1 John 5:7 is probably the most controversial inclusion in the King James translation of the Bible. Often referred to as the Johannine Comma (Latin: Comma Johanneum), entire books have been written about this one verse, either for or against its place in the Biblical text. It is arguably the most concise Trinitarian declaration in the New Testament:

For there are three that bear record in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Ghost: and these three are one.

I recently read a blog post by Pastor Tom Brennan titled, “How to Write a Book.” I’ve read two of his books and have been impressed by both the content and quality, so I knew his insight here would be valuable. A point he made in the post that caught my attention was this:

Only write a book if you have read at least twenty-five books on similar subjects.

I agreed, but then I wondered if I had read that amount for my two (almost three) fiction books. I realize nonfiction study is different from researching a novel, but still I think it’s a good standard to hold myself to. Had I done that though?

Did you know the Waldensians had their own translation of the Bible? It was probably translated from an Old Latin version (often called the Vetus Latina, not to be confused with Jerome’s Latin Vulgate) into Old Occitan (also called Romaunt or Provençal over 1,000 years ago.

In Heretics of Piedmont and its sequel (whose name is yet to be revealed), I wanted to add a couple places where the Waldensians quoted or read from the Bible in their native tongue. I mentioned the book, The Romaunt Version of the Gospel according to St John, in the Selected Bibliography section of Heretics of Piedmont, which ended up being an incredible resource for understanding the Occitan Bible. The author, William Gilly, transcribed the entirety of John’s Gospel from the original parchment manuscript into easily consumed text.

No … but I imagine that answer lacks sufficient explanation.

This article is my opinion based on my education and recent research, yet it’s far from scholarly. I do, however, want to explain my conclusion as one who has thoroughly enjoyed studying about the Waldensians: a historic, dissenting branch of Christianity predating the Protestant Reformation by at least 400 years. They are also the subject of my novel, Heretics of Piedmont, the first part in a series I have titled Witnesses of the Light.

Have you ever read a story—whether a novel or a children’s book—where you rolled your eyes at the unbelievable? In fantasy and fairy tales, we expect to encounter extraordinary or even absurd characters, people, and settings. That expectation allows you to continue on and enjoy the story despite the fiction. But if we experience a contrived plot or unfactual statement, no matter the genre, we feel cheated and deflated.

I would say the genre of Heretics of Piedmont, historical fiction, has a similar but deeper challenge. Very little has been written about fifteenth century Waldensians. What accounts exist are described in, at most, a few vague paragraphs. I admit, I was deliberate in choosing that century versus the later ones; we have many more vivid accounts in the 16th and 17th centuries. Historical details of men such as Joshua Janavel or events like the Piedmontese Easter are easy to find. The preceding periods of Waldensian history are spotty and mostly from their papal enemies.

With a story set in the fifteenth century featuring oppressed Christians, it is impossible to avoid talking about the Roman Catholic Church. In fact, they were the ones doing the oppressing. In a sense, it would be easy for me to paint the Catholic Church as pure evil—the persecutors of God’s people, the Mary-worshipers, the harlot of Babylon.

But Heretics of Piedmont would be very edgy, boring, and frankly, a bad novel if I went down that road. I certainly wouldn’t want to read a book like that. Representing the Roman Church with a straw man might seem like the way to travel, but I would be doing my readers a great disservice. I could have used scare quotes around the word church when speaking about Catholics, leaned into conspiracy theories about Jesuits (even though they didn’t exist yet), and resorted to a cheap caricature of what the medieval Catholic Church was.