Your words, six hundred years old, fill our minds:
my brother’s keeper and let there be light,
it came to pass and seek and ye shall find,
plain-put so in faith we’ll fight the good fight.

What’s that you said? The boy who drives the plow
should know more of the scriptures than a priest?
They strangled you for that, then turned their scowl
on liberties the printing press increased.

If you were with us now, what would you think?
New ways to twist and warp old words have risen,
and those who will not bow to power and shrink
soon find themselves invisibly imprisoned.

Revival? Is it possible today?
Translate us once again and show the way.

Steven Peterson

Steven Peterson is a poet and playwright living in Chicago. His poems appear in Alabama Literary Review, America, The Christian Century, Dappled Things, First Things, Light, Modern Age, The North American Anglican, and elsewhere. A selection of his poems are included in the anthology Taking Root in the Heart (Paraclete Press, 2023). His plays have been produced in theaters around the USA. He is currently a resident playwright at Chicago Dramatists.

'Tyndale' have 2 comments

  1. May 5, 2023 @ 11:46 am David W. Landrum

    Nicely done poem.


  2. May 14, 2023 @ 3:07 am Larry

    Tyndale’s comment about the plowboy has been running through my mind for several months now. I farmed for 22 years and consider myself a plowboy. I do not rebel against those who have seminary training and even envy (in a good way) those who came through that fire. God’s Word will purify us all. Thank God for men like Wycliffe, Huss, and Tyndale who presented the truth and opened it up to us plowboys.


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