"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime." ~Mark Twain
As I have mentioned a hundred times before, I am an avid fan of traveling; you could definitely say I'm obsessed. I love going to new places and seeing things that existed hundreds of year before I did. It gives me this awesome awareness of how small I am and of how fleeting life is. I enjoy soaking it all in and learning about and remembering how life used to be. It gives me an appreciation for what I have when I find myself doubting my blessings. I bet if I asked, many of you would say the same thing. For those of you who have never been overseas, it is a must. There is something magical about seeing the buildings and structures over there. They say that people who live in Europe and visit America can't believe how new everything looks. When we, as Americans, visit Europe, we can't believe how old it all is. It's like glimpsing through the window of a time machine thats traveled back centuries.
Recently, however, I had the chance to see up close one of the remnants of probably the most recognized tragedies in history. I was forced to acknowledge the painful reality that the world is not always a nice place despite all the wonders it contains. In February of this year, Robert and I traveled to Germany to visit friends. While there, we made a day trip to visit Dachau, the first concentration camp in Germany. To say it was an experience I'll never forget is an understatement. It was eerie and awful all at the same time. We took a tour in English and, when it was over, decided that we'd always be a little sad thinking of our trip to Germany because of what we'd seen there at Dachau. We walked in buildings where people were grouped together like cattle. We saw rooms so small that the prisoners held there could neither stand nor sit on of the floor; they were forced to crouch for up to 48 hours at a time. We walked down hallways that had been walked through by guards making sure no one ever escaped their version of hell. We saw doors that led into what were labeled as "showers." They weren't. We walked on dirt and concrete where prisoners fell after breathing in the toxic gas leaked into their so called shower room.
Eventually, Robert and I exited through a gate that thousands never did. How did I feel after all of this? How did I feel after learning about the sufferings of thousands of people and seeing first hand where it occurred? Honestly...slightly detached. Was it sad? As I mentioned early, of course it was. Was it eerie? Again, yes. The reality, however, is that as we walked and saw and experienced, we understood that we could never in a hundred years walk and see and experience all that they did almost 70 years before. I looked at the cells they were held in, I read the writings on the wall left by some of the prisoners, I touched the ground where their bodies fell and yet I was not driven to tears. I left that awful place wondering why I did not or could not cry. I wondered what that said about me as a person. Did it mean that I had no heart? Did it mean that I was not sympathetic to their plight? That I didn't care about something that had happened so long ago? How could I not feel when death was surrounding me? How could I be so stoic in a room where people had been cremated two or three at a time?
To be truthful, I don't know exactly why. I can't explain the lack of emotion I felt at the time. The friends I was there visiting actually refused to escort us there because they had been before and wished never to go again. They felt so strongly against going again that they left us to venture there ourselves, two Americans who'd never been in the country before. When we returned from Dachau I felt the need to justify my actions, my unemotional state. Frankly, I lied. I exaggerated my feelings because I didn't want to seem like the callous American who didn't care about anyone but herself. I've thought many times about this whole situation and I've come to a conclusion, though not a perfect explanation, that helps me see what was going on in my own heart.
As an American, I see things from such a different perspective then say Russians, Germans, or Italians. I do not live in Europe where World War II did most of it's damage. My country cannot be classified as a war torn country and because of this I cannot relate, on any level, to those who did and those who do live in such countries as Germany who were affected first hand. As my Russian friend so bluntly put it, I do not know what it's like to wake up and fear for my life for any reason. I do not know what it is like to starve or to thirst for days on end. I cannot honestly empathize and thats the simplest and most basic truth of the matter. I simply do not have anything within my personal frame of reference or schema that can help me explain and relate to all the things I experienced. I just don't.
Now, I don't want you to read this and think, "Wow she is cold!" because it's not true. I said that I didn't feel much, not that I didn't feel at all. The whole thing is extremely difficult for me to explain. I just know that when I came back I had a new perspective on another, similar topic: Christs' death on the cross. He suffered physically from the crown of thorns, the lashings, the nails in His hands and feet. He suffered severe mental anguish when His father looked away from Him because He carried the sin of the world on His shoulders. He died willingly for us, because He loved us, because He wanted to be our propitiation before God the father. He died so we could live. And yet, even knowing what we know about His unconditional love and about His gruesome death (and eventual rise), we look upon the whole event from afar. We view it as something less than it was. I felt awful towards myself for how indifferent I seemed while at Dachau but do we not, as Christians, often find ourselves acting and feeling that same way when we think of the cross. Why?
Because as Christians, we gladly accept salvation, we gladly accept the blessings God has given. We even have and accept a head knowledge that there will be trials and pain. What we hardly give credence to is how this gift was purchased. Blood was required. Jesus willingly gave His own. We were saved from a hell worse than any Dachau could deliver and we are apathetic about it. We had our cells unlocked, chains removed, health restored and given an inheritance and yet we act as if by some merit of our own we deserved it. Inscribed on the font gate at Dachau are the words, "Arbeit macht frei" which means "through work one will be free." That wasn't true for the prisoners then and it's not true for us today. Works won't get us anywhere. Sometimes we also convince ourselves that the price Christ paid was easy and painless. How quickly we forget it was not that way! It takes Mel Gibson and his graphic movie "Passion of the Christ" to get from us any kind emotional reaction. We go to an Easter service to celebrate His resurrection. What about His death??? He had to die first. He had to suffer first. He had to be crushed by His father first. We know this. We understand this. We just don't feel this.
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| Picture: By Melissa Lee, Germany 2011 |
Sadly, the fact of the matter is that there is nothing much we can do now about the deaths of those during the holocaust except to honor them with a vow to never forget. There is, however, something we can do about the death of our Lord Jesus Christ: accept the gift His death brought. Casting Crowns has a song with these lyrics:
"One day they led Him up Calvary’s mountain. One day they nailed Him to die on a tree. Suffering anguish, despised and rejected, bearing our sins, my Redeemer is He. Hands that healed nations, stretched out on a tree and took the nails for me. Living He loved me, dying He saved me, buried He carried my sins far away. Rising He justified freely forever. One day He's coming, oh glorious day!"Christ died so that we could have life (1 Thessalonians 5:10). He was wounded and crushed for us so that we could have peace (Isaiah 53). Hitler and his army caused the holocaust and we, as sinners, put Christ on the cross. We could not pay the price that was necessary and so Jesus, innocent and blameless, died in our stead. We deserved that same death but He gave mercy. How could we do anything but fall on our faces any time we even think about our salvation? If you're not saved, I ask you to ask yourself why not. He loves you no matter what you've done. Ask Him and He will save you. For those of us who are saved, I pray that both you and I will come to a place where we can admit that we have become careless and indifferent to a passionate and caring God and the sacrifice He made. He deserves more than that.
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