Mighty Fortress

Mighty Fortress Part 4

He had prepared a tender illumination of the Christ child for his Christmas Eve sermon. But how to deliver a sermon on God's love with Nazi soldiers in the pews? Stormtroopers, Wehrmacht, Schutzstaffel—even a couple of Gestapo. It was all Gottlieb could do to keep his heart beating. The sermon was dry, all the adoration drained from it by those hateful black spiders.

It was a relief to give the benediction, to hear the organ swell with a refrain from Handel, to know the night was almost over. He would check on Mutti and go to sleep.

But what if all those Schutzstaffel and Gestapo were here to search? Would they do that? Sit politely through a sermon, stand when they should, sing what they should, say the Lord's Prayer as they should, and then tear through the church looking for Jews?

A crazy idea. But if they were crazy enough to think of it, they would find one.

Sweat trickled down his neck.

She would die, and he would go to a work camp. They had already taken the Catholic priest, and he hadn't been hiding anyone—that Gottlieb knew of.

Pastor Gottlieb stood at the door of God's house, shook the hands of the Nazis as they left, and refrained from vomiting on their highly polished boots.

When everyone was gone, the candles extinguished and the church silent, he made a sandwich and took it up to the little room behind the pipes.

She didn't look his way when he poked his head through the hatch. "Mutti?" She was sitting up in her corner, the thin gray blanket tucked around her legs. Her hand lay limp next to the book on the floor.

A rat dashed across her lap. Its nails scratched the floorboards as it wriggled through a hole into the pipe chamber.

He bit his lip to stop its trembling. He stepped up into the room. His shoes clomped like lead weights on the floor. This day had to come. But why so soon?

Gottlieb knelt next to her, stroking her thin gray hair. "Oh, Mutti." His tears dropped into her hair. He laid her down, closed her eyes, and drew the blanket over her head.

+ + +

As he hurried down the street to the butcher shop where Rabbi Goldman was staying, Gottlieb planned a letter to the Spiegels. It was not the worst possible news. She hadn't been captured. She had gone to God in God's own time, and in God's way. Her death had not come at the hand of any man.

A block ahead, a Schutzstaffel colonel with a beautiful young lady on his arm approached.

For the first time since the Anschluss, the sight of the black uniform and the crooked cross did not make Gottlieb start or tremble. His heart did not race, nor his blood boil.

And why should they?

The invaders had no power. The Spiegels were safe in New York, and Mutti was in the safest place of all.

The Lord was more powerful than the Führer. He had already used Gottlieb to thwart the Nazis. Gottlieb's heart swelled. Use me again, Lord. It is a privilege to be an instrument of your justice.

Perhaps Rabbi Goldman knew of others who needed help.

The colonel lifted his hat as they passed on the street. "Good evening, Pastor."

Gottlieb made a stiff smile for the adversary. "Happy Christmas."

+ + +

That word above all earthly powers, No thanks to them, abideth;

The Spirit and the gifts are ours Through Him who with us sideth;

Let goods and kindred go, This mortal life also;

The body they may kill: God's truth abideth still;

His Kingdom is forever.