Mission at Nuremberg by Tim Townsend Page B

Moments of Comfort was originally popular mostly in hospitals, but it soon caught on across KFUO’s listening area, bringing him fan mail and even calls to his house. The show was a combination of scripture recitation and soothing sermonizing by Gerecke, whose voice had the depth and clarity of film stars of the decades that followed—Burt Lancaster and Robert Mitchum. Gerecke brought his favorite musicians and singers with him each week to provide background music and sing hymns.
    The program also promoted the work of City Mission, allowing Gerecke to use the huge reach of radio to scare up more funding or to ask for old clothing and furniture for Lutheran Mission Industries. In turn, he promoted the show through the City Mission newsletter.
    At the end of each Moment, Gerecke recited what he called a “mission prayer.” But the words were really the lyrics of a nineteenth-century hymn: “Lord, lay some soul upon my heart and love that soul through me. And may I nobly do my part to win that soul for thee.” The program and its host became so successful that a rival station, KMOX, approached Gerecke about a full-time broadcasting job. But he realized it would mean leaving the ministry and turned it down.
    At City Mission, Gerecke had clearly found his life’s calling. He enjoyed the frenetic pace, and he thrived on the energy it took to keep up with his schedule. Mostly, though, he loved the challenge of harvesting a mission field he believed so hungry for God’s grace. All of that personal, professional, and sacred satisfaction, however, came at the expense of an easy home life. When Gerecke left Christ Lutheran, he had to give up the vicarage, and the family moved to an apartment with creaky hardwood floors, three bedrooms, and one bathroom. It was about the same size the Gereckes were used to, but it was more cramped because Gerecke didn’t have an attached office and the kids were now older.
    Alma had a rule against children in the dining room except during meals, or in the family room—it was reserved for company—leaving the boys to make do in their small bedroom, the kitchen, or in the neighborhood outside. Life as a pastor’s kid is never easy, but the boys’ clothes and shoes frequently came off the Lutheran Mission Industries trucks, and this became well known at their school, leading to taunts of: “Hey, Gerecke got dressed on the charity trucks again.” Naturally that led to fights.
    Hank and Corky earned fifty cents a day sorting donated materials at the City Mission warehouse. They were so close in age they fought from the time they woke up until they went to sleep at night. Alma often had to use a “Wait until your father gets home” threat to settle them down. When Henry did get home, Alma would tell him what happened and demand that he discipline the boys.
    He did as instructed, calling each of his sons into the bedroom, where he took off his belt and then issued his own instructions: “Make it sound like this hurts.” And then he’d slap the bed hard with his belt, while his sons would smile gratefully and howl in fake pain.
    â€œOkay, Henry. Stop it. You’re hurting them,” Alma would call from the kitchen.
    As the wife of a pastor, Alma attended church and was part of the Ladies’ Aid Society, but once her husband was no longer leading a regular congregation, some of those social responsibilities disappeared. The trade-off was financial. This was the Depression, and the Gerecke family’s existence was hand to mouth. Henry was satisfied that they, as he liked to say, had a roof over their heads and food on the table. God would take care of the rest. But Alma liked cars and clothes. She liked money, and the absence of it became a major point of contention in their marriage.
    Henry believed Thanksgiving was an important American holiday, writing in the City Mission newsletter: “This is Thanksgiving month. We