Calvin growing up at Noyon Cathedral

I feel like I haven't given Notre Dame, Noyon, the cathedral that is a stone toss from Calvin's birthplace (and across from our hotel), where his father worked for the bishop, Charles Hangest, and where it is inconcievable to imagine that Calvin did not know every nook and cranny as a boy, fair representation. It is a marvelous 12th century gothic masterpiece as you can see from these images, and Calvin would have known this place intimately as a boy. I've pasted in some descriptions of it from The Betrayal, chapter 4 below. Picture Calvin at 12-years old receiving his first benefice in this place.

An event transpired of great significance on May 21, 1521. I was there. The smoky sweetness of incense drifted like wisps of lingering spirits from the chancel of our cathedral church in Noyon-le-Sainte. In my youth, as is the way of youth, I appreciated little about that great edifice. To me, then it was merely a stout old building made of shabby old stones, wherein candles flickered and lecherous old men and tender boy choristers paraded about, chanting the gloomy Miserere.

I have since learned that our cathedral of Notre Dame, as I then knew it, was rebuilt after the great fire of 1131, coming to its completion, I’m told, nearly one hundred years later. Pilgrims from time to time would pass through out town to venerate the alleged relics of St. Eloi, 7th century goldsmith turned bishop of Noyon, patron saint of workers in precious metals. I thought goldsmithing a fitting avocation for a bishop. Inexplicably, St. Eloi was taken up as the patron of blacksmiths, and adding another layer of mystification, local horse breeders in Picardy still swear...


... For I knew that the chaplain of La Gesine had only just resigned his post and that the bishop was sure to confer the vacant chaplaincy upon the young scholar.

Yet did I despise him still more for what it all meant. He was being marked out for priesthood, and more to the point, for a handsome income, one that would now fill the purse of the favored young man—further setting him above me and my station, and further embittering my heart against him.

I had seen enough. Soundlessly I turned my back and left the cathedral, the chanting of the bishop fading as I went. From the eminence of the cathedral’s situation, I surveyed the tile roofs of Noyon, fanning out, like my life, in a disordered and seemingly random jumble.


Surrounding the tile roofs of the half-timbered, clustered houses lay wooded hills of beech and oak. For all its un-remarkableness then to me, Noyon is an appealing town with a long history. Since the Romans subjugated the Gauls, the fertile plain on which it rests, watered by the Verses and Oise Rivers, has been home to untold generations of craftsmen, farmers, bakers, butchers, tanners—like my family—horse breeders, nobles, and of course the clergy.

I mused on the infinite variety of human existence represented by that tumbling array of individual houses connected by the narrow cobbled streets that we called our village. It had been called that by many before my generation, and was like to by called so by many more, so I then thought.
As I stood considering the array of life that stretched downhill before me, the boy choristers must have ascended to the heights of polyphonic grandeur with the Ave Maria, ora pro nobis, for they succeeded, aided by the deep-toned organ, in pulling my attention back up the hill to the cathedral.

It was the only cathedral I knew, but since then I have seen many. Ours was of the sturdier sort. Heavy, boxy towers that cast their wide shadow across the red-brown roofs on sunny afternoons, stood square and unyielding, as if guarding the west entrance with twin might against heretics and infidels.

I now believe the east-end of Notre Dame Cathedral Noyon to be one of the most grand of all. Its magnificent flying buttresses flange out in three broad terraces holding the bishop’s seat immovably in its place. I wondered at such grand old churches, built, it would seem, so to impress the viewer as to make them unshakably committed to the lesser visible dimensions of religion...

Calvin at 500 tour ends

After a last stroll through the village of Noyon, everyone in a bustle to set up for market day, John Schrupp and I went to the grammar school where Calvin studied in his youth, and, no doubt, where jealous classmates (Jean-Louis) came up with the taunt Accusative Case for the brilliant young man. The village is decorated with the French Tri-color, reminiscent of the bloody French Revolution and the virulent de-Christianizing of a culture. Granted, the French Catholic Church was profoundly corrupt in the 18th century, but it was a massive step in the wrong direction to expunge all Christian symbols from churches, cemeteries, even adornment and jewelry (no cross necklaces), and to rechristen Notre Dame Paris (and Reims and many other major churches throughout the country) Temple of Reason. France also revoked the Edict of Nantes (1598) that had granted toleration of Huguenots, Calvin's spiritual successors. Louis XIV reinstated official state persecution of French Calvinists in 1685, and thereby the country hemoraged its moral and spiritual backbone, seemingly never recoverying it.

It does make one reflect on the polarization of John Calvin’s biblical world view, philosophy of life, and theology versus that of the Enlightenment (Voltaire, Victor Hugo, Jean Jacques Rousseau—all French men) and particularly that of Charles Darwin, the master craftsman of the modern world and the 20th century.

Calvin believed that God was the supreme Creator of the earth, the sky, the sea and all that in them is, and that he is the Sovereign Lord of everything he has made, of all the universe, that he guides and governs the minutest details of his world, and as gracious heavenly father, he pours out his electing love for the eternal blessing and redemption of his chosen children. Calvin’s teaching brought the greatest blessing to Western Civilization: a vibrant church, republican government, free market economics, judicial order, respect for marriage, family, women, the aged, children, born and unborn.

Charles Darwin, whose 200th birthday is celebrated by elitists here in Europe and in America (I saw this poster of Darwin in Paris, but none of Calvin), Darwin has given the world modern totalitarianism, communism, the gulags of Stalin, the eugenics of Hitler, abortion, euthanasia, child abuse, battered women, moral and civil chaos, and a world of human beings who live not for God’s glory but for self-gratification, a purposeless existence.

On the coach to CDG. I read Calvin’s final words, prayers, and from Psalm 93, his favorite Psalm. Eunice, then, bustled to the microphone and led everyone in “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder” (I've always wondered what a Beyonder is), and other gospel songs from the Revivalist Era. I don’t think Calvin would have approved.

Unloaded, said good bye to Bert and to all, then dispersed, our tour group to their flights and home, and Cheryl and I to collapse and rest in Chartres for a couple of days. A blessed trip, with daily evidences of the Lord’s kind Providence having gone before us in it all. I was told by many that the trip far and away exceeded their expectations. May it bear enduring fruit in each of our hearts, and may God graciously grant that all of us will be, like Calvin, consumed with zeal for the glory of God. Soli Deo Gloria!

CALVIN at 500! July 10, 2009, Noyon

10 JULY, 2009! I awoke in the early morning and strained to listen for the crying of a newborn. Nothing. It is fascinating to think that just a stones toss from our hotel, Calvin was brought into the world 500 years ago. We strolled the village, bought a Calvin mug and a tin of candy; picked out a French cake—these are works of art—and some (5 because 500 would have zapped the trip budget and obliterated the cake, maybe even the St Eloi ball room, too) flaming candles that shoot up like fire works. I know, a Calvin t-shirt is a bit corny, but I just had to do it. We toured the Calvin birth place museum in Noyon, at left.

We gathered for the stroll down Rue St. Eloi to the fine hotel of the same name where we dined sumptuously. I wanted to recap the trip and return to where we began: Why are we doing this? Not for Calvin. He would not approve. Not just for us, so we can boast about all the cool things we saw and did, and about being here precisely on his 500th. Calvin was consumed with zeal for the glory of Christ. This supremely must be our goal. And the great benefit of studying Church history and her heroes is that we can inspire the next generation to live for the glory of God alone. Beza put it this way, “Since it has pleased God that Calvin should continue to speak to us through his writings, which are so scholarly and full of godliness, it is up to future generations to go on listening to him until the end of the world, so that they might see our God as he truly is and live and reign with him for all eternity. Amen” (19 August, 1564).

We sang Joyeux anniversaire, as the cake blew sky high. The ballroom at St. Eloi is spectacular, and the food was plenteous and delicious. Rick DeMass led off with reflections on the benefits of the tour and many others joined in. It was a blessed time, and our coach driver, Bert, joined us. From here we went on to Calvin’s birthplace museum, crowded but a fascinating visit, with first editions of major Calvin works, original paintings of Calvin and other Reformation scenes.

Went into Notre Dame during a Catholic service, as Brittany chatted away outside in French with a warden and another chap from the village (see youtube clip), then strolled around the entire cathedral, cloister, and library (est 1506). I had an interesting conversation (got a good deal of it) with a Catholic priest who directed me to the chapel le Gesine, Calvin’s first pastoral charge when he was only twelve.

Off to eat dinner again (you do heaps of eating in France, though Calvin ate one meal a day and never with the enjoyment we have been experiencing). From there we entered the Salle Capitulaire of the cathedral and heard Calvin’s story in French with l’Esemble Huguenot singing magnificently in between (see youtube). Calvin would have been in this part of the cathedral, a large chapel off the cloister, many times in his first 14 years, without a doubt.

Calvin tour onward to Noyon

9 July, 2009… One day to Calvin’s quincentenary! We loaded the coach and set off for Reims and Calvin’s birthplace, Noyon in Picardy, the rolling hills of Alsace Lorraine alternating between golden wheat and lush green cornfields flank the coach as we motor to our objectives. I led us in prayer at the coach microphone, a prayer Calvin included in his commentary on the book of Hosea. Calvin seems to be redemptive historical in his approach to expounding the Bible so even in this Old Testament, Minor Prophetic book , he is full and overflowing with Christ the Redeemer.
We then sang Johann Heermann’s hymn, Ah Holy Jesus, the grand spire of Strasbourg Cathedral growing smaller behind us as we leave the city. Heermann studied at the University of Strasbourg and may have gotten early inspiration for his marvelous hymns from hearing the grand organ reverberating off the stone vaulting of that great cathedral. He later pastored a church in Westphalia during the 30-Years War, in which Heermann labored to comfort his beleaguered congregation against the brutal troops of the Holy Roman Empire closing in with blood and destruction on all sides. Twice he was wounded while attempting to guide his flock to safety, once fired upon repeatedly while crossing a river at night.

Paul Darby told us a wonderful story of his father’s heroic role as platoon leader in the conquest of Metz in WW II, and of how in his fear for his life he fell to his knees one night in a French farmhouse near Metz and begged God to save his soul and spare his life in the hellish conflict in which he found himself. It was a thoughtful witness to our Dutch coach driver, Bert. Bert spends heaps of time with us, often having meals with us, and strolling around, viewing historic sites, even listening to my talks; he actually applauded in Worms!

I read an excerpt from Stand Fast about C. S. Lewis’s time in WW I as we passed by Verdun, the Battle there commencing February 21, 1916. Lewis was wounded in 1918 at the Battle of Arras, taken to a field hospital in Etaples (remember Jacques Lefevre d’Etaples the Wycliffe of France?), then back to England and a hospital on the Salisbury Plane where he began writing bitter, arrogant, atheist poetry--atheist poetry cursing God for the horrors Lewis had experienced in WW I. He eventually would see his own inconsistencies, perhaps better than most.
We stopped for lunch in Reims where the German’s surrendered to the Allies in WW II before the official surrender in Berlin. We strolled around the old town and visited the magnificent cathedral, “The Westminster Abbey of France,” the tomb of many French monarchs and VIPs through the centuries. No Calvin connection, to my knowledge, but, hey, a body’s got to eat lunch somewhere.

Noyon and the Hotel l’Cedre, directly across from the cathedral where Calvin received his benefices first in 1521 (while Luther shouting, “Here I stand!” to the emperor), and “two steps,” according to the hotel web site (it’s actually two short blocks), from Calvin’s birthplace museum. We’re here and tomorrow is his 500th! Imagine 500 years ago this night, July 9th, 1509, as Gerard and Jeanne Franc reviewed their La Maus (sp?) breathing exercises and prepared for John Calvin’s birth next day. Little did they know the role God had set their son apart for in the years ahead.

Bond article in MODERN REFORMATION

Modern Reformation, special John Calvin quincentenary issue, June/July, 2009, features an article by Douglas Bond, On The Road: In the Footsteps of John Calvin. Click here to order a commemorative copy of the magazine http://twitpic.com/5kk63. Below is an excerpt:

History is filled with ironic convolutions. Consider the bungling of Scottish moderns placing a life-size bronze statue of John Knox in the ambulatory of St. Giles, Edinburgh, the very church in which Knox preached against idolatry. Or consider John Calvin decrying simony after his conversion when funding for his entire education had come from benefices his father had secured for him in his childhood.

Or consider thousands of Calvinists flocking to Geneva July 10, 2009 to commemorate the 500th birthday of the man who considered the medieval sacrament of pilgrimage to be one of the "faults contravening the Reformation." Is this yet another instance of self-contradictory theological buffoonery, a quest for merit tallied by stamps in the passport?

Tempting as these conclusions are to critics, I think not. As he lay dying, Calvin insisted that his body be buried in an unmarked grave. Some believe this was Calvin trying to avoid being the object of what he termed the “fictitious worship of dead men’s bones.” I’m inclined, however, to think that his dying request is yet another myth-buster; he didn’t want his bones enshrined because Calvin was so taken with the glory of Christ that the veneration of John Calvin never occurred to him. And for such humble piety alone Calvin would be worthy of our perennial attention.

SANCTIFICATION BY IMITATION
Theodore Beza, Calvin’s successor, in whose arms Calvin died, wrote of him on the final page of his account of Calvin’s life, “Having been a spectator of his conduct for sixteen years… I can now declare that in him all men may see a most beautiful example of Christian character, an example which is as easy to slander as it is difficult to imitate.” ...

THE BETRAYAL, A novel on John Calvin, by Douglas Bond, available soon.