During one summer while in college
some time ago, our mission priest, a man ordained of late vocation, compromised
in health, invited me to escort him through Europe. At one point, we traveled through what was
East Germany to Berlin, the cultural, innovative heart of Germany. Following WWII, victors segregated a city
reduced to rubble. A short time later,
almost instantaneously, the Eastern Bloc stunned the West by constructing a
wall enclosing West Berlin. Ironically,
freedom existed inside the barriers.
Arriving in Berlin, I climbed to a platform overlooking the
wall. Much to my surprise, the wall
was two walls separated by interior landmines and guard dogs on running
leashes. Occasionally, fine trip wires rigged
to trigger automatic weapons glistened in the sun. Horizontal concrete cylinders capped thick vertical
walls, making them impossible to climb without some aide. Painted upon the interior West, graffiti memorialized
those who lost their lives failing to escape. But the math didn’t add up! I expected far more memorials. Records documented thousands of East Germans
escaping to the West each year. Surely
there had to be many more killings during those attempts.
Watch towers from the East overlooked (I don’t use the word ‘secured’ because records verified they were anything but secure) the walls’ perimeter. I’d been told East Germany’s best marksmen manned the towers with precision weaponry.
I’d planned to enter East Berlin
through Checkpoint Charlie, a passage open to U.S., Canadian, and Australian citizens. To visit the East, I must surrender my
passport for a limited hourly visa and exchange twelve W. German marks for E.
German currency. Intimidated to pursue
my visit, I entered the “escape museum” across the street from Checkpoint
Charlie. I examined crude tunnel models,
swing glides used down cables fastened to tall buildings, hot air balloons
constructed of bed-sheets, car side panels and artificial gas tanks constructed
to hide children and small adults. While
browsing a book, I discovered a world-renowned photograph that had been enlarged
into a poster mounted in the museum. The
photographer captured an East German guard escaping; helmet awry, gun and body
suspended in air, frozen in a divine instant.
The author wrote the greatest sin is one’s failure to recognize
a friend in a friend. (couldn’t find exact quote, but these words have stuck
with me since that day) As I read, the author verified the wall was indeed
manned by the East’s youngest and sharpest marksmen. Citizens attempting to escape were carp in a barrel,
easy targets. Yet, on many occasions
when marksmen fired, they often fired errantly avoiding those attempting to
escape to the East. (The math did add
up! Hidden variables!) For those guards, punishment was severe. The entire team received prison terms, lost
educational opportunities and options to professional careers. Their families received prison terms and the
same lifetime hardships. The marksmen’s
sacrifices, largely unknown to the West, were inconceivable to me.
I exchanged
currency, surrendered my passport and camera, and navigated through Checkpoint
Charlie. I’d been told Western cigarettes
and chocolate invited good company. I
quickly exhausted my supply. Later at
dusk, I retraced my steps surrendering my temporary visa to reclaim my passport
and camera. The last gate slammed closed
behind me as I returned to the West. I’d been blessed.
The author got it right. The greatest sin is my failure to recognize a
friend in Jesus and others. When I
thought about it, I wasn’t any different than the West Berliners discrediting
the Eastern guards. When I fail to recognize
Jesus’ presence to me, I stray. I dismiss
the sacrifices he made and the severe punishment he received costing him his
life. He’s never stopped absorbing. I see it in the pain others suffer and he
lives in them. He lived in the guards. Fortunately, he’s good to his promise. “I am
with you always!” In my distress, doubts, losses, celebrations, Jesus
is there. He is in the forests and the
fresh mountain streams. He’s in the sun
that graces each day. He’s in my family,
friends even in those whom I do not know who pass through my day nameless. He’s in the air I breath. He loves me unconditionally … and that’s a
wonderful mystery to which I cling!
How do we spend quality time with
our Lord and others? How are we living
the promise to be present to our spouses, children, friends? Are we present to those in need who depend
upon us? How do we react to Jesus’
presence in our friendships, our relationships?
Do we recognize Jesus working in the lives of those we encounter?
Jesus must be incredibly patient when I stray. I lose him, yet Jesus literally hangs in there
with me (look above the altar. He’s
always there) He doesn’t bail on me even when I bail on him. He’s always inviting, waiting.
The guards’ sacrifices are
well-documented. Our Lord’s sacrifices surpass
documentation, beyond imagination. Jesus
promised! We are blessed!
