PENTECOST - A. D. 2001

The bus driver provided a long-stemmed red rose for each of us. We misunderstood and took only one for the two of us. At the time, we thought that would be more than enough. We were on the outskirts of the little southern Polish town of Oswiecin, at a collection of brick buildings that had been an army barracks prior to World War II. In 1940, after the invasion of Poland, the Germans took over this installation. Above the main gate they placed a cut-out wrought iron sign that reads, in translation, "WORK BRINGS FREEDOM." This complex was designated Auschwitz. A full recounting of what took place here would not serve the purpose of my discourse, but suffice it to say the age-old practice of "man’s inhumanity to man" was indeed advanced. At first this was a place to detain Polish war prisoners, but later, as we all know, people (the majority of them Jewish) from all over Europe were brought here for detention and elimination. Each of the buildings was given a number. In Block 11 "trials" were held and "if" the prisoner was convicted, he or she was tortured, and if that did not do the trick, they were taken out to the brick wall in the adjacent yard and shot. The wall in this particular yard was protected by a sort of fiber padding to prevent the bullets from ricocheting . . . . . It was here that I was emotionally overcome by the recollection that someone very dear to me was detained in a place just like this, in Singapore in 1945. My tears were not so much for him, he survived. Mostly they were for the tens of thousands that did not live again beyond these gates through which we could so freely pass.

A visit to a place such as this is a real "gut check" of one’s faith in God. That it did not shake mine is a testimony to the reason for visiting the ghosts of such a horrible chapter in our history. My God is still very real, but this experience reinforced the contention that God is mysterious beyond all power to interpret, and that those who claim certain knowledge of exactly what God is and wants, are often misled. We need the church and all that it stands for, no mistake, but in the end we must find God on our own individual and unique terms. There is no expectation that you accept this thesis; I am simply asking you to walk with me in search of the God we may never define. Your company will be most welcome and necessary.

We left Auschwitz I (the brick buildings) to visit Auschwitz II, a mile and a half to the west. Here the art of mass extermination, without the sham of a trial, was perfected. This Auschwitz "suburb" is better known as Birkenau. Upon returning to the bus, our driver proffered two varieties of flavored Polish vodka. We were invited to take a generous sample. The sinking sun came from behind billowing clouds and a peace took shape, partly induced, but mostly born of the simple answers unexpectedly gained from this experience. We drove back to Krakow, where that morning, in the old town square, we had encountered a bright, pretty young girl in a Los Angeles Lakers cap. I asked her, with her mother’s permission, if she had any scores, as the basketball playoffs were still in progress. Of course, she didn’t understand me. Through gestures, broken English, and with no help from my Polish, we determined that the young lady had not the vaguest idea who the Lakers were. I took her picture; it turned out quite well. The picture and my new/old faith will sustain me when I need to deal with memories of that afternoon’s pilgrimage.

We left the rose against the fiber covering on the wall in the yard next to Block 11.

"Noah"