Yesterday, I told you about Bradford's manuscript—the book that almost disappeared, preserved by Providence so we would never forget why the Pilgrims came to these shores.

I traced the Gospel from Christ to Paul to the Gentiles, and I told you about Wycliffe and Tyndale—men who died so ordinary people could read God's Word in their own language.

But translating the Bible wasn't enough. Someone had to multiply it.

The Press That Changed the World

Around 1440, Johannes Gutenberg invented the movable type printing press. What had once required months of painstaking hand-copying by monks could now be reproduced in days.

Gutenberg's first major project? The Bible.

Suddenly, Scripture wasn't rare. It wasn't locked in monastery libraries or chained to pulpits. It was multiplying. Spreading. Reaching the hands of ordinary people who were hungry to know God's Word for themselves.

As a publisher, this moment in history makes my heart sing. Wycliffe translated it. Tyndale died for it. Gutenberg multiplied it. And because of that multiplication, the Reformation exploded.

Ideas that aren't documented die. Truth that isn't printed disappears. But truth that IS printed? It spreads like wildfire.

The Doors That Shook the World

On October 31, 1517, a German monk named Martin Luther walked up to the doors of the Castle Church in Wittenberg and nailed a document to the wood—95 theses challenging the corrupt practices of the institutional church.

Luther wasn't trying to start a revolution. He was trying to start a conversation. But thanks to Gutenberg's press, those 95 theses spread across Europe in weeks. What should have been an academic debate became a wildfire.

The Reformation was born.

I stood at those doors.

In 2017, I traveled to Wittenberg for the 500th anniversary of Luther's 95 Theses. I stood where Luther stood. I touched the doors where he nailed his challenge to power. I felt the weight of what one man's courage—combined with the printed word—could accomplish.

Luther was excommunicated. Hunted. Declared an outlaw. But he wouldn't recant. When asked to deny what he had written, he reportedly replied, "Here I stand. I can do no other."

That's the kind of courage that changes history.

At Tremendous Leadership, we publish a life-changing Classic titled Luther on Leadership. Luther's story isn't just about theology—it's about what happens when a leader refuses to compromise conviction for comfort. The Pilgrims who boarded the Mayflower 100 years later were the inheritors of Luther's courage.

When the State Invaded the Church 

The Reformation unleashed freedom—and fury. As the movement spread to England, the Crown saw an opportunity: control the church, control the people.

Under Elizabeth I and James I, the Church of England became an arm of the state. The King didn't just want taxes—he wanted souls. He dictated how people worshiped, what they believed, and who could preach.

But a small group of believers in the village of Scrooby refused to comply. They read their Bibles—in English, thanks to Tyndale. They worshiped according to Scripture—not according to the King's Book of Common Prayer. They gathered in secret because, to them, Biblical worship was worth the risk.

The Crown called them "Separatists." We call them Pilgrims.

They were spied on. Government agents infiltrated their meetings, reported their gatherings, and tracked their movements.

They were arrested. Leaders were thrown in prison for the crime of worshiping God according to their conscience instead of the King's mandate.

They were hunted. The state would not leave its churches alone.

This is what "separation of church and state" originally meant: Keep the STATE out of the CHURCH. Not faith out of public life—but government out of sacred worship.

Escape to Holland

By 1608, the Separatists had had enough. They fled England as religious refugees—smuggled out of the country under cover of darkness—and made their way to Holland, where religious tolerance allowed them to worship freely.

For twelve years, they lived in Leiden. They worked. They worshiped. They raised their children in the faith.

But Holland wasn't home. Their children were absorbing Dutch culture, losing their English identity, drifting from the faith of their fathers. The Separatists faced an agonizing choice: assimilate and lose their heritage, or risk everything for a place where they could worship freely AND preserve who they were.

They chose to risk everything.

100 Souls on a Ship Called Mayflower

In September 1620, 100 passengers boarded a cargo ship never designed for human transport. The Mayflower was meant to carry wine and dry goods—not families with children, not the elderly, not the sick.

They knew the risks. Other expeditions had failed—ships lost at sea, colonies that vanished without a trace. The Atlantic crossing was brutal even in good conditions.

For 66 days, they endured.

Cramped quarters. Seasickness. Storms that threatened to tear the ship apart. Cold that seeped into their bones. Fear that whispered they would never see land again.

Why did they endure it?

Not for economic opportunity. Not for adventure. Not for land.

They endured it for the freedom to worship the God of the Bible—biblically and freely—without a king telling them how to pray, what to believe, or who could preach.

That's what drove 100 people onto a creaking wooden ship for 66 days across a merciless ocean.

Biblical worship.

Tomorrow: The Cost of Landing

They made it. In November 1620, the Mayflower anchored off the coast of what would become Plymouth, Massachusetts.

But survival was just beginning.

Tomorrow, I'll tell you what happened when they landed. I'll tell you about the first winter—and the 50 souls who didn't survive it. I'll tell you about the Wampanoag, about Squanto, about a peace treaty that lasted 55 years.

I'll tell you about the first Thanksgiving—not a secular harvest festival, but a worship celebration—thanking the God of the Bible for delivering them through the impossible.

And I'll tell you what they bought with their blood—religious liberty, economic freedom, the right to raise their families according to Scripture—and what we're in danger of giving away.

The voyage is over. Tomorrow, we count the cost.