Conference Report: Faith and the First World War, University of Glasgow, 21-23 July 2016

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 3 (September 2016)

Conference Report: Faith and the First World War, University of Glasgow, 21-23 July 2016

By Geoff Jackson, Ambrose University

In late July, I had the opportunity to participate in the “Faith and the First World War” conference at the University of Glasgow. The conference explored the wide diversity and significance of religious faith for those who experienced the First World War, addressing themes such as faith in the armed forces and on the home front, religion, war resistance and the peace crusade, as well as the role of religion in remembrance.

The keynote address was delivered by Michael Snape of Durham University, a leading Anglican historian, who delivered the fascinating paper “From Flanders to Helmand: Chaplaincy, Faith and Religious Change in the British Army, 1914-2014.” While commenting on the obvious differences between the ways wars have been fought from the First World War to present-day conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq, he argued that the role of chaplains was largely unchanged. He demonstrated convincingly that the relationship of faith to soldiers was still as important today as it was 100 years ago. This idea of faith and soldiers was the dominant theme of the conference, and ran throughout most of the presentations.

The papers covered a broad range of themes ranging from discussion of the use of the Old Testament in mobilizing Germans for the war effort to comparative studies on how the Scottish and Irish Reformed churches participated in the First World War. Gerhard Besier of the Technical University of Dresden presented on “Harmonizing Conflicting Demands and Emotions: Christian Believers during WWI.” Cyril Pearce of the University of Leeds examined Christian war resisters and their protests during the war. Pearce has mined war documents, letters, images, tribunal records and diaries to create a list of over 16,000 First World War conscientious objectors. He has also begun mapping these names, where possible, to identify communities were conscientious objection was more prevalent.

Another excellent paper was British archivist James W. Fleming’s “‘All war being contrary to the spirit and teaching of Jesus Christ I could take no part in its prosecution’: Faith and Conscientious Objection in the First World War.” Fleming analyzed conscientious objector applications–both those that were accepted and those that were denied. This could be a valuable source for those interested in studying the topic.

My (Geoff Jackson’s) paper examined the role of Canadian chaplains as part of the larger British Expeditionary Force. It examined the role of Church of England chaplains through the optics of a transnational study to demonstrate that Anglican chaplains, as part of the same religious organization, played similar but distinct roles in various national contexts. The paper argued that, depending on which national army the chaplains were working under, they had different objectives, motivations, outside influences and pressures, all of which affected the care they were able to administer to the soldiers. It generated some fascinating debate, and I also received a book from a chaplain who saw service in Afghanistan and Iraq–a really special treat.

The third day of the conference examined the role of women peace crusaders. The opening paper, “‘If Christ could be militant so could I’: Helen Crawfurd and the Women’s Peace Crusade, 1916-1918,” was delivered by activist and historian Lesley Orr, previously of the Universities of Glasgow and Edinburgh. The balance of the day was spent on a walk to commemorate the first Women’s Peace Crusade. In its original form, the first Women’s Peace Crusade marched from George Square to Glasgow Green, drawing crowds of thousands. This Crusade grew into a mass international women’s peace movement. Since early 2016 a group of amateur women historians have been discovering some of the remarkable women involved. 100 years later to the day a similar parade was held (albeit, with far fewer participants). It was a poignant walk on a fortunately sunny day.

The people and campus of the University of Glasgow were fantastic. I had the chance to explore the university and its chapel which was built in remembrance of the students who fought and died during the First World War. This conference reinvigorated my desire to research Canadian chaplains and their roles in the First World War.

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Film Note: Nazi Law: Legally Blind (2016)

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 3 (September 2016)

Film Note: Nazi Law: Legally Blind (2016)

By Christopher Probst, Washington University in St. Louis, University College

Nazi-LawIn post-WWI Germany, law had been  a most respected entity, with the country thriving thanks to its most capable lawyers and judges, many of them Jewish. In 1933, no law could inhibit the Third Reich’s political and military rise to power. In a step-by-step process, the National Socialist government dismantled constitutional law, usurped justice and created a lethal totalitarian system that soon engulfed Germany and all of Europe. Redefining the nation as a pure political and biological organism, the Nazi government imposed legislation that reinforced its ideological program in all aspects of German life, with a focus on race, business, religion and medicine. Filmed at Boston College during a conference on Nazi law, as well as  in Nuremberg, Munich and Dachau, this documentary relies on the expertise of scholars from Germany, France, Israel and the US. They come from the areas of medicine, law, Jewish Studies, theology and other disciplines.

The film is co-produced by John J. Michalczyk and Susan A. Michalczyk. For more information, please see the Etoile Productions website or contact Professor John J. Michalczyk.

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Call for Papers: Religion and Ethno-nationalism in the Era of the World Wars

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 3 (September 2016)

Call for Papers: Religion and Ethno-nationalism in the Era of the World Wars, May 21-23, 2017, University of Toronto

The Jack, Joseph and Morton Mandel Center for Advanced Holocaust Studies, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum and the Chancellor Rose and Ray Wolfe Chair of Holocaust Studies, University of Toronto invite scholars, including advanced graduate students, to submit applications for a symposium on religion and ethno-nationalism in the first half of the 20th century. The symposium will conduct a broad comparative and transnational examination of the intersections of religion, ethno-nationalism, fascism, antisemitism, and violence during this period. By analyzing the ways in which religious groups, institutions, and networks engaged political and social upheaval in and beyond Europe, we hope to identify broader patterns that can deepen our understanding of the dynamics shaping the roles of religious actors before and during the Holocaust.

Applicants should propose papers based on new research (including work-in-progress); submissions may focus on specific case studies or the broader themes suggested above. Papers will be pre-circulated to all participants. We especially invite applications from emerging scholars and from scholars across a range of disciplines whose work addresses a variety of geographic, religious, and linguistic traditions. Conference proceedings and papers will be in English. Travel costs, accommodations, and some meals will be covered for accepted participants.

Please submit a 1-2 page CV and a 1 page application including: a description of the proposed paper; a short explanation of the stage of your research (i.e., work-in-progress, new paper, previously published); and a brief statement on how your research and expertise might contribute to a broader discussion of the larger themes of the symposium.

Please submit applications as a single PDF to Dr. Rebecca Carter-Chand, Symposium Coordinator, at r.carter.chand@utoronto.ca by October 1, 2016. Accepted applicants will be notified by November 15, 2016.

The symposium chairs are Victoria Barnett, Director of the Programs on Ethics, Religion, and the Holocaust, United States Holocaust Memorial Museum; Doris Bergen, Chancellor Rose and Ray Wolfe Professor of Holocaust Studies, University of Toronto; and Kevin P. Spicer, C.S.C., James J. Kenneally Professor of History, Stonehill College.

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Letter from the Editors (June 2016)

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Letter from the Editors (June 2016)

By Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University

Greetings friends,

Memorial tablet to Dr. Friedrich Weissler, member of the Confessing Church murdered for his Jewish ancestry and participation in the 1936 Confessing Church protest memorandum to Hitler. Photo courtesy of Axel Ma

Memorial tablet to Dr. Friedrich Weissler, member of the Confessing Church murdered for his Jewish ancestry and participation in the 1936 Confessing Church protest memorandum to Hitler. Photo courtesy of Axel Mauruszat, https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Gedenktafel_Friedrich_Weißler.jpg

As summer unfolds, we are pleased to issue our newest edition of the Contemporary Church History Quarterly. It is highlighted by a short editorial written by Matthew D. Hockenos, who considers the mixed legacy of the May 1936 Confessin Church memorandum to Hitler, which has just passed its 80th anniversary.

Accompanying this are four book reviews–three by the indefatigable John S. Conway, who examines new works on the Anglican Church, the ecumenical movement, and the German Christian Movement, and one by Victoria J. Barnett, who assesses a substantial study of the German churches of the postwar era and their relationship to the history of the destruction of the Jews. Two short article notes–one on Bonhoeffer and one on Nazi religious policy–round out our reviews this issue.

We hope you enjoy and are challenged by this scholarship on contemporary church history. We would love to hear any feedback you have, either through the comments section following each contribution, or via email to the managing editor at kjantzen@ambrose.edu.

On behalf of my editorial colleagues,

Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University

 

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On the Confessing Church’s June 1936 Memorandum to Hitler

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

On the Confessing Church’s June 1936 Memorandum to Hitler

By Matthew D. Hockenos, Skidmore College

This month marks the 80th anniversary of the Confessing Church’s most courageous act of opposition to Hitler’s regime. On June 4, 1936, Pastor Wilhelm Jannasch of the Confessing Church delivered to the Reich Chancellery a memorandum addressed to Adolf Hitler that stands out in the history of the Church Struggle for its frank criticism of Nazi church policy and, more remarkably, the Nazi attempt to force racial anti-Semitism on the Christian population. It is both unfortunate and highly illuminating that this extraordinary act of resistance remains tarnished by the Confessing Church’s decision to distance itself from Friedrich Weißler, a Christian of Jewish descent, who the Nazis arrested for his role in the publication of the memorandum and eventually murdered in Sachsenhausen concentration camp.

Following the decisive break in the confessional front at the fourth confessional synod in Bad Oeynhausen in February 1936, the Niemöller wing of the Confessing Church represented by the Second Provisional Church Administration and the “Dahlemites” in the Council for the German Evangelical Church drafted the memorandum to Hitler. The memorandum went through several renditions and, as is often the case with statements written by committees, it lost some of its sharpness as the process went on for several weeks. In Martin Greschat’s book on the memorandum, Zwischen Widerspruch und Widerstand, he identifies the theologian Hans Asmussen as one of its principal authors; other signees included Fritz Müller, Martin Albertz, Hans Böhm, Bernhard Heinrich Forck, and Otto Fricke of the Provisional Administration and Karl Lücking, Friedrich Middendorf, Martin Niemöller, and Reinhold von Thadden of the Council for the German Evangelical Church.

The primary focus of the memorandum’s seven sections was to criticize Nazi church policy, especially the state’s interference in the affairs of the church. Instead of providing the churches with the freedom and protection Hitler promised in 1933, the authors claimed that the Nazi state and party were guilty of publically assailing the Christian faith, muzzling church leaders, and trying to de-Christianize the nation. Church leaders had complained about all of these incursions in the religious life of the population before but never with such transparency and brutal honesty, calling out Nazi leaders Joseph Goebbels, Alfred Rosenberg, Hanns Kerrl, and even Hitler for harsh criticism.

But by far the most impressive and distinctive section of the document is the one in which the Confessing Church turns its sight on Nazi racial thought and in two succinct sentences rejects the Nazi racial worldview and racial anti-Semitism:

When blood, ethnicity, race, and honor here receive the rank of eternal values, then the Evangelical Christian is forced by the First Commandment to reject this valuation. When the Aryan human being is glorified, God’s Word is witness to the sinfulness of all humans; when anti-Semitism, which binds him to hatred of Jews, is imposed upon the Christian framework of the National Socialist world view, then for him the Christian commandment to love one’s fellow human stands opposed to it.

These are extremely courageous words in the context of the mid-1930s when Hitler was cracking down on dissent with increasing brutality. Prior to the memorandum only a few lone voices from within the Confessing Church had the courage to condemn racial anti-Semitism toward unbaptized Jews.  We should be clear, however, that while the fifth section calls on Christians to counter Nazi hatred toward Jews by following the commandment to love one’s neighbor, the memorandum does not condemn the religious anti-Semitism prevalent within the churches that viewed unbaptized Jews as “erring brothers” who crucified Jesus and lived under God’s eternal damnation.

The authors of the memorandum had hoped to keep its contents confidential until after Hitler had an opportunity to read the document and to respond. Despite their efforts, the document was leaked and published in the foreign press in July, just as Berlin was gearing up for the summer Olympics. Nazi officials were irate, as was the leadership of the Confessing Church. Among those responsible for its publication was Ernst Tillich, a down-and-out 26-year-old former theology student with connections to the press. He had borrowed a copy of the memorandum from Friedrich Weißler, the bureau chief and a legal consultant for the Provisional Church Government, copied it verbatim, and shared it with journalists for a fee. When the Provisional Church Government learned that it was Weißler who provided Tillich with a copy of the memorandum, it suspended Weißler for breach of trust.

In October and November 1936 the Gestapo arrested Tillich, his friend Werner Koch, and Weißler on “suspicion of illegal activity,” i.e., colluding with the foreign press against the Nazi regime. All three were sent to the police prison at Alexanderplatz, where they were interrogated, and then to Sachsenhausen concentration camp in February 1937. Because Weißler was a Jew as defined by the Nazi state, he was immediately separated from Tillich and Koch and, after six days of torture at the hands of the SS camp guards, Weißler died. Koch and Tillich, on the other hand, were released in 1938 and 1939, respectively.

During the crucial weeks and months of Weißler’s internment—when intervention by leading churchmen might have been effective—leaders of the Confessing Church, including Martin Niemöller, deliberately distanced themselves from their colleague in order to protect the reputation of the Confessing Church from the political charge that Weißler had acted treasonably by publishing the memorandum. Let there be no misunderstanding: Hitler’s racial state was responsible for the murder of Friedrich Weißler—not the Confessing Church—but it is a shame that his brothers in Christ did not even attempt to intervene on his behalf, being well aware of his special status as baptized Jew.

The Niemöller wing of the Confessing Church should be applauded for the unequivocal stance it took in June 1936 against Nazi racial anti-Semitism. At no time before or after did the Confessing Church repeat this rebuke with such clarity. But in the aftermath of the memorandum’s premature publication, fearing a Nazi crackdown, they disassociated themselves from their most vulnerable of colleagues, leaving Weißler to his fate at the hands of the SS. The legacy of the “Hitler Memo” is in many ways the legacy of the Confessing Church, a legacy that includes courage and cowardice, opposition and accommodation, and resistance and complicity.

 

 

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Review of Tetyana Pavlush, Kirche nach Auschwitz zwischen Theologie und Vergangenheitspolitik

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Review of Tetyana Pavlush, Kirche nach Auschwitz zwischen Theologie und Vergangenheitspolitik: Die Auseinandersetzung der evangelischen Kirchen beider deutscher Staaten mit der Judenvernichtung im “Dritten Reich” im politsch-gesellschaftlichen Kontext (Frankfurt: Peter Lang Edition, 2015). Pp. 573. ISBN: 9783631656655.

By Victoria J. Barnett, U. S. Holocaust Memorial Museum

This book (the author’s 2014 dissertation at the Freie Universitat in Berlin) examines how the Holocaust and its legacy were addressed between 1945 and 1989 by Protestant church leaders, journalists, laypeople, and theologians in the German Democratic Republic (GDR) and the Federal Republic of Germany (FRG). It is an ambitious work that traces church and public discourses about the Holocaust, antisemitism, Jewish-Christian relations, post-Holocaust theology, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and issues of memorialization, in conjunction with the major events and anniversaries that raised public awareness of these issues and often provoked national debates. The Cold War issues always lurk in the background.

imagePavlush focuses primarily on four events: the 1961 trial of Adolf Eichmann and the wave of antisemitism that swept Germany around the same time; the controversy about Rolf Hochhuth’s 1963 play Der Stellvertreter (The Deputy); the 1967 Six-Day War; and the 1979 national broadcast in the FRG of the U.S. television docudrama The Holocaust. In a separate chapter she examines the 1968, 1978, and 1988 anniversaries of the November 9 pogroms (“Kristallnacht”) as indicators of how East and West Germans viewed their history.

She sets her discussion of these events within a larger framework that draws on three intersecting levels of analysis to trace how German Protestants in general addressed their past throughout this period. The first level is a comparison between public and church conversations about the Nazi past and the Holocaust in the GDR and FRG. The second charts the chronological course of Vergangenheitsbewältigung (the process of dealing with the past) over the decades as evinced by the aforementioned controversies and responses to them. Here she examines how the public discourses in East and West changed over time as measured by specific events (this is best illustrated by her comparisons between the different “Kristallnacht” anniversaries). The third examines how international events, such as the Eichmann trial, the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and the Vietnam war, influenced church and public conversations about Germany’s past and its contemporary obligations.

Clearly, any one of these topics would suffice as a dissertation topic, and the scope and complexity of this work is simultaneously its strength and weakness. In many ways this is a masterful survey of the major postwar controversies and developments over the decades as Germans addressed their past. It illustrates how engaged the Protestant churches were in this process. There is a wealth of background information and documentation, the events she has selected were indeed turning points, and she gives helpful context to the various debates. Juggling so many events, time periods, and underlying narrative currents, however, makes for an extraordinary level of complexity, and Pavlush navigates this complexity more successfully in some places than in others.

She does a fine job of tracking and contextualizing the different discourses in East and West, and this may be the book’s most valuable contribution. From the beginning, the two postwar German states defined their relationship to the Nazi past differently. Aligned with the eastern bloc, the GDR became tied to Soviet narratives that emphasized anti-fascist and Communist opposition to the Third Reich. National Socialism was portrayed as a capitalist phenomenon, and the issues of antisemitism and the genocide of the European Jews were seldom addressed. Although there was a small Jewish population in the East (and her account of the role of Jewish leaders in the GDR is fascinating), Jewish-Christian dialogue existed only to a limited degree, whereas it quickly developed a visible and importantly symbolic function in the west. Throughout its history the GDR never established diplomatic relations with the state of Israel. As Pavlush notes, this reality led to an “asymmetrical” dynamic between East and West: there was a lot more going on in the FDR than in the GDR. As a parliamentary democracy firmly anchored in the West, the FRG quickly assumed the mantel of responsibility in the international arena for addressing the past through reparations, war crimes trials, and relations with Israel. By the early 1950s, there was a public square in the FRG in which the Nazi past had become a constant point of reference for international and domestic issues.

What Germans understood by the very concept of “the Nazi past” varied greatly, however, particularly in the 1950s and 1960s. Public opinion polls in the late 1940s showed that almost 40% of Germans retained antisemitic attitudes, and there were outbursts of antisemitic violence. The EKD’s 1945 Stuttgart declaration made no direct reference to the murders of the Jews. The Württemburg Society’s 1946 declaration and the April 1948 declaration of guilt toward the Jewish people by the church of Saxony were the earliest church attempts to address the Holocaust explicitly. Like the EKD’s 1948 Wort zur Judenfrage, these statements offer a snapshot of the theological challenges and the political difficulties of the time. There was a general failure to address church complicity and acknowledge the relationship between Christian theological teachings about Judaism and Nazi antisemitism, and the persecution of the Jews was often conflated with general postwar German suffering.

Moreover, many of the leading Protestant figures in the postwar era had historical baggage of their own. In their responses to postwar controversies, they sought to justify their role before 1945 and place themselves on the right side of postwar history, as can be seen in the often opposing political positions taken by figures like Eugen Gerstenmaier, Otto Dibelius, Lothar Kreyssig, Martin Niemoeller, and Helmut Gollwitzer. Events like the Eichmann trial and the Hochhuth play became litmus tests for competing versions of history. One of the advantages of studying a forty-year period is that the differences between the different generations of prominent Protestants become evident. Pavlush delineates three clear generations, driven by different life experiences, postwar agendas and worldviews: those who were already active in or had begun their careers by the 1930s; those born during the late 1920s and early 1930s, who came of age during the Nazi era (Johann Baptist Metz, Jürgen Moltmann, and Dorothee Soelle), and the third generation, born during the late 1930s or 1940s (Bertold Klappert, Peter von der Osten-Sacken), who were still children in 1945. Many in the second generation turned critically against the first, often not only historically but politically in terms of Cold War issues. The last generation was the one that became most engaged in Jewish-Christian dialogue. She also examines the role of the different Jewish leaders on both sides of the border who engaged with Protestants about these issues: Siegmund Rotstein, Robert Raphael Geis, Eugen Gollomb, Nathan Levinson, and Edna Brocke.

The first Jewish-Christian organizations began quite early, often founded by those who had been engaged in rescue or resistance activities before 1945. In 1949 the German Koordinationsrates der Juden und Christen was founded, and during the 1950s groups for Jewish-Christian cooperation emerged in the major cities. The three German organizations for Judenmission, which had been dissolved during the Third Reich, reconstituted themselves as well, and so another ongoing tension in the German discussion was between those engaged in dialogue with Jews and those who wanted to revive Protestant efforts to evangelize and convert Jews. In 1958 Lothar Kreyssig, a judge and Confessing Church layman who had attempted to halt the euthanasia program, founded Action Reconciliation (Aktion Sühnezeichen) under the auspices of the EKD. The organization began to send young Germans to serve in countries that had been occupied by the Nazis, and the first AS volunteer to Israel arrived after the Eichmann trial.

By this time there were some striking differences between the FRG and the GDR. Young East Germans couldn’t get visas for the Aktion Sühnezeichen trips, for example. Yet the 1961 Kirchentag (which convened in the early summer before the construction of the Berlin Wall in August; it was the last Kirchentag that East and West Germans celebrated jointly until 1991) helped spur a new phase of Jewish-Christian engagement in both Germanys. Dusseldorf Rabbi Robert Raphael Geis gave the keynote address. The EKD working group on “Jews and Christians” (Arbeitsgemeinschaft ‘Juden und Christen’) was founded at the 1961 Kirchentag, as a sign of the churches’ commitment to fostering Jewish-Christian relations.
Pavlush’s discussion of the emergence of Jewish-Christian relationships and the related church statements is the most uneven aspect of the work. That’s partly because of how the book is structured; many of the seminal statements on Jewish-Christian relations were direct responses to the events she discusses separately in other chapters. Hence, her treatment of this issue is scattered across the different chapters and interwoven with other topics without a clear transition from one point to another. Sometimes there’s not even a clear chronology. She deals in a single paragraph, for example, with the national EKD study commission on Kirche und Judentum in 1967, its 1975 study, the 1981 Rhineland synod, and the 1965 establishment of the Institut für die Erforschung der Geschichte der Juden in Deutschland in Hamburg. Rather than going into detail about the genesis of these developments and the ways in which they addressed the past and contemporary issues, she then discusses Nostra Aetate before giving a brief overview of how the Middle East conflict affected Jewish-Christian dialogue in the GDR. Among other things, this book could really use an index.

The other problem is the blurring of lines between Catholic and Protestant issues and responses. Although this book is ostensibly about the Protestant churches, the author ventures into issues that were far more significant for the Catholic church (such as Nostra Aetate and the Hochhuth play), and she also refers to some of the Catholic Jewish-Christian circles and statements. This adds another thread of complexity to an already complex work, although it does illustrate the extent to which these events drew reactions from both churches. The primary example is her discussion of Rolf Hochhuth’s 1963 play The Deputy, which provoked a firestorm because of its critical portrayal of Pope Pius XII. Because of the considerable public debate and widespread media coverage of Hochhuth, one can make the case that Protestant reactions give some insight into the public discourse about Nazi history at the time. Some Protestant observers viewed the play as a broader critique on both the Catholic and Protestant churches. In the GDR, Hochhuth’s condemnation of the Pope was seen as part of a deeper critique against fascism and the West. In its timing, the play coincided with (and perhaps helped provoke) the beginnings of the attacks on the legends of the Church Struggle. Certainly this was how figures like Otto Dibelius viewed it; he attacked Hochhuth for a “cheap and highly naïve version of history.” As in so many other postwar events, the dividing lines from the era of the Protestant Church Struggle reappeared. In contrast to Dibelius, Helmut Gollwitzer and Gunther Harder supported Hochhuth’s critique of the Pope, extending it to the Protestant churches as well.

The 1961 trial of Adolf Eichmann in Jerusalem was another major turning point. In 1959/60 there had been a wave of antisemitic violence, which led the churches to issue statements condemning antisemitism. While many of the EKD leaders spoke out (Otto Dibelius, who was chair of the EKD council at the time, sent a telegram of solidarity to Ben Gurion in Israel) Pavlush observes that the substance of the statements didn’t really go beyond what had been said at the 1950 Weissensee synod. Yet the trial itself demanded and provoked a rawer engagement with the past.

It aroused special interest among Protestant leaders because the only non-Jewish German witness was Heinrich Grüber, who had led the Confessing Church’s office to help “non-Aryans” (most but not all of them baptized Christians). In that capacity Grüber had dealt with Eichmann directly. In a church newspaper before the trial, Grüber wrote memorably that “it was only the ‘Hitler in us’ that gave power to the ‘Hitler over us’” and urged the German press to report on the trial in a way that would help German readers to feel a personal connection to what had happened in the Holocaust. Grüber used the trial as the occasion to confront his fellow Germans, noting the number of Nazis who had found their way into prominent postwar positions, and he charged EKD leaders with the failure of repudiating their earlier antisemitic statements. He also warned that the trial could be misused in the Cold War context to awaken tensions between the two German states—and was criticized by East Germans as a consequence. Pavlush examines the reactions on both sides of the German border, as well as perspectives of the Israeli audience, including Holocaust survivors, for whom Grüber’s testimony often seemed defensive and an attempt at apologia.

The trial compelled Germans to take a position about their past and their German identity in the contemporary world. The 1967 Six-Day war was another such occasion. Pavlush contextualizes it in the broader landscape of the 1960s, which included the student rebellions, the Vietnam War, the beginnings of a more critical view of the German churches record under Nazism, and the emergence of a new generation of political theologians like Dorothee Soelle who applied the lessons of the Holocaust to the burning issues of the 1960s. This chapter offers a good discussion of the theological and political debates of that era. The Cold War realities and alliances shaped perspectives in East and West toward the state of Israel, which in turn affected how Protestants viewed the agenda for Jewish-Christian relations. Here too there were generational and political divides. Some from the first generation of Church Struggle veterans viewed solidarity with Israel as a necessary moral position for postwar Germans; others were critical of the West and Israel. The mood in the GDR was largely anti-Zionist, although there were isolated voices in the GDR churches that called for greater balance on the issues and supported Israel’s right to defend itself.

The final example, the 1979 nationwide broadcast of Holocaust, was another turning point in the West. Yet unlike the Eichmann trial and the Hochhuth play, it didn’t trigger a similar widespread discussion in the GDR. It was broadcast only in the FRG, of course, but as Pavlush notes, it is striking that East Germans didn’t seem to follow or engage with the intense press debates and coverage in the West. Once again, however, the broadcast coincided with other events to spur a new wave of discussion about the past. In the decade that followed in the FRG, there was a growing number of forums and conferences at the church academies, new and more critical scholarship on the role of the churches during the Nazi era, and civic initiatives around the country in which local communities began to examine their history. A related development was the 17-page 1978 EKD study, Zur Verfolgung des Judentums durch den Nationalsozialismus, which traced not only the church’s record between 1933 and 1945, but critically examined how the Protestant church had interpreted (and sometimes misconstrued) that history after 1945 – for example, by conflating the suffering of the Jews with that of postwar Germans and by politicizing the Kristallnacht commemorations.
Pavlush’s book illustrates that the process of theological and political Vergangenheitsbewältigung was shaped by numerous factors over the decades between 1945 and 1989, and she shows how often the attempts to address the Nazi past became part of contemporary political agendas. Ironically, the photograph on the book cover itself highlights the complexity of the issues that confronted postwar churches. It shows the main stage at the Jewish-Christian dialogue session at the 1961 Kirchentag, with the Star of David and the Kirchentag symbols prominently displayed. Then and now, the Protestant Kirchentag symbol consists of a large central cross surrounded by four smaller crosses in each quadrant—virtually identical to the symbol of the Romanian Iron Guard, an antisemitic clerico-fascist group that sought to merge Orthodox Christianity and fascism during the 1920s and 1930s. Its adoption as the Kirchentag logo was no doubt unintentional, but it’s unlikely that this went completely unnoticed by Jewish and international visitors (one of my colleagues at the Holocaust Museum immediately asked me about it). Over seventy years after the defeat of Nazi Germany, the historical minefields continue to exist.

Note: The views expressed in this review are those of the author and do not necessarily represent those of the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum or any other organization.

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Review of Mary M. Solberg, ed. and trans., A Church Undone: Documents from the German Christian Faith Movement, 1932-1940

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Review of Mary M. Solberg, ed. and trans., A Church Undone: Documents from the German Christian Faith Movement, 1932-1940 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2015). Pp. 486. ISBN 9781451464726.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Since 1945, Nazism has been universally condemned. Historians have written extensively, but always pejoratively, about its personalities, its politics, its ideology, and particularly its crimes, which culminated in the Holocaust. As a result, less research has been carried out, and always negatively, into the reasons why Nazism gained support from an overwhelming majority of Germans, including many Protestant churchmen and women. Particularly vocal in Nazism’s cause was the minority group pf Protestants known as the German Christian Faith Movement, whose members very actively sought to introduce and popularize Nazi ideas into the liturgical and practical life of their parishes. Mary Solberg has now selected and translated into English a useful collection of this group’s writings, which provide an English-speaking readership with the full range of their ideas. Presumably she feels that the time is not yet ripe, or the audience not yet ready, for any extended analysis of these sources.

Solberg-ChurchDespite the excellent contributions of such authors as James Zabel, Doris Bergen and Robert Ericksen, Solberg feels that “far too few people in or out of the academy know far too little“ about the conduct of the churches In Hitler’s Germany. But her extended introduction clearly indicates her approach to answering the questions posed by her documents: specifically what role did this German Christian Faith Movement play in the wider picture; how successful or significant were its supporters in the rise and maintenance of Nazism, at least up to 1940; and how should Christians and churches today learn from this example of a church undone? Her skillful translations of the writings of several prominent members of this movement will be of considerable value to those who do not read German, but it would have been helpful to have a biographical note or appendix outlining the careers of these authors. Her conclusion is that this was not a unique episode, that the conflation of political, racist and nationalist ideas with theological witness is a constant temptation, and therefore that the German experience in the 1930s deserves further study by both theologians and historians.

The opening chapter provides us with the original Guidelines of the German Christian Faith Movement, written in 1932 by Pastor Joachim Hossenfelder, who went on to become Bishop of Brandenburg in September 1933. He shared the views of many younger clergymen who regarded the leaders of the various provincial Protestant churches as outdated conservatives. They had failed to catch the spirit of renewal needed to bring Protestant witness up-to-date. By contrast, the Nazi Party had caught the imagination of the people and had already affirmed in its platform through its support for “Positive Christianity”. The church could not afford to be left behind, but should rally its supporters behind the values of the German race, ethnicity, and nation, following the lead given by Adolf Hitler. Armed with this kind of “heroic piety”, the German Christian Movement would be ready to take up the struggle against godless Marxism.

The Nazi take-over of power in January 1933 was naturally enthusiastically greeted by the members of the German Christian Movement. They applauded the Nazis’ initial measures against the Jews, such as the law passed in April debarring Jews from public office with the application of the so-called “Aryan Paragraph”. During the summer, church elections saw the supporters of the movement installed in high positions in many church bodies, such as the Synod of the Old Prussian Union Church, which in September resolved to apply the “Aryan Paragraph” to its clergy. But this move aroused vigorous opposition, such as that expressed by Karl Barth, then a professor in Bonn, whose 15-page pamphlet is here reproduced in full.

Together with Dietrich Bonhoeffer, whose shorter protest is also given, these forceful objections in defence of Protestant orthodoxy stressed the fact that all Christians were joined in a common baptism, and could not be separated on the basis of racial origin. However, they limited these protests on behalf of those converted Jews who had become Christians and did not raise questions about the wider scope of Nazi persecutions. The members of the German Christian Movement were not so reticent. They called for a more complete renunciation of all things Jewish in both church membership and liturgical practice. In a notably violent speech before a large audience of 20,000 supporters in November 1933, one of the radical German Christians, Reinhold Krause, called for a complete alignment of the church with National Socialism, in particular by “liberating itself from the Old Testament with its Jewish rewards and punishment morality and its stories of cattle-dealers and pimps”. German Christians instead must “return to the heroic Jesus” as a “fearless combatant” against the pernicious influence of the Jewish Scribes and Pharisees. But this speech went too far for the majority of Protestant loyalists who then left the movement, and transferred their allegiance to the nucleus demanding church independence, which later coalesced into the Confessing Church.

More effective support for the German Christian Movement came from the theological professors, such as Emanuel Hirsch of Göttingen or Gerhard Kittel of Tübingen, both of whom had distinguished publication records. Hirsch became and remained a “true believer” in National Socialism, even after 1945, since, as he claimed, “God speaks in and to the particular historical situation in which people find themselves – in this case National Socialist Germany”. The church should not isolate itself on the remains of Reformation theology, as did Barth, but instead the church is called to be engaged with the new spirit of national regeneration, and reflect and contribute to the drive for racial purity, which left no room for Jewish Christians. Kittel, the author of the most widely used biblical dictionary, was even more prolific in addressing large audiences up and down the country. He joined the Nazi Party in 1933 and shortly afterwards wrote a major piece on the Jewish issue, which was a central one for all the members of the German Christian Movement. His purpose, according to one source, was to raise the discussion of the Jewish question above the level of slogans and vulgar racism and give it a moral Christian basis. He claimed that there were four solutions to the Jewish issue: extermination, expulsion, assimilation or a guest status, where Jews would be tolerated so long as they kept to separate ways. He judged the first three solutions to be impractical, so argued fiercely for the fourth. After the war, when he was put on trial for his Nazi sympathies, Kittel tried to argue he had been only a moderate campaigner, but the forcefulness of the extracts printed here suggests otherwise.

Solberg also provides a number of extracts from the speeches or writings of leading members of the German Christian Movement, such as Joachim Hossenfelder, Julius Leutheuser, Siegfried Leffler, and the Reich Bishop Ludwig Müller, all written in the early years of Nazi rule. In addition, she provides a thoughtful critique of these views by Professor Paul Althaus of Erlangen, who argued that the conflation of German nationalism, admiration for Hitler, and Christian tradition went far too far by asserting that God’s salvation was being played out in Germany’s history. This, he claimed, was a “bald-faced theological heresy”. But Althaus’ own variant of the “orders of creation” included a positive enthusiasm for National Socialism as a political movement and for an ethno-national Christianity. He utterly rejected any idea that the combination of Nazi politics and the Faith Movement’s version of religion could turn Germany into a world-savior.

It is clear that these divisions within the Protestant churches led to Hitler abandoning any hopes he had held that they would combine under his authority. Instead he increasingly supported the anti-clerical and anti-Christian elements in the Nazi leadership, such as Heinrich Himmler, Martin Bormann, Reinhard Heydrich and Joseph Goebbels, who were to institute increasingly severe measures of persecution and repression on the churches. These doomed any chances of the German Christian Movement’s hopes for success. Its leaders made one final bid to win back support in their notable Godesberg Declaration of March 1939, in which they indicated their strong support for the regime’s hostile antisemitic policies and established an Institute for the Study and Eradication of Jewish Influence on German Religious Life. The final document in this collection is by Walter Grundmann, the first academic director of the Institute, whose career continue into the German Democratic Republic, where he served for many years as a pastor, publishing widely-used commentaries on the gospels but also working as an informant for the Stasi. There is little evidence that he changed his view that “the content of Jesus’ preaching shapes and determines his work. In Jesus of Nazareth something utterly un-Jewish appears”.

Solberg does not attempt any evaluation of these sources, but her careful and viable translations will be of help to English-speaking students who will now be able to trace the vagaries of this section of German Protestantism during its short but vibrant and mistaken career. It remains to be seen whether the temptations to which these authors gave expression will be repeated in churches elsewhere. She has given us a useful cautionary tale.

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Review of Peter Itzen, Streitbare Kirche: Die Church of England vor den Herausforderungen des Wandels 1945-1990

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Review of Peter Itzen, Streitbare Kirche: Die Church of England vor den Herausforderungen des Wandels 1945-1990 (Baden Baden: Nomos Verlag, 2013). Pp. 437. ISBN 9783832966089.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Very few German scholars have recently published works on England, and fewer still on the Church of England. It is therefore a welcome sign that Peter Itzen has now contributed this well-researched and balanced study of the Church England in the second half of the last century, which will undoubtedly be of value to German students and theologians, many of whom usually look with both puzzlement and envy at the church scene across the English Channel.

Itzen-StreitbareThis account pays little attention to theology, but instead follows in the footsteps of such authors as Grace Davie and Callum Brown in emphasizing the sociological patterns he discerns in the Church of England’s development during the fifty years following the Second World War. Itzen lays particular stress on the views and the impact of the major church leaders on the political and social life of the nation, and makes extensive use of the archives held in Lambeth Palace, the residence of successive Archbishops of Canterbury. He also appends short but useful biographical details of many church leaders. The result is a well-informed but not uncritical account of the sometimes controversial stances adopted by the church, and the often critical responses by politicians, for instance during the Suez Crisis in the 1950s, or during Margaret Thatcher’s term as Prime Minister in the 1980s.

Itzen acknowledges that public support for the Church of England, in terms of participating in its regular weekly worship services, has suffered a marked decline during these years, when compared to the situation of a hundred years ago. Nevertheless, the Church of England, like the monarchy, still remains as a symbol of tradition and continuity. As with the monarchy, there is virtually no support for its abolition or disestablishment. The Church of England has a presence in virtually every village across the realm, although the pattern of religious observances has changed greatly with the recent influx of immigrants from distant lands and other faiths. But in contrast to the countries of continental Europe, England in modern times has never been invaded, nor suffered from being occupied by enemy troops. England’s last political convulsion was four hundred years ago, and its last religious convulsion took place in the sixteenth century. This has given the Church of England a stability and an institutional advantage of inestimable benefit for its political witness. On the other hand, as Itzen repeatedly points out, the situation has changed. The Church of England is no longer “the Tory Party at prayer”, or an automatic supporter of Conservative governments, as some politicians would like it to be. The advance of secularism has meant that the Church of England no longer commands the allegiance of a large proportion of the population, and is not listened to as readily as before when advocating moral guidance on political or social issues. But the fact that its senior bishops have always been, and are still, members of parliament’s upper chamber, the House of Lords, and frequently avail themselves of this opportunity to convey the opinion of church members, presents a very different picture from other countries. They owe their position to the centuries-old process of English history, rather than to any transient political poll. Hence they enjoy the ability to speak for the whole of society, and see themselves as the guardians of their respective diocese’s welfare. To be sure, these church leaders are aware that they can no longer command unquestioning support, or dictate standards of Christian morality to an increasingly skeptical public. Nevertheless their energetic stand against the unbridled individualism of the Thatcher years, gained respect for its vigorous defence of the need for social cohesion, and support for the poorest and weakest in society’s ranks, the so-called “bias for the poor”. This process was also helped by the professionalization of the Church of England’s administrative structures which provided its spokesmen in the House of Lords with more expert political guidance. So too the establishment of such organs as the General Synod and the Board of Social Responsibility provided help in the propagation of responsible church pronouncements. In the many critical debates and conflicts of these years, the Church of England was able to play a moderating role, so that the interventions of the church leaders served to enhance its position as a link between competing political factions.

In more recent years, such as the 1990s, the most pressing issue for the Church of England was the question of the ordination of women. Fortunately, the new Archbishop, George Carey, as an Evangelical, was open to compromises which offered the more stringent Anglo-Catholics an olive branch of friendship. And in any case, the more militant supporters of women’s rights were satisfied with the eventual agreement of the church assemblies, though it took another ten years for women’s ordination to the episcopate to be realized. Far more contentious was the issue of homosexuality, which then spilled over into the term of office of the following Archbishop, Rowan Williams. Williams himself was an advocate of a liberal and tolerant stance for the Church of England on this question. But as Archbishop of Canterbury he was also the leader of the world-wide Anglican Communion. He faced intransigent opposition to any such toleration from the majority of African bishops. He thus found himself in an insoluble impasse which threatened to break open the ranks of the Communion, and make impossible the show of Anglican unity as previously displayed at the decennial Lambeth Conferences. This situation remains unresolved. No less problematical remains the issue of Britain’s multi-cultural and multi-religious identity. But the readiness of the Church’s leaders to issue constructive appeals for national and social harmony indicates a willingness to bring the influence of this heritage to bear, and to mobilize its supporters to proclaim its ethical and historical relevance to the problems of the 21st century

Itzen’s conclusion is therefore a positive one for the future of the Church of England’s political and social witness. He takes issue with the teleological views of such secularists as Richard Dawkins, who sees all religious activities as survivals of bygone superstition, or the modernists, who regard the Church of England as an outdated institution which is due shortly to fade away. Instead he believes that, despite all the manifold difficulties of its political and social engagement, the Church will continue to play an unrivalled and positive, though not undisputed, role in the nation’s life as the spiritual advisor to successive political regimes.

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Review of Lucian N. Leustean, The Ecumenical Movement & the Making of the European Community

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Review of Lucian N. Leustean, The Ecumenical Movement & the Making of the European Community (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). Pp. 286. ISBN 9780198714569.

By John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Lucian Leustean, who teaches Political Science at Aston University, Birmingham, England, begins his study with the distinctly odd claim that two events are at the core of the relationship between the ecumenical movement and the European Community. He asserts, firstly, that a member of the German resistance movement, Adam von Trott, who was executed by the Nazis in August 1944 a month after the failure of the plot to assassinate Hitler, left a legacy indicating that not all prominent Germans backed the Nazi regime, that his Christian faith inspired churchmen to resist occupation, and that he had a vision of a federal post-war Europe with close relations between East and West. Very much the same role was played by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who is mentioned by Leustean only in passing. But in fact, Trott is now virtually forgotten whereas Bonhoeffer’s theology has steadily grown in influence. It is dubious, however, that either of them had much influence on the making of the European Community.

Leustean’s second claim is even more doubtful. He suggests that the creation of the Commission of the Churches on International Affairs (CCIA), established in 1946, was of significance to the making of the European Community. This highly elitist body was led by an Englishman, Kenneth Grubb, and an American, Frederick Nolde, and was designed to draw the American churches into the debates about the post-war world, and subsequently about the Cold War. But Grubb was skeptical about Britain’s association with any European political reconstruction, since he saw Britain’s future in terms of its overseas possessions in the Commonwealth. And as Leustean admits, the CCIA failed to give any lead or engage in the process of European integration. It was thus years before the Protestant and Anglican churches adopted a coherent position towards the European Community, or even agreed what Europe was.

Leustean-EcumenicalTo be sure the tasks of European reconstruction and reconciliation were formidable for politicians and churchmen alike. Priority had to be given to the immense task of caring for the vast millions of bombed-out, brutalized, and displaced populations. Most churches were still tied to their own national affairs and regarded plans for European integration as lying outside their spiritual domain. However a few of the survivors of the pre-war ecumenical bodies, led by the valiant and dynamic personality of the Dutch Calvinist, Visser ‘t Hooft, General Secretary of the World Council of Churches, recognized the importance of seeking closer relations with those politicians involved in European reconstruction. The World Council, which achieved its long-delayed inauguration in 1948, almost immediately suffered a grievous, if not unexpected, blow by the rejection of its invitation to the Vatican to have Roman Catholics as full members. The initiative in European affairs was therefore left to the Anglicans, the Protestant leaders of northern Europe, and a handful of Orthodox churchmen in Eastern Europe. So too, those politicians who had expected that the legacy of unbridled nationalism under Hitler would lead to a willingness to cooperate more closely in pan-European revival were soon to be disappointed by the brusque refusal of the Soviet government to entertain any such measures for the areas of Eastern Europe under its military control. In both the political and religious fields, therefore, expectations had to be cut down, and prognoses for European integration modified, often drastically.

Leustean’s account examines the role of political and religious contacts with a direct impact on European institutions. He records how a number of Protestant churchmen saw their duty as Christians to go beyond furthering the local piety of their congregations. These men of vision believed that European cooperation was a mission for the wider Christian constituency. This witness became especially relevant in 1948, when the Berlin blockade made the threat of Soviet military power all too evident, and seemingly doomed the hopes for a peaceful cooperation throughout the continent. Leustean pays particular attention to the Ecumenical Commission on European Cooperation, founded in 1950, since some of its members went on to fulfill high administrative positions in the European Community’s structures. These included Gustav Heinemann, later President of the Federal Republic of (West) Germany, and Jean Rey, who became President of the European Commission. These men were not dreamy idealists, but practical executives, who believed that their project could and should deserve the moral guidance of the churches.

However, since most of the western European countries who founded the European Community had large Catholic populations, and since its founding leaders came from Catholic backgrounds, it was hardly surprising that relations with the Protestant ecumenists were at first marked by tensions. Later, however, after the Second Vatican Council in the 1960s, a new spirit of interdenominational cooperation was to be seen.

The European Community can be said to begin in 1950 with the plan put forward by the French Foreign Minister, Robert Schumann, for the amalgamation of industrial resources in the European Coal and Steel Community. But this initial success was overshadowed by the tensions resulting from the Cold War, by the proposals to rearm West Germans to play their part in defending their homeland, and by the reluctance of some idealists to encourage any step which would divide the nations of Western and Eastern Europe from each other. Many leading German churchmen campaigned for a unified and neutral Germany. Many British churchmen still adhered to their former attachment to the Commonwealth and were skeptical about any form of European cooperation. Many others adopted the traditional view that politics and religion should act in separate spheres. The cause of European unity therefore faced an uphill battle. The most that could be hoped for was “unity in diversity” which was finally acknowledged as the motto of the European Union in May 2000.

After the signing of the Treaty of Rome, the European Common Market among the six western European nations was founded in 1960. However the attention of the ecumenical fraternity was more attuned to the project for a pan-European Conference of European Churches, which held its first meeting in 1959. But the obvious Soviet propaganda and control of the churches in Eastern Europe meant that the CEC was a rather dubious venture. On the other hand, in the early 1960s, the British Government had a change of heart and applied to join the Common Market. But when its application was rejected by De Gaulle in 1963, this paradoxically stirred up interest among the British churches, and eventually led to a more positive approach to western European cooperation. Yet, at the same time the same French government’s refusal to accept the proposal, put forward by the Vatican, to appoint a diplomatic envoy to the European Commission in Brussels, delayed the establishment of formal relations with Europe’s largest religious community until 1970.

In the 1970s the economic successes of the Common Market were notable. With the Soviet military threat contained behind the Iron Curtain, the western European economies flourished. Living standards rose rapidly. New integrative measures were started such as the European Parliament, the adoption of a single currency, and after the dissolution of the Soviet empire, the abolition of border controls and customs offices in many parts of Europe. These developments owed little to any church initiatives, nor even to representatives of the Ecumenical Movement. As one observer commented, this lack of ecumenical mobilization was in part due to the European Community being regarded as a purely economic and political project in which religious communities could not find a theological basis for participation. Also national churches, which saw themselves as the preservers of their country’s past, were unwilling to take up the cause of others with whom they had no common heritage or language.

In fact, the Ecumenical Movement concentrated more on the personal and pastoral witness amongst the ever growing number of international bureaucrats at the European Community’s offices in Brussels. The hopes of some leading Eurocrats that the churches would take a lead in calling the young and creative forces in Europe to unite behind a common vision were never realized. British churchmen, for instance, remained skeptical about the influence of supra-national technocrats, who were not directly responsible to any national government. The ideal of political integration between different parts of Western Europe therefore remained a nonstarter, since it threatened to curtail relations with Eastern Europe or the developing world outside Europe.. As a result, no common ‘European’ consciousness appeared, transcending national loyalties.

Leustean takes his account up to 1978, but in a concluding chapter is obliged to note the dramatic changes in later years, especially after the overthrow of the Soviet empire in 1989-90. Many churchmen have since sought to engage in dialogue in order to understand the role of religion in the new Europe. Over these years countless committees, councils, conferences, and gatherings have been established or re-established with a bewildering array of alphabetical abbreviations, for which there is fortunately an appended index. But essentially the complex scale and scope of what is now the European Union defies easy or synoptic description.. It was left up to a retiring President of the European Commission, Jacques Delors, to call in 1990 for an attempt to give Europe a soul through a spiritual and intellectual debate in which the Churches should participate actively. It was a brave but mistaken view that the Churches, or other faith communities, could find enough common ground to overcome their mutual and historic differences, which are likely to remain prevailing in the foreseeable future.

Leustean’s conclusion is therefore that a fragmented, interrupted vision of Europe at both the political and religious levels, which had impacted the attempts to bring unity and integration to at least Western Europe, was the major factor why the dreams of idealists such as his hero von Trott were never realized.

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Article Note: Ján Liguš, “Obedience or Resistance: The Legacy of Bonhoeffer”

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Article Note: Ján Liguš, “Obedience or Resistance: The Legacy of Bonhoeffer,” European Journal of Theology 24:2 (2015), 173-182.

By Heath Spencer, Seattle University

In this article, Ján Liguš offers a brief overview of Bonhoeffer’s theology with a focus on church-state relations, submission to legitimate authorities, and conditions under which Christians might practice passive disobedience or actively resist the state. Liguš notes that even before the Nazis came to power, Bonhoeffer was already exploring the boundaries of church and state and emphasizing God’s sovereignty over both. In Das Wesen der Kirche (1932), Bonhoeffer drew a distinction between the Church as a visible institution and the Kingdom of God that transcends it and “includes in itself all races, cultures [and] religions” (175). He also reflected on the limits of secular authority, asserting that “if the state prevents the proclamation of the Word of God, conflict will arise and the Church can criticise and disobey the state” (176). Similarly, in The Cost of Discipleship (1937) and Life Together (1939), Bonhoeffer stressed surrender and submission to the will of God, which might require civil disobedience but precluded rebellion. Liguš describes this position as a “pacifist theological-ethical orientation” that Bonhoeffer later gave up (178). Not until Ethics, which Bonhoeffer began writing in 1940, does Liguš find a theological-ethical justification for resistance. By that point, Bonhoeffer’s understanding of freedom and responsibility, inspired by Jesus’ voluntary acceptance of guilt due to his love for a sinful humanity, allowed him to take on the guilt of participating in a conspiracy that included an attempt to kill the head of state. Here, Liguš follows the interpretation of Larry Rasmussen’s Dietrich Bonhoeffer: Reality and Resistance.

Liguš’ aim is not only to explain what led Bonhoeffer from his earlier pacifism to participation in an assassination plot, but to identify elements in Bonhoeffer’s theology that were helpful to Eastern European Christians under communist regimes and that continue to offer hope in the present moment, when “the vast majority of people regard the church as irrelevant” (180). The article begins by comparing Bonhoeffer to reformer and martyr Jan Hus and ends with Bonhoeffer’s confidence that “the day will come” when Christians “will once more be called so to utter the word of God that the world will be changed and renewed by it” (Letters and Papers from Prison, quoted on 180).

Unfortunately, Liguš fails to integrate his assessment of Bonhoeffer’s theology with recent historical research on Bonhoeffer and the German churches during the Third Reich. The result is an oversimplification of the “church struggle” as a contest between Nazism-free orthodoxy and Nazism-infused heresy. For example, Liguš’ claim that the German churches “departed from the heritage of Martin Luther” (174) during the Nazi era fails to address the fact that many Protestant National Socialists were inspired by Luther and believed they were carrying his work forward. A more subtle version of the same argument is apparent when Liguš writes that Bonhoeffer was “initially influenced by the biblical scholar Adolf Schlatter” but “had to deal with prominent liberal theologians Adolf von Harnack and Reinhold Seeberg” (174, emphasis mine).

The article also suffers from a lack of attention to other dimensions of Bonhoeffer’s life that contributed to his uniqueness—even within the Confessing Church—as well as his decision to participate in the conspiracy. There is little discussion of the political orientation of his family (of which four members were in the resistance), the fact that he had a brother-in-law of Jewish ancestry, or the impact of his experiences living abroad. Some statements are also misleading, as when Liguš emphasizes the piety of Bonhoeffer’s mother but fails to mention that the Bonhoeffers were not a church-going family. Robert Ericksen, by way of contrast, has suggested that Bonhoeffer’s limited exposure to Christianity as a child might have been an advantage, given that so many church-going Protestants ultimately supported Hitler (see Ericksen, Complicity in the Holocaust, 112-114). Finally, there is very little attention to Bonhoeffer’s responses to (and at times neglect of) the “Jewish Question,” even though Bonhoeffer’s famous essay on this topic in 1933 considers the possibilities of criticism, amelioration, and resistance to state policy on the part of the Church.

The strength of Liguš’ article is that it takes seriously both the pacifism and the resistance of Bonhoeffer. However, the search for a second Jan Hus is best served by a close examination of Bonhoeffer in his historical context, with full awareness of its complexity and ambiguity.

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Article Note: Samuel Koehne, “The Racial Yardstick: ‘Ethnotheism’ and Official Nazi Views on Religion”

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Article Note: Samuel Koehne, “The Racial Yardstick: ‘Ethnotheism’ and Official Nazi Views on Religion,” German Studies Review 37, no. 3 (2014): 575–596.

By Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University

Over the past few years, Samuel Koehne of the University of Melbourne has published a series of insightful articles on National Socialist views of religion, as disseminated in various official publications. In this article, he revisits the problematic text of Article 24 in the 1920 Nazi Party Program, interpreting it in light of four other documents: the 1919 Grundsatz or Foundational Principle of the German Workers’ Party (predecessor to the 1920 Nazi Party Program), Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf (1925-1926), and—most importantly—Alfred Rosenberg’s 1923 and Gottfried Feder’s 1927 commentaries on the Party Program. Koehne has chosen these in part because he wants to understand what National Socialists had to say about their religious policies before they took power in 1933.

Koehne is unsatisfied with the existing conflicting interpretations of Nazi religious policy. He argues that Nazism was neither a neo-pagan religious movement, nor a political religion, nor a quasi-Christian movement. Rather, he advances “a new conceptual approach: ‘ethnotheism,’ or religion defined by race and the supposed moral or spiritual characteristics that the Nazis believed were inherent in race” (576). Ethnotheism, writes Koehne, was the unifying principle around which a wide array of religious beliefs could flourish under National Socialism. Within Article 24 of the 1920 Party Program, ethnotheism is found in the Nazi determination to oppose any kind of religious doctrine which might “endanger [the state’s] existence or offend the ethical and moral feelings of the Germanic race” (588). Importantly, Koehne argues that the subsequent sentence about the Party’s support for “positive Christianity”—normally seen as the centrepiece of Nazi religious policy—was less important. It was purposely vague, he suggests, and had no precedent or subsequent life within Nazi statements on religion. In contrast to this, the 1919 Foundational Principle of the German Worker’s Party proposed “non-interference in religious matters, except as they were matters of state or threatened the existence of the people or nation (Volk) and its ‘morality and ethics,’” as did other völkisch parties (580). This elevation of race over religion was the central principle at work, and the source of Koehne’s ethnotheism.

Koehne identifies several key Nazi ideas: that religion caused division, which would only be overcome by a common commitment to antisemitic racial nationalism, and that morality was blood bound. As Nazi ideologue Alfred Rosenberg put it, “Morality is completely racially conditioned, and not abstract Catholic, Protestant or Muslim” (582). Similarly, ideologue Gottfried Feder proclaimed that Nazism would attack any religious teachings that offended German morality (583). And Hitler wrote much the same thing in Mein Kampf, where he rejected mixing of politics and religion and argued that pious German Protestants and Catholics would be united in a joint völkisch world view and racial struggle against the Jew (585). Indeed, this “ecumenicism of National Socialism” was what accounted for the strange mixture of Norse religion and Christianity in the work of Rosenberg. Any number of religious beliefs could be practiced under the banner of antisemitism, racial morality, and the swastika, “an Aryan symbol of renewal” (587). All this is supported by Feder’s arresting assertion that Article 24 in the 1920 Party Program was “the spiritual foundation of the entire position of National Socialism towards the Jews” (588).

Koehne’s position draws on important sources and is well-argued. Moreover, it fits with other elements of Nazi ideology, such as Hitler’s assertion that the soul of a people was contained in its blood, or that Jews (with impure blood) were devoid of spiritual capacity. It also accounts for the confusing and contradictory religious statements made and religious practices supported by leading Nazis. There is good potential in Koehne’s concept of ethnotheism. We look forward to its continued development.

 

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Program Announcement: Early Career German-American Bonhoeffer Research Network

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Program Announcement: Early Career German-American Bonhoeffer Research Network

The Bonhoeffer Chair in Theology and Ethics at Union Theological Seminary, New York, is pleased to announce a new research project: Early Career German-American Bonhoeffer Research Network, funded by the German Federal Government.

Beginning in June 2017, five German and five American scholars will meet for a week-long seminar at Union Seminary, New York, to share research-in-progress and to organize a network for ongoing research discussion. The project will run for three years, meeting in Berlin in 2018 and again in New York in 2019, adding ten new scholars to the network each year. The 2017 seminar will be led by Professor Christiane Tietz, University of Zurich, and Professor Michael DeJonge, University of South Florida. The Project Director is Professor Clifford Green, who is currently serving as Bonhoeffer Chair Scholar at Union Theological Seminary.

By early career scholars we understand doctoral students who are at the dissertation stage, and those with completed doctorates who are in their first academic appointment or working on their Habilitation. Costs of travel, accommodation, and meals will be covered by the project, so expenses to participants will be minimal.

Scholars chosen to participate in the Bonhoeffer Research Network will commit to presenting their current research in a summer seminar and to contribute actively to internet research discussion for the three years of the project.

The 2017 seminar will meet from June 11 to June 17. Applications for the 2017 seminar may be submitted now, and no later than September 30, 2016. Applications and inquiries should be sent to Professor Green (cgreen@uts.columbia.edu). Applications must include: CV (listing any conference papers, publications); a two-page statement describing the applicant’s research, plus related writing such as a dissertation or grant proposal or a sample chapter; and a confidential letter of recommendation from the academic advisor or supervisor of the research.

This project is funded by the Transatlantic Program of the Government of the Federal Republic of Germany with funds from the European Recovery Program (ERP) of the Federal Ministry of Economics and Technology (BMWi).

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Conference Announcement: Faith and the First World War, University of Glasgow, 21-22 July 2016

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 2 (June 2016)

Conference Announcement: Faith and the First World War, University of Glasgow, 21-22 July 2016

Faith-WWIThe extent and importance of religious faith in the First World War is undoubtedly one of the great rediscoveries of the centenary years. Among the belligerent empires and nations, religion proved to be a vital sustaining and motivating force, with the Ottoman war effort cloaked as a jihad, the United States entering the war on Good Friday 1917, and even professedly secular societies such as France experiencing a degree of religious revival. At the same time religious convictions also provided some of the most powerful critiques of the war, contributing to tireless peace-making efforts by Pope Benedict XV and to the stand of thousands of conscientious objectors in Great Britain and the United States. Faith also inspired many of the women who were active in war resistance and initiatives for peace, including Quakers, feminists and Christian socialists who were involved in the Hague Peace Congress of 1915, the resulting Women’s International League, and also grassroots action such as the Women’s Peace Crusade, which was launched in Glasgow in the summer of 1916.

This conference seeks to explore the huge diversity and significance of religious faith for those who experienced the First World War, addressing themes such as faith in the armed forces and on the home front, religion, war resistance and the peace crusade, and the role of religion in remembrance.

Key-note speakers will include Professor S. J. Brown (University of Edinburgh), Dr Lesley Orr (University of Edinburgh), and Professor Michael Snape (University of Durham).

There will also be a program of events to mark the centenary of the Women’s Peace Crusade, which will take place on 23 July 2016 at the Glasgow Women’s Library.

To register for the conference, please contact Dr Charlotte Methuen (charlotte.methuen@glasgow.ac.uk) or visit (https://www.eventbrite.com/e/faith-and-the-first-world-war-tickets-24680348587). Cost to participants is £25.00 per day to include coffees, teas and lunch. Please pay by cheque (made out to “The University of Glasgow”) or by cash on the day. A list of local and university accommodation is also available.

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Letter from the Editors (March 2016)

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 1 (March 2016)

Letter from the Editors (March 2016)

By Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University

Greetings friends,

As Lent will soon give way to Easter, it is our pleasure to publish once again a new issue of Contemporary Church History Quarterly, with short articles, book reviews, and notes on the contemporary history of German and European religious history. In this edition of the journal, we see the full spectrum of response by Christians to the moral challenge of National Socialism.

Hartmut Ludwig of Humboldt University in Berlin has contributed a copy of a public lecture he gave recently at the Topography of Terror in Berlin, and which John S. Conway has kindly translated. It describes the work of Pastor Heinrich Grüber of Berlin, who partnered with a good number of Christians (many of Jewish descent) to care for the persecuted Jews of Germany. At great risk to themselves, they established a relief agency that facilitated the emigration of close to 2000 Jews from Germany between 1938 and 1940.

Berlin memorial plaque to Elizabeth Schmitz. Von OTFW, Berlin – Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17086962

Accompanying the Ludwig lecture is a review of Mit Herz und Verstand—Protestantische Frauen im Widerstand gegen die NS-Rassenpolitik, an edited volume by Manfred Gailus and Clemens Vollnhals. Victoria Barnett of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum reviews this book, which assesses the determined efforts of a group of Protestant women to resist Nazi racial policies. The contributors highlight an impressive list of resisters, many of whom took action when the men in power around them refused: Agnes and Elisabet von Harnack, Elisabeth Abegg, Elisabeth Schmitz, Elisabeth Schiemann, Margarete Meusel, Katharina Staritz, Agnes Wendland and her daughters Ruth and Angelika, Helene Jacobs, Sophie Benfey-Kunert, Elisabeth von Thadden, and Ina Gschlössl.

Chancellor Adolf Hitler and Reich President Paul von Hindenburg at the Garrison Church, Potsdam, March 21, 1933. By Bundesarchiv, Bild 183-S38324 / CC-BY-SA 3.0, CC BY-SA 3.0 de, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5369386

On the other end of the spectrum, Kyle Jantzen reviews another edited volume by Manfred Gailus, Täter und Komplizen in Theologie und Kirchen 1933-1945. Gailus and other scholars explain the ways in which individuals and groups of theologians, church leaders, and clergy who voluntarily accommodated themselves to the ecclesiastical and racial policies of the Third Reich, in many cases becoming participants in the perpetration of great evil. Various chapters focus on the Day of Potsdam, the German Christian Movement, Gerhard Kittel, “Brown Priests,” Hanns Kerrl and Hermann Muhs, Walter Grundmann, Karl Themel, and Erich Seeberg.

Other contributions round out the volume, including a book review on the Church of England in the First World War, two conference reports (each covering a good number of sessions and papers), and a call for papers for the journal Studies in Christian-Jewish Relations.

We hope you enjoy this issue. Please feel free to comment on anything you read, either out of appreciation or a desire for debate.

With best wishes, on behalf of all the editors,

Kyle Jantzen, Ambrose University

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Public Lecture: On the Side of the Disenfranchised and the Weak: The Office of Pastor Grüber (1938-1940)

Contemporary Church History Quarterly

Volume 22, Number 1 (March 2016)

Public Lecture: On the Side of the Disenfranchised and the Weak:  The Office of Pastor Grüber (1938-1940)

By Hartmut Ludwig, Humboldt University, Berlin; translated by John S. Conway, University of British Columbia

Historians are now largely agreed that during the twelve years of Nazi rule there were four distinct and successive stages to the discrimination, persecution and eventual expulsion of Germany’s Jewish citizens. Each of these stages saw an escalation in the severity of the measures taken earlier, and eventually led to the decision to eliminate almost everybody of Jewish origins in the areas of Europe under Nazi control.

The first phase from 1933 to 1935 can be described as the period of discrimination and disenfranchisement. In 1933 there were approximately 500,000 persons belonging to the Jewish communities, as well as approximately 400,000 Christians or non-believers who were of Jewish descent and were included in the Nazi categories of those to be discriminated against. The first measures were implemented only two months after the Nazis came to power in January 1933, when on 1 April a nation-wide boycott of Jewish shops and businesses was carried out. This was followed a week later by the passing of a new Law for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service, which covered all appointments to major institutions, such as hospitals and universities. (The title of this Law was entirely misleading since it was chiefly concerned to apply the discriminatory code of the so-called Aryan paragraph, banning Jews from public offices, along with supposed political opponents, in order to extinguish the idea of any independence in the civil service.)

This law did not apply to Germany’s religious bodies, but nevertheless the pro-Nazi sections of the Protestant Church, known as the “Deutsche Christen”, demanded that the same “Aryan paragraph” should be applied to their church. This suggestion was heavily contested, and led in fact to the establishment of the Confessing Church, and a ginger group calling itself the Pastors’ Emergency League.

Their protest was based on their view that the “Aryan paragraph” introduced racial considerations instead of loyalty to the church’s doctrines. On the other hand, these churchmen did not raise any objections to the law’s application to the wider society. Only a few protested it on these grounds, such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer who frequently quoted the verse taken from Proverbs 31.8: “Open Thy mouth for the Dumb”, and at the same time asked: “Who recognizes that this is the Bible’s least demand in such a time as today?” And as Karl Barth wrote two years later when the Confessing Church had also suffered persecution: “The Church has not found adequate expressions to counter the million-fold injustices being perpetrated. She speaks – if she speaks – only on behalf of her own members. She still clings to the fiction that we are living in a state which upholds the law as envisaged in Romans 13.”

The second stage from 1935 to 1938 can be seen as a period of isolation and exclusion. This began with the decree embodying the Nuremberg Racial Laws of September 1935, which was followed by an unprecedented campaign of vilification against the Confessing Church because it allegedly was trying to counteract and silence the Nazis’ campaign against the evil influences of the Jews. But this was a grossly exaggerated propaganda attack. In fact, when a staff member, Marga Meusel, had put forward the request that the Confessing Church create an office to help those affected by the Nuremberg Laws, she was ignored, as was the elaborate protest written by the Berlin girls high school teacher, Elisabeth Schmitz, which she presented in vain to the Confessing Church Synod in September 1935. “How should we answer all the despairing and bitter questions and complaints? Why is the Church doing nothing? Why does it allow these countless acts of injustice to happen? Why does it continue to make these joyful acclamations of the Nazi state, which are really political declarations, when the lives of a section of its membership are being endangered?”

Renewed calls for some practical steps to assist these Christians of Jewish extraction came from the Heidelberg Pastor Hermann Maas, as well as from the World Alliance for Promoting International Friendship through the Churches, which had already in January 1936, at a meeting in London, set up an “International Relief Committee for Refugees from Germany”. In addition, the English Bishop of Chichester, George Bell, who was much engaged in ecumenical activities, had sent his sister-in-law, Laura Livingstone, to Berlin to help arrange and intensify such international collaboration. But it was only after five and a half years of Nazi rule that the Confessing Church finally recognized that it had a responsibility to assist the Christians of Jewish origin. So began the work later known as the so-called Office of Pastor Grüber.

The third phase from 1938 to 1941 began with the violent pogrom and the burning of synagogues on November 9 and 10, 1938, commonly known as the Kristallnacht, and led to the enforced expulsion of numerous Jewish citizens from Germany in order to make the country as quickly as possible “free from Jews”. During this pogrom some 30,000 men were dispatched to a concentration camp, from which they were released only when they could produce a paper showing that they were emigrating from Germany as soon as possible. A number of pastors were included in this repressive action. The Churches were silent. Out of the approximately 18,000 Protestant pastors only a small handful brought the subject up in their sermons. The chief of the Gestapo, Reinhard Heydrich, then organized the “Reich Association of Jews” in order to speed up the process of their expulsion. Devotedly the Nazi members and their supporters in the Protestant ranks, the “Deutsche Christen”, followed this lead. Six “Deutsche Christen” provincial churches in Anhalt, Saxony, Thuringia. Mecklenburg, Lubeck and Schleswig-Holstein then expelled any Christians of Jewish extraction out of their congregations. In May 1939, a new Institute, called the “Institute for the Study and Eradication of Jewish Influence on German Church Life” was founded in Eisenach. Its staff members then undertook a project called “God’s Message” which produced a New Testament from which all mention of Jesus’ Jewish origin had been removed.

The fourth phase from 1941 to 1945 began in October 1941 with the first mass deportation of Jews from Germany to the ghetto in Litzmannstadt in Poland. This was preceded by a police edict of September 1, 1941, ordering all Jews over the age of six to wear a Jewish star on their clothing. By this means they were openly stigmatized and eventually excluded from German society. In Breslau, Katharina Staritz, who was vicar of the main church, called on all her colleagues in her diocese to give particular pastoral care to any Christians of Jewish origin, since, in her view, they held the same rights in the church as other parishioners. She was then arrested and deported to the women’s concentration camp of Ravensbrück and was held there until May 1943. Only in a few parishes were Christians wearing the Jewish star allowed to take part in the church services. In other parishes, a poster was put up stating “Jews are unwanted here”. In addition, on December 22, 1941, the vice-chairman of Church House in Berlin sent out a circular to all churches advising them that Christians of Jewish origin should absent themselves from participation in church life. And on January 20, 1942, the head of the Gestapo, Reinhard Heydrich, informed leading members of the Reich government, at a conference held at the Wannsee, near Berlin, about the measures to be taken to deport all remaining Jews in order to make Germany “free from Jews”. Many of those affected still continued to believe that they were only being resettled in Eastern Europe. For that reason, various parishes organized “Farewell Services”. But it became ever clearer that these people were not being resettled, but instead murdered. So some of them tried to go underground, and adopt a false identity in order to survive. In March 1943, representatives of a Bible study group in Munich wrote to their bishop, Hans Meiser, and requested him to break the church’s silence on this issue of Jewish persecution. In their letter they wrote: “We are driven by the simple requirement of loving your neighbor. . . Every “non-Aryan” whether Jewish or Christian today in Germany has fallen into the hands of murderers. We have to ask ourselves whether we are going to behave like the priest or the Levite, or like the Samaritan.” Bishop Meiser refused their request.

The Establishment and History of Pastor Grüber’s Office, 1938-1940

We can distinguish between three phases: 1) the creation of this relief office in 1938; 2) the extension and consolidation of the relief efforts in 1939, and 3) the restrictions and final closure of the Office in 1940.

The various relief efforts for Christians of Jewish origin which had been created since 1933 had nevertheless failed. Already in May 1933 the Berlin ecumenical leader Professor Friedrich Siegmund-Schultze had proposed a plan for a joint ecumenical service for German emigrants, whether Protestant, Catholic or Jewish. The idea was to establish a counselling service for all those forced to leave Germany because of Nazi persecution, which would operate to give advice about job opportunities and some financial assistance in order to help them create new lives abroad. But in June 1933 Siegmund-Schultze was arrested and obliged to leave Germany. So this plan came to nothing. Only in 1935 was the same effort started from Switzerland by Pastor Hermannn Maas.

But in July 1933 some Christians of Jewish origin founded in Berlin a self-help organization with a grandiose title of “National Association of Christians with German Citizenship, Who Are Non-Aryans or Only Partly Non-Aryans”. The object was to persuade the government that these Christians of Jewish origin were just as good Germans as others, and in order to persuade the churches to treat them as fully entitled to the same rights as others. But the church leadership was dominated by “Deutsche Christen” who agreed with the Nazi policy of seeking to expel these Christians of Jewish origin from the church. So this plan also came to nothing. This National Association was obliged to rename itself in September 1935, and adopt the name of the “Paulusbund” In March 1937 all those who were fully Jewish were forced out. So the remaining structure was meaningless.

In August 1934, the plight and shattering experiences of these Christians of Jewish origin led Marga Meusel, the director of the Protestant Welfare Agency in the Berlin suburb of Zehlendorf and her colleague Charlotte Friedenthal to recommend a central church advisory center. They turned to Martin Albertz, the Church Superintendent for the Spandau region of Berlin, who sought to gain the support of Friedrich Bodelschwingh and Theodor Wenzel, both leading personalities in the church’s Inner Mission. But both refused. And in June 1935 the Confessing Church leaders made it clear that they were not prepared to join such a venture, so Marga Meusel was able to help only a very few persons out of her office in Zehlendorf.

Phase One: The Creation of the Church Relief Agency for Protestant Non-Aryans (Pastor Grüber’s Office)

The Nazi occupation of Austria in March 1938, and the consequent campaign led by Adolf Eichmann to drive out Austrian Jews in a particularly violent manner, led to a new wave of refugees. At the end of May, Pastor Hermann Maas came from Heidelberg to Berlin in order to try and persuade the leadership of the Confessing Church finally to become more active on behalf of these Christians of Jewish origin. Together with Martin Albertz, who was a member of the Provisional Leadership team in the Confessing Church, he openly complained about the lack of any Relief Agency. They then managed to persuade the pastor of the church in Kaulsdorf, a suburb on the east side of Berlin, Heinrich Grüber, to accept the challenge. According to a report by Laura Livingstone, he immediately threw himself into this task with great energy and enthusiasm. Because he recognized that this Relief Agency should not be undertaken solely by the Confessing Church, he sought to gain increased legitimacy from the whole of the German Protestant Church. He then hired Ingeborg Jacobson as his secretary, working out of his manse in Kaulsdorf.

On June 22, 1938, Grüber was able to enlist the support of Thomas Breit, the chairman of the Council of Berlin’s Protestant Churches. This opened the way to approach other churches in the rest of the country. In the following months, and through a massive correspondence campaign, Grüber was able to build up a network of twenty-two sponsors and colleagues in Germany’s major cities.

This new refugee situation compelled President Roosevelt to invite representatives from various countries to meet at Evian on Lake Constance from June 8 to 15 in order to consider how best to respond to this wave of emigrants or refugees from Germany and Austria. Naturally those persons affected by the Nazi persecutions placed great hopes on this meeting. But the assembled governments and their delegates seemed not to recognize the dangers. One after another each country announced that it was unwilling to open its doors to these refugees. The main Nazi newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter, ironically commented: “No one wants to accept these mongrels. Most of the delegates rightly refused to take in these scoundrels who were seeking to bring about Germany’s ruin”.

Despite this discouraging situation, Grüber sought to set up a Relief Agency for emigrants. But for it to succeed, he needed official permission. In August he paid a call on the German Foreign Ministry, and discussed his plans with one of the officials there. Naturally he took care to describe his efforts as being fully in line with the Nazi government’s aims. As he later wrote: “If the state now believes that these non-Aryans are no longer acceptable for the growth of Germany’s national well-being, it should still recognize the desirability of their being allowed to emigrate in order to find some other refuge elsewhere. In other words, it is in the state’s interests that this flood of emigrants should not leave with hatred and resentment in their hearts. We particularly see this danger in the young people who have grown up without any future or hope of advancement, because they have been largely chucked out of every opportunity of employment. Such young people have nothing to lose, so they may well turn to anarchism or bolshevism.”

Grüber waited four months for an answer from the Foreign Ministry, but in vain. So on November 30 he turned instead to the Office for Emigration set up by the Ministry of the Interior, which he knew was not yet fully infiltrated by ardent Nazis. From this office he received permission to contact foreign states to discuss their reception from Germany of Christians of Jewish origin.

In the middle of October he convened his colleagues from various parts of the country to a meeting in Eisenach, and again at the end of November, when they met in the Quakers’ International Office in Berlin. Paul Braune, the head of the Hoffnungstaler Hospital in Lobetal later reported to Bodelschwingh about this meeting. “Ninety per cent of the discussion revolved around emigration, while my questions about the provision of welfare for those who were remaining here did not find as much interest. One had to recognize that for these beleaguered persons only one goal was uppermost: how to get out of Germany”. Grüber was tireless in beseeching Bodelschwingh to come to Berlin to give him support, and to intervene with the various ministries in protest against the anti-Semitic measures being perpetrated throughout the country. Two days after the notorious November 9, 1938, pogrom he wrote to Bodelschwingh to say: “We cannot and must not leave these people in the lurch…. Matthew 25 is still our guideline.” We can only surmise why Bodelschwingh never replied. But Grüber and Braune collaborated with a rough division of labor, under which Grüber concentrated on emigration and Braune looked after the social welfare needs of these Christians of Jewish origin.

One of those who tried to leave Berlin as quickly as possible after the November pogrom was Heinrich Poms, who was in charge of the house in the Oranienburg Street operated by the British Mission to the Jews. This house was only a few hundred meters from the New Synagogue, in the middle of the Jewish quarter of Berlin. Poms arranged for Grüber to take over the lease of the Mission House, which then became the Church Relief Agency for Protestant Non-Aryans. Also close by was the Catholic Agency engaged in the same work for Catholic non-Aryans, led by Provost Bernhard Lichtenberg. On December 7, Grüber wrote to all his colleagues to announce that his agency was now opening its office in Oranienburg Street 20. And in a circular sent out on December 19, he gave the names of his immediate colleagues: Margarete Draeger, Paul Heiritz, Will Oelsner, Heinrich Hirschwald and Ingeborg Jacobson.

Phase Two: Extension and Consolidation of the Service in 1939

It soon became clear that the space in Oranienburg Street 20 was inadequate. Pastor Werner Sylten, who had volunteered his services and was taken on by Grüber as his deputy, had found an old and stately building, An der Stechbahn 3-4, across the street from the Berlin Castle, which had a very suitable second-story suite of rooms. This house which had previously belonged to Arnold Panofsky, who was Jewish, had recently been “confiscated”. So in January 1939 Grüber’s office for emigration took over six of the rooms, while for the time being the other departments which dealt with welfare, child evacuation and spiritual counselling remained in the Oranienburg Street house until the autumn of 1939. Some 20 colleagues worked as counsellors or secretaries, seeing between 100 and 120 clients every day, and providing advice as best they could. In the beginning of February 1939 Laura Livingstone moved her office to the same address, and by the end of March the two offices had recruited 30 co-workers. They also established contacts abroad, such as Pastor Adolf Freudenberg who represented Grüber’s office in London. After he paid a visit to Berlin, he reported: “The staff in the Stechbahn offices, who were all themselves members of the persecuted group of non-Aryans, did not allow themselves to be overwhelmed by the flood of enquirers, all of whom now felt the sword of Damacles hanging over their heads. Instead, they cheerfully sought to provide advice and help as best they could. This was a small candle of comfort in the surrounding darkness”.

By May 1939, besides the central office, there were 22 sub-offices throughout the country, led by contact persons who in many cases were themselves Christians of Jewish origin. Circulars to these contacts were sent out from time to time reporting on the regulations for emigration to various countries abroad, or where complications had been encountered. For example, a circular issued in March stated: “There are reasons to repeat our instructions, which should be closely observed, that we are strictly to confine our services to Protestant non-Aryans. In no case should we provide advice to those still belonging to the Jewish community”. And another circular asked that the addresses of those who had received advice and already left the country should be put in a card index and forwarded to Berlin.

Margaret Draeger was in charge if the section dealing with children and their evacuation. After the November pogrom, both Holland and Great Britain opened their doors to receive several thousand children between the ages of six and 17 who were being persecuted because of their racial origin. Difficulties however arose because the organization of these child transports had been undertaken by the Jewish agencies in Germany, leaving little room for Christian children to join them. Sylvia Woolf organized several such transports of children to Sweden.

In this third phase of the Nazi persecution from 1938 to 1941, the aim was to drive all remaining Jews out of the country. But since all previous efforts seemed inadequate and hadn’t produced the desired results, the head of the Gestapo, Heydrich, resolved to step up the process by instituting a central office for forcible emigration. The result was the Reich Office for Jewish emigration. All Jews, including the Christians, were to be included so that they could be better controlled, and financially plundered. The Nazis did not see the merging of Christians of Jewish origins along with other Jewish agencies as a problem, since they wanted to get rid of them all. But these Christians saw the issue in a quite different light. Would the Jewish agencies provide the same help, or would they be doubly discriminated against?

On February 14 Grüber and his Catholic counterpart Fr. Max Grösser, the General Secretary of St Raphael’s Society wrote to the specialist for Jewish affairs in the Gestapo headquarters to say: “It is a heavy burden for Christians of Jewish origin to be lumped together with full Jews, particularly when their financial affairs are being discussed”. In fact, the division between the two groups was only heightened by the Nazi persecution. They therefore requested a separate arrangement for Christians of Jewish origin so that the existing Christian agencies could work independently from Heydrich’s office.

A compromise was eventually reached, whereby the Christian agencies were allowed to continue their work, but were only tolerated and not seen as partners in the Nazi plans. This so-called collaboration meant that they were unable to prevent the financial plundering of Jewish property, but in fact received a monthly subsidy of 5000 Marks to cover their administration costs.

After the November pogrom, the Minister of Education, Bernhard Rust, forbade Jewish children to attend public schools. But since school attendance was still compulsory, this meant that Christian pupils had to go to Jewish schools. In order to avoid this situation, the Confessing Church leaders in Berlin established a private school arrangement of their own. Pastor Adolf Kurtz and his curate Klara Hunsche created a special school class in January 1939, at first in the parish house of the Apostles’ Church on Nollendorf Square. But after the Emigration Office had moved to the house An der Stechbahn, three or four rooms became available in the Oranienburg Street offices, so that the Protestant children were able to move in. The Gestapo allowed this arrangement for these Christian children. Klara Hunsche directed the teaching, while Pastor Kurtz dealt with outside bodies. By October 1939 the school had 42 pupils in four classes. This family school actually managed to survive after the Gestapo closed down Grüber’s office in December 1940. In February 1941 more than 1000 children and youth were attending but it clearly remained a thorn in the Gestapo’s flesh. They demanded that it should be merged with a Jewish school, and in August 1941, the Ministry of Education withdrew the school’s operating permit. Subsequent negotiations between Eichmann and Pastor Kurtz and the Catholic Auxiliary Bishop Wienken resulted in a compromise solution. The family school had to be abandoned, but instruction for Christian children of Jewish origin was to be continued in two separate classrooms in the Jewish elementary school on the Kaiser Street in central Berlin. But on June 30, 1942, the entire provision of education for Jews was forbidden.

Phase Three: Restriction on the Service and Final Closure of the Office, 1940-41

In November 1939 another restructuring of the Office took place, when Grüber announced that he would have to limit his engagement in this work. Pastor Werner Sylten, as his deputy, would take on the leadership position. But in order to ensure continuity and a broader support base, Grüber proposed setting up an advisory board, which would involve persons not as yet directly engaged in the work of the Office but who understood what was being attempted, such as Superintendent Martin Albertz, the lawyer Fritz Werner Arnold, Pastor Paul Braune and Heinrich Spiero, who had been the chairman of the Paulusbund.

With the outbreak of war, most states around Germany closed their borders. So organizing emigration plans also decreased. Some of Grüber’s staff had been able to emigrate shortly before war began, but at the end of 1939 there still remained 27 staff members in four sections. Thanks to a special permit given by Eichmann, Grüber was allowed to travel to Switzerland in March 1940 to investigate what the possibilities of emigration there might be. He wrote to Visser ’t Hooft, the General Secretary of the World Council of Churches (in process of formation) to say that he had managed to arrange for several people to get to Shanghai. But his attempt to obtain money from the USA was in vain.

The Gestapo continued to demand that all successful emigration activities should be reported to them. And after they closed down the Office, they confiscated and destroyed all the files and card indexes. So we now have only sketchy and insufficient evidence about these emigration projects. In a report prepared by Adolf Freudenberg in London, he stated that up to the end of August 1939, 1138 persons had successfully emigrated. In a later circular issued in November 1940 he was able to name a further 580 persons, bringing the total to 1718. But this figure was only for those who were serviced by the Berlin office, and did not include the partner offices in other cities. We only have the numbers supplied by the Munich office, which had assisted 48 persons to emigrate before the outbreak of war. So we can reckon that approximately 1800 to 2000 persons were able to reach safety abroad through the services of Grüber’s Office.

In 1940 the hindrances imposed by the Gestapo only increased. The scope of the Office’s activities was even more reduced. It was clear that, for the Gestapo, their only interest in Grüber’s office was to ensure the emigration, or more properly the flight, of Jewish refugees out of Germany. In February 1940 for the first time Jews from Germany were deported from Stettin to Lublin in former Poland. Grüber was beseeched to protest this outrageous action. But when he did so, he was summoned to the Gestapo headquarters in the Alexander Square and told in no uncertain terms not to criticize the measures taken by the Nazi Party and government. Grüber replied: “As long as I can speak, I will do so, and as long as I can work, I will work”. In October 1940, 6504 Jews were deported from the Saar region in western Germany and sent to the Gurs camp in southern France. Grüber only learnt about this from Pastor Hermann Maas in Heidelberg, and then considered how he might alleviate their plight in Gurs. But unfortunately his plans came to nothing.

In December 1940 the Gestapo took steps to stop Grüber in his tracks. They accused him of overstepping his allowed authority, and ordered the Office to be closed. The staff was dismissed and Grüber himself arrested. He was first taken to the Gestapo headquarters in Alexander Square and later transported to Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp. On December 20 Pastor Werner Sylten was ordered to appear at the Gestapo headquarters. He was told that the Office was now closed and all further work was forbidden. He should dissolve the office entirely, and transfer its furniture to its Jewish counterpart. He was given permission to have three or four former staff members help him. The welfare files should be transferred to the Jewish agency. A month later he was informed that the files dealing with emigration should be handed over to the Jewish agency’s division, i.e. Protestant members of Jewish origin. But this arrangement only lasted until November 1941, when the final phase of deportation and mass murder of Jews and Christians of Jewish origin began.

Sylten’s hoped that at least pastoral counselling for his charges could continue. But this was not allowed. On February 1, 1942 he informed the Gestapo office that he had fulfilled all their requirements, but on February 27 he was arrested and after several months in solitary confinement sent to Dachau Concentration Camp where he was later murdered.

Ingeborg Jacobson, who had been Grüber’s secretary, gave the names and addresses of several former clients to Helene Jacobs, one of the Confessing Church parish members in Berlin-Dahlem, in the hopes that she might be able to help them. And in fact a small group led by Franz Kaufmann did manage to assist a few persons who attempted to “take a leap into the dark” that is to go underground and live illegally. These persons were equipped with false identities and false papers. But of course they were constantly in danger. They had frequently to change their quarters whenever nosy neighbors or the police began enquiries. But several Protestant pastors in Württemberg, East Prussia and Pomerania made hiding places in their parish houses and established a chain of refuges where these Christians of Jewish origin were able to find sanctuary. It was of course a highly dangerous undertaking, but in some sense can be seen to be carrying on the work which Pastor Grüber and his Office had attempted to do.

Fortunately Grüber himself survived the war, and later returned to his parish in East Berlin, where he continued his efforts to assist the few remaining Christians of Jewish origin. He became renowned as the Provost of Berlin, and for nine years served as the chief negotiator with the Communist government. But his lasting memorial is the dedication and compassion shown to the Nazis’ victims when he constantly strove to follow the role of the Good Samaritan and thereby to atone for the scandalous derelictions of the wider church. He died in 1975.

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