James I. Good (1850–1924)

Thelemann’s exposition on the Heidelberg Catechism is a faithful representation of the doctrines and truths which constitute the heritage of the Reformed churches, and to which most of these churches are still devoted in faithful allegiance and loyalty of heart. The type of doctrine which is characteristic of the Reformed churches in all lands has been the means of making heroes and martyrs in the warfare of faith, and these truths, consecrated by the sufferings and blood of many faithful witnesses, are left to the church as a priceless legacy. The Reformed church will hold in undying remembrance the labors of Zwingli and Calvin, Frederick the Pious and his co-laborers, and of the host of those who have labored to establish the church upon the immovable foundation of the pure Word of God. An Aid to the Heidelberg Catechism provides practical exposition of the Heidelberg Catechism; the text of the questions and answers is based upon that of the first edition of the catechism published in 1563, adapted in its phraseology to modern modes of speech. It also includes an important appendix which provides a succinct and informing history of the Catechism.

In the Logos edition, this volume is enhanced by amazing functionality. Important terms link to dictionaries, encyclopedias, and a wealth of other resources in your digital library. Perform powerful searches to find exactly what you’re looking for. Take the discussion with you using tablet and mobile apps. With Logos Bible Software, the most efficient and comprehensive research tools are in one place, so you get the most out of your study.… (meer)

The Rev. Dr. Good turns out to have been a prominent clergyman in the American Reformed Church in Pennsylvania, who also taught at the Central Theological Seminary and served for a time as president of the General Synod (thanks, once again, Wikipedia!). He published a number of historical works about the Reformed Church in Europe.

Researching his historical works, Dr Good, like any conscientious nineteenth-century writer, wanted to see things for himself, and made a series of visits to the places associated with the great figures of the Reformation. Visits he most certainly would not have used a popish word like "pilgrimages" for, although that was clearly what they came down to. This travel book about his experiences in Switzerland and Germany is evidently intended as a frivolous spin-off from his more serious work. But we can't reasonably expect very high standards of frivolity from a Calvinist pastor in search of Zwingli's birthplace...

I was expecting to dip into this book, have a good laugh at its period quaintness and prejudices, and put it back on the shelf. But I found myself warming to Dr Good's style in an odd way: he's so patently a kind and sincere person, despite his frequently expressed prejudices against Catholics, Lutherans, Baptists, Methodists, "rationalists", foreigners (other than Reformed clergy), Jews and black people (the last of these doesn't really come into play in this book, but I deduce it from his reaction to the Black Madonna at Einsiedeln). He reminds me very much of certain kindly old clergymen and church elders I knew when I was a child (obviously, they would have been at least a generation younger than Good) - people you feel too much respect for to want to disagree with them, even when they are exhibiting 20/20 tunnel vision. His style really has all the elements of that type: the rambling anecdotes about vaguely embarrassing misunderstandings (usually involving going into a church by the wrong door); the unsubstantiated tales in which unnamed and unverifiable people experience good fortune as a result of following the Reformed faith; the ludicrously weak pulpit puns (standing on a bridge in Berlin: "And here (I am almost ashamed to confess it) I find myself on a spree."). Silly, but so delightful, at least when it's a century away and not happening over an interminable Sunday tea when you really want to get away and play in the garden.

Dr Good seems to have been unlucky with his printer, but his loss is our gain. Apart from the unfortunate title page layout ("yes, but what about the square ones?" was my automatic reaction...) we get a whole string of unconventional American spellings of German place names: Frankford for Frankfurt and Meurs for Moers being the most striking. A few historical figures also get Americanised in a rather Mark Twainish way - "Thomas A. Kempis" was easy enough to decode, but "John A. Lasco" took me a moment or two longer to work out (he's more usually either Johannes a Lasco or Jan Łaski).

An engaging little bit of fun, but also mildly interesting in filling in a few little gaps in my knowledge - I wasn't really conscious of the distinction between the Lutheran and Reformed traditions in German protestantism, for instance, but reading his account of things like the Diakoniewerk in Kaiserswerth (which I knew of as the place where my mother's parents met) the pieces started to fall into place with what I already knew.… (meer)