Dietrich shook his head, took up a fork, and dislodged an oyster. “Nothing ruins my appetite,” he said. Then the fork paused in midair. “What am I supposed to do, Martin? It was a good sermon. It was biblically sound and addressed our current situation.”
“There are a few congregations which will appreciate that,” Niemöller said dryly. “They just aren’t available right now.”
“I must find something,” Dietrich said. “I don’t want to go back to the university.”
“Would you be willing to leave Berlin?”
“If I have to.”
They discussed possibilities while enjoying the trout with capers and wild rice. Hamburg was mentioned, as were Ulm, Regensburg, and Aachen. (Dietrich recalled how close Aachen was to the French coalfields, and silently crossed it off the list.) When the apple charlotte arrived they moved on to small talk, Niemöller describing his wife’s prize roses and Dietrich explaining how he enjoyed searching for wild mushrooms when he walked in the woods.
Over coffee, Niemöller took a folded sheet of paper from inside his jacket.
“I have some business of my own to discuss before I go,” he said. “It seems definite now that Hitler will take us out of the League of Nations. Very soon, perhaps a week or two. I’ve the text of a telegram here which I propose our pastors send, congratulating him on this move.”
He handed the paper to Dietrich, who made no move to take it.
“You can’t be serious,” Dietrich said.
Niemöller reared back in his chair. “Of course I am. There’s no reason to allow the Nazis to corner the market on patriotism. Just because we don’t support their entire program, that doesn’t mean we don’t love Germany. We’re the true patriots, Bonhoeffer. Why, we’re better National Socialists than they are.”
He offered the paper again.
Dietrich stirred cream into his coffee and shook his head. “Taking Germany out of the League is a belligerent move,” he said. “It will be perceived that way abroad.”
“So? Does it matter if the countries who humiliated us at Versailles are displeased?”
“Yes,” Dietrich said.
“You’re young, Bonhoeffer. Too young to have fought in the war as I did. You don’t realize—”
“I lost a brother in the war,” Dietrich interrupted. “Germany bears a responsibility for the war. Perhaps no greater responsibility than any other nation, but a great responsibility nevertheless. And surely you can’t wish to lend credibility to Hitler?”
“I believe,” Niemöller said, “that Hitler is surrounded by fools and charlatans, and that he receives bad advice. But he’s also quite obviously an intelligent man. He wouldn’t have got as far as he has otherwise. Who knows, perhaps he’s capable of listening to other voices as well. If so, we can do a great deal to alleviate the harsher measures the Nazis have proposed.”
“That,” Dietrich said, “is terribly naive.”
He was angering Niemöller, he realized, and he did not enjoy it. His hand shook slightly as he lifted his cup of coffee.
“If you oppose me, you’ll be outvoted,” Niemöller said.
“That may be. But I’ll not have my name attached to such a document.”
Niemöller stuffed the paper back into his pocket. “If your sermon had this tone of intransigence, I can understand why the parishioners of Johanneskirche were put off.”
Dietrich flushed. “I must admit it is new to hear myself called intransigent. Most recently I was called a coward.”
“By Elisabeth Hildebrandt. Yes, don’t look so surprised. Her father spoke with me. He was concerned, because he likes you very much and doesn’t want Elisabeth to lose your friendship. Listen to me, Dietrich, Elisabeth is a bit hysterical just now. You know how emotional young women can be. There’s no need for you to try to live up to some false notion of heroism just because she’s made you feel guilty for your earlier prudence with regard to the Jewish funeral.”
Dietrich folded his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “You’re wrong,” he said. “About everything you’ve just said.”
“Then let me warn you,” said Niemöller, “no church in Germany will have you with your present opinions. There is a vacancy in London which has been open for more than a year, because it’s a dreary low-paying position and few clergymen want to leave the country now, not with the excitement here. But if you persist in isolating yourself, it’s the only type of position you’ll be able to find, now or in the future.”
Outside the restaurant they parted awkwardly and walked in opposite directions, Dietrich turning his collar up against a brisk autumn wind. But he stopped before he’d gone half a block, turned, and hailed Niemöller. The older man approached him with a tentative smile, as though expecting an apology.
“Tell me more,” Dietrich said, “about the position in London.”
Niemöller’s smile faded. “There are two German-speaking churches,” he said, “one in a poor area of the East End, the other in south London. Both with congregations so sparse they must share a pastor. The position carries a special charge for ecumenical work with the Church of England. Not exactly a relevant way for a German pastor to spend his time these days, is it?”
“I’m going to consider it.”
“If it’s courage you’re looking for,” Niemöller said, “you won’t find it abroad.”
On the way home, Dietrich stopped outside a Jewish bakery whose window bore a sign reading Deutsche! Kauft nicht bei Juden! A brown-shirted member of the SA loitered nearby, looking bored. Dietrich made eye contact and the man stared back. Dietrich walked to the door. “Jewish shop,” the man said. Dietrich ignored him and went inside, purchased two berliner doughnuts from the nervous baker, and went back out. He stopped and held a doughnut out to the Nazi, who shook his head quickly and turned away, as though pretending he hadn’t seen. Though he wasn’t at all hungry, Dietrich ate one of the berliners as he walked down the Konstanzer Straße. Close to home he took a detour into the Grunewald woods, following golden paths beneath beech trees whose remaining leaves fluttered in the breeze. As he walked, he prayed. With each step he felt gradually lighter, like a man carrying a heavy pack through a desert who decides what he once thought essential no longer is, and begins to cast aside his burden, piece by piece.
A few days later, Dietrich came downstairs to find his father having breakfast with Hans von Dohnanyi in the morning room. He moved along the mahogany sideboard, filling his plate from crystal bowls of cucumber and herring in sour cream, a platter with paperthin slices of smoked salmon arranged in the shape of a rose, soft-boiled eggs perched on tiny china cups, Schwartzbrot and a slab of fresh butter on a silver serving dish. When he had taken his place at table, Karl Bonhoeffer said, “I’m going to court with Hans today. Since I’ll be offering my own testimony soon, I thought I might acquaint myself with the surroundings.”
Hans von Dohnanyi had been observing the trial of Marinus van der Lubbe as a representative of the Justice Ministry.
“How is it going?” Dietrich asked as he tapped his egg with the side of a spoon.
“I’ve been surprised,” Hans said with a sidelong glance at his father-in-law, who was attacking his food with relish. “Hitler has allowed a very fair judge, and there’s been no interference with the defense.”
“Not everything is rotten in Germany,” Dr. Bonhoeffer said cheerfully. “And Hans says Goering has made an absolute fool of himself in cross-examination. That doesn’t hurt either.”
“Have you decided,” Dietrich asked, “what you will say in your testimony?”
“I have. There’s no question van der Lubbe is sane and competent to stand trial.”
“But some of the encounters you’ve described—”
“Not insanity. He’s definitely a disturbed young man. But within the context of his past and present, his actions make perfect sense. His reasoning is sensible, within the framework of his own world and values. That wouldn’t be true with an insane man. You can’t mak
e any sense at all out of the actions of the insane.”
“But he was set up by the Nazis.”
Dr. Bonhoeffer shrugged. “I don’t know that.”
Hans said, “Do you believe that on his own he scouted out the Reichstag and laid twenty-eight fires, as the forensic experts reported?”
“That’s not the point. I’m being asked to give psychiatric testimony, nothing more. It’s up to the defense attorney to bring out other points.”
Hans persisted. “What if you declare him insane, even if you believe otherwise? Think what it would mean. If van der Lubbe is declared insane, then the case has been robbed of its political significance. After all, the Nazis are playing on public fears of a Communist conspiracy to push through their programs.”
“Yes,” Dietrich said, “and if you, Dr. Karl Bonhoeffer, declared van der Lubbe insane, you would pull the rug from under the Nazis!”
Karl Bonhoeffer threw down his fork. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing from the pair of you. It is precisely because I am Dr. Karl Bonhoeffer that I could never do what you suggest. You’re asking me to lie, and to betray my professional integrity.”
“Perhaps your diagnosis is wrong,” Dietrich said, and received such a look from his father he felt he’d been struck.
“Would you do what you are asking me to do? Would you as a Christian minister commit an immoral act in order to address what you perceived as a political problem?”
Dietrich looked at his plate.
“My duty,” said his father, “is to testify to the mental condition of the accused. I shall discharge my duty.”
And assuming the end of the discussion, Karl Bonhoeffer resumed eating.
“When I was in America,” Dietrich said, “I studied ethics under a man named Reinhold Niebuhr, who believed that ideas and ideals should not be separated from the reality of the situations in which we find ourselves.”
“Am I to be expected to allow theological speculation to induce me to perjure myself in court?” his father said curtly. “And don’t start talking about some new ethic to me. It’s this mania for change that’s at the root of our current troubles.” Then, “Is something the matter, Dietrich? You’ve been in a strange mood the last few days.”
“I didn’t get the appointment to Friedrichshain,” Dietrich said.
“Ah. Well,” Dr. Bonhoeffer said with an air of being let down. “You’ll apply again elsewhere?”
“I thought of applying for a post in London. Two churches and liaison work with the Church of England.”
“Good Lord. Why leave the country?”
“Never mind. I’ve decided against it. It would be cowardly to leave Germany just now.”
Nothing more was said, and Dr. Bonhoeffer excused himself to send for Keppel and the car. Hans von Dohnanyi, who had been smoking quietly at the far end of the table, regarded Dietrich through half-closed eyes.
“I think you should apply for that vacancy in London,” he said.
“You do?”
“Yes. Who knows. I might find something for you to do.”
PASTORS FROM ACROSS THE FATHERLAND have gathered in Berlin to plan for the church elections. They discuss other news as well as they sip coffee and nibble on pastries in the fellowship hall of the Kaiser Wilhelm Church—that Catholic priests and bishops have stopped criticizing Hitler’s policies now that the Vatican has recognized the Nazi government. That withdrawal from the League of Nations is imminent.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer approaches Pastor Martin Niemöller and requests permission to address the gathering. Niemöller gives him a hard look but nods his head. “Certainly,” he says. “You’ve as much right to defend your position as I have. Suppose I put you on the schedule for eleven-thirty, just before we eat? Is that enough time?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Niemöller knows nothing Bonhoeffer can say will persuade the majority of pastors to oppose withdrawal from the League. But when Dietrich stands at the lectern and speaks to the pastors perched uncomfortably on their folding chairs, he does not so much as mention the League of Nations.
He grips the sides of the lectern as though to keep from toppling over and says, “There is more at stake today than government interference in church affairs. More at stake than the government’s refusal to allow converted Jews to serve as pastors. The vast majority of Jews are not baptized and have no wish to be, no wish to deny the faith of their fathers. Their shops are being boycotted. Many have been turned out of their jobs, particularly in the civil service and the army. And yes, I hear reports of random beatings, and even killings, which go unreported and unpunished. This is monstrous. The German Christians support this attitude toward the Jews. In doing so, they are no longer able to truly call themselves Christians. If we refuse to speak out against these outrages, we also will no longer be able to call ourselves Christians.”
A low murmuring has broken out, but Dietrich ignores it.
“What, you may ask, should we do? The church does not, of course, rule the state. Nor should it seek to. But when the state uses its power to destroy Christian faith and teaching, then the church must act.
“We can act in several ways. First, we Christians can challenge the state’s actions and ask the state to live up to its responsibilities. Second, we must do everything we can to help those who have been victimized by the state. That includes those victims who are not part of the Christian community. ‘Do good to all people,’ scripture tells us.
“Third,” he raises his voice as the grumblings grow louder, “and finally, if these first two courses of action do not achieve satisfactory results, we are obligated not just to bandage those who have been broken beneath the wheel of the state, but to jam a spoke in the wheel itself. This of course will involve direct political action—”
“It will involve sedition!” someone cries from the back. And there is a general hubbub as many in the audience stand and begin to walk out. Dietrich raises his voice even more, so that he is shouting.
“One course of action might be a pastors’ strike. Suppose, in response to the measures taken against the Jews, the pastors of Germany refused to perform their duties. No weddings, no baptisms, no funerals until the anti-Jewish measures are dropped. Consider what a powerful statement to the German people.”
More pastors leave the audience, some talking angrily as they exit. Dietrich finishes quickly, stumbling a bit over the last of his speech—“…a national church which accepts Nazi policies may be popular, but it will never be Christian. The choice before us is clear, Germanism or Christianity”—then steps away from the lectern and nearly runs into the waiting Niemöller.
“Have you gone mad?” Niemöller demands.
“Someone must begin to say these things.”
“Someone must call for rebellion against the government? Good God, Bonhoeffer, how the German people would take such a message! And to ask pastors to walk away from their responsibilities? An easy decision for a pastor without a church.”
“I have two churches,” Dietrich says. “I’ve been offered the posting in London, and I have accepted.”
Before Niemöller can respond, a furious Pastor Braun pushes his way in and wags a finger at Dietrich.
“How dare you, young man? Some of us may disagree with Hitler’s tactics, Bonhoeffer, but we still love Germany.”
“Yes,” says Dietrich, and hears the voice of Fred Bishop whispering in his ear, “but do you love Jesus?”
Braun stares at him, face purpling, then turns on his heel. Niemöller folds his arms and says coolly, “Well, it will be easy enough to defend the Jews from the safety of London, won’t it? Think of the rest of us here, from time to time, when you’re feeling judgmental.”
And Dietrich is left alone with the jumble of papers that is his speech.
Later in the autumn he climbs aboard a train bound for Ostend. He is on board a ferry crossing an English Channel enclosed in white mist when a guillotine in Berlin slices off the head of the dangerous Communist
Marinus van der Lubbe.
Qui tollis peccata mundi
miserere nobis
suscipe deprecationem nostram
Thou who taketh away the sins of the world
have mercy on us
and receive our prayer
(Double chorus with French double dotting)
4 Feb. 1934
23 Manor Mount S.E.
Forest Hill
My dearest Sabine,
How I long to be with you on our birthday, but this year it shall not be. For me it is a time to contemplate my weakness, and separation from you is part of my penance. I am speaking of your father-in-law’s funeral, and my refusal to participate in it as you and Gerhard requested. I am tormented when I recall this betrayal. How could I have been such a coward? Sabine, I no longer understand myself. Worst of all is the knowledge that one never makes up for something like that.
Still one cannot become paralyzed by past failings. I want you both to know I constantly pray for the courage to speak out against our new government. Here in London, I have made quite a nuisance of myself, popping up at meetings wherever so-called Christians who support the fascists put in an appearance. At one such gathering last week, I met an English bishop, a most extraordinary man….
London
1934
THE PLACARDS in Lancaster Gate announce
PASTOR J.G.W. HOSSENFELDER
Missionary to the slums of Berlin will speak about
EXCITING NEW DEVELOPMENTS IN GERMANY!
2:00 P.M. SUNDAY, MARCH 14
Opening remarks by Dr. F. Buchman!
Come find the Answers to Life’s Questions!
Sponsored by the Oxford Group
From the dark gray London street, the windows of the Victorian hall offer an invitingly warm glow on this late winter’s afternoon. In the foyer, neatly dressed young people come and go. These are Dr. Frank Buchman’s converts, clean-living young men and women who have accepted the Lord as their personal savior and turned everything over to His guidance. If questioned at this very moment, each would acknowledge that knowing the Lord so intimately is a very great advantage. In a world threatened by economic depression and political upheaval, they are safe as houses. Their satisfaction is evident in the confident way they cover the long tables with white linen and set out trays of cucumber and butter sandwiches and scones and shortbread biscuits and steaming pots of tea flanked by urns of cream and sugar. They fold white cloth napkins with razor-straight edges and arrange stacks of cups and saucers. But they have grown a bit subdued, pausing from their tasks now and then to glance anxiously at one another. Because beyond the open doors, the meeting hall has erupted into a shouting match.
Saints and Villains Page 20
