Patrick Hamilton

If you have a copy of God’s Word, please turn to Hebrews 11 — Hebrews 11. When I was asked to speak at that Reformation meeting on Thursday, the audience is mostly of a Dutch background. I mean, they’re mostly Canadian now, but they come from a Dutch background. And I thought to myself, well, in all likelihood they’ve heard about Luther, their own Dutch background, Geneva, things on the continent. Maybe they don’t know as much about the Scottish Reformation. And so, since the town in which I was speaking is called Hamilton, I thought there might be even more of an interest in dealing with a person by the name of Hamilton. So I brought before them the life of Patrick Hamilton, the first martyr of the Scottish Reformation.

It’s good to have a shared interest in these things, to see those who have a love for the Lord, to be encouraged by what God is doing with them, and to trust God will even have blessed that. I heard good reports; I trust it was encouraging. I want to address the same with you tonight.

It’s good to see the Reverend Farr here as well — I just noticed him. I trust the Lord will bless him and his ministry as well.

Hebrews 11 — we’re going to read from verse 23. Hebrews 11, verse 23:

By faith Moses, when he was born, was hid three months of his parents, because they saw he was a proper child. They were not afraid of the king’s commandment.

By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter, choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season; esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt; for he had respect unto the recompence of the reward.

By faith he forsook Egypt, not fearing the wrath of the king: for he endured, as seeing him who is invisible.

Through faith he kept the passover and the sprinkling of blood, lest he that destroyed the firstborn should touch them.

Amen. We’ll end the reading at verse 28.

What you have heard is the inerrant and fallible word of the living God, which you are to receive, believe, and obey. And the people of God said, amen.

Let’s pray.

Lord, bless us tonight. Though the format be somewhat different, I pray that it might be owned of God. We ask that Thou would graciously condescend. I’ve been singing of those saints who have gone before us. We are still in mystical union with them, and we long, O God, that by Thy grace we might obtain the crown that they have received, that we too might be found before the throne of the Lamb, that we might join our voices to that chorus in glory. We pray, O God, that Thou wilt help us to be faithful. Help us, O God, to continue on — whatever life throws at us, whatever we have to face, whatever comes our way. We pray we might be courageous, we might be persistent, that we might be faithful.

Tonight, God, as we reflect upon one of Thy children of old, we ask that Thou wilt help us to learn from it, and above all that it might stimulate our loyalty to Jesus Christ. So be with us now. Give the Holy Spirit. Please, O God, please, O God, deliver us from merely rehearsing history. Meet with us, we pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

I don’t know if you’ve ever had the opportunity to visit Scotland. If you ever have that opportunity or are able to make that work out for you, I would encourage you, on one of your visits, to go to the town of St. Andrews. And some of you may have heard of St. Andrews before for various reasons. It’s a very historic town. It’s also the place where golf originated — at least that’s what they tell me. And it has all sorts of other historical significance.

But I want you to imagine yourself standing on this east coast of Scotland, in this little town known for being a place of education, and it’s February. So if you can imagine Scottish weather, at probably one of the bitterest, worst times of the year, you’re standing there, gathered round, a location where there’s a young man in the middle. His name is Patrick Hamilton. He’s just twenty-four years of age. And the inhabitants and those around St. Andrews have gathered there to see what his response might be to what they have put before him.

For more than a century before Hamilton’s day, Scotland had known flickers of gospel truth. Back in the 1430s, a man by the name of Paul Craw, a Bohemian, followed the teachings of men like Huss and Wycliffe. He found himself also in St. Andrews and burned for his preaching of the gospel. The bishops, we are told, fearing his influence, gagged him with a brass ball lest he testify to Christ while the flames rose around him. There were others who followed, and then around that time even a few lairds who made their way to Scotland to bring the gospel, but nothing seemed to really take hold. The impact was minimal.

These men, of course, would try to expose the system under which everyone lived — the ignorance, the darkness, the false gospel of the system of the Roman Catholic Church. They dared to say, like Wycliffe, that the Pope was the Antichrist, that bread remains bread in the communion, that Christ alone forgives sin, that prayer ought to be offered to God alone through Christ, not to Mary or the saints. But, as I say, it largely fell on deaf ears. There was not a real uptake of the message.

When the hour seemed most hopeless, God raised up a young scholar — a young man who tasted of the gospel far away from home — brought that message to his people to have a dramatic impact upon his country. Our focus then falls on that same young man, Patrick Hamilton by name. While we think of him and we consider the martyr’s death that he was to endure, it’s a wonderful thing to see such a spirit in such a young person — just twenty-four years of age, and willing to give up his very life for the Lord Jesus Christ.

I can’t help but press, before we go any further, that those of you who are creeping up on twenty-four or you’re around that age, to ponder yourself: whether you’re prepared for this to be it. This is it. What you’ve lived is your life. Twenty-four.

I have seven things I want us to consider here, with the Lord’s help, concerning Patrick Hamilton, and I trust the Lord will use it to be a blessing to you.

First note: the nobility of his birth. The nobility of his birth. Patrick Hamilton was born to noble stock around 1504. His father was Sir Patrick Hamilton. He was obviously a knight and a landholder. His mother also was Catherine Stewart, granddaughter to King James II. From both these lines, therefore, the young Patrick, in God’s providence, was placed among Scotland’s foremost families, the Hamiltons and the Stuarts. And so he had distinct privileges — privileges that would not have been available to many in his time in that part of the world, privileges that would have separated him from the common people.

We don’t know much about his childhood. We do know that among his uncles were Catholic clergy, and it’s not unlikely that he had a very privileged education as a boy. Yet, like Moses — of whom we are told by Stephen in Acts 7 that he was educated in all the learning of the Egyptians — young Patrick also, though educated to the highest degree available to him, was to learn that his real nobility before God was not found in his education or in his family line.

We’ve read here of Moses, and the significance of Moses is that he was a man of faith, and what set him apart before God was his faith. Though details were given concerning him — the privileges, the favor, the sacrifice that he was willing to go through — all of this surrounds the fact that he was a man who trusted God, a man who believed God, a man who found himself accepted before God for the righteousness of another, a man who knew that no matter what his achievements in this world, he needed the righteousness of another to stand before God.

So it was for Patrick Hamilton. His privileges, as I say, were great and significant. And yet, again, we understand that though you and I may not come from noble stock — I made mention that I was going to speak on Patrick Hamilton, and someone was able to tell me that their line goes back to the Stuart dynasty. And the way they worded it, I said to myself, “So you’re of royal lineage.” And they said, “Yes, that’s true.” Well, maybe that’s true for you as well. If so, well, God bless you. I don’t know anything about my lineage. And perhaps I’d rather not know — because if I found out, I wish I did not know at all.

But anyway, the wonder of the gospel is found in what Hannah expressed in her prayer, is it not? In 1 Samuel 2:8: “‘He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up the beggar from the dunghill, to set them among princes, even the princes of his people.’” God isn’t so much impressed with worldly nobility, especially when it becomes a platform for pride. It is a heavenly birth that a man needs before God. It is being a child of God.

Our Lord Jesus came unto his own — these privileged people, the Jews — and his own received him not. But to as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name. And that’s true to this day. It’s true to this day that by believing in the name of the Son of God, you become a very child of God, of true noble birth and rank.

Patrick Hamilton, amidst all his privileges, was to learn like the apostle Paul that they were not enough. And he would count eventually all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus. Have you come to that point? Have you counted everything dung that you might have Christ? What are you aspiring after? What are the objectives of your life? What are the things that you think are important that either A, you already possess, or B, you clamor after? Think about it, and ask yourself, Is Christ the objective of my life?

The Lord Jesus, in His mercy, was to lay hold upon this young nobleman, and the pleasures then of a passing world were to fade away.

Secondly: the clarity of his convictions. Our convictions are shaped by and sharpened by our environment. You pick up things by the way you’ve been raised and by the schools to which you go and the educators who stand before you. And so it was for Patrick Hamilton. In 1517 — the same year that Luther published his 95 theses — the young Hamilton, just a teenager, was appointed as an abbot. Now he was too young to do anything of significance in that role. He was appointed and, by that appointment, gained an income and had then the flexibility with that income to leave Scotland and move away for a better education. It provided him then the opportunity to move abroad to study. And so he leaves, just as a teenager, his homeland to study at the University of Paris.

The University of Paris at that time was seen as the pinnacle of orthodoxy for the church. It was one of those schools that held the line, fought against perceived heresy, and where young men of a desire to lead a clergyman’s life of some description would go to be educated and surrounded by the best available to them. And so it was fiercely opposing that which was arising from the pen of Martin Luther.

We learn by some of the historians that early on, when Luther’s writings began to spread in the 1520s, the university formally condemned them as heresy and ordered that they be burned. But as you and I no doubt are aware, when you draw such attention to things and you do such things, usually it backfires. We sometimes refer nowadays to the Streisand effect. In an effort to try and protect something or hide something away, the way you go about it, you draw more attention to it, and it backfires and does the complete opposite. Had you said nothing and done nothing, perhaps it would have had less impact. One historian writes of this university in 1519: “The strong hand of Luther knocked violently at its gates, and the sound reverberated through all its studious halls and cloisters.”

The truth is nothing could stop Luther’s writings spreading through Europe like wildfire. And so, as Hamilton goes to Paris, he finds himself right at that time in the midst of a place where he has access to writings — though condemned — that are still finding their way into the hands of young men. And what he was to find and discover in Luther’s writings was truth plainly spoken and soundly reasoned.

We learn also then he went to Louvain, where Erasmus was hugely influential. This became a school that focused particularly on the ancient languages, so they would already know Latin, but there would also be the learning of Greek and Hebrew at that school. And it’s likely then that that was the reason Patrick went to that school — to learn Greek, possibly even a little Hebrew as well. So he gains a proficiency so that he can read the New Testament in Greek for himself.

He then returns to Scotland convinced of one thing: that the gospel must be preached clearly, that it must be given in the way that Luther was giving it — with this clarity so that people aren’t taken up with the cleverness of the man, by the sophistry, by the ingenuity. There is to be no mysteries. No — it was to be presented in a way that any soul could grasp what was being said.

He arrives then in St. Andrews in October 1524. He’s about twenty years of age. He’s admitted then to the faculty of arts and soon begins to exercise his quiet influence around the area. He’s speaking to people. He’s bringing his Lutheranism into the things that he is doing as he talks to people. But by early 1527 the archbishop becomes aware of what Hamilton is doing, what he is saying, and how he is influencing people. And he orders then that he be tried.

Now Hamilton, upon learning of this, immediately gets up and gets out of there. He flees to Germany and he enrolls as a student in the new University of Marburg. There he meets certain significant individuals, one by the name of Francis Lambert of Avignon, one of Luther’s allies and a reformer himself. Yet he doesn’t stay very long. This is a remarkable thing. He goes there early in 1527, only by the fall of the same year to return again to Scotland.

There he begins to preach and publishes the only work we have of him that is now known — though it wasn’t at the time it was published. It’s now known as Patrick’s Places. I’d encourage you to go and read that little tract that was published all those years ago. You’ll see again the effort — this is a well-educated young man, educated in the classics, aware of all the kind of increase of learning that’s happening in that period. And he has all the best education available to someone of that day. And yet, as you read that little tract that he puts together, it’s stunning for its simplicity.

In one section he brings together the distinction between the law and the gospel, and I want to read this little part to you. He says, “‘The law saith, Pay thy debt. Thou art a sinner desperate, and thou shalt die. The gospel saith, Christ hath paid it. Thy sins are forgiven thee. Be of good comfort. Thou shalt be saved. The law saith, make amends for thy sin. The Father of heaven is wroth with thee. Where is thy righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction? Thou art bound and obliged unto me, to the devil and to hell. The gospel saith, Christ hath made it for thee. Christ hath pacified him with his blood. Christ is thy righteousness, thy goodness, and satisfaction. Christ hath delivered thee from them all.’”

You see then how he’s bringing this contrast. The law says, here’s a debt you cannot pay. The gospel says, it’s paid in full. Jesus Christ has done it all. And this then becomes, we must imagine, the real focus of his ministry. As he goes back in that fall of 1527, he starts trying to influence as many as possible. This is the heart of the message: here’s the law, here’s the gospel — Christ is sufficient, Christ is enough.

Hamilton believed what every true minister must believe: that the task is not to sound impressive, but to make the sufficiency of Christ unmistakable to all.

Thirdly, consider with me the purity of his life. The purity of his life. One historian writes of Hamilton — he’s talking here about the endowments of divine grace added to the gifts of nature. So you have this beautiful marriage: here’s a naturally gifted young man, and you have the grace of God married to that, along with the accomplishments of education. And he says, “Not only the most zealous, but the most courteous of evangelists.” He had a zeal, but not an arrogance. He had a zeal, but he was courteous in all of his dealings with men.

He goes on to say, as being a confessor of the truth, as mild and modest and gentle in his bearing — which just means his demeanor and manners — as he was firm and impregnable in his spirit and principles. So as you looked upon him, he’s just this demeanor that is modest and gentle and mild. You don’t see — I don’t want you to, as we get to him and you hear some of his language, and as he fervently stands, willing to die for the cause of Christ — imagine him to be some picture of a great warrior, the scars and this kind of ferocity of nature. The immediate appearance of the man is mild, modest, and gentle, and yet firm and impregnable in his spirit and principles. You couldn’t bend him.

He goes on to say, “A martyr, learned and cultured as he was, fervent and self-devoted.” It doesn’t mean devoted to self; it means consecrated. “A master of all the new learning of his age, as well as instinct with all its revived religious zeal and ardor.” So here is a young man who has all the privileges, and yet he is this fervent, zealous, devoted, consecrated, mild, modest, gentle young man standing for the cause of Christ, almost alone.

When referring to his swift return to Scotland in 1527, John Knox said of Patrick Hamilton, “The zeal of God’s glory did so eat him up that he could of no long continuance remain abroad, but return to his country, where the bright beams of the true light, which by God’s grace was planted in his heart, began most abundantly to burst forth as well in public as in secret.” So he sees him there again. He’s coming back. He could stay in Germany. He could be a student in Germany. He could quite happily stay there for a long time and he’d be safe there. And instead he goes back to Scotland prepared to preach the gospel with zeal and heart.

Hamilton was gripped by the message. Time was of the essence as far as he was concerned. His countrymen must have the truth and have it as soon as possible. And he did not make any effort to try and hide the change that had happened in his life. Having committed himself to be a clergyman, of course what came with that was celibacy. And as soon as he returns to Scotland, he does the most public thing he can do: he marries. He follows in the footsteps of Luther and chooses then to see himself as distinct from the church by this public event of taking to himself a bride. That act of marrying was the most obvious and public message that he was taking a clean break from the Roman Catholic Church and all its false piety.

In the fourth place, consider the courage of his testimony. The courage of his testimony. Shortly after his return to Scotland, Hamilton receives an invitation from the same archbishop, James Beaton. He’s invited to come to St. Andrews for a debate, and all seems to be done in an aboveboard manner, in a gentleman-like manner. Hamilton’s noble birth and his relationship to the royal family made it politically difficult for Beaton simply to arrest him and have his way with him. But his intentions were not sincere.

For almost a month, Hamilton was permitted to preach, to debate, to discuss his views with the church officials at St. Andrews. He relies on Scripture; they rely on tradition. He’s going back to God’s Word; they’re using their philosophical arguments. Alexander Campbell, who’s a Dominican friar, engaged with Hamilton, seeming to agree with his views, seeming to be influenced by what he was saying and gaining his trust. However, Campbell was reporting back to the authorities and compiling formal charges of heresy against the young Patrick. Beaton, fearing a royal intervention should he proceed with his intentions, helps organize steps to encourage the teenage King James V of Scotland on a pilgrimage — try to get him away from the area.

Removing then the king from St. Andrews, preventing any last-minute pleas of royal pardon that might have been granted. So with all this in place, at midnight they burst in and seize upon Hamilton, throw him into the castle prison, and by morning the sentence was written.

Again, John Knox records concerning this matter: “The articles for which he suffered were but of pilgrimage, purgatory, prayer to saints, and prayer for the dead, and such trifles.” You can see in that a hint in which Knox is drawing attention to the fact they will not debate the heart of the issue — the gospel.

And so he’s brought before the archbishop’s tribunal. It appears by some records that many were of the mind that this is just a scam — he’ll recant. Surely, surely when he’s brought in this public way and the charges are brought before him, he’ll turn away from his position. Yet Hamilton stood unshaken.

We are told that he said, “I fear not the fire which burns but for a time, but the fire eternal which is prepared for the impenitent.” Like Luther before him, he had already counted the cost. In one sense: the Christian who’s in touch with God, the Christian who’s where they ought to be before God — listen to me — every single Christian truly, when they are where they ought to be, is already dead to this world.

The gospel that justified his soul now demanded his body, and Hamilton yielded it gladly.

In the fifth place, consider the calmness of his suffering. So on February 29, 1528, before the old college of St. Andrews, preparation was made for his martyrdom. As I say, men supposed that this would result in him recanting — surely this young nobleman, this young scholar, this gentle soul, he will yield. Instead they found themselves gazing at a man who, as I say, was already prepared to die.

We are told that Hamilton turns to his servant and he gives to him his gown, his cloak, and his bonnet and other such items, saying, “These will not profit in the fire. They will profit thee. After this thou canst receive no commodity from me except the example of my death. That, I pray thee, bear in mind; for albeit it be bitter to the flesh and fearful before men, it is the entrance on to eternal life, which none shall possess who deny Christ Jesus before this wicked generation.”

Apparently, the fire was slow to kindle. When I read that, I thought, yeah, of course — it’s Scotland in February. Everything is going to be damp. So they’re trying to get this fire going. Repeatedly they try to get the fire going, and even when it gets going, it burns so slowly that the death of Hamilton takes, we’re told, six hours.

When the flames come up around him, the record is that he said, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. How long shall darkness cover this realm? How long wilt thou suffer the tyranny of men?”

Since it took so long for him to die, many things were said. A certain friar, Campbell, shouted, “Convert, heretic! Call upon our lady!” To such cries he replied, “Depart, and trouble me not, ye messengers of Satan!” The friar then persists — keeps going on, taunting him with the same words — and Hamilton then turns and says, “Wicked man, thou knowest the contrary, and the contrary thou hast confessed unto me. I summon thee to appear before the tribunal of Jesus Christ.”

Shortly after saying this, the crackles of the fire increased and his words became harder to discern. The witness of Jesus Christ triumphed in Patrick Hamilton as he went into the presence of his Lord. We are told that within just a few days the friar who hurled such remarks at Hamilton — Knox said, “It was plainly known that he died in Glasgow in a frenzy and as one in despair.” Some kind of judgment came upon him. I read of that and I thought of Herod in Acts 12 — after killing James and trying to kill Peter and boasting himself and making himself like he is a God, he’s killed by God.

Think then, in the sixth place, of the fruitfulness of his death. The fruitfulness of his death. Our Lord told us in John 12, “‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.’”

Those are some of the most powerful verses in all of God’s Word — powerful in the centrality of the gospel expressed. The corn of wheat that fell into the ground and died primarily is an image of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is that corn of wheat. He fell into the ground. He died. And in that perishing of the Son of God came forth a harvest — even you and me.

But it is taken then to be a general principle. It is encouraged then to be applied to all. For it continues, “He that loveth his life shall lose it.” If you’re all about this life — if you’re all about you, here, now — you will lose your life. “He that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.” Set it aside. Do not elevate it. Elevate the life and purpose of another.

Oh, how hard it is to stay there. But Patrick Hamilton had learned this, and he followed his Master. The embers created by his martyrdom ignited a spreading fire. Again, John Knox records concerning him: “When these cruel wolves had, as they supposed, clean devoured the prey, they found themselves in worse case than they were before. For within St. Andrews, yea, almost within the whole realm of those who heard of that deed, there was none found who began not to inquire wherefore was Master Patrick Hamilton burnt. For what reason did he die?”

And oh, what a door of opportunity. Why did the young nobleman die? Why did the archbishop put him to death? It was indefensible. The death then of Patrick Hamilton multiplied the converts of his message. His doctrine that was once whispered in chambers became the talk of the streets and the university.

Though not all persecution results in converts, it has often been the case, as we have learned many times, that the blood of martyrs is the seed of the church. And every age needs its witnesses. Whatever God chooses to do with our witness, it needs to be that you live as a witness. You’re not just cruising through life. You’re not just here to make ends meet, to be successful in your career. Do that, be that, accomplish that — that’s fine — but you’re primarily, primarily — hear me — you’re a witness. You’re my witnesses. Your work, your job is to speak of Christ. There is no higher job, no greater calling, no more significant weight that is upon you as a Christian. Speak of Christ.

And we are living in a very silent generation. We’re afraid to speak. We’re afraid to own them. And oh, how I wonder how the Lord assesses it, what He makes of it all.

The historians note that Hamilton’s converts included members of his family — likely his wife, before they married. We also know that one of the Catholic theologians that was tasked with convincing Hamilton of his errors, Alexander Alasius, later confessed that he was won to the truth by Hamilton’s doctrine and innocent life. The same seems to have happened to another man by the name of John Gow, a former priest, who then flees to England after the martyrdom of Hamilton and publishes a little work titled The Right Way to the Kingdom of Heaven. It’s also possible that Gavin Logie, the principal at St. Leonard’s College — part there of St. Andrews — also became sympathetic to Hamilton’s doctrine and helped influence many of the students within St. Andrews as a result.

And so here you have a young man who calmly offers up his life. He has preached his message. He’s willing to die for that message. It cannot but impact others.

Sometimes I wonder about what is going on in our minds — our reluctance to witness, to be bold. I have known it; I have seen it — in which there are those who have heard the sobering news that they do not have long to live. Young people, older people — they find out that something’s going on in the body. And upon that news, all of a sudden, they begin to testify, to speak of Christ. In one sense, it makes perfect sense. They have nothing to lose. They’re staring death in the face. They’re beyond being able to threaten. But what clarity that news must give to the mind in which upon hearing that you’ve only months or a year or whatever the case might be to live, you burst forth with this message and you start preaching the gospel.

The thing is, beloved, why must it take such a sobering message? Why must it take the reality of our own death coming upon us earlier than we expected to motivate us to do the very thing our Lord said — this is your chief task? Hamilton didn’t just start witnessing as he was dying; he was dying because he had been witnessing. What an influence it had. He had died. “He that loveth his life shall lose it. He that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.” And that’s what he understood. It’s not about here and now. It’s not about making it last as long as possible. To him, to die at twenty-four years of age was the highest honor that could be bestowed upon him.

Finally, the permanence of his influence. Like the noble John the Baptist, who was of priestly lineage, Patrick Hamilton had a very short ministry — just a few months, really, when you start thinking about it. A few months of ministry. Left behind a young widow and a daughter who was yet to be born. She never met her courageous father. But what a legacy. A wasted life? I mentioned this a few weeks ago. He died in 1528.

Thirty-two years — to the young people here, thirty-two years seems like so far away. It’s such a long time. There’s some of us maybe here tonight and you think thirty-two years is not a long time. Really, it’s very short.

Thirty-two years, just thirty-two years after his martyrdom — what a change, what a monumental change was to happen to his dear country, that country he loved. In 1560 the Scottish Parliament approved a reformed confession of faith — it’s known as the Scots Confession. At the parliament level they approved of it. They passed three acts that abolished Romanism from the realm. All previous acts not in conformity with the reformed confession were annulled. The sacraments were reduced to baptism and communion, and they were to be performed by ordained reformed preachers alone. The celebration of the mass was made punishable by a series of penalties and papal jurisdiction in Scotland was repudiated. As the Protestants like to say in Northern Ireland, no Pope here. The nation was transformed in thirty-two years.

Now I know to say such things in America — having such a bent toward one religion or the other, of course, goes against the constitution. What a change. 1528: they’ll kill a man who preaches the gospel. Thirty-two years later, they’re saying this is the religion of the land. Thirty-two years.

And there’s a very real sense in which without Patrick Hamilton there may never have been a George Wishart. And without George Wishart there may never have been a John Knox. And without John Knox there may never have been a 1560 and a complete change in the nation of Scotland. Oh, I don’t mean to say they wouldn’t have existed. My point is the spirit of these men — Wishart’s spirit was fueled by what Hamilton had exemplified, and Knox’s spirit was fueled by the example of Wishart, who also gave his life for the cause of the gospel. And if you take away then Hamilton, and you don’t have the spirit of Wishart, and you don’t have the spirit of Knox, and you don’t have a Protestant Scotland — I’ll tell you now, you do not have an America the way it is today. It would not be.

Hebrews 11: “By faith Moses, when he was born, was hid three months of his parents, because they saw he was a proper child; and they were not afraid of the king’s commandment.” Here’s a faith that defies the world’s opposition — the faith of Hamilton, the faith of Moses and his family. It defies the world’s opposition. Does your faith defy the world’s opposition? The world opposes what you stand for. Insofar as you say Christ is King — men are obligated to bow before Him; He is the only Redeemer of sinners — the world will oppose it. Are you afraid of the King’s commandment? Do you live in fear of the word of men? The faith of the Christian defies the world’s opposition. You could say to Patrick Hamilton, “We’re going to burn you unless you recant,” and he will say, “I will take the flame. I’m not giving in to your commandment.” That’s the kind of spirit that’s needed today.

We all need heroes — encouragers, men of flesh and blood that we can look to and say, “There’s something to aspire to.” There are certain Reformers — again, I mentioned this concerning Tyndale — that one of the attractive things about Tyndale is that there was a certain demeanor about the man that made him appear so likable. And others of the Reformers, we thank God for them — their tenacious spirit, their brilliance — but there’s a part of me when I read about them I think, I’m not sure they were really all that likable or easy to like. All the record, though it be scant, concerning Patrick Hamilton is of a man who was meek and gentle, winsome, had a character that it’s hard to find fault in. And yet what courage — a faith that defies the world’s opposition.

Verses 24 and 25 of Hebrews 11: “By faith Moses, when he was come to years, refused to be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter; choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.”

Here’s faith that denies the world’s pleasures. The pleasures are there. The Christian doesn’t say the world has no pleasures. It’s there. There are pleasures of sin. There are pleasures of sin! These pleasures of sin tap into your carnal ways. These pleasures of sin know how to lure you in. These pleasures of sin are like bait, and if you don’t determine to refuse them, you’ll be taken in by them. Moses chose to suffer affliction with the people of God. He chose that. All the beauty, all the power, all the wealth, all the glory of Egypt is his. He chooses. He makes a decided choice.

Like Patrick Hamilton, “I’m going home to Scotland. I’m going to preach this message. I know what’s happened before me. It may be that I might die.” But he chooses to suffer affliction with the people of God rather than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.

Denying the world’s pleasures — that’s the Christian faith. The faith of Moses wasn’t unique. The faith of Hamilton wasn’t unique. This is the Christian faith: denying the pleasures, saying no to the pleasures. And you young people better learn that. Older ones too.

The pleasures — the tantalizing things of the world that take your affection away from Christ; the things that draw you away, the things that prevent you from seeking God in prayer, from reading His Word daily. These things that clamor in and say, “This is important; this matters,” and you feel yourself drawn out. It’s fun. It has an appeal. And it never shows the destruction.

It’s like all the advertising, isn’t it? All the advertising that revolves around lust and money and other pleasures. They put these things before you and they never advertise the devastating consequences at times they bring. Get those pharmaceutical ads and at the end you have this speeded-up voice that warns you of all these possible outcomes that might happen. They read it so fast that they hope you don’t catch on — that you don’t say to yourself, “I’ll take the headache instead of all these internal problems that you’re saying might happen to me.”

But they never do that for alcohol. There’s never their little remark at the end: “May destroy your life. May devastate your family. May put you in an early grave.” It’s fascinating to me. It’s fascinating — all these doctors now are coming out and they say, alcohol is poisonous to every cell in the body. That’s what they’re saying. Alcohol is poisonous to every cell in the body.

It’s also a faith that discerns the world’s riches — esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt. He saw the treasures in Egypt. Oh, he saw all the gold. He saw the wealth and power that it could achieve. He saw the treasures of Egypt in Egypt, and he saw right through them: esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches. “I’ll take the reproach of Christ over the wealth of the wealthiest nation in the world,” discerning the world’s riches. Most of us don’t discern the world’s riches. We look at the world’s riches and say, “That’s great; give me more of that.” Moses said, “That’s not it. I see through it. There’s wealth untold on the other side. I’ll go through the wilderness. I’ll choose to be with the people of God wandering around in the wilderness. I’ll choose to be with them — whatever the suffering entails, I will be there with them.” Depending on God for manna from heaven, water out of a rock, and to have all the riches, treasures in Egypt — that’s the Christian.

Patrick Hamilton, twenty-four years of age, gave his life for the cause of Christ. What are you doing with your life? What are you doing with your life? What’s the objective? Why are you here? What are you hoping to achieve? What are your prayers in the morning as you seek God? What are you hoping to do with your life? Yes, in the morning as you seek the Lord, do you say, “God, here’s my life”? Do you do that? Do you give your life to Christ? Are you with white knuckles holding on to it? You have this little bit of Christianity, a little bit of Jesus there, but really you’re holding on to your own life — a little bit, enough of Jesus to give a sense of peace to the conscience that you’re going to heaven. Christ says, “Deny yourself daily, every day; deny yourself, take up your cross and follow me.” Hamilton said, “Yes, Lord, gladly — all my nobility, all the lands I will inherit, all the favor I’ve been given, all the learning I could use — I’ll put it in the fire to bring glory to your name at the pinnacle of my powers.” Oh, may the Lord help us.

Let’s bow together in prayer.

Let me ask you: are you saved? Are you born again? Do you have new life in Christ? Are your sins all forgiven? Are you sure that you are the Lord’s? And are you living a life surrendered to Jesus Christ? If you need to be saved, then tonight is the night to be saved. It’s the time to be saved. Now Jesus bids you come. Jesus promises to save you now. Will you come?

Lord, we pray, bless these thoughts and help us to learn from the rich heritage we have — like this chapter of Hebrews 11 that puts on display simple people having an extraordinary impact in their generation. Grant that we too may have our own impact and serve our generation. I pray that this congregation would be delivered from all false pretense, all the fakery of a Christianity without substance. Give us grace to die to ourselves, to live on to Christ, and grant us boldness to speak for Him. If there be one without Christ, save them. Have mercy, Lord, this very night. Bless our time of fellowship. Be with us, and grant that the sweetness of our fellowship might be that the Lord is in the midst. Give us strength and power to live for Thee this week. May the grace of our Lord Jesus, the love of God the Father, and the fellowship of the Spirit be the portion of all the people of God, now and evermore. Amen.