One of the things that has often moved me since arriving in France is the tragic story of the Shoah, especially as it happened here. During the German occupation of France in World War II, thousands of Jews (as well as political prisoners, homosexuals, and other minorities) were deported at the hands of their French compatriots. In an effort to pacify the Nazis, the Vichy government went along with Hitler's policies to eliminate "lesser" races. It's a history that has only recently breached decades of shameful silence. The French have struggled to recognize the fact that the citizens of a country that proclaims "liberty, equality, and brotherhood" could turn on its own.
On the other side of this story, however, are les justes-- thousands of French men and women who risked their lives to protect Jewish families and children from deportation to "camps" like Auschwitz, where certain death awaited them. One of our former neighbors first told us of her grandparents who sheltered two Jewish children in their farmhouse. She added that there are still hard feelings between many French families because one turned another in for harboring Jews.
Today, the Republic took another step toward recognizing their past. President Jacques Chirac placed the remains of one of these heroes in the Panthéon -- the hallowed burial ground of heroes like Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Voltaire, and Resistance leader Jean Moulin. It is hard for me to overstate the symbolic importance of this act. In recognizing the heroes who risked their lives to protect others, the French are acknowledging again their own culpability, a process begun in 1995 by Chirac. The Shoah is a painful memory for the French -- and rightfully so. But this recognition is a step toward healing.
Unfortunately, this story has a sad side.
I watched the news today and listened to the story of a woman whose mother sheltered a young Jewish girl. The woman told of how her mother risked everything every day as she bought bread and produce to feed the extra mouth in her home. It was a heroic act. Then the storyteller said, "My mother was a believer. That's why she did it. I'm not, but she was." It struck me that this woman who watched her mother's risk and sacrifice, who was sitting beside the person her mother saved, knows exactly why her mother did it, but rejects it all. Her mother knew a Savior who had given His life for her, and she took literally His command to shelter the orphan and the widow. She is lost.
I live and work in a nation who today recognized their sin. They tried to take steps to heal. But there is no healing, no forgiveness, no peace without the one who gave Himself so that we might live: "one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all" (1 Timothy 2:5-6).
On the other side of this story, however, are les justes-- thousands of French men and women who risked their lives to protect Jewish families and children from deportation to "camps" like Auschwitz, where certain death awaited them. One of our former neighbors first told us of her grandparents who sheltered two Jewish children in their farmhouse. She added that there are still hard feelings between many French families because one turned another in for harboring Jews.
Today, the Republic took another step toward recognizing their past. President Jacques Chirac placed the remains of one of these heroes in the Panthéon -- the hallowed burial ground of heroes like Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, Voltaire, and Resistance leader Jean Moulin. It is hard for me to overstate the symbolic importance of this act. In recognizing the heroes who risked their lives to protect others, the French are acknowledging again their own culpability, a process begun in 1995 by Chirac. The Shoah is a painful memory for the French -- and rightfully so. But this recognition is a step toward healing.
Unfortunately, this story has a sad side.
I watched the news today and listened to the story of a woman whose mother sheltered a young Jewish girl. The woman told of how her mother risked everything every day as she bought bread and produce to feed the extra mouth in her home. It was a heroic act. Then the storyteller said, "My mother was a believer. That's why she did it. I'm not, but she was." It struck me that this woman who watched her mother's risk and sacrifice, who was sitting beside the person her mother saved, knows exactly why her mother did it, but rejects it all. Her mother knew a Savior who had given His life for her, and she took literally His command to shelter the orphan and the widow. She is lost.
I live and work in a nation who today recognized their sin. They tried to take steps to heal. But there is no healing, no forgiveness, no peace without the one who gave Himself so that we might live: "one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus, who gave himself as a ransom for all" (1 Timothy 2:5-6).
1 comment:
Wow,
Excellent post. Excellent commentary on the larger issue. This is the problem with losing sight of the gospel in the name of social justice. We should celebrate and work for social justice. I think we should do it even it is sometimes only symbollic. However, we must recognize that social justice is not the gospel. A french person who dies without Christ and faces an eternal judgement from God does not face that judgement because of a social sin of their country's past. They will face judgement because of their personal sin and lack of pardon in Jesus Christ alone. Yet, we find more celebration and "prophetic" work calling for symbolic acts of public repentance than we do for concrete repentance from lost sinners. Keep up the work. We are praying for you.
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