Betrayal, lust, adultery, divorce, treason, rebellion, and heads on the chopping block.
Who knew that the Reformation in England would turn out to be such a life-and-death soap opera?
Religious transformation in other parts of Europe typically centered on passionate spiritual searchers – unique individuals who were desperate to please God.
In England, however, the circumstances of change pinwheeled around a king for whom spiritual integrity definitely seems to have been a secondary priority.
His name was Henry VIII. As a young monarch he had been famous for his graciousness, his svelte physique, and the way he could bust moves on the dance floor. As he got older, however, he became chiefly associated with insatiable appetites for sexual conquest, unbridled power, and his next big meal.
When it came to spiritual issues, Henry was a decent enough Catholic. In 1521, the same year Luther was on trial for his life in Worms, he had attacked the German monk’s view of the sacraments. The pope was thrilled and awarded Henry the title Defender of the Faith.
Then things began to go sideways.
Henry’s primary interest was fathering a male heir to the throne of England, and he knew just the woman who could make that happen – Catherine of Aragon, the widow of his brother Arthur. Henry married this newly eligible member of the Spanish royal family. Soon she bore a child.
Unfortunately, at least from the standpoint of royal succession, the baby was not a boy. The king and queen named their daughter Mary.
When it became increasingly clear that Catherine was not going to have any more children, Henry’s wandering eye was drawn to young Anne Boleyn. She would make a delightful queen. But first he had to rid himself of Catherine.
This was no easy task. The Catholic Church did not look with favor on divorce, and the pope was hesitant to annul Catherine’s legitimate second marriage. She was, after all, the aunt of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V. Disgracing her would be a public relations disaster.
Henry, meanwhile, searched for a Bible passage to reinforce his plea. He found Leviticus 20:21, which in his mind forbade a man from marrying his sister-in-law. As a general rule, if you’re looking for a verse to justify a major life decision, Leviticus is probably not the best place to go fishing.
As Rome continued to stall, an exasperated Henry decided to do an end run. He appointed his own archbishop of Canterbury – Thomas Cranmer – a man who was willing to do whatever the king asked.
The annulment was declared. Henry married Anne, who was already pregnant, and she gave birth to…another girl. Before Henry’s story was over, he would accuse Anne of infidelity, order her beheading, and marry six different women – none of whom was able to produce a surviving male heir.
His daughters, meanwhile, turned out to be anything but afterthoughts.
Both would ascend to the throne. Mary, who would fail in her forceful attempts to compel all of England to honor the Roman Church, would become known as Bloody Mary. Anne’s daughter Elizabeth would then guide the nation with unusual strength and grace through some of its most turbulent years.
The upshot of all this drama is that something monumental had happened. The English king had thumbed his nose at the pope and announced, “I’ll just start my own church, thank you.”
That decision was formalized by Parliament’s Act of Supremacy in 1534. It identified the king as “supreme head of the Church of England.”
Just like that, a new thing had come into the world.
Henry wasn’t into theology. He simply wanted a church in which the pope couldn’t overrule his wishes. Since he now had ultimate ecclesiastical authority in England, he confiscated the property of the nation’s monasteries and steered their wealth – not to mention the annual church taxes that had always been sent to Rome – into his own coffers. To top things off, an English-text Bible was placed in every sanctuary.
The English Church was no longer the Catholic Church. And there wasn’t anything the pope could do about it.
This was a watershed moment in Church history. For many sensitive souls, it seemed to represent a heartbreaking reversal of Jesus’ prayer to his Father in John 17:23, that his disciples would “be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”
The Great Schism of 1054 had divided East and West. Now the Catholic Church itself was splintering.
Even though Luther and most of the other reformers had hoped merely to revitalize Rome – restoring its spiritual integrity, eliminating corruption and immorality, and opening the doors for rank-and-file Christians to hear the Word of God in their own language – the dream of sustaining a single, unified Church gradually died.
Within the space of a few years, there were “national brands” of Christianity – a Swiss church, a Scottish church, a German church, and the church that was launched by none other than Henry VIII.
He would no doubt have found it amazing that that’s why we’re talking about him 500 years later.
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