Tramp for the Lord (15 page)

“They disagreed, saying that they had all thanked me for it.

“ ‘I did not mean that,’ I said. ‘I mean no one questioned me about it. No one asked whether it had been manufactured in Holland or Germany; what quantities it contained of cocoa, sugar, milk or vitamins. Instead of analyzing it, you just ate it.’

“Then I picked up my Bible and said, ‘It is the same with this Book. If you try to analyze it as a book of science or even a book of theology, you cannot be nourished by it. Like chocolate, it is to be eaten and enjoyed, not picked apart bit by bit.’”

I stopped talking and noticed once again that the officer and the typist were deeply interested in what I was saying. Then the officer straightened up, cleared his throat and said to the typist, “Please type Fraulein ten Boom’s protocol, and we will let her pass.” With that he stood and left the room, never looking back.

I sat quietly while the typist finished typing her report. Moments later the officer was back. He pulled the paper from the typewriter and read aloud. “When in prison Corrie ten Boom received from God the commission to bring the gospel of Jesus Christ over the whole world. Her church has taught her to bring chocolate when she visits families with children.”

The officer nodded and excused himself, saying he had to read it to his superior officer before I could be approved for entrance into East Berlin. While he was gone, I talked with the typist, urging her to accept Jesus as her Lord. She listened intently, reading through some of the pages in my book. However, when the officer returned, she straightened up and returned to her typewriter.

I handed Billy Graham’s book to the officer. “Sir, be sure and take this book by God’s Machine Gun home with you. It will change your life.”

He tried to look severe, but behind his eyes I could sense both hunger and thirst. Without saying a word he took the book and slipped it into his briefcase. He handed my book to the typist and motioned her to put it in her purse. Then he opened the door and pointed in the direction of East Berlin. “I am sorry to have detained you so long, Fraulein,” he said. “But what we have been doing here is even more important than your visit to your friends.”

I shook his hand, and Conny and I entered the Communist city, wondering if the officer actually realized the truth of his last statement. What we had to do in East Berlin was important, but even more important was bringing the good news of Jesus to those who walk in darkness.

If you are reproached for being Christ’s followers, that is a great privilege, for you can be sure that God’s Spirit of glory is resting upon you
.

1 Peter 4:14,
PHILLIPS

W
atchman Nee once said, “When my feet were whipped, my hands suffered pain.”

Christians all over the world are bound together as the body of Christ. Many Americans, in particular, do not realize it, but a part of that body is suffering the most terrible persecution and tribulation in the history of mankind. If we are members of that same body—and we are—then we must suffer with them, pray for them, and where it is possible, help them.

I remember hearing of a missionary, a single woman, who turned her back on all her possessions at home and went to China. “Are you not afraid?” a friend asked as she prepared to board the ship. “I am afraid of only one thing,” she said, “that I should become a grain of wheat not willing to die.”

How much more like Christ that is than the churches who gather at Thanksgiving to sing: “Let thy congregation escape tribulation!”

Several years ago I was in Africa in a little country where an enemy had taken over the government. There was great oppression against the Christians by the new government. The first night I was there, some of the native Christians were commanded to come to the police station to be registered. When they arrived, they were arrested, and during the night, they were secretly executed.

The next day the same thing happened with other Christians. The third day it was the same. By that time the entire district realized that the Christians were being systematically murdered. It was the intent of the new government to eradicate them all—men, women and children—much as Hitler tried to eradicate all the Jews.

I was to speak in a little church on Sunday morning. The people came, but I could see fear and tension written on every face. All during the service, they looked at each other, their eyes asking the same questions: “Will this one I am sitting beside be the next one to be killed? Will I be the next one?”

I looked out on that congregation of black and white faces. The room was hot and stuffy. Moths and other insects came through the screenless windows and swirled around the naked light bulbs hanging over the bare, wooden benches upon which the natives sat. They were all looking at me, expecting, hoping that I could bring them a word from God for this tragic hour.

I opened my Bible and read:

And now, dear friends of mine, I beg you not to be unduly alarmed at the fiery ordeals which come to test your faith, as though this were some abnormal experience. You should be glad, because it means you are called to share Christ’s sufferings. One day, when he shows himself in full splendor to men, you will be filled with the most tremendous joy. If you are reproached for being Christ’s followers, that is a great privilege, for you can be sure that God’s Spirit of glory is resting upon you. (1 Pet. 4:12,
PHILLIPS
)

I closed the Book and began to talk simply, as an aunt would talk to her nieces and nephews. “When I was a little girl,” I said, “I went to my father and said, ‘Daddy, I am afraid that I will never be strong enough to be a martyr for Jesus Christ.’

“ ‘Tell me,’ Father said, ‘when you take a train trip from Haarlem to Amsterdam, when do I give you the money for the ticket? Three weeks before?’

“‘No, Daddy, you give me the money for the ticket just before we get on the train.’

“‘That is right,’ my father said, ‘and so it is with God’s strength. Our wise Father in heaven knows when you are going to need things too. Today you do not need the strength to be a martyr; but as soon as you are called upon for the honor of facing death for Jesus, He will supply the strength you need—just in time.’”

I looked out at my African friends. Many of them had already lost loved ones to the firing squad or the headsman’s axe. I knew that others would surely die that week. They were listening intently.

“I took great comfort in my father’s advice,” I said. “Later I had to suffer for Jesus in a concentration camp. He indeed gave me all the courage and power I needed.”

My African friend’s were nodding seriously. They too believed God would supply all their needs, even the power to face death bravely.

“Tell us more, Tante Corrie,” one grizzled old black man said. It was as though they were storing up all the truth they could so they could draw on it in the day of trial.

I told them of an incident that had taken place in the concentration camp at Ravensbruck. “A group of my fellow prisoners had approached me, asking me to tell them some Bible stories. In the concentration camp the guards called the Bible
das Lugenbuch
—the book of lies. Cruel death punishment had been promised for any prisoner who was found possessing a Bible or talking about the Lord. However, I went to my little cot, found my Bible and returned to the group of prisoners.

“Suddenly I was aware of a figure behind me. One of the prisoners formed the words with her lips, ‘Hide your Bible. It’s Lony.’ I knew Lony well. She was one of the most cruel of all the
aufseherinen
(the women guards). However, I knew that I had to obey God who had guided me so clearly to bring a Bible message to the prisoners that morning. Lony remained motionless behind me while I finished my teaching. Then I said, ‘Let’s now sing a hymn of praise.’

“I could see the worried, anxious looks on the faces of the prisoners. Before it had been only me speaking. Now they too were going to have to use their mouths to sing. But I felt God wanted us to be bold even in the face of the enemy. So—we sang.

“When the hymn was finished, I heard a voice behind me. ‘Another song like that one,’ she said. It was Lony. She had enjoyed the singing and wanted to hear more. The prisoners took heart and we sang again—and again.

“Afterward I went to her and spoke to her about the Lord Jesus Christ. Strangely, her behavior began to change until, in a crude sort of way, she became a friend.”

I finished my story and stood silently while the words took their effect on my African friends. “Let me tell you what I learned from that experience,” I told them. “I knew that every word I said could mean death. Yet never before had I felt such peace and joy in my heart as while I was giving the Bible message in the presence of mine enemy. God gave me the grace and power I needed—the money for the train ticket arrived just the moment I was to step on the train.”

The faces before me broke into broad grins. Gone were the wrinkles of fear and anxiety. Once again their eyes were flashing with joy, and their hearts were filled with peace. I closed the service by reading a poem of Amy Carmichael:

We follow a scarred Captain,

Should we not have scars?

Under His faultless orders

We follow to the wars.

Lest we forget, Lord, when we meet,

Show us Thy hands and feet.

The meeting was over and the Africans stood to leave. Then softly, in the back of the room, someone began singing an old gospel song:

There’s a land that is fairer than day,

And by faith we can see it afar.

For the Father waits over the way,

To prepare us a dwelling place there.

In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore,

In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore.

I don’t know how many were killed that week, but someone told me that more than half of those who had attended that service met a martyr’s death—and thus received a martyr’s crown. But I know that God’s Spirit of glory had been resting upon them (see 1 Pet. 4:14).

And a little child shall lead them
.

Isaiah 11:6

O
ne of my greatest privileges is visiting with missionaries all over the world. Those of us who live in the comfort and security of our homes cannot begin to imagine what the life of a missionary is like. Many of them have no fresh water and only simple food. They constantly face the threat of sickness and infection. Some live in primitive places where their very lives are in danger.

Much to my sadness, yet to the glory of God, the list is growing longer each day of men and women who are literally laying down their lives for Jesus’ sake on the mission field. These men and women stand on the front lines, often in lonesome places, but knowing that their Master who has placed them there will also stand with them.

Once I visited a missionary couple in a primitive spot in Africa. Their small home was located in a delightful spot that gave a beautiful view of lakes and mountains. They had very little of this world’s goods but were rich in God’s grace. They had been given a homesite that many wealthy people would pay thousands of dollars to have as their own. Crowded into this tiny shack were six children, the youngest just a few months old. “Come with me,” the missionary wife said as she picked up the baby and walked outside. “I want to tell you a story.”

We sat on a bench overlooking an awesome scene of grandeur. Spreading before us was a mighty view of the mountains, covered with deep jungle and spotted with lakes and waterfalls.

“To have many little children can be a burden for a missionary,” she said. “There comes a time when you have to send them to the homeland, because there are no good schools here. But while they are small, you try to enjoy them.”

She paused and looked down at the sweet baby asleep in her arms. Her voice was tense with emotion as she continued. “But when I learned I was going to have another baby, I rebelled against God. We already had five small children, and it did not seem fair that we should have to bear another. My health was not good, and I looked upon having another child with great sorrow and unhappiness.”