Humanity is defined by its search for truth. Some people search for this truth through personal power, as they attempt to hold sway over their fellow man. Some search for truth in pleasure, seeing self-gratification as the greatest achievement in life. Others seek enlightenment through their own thoughts and reasonings, ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth –2 Timothy 3:7. Yet others believe a life of service will be a reward unto itself, so they try to make a name for themselves through the publicity of their acts of service and charity.
Time and time again, throughout history, the collective thought of man has turned to something greater than themselves. Religions rise, and religions fall, empires are founded and crumble, philosophies develop and fall apart.
Against this background of intellectual undulation, a movement which most of my readers will recognize, took root in a small, mountainous region of the globe. Zurich, Switzerland, in the year 1525 AD, was to be its given birthplace and birthdate, but its roots had been established a full 1500 years earlier, in Galilee, where One taught and lived the final answers to all of man’s questions.
The beginnings of this more recent movement are well documented. In short, it was founded by a small group of assorted students, clergy, and commoners who sought after truth in its purest form. The stories of Conrad Grebel, Felix Manz, and George Blaurock are well known to many of us. They endeavored to separate from the spiritual corruption that surrounded them, as they established the beginnings of what would become known as the Anabaptist movement.
These three soon faced the scrutiny of the civil and spiritual authorities of their time, enduring hardship and suffering for their faith. Two of them eventually gave their lives for the truth they so esteemed. Felix Manz was the first Anabaptist to be martyred. On January 5th, 1527, not two years after his courageous re-baptism, he was drowned in the River Limmat which flowed through Zurich. His last words were: “Into thy hands, O God, I commend my spirit.”
The Anabaptist movement lived beyond these three men.
It spread and grew throughout Moravia, the Netherlands, Switzerland, and the Palatinate region of Germany. Almost one hundred years later there was another prominent leader in the Zurich hills; this one was an elderly farmer. He was well-seasoned in leading his flock through the ebb and flow of the challenges facing the believers of that time. His name is Hans Landis.
The year was 1613, January 26 to be exact. Converging on the small castle, Wadenswil, on the shore of Lake Zurich, was an elderly Hans Landis, along with fourteen of his church members. Most notably among these was Galli Fuchs, a schoolteacher and recent convert, as well as Bachman, a smith and well-known troublemaker, who had also been recently converted. There to meet with them were nine church and state officials, including the mayor of Zurich, Rudolf Rhan; his chief of police, Conrad Grebel (apparently a namesake of the original re-baptizer of nearly a century prior); and numerous local ministers from Zurich’s Protestant church. The reason for this meeting was that Hans’ spiritual work had been blessed, and his small congregation was rapidly growing, causing ripples in the attendance of rural parishes belonging to the Protestant church. Dropping attendance presented several difficulties to this combined church and state government.
First, the Protestant Church drew vast funds from its parishioners. Thus, another church drawing away and converting its members was seen not only as a spiritual threat, but also a financial one. The cantons of the area were often engaged in religion-fueled hostilities, ranging from angry debates to full-blown military campaigns. Second, deviant spiritual doctrines that disagreed with the government’s official religions were often introduced in times of civil unrest, and the peasant uprisings of nearby cantons were still fresh in the minds of local nobility and clergy. Events such as the Muensterites and their violent interpretations of Scripture remained a clear warning of religious zeal gone awry. These uprisings had taken place as the Catholic church collapsed in the area, which presented opportunities for new and sometimes extreme beliefs to take root. Now, the activities of Hans and his church seemed to these officials a matter bordering on rebellion and treachery.
This meeting was not the first encounter Hans Landis and his flock had had with the local authorities. An earlier investigation had been conducted, nearly four years prior. This report gave their meeting places as the forests, barns, and even Hans Landis’ home. However, no list of members was included, as even the Protestant neighbors of the church refused to name any of the Anabaptists. Not only did the local populace refuse to cooperate in naming any of those in Hans’ congregation, but it was also rumored that the Taufer held a general fund, in charge of Deacon Jacob Isler, from which they provided for needs within their community. To the officials, this appeared to be nothing more than another trick to persuade the poor of the community to forsake their church and join Hans and his group.
Mayor Rhan opened the meeting, addressing those of his company as “Reverend, high and well-learned, pious, noble, intelligent, wise, (and) dear lords.” Next, he spoke to Hans and the brethren with him, giving them a cordial greeting of “Honorable, dear and good friends” before reminding them of their positions by referring to them as “subjects”. Following these none-too-subtle maneuverings, he questioned them, asking for an explanation on “the reasons [why] you separated from our church and … started a separate sect.” Following this question, he assured them that the council wished to be tolerant but that the separatists should “not misuse the patience and graciousness of the lords.”
Meeting this introduction, Hans asked permission for him and his brethren to rise and address their “Gracious Lords”. Given it, he rose, thanking the mayor for his kind words of greeting before questioning their interest in the Anabaptists’ beliefs, as he maintained they had oft heard them before. He adjoined this by stating that all their doctrine was “nothing else than what Christ taught and what the apostles wrote.” As before, the Anabaptists asked simply to be allowed to hold onto this, supporting their government in matters not relating to conscience. They would also continue to pray for the government and their leaders.
Mayor Rhan did not take kindly to this answer, taking it as being implied that he and the Protestant church did not obey the commands of Christ. Hans, upon hearing this rebuttal, asked leave to take his group outside of the room for a short while. Upon returning, Galli Fuchs was presented and gave a testimony to the lords, outlining his spiritual journey through both the Protestant and Catholic churches, observing that while both preached well across the pulpit, both also denied this teaching by their godless living. Upon studying the Anabaptist faith and application, Galli was converted.
The officials were skeptical, arguing that Galli’s points had “still shown no reason for your separation.” Upon this rejoinder, another convert was brought forward, this one was the blacksmith Bachman. Bachman was immediately recognized by Conrad Grebel (not the Anabaptist founder), the Zurich chief of police, as having been known as one of the local rowdies—“It’s true, you were godless [and] there is no one in the entire area with whom I had more trouble than you.”
Bachman’s testimony echoed many of Galli’s points, especially on the purity and separateness of the true church, ending with this quote from Sirach: “Whoever stirs in pitch will be smudged.”
The debates continued, with contention flaring around communion, the examples of church leaders, and knowledge of salvation. As the meeting ended, Galli Fuchs could not resist a final remark: “If you would give us the church at Hirzel, … you would see … who would have the larger crowd!” This brought a round of laughter from the room, and Hans seized a final opportunity to speak, pleading: “Oh, dear sirs, let us remain by what we believe.”
Following this plea, the mayor deliberated, finally deciding that the brothers were to be given leave to go without arrest, who, upon exiting, were heard to speak in agreement: “We would also give life, body, property, and blood.” They were soon to have the opportunity to live this commitment.
Fifteen months passed. Hans was locked up in the Wellenberg tower in Zurich, along with Galli Fuchs, Deacon Jacob Isler, Hans Meili, Stephen Zehnder, and Paul Degia (a native of Milan, Italy). There they were held for fourteen weeks, and repeatedly cajoled, interrogated, and threatened. An order was finally handed down that they should leave the canton of Zurich, but Hans refused, to which the council responded with a threat often considered worse than death. The council maintained that because of these men’s civil disobedience, not their beliefs, they were to be sentenced as galley slaves to row aboard the ships of France in the Mediterranean.
Jacob Isler pleaded with the lords, asking them how they could do such a thing, knowing that the Taufer (Anabaptists) could not bear to leave their families. Stephen Zhender added: “We would not fear to go over sea and water since they [are] also the creation of God.” Despite these entreaties, the council made good on its threats, sentencing all six to the galleys.
The sentencing sent shock rippling through the community. The life expectancy for a young, healthy galley slave was no more than three years, and those three years would be filled with starvation, exposure, beatings, and exhaustion. Even in the harsher Catholic cantons, this sentence was severe. In the more lenient Protestant community, it brought public outrage.
The prisoners were all given one last chance to leave the canton, whereupon three of them relented. But Galli Fuchs, Stephen Zehnder, and Hans Landis steadfastly refused to change their mind. They were subsequently led under guard westward to a French ambassador in Solothurn, a town in the canton of Bern. Bern reacted in much the same way as Zurich had, with a ransom being offered for the prisoners’ release. When that failed, a file was secretly slipped into their cell in Solothurn. The prisoners’ chains were swiftly cut through, and they escaped the city, fleeing back to their homes. Once there, the populace, still outraged by their treatment, refused to report them to the authorities.
News of the escape spread and grew, and Hans was soon at work, baptizing the new converts, and even overseeing several marriages. The Anabaptists prospered, helping the poor of the community through food and no-interest loans from their alms fund. This renewed activity angered and frightened the authorities, who finally decided that the efforts of its elderly leader would need to be neutralized.
Hans was promptly arrested upon this decision and once again locked up in the Wellenberg. Here the threats and admonishments from the authorities were scaled up. If he would not recant or at least leave the canton, they would need to kill him.
Threats such as these did not sway Hans. He, instead, admonished the rulers not to commit sin in their treatment of him, affirming his resolve that he had “given himself to God” and “was ready to await what God would let come upon him.”
This brave stand by Hans brought a similar realization to the authorities: they would need to make good on their threats. Regarding Hans as a rebel, they maintained that he “wanted to be his own lord and master regardless of the honorable authorities,” and that he displayed the “stubborn, seditious resistance of wicked people.” Despite these allegations in conjunction with their threats, the magistrates realized that an execution would be an unpopular undertaking. Hans was well respected by the local populace, and even had connections in Amsterdam, where his daughter lived, being married to a Dutch Mennonite.
Officer Grebel, the Protestant clergy, and various others spent much time in discussion with Hans in his prison cell, but to no avail. By Thursday, September 29, 1614, they realized that he was completely immovable in his faith, unwilling either to recant or to leave the canton. This report, presented to the lords, sent them into deep deliberation. Some argued for publicly cutting off Hans’ ear and exiling him, while others deemed life imprisonment a more appropriate sentence. The matter was put to a vote at noon, and a majority decision was quickly reached. Hans Landis would be publicly beheaded at once.
Hans, upon hearing the decision, thought it only another ploy to persuade him to recant. However, upon approaching the well-known public execution site in Zurich, his face turned ashen, and his hands flew to his head. However, he swiftly composed himself, smiling and admonishing the crowd not to weep, as he trusted in his good hope. Noticing his wife and children present, he asked them to leave so that his resolve would not be weakened.
The sentence was read; Hans stood silent. Not a word of criticism had been raised against his personal morals. Instead, the issue was his refusal to disband his church. He remained steadfast, and so the executioner, Paul Vollmar, led Hans to the execution site. Some observers claimed that Vollmar let go of Hans, seemingly giving him a way of escape. When Hans did not, Vollmar raised his hands to God, asking forgiveness for what the law required him to perform. Hans, smiling, forgave the man, while various church ministers admonished him to recant, but Hans answered that he had seen no repentance in them.
Vollmar, having reached the site of the execution, gave Hans an opportunity to speak unimpeded, and Hans spoke but briefly: “I do not know what more I should say than that I wish everyone would come to a knowledge of their sins and repent, that they might be saved; this I would wish for everyone.”
Then, within sight of the place where Feliz Manz had given his life nearly a century prior, he knelt and bowed his head. The sword flashed downward, then Paul Vollmar asked the ritual question: “Have I executed this man rightly?”
“Yes,” came the reply, “you have executed this poor man.”
The immediate impact of the elderly Hans’ sacrifice was a ripple of support and outrage throughout the non-Anabaptist community. Rhudlof Rhan and Conrad Grebel continued to pressure the remaining Anabaptists, committing Margaretha Landis, Hans’s widow, to solitary confinement in the city hospital after her refusal to comply with their demands. Hans’s children would likewise remain strong, refusing to recant, but several of his grandchildren began attending the city church shortly after their grandfather’s execution.
The local Anabaptist congregation remained strong as well. Its spiritual descendants would carry the word of Christ with them when, a century later, a great emigration landed them on the wild shores of the New World. Here, in the religious freedom of Pennsylvania, they would establish new communities where the faith that had cost Hans Landis his life was to flourish through future generations. Today, there are believers throughout America who are endeavoring to live out their faith according to their conscience, who are where they are as a result of the life lived by Hans some 400 years ago. Some are his descendants, and some are friends of his descendants. May we be inspired to walk as Jesus walked, just like Hans.
