But only in Latin.

Ordinary people weren't allowed to read it.

The Church said only the Church could speak to God.

William Tyndale thought that was wrong.

Oxford-educated. Spoke eight languages.

He told a clergyman: I will cause the boy that drives the plough to know more scripture than you.

He asked the Bishop of London for permission to translate.

Refused.

So he left England. He never came back.

In Germany, he translated alone. In hiding. Moving city to city.

In 1526, the first copies reached England. Smuggled in bales of cloth.

The Church burned every copy it could find.

He printed more.

The Bishop of London bought copies just to burn them.

Tyndale used the money to print better editions.

He was betrayed. Arrested in Antwerp. Imprisoned in Vilvoorde Castle for eighteen months.

In October 1536, they strangled him at the stake. Then burned his body.

His last words: Lord, open the King of England's eyes.

Within three years, Henry ordered an English Bible in every church.

It was largely Tyndale's translation.

When the King James Bible was published in 1611, eighty-four percent of the New Testament was Tyndale's work.

Let there be light. The salt of the earth. The spirit is willing. A moment in time. The powers that be.

Phrases you use every day.

Written by a man they killed for writing them.

They didn't teach you his name.

He wanted a ploughboy to read.

We want a nation to remember.

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