The ground shook as a barrage of artillery shells thundered into the hard earth. In the distance I saw a building collapse, to my left a man suddenly fell to the ground, a stray bullet taking him through the head. I stared dispassionately at the corpse, his name had been Karl, he had a girl waiting for him back home, everyone had a girl waiting for them back home.
I charged across the street praying as I always did. Please God, don’t let the bullets hit, don’t let me die, keep me safe. I made it to another doorway. Thank you, God, thank you for saving my life again. I returned fire, every bullet a searing note on my conscience. Thou shall not kill. Yet what else was I to do? If I didn’t shoot them then they would shoot me. If I didn’t shoot them then my officers would shoot me. I had to shoot them because they were shooting me but they were shooting me because I was shooting them. I remember a time when war used to make some sense. Not any more. Nothing makes sense any more; it’s all gone, lost under the terror of too many skirmishes, cried away in bitter tears for the dead, shouted away in inane battle cries, why does God let this war go on? Why won’t Hitler just die? I eye up my next source of cover. There was probably a grand plan but I never bothered to pay attention. When it comes down to it the only things that matter are keeping your gun with you, finding cover and praying. I pray very well now. I think I’ve spent the last four years in near constant prayer. I dive from my doorway, shuffle along the hard ground, bullets hit the road behind me, I crawl behind the remains of a smouldering tank. Taking a deep breath I fire my gun in the general direction of the enemy praying that none of my bullets would hit. There must be Christians out there facing me – are they racked by the same guilt? Guilt for killing men in the name of duty, guilt for feeling so much hatred against the enemy, guilt for surviving whilst so many others have fallen. I used to pray for my friends, when I had friends left alive to pray for. But they’ve gone to eternity now although I know not which way. They say that war is hell. Theologically the statement is a bit shaky but I know exactly what they mean. It isn’t just a physical battle it’s a spiritual one as well. Why does my mind wander so much? I focus on the now and see three men charging down the street towards me. I aim and pull back the trigger; my bullets take them all down, another three men now facing judgement because of me. A man joins me at the tank, shouts something I can’t hear, pulls out a grenade throws it and is thrown back by the force of a bullet taking him in the heart. The grenade explodes in the distance, my ears ring as I watch the man’s body lay there in the dust. Did he know Christ? I doubt it. Maybe he did. The darkness creeps up on me again. I murmur to myself: I will say of the Lord he is my rock and my fortress; my God in whom I trust. I breathe deeply and roll out from cover, scramble over a crater in the road and make it into the ruins of a shop. Psalm 91 has kept me going, when my strength failed and I thought death was so very near, when my soul cried out in agony, when my body wailed in pain and when I wept tears of grief for those that had gone on. I returned again and again to this one Psalm. I could say it off by heart now, forwards, backwards, any way at all. From my position of relative safety I watch as four men too cover behind the tank I was just at. Then I blink as with a heavy roar a shell lands on top of them. Gone in an instance. A blink of an eye. I cradled my gun close to my chest. Why was I doing this? Why did this war just drag on and on and on? Was there ever going to be an end? Although a thousand fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you. Another verse of Psalm 91, my favourite verse of the whole Psalm, I repeat to myself when ever I’m in battle. I would repeat this to myself as man after man would die beside me. Was I under God’s blessing to live so long or under God’s curse? Heaven was infinitely preferably to this; but I did what I was called to do. I made a pact not to seek death but to minister to those around me, spreading the good news even in the bleak realities of war. I had seen so many people die before coming to know Christ. And a few, a glorious few, who died in the full knowledge of the glory of the gospel and that the next life would be one without pain or suffering. Sometimes I feel Heaven so closely yet at other times it seems too good to ever be true. How often I have wondered why God did not take me instead so that others might have more time in order to be saved. But it is useless to think such thoughts. The war has broken me completely; I have nothing left except Jesus Christ. He is my life, my strength, my all. When I can’t go on I turn to him. I can never go on without him. The guns fall silent. The artillery stops shelling. There is a moment of peace. I let out a sigh, sunlight plays across the metal of my gun; I can relax for a moment. “Surrender!” comes the cry in English; it is one of the few words of that language I know. Surrender, that is what I had to do again and again to the Lord. Surrender my fear, my terror, my life to him and his will. Surrendering is hard at first, so very hard but each time it gets easier. I see men walking down the street with their hands up, I see American soldiers rounding them up, I see officers laying down their weapons. I stand up, no one shoots me, I walk forward, I cast aside my gun, I throw my helmet to the ground and trudge towards the enemy. I did it, I survived, no, God did it, he protected me. As I walk the last few verses of Psalm 91 spring to mind and without a care in the world I shout them to the surprised faces of the American soldiers: “Er liebt mich, darum will ich ihn erretten; er kennt meinen Namen, darum will ich ihn schützen Er ruft mich an, darum will ich ihn erhören; ich bin bei ihm in der Not, ich will ihn herausreißen und zu Ehren bringen. Ich will ihn sättigen mit langem Leben und will ihm zeigen mein Heil.”
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My travels took my further and further until at last I came to the Land of Darkness, the veiled land, the shadowed place. It was as I had heard, a grim place, the people there walked in constant darkness neither knowing what direction they were travelling in nor where they were going. It was impossible to move without bumping into someone else. Within a day I had a growing collection of bruises from where I had tripped, fallen or been pushed to the ground.
In my entire time not one person said a kind word either to me or anyone else, it was a bleak land where nothing grew and nothing was good. Laughter was uncommon, happiness unheard of, joy unknown. The darkness itself seemed to be a malignant force that sapped the body and infected the mind. So imagine my surprise when on my second day there I caught a brief flash of light, a tiny flicker that were it not for the intensity of the darkness and the contrast it provided would have scarce been noticeable. With sudden energy I picked up my slow pace and headed in its direction praying that it would shine again. It did, another flash, I was getting closer. Slowly but surely I got closer, to my shame I admit this involved a lot of shoving and even the odd push.Eventually I reached the source of this tiny light; it was a man, a hunched man who was trying to press something to the ground. I watched and saw the flash of light peek out from under a bowl under the man’s hands. He was hiding his light! He was crouched over it, pressing a bowl over it to stop even the tiniest beam of light escape and everytime a beam of light did escape he jumped and looked around wildly. What was this madness? “Excuse me sir?” I asked the burning desire to know overcoming my reluctance to speak. “Me? not me, I’m a nobody,” “No sir, I am talking to you. Tell me: why are you hiding your light?” I asked my curiosity making me bold. “Light? What light? I don’t have a light.” said the man, then he squealed as a beam of light lit up his face. “The light which you are trying to hide! Why do you so good sir? Where did you get the light from?” “Can’t tell.” “Why not?” “The other people, the one’s without the light, they might laugh. They might hate me because I have the light and they don’t. They might try and hurt me.” I heard the man hunch up even more. This was getting more and more strange. “I give you my promise as a Gentleman that I will not hurt you or tell any other about your light. Just tell me: how did you acquire this light of yours?” “You promise to keep it secret?” “I promise.” “It was given to me. The King of Light came to me and gave me, unworthy, wretched, me the gift of light. He looked at me and in his mercy he gave me the greatest gift he could. He gave his lamp to me.” The man’s voice took on an altogether different quality; it was suddenly strong and had no trace of his previous nervousness. “And what his command to you when he gave you his light?” “I was to go forth into this land of darkness and the lamp would shine like the stars! It was to blaze like the sun, I was to…” the man trailed off perhaps realising that he hadn’t obeyed the command given. “Now tell me, why do you sit here and hide your light?” “I am afraid.” he said, his voice quiet “I looked around me and saw the darkness of the darkness and I thought my light would not survive. I thought that if I let them see my lamp they would kill me. My arms grew weary, the lamp was so very heavy. So I hid it. But it strains against me, it wants to shine but it can’t. I won’t let it.” As if in reaction to his words minutes went past without the light flashing. Silence fell between us. Here was a man that was terrified of the darkness and trusted not the light. Here was a man that was crippled by unbelief – for he had no confidence in himself which was admirable but he had no confidence in the lamp giver which was folly. “Answer me this: was the King of Light afraid of the darkness?” “No,” replied the man “I noticed that about him, he walked around this land freely, afraid of nothing, blazing with a light greater than any I have known.” “Then if you have his light; why not ask as well for his strength and courage?” “But would he answer me?” “He commanded you to go forth and shine like the stars. Do you not think he would give you the means to do so? Does he not give us the ability to carry out his commands?” “I suppose so,” said the man, his voice uncertain. “Then ask and it will be given to you.” I said. Silence fell again, in the brief flashes of light I could see the man’s face creased in worry. Then he bowed his head and I caught a murmured request. He tossed the bowl away, the lamp underneath flared in the darkness, for the first time in two days I could see. He lifted the lamp up so it’s light spread across the whole land. People looked up from their blind ways, saw the light and were amazed. The lamp shone brighter still, shining like the stars, bringing people from all around towards it. The light of the lamp of the King of Light pushed back the darkness. And the man called out in a loud voice as the light reached an intensity that was bright enough to hurt my eyes. “I come bearing the lamp of the light of the King, I come to tell you all to repent and turn to him. For he is the way, the truth and the light and you are all in darkness.” |
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