A New Song Shall Now Be Begun
On Reformation Day, even as we focus on Luther and the 95 Theses, let us never forget the martyrs who offered up their lives for the sake of the Gospel - especially the Belgian Augustinian monks Heinrich Voes and Johann Esch, who were burned at the stake in Brussels, July 1, 1523. I don’t know if the liturgical color for the Festival of the Reformation is red on account of the Holy Spirit, or rather because of the blood shed by the reformers. But often, martyrdom and the work of the Spirit go hand in hand. Our Reformation heritage is no exception.
Eyewitnesses reported that Voes’s and Esch’s last statement was: “We will die as Christians and for the truth of the Gospel.” They sang the Te Deum Laudamus until the flames engulfed their bodies.
While Pope St. John Paul II apologized for the burning at the stake of the Czech reformer Jan Hus, no-one has taken responsibility for the unconscionable execution of Voes and Esch.
Dr. Luther was greatly moved by their martyrdom. He wrote this hymn in their honor, and it was published in the 1524 hymnal.
Here is an older translation of the lyrics:
“A new song be by us begun,
God help us tell the story,
To sing what our Lord God hath done
Unto His praise and glory.
At Brussels in the Netherlands
Hath He made known His wonders
Through two mere boys, right youthful lads,
Whom He with heav’nly treasures
So richly hath adornèd.
The first right fitly John was named,
So rich he in God’s favor;
A Christian true and free from blame
Was Henry, his dear brother.
Out from this world they both have trod;
Their heav’nly crowns they cherished;
Like any pious child of God,
For His Word have they perished.
His martyrs they have become.
The ancient Foe did have them bound,
With terrors to enwrap them;
When to God’s Word they true were found,
He sought by craft to trap them.
From Louvain many Sophists came,
With their accursèd learning,
By Satan gathered to the game;
But God, the tables turning,
Denied them all victory.
Well, they sang sweet and they sang sour,
Crafts of all kinds devising;
The youths stood steadfast as a tow’r,
The Sophists’ pow’r despising.
The ancient Foe was filled with hate
To be thus overtaken
By such young men, and he so great;
His wrath did then awaken,
And he resolved to burn them.
They stripped them of their monkish garb,
Their priestly vestments taking;
The youths for this were well prepared,
A joyful “Amen!” speaking.
To God their Father gave they thanks,
For He at last had freed them
From all the devil’s masks and pranks
Wherewith he’d fain mislead them,
Deceiving thus all the world.
So by God’s grace it came to pass
That they true priests were rendered.
Themselves they offered at the last,
And Christ’s own priesthood entered.
Unto the world they died indeed,
Hypocrisy renouncing,
And came to heaven, pure and free,
All monkish ways denouncing,
Forsaking all men’s trifles.
A statement for the youths they wrote
And bade them read it over;
They did therein their doctrine note,
Their errors to uncover.
Their greatest fault was to proclaim:
“We ought to trust God solely,
For men are naught but liars vain;
We should distrust them wholly.”
For this they must both be burned!
Two roaring fires they kindled then;
The youths they brought unto them;
But wonder seized on all the men,
For fear could not undo them.
With joy they gave themselves to death,
With songs to God and praises;
The Sophists’ courage waned and fled,
For God, who new things raises,
A wonder had now prepared.
They rue it now, and feel their blame
And fain would gloss it over.
They dare not glory in their shame,
The tale they seek to cover.
They feel their crime within their breast
And for their part deplore it,
But now the Spirit cannot rest,
For Abel’s blood outpourèd
Must evermore Cain accuse.
Their ashes ne’er will cease to swell;
They fly to ev’ry nation.
No stream, hole, ditch, or grave can quell
Or hide th’ abomination.
He who did seek with murd’rous hand
To silence them while living
Now in their death through ev’ry land
Must hear men praises giving
And singing right joyfully.
From lies to lies they still proceed,
And feign forthwith a story
To color o’er the murd’rous deed;
Their conscience pricks them sorely.
Those saints of God e’en after death
They’ve slandered, and asserted
The youths had with their dying breath
Confessed and been converted,
Their heresy renouncing.
Well, let them lie forevermore;
No favor they’ll be earning.
We’ll ever thank our God therefore:
His Word is now returning.
The summer is hard by the door,
And winter starts to shun it,
The tender flow’rs now bloom once more,
And He who hath begun it
Will surely complete His work.
Ein neues Lied wir heben an
Martin Luther, 1523
Tr. composite”