Out Under the Stars - Into Freedom
The tanks had set a barracks on fire as well as two large hay stacks. These fires lit up the camp and hill side until it looked like day, so by the "pillar of fire" we moved out and up the hill. I walked beside Chaplain Stonesifer, and we talked freely about what we would do.
Suddenly, I noticed to my left and forward a few steps the body of an American soldier. It appeared that he had dropped from a tank with his rifle in hand and started to knock out a machine gun position when he was hit. He fell head forward down the hill. There he was lifeless and motionless. In my mind's eye I can still see his rifle, steel helmet, combat jacket, 0. D. clothes, boots and hand grenades. He was my fellow comrade—one of our own men.
As I paused a moment I thought of him leaving his home and loved ones in America. I thought of him, coming to this foreign land and finding his way up to this prison camp. Here he had given his life that I might be free. He had paid the supreme price for my freedom. He had given himself. Still standing there, I uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for this American soldier.
We walked on up the hill, saying little, but I was thinking of another Soldier. He was the Soldier of the cross. My mind traced the story back to about 2,000 years ago when He too left His Father and His home and came to this old sin-cursed, war-ravished world. He, too, had died on a hill, on Calvary, near Jerusalem. He had shed every drop of His blood that I might be free. Free from the burden of sin, free from the guilt of sin, and free from the stain of sin. I was glad for that freedom and I knew it was my possession.
Would I not have been disrespectful if I had ignored or trampled the blood of my comrade underfoot on that hill that night in Germany? Would not I likewise be disrespectful if I ignored or trampled underfoot the blood of a Saviour who died for me?
Suddenly, I noticed to my left and forward a few steps the body of an American soldier. It appeared that he had dropped from a tank with his rifle in hand and started to knock out a machine gun position when he was hit. He fell head forward down the hill. There he was lifeless and motionless. In my mind's eye I can still see his rifle, steel helmet, combat jacket, 0. D. clothes, boots and hand grenades. He was my fellow comrade—one of our own men.
As I paused a moment I thought of him leaving his home and loved ones in America. I thought of him, coming to this foreign land and finding his way up to this prison camp. Here he had given his life that I might be free. He had paid the supreme price for my freedom. He had given himself. Still standing there, I uttered a prayer of thanksgiving for this American soldier.
We walked on up the hill, saying little, but I was thinking of another Soldier. He was the Soldier of the cross. My mind traced the story back to about 2,000 years ago when He too left His Father and His home and came to this old sin-cursed, war-ravished world. He, too, had died on a hill, on Calvary, near Jerusalem. He had shed every drop of His blood that I might be free. Free from the burden of sin, free from the guilt of sin, and free from the stain of sin. I was glad for that freedom and I knew it was my possession.
Would I not have been disrespectful if I had ignored or trampled the blood of my comrade underfoot on that hill that night in Germany? Would not I likewise be disrespectful if I ignored or trampled underfoot the blood of a Saviour who died for me?
posted by News at 9:39 AM
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