Over a sixteen-month period, between November 1940 and February 1942, our community members and children traveled
across the Atlantic Ocean, heading to South America. It was wartime, and travel took a full three weeks because our boats had
to zigzag northward, to avoid the usual shipping routes. Three
hundred and thirty-eight souls left England in nine separate
ships, all under heavy threat of bombing and orders of blackout
after dusk.
We knew that many British ships had been sunk by the Axis
bombers as well as by U-boats, German surface raiders, and
pocket battleships. In spite of the danger of those times, we had
faith that God would protect us and bring us to our new home.
It was also our faith in the steadfastness of our calling that led us
to go ahead. I do not remember much in the way of prayer for
our own safety, because we were so concerned for those who
remained behind under threat of air raids in England and the
war on the Continent. Those still remaining in England interceded on our behalf, I know, and had to put their trust in God as
they waited impatiently for news that we had arrived safely at
our destination. Later we found out that every one of the Blue
Star liners that we traveled out on was sunk in the latter half of
1942 on their way back to Europe.
Arnold and Gladys, fellow Bruderhof members who crossed the Atlantic with their children in the period described by John, recall the
complete helplessness they felt on the ship, and an utter dependence on prayer as the sole way to cope.
We were told that if our ship was torpedoed, it would tilt to one
side, and that the lifeboats might get hopelessly jammed. If this
happened, and the lifeboats could not be thrown into the water, the only hope of survival would be to jump off the ship and
try to swim away from it before being sucked down beneath it.
Then, on a practice drill, our cabin steward explained to
Gladys that in the event of any trouble with the lifeboats, she
was to throw our children over the railing, as far out from the
ship as possible. Each child would be given a little life jacket with
a red and green light that would go on as soon as it got wet.
Theoretically, lifeboats would then come to the rescue. But can
you imagine how a mother would feel, being told to throw her
baby overboard?
Freda, now in her nineties, is a Briton who moved to Germany in
1934 to join our community. She recalls:
The first years of my life in community were particularly stressful,
outwardly, inwardly, and politically. Living under the shadow of
Hitler’s regime meant continual harassment and doubt as to
what would happen to us all. Eberhard Arnold was our spiritual
leader, and his sudden death in 1935 left the community rudderless. I was fearful, but I never doubted the cause for which I had
given my life.
Prayer had always been important for me, but through several events in 1940 and 1941 my faith was severely tested. I had
been back in England for two years when a fellow community
member, Gertrud, died. She left her husband August a widower
and their three little boys without a mother. The next year August asked me to marry him and be a mother to his children. It
was only through prayer that I found the firm assurance and joy
that this was God’s will for me.
Little did I know that a week after our marriage, in May
1940, I would be arrested and interned at an unknown
destination. As a result of marrying a German, I had become an
enemy alien. As I was being taken away, the police permitted the
community to meet for my farewell, and they prayed for my protection. From the moment I was apprehended, I knew I was in
God’s hands and could trust in him. This never left me during the
entire six weeks of my internment on the Isle of Man.
The brothers worked hard for my release, and upon my
return home I found the Bruderhof in the midst of packing for
emigration to South America. None of us knew what lay ahead,
but again I was filled with an absolute trust that God was with
us. This certainty prevailed over the fear of the unknown. February 1941 found us embarking, and nine days later, during a
storm in the submarine-infested Atlantic, my first child was born.
Through eighteen grueling hours of labor I prayed for
strength to carry me through the ordeal. I never doubted in
God’s protection for myself and my child. The ship’s doctor, who
had not delivered a baby for fifteen years, had to contend with
the violent pitching of the ship, the porthole flying open, and his
instruments being dashed to the floor. All one hundred and fifty
men, women, and children from the community who were on
board the ship, as well as the entire crew, celebrated the birth of
our daughter, and the crew saw it as a good omen foretelling a
safe arrival at our destination. I knew God would preserve us,
but there must have been an underlying fear in me, because
shortly after the baby’s birth I had a most vivid dream that our
ship had been torpedoed and my baby was drowning before my
eyes. Trust in God and joy in my child, however, prevailed in my
waking hours.
There is a story about a rabbi known for his compassion and
wisdom who was visited by an angel. The angel said, “I am a
messenger of the Lord, sent to bring you a gift from heaven. Ask
for anything you want.” The angel asked three times, but the rabbi
could not think of anything he needed. He thought of money, long
life, wisdom, but finally told the angel: “Tell the Lord that I am
honored, but he has provided me with so much that there is
nothing I lack or am in need of. In fact, there is nothing that I
desire. I am content.”
Then the angel spoke:
You are a stupid and selfish man. In your selfishness you refused
God’s gift. You could have asked for anything! You could have
asked for no more hunger or disease or war upon the earth, for
no more hatred. You could have asked for the victory of
righteousness over injustice. You could have asked for the
Messiah to come! And all you could think of was your own
miserable life.
To a greater or lesser degree, we are all like the rabbi. Perhaps we
lead godly lives and are not willfully selfish, yet daily we pass up
opportunities to express our love and caring. At root, we are all
egocentric, and this doesn’t necessarily stop when we speak to God.
Sure, we intercede for the dying friend and the relative gone bad
ways, but do we often enough ask God to bless others, or to intervene in their lives? Our prayers will be nothing more than selfserving piety if we ignore the needs of those around us. If we truly
love our neighbor, then we will pray for him, for her, and for their
children. Praying in this way – that is, focusing on the needs of
others – draws us away from our personal troubles and broadens
our horizons.
Christ admonished us
to make peace with our brother before we
bring our offering to God, that is, before we pray with one another.
This is not just an illustration, but like the Lord’s Prayer, it actually
points to God’s justice: we will be forgiven only to the degree that
we forgive others. We expect others to forget the wrongs we have
done them, yet cling to our own petty grudges, to our hatred, and
the injustices done to us. One of the most difficult words of Jesus
to put into practice is about loving our enemies and praying for
those who persecute us. Certainly this does not mean we must condone the evil they perpetrate, but we are called to love them.
We also cannot demonize a specific person, no matter what evil
he has done. Many people would have us think of Hitler as a devil,
but I am not sure it helps anyone to label even such a godless man
in this way. If we hate someone, it will not be long before we are
also capable of killing him, for “he who hates his brother is a
murderer.” Our love must know no bounds; whoever it is, it makes
no difference to whom we offer our love.
To one who blames Hitler
We – all of us – bear our guilt;
Like rainfall – we are together – and the flood
Comes from our separate strength
Therefore this hate is not on him,
Not wholly born of his peculiar gall
Which writhes the world with pain.
I have seen your eyes flash with hate;
My friend, the serpent lurks within you, too.
Your venom coils and waits.
Jane Tyson Clement
In Nazi Germany in the 1930s, my grandfather felt an urge to make
public his refusal to have anything to do with the country’s new
policies of bigotry, racism, and nationalism. He wrote directly to
Hitler, challenging him about the violations of morality, family life,
justice, the common good, and truth. In spite of the evil spirit the
Nazis represented, my grandfather prayed unceasingly that God
would intervene and change their hearts.
We intercede for all people, for we wish that everyone may be
drawn into the powerful happenings of the coming of God and
his future kingdom. In our prayer we include all our relatives, all
friends and enemies, for we are urged to this by God’s love. Jesus
himself prayed for the authorities who brought him to his death,
“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” When
we pray for the hostile authorities in the same way as for our
hearts’ dearest friends, we are asking for the Holy Spirit to come
down, to visit our beloved friends and enemies wherever they
may be, and to touch and move their hearts in whatever condition they may be.
Further, my grandfather believed that we must not only love and
intercede for our enemies, but we must pray that we have faith
and understanding for them, that “in spite of their blindness, they
see the wrong they are doing, and that the divine ember in each of
them is fanned into a flame.” In July 1935 he had a dream:
Last night Hitler appeared to me in a dream. I had painted a picture, and he was trying to paint over it, saying he could do it
better. He then sat down and I said to him, “My dear Adolf, this
cannot continue much longer. Even you yourself cannot be enjoying this killing anymore.” Then he asked me what I thought
about war. I answered, “We must hold firmly to love and nonviolence, for killing is against love in every situation.”
Hitler became very angry. But the wonderful thing about
the dream was that I had a heart-to-heart talk with him. I was not
in the least afraid…
Perhaps one day this dream will be fulfilled. But it must be
our concern that our love, also to those who hate us, finds such
expression that we reach their hearts. For that is what love is. If
we reach the heart of a person, we will find the hidden spark
from God, even if he is the greatest criminal. Forgiveness must
become a reality.
Of course, my grandfather was not alone in this attitude; many
throughout history have shared his belief in the power of an allencompassing love, even for the most depraved person. I have
heard that A.J. Muste, the well-known peace activist, used to say
during World War II, “If I cannot love Hitler, I am not a Christian.”
And Michael Henderson, author of several books on peace and forgiveness, wrote regarding his prayers for Hitler: “I don’t think it
had any effect on him, but it certainly did on me. I felt that all hate
and bitterness against the Germans had vanished…”
Recently I became aware of a remarkable prayer, found on a piece
of old wrapping paper in Ravensbrück (a Nazi concentration camp
for women) after the war:
Lord, remember not only the men and women of good will, but
also those of ill will. But do not remember all the suffering they
have inflicted upon us. Remember the fruits we brought, thanks
to this suffering: our comradeship, our loyalty, our humility, the
courage, the generosity, the greatness of heart that has grown
out of this. And when they come to judgment, let all the fruits
we have borne be their forgiveness.
Else, my great aunt, died of tuberculosis in 1932. The disease was
rampant in Europe in those years and took its toll particularly
among the poor and undernourished. It was called “consumption,”
for it literally consumed the person from the inside out. Nothing
was available in the way of medical treatment, although rest and
good nutrition were known to be helpful, and clean fresh air was
certainly beneficial. In 1922 Else’s sister Olga had died from tuberculosis of the lungs, and a few years later, Else herself became tubercular. In 1929 the doctors told her she had only days left to live.
After intense prayer by the whole community on her behalf, she
recovered, to the point that she could adopt and care for a little
orphan boy.
My father described Else as a loving, simple, and humble person.
She was completely selfless and dedicated to her work, which
consisted primarily of research and secretarial work for my grandfather. Her days were spent in service to others, and no matter how
busy she was, she always had time to talk with someone, especially
those who came to her with their troubles. Though Papa was only
eighteen when his aunt Else died (she was in her forties), they were
close friends, and she often confided in him. Else told him, “It
should be our prayer to be made usable for the kingdom of God,
not for our own sakes but for the sake of others.” For her, the
greatest thing in God was his mercy and forgiveness, and the fact
that his peace is there for everyone. She often reminded those
around her of Christ’s wonderful words, “Be not afraid: I have overcome the world,” which she saw as a powerful encouragement to
anyone tormented by fear or anxiety for the future.
Else believed that faith alone could free one from the fear of
death. She knew what she was talking about. In her last weeks she
had high fevers and felt miserable. She vomited a lot and had uncontrollable fits of coughing. Even during those days and nights of
intense suffering, Else did not think of herself. Her longing and
prayer was to surrender everything so that God’s power would be
visible on earth and the hearts of people touched and changed
through this. She often spoke of God’s greatness and of the great
things he would bring about in the future.