Wildflowers of Terezin by Robert Elmer Page A
Authors: Robert Elmer
Tags: Fiction, Historical fiction, Romance, Historical, World War; 1939-1945, War & Military, Christian fiction, Christian, Jewish, Jews, Clergy, Underground Movements, Denmark, Jews - Persecutions - Denmark, World War; 1939-1945 - Jews - Rescue - Denmark, Clergy - Denmark, World War; 1939-1945 - Underground Movements - Denmark, Jews - Denmark, Theresienstadt (Concentration Camp)
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at the borders of his ministry. But they had not broken through, he added with a touch of pride. Services commenced promptly at ten o'clock every Sunday morning, even as they had before the war began. The work continued.So too did burials and baptisms, weddings and confirmations.He'd confirmed eleven young people in the last confirmation class, only last month. Everything continued as it always had.
What's more, Steffen was certain that if they—that is, the people of his parish—would simply continue to exercise restraint and caution, this storm would blow over and the invaders would return home, just as the motorcycle had turned the corner of and disappeared down Nørrebrogade.Hadn't King Christian himself ordered them not to resist, but to keep calm and cooperate? This he could do, and he could advise his congregation to do the same.
If only his own brother would follow that advice.
Because the . . . unpleasantness could hardly last forever, and resistance—particularly the violent sort Henning advocated—could only make things worse, in his humble opinion.
For a moment he thought he could smell the motorcycle's exhaust, drifting up from the street below, until he realized it was a smoke of another sort—an amber cigar smoke, pungent and nose-tickling. This early? Now at least he had an excuse to step away from his desk, notes in hand, and to stretch his own legs.
Moments later he made his way out of the back door to join Pastor Viggo Jensen. Lost in thought and a cloud of home-rolled cigar smoke, the retired pastor looked up with a start from his spot by the garbage cans, almost as if Steffen had just caught a schoolboy sneaking a forbidden cigarette.
"Ah, Steffen! Didn't expect to see you here so early." Pastor Viggo peered out through his smoke screen and from under a pair of gray eyebrows made even more impressive by the near-lack of hair on the man's head. And like a matching bookend, his well-polished shoes reflected a smile as he glanced at the papers in Steffen's hand. "Working on your sermon? The story of the ten lepers?"
None other.
"Actually, yes. I was thinking how they received their healing after obedience. One of my commentaries has a bit about that. In the Greek, hupakouo, 'I obey.' "
The other man smiled. "I actually do know a few words of Greek."
"Of course you do. But the point is, perhaps that's our situation here: If we obey King Christian's word, we may be healed as a nation. If not . . ."
"Hmm." Now Pastor Viggo wrinkled his forehead in concentration.Steffen could hear it coming.
"It's all a matter of obedience, don't you think?" continued Steffen, hoping to make a good enough impression to gain the elder pastor's approval this time. If he did, though, that would probably be a first.
"Perhaps," he continued, "but then the question would be, to whom?"
Steffen hadn't considered that way of looking at it. Pastor Viggo went on, as if he wasn't expecting an answer.
"And don't you have any personal experiences you might relate to that passage? Some practical application? How's your health these days? Anything you can be thankful for, after that accident of yours?"
"Oh, you don't mean after my little bicycle wreck?" Steffen shrugged away the experience. "I'm certain no one would want to hear about that."
"Really? Why not? Your brother seemed quite interested, when he came to check on you. Speaking of which, he's, ah, quite active these days, is he not?"
"Yes, his work at the bookstore keeps him busy."
Pastor Viggo paused again, as if waiting for more, then nodded his head.
"In any case," he said, "wasn't there something in this passage about how the fellow's faith made him well? You're well, are you not? I wonder if you couldn't tie in your experience that way?"
"Actually . . ." Steffen backed away from Pastor Viggo. He should have known the elder pastor would suggest a personal angle. And the personal angles, it seemed, would always make him look . . .
What's more, Steffen was certain that if they—that is, the people of his parish—would simply continue to exercise restraint and caution, this storm would blow over and the invaders would return home, just as the motorcycle had turned the corner of and disappeared down Nørrebrogade.Hadn't King Christian himself ordered them not to resist, but to keep calm and cooperate? This he could do, and he could advise his congregation to do the same.
If only his own brother would follow that advice.
Because the . . . unpleasantness could hardly last forever, and resistance—particularly the violent sort Henning advocated—could only make things worse, in his humble opinion.
For a moment he thought he could smell the motorcycle's exhaust, drifting up from the street below, until he realized it was a smoke of another sort—an amber cigar smoke, pungent and nose-tickling. This early? Now at least he had an excuse to step away from his desk, notes in hand, and to stretch his own legs.
Moments later he made his way out of the back door to join Pastor Viggo Jensen. Lost in thought and a cloud of home-rolled cigar smoke, the retired pastor looked up with a start from his spot by the garbage cans, almost as if Steffen had just caught a schoolboy sneaking a forbidden cigarette.
"Ah, Steffen! Didn't expect to see you here so early." Pastor Viggo peered out through his smoke screen and from under a pair of gray eyebrows made even more impressive by the near-lack of hair on the man's head. And like a matching bookend, his well-polished shoes reflected a smile as he glanced at the papers in Steffen's hand. "Working on your sermon? The story of the ten lepers?"
None other.
"Actually, yes. I was thinking how they received their healing after obedience. One of my commentaries has a bit about that. In the Greek, hupakouo, 'I obey.' "
The other man smiled. "I actually do know a few words of Greek."
"Of course you do. But the point is, perhaps that's our situation here: If we obey King Christian's word, we may be healed as a nation. If not . . ."
"Hmm." Now Pastor Viggo wrinkled his forehead in concentration.Steffen could hear it coming.
"It's all a matter of obedience, don't you think?" continued Steffen, hoping to make a good enough impression to gain the elder pastor's approval this time. If he did, though, that would probably be a first.
"Perhaps," he continued, "but then the question would be, to whom?"
Steffen hadn't considered that way of looking at it. Pastor Viggo went on, as if he wasn't expecting an answer.
"And don't you have any personal experiences you might relate to that passage? Some practical application? How's your health these days? Anything you can be thankful for, after that accident of yours?"
"Oh, you don't mean after my little bicycle wreck?" Steffen shrugged away the experience. "I'm certain no one would want to hear about that."
"Really? Why not? Your brother seemed quite interested, when he came to check on you. Speaking of which, he's, ah, quite active these days, is he not?"
"Yes, his work at the bookstore keeps him busy."
Pastor Viggo paused again, as if waiting for more, then nodded his head.
"In any case," he said, "wasn't there something in this passage about how the fellow's faith made him well? You're well, are you not? I wonder if you couldn't tie in your experience that way?"
"Actually . . ." Steffen backed away from Pastor Viggo. He should have known the elder pastor would suggest a personal angle. And the personal angles, it seemed, would always make him look . . .
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