Medieval Drift: How the Church Lost Grace and Found Works

🏰Medieval Drift: From Grace to Works

Reformation Series – Article 2

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Slow Drift into Darkness

Drift never happens overnight. Ships don’t suddenly appear miles off course in a moment — they wander slowly, pulled by subtle currents, until the shore is lost and the stars are hidden. So it was with the church after Augustine. The gospel of sovereign grace had been defended and upheld, but over centuries, currents of ritual, merit, and human pride tugged the church away from the pure waters of life.

By the medieval period, the cry of Isaiah 55 — “Come, everyone who thirsts, come to the waters…” — was drowned out by a thousand requirements, indulgences, and penances. Grace was no longer God’s free gift in Christ; it was something mediated, rationed, and controlled by the institutional church. What began as subtle distortions grew into a crushing system of bondage.

Paul’s astonishment to the Galatians echoes through the ages: “I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting him who called you in the grace of Christ and turning to a different gospel” (Galatians 1:6).

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From Grace to Works

The medieval church came to teach that saving grace flowed through the sacraments, controlled by priestly hands. Baptism, penance, the Mass, last rites — these became the means not of assurance but of anxiety.

Penance, in particular, became a treadmill: sin, confession, absolution, satisfaction. Always one more act to perform, one more payment to make, one more fear of purgatory to endure. Indulgences added insult to injury — the selling of “merit” from the church’s so-called treasury of grace. Souls in purgatory could be released, sins forgiven, all for the right price.

What had been given freely by Christ became a commodity. As Titus reminds us: “He saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy” (Titus 3:5).

But in the medieval system, mercy was buried beneath merit.

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Scholastic Overgrowth

If sacramentalism was the soil, scholasticism was the tangled growth that spread over it. Brilliant men like Thomas Aquinas sought to harmonize faith and reason, grace and merit, Scripture and Aristotle. But in their system, grace was no longer a declaration of righteousness imputed through Christ — it was an infusion of help, a substance poured into man so that he might cooperate with God.

This subtle shift crushed the soul. Salvation was no longer “finished” at the cross but an uncertain process. Could you ever know if you had enough infused grace? Enough penance? Enough merit? The ordinary believer was left under a weight of complexity — chained not by ignorance of ritual but by too much of it.

The gospel had been eclipsed by a labyrinth of scholastic speculation and sacramental demands.

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Voices in the Wilderness

Yet God never leaves Himself without a witness. Even in the darkest night, lights flickered.

John Wycliffe in 14th-century England cried out against the abuses of the church. He translated the Scriptures into English, declaring that the people needed the Word more than the priests. He denied transubstantiation, insisting Christ’s presence in the Supper was real but spiritual, not a re-sacrifice. For this he was called “the Morning Star of the Reformation.”

Jan Hus in Bohemia picked up Wycliffe’s mantle, preaching against indulgences and corruption. His sermons lifted Christ as the true Head of the church. For this, he was condemned and burned at the stake in 1415. His death cry echoed through history: “You may burn this goose, but after me will come a swan you cannot silence.” Luther would later say, “I am that swan.”

Their courage lit a flame that would blaze in the 16th century.

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The Darkness Before the Dawn

By the late medieval era, the church was spiritually bankrupt. Pomp filled the cathedrals; corruption filled the clergy; fear filled the people. Rituals abounded, but souls starved.

When Luther struck his hammer in 1517, the sound reverberated not because it was new but because hearts were ready. They were weary of the treadmill of penance, the fear of purgatory, the chains of indulgences. The gospel of free grace, once buried, broke through like dawn after a long night.

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Application: Guarding Against Drift

We should not read the medieval story as if it is safely behind us. Drift happens slowly, even today.

Guard against legalism. Whenever we add to Christ’s finished work, whether by rituals, moralism, or cultural expectations, we walk the medieval road again.

Guard against pragmatism. When the church prizes numbers, programs, or cultural applause more than fidelity to the Word, she begins her drift.

Guard against compromise. The gospel is always contested. To surrender grace in small ways is to prepare for larger losses.

Instead, give thanks for faithful witnesses like Wycliffe and Hus, who stood when few dared, and pray for courage to stand for the gospel of grace in our own day.

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Final Word

The medieval church shows us how easily the gospel can be buried under ritual, merit, and human pride. But it also shows us the faithfulness of Christ to preserve His truth through witnesses, even in the darkest times. Wycliffe, Hus, and countless unnamed believers carried the torch until the dawn of Reformation.

And their legacy reminds us: salvation is not earned, bought, or bargained — it is the gift of God. Always has been. Always will be.

✒️ The Pilgrim’s Post