He saw the idolatry of the Mass, but he was losing sight of the worship which underlay that weight of ceremonial and observance.

Like the people who witnessed the office, the mass of symbolism and the confusion of it blinded his eyes to the truth and beauty of the underlying reality.

He was a devout believer in all primitive truth; he had been, and in a sense still was, a devout priest; but he was becoming an Ishmaelite amongst those of his own calling.
He alarmed them by his lack of discretion, by his fierce attacks.
He did not stop to persuade.

He launched his thunderbolts very much after the same fashion as Luther himself; and the timid and wavering drew back from him in alarm and dismay, fearful whither he would carry them next.
And having, in a sense, made London too hot to hold him, he had left at the entreaty of the brethren themselves, and was now arrived at Oxford--his former alma mater--ready to embark upon a similar crusade there.

Here he had some friends and confederates, and he hoped soon to make more.