ve heard about some "Reformed" voices even now who think the magistrate *should* enforce God’s law in that way.

Lena: Yes, there’s a whole debate about this. Some people argue that those who want to "separate" church and state are actually providing cover for a "liberal worldview" that ignores God’s law. They would say it’s "altogether fitting, proper, and just" for the state to punish blasphemy with death. They see it as a "perpetual rule" that God hasn't abolished.

Jackson: That feels so incredibly out of step with everything we know about the "fruit of the Spirit." I mean, how can you look at the "peace and love" of Jesus and then say, "Yeah, the state should definitely execute people for having the wrong theology"?

Lena: It’s a worldview that is deeply entrenched in a certain reading of the Old Testament. They argue that because God revealed His will for punishing heresy in the past, and because the New Testament doesn't explicitly "abolish" those judicial laws, they’re still in effect. They essentially "dispensationalize" the New Testament’s focus on grace and focus on the "implacable severity" of the Law.

Jackson: It’s like they’re trying to turn back the clock to a pre-Christian era of justice. It’s a "fruit" that feels very bitter and legalistic. And it’s not just a historical curiosity—it’s a mindset that still influences how some people think about "Christian society" today.

Lena: Exactly. They would point to the "original" confessions of the Reformation, like the Belgic Confession, which originally called for the state to "protect the holy ministry" and "remove and prevent all idolatry and false worship." To them, the "magisterial" part of the Magisterial Reformation was a core feature, not a bug.

Jackson: But then you have the actual results of that—the "fruit." You have the German Peasants' War, where hundreds of thousands were killed. You have cities being destroyed in the name of "unity." You have people like Giles Tielmans, who was a literal "pearl of great price" in Brussels, being burned alive for his faith.

Lena: Tielmans is such a powerful example of the "fruit" of a life lived for Christ. He was a cutler who spent his whole life visiting the sick and giving everything he had to the poor. During an epidemic, he even gave away his own bed and slept on straw so a poor woman could have it. People called him a "holy man" whose soul was "born for heaven."

Jackson: And yet, because he held "Lutheran" views, he was seized, tortured, and burned?

Lena: Yes. In 1544. And the irony is, while he was being led to the stake, he told the executioners they didn't need so much wood—that they should have given it to the poor people who were dying of cold in the town. Even at his death, he was thinking of others. He said he wasn't afraid of the fire and would "willingly endure it for the glory of the Lord."

Jackson: That is the "fruit of Jesus" right there—love and mercy to the very end. And yet, the "system" that was supposed to be defending God’s honor was the one killing him. It’s a total inversion of the Gospel.

Lena: It really is. It shows you that when "justice" becomes just about enforcing "pristine doctrine," it can easily become a tool for "violent hatred." The "fruit" of Tielmans' life was peace and love; the "fruit" of the system that killed him was arrogance and control.

Jackson: It’s a stark reminder that we have to be so careful about what "tree" we’re eating from. A doctrine might look "pristine" on paper, but if the fruit it produces is torture and execution, then something is deeply wrong at the root.

Jackson: We’ve been talking a lot about individuals, but what about the bigger picture? The Reformation didn't just happen in a vacuum—it reshaped the whole map of Europe. And it seems like "unity" was the justification for so much of the destruction.

Lena: You’ve hit on something really important there, Jackson. The desire for "confessional uniformity" was a massive driver of conflict. Both sides believed that for a state to be stable, everyone had to believe the exact same thing. This led to "entire towns being destroyed in the name of purity."

Jackson: It’s like they were trying to "save the village by destroying it."

Lena: In a way, yes. This mindset eventually led to the Thirty Years’ War—one of the most devastating conflicts in European history. It started in 1618 as a localized dispute in Bohemia, but it quickly spiraled into a pan-European conflagration. It’s estimated that in some parts of Germany, up to 60% of the population was wiped out.

Jackson: 60 percent? That is a staggering loss of life. And all of it was fought over "confessional divisions"?

Lena: Well, it’s a mix. Some historians argue it was purely a "religious war," while others say it was about "dynastic power struggles"—specifically between the Habsburgs and other territorial princes. But the truth is, those two things were "inextricably intertwined." You couldn't separate a prince’s religious identity from his political interests. Faith and power were "two sides of the same coin."

Jackson: So "unity" became a code word for "control." If you were a Catholic Habsburg, you wanted to enforce Catholic hegemony to consolidate your imperial authority. If you were a Protestant prince, you were resisting that "tyranny" to protect your own sovereignty and your faith.

Lena: Exactly. And the "fruit" was three decades of "indiscriminate and promiscuous slaughter." It was a war where "combatants and non-combatants" were eliminated with "ruthless abandon." We’re talking about massive population loss, plummeting demand, and total economic hardship.

Jackson: It’s so far removed from the "peace and love" we’re looking for. It feels like the "fruit" of the entire era was just fire and blood. But was there any progress made? Did anything good come out of all that destruction?

Lena: Well, the war finally ended in 1648 with the Peace of Westphalia. It’s often seen as a landmark because it institutionalized the idea that multiple religions could coexist—at least to some degree. It didn't solve the religious disputes, but it did shift the focus toward "political sovereignty" and a "balance of power."

Jackson: So the "fruit" was a kind of exhausted tolerance? Like, "We’ve killed so many people that we finally have to stop"?

Lena: In many ways, yes. It was a "transition of the early modern era"—a shift away from a "pre-modern territorial order" toward a "territorial state" based on sovereign authority. It was the beginning of what we now think of as the modern nation-state system. But the cost of getting there was absolutely horrific.

Jackson: It’s a sobering thought. The "justice" that was achieved wasn't a sudden awakening to mercy—it was a political necessity born out of total exhaustion. And even then, it wasn't a perfect peace. It formalized the "decentralization" of the Empire and left it "permanently weakened."

Lena: And it didn't end the "politico-religious" wars either. There were still conflicts in England, France, and across the rest of Europe for decades to come. It shows you how deeply rooted this idea of "holy violence" was in the European psyche.

Jackson: It makes me think about what you said about the "fruit" of the Reformation's early leaders. If their legacy was this long shadow of violence and war, how do we reconcile that with the "good" they were trying to do?

Lena: That’s the ultimate struggle for any student of history, isn't it? We can't ignore the "brilliance" of someone like Calvin or the "courage" of someone like Luther, but we also have to account for the "brutality" of the systems they helped create. The "fruit" is a mixed bag—it’s both the "pure doctrine" and the "baked alive" heretic.

Jackson: It’s a reminder that even "honest, biblical questions" can lead to "institutional high place evils" if they’re not tempered by the actual spirit of Jesus. If we lose the "mercy" part, the "justice" part can quickly turn into a nightmare.

Lena: Exactly. And that’s a lesson that is just as relevant today as it was in 1648. We’re still wrestling with these questions of "religious liberty" and "Christian nationalism." The "fruit" of the past is still here, and we have to decide what kind of "tree" we want to be.

Jackson: I want to focus on some of the "good fruit" we’ve found, even in the middle of all this. Because if we only look at the violence, we’re missing part of the story. You mentioned Jan van Ousberghen earlier—he sounds like a really interesting figure.

Lena: He really was. He was known as "the quietest man in Louvain," which is such a beautiful description for someone living in such a turbulent time. He was a holy man who had "suffered much for the glory of God," but he was also described as having "singular modesty" and "marvelous steadfastness."

Jackson: And he wasn't a "great reformer" in the sense of writing massive books, right? He was more of a "private" evangelist?

Lena: Exactly. He spoke at meetings held in private houses and in the open air. He enlightened souls through "private conversation." He was the "soul" of these gatherings at the home of Antoinette van Roesmals, where men and women would come together to read the Bible and talk about their faith.

Jackson: And yet, even this "quietest man" was caught up in the persecution of 1543.

Lena: He was. The attorney-general, Peter du Fief—who was notorious for his "violent and unjust proceedings"—launched a massive "hunt" for heretics. They would break into people's homes in the middle of the night, taking husbands and wives by surprise while they were sleeping.

Jackson: It’s that same "culture of fear" we keep seeing. They were looking for "suspected books" or anyone who dared to believe in "mercy" over "works."

Lena: Right. And the scenes were heartbreaking. Children were "flogged" and had their mouths closed by force as they watched their parents being dragged away. Twenty-three townsmen were imprisoned, including Antoinette and the priest Paul de Roovere.

Jackson: And what happened to them? Did they stand firm?

Lena: Most of them did, but it was a "frightful and marvelous process" of torture. The "piteous cries" of those being tormented were heard throughout the streets of Louvain. Paul de Roovere—who was an old man with a "long white beard"—was eventually broken by the fear of being "burnt at a slow fire." He recanted his faith in a public spectacle, and then died of exhaustion in prison.

Jackson: That is so tragic. It shows you that even the most "learned" and "handsome" old men can be broken by a system that has no room for mercy.

Lena: But then you have others who stayed steadfast. Like Jan Schats and Jan Vicart. They were condemned to be "burnt and reduced to ashes" as "relapsed Lutherans." They were led to the market-place in front of St. Peter's church, and even after suffering "cruel torture," they were heard "lamenting their sins before God" and asserting that they "welcomed death" through their confidence in divine mercy.

Jackson: And Antoinette too, right? The "soul of the Reformation" in Louvain?

Lena: Her story is perhaps the most moving. She was sixty years old and was full of "faith and good works." She was condemned to be "buried alive." Her daughter, Gudule, refused to be separated from her and watched from a distance as her mother was led to the grave.

Jackson: Buried alive. That is such a uniquely horrific way to die.

Lena: It is. And when the executioners started throwing earth onto her mother, Gudule uttered a "cry" that filled the air. She was so overwhelmed with grief that she began to "run about the streets of the town as if she had lost her reason." The witness who recorded it said she "plucked out her hair" and "tore her face" in despair.

Jackson: It’s those personal stories that really drive home the "fruit" of the era. It wasn't just "doctrinal disputes"—it was the total destruction of families and lives. And for what? To enforce a "pristine doctrine" that claimed to be based on the Bible?

Lena: Exactly. It shows you the "arrogance" that comes when people claim "divine right" to enforce uniformity. But even in that darkness, there was this "fruit of Jesus" in the victims themselves—their "patience and prayer," their "confidence in divine mercy," even as they were being buried or burned.

Jackson: It’s like the "fruit" of the movement was being produced by the ones being persecuted, while the leaders were producing something much more toxic.

Lena: That’s a very powerful observation, Jackson. It reminds me of what Hubmaier said—that truth is "unkillable." Even when they were killing the people who held the truth, the truth itself was being "sealed with their blood."

Jackson: It makes me think that if we want to find the "heart of the Reformation," we shouldn't just look at the famous names on the books. We should look at the "quietest men" and the "poor old women" who were willing to suffer everything for the sake of mercy and grace.

Lena: Their fruit was "peace and love," even in the face of "violent hatred." And that’s a fruit that still has the power to feed us today, if we’re willing to look for it.

Jackson: So as we bring this whole conversation together, I’m left with this question: how do we, as listeners today, process all this "bitter fruit"? It’s easy to just write it off as "people of their time," but you’ve shown that there were plenty of people back then who *didn't* agree with the violence.

Lena: Right. It’s not enough to just say they were "men of their age." There were voices like Martin Bucer, Calvin’s own mentor, who didn't agree with the execution of heretics. There were "highly respected people" who were asking, "Isn't it time to stop doing this? I thought we had a Reformation so that we only used the word of God and not the sword!"

Jackson: So the violence wasn't an "inevitable" outcome—it was a choice. It was a choice to prioritize "doctrine" and "control" over the actual teachings of Jesus.

Lena: Exactly. And that’s the "lesson from a grave misstep" that we have to take away. We have to be willing to let Scripture shape our values, not let our culture—or our desire for power—distort our obedience to Scripture. When we start interpreting "compulsion" as a justification for "killing," we’re making a "profound hermeneutical error."

Jackson: It’s that same point we’ve made before—that everything has to be understood in the context of the *entirety* of Jesus' message. You can't just pick one verse and use it to justify something that contradicts the "love your enemies" heart of the Gospel.

Lena: And we have to look at the "fruit" of our own lives and our own systems today. Are we producing a culture of "mercy and grace," or are we still addicted to "arrogance and control"? Are we more interested in being "right" than we are in being "kind to all"?

Jackson: It’s a challenge to really examine the "tree" we’re growing. If we’re producing "violent hatred" in our rhetoric or our actions, then we’re not following the "peace and love" of Jesus, no matter how "pristine" our doctrine might be.

Lena: Right. And we can't forget the "collateral damage" of our pursuit of "unity." When we demand that everyone believe the exact same thing, we’re often creating a "culture of fear" that drives people away from the truth rather than toward it.

Jackson: It makes me think about those "Anabaptists" again. They were the ones who saw that faith has to be a free response to grace. That’s a "fruit" that is so essential for any true reformation.

Lena: It really is. "Truth is eternal," as Hubmaier said. "Truth is unkillable." It doesn't need to be defended by the sword, because its power comes from the Spirit, not from the state.

Jackson: So for everyone listening, maybe the takeaway is to look at the "fruit" of your own community, your own leaders, and even your own heart. Does it look like the "implacable severity" of Calvin’s Geneva, or does it look like the "patience and prayer" of someone like Hubmaier or Tielmans?

Lena: It’s a powerful question to reflect on. We have to be willing to "seal with our blood"—or at least our lives—the "heavenly doctrine" of love and mercy. That’s where the true "heart of the Reformation" is found.

Jackson: It’s not in the fire or the sword—it’s in the cries for mercy and the quiet steadfastness of those who follow Jesus to the end.

Lena: Exactly. And that’s a "fruit" that will never go bitter.

Jackson: This has been such an intense journey, Lena. We’ve looked at some of the most brilliant minds of history and some of the most horrific actions imaginable. It really forces you to grapple with the complexities of faith and human nature.

Lena: It does. It’s a reminder that even the "best" of intentions can lead to the "worst" of outcomes if we’re not rooted in the actual character of Christ. "Justice and mercy" have to be more than just slogans—they have to be the very atmosphere we breathe.

Jackson: We’ve seen how the "fruit" of the Reformation was a massive collision—a struggle between the desire for biblical truth and the addiction to institutional control. We’ve seen the "baked alive" heretic and the "buried alive" mother, but we’ve also seen the "quietest man" and the "pearl of great price" who lived out a different kind of truth.

Lena: And that’s the "fruit" I hope we all carry with us. Not the "violent hatred" that comes from a "pristine doctrine" without grace, but the "peace and love" that comes from a deep, personal relationship with the Savior.

Jackson: So as we wrap things up, I want to leave everyone with one final question: In your own life, when your "conscience collides with power," which "fruit" are you producing? Are you leaning into "arrogance and control," or are you choosing the "patience and prayer" that Jesus taught us?

Lena: It’s a question that can change everything. If we truly want to judge a tree by its fruit, we have to start with the one we’re planting ourselves.

Jackson: Thank you so much for joining us for this deep dive into the "bitter fruit" and the "seeds of mercy" from the Reformation. It’s been a lot to process, and we hope it’s given you plenty to reflect on.

Lena: Absolutely. Take some time to think about these stories and how they might apply to the world we’re living in today. The "fruit" of the past is still with us, but we have the power to choose what we nurture in the present.

Jackson: Thanks for listening, everyone. It’s been a privilege to explore these heavy truths with you. Reflect on what you’ve heard, and keep looking for that "fruit of the Spirit" in everything you do.