Gus & Rick: A Memorial Day Meditation
Hospice chaplaincy took its toll emotionally sometimes, but it was blessed work.
How grateful I was for those days, those days when God graced me with a little bit of the kingdom to keep me keepin' on. Usually, God’s grace came in the form of a patient sharing with me their story. Some days, I’d come home after the last visit full of gratitude.
A patient named Gus comes to mind this Memorial Day as we ponder the meaning of selfless service for one’s country.
Gus was 92-year-old man I visited just a couple of times. He graced me with his story and it helped me affirm the good in humanity and the goodness of my people.
During World War II, Gus was a drafted officer in the German army. He was injured in the infamous battle of Moscow in late 1941. He’d later return to battle and eventually was taken as a POW by American soldiers and brought to Memphis, Tennessee.
Gus spent a long while talking about how POW camps in America were different, a good different. He knew about the horror stories in Russia’s and Germany’s and Japan’s POW camps. America’s were, well, far more humane. This deeply impressed him.
Last week, I talked about the Christian ethic toward the enemy, that the goal is to love them. Gus saw this ethic at work toward him as a POW in Tennessee.
Of course, not all POW camps in America were the same or always ethical. And Tennessee at the time was in the throes of Jim Crow segregation. But Gus’s experience with the American military pointed to the ideal.
As a German POW there in Memphis, he worked as a baker in the camp. This was not a huge leap, considering that he was a baker back home before war happened.
His baker hands, once covered with flour and engaged in the art of producing apple strudel, were transformed, deformed really, to destroy with rifles. The white of baking powder was replaced by the black of gun powder. But in a turn of personal history, they were transformed back, reformed to again delve into flour and sugar and baking powder.
His boss, and that’s what Gus called him, at the camp bakery was an older Jewish man who, according to Gus, taught him a great deal about the art of bakery.
Ever see that bumper sticker, my boss is a Jewish carpenter? Well, Gus’s boss was a Jewish-American officer. For Nazis, little would have sounded worse. Thankfully, Gus was no Nazi, just a Lutheran-German who came to admire and respect his Jewish boss.
After the war, Gus was sent back home to Germany. But he knew he’d return to the U.S. If his experience in that POW camp in Memphis was any gauge, why would he not want to live there, this time freely and free?
Can you imagine a country’s POW camp being an influence on someone wanting to migrate to that country?
As soon as possible, Gus, back in Germany, placed his name on the long list of Germans with a dream, seeking refuge in America. And in the late 40's, this former German POW came back to the country of his imprisonment to begin a new life.
He landed in NY and would spend almost 30 some years in Long Island, where he met his German-American wife. He continued to rise early in the morning to bake the goods that delighted the tastebuds and that filled the bellies of many infamously picky and prickly “Lon'gislanders.”
Eventually, Gus became a U.S. citizen, and he and his wife moved to Florida, buying a small house on a country road. The small house had few windows and was too dark for them and their life in sunny Florida. They continually built onto the house, adding windows, working to transform it into a light-filled, garden-surrounded, and citrus-adorned home, the one I visited.
Gus supplemented his baking job at the local grocery store with landscaping, becoming the favorite landscaper in his neighborhood (which quickly had gone from a rural one to a suburban one). Gus didn’t mind this. He was not one for sitting idly and loved the feeling of working hard.
Well, the 92 year-old man shared with me his story, often with tears in his eyes. Our visit ended with him expressing admiration and compassion for the immigrant landscapers then working in his yard. He identified with their stories, and how they came here to survive, to work and provide for their families hundreds of miles away. He was angered how they were abused in the process, the Christian ethic not being applied. ‘
His experience of hardship and hard work instilled wisdom and compassion within him. He’d die a month or so later. I’d visit him in the dying process, pray the Lord’s Prayer at his bedside, graced by the one from whom all wisdom and compassion comes.
As it happened, a day after meeting a German POW named Gus, I met an 86 year-old American man named Rick. His story was sort of the opposite of Gus’s. He was a fighter pilot during the war, and his plane was shot down over Germany. It was his last run before going home, a homecoming that was delayed in horrific fashion. Many of his comrades died. Six, including himself, survived but were captured. He would spend 8 months as a POW in Nazi Germany.
Unlike Gus, who was a German POW in Tennessee and treated kindly enough, Rick was not so fortunate. He was tortured by a tall officer they called the Big Stupe. That Rick remembered his name is telling all by itself. He dealt with the trauma for the rest of his life.
My 86-year-old friend made it out alive, thanks to D-Day. But he endured the mental scars for years. Those scars kept a part of him dead. As his wife explained, it took a couple decades for him to even talk about it. But thanks to a POW/MIA group he became a part of, he eventually was able to let the trauma out and off his chest with fellow soldiers who understood firsthand and who embraced him.
His memory fading, the story was not so detailed or embellished. He told me the story matter of factly and downplayed its significance and harshness. He never spoke the words, "I am no hero." His face and expression said it more poignantly, pointing to the sacrifice he gave and the cost it took. Of course, he was a hero.
Rick died a month or so later. Like with Gus, I’d visit him in the dying process, pray the Lord’s Prayer at his bedside. He peacefully passed that night, peace the greatest gift.
Among the heroes in our world, those who gave the last full measure of devotion to a cause greater than self are at the top. POWs, both living and dead, are near there too. All are casualties of wars. At the same time, all are universal portraits of selflessness, courage, resilience, and devotion to country.
As I close, let me say this. Whenever a people loses their sense of humanity, their ability to see humanity in the other, that people has lost. And the loss is far more harmful and lasting than any bodily harm. The loss of our sense of humanity means the loss of our soul. There’s nothing worse than this.
I pray the virtues of humility and kindness found in the American people will overcome and keep and treasure what is in danger of being lost. I pray the golden rule maintains its luster and its worth for the spirit.
This Memorial Day, may you remember those who gave the utmost, their lives, their freedom. Before or after the parades and barbecues, I pray you will take the time to sit quietly for a few minutes to offer a prayer of gratitude in remembrance of their sacrifice, and then a prayer for the families of the fallen and the imprisoned and the traumatized, knowing the mixture of pride, grief, and concern is a struggle. Honor those who gave so much with your prayerful silence, gratitude, and support.
As for today, we do so now. Let us have a moment of silence to express our gratitude for the fallen and the POWs and offer our support for the families who experience their loss.
How grateful I was for those days, those days when God graced me with a little bit of the kingdom to keep me keepin' on. Usually, God’s grace came in the form of a patient sharing with me their story. Some days, I’d come home after the last visit full of gratitude.
A patient named Gus comes to mind this Memorial Day as we ponder the meaning of selfless service for one’s country.
Gus was 92-year-old man I visited just a couple of times. He graced me with his story and it helped me affirm the good in humanity and the goodness of my people.
During World War II, Gus was a drafted officer in the German army. He was injured in the infamous battle of Moscow in late 1941. He’d later return to battle and eventually was taken as a POW by American soldiers and brought to Memphis, Tennessee.
Gus spent a long while talking about how POW camps in America were different, a good different. He knew about the horror stories in Russia’s and Germany’s and Japan’s POW camps. America’s were, well, far more humane. This deeply impressed him.
Last week, I talked about the Christian ethic toward the enemy, that the goal is to love them. Gus saw this ethic at work toward him as a POW in Tennessee.
Of course, not all POW camps in America were the same or always ethical. And Tennessee at the time was in the throes of Jim Crow segregation. But Gus’s experience with the American military pointed to the ideal.
As a German POW there in Memphis, he worked as a baker in the camp. This was not a huge leap, considering that he was a baker back home before war happened.
His baker hands, once covered with flour and engaged in the art of producing apple strudel, were transformed, deformed really, to destroy with rifles. The white of baking powder was replaced by the black of gun powder. But in a turn of personal history, they were transformed back, reformed to again delve into flour and sugar and baking powder.
His boss, and that’s what Gus called him, at the camp bakery was an older Jewish man who, according to Gus, taught him a great deal about the art of bakery.
Ever see that bumper sticker, my boss is a Jewish carpenter? Well, Gus’s boss was a Jewish-American officer. For Nazis, little would have sounded worse. Thankfully, Gus was no Nazi, just a Lutheran-German who came to admire and respect his Jewish boss.
After the war, Gus was sent back home to Germany. But he knew he’d return to the U.S. If his experience in that POW camp in Memphis was any gauge, why would he not want to live there, this time freely and free?
Can you imagine a country’s POW camp being an influence on someone wanting to migrate to that country?
As soon as possible, Gus, back in Germany, placed his name on the long list of Germans with a dream, seeking refuge in America. And in the late 40's, this former German POW came back to the country of his imprisonment to begin a new life.
He landed in NY and would spend almost 30 some years in Long Island, where he met his German-American wife. He continued to rise early in the morning to bake the goods that delighted the tastebuds and that filled the bellies of many infamously picky and prickly “Lon'gislanders.”
Eventually, Gus became a U.S. citizen, and he and his wife moved to Florida, buying a small house on a country road. The small house had few windows and was too dark for them and their life in sunny Florida. They continually built onto the house, adding windows, working to transform it into a light-filled, garden-surrounded, and citrus-adorned home, the one I visited.
Gus supplemented his baking job at the local grocery store with landscaping, becoming the favorite landscaper in his neighborhood (which quickly had gone from a rural one to a suburban one). Gus didn’t mind this. He was not one for sitting idly and loved the feeling of working hard.
Well, the 92 year-old man shared with me his story, often with tears in his eyes. Our visit ended with him expressing admiration and compassion for the immigrant landscapers then working in his yard. He identified with their stories, and how they came here to survive, to work and provide for their families hundreds of miles away. He was angered how they were abused in the process, the Christian ethic not being applied. ‘
His experience of hardship and hard work instilled wisdom and compassion within him. He’d die a month or so later. I’d visit him in the dying process, pray the Lord’s Prayer at his bedside, graced by the one from whom all wisdom and compassion comes.
As it happened, a day after meeting a German POW named Gus, I met an 86 year-old American man named Rick. His story was sort of the opposite of Gus’s. He was a fighter pilot during the war, and his plane was shot down over Germany. It was his last run before going home, a homecoming that was delayed in horrific fashion. Many of his comrades died. Six, including himself, survived but were captured. He would spend 8 months as a POW in Nazi Germany.
Unlike Gus, who was a German POW in Tennessee and treated kindly enough, Rick was not so fortunate. He was tortured by a tall officer they called the Big Stupe. That Rick remembered his name is telling all by itself. He dealt with the trauma for the rest of his life.
My 86-year-old friend made it out alive, thanks to D-Day. But he endured the mental scars for years. Those scars kept a part of him dead. As his wife explained, it took a couple decades for him to even talk about it. But thanks to a POW/MIA group he became a part of, he eventually was able to let the trauma out and off his chest with fellow soldiers who understood firsthand and who embraced him.
His memory fading, the story was not so detailed or embellished. He told me the story matter of factly and downplayed its significance and harshness. He never spoke the words, "I am no hero." His face and expression said it more poignantly, pointing to the sacrifice he gave and the cost it took. Of course, he was a hero.
Rick died a month or so later. Like with Gus, I’d visit him in the dying process, pray the Lord’s Prayer at his bedside. He peacefully passed that night, peace the greatest gift.
Among the heroes in our world, those who gave the last full measure of devotion to a cause greater than self are at the top. POWs, both living and dead, are near there too. All are casualties of wars. At the same time, all are universal portraits of selflessness, courage, resilience, and devotion to country.
I pray the virtues of humility and kindness found in the American people will overcome and keep and treasure what is in danger of being lost. I pray the golden rule maintains its luster and its worth for the spirit.
This Memorial Day, may you remember those who gave the utmost, their lives, their freedom. Before or after the parades and barbecues, I pray you will take the time to sit quietly for a few minutes to offer a prayer of gratitude in remembrance of their sacrifice, and then a prayer for the families of the fallen and the imprisoned and the traumatized, knowing the mixture of pride, grief, and concern is a struggle. Honor those who gave so much with your prayerful silence, gratitude, and support.
As for today, we do so now. Let us have a moment of silence to express our gratitude for the fallen and the POWs and offer our support for the families who experience their loss.
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