Thursday, February 4, 2010 Life in the Midst of Death
It’s not easy to find something commendable in the midst of genocide. But I was recently reminded of one of the many remarkable stories that came out of the concentration camps of WWII.
The man’s name was Maximilian Kolbe. He was a Franciscan priest, sent to Auschwitz in February 1941. In the midst of awful suffering and death, this man maintained the love and compassion of Christ. He gave up his bunk, he shared his food, and he prayed for his guards. Full of kindness, and without malice or hatred. Franciszek Gajowniczek had a moving memory of this man.
That July there was an escape from the camp. The retribution for such an attempt was merciless: ten prisoners would die for every one who escaped. All the prisoners were gathered in the courtyard and the commandant went through the ranks, randomly selecting the quota. From there they would be taken to a cell where they would receive no food or water until they died.
Each man steps forward as he is chosen. The tenth name called is that of Gajowniczek. As the SS officers check the numbers of the condemned men, a prisoner begins to cry as he thinks of his wife and children. The officers turn as they hear a movement within the ranks. Guards raise their rifles and their dogs strain on their leashes, awaiting the order to attack. One of the prisoners has left his place and is pushing his way to the front. It is Kolbe. He does not hesitate, nor does he show any fear. The capo commands him to stop or be shot. “I want to speak to the commander.” he calmly requests. No one knows why he isn’t clubbed and shot there and then. His action is unthinkable. Unprecedented. What on earth is he doing?
He stops in front of the commandant, removes his hat and looks him in the eye: “Herr Commandant, I want to make a request. I want to die in the place of this prisoner.” He points at Gajowniczek. “I have no wife or children;” he continues, “I am old and unable to work. And he’s in better condition.” He perfectly understands the Nazi mentality.
“Who are you?” asks the officer.
“A Catholic priest.” Kolbe replies.
There is a moment’s stunned silence. And then, “Request granted.”
The prisoners were never allowed to speak. Recalling the moment, Gajowniczek said “I could only thank him with my eyes. I was stunned and could hardly grasp what was going on. The immensity of it: I, the condemned, am to live and someone else willingly and voluntarily offers his life for me – a stranger. Is this some dream?”
Maximilian Kolbe outlived the other nine condemned men. And in the end, he didn’t die of thirst or starvation. On 14 August 1941 he was eventually killed by being injected with carbolic acid.
Franciszek Gajowniczek amazingly survived the Holocaust, and after the war he went back home. But every year, on 14 August, he returned to Auschwitz to pay his respects and say thank you to the man who died in his place. And he carved himself a plaque as a memorial to Maximilian Kolbe, which he placed in his back garden.
An innocent man dies for a condemned man. A man facing certain death is unexpectedly given life. As in Auschwitz, so in Jerusalem - about 2000 years ago. Jesus of Nazareth, Son of God, a Jew, innocent of all charges, dies on a cross in place of the guilty – me and you. Why? Out of love, and the fact that there was no other way to bring us eternal life. “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes on him might not die, but have everlasting life.” (John 3:16).
God is only a prayer away; life is only a prayer away, a prayer like this would be a start to knowing him: “Father God, thank you for loving me so much that you sent your perfect Son, Jesus Christ, to die for me, that I might be forgiven all my sins and cleansed to the very depths of my heart. I accept you, Jesus, as my Saviour and ask you to help me live a life of love for you.”
Kipper | Comments Off | 