Vox Meditantis

24th August, 1551

I have stolen away once more to this forgotten chamber beneath the chapel stairs, where the mice scurry freely and the spiders weave their silent prayers in dusty corners. Here, where no prying eyes may witness my doubts, I set quill to parchment by the trembling light of a stolen candle.

The very stones seem to whisper of older faiths tonight. Father speaks oft of the King’s reforms, how we must embrace the new learning, yet my heart feels torn asunder like a sparrow caught between two hawks. In church this morning, watching the stripped altar where once stood painted saints, I wondered if God truly dwells more fully in such bareness, or if something sacred hath been lost forever.

The old woman who tends our herb garden – she who remembers when Mass was sung in Latin – spoke to me yestereve of troubles brewing. She claims the Duke of Somerset grows too bold in his reforms, that whispers follow him through the court like shadows. “Mark me well, child,” said she, her gnarled hands gentle as a dove’s wing upon my shoulder, “even the mightiest stag may stumble when the ground beneath shifts too sudden.”

I find myself longing for certainty as a hart panteth after water brooks. What recipe might there be for such surety of faith? If I were to concoct such a draught, methinks it would require these ingredients: one measure of honest prayer, spoken not in Latin nor in English, but in the tongue of the soul; two handfuls of quiet contemplation, gathered like berries in the early dawn; a pinch of doubt, bitter though it be, for without questioning, how can faith truly grow? And finally, the tears of compassion – for all who suffer in these changing times, be they of the old faith or the new. Mixed well and taken daily, perhaps such medicine might heal this aching uncertainty that gnaws at my spirit like a persistent mouse at grain.

The candle burns low, and I hear footsteps above. I must away, but not before I confess this truth: I believe God loves us still, whether we find Him in gilded reliquaries or in simple wooden crosses. Like the swallows that return each spring regardless of what hands have rebuilt their nesting places, perhaps divine love adapts to shelter us wherever we may dwell.

In faithful hope, though darkness gathers

The mid-16th century English Reformation under Edward VI (1547-1553) marked a decisive shift toward Protestant doctrine after the initial upheavals of Henry VIII’s reign. By August 1551, mounting tensions surrounded radical religious reforms – most notably the 1549 Book of Common Prayer and the Act of Uniformity – which had already provoked violent uprisings such as the Prayer Book Rebellion in Cornwall and Devon, resulting in around 5,500 deaths. Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, who had served as Lord Protector since 1547, faced growing opposition from John Dudley, Earl of Warwick (later Duke of Northumberland), particularly over matters of religious policy and Mary Tudor’s continued private celebration of Mass. In October 1551, just two months after this diary entry, Somerset was arrested for treason on charges of plotting against Northumberland, leading to his execution in January 1552. These political and religious crises epitomised the broader struggle between conservative Catholic traditions and the drive for aggressive Protestant reform that defined Edward VI’s short but transformative reign.

Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved. | 🌐 Translate