THE GERMANS HAD lost face in defeat. Their homes had been destroyed
I will sing of the mercies of the Lord for ever: with my mouth will I make known thy faithfulness to all generations.
Psalms 89:1
6. Music From Broken Chords
THE GERMANS HAD lost face in defeat. Their homes had been destroyed and when they heard the enormity of Hitler's crimes (which many Germans knew nothing about) they were filled with despair. As they returned to their Fatherland they felt they had nothing to live for.
Friends in Darmstadt helped me rent a former concentration camp to use as a home for displaced persons. It was not big, but there was room for about one hundred sixty refugees and soon it was full with a long waiting list. I worked closely with the refugee program of the Lutheran Church ("das Evangelische Hilfswerk") in the Darmstadt camp. Barbed wire disappeared. Flowers, light-colored paint and God's love in the hearts of the people changed a cruel camp into a refuge where people would find the way back to life again.
Marienschwestern, the Lutheran Sisterhood of Mary, whose members had dedicated their lives to serving the Lord and spiritually hungry people, assisted with the children's and women's work. Pastors and members of different churches helped by building homes. I was traveling and helping raise money for the work.
The camp was crowded. Some rooms were jammed with several families. Noise and bedlam were everywhere as families, many without men because they had been killed in the war, tried to carry on the most basic forms of living. Often I would walk through the camp talking with the lonely, defeated people and trying to bring them hope and cheer.
One afternoon I spotted an elderly woman huddled in the corner of a big room. She was obviously new to the camp. She had been put in the big room along with
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three other families and told she could set up housekeeping in the corner. There she crouched, like a whipped child, her faded, worn dress pulled tightly around her frail, wasted body. I could sense she was distressed by the bedlam of all the crying children, but most of all defeated by life itself.
I went to her, sat beside her on the floor, and asked who she was. I learned she had been a professor of music at the Dresden Conservatory before the war. Now she had nothing.
I asked her to tell me about her life, knowing that sometimes it helps just to have someone willing to listen. She told me that a minister in a nearby town had given her permission to play his piano. She had also learned of several farmers' children nearby who wanted to receive music lessons. But the minister's home was miles away and the only way to get there was on foot. It all seemed so hopeless.
"You were a professor of piano?" I asked excitedly. "I am a great lover of Germany's master musician, Johann Sebastian Bach."
For an instant her eyes lighted up. "Would you care to accompany me to the minister's home?" she asked with great dignity. "I would be most happy to play for you." .
It was a great privilege, and even though we had to walk many miles, I sensed God was doing something special.
She seated herself at the battered piano. I looked at the instrument. Even though it had been saved from the bombing it had not been protected from the rain. The strings were exposed through the warped frame and I could see they were rusted. Some were broken and curled around the others. The pedals had long been broken off and the keyboard was almost entirely without ivory. If any of the notes played it would be a miracle.
Looking up the old woman said, "What would you like me to play?" Silently I prayed, knowing that failure at this moment could crush her forever. Then to my own amazement, I heard myself saying, "Would you please play the 'Chromatic Phantasy' of Bach?"
I was aghast. Why had I picked one of the most difficult of all piano pieces for this old woman to play on such a ruined instrument? Yet the moment I said it, I saw a light flicker behind her eyes and a slight, knowing smile played across her tired face. She nodded, and with great finesse, put her fingers on the broken keyboard.
I could hardly believe my ears. From that damp, battered old piano flowed the beautiful music of Bach as her skilled fingers raced up and down the broken, chipped keys. Tears came to my eyes and ran down my cheeks as I thought of wounded Germany, left with only the remnants of the past, still able to play beautiful music. Such a nation will survive to create again, I thought.
As the notes of Bach faded from the air the words of an old Gospel song, written by the blind composer Fanny J. Crosby, came to mind: Down in the human heart, crush'd by the tempter, Feelings lie buried that grace can restore; Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness
Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.
As we walked back to the former concentration camp my companion had a new spring in her step. "It has been many years since I played the 'Chromatic Phantasy,'" she said. "Once I was a concert pianist and many of my pupils are now outstanding musicians. I had a beautiful home in Dresden that was destroyed by the bombs. I had to flee and was not able to take one thing with me."
"Oh, no, you are wrong," I said. "You took with you your most prized possession."
"And what is that?" she asked, shocked. "Your music. For that which is in your heart can never be taken from you." Then I told her of what I had learned in Ravensbruck, of Betsie's vision, and that God's love still stands when all else has fallen. "In the concentration camp they took all we had, even made us stand naked for hours at a time without rest, but they could not take Jesus from my heart. Ask Jesus to come into your life. He will give you riches no man can take away from you."
We returned to the camp in silence, but I knew the Holy Spirit was pricking her heart, reminding her of the things that man cannot snatch from us. Soon it was time for me to leave the camp and move on to other fields. The day I left she was sitting in that same corner of the room. A boy was playing his mouth organ, a baby was crying, there were the sounds of shouts and the pounding of a hammer against a wooden crate. The room was full of discord and disharmonic noises, but her eyes were closed and there was a faint smile on her face. I knew God had given her something that no one could ever take from her—ever again.
After the war, Germany was filled with wounds and scars—not all of them on the surface. In one tiny cubicle in the camp at Darmstadt, I found a German lawyer. He was sitting miserably in a wheelchair, the stumps of his legs poking out from under a lap bianket. He was filled with bitterness, hatred, and self-pity. He told me he had once been an active member of his Lutheran church and as a boy had rung the church bell in the village where he lived. Now the horrible injustice of war had taken his legs, and he was bitter against God and man.
I felt attracted to him since some of his experiences were similar to mine. One morning I made a special trip to his room to tell him something of my life.
I found him sitting in his wheelchair, staring at a blank wall. His face was gray, his eyes lifeless. I never was one for introductions so I got right to the point of my visit.
"The only way to get rid of bitterness is to surrender it," I said. He turned slowly and looked at me. "What do you know about bitterness?" he asked. "You still have your legs."
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"Let me tell you a story," I said. "In Holland, during the war, a man came to me begging me to help him liberate his wife. I felt compassion for him and gave him all my money. I also convinced my friends to do the same. But the man was a quisling, a traitor. The only reason he came to me was to trap me so he could have me arrested. Not only did he betray me, but he betrayed my entire family and friends. We were all sent to prison where three members of my family died. You ask me about bitterness and hatred. You only hate circumstances, but I hated a man. Sitting in the prison in my homeland, waiting to be transferred to a concentration camp in Germany, hatred and bitterness filled my heart. I wanted that man to die. I know what it is like to hate. That is why I can understand you."
The lawyer turned his chair to face me. He was listening. "So, you have hated also. What do you suggest I do about my hate?"
"What I have to say is of no importance. Let me tell you what the Son of God had to say. 'For if you forgive men their trespasses, your Heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.' (See Matthew 6:14, 15.) If we forgive other people, our hearts are made fit to receive forgiveness."
The lawyer shifted uneasily in his wheelchair. I could see the muscles in his neck stand out as he pushed with his hands to change position. "When we repent," I continued, "God forgives us and cleanses us. That is what I did, believing that if I confessed my sin God would be faithful and just to cleanse my sin and forgive me from all unrighteousness."
The lawyer looked at me and shook his head. "That is easy to say, but my hatred is too deep to have it washed away."
"No deeper than mine," I said. "Yet when I confessed it, not only did Jesus take it away, He filled me with love—even the ability to love my enemy."
"You mean you actually loved the man who betrayed you and who was responsible for the death of your family?"
I nodded. "After the war, when that man was sentenced to death, I corresponded with him and God used me to show him the way of salvation before he was executed."
The lawyer shook his head. "What a miracle! What a miracle! You mean Jesus can do that to a person? I shall have to give this much thought."
Since I have learned not to push a person beyond where God has left him, I bade my friend good-by and returned to my room.
A year later I was in Darmstadt again. My friends had given this mana car with special fixtures so he could drive without legs. He met me at the train station to bring me to the camp. As I got in the car, he laughed at my startled look.
"You taught me that Jesus is victor," he said. "Now surely you are not afraid to drive with a man who has no legs."
"You are right," I answered. "I shall not be afraid. I am so glad to see you again. How are you?"
"Fine. I must tell you at the very beginning that I have surrendered my bitterness to God. I repented and the Lord did just as you said. He forgave me and filled my heart with His love. Now I am working in the refugee camp and am praising God that He can use even a legless man if he is surrendered."
He paused, and then continued. "But there is something I must know. After you forgave your enemies, was it settled once and for all?"
"Oh no," I answered. "Just this month I had a sad experience with friends who behaved like enemies. They promised something but did not keep their promise.
In fact, they took great advantage of me. However, I surrendered my bitterness to the Lord, asked forgiveness and He took it away."
We were bouncing over a bumpy road but the lawyer was more intent on me than his driving. "Was the bitterness gone for good, then?"
"No, just the next night, at four o'clock, | awoke and my heart was filled with bitterness again. I thought, How could my dear friend behave as she did? Again I brought it to the Lord. He filled my heart with His love. But the next night it came back again. I was so discouraged. God had used me often to help people to love their enemies, and I could always give my testimony about what He had done in my life; but now I felt defeated.
"Then I remembered Ephesians 6:10-20 where Paul describes the 'armour of God.' He said that even after you have come to a standstill, still stand your ground.
I was at a standstill, so 1 decided to stand my ground and the bitterness and resentment fell away before me.
"Corrie ten Boom without the Lord Jesus cannot be victorious. I need the Lord every moment. And I have learned that Iam absolutely dependent on Him. Because of this He has made me rich."
We were just arriving at the refugee camp and my lawyer friend parked before the building, turned off the motor, and looked at me with a grin. "I am glad to hear that," he said. "For sometimes my old bitterness returns. Now I shall just stand my ground, claim the victory of Jesus over fear and resentment, and love even when I don't want to."
My friend had learned well the secret of victory. It comes through obedience.