I’ve tried to write this portion of our trip at least 20 times in my head – each time feeling that more should be said…or that my words were empty in comparison with that morning…
How do I convey to you the experience of walking through a concentration camp?
Do I even want to attempt it?
The unimaginable horrors that must have happened there still linger in the air. It was hard to breathe at times and my mind wanted to flee…I wanted to believe these bunks I was saw…the showers I walked through were merely a fictitious story…a story that in no way affected me…
And yet, I could reach out and touch those bunks – who must have slept there? Where were his children? Did he survive?
Do atrocities like this still happen in the world today…surely not…and yet my heart knew.
And then on Monday night of this week I was teaching my church history class…and it was time to speak about The Crusades…
And again I was tempted to teach it quickly…tempted with the desire to treat it merely as a story…a story completely unrelated to me…and yet my heart knew.
Sitting in my empty classroom waiting on students to arrive…I stared out a window and realized that on this night…there were thousands of Jewish people around the globe celebrating the Passover Sedar…celebrating freedom from oppression…remembering God’s goodness…and my heart filled with sorrow…sorrow that so often my Christian history has been that agent of oppression…that agent of hate…that agent of death…
And the part I can play today seems so small and insignificant in light of the injustice that has gone before…
But I will do what I can
…I can teach my students the truth of our past
…I can teach my child the values of love instead of hate or fear
…I can choose to remember and learn from the past
…I can seek justice in the areas where God takes me
…I can pray
Micah 6:8, "He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."