Rector's letter for February Fowey News
Dear Friends
Have you ever been told to 'stop rabbiting on'? But rabbits don't talk, so where did that verb come from? Was it something to do with the way their noses twitch? It is, of course, Cockney rhyming slang - 'rabbit and pork' equals 'talk'! Just as my parents often told me to scarper ('Scapa Flow' equals 'go').
Human beings talk. There are probably around a million English words and phrases, sourced from Latin and Greek, from Old High German, Norman French and Hindi, from American card games ('poker-faced', 'ace up your sleeve'), the sailing ships of Nelson's navy ('knowing the ropes') and the etiquette of the House of Commons ('toeing the line'). And now the changing patterns of human 'talking' brings us the rich new use of old words - icon, window, reels, zoom; and new ones - apps, tictoks, laptops.
2026 marks the 500th anniversary of one of the most significant and world-changing books ever printed: William Tyndale’s English New Testament. Published in 1526, it was the first printed version of the New Testament translated directly from the original Greek into English. It was banned, burned and branded heresy, yet it ignited a movement that transformed our language, our literature and shaped our country, our culture, even the very way we speak.
In an age when the Bible was chained to pulpits and locked in Latin, Tyndale longed for ordinary people to hear and read God’s Word in the language of their hearts. ‘If God spare my life,’ he vowed, ‘I will cause a boy that driveth the plough to know more of the Scripture than thou dost.’ That single sentence lit the fuse of the English Reformation. When permission to translate was denied, Tyndale left England and became a fugitive for the faith. From Hamburg to Cologne, Worms to Antwerp, he worked by candlelight, translating in secret and printing under threat of death. In 1526 his English New Testament began slipping back into England, smuggled in bales of cloth and barrels of grain. The authorities were furious. Copies were seized and burned at St Paul’s Cross in London. Yet the attempt to destroy God’s Word only spread it further.
For more than a decade Tyndale laboured tirelessly, translating, revising, refining. Phrases that still shape our speech flowed from his pen: ‘The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.’ ‘Fight the good fight.’ ‘By the skin of your teeth.’ 'No peace for the wicked.’ 'Salt of the earth.’ He wrote for clarity, not cleverness; for simplicity and understanding. His goal was not to impress the scholar but to bless the shepherd, the farmer, the child - the plain and ordinary person.
Betrayal came in 1535. A false friend, Henry Phillips, led officers to his hiding place in Antwerp. Tyndale was arrested and imprisoned in Vilvoorde, a small town just north of Brussels, Belgium, where he spent eighteen cold, lonely months in a damp cell. On 6th October 1536 he was led to the stake. There, he was strangled and then burned, condemned for giving the Bible to ordinary people in their own language. As the flames rose, his final words rang through the air, a prayer that still reverberates through the centuries: ‘Lord, open the King of England’s eyes!’ Within two years that prayer was answered. King Henry VIII authorised the publication of an English Bible, much of it built upon Tyndale’s translation.
Tyndale’s legacy lives on. More than 80 per cent of the King James Version’s New Testament retains Tyndale’s phrasing. Alongside Shakespeare and Cranmer, his words still shape our language and culture.
Last year saw record sales of Bibles in this country largely driven by Gen Z's renewed interest in spirituality fueled by social media engagement and a search for meaning amidst global uncertainty. Popular translations like the English Standard Version (ESV), the translation we use at the Anchor, lead the sales. It’s a direct descendent of Tyndale, retaining many of his words and phrases. Why not make 2026 the year you discover Tyndale’s treasure for yourself?
with every blessing
Phiiip