“The only way to get rid of bitterness is to surrender it,” I said.
He turned slowly and looked at me. “What do you know about bitterness?” he asked. “You still have your legs.”
“Let me tell you a story,” I said. “In Holland, during the war, a man came to me begging me to help him liberate his wife. I felt compassion for him and gave him all my money. I also convinced my friends to do the same. But the man was a quisling, a traitor. The only reason he came to me was to trap me so he could have me arrested. Not only did he betray me, but he betrayed my entire family and friends. We were all sent to prison where three members of my family died.
“You ask me about bitterness and hatred. You only hate circumstances, but I hated a man. Sitting in the prison in my homeland, waiting to be transferred to a concentration camp in Germany, hatred and bitterness filled my heart. I wanted that man to die. I know what it is like to hate. That is why I can understand you.”
The lawyer turned his chair to face me. He was listening. “So, you have hated also. What do you suggest I do about my hate?”
“What I have to say is of no importance. Let me tell you what the Son of God had to say. ‘For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses’ (see Matt. 6:14–15). If we forgive other people, our hearts are made fit to receive forgiveness.”
The lawyer shifted uneasily in his wheelchair. I could see the muscles in his neck stand out as he pushed with his hands to change position. “When we repent,” I continued, “God forgives us and cleanses us. That is what I did, believing that if I confessed my sin God would be faithful and just to cleanse my sin and forgive me from all unrighteousness.”
The lawyer looked at me and shook his head. “That is easy to say, but my hatred is too deep to have it washed away.”
“No deeper than mine,” I said. “Yet when I confessed it, not only did Jesus take it away, He filled me with love—even the ability to love my enemy.”
“You mean you actually loved the man who betrayed you and who was responsible for the death of your family?”
I nodded. “After the war, when that man was sentenced to death, I corresponded with him, and God used me to show him the way of salvation before he was executed.”
The lawyer shook his head. “What a miracle! What a miracle! You mean Jesus can do that to a person? I shall have to give this much thought.”
Since I have learned not to push a person beyond where God has left him, I bade my friend goodbye and returned to my room.
A year later I was in Darmstadt again. My friends had given this man a car with special fixtures so he could drive without legs. He met me at the train station to bring me to the camp. As I got in the car, he laughed at my startled look.
“You taught me that Jesus is victor,” he said. “Now surely you are not afraid to drive with a man who has no legs.”
“You are right,” I answered. “I shall not be afraid. I am so glad to see you again. How are you?”
“Fine. I must tell you at the very beginning that I have surrendered my bitterness to God. I repented, and the Lord did just as you said. He forgave me and filled my heart with His love. Now I am working in the refugee camp and am praising God that He can use even a legless man if he is surrendered.”
He paused, and then continued. “But there is something I must know. After you forgave your enemies, was it settled once and for all?”
“Oh no,” I answered. “Just this month I had a sad experience with friends who behaved like enemies. They promised something but did not keep their promise. In fact, they took great advantage of me. However, I surrendered my bitterness to the Lord, asked forgiveness and He took it away.”
We were bouncing over a bumpy road, but the lawyer was more intent on me than his driving. “Was the bitterness gone for good, then?”
“No, just the next night, at four o’clock, I awoke and my heart was filled with bitterness again. I thought, How could my dear friend behave as she did? Again, I brought it to the Lord. He filled my heart with His love. But the next night it came back again. I was so discouraged. God had used me often to help people to love their enemies, and I could always give my testimony about what He had done in my life; but now I felt defeated.
“Then I remembered Ephesians 6:10–20 where Paul describes the ‘armour of God.’ He said that even after you have come to a standstill, still stand your ground. I was at a standstill, so I decided to stand my ground, and the bitterness and resentment fell away before me.
“Corrie ten Boom without the Lord Jesus cannot be victorious. I need the Lord every moment. And I have learned that I am absolutely dependent on Him. Because of this He has made me rich.”
We were just arriving at the refugee camp, and my lawyer friend parked before the building, turned off the motor and looked at me with a grin. “I am glad to hear that,” he said. “For sometimes my old bitterness returns. Now I shall just stand my ground, claim the victory of Jesus over fear and resentment, and love even when I don’t want to.”
My friend had learned well the secret of victory. It comes through obedience.
We feel this warm love everywhere within us because God has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.
Romans 5:5, LB
7
Love Your Enemy
It was in a church in Munich that I saw him—a balding, heavyset man in a gray overcoat, a brown felt hat clutched between his hands. People were filing out of the basement room where I had just spoken, moving along the rows of wooden chairs to the door at the rear. It was 1947, and I had come from Holland to defeated Germany with the message that God forgives.
It was the truth they needed most to hear in that bitter, bombed-out land, and I gave them my favorite mental picture. Maybe because the sea is never far from a Hollander’s mind, I liked to think that that’s where forgiven sins were thrown. “When we confess our sins,” I said, “God casts them into the deepest ocean, gone forever. And even though I cannot find a Scripture for it, I believe God then places a sign out there that says NO FISHING ALLOWED.”
The solemn faces stared back at me, not quite daring to believe. There were never questions after a talk in Germany in 1947. People stood up in silence, in silence collected their wraps, in silence left the room.
And that’s when I saw him, working his way forward against the others. One moment I saw the overcoat and the brown hat; the next, a blue uniform and a visored cap with its skull and crossbones. It came back with a rush: the huge room with its harsh overhead lights; the pathetic pile of dresses and shoes in the center of the floor; the shame of walking naked past this man. I could see my sister’s frail form ahead of me, ribs sharp beneath the parchment skin. Betsie, how thin you were!
The place was Ravensbruck, and the man who was making his way forward had been a guard—one of the most cruel guards.
Now he was in front of me, hand thrust out: “A fine message, Fraulein! How good it is to know that, as you say, all our sins are at the bottom of the sea!”
And I, who had spoken so glibly of forgiveness, fumbled in my pocketbook rather than take that hand. He would not remember me, of course—how could he remember one prisoner among those thousands of women?
But I remembered him and the leather crop swinging from his belt. I was face to face with one of my captors, and my blood seemed to freeze.
“You mentioned Ravensbruck in your talk,” he was saying. “I was a guard there.” No, he did not remember me.
“But since that time,” he went on, “I have become a Christian. I know that God has forgiven me for the cruel things I did there, but I would like to hear it from your lips as well. Fraulein,”—again the hand came out—“will you forgive me?”
And I stood there—I whose sins had again and again been forgiven—and could not forgive. Betsie had died in that place—could he erase her slow terrible death simply for
the asking?
It could not have been many seconds that he stood there—hand held out—but to me it seemed hours as I wrestled with the most difficult thing I had ever had to do.
For I had to do it—I knew that. The message that God forgives has a prior condition: that we forgive those who have injured us. “If you do not forgive men their trespasses,” Jesus says, “neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.”
I knew it not only as a commandment of God, but as a daily experience. Since the end of the war, I had had a home in Holland for victims of Nazi brutality. Those who were able to forgive their former enemies were able also to return to the outside world and rebuild their lives, no matter what the physical scars. Those who nursed their bitterness remained invalids. It was as simple and as horrible as that.
And still I stood there with the coldness clutching my heart. But forgiveness is not an emotion—I knew that too. Forgiveness is an act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the heart. Jesus, help me! I prayed silently. I can lift my hand. I can do that much. You supply the feeling.
And so woodenly, mechanically, I thrust my hand into the one stretched out to me. And as I did, an incredible thing took place. The current started in my shoulder, raced down my arm, sprang into our joined hands. And then this healing warmth seemed to flood my whole being, bringing tears to my eyes.
“I forgive you, brother!” I cried. “With all my heart.”
For a long moment we grasped each other’s hands, the former guard and the former prisoner. I had never known God’s love so intensely as I did then. But even so, I realized it was not my love. I had tried, and did not have the power. It was the power of the Holy Spirit as recorded in Romans 5:5: “… because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.”
(Reprinted by permission from Guidepost Magazine, ¨© 1972 by Guideposts Associates, Inc., Carmel, New York 10512.)
And Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost returned from Jordan, and was led by the Spirit into the wilderness…. And Jesus returned in the power of the Spirit into Galilee: and there went out a fame of him through all the region round about.
Luke 4:1, 14
8
In the Power of the Spirit
As I stood in the railroad station in Basel, Switzerland, waiting for my luggage, I suddenly realized that I did not know where I was supposed to go. For ten years after my release from prison, I had been traveling all over the world at the direction of God. Many times I did not know why I was to go to a certain place until I arrived. It had become almost second nature not to make my plans and then ask for God’s signature. Rather, I had learned to wait for God’s plan and then write my name on the schedule.
But this time was different. Suddenly I was in Basel and had no idea why, or whom I was to contact. Besides, I was tired. Sleeping each night in a different bed and always living out of a suitcase had worn me down. I felt a sensation of panic in my heart and sat down, trying to remember to whom I was going. At sixty-three years of age, could it be that I was so overworked that I was losing my memory? Or even worse, had God withdrawn His conscious presence from me to let me walk alone for a season?
Inside my suitcase I found an address. It had no meaning to me but it was all I had to go on. I took a taxi to the place, but the people at that address were complete strangers and had never heard of me. By now I was desperate—and a little bit frightened.
The people told me of another man I might contact. Perhaps he would know who I was and why I had come to Basel. I took another taxi, but this gentleman too was unfamiliar with my work.
For ten years the Lord had guided me step by step. At no time had I been confused or afraid. Now I was both—unable to recognize the presence of God. Surely He was still guiding me, but like the pilot who flies into the clouds, I was now having to rely on instruments rather than sight. I decided to turn around and go back home to Holland, there to await further orders.
Because of a severe storm, the planes were not flying. I had to travel by train. Arriving in Haarlem, I started toward the phone near the station to call Zonneduin, the house where I was to stay in the outskirts of the city in Bloemendaal.
But on the way to the phone booth, I slipped on the wet pavement, and before I knew it I was sprawled in the street. A sharp pain shot through my hip, and I was unable to stand.
“Oh, Lord,” I prayed, “lay Your hand on my hip and take away this horrible pain.”
Instantly the pain disappeared, but I was still unable to get up. Kind people assisted me to a taxi where a policeman asked if he could help.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Corrie ten Boom.”
He looked surprised and questioned me further. “Are you a member of the family of that name whom we arrested about ten years ago?”
“That is right.”
During the war many of the good Dutch policemen had been in the service of the Gestapo, remaining there for the express purpose of helping political prisoners. This man had been on duty that day my family was arrested.
“I am so sorry about your accident,” he said sympathetically, “but I am glad to see you again. I will never forget that night in the police station. You were all sitting or lying on the floor of the station. Your old father was there with all his children and many of your friends. I have often told my colleagues that there was an atmosphere of peace and joy in our station that night, as if you were going to a feast instead of prison and death.”
He paused and looked at me kindly as if trying to remember my face. “Your father said before he tried to sleep, ‘Let us pray together.’ And then he read Psalm 91.”
“You remember!” I exclaimed. After ten years that policeman had remembered which psalm my father had read.
For a fleeing moment, sitting in that old taxi on a Haarlem street while the rain pelted the roof, I allowed myself that pain of looking backwards. It was in this same city that we had been arrested. In fact, the prison was only a short distance from where I was now sitting. That was the last time our family had been together. Within ten days Father was dead. Then later Betsie. All gone. Now, ten years later this policeman still remembered.
He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. (91:1)
Now the message was clear. Although there was no light to guide me, I was still in God’s will. Actually, when one is abiding under the shadow of the Almighty, there will be no light, but that is only because God’s presence is so near.
I leaned back in the seat. “Dear God, when this shadow came over me, I thought You had departed. Now I understand it was because You were drawing closer. I eagerly await whatever You have planned for me.”
Eager I was, but not so patient. An x-ray showed my hip was not broken, only badly bruised. The doctor said I would have to remain in bed for several weeks for it to heal. I was taken from the clinic to Zonneduin where I was put to bed, unable to move or turn over without the help of a nurse.
I was a very impatient patient. I had only five days to get to a student conference in Germany. As the days slipped by and I realized my hip was not healing fast enough to make the conference, I grew irritable.
“Is there not a Christian in all Haarlem who can pray for me to be healed?” I asked.
My friends sent for a particular minister in the city who was known to have laid hands on the sick for healing. That same afternoon he came to my room.
Standing beside my bed, he said, “Is there any unconfessed sin in your life?”
What an odd question, I thought. I understood he had agreed to come pray for my healing, but was it his job to get so personal about my sins and attitudes? However, I did not have far to look. My impatience and demanding attitude which I had displayed toward my nurse had been wrong, very wrong. I asked her to come to the room, and I repented of my sin, asking both her and God to forgive me.
Satisfied, this gentle man
then reached over and laid his hands on my head. Only the year before, my sister Nollie had died. Ever since, my heart had been broken with mourning. I had the feeling of being left all alone and knew that the insecurity which I had experienced had contributed to my being here in this bed, rather than in Germany with the students. Yet as this tall, handsome man laid his hands on me and prayed, I felt a great stream of power flowing through me. Such great joy. The mourning left, and I wanted to sing with David:
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness. (Ps. 30:11)
I felt the presence of the Lord Jesus all around me and felt His love flowing through me and over me as if I were being immersed in an ocean of grace. My joy became so intense that I finally prayed, “No more, Lord, no more.” My heart felt it was about to burst, so great was the joy. I knew it was that wonderful experience promised by Jesus—the baptism in the Holy Spirit.
I looked at the man who had prayed for me. “Can I walk now?” I asked.
He smiled. “I do not know. All I know is you asked for a cupful, and God gave you an ocean.”
Ten days later I was on my way to Germany, late, but still filled with joy overflowing. Only after I arrived did I realize why God chose this particular time to fill me with His Holy Spirit. For in Germany, for the first time, I came face to face with many people who were demonized. Had I gone in my own power, I would have been consumed. Now, going in the power of the Holy Spirit, God was able to work much deliverance through me as we commanded demons to be cast out in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Jesus specifically warned His followers not to try to minister in His name without His power. As I found out from my experience in Basel, trying to do the Lord’s work in your own strength is the most confusing, exhausting and tedious of all work. But when you are filled with the Holy Spirit, then the ministry of Jesus just flows out of you.