Partially Settled Vagabonds

Celebrating a Saint...

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the birth of a modern saint (and the 61st year since his execution). Bonhoeffer is often characterized as a man of great faith, unwavering commitment, and unquetioned loyalty to the Christian faith. Nevertheless, he was still a human with doubts, fears, and anger as the poem below relates. Today our pastor suggested that Bonhoeffer's "Who am I" is not dissimilar from Christ's "Eloi, eloi, lami sabachtani (My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"). Christ's words, the opening verses to Psalm 22, belie the little acknowledged fact that he too was a human with doubts, fears, and anger. Neither was a superman, neither goose-stepped into death certain of their victory. But both died unjustly in order that their vocation might be made complete. Both died for their Father. Take a minute to read the poem and give thanks to God for the witness of a modern saint's life.

Who am I?

They often tell me I would step from my cell's confinement calmly, cheerfully, firmly, like a squire from his country-house.
Who am I?

They often tell me I would talk to my warden freely and friendly and clearly, as though it were mine to command.
Who am I?

They also tell me I would bear the days of misfortune equably, smilingly, proudly, like one accustomed to win.
Am I then really all that which other men tell of, or am I only what I know of myself, restless and longing and sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as though hands were compressing my throat, yearning for colors, for flowers, for the voices of birds, thirsting for
words of kindness, for neighborliness, trembling with anger at despotisms and petty humiliation, tossing in expectation of great events,
powerlessly trembling for friends at an infinite distance, weary and empty at praying, at thinking, at making, faint and ready to say farewell to it all.
Who am I? This or the other? Am I one person today, and tomorrow another? Am I both at once? A hypocrite before others, and before myself a contemptibly woebegone weakling? Or is something within me still like a beaten army, fleeing in disorder from victory already achieved?
Who am I? They mock me, these lonely questions of mine. Whoever I am, Thou knowest, O God, I am thine.

-Written from a prison cell in Nazi-operated Tegel Prison

posted by John and Mag @ 12:51 PM