Drama in Frankfurt

Germany last week was a stage for an unexpected act in a great drama--the struggle between the pain and glory of freedom under God and the numb death of tyranny under man. It was Kirchentag--a five-day rally of Germany's Evangelical Church--and church officials had never seen such crowds. Protestants streamed in from all over the country, 80,000 on the first day, 300,000 at the close (the U.S. Army provided tents to house some of the visitors). Long before the proceedings began, they packed medieval Roemerberg Square and flowed out into the surrounding side streets, eating sausages and drinking beer before getting down to the serious business. The festive atmosphere suggested a public disputation from Reformation times. Banners waved; huge flats proclaimed such Christian symbols as a cross, a dove, a hand, the watchful eye of God. Dignitaries of state and black-robed bishops sat in bleachers, preparing to watch the debate that was shaping up. What made the occasion particularly poignant was the presence of 23,000 Protestants from the East zone, who have been living under Communist rule.

Church officials tried hard to muffle political realities. "Be ye reconciled to God" (II Corinthians 5: 20) was the official theme, and Pastor Martin Niemoeller opened the Kirchentag with a sermon that steered clear of secular applications. But in a Germany that is bifurcated geographically, politically and ideologically, the word reconciliation had overtones. One was "reunification"; another the question of conciliation between the Christians in East Germany and the Communist state; another the conflict, in the Evangelical Church itself, between the pro-West faction and neutralists.

The Flaming Cherub. The discussion groups at Frankfurt's fair grounds on the Kirchentag's second day were broken up into six themes, but by far the biggest drawing card was "People and Politics." Bonn government officials were on hand to listen, and from East Germany came Deputy Premier Otto Nuschke and President Johannes Dieckmann of the East zone's rubber-stamp parliament. While Nuschke fidgeted and nervously massaged his nose, a crowd of 12,000 heard Evangelical Leader Guenter Jacob of Cottbus, East Germany describe the sinister magnetism the totalitarian state exerts upon man. Applause had been discouraged by Kirchentag officials, but again and again the crowd broke in to cheer Jacob's words.

"The [materialist] system," he said, "confronts disjointed man, driven about as he is by a compulsion to flee and hide from God ... in the guise of exact science ... In the name of science God is explained as a mere reflex of a primitive state of fear . . . Thus the system promises man deliverance from God and, simultaneously, deliverance from the anxiety deep down in himself. Suppose the flaming cherub were not really posted before the closed gate of Paradise at all? Suppose the gate were unlocked and all you need do is to enter, in mighty concert with progressive humanity . . .? Would you, then, not at last find steadiness and purpose . . .?

"Let there be no mistake about this: such a system founded on godlessness is something of a magnetic field . . . But such a system ever remains merely another hiding place for man, like a giant, massive concrete bunker." And the voice of God penetrates even the bunker. "That is why all attempts in the East and in the West to achieve salvation and wholeness under . . . godlessness are doomed to impotence."

"Help Us!" From then on, the Kirchentag was aflame with the thought of freedom. Next day Otto Nuschke was scorched by the flame. "Help us, Brother Nuschke," someone cried, "so that we may speak freely in our churches!" Paunchy old Otto Nuschke ascended the speaker's stand, and his grey Vandyke waggled as he launched into familiar appeals for the banning of atomic weapons, declared that the "materialistic" state was actually trying to help the churches. But no one was listening. As the hostile hubbub in the hall increased, a voice called out: "You have stabbed the church in the back, Brother Nuschke . . ."

"Not true, not true," muttered Otto Nuschke. He picked up his cane and stumped out of the hall. Earlier, Johannes Dieckmann had sped homeward in his black Russian Zis limousine.

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