I’ve been haunted and humbled for years by a prayer I read and tucked away for safe keeping but, like many such things, have been unable to find again. It was the copy of a prayer allegedly found in a Jewish concentration camp after World War II.
Since then I’ve found similar prayers, attached to similar stories about this intercessory prayer being discovered after the camps were liberated. It feels almost useless to describe the setting in which this prayer was apparently discovered. We are all too familiar with the horrors of the Holocaust and the conditions for those imprisoned in work and death camps. It is beyond our true comprehension and understanding.
The prayer was prayed on the behalf of others — not fellow sufferers, bunk mates sharing not only a wood-slat bed but co-habiting in heartless conditions. It wasn’t prayed for them. The petition was offered on behalf of the oppressors, the monsters who tortured and killed innocent men, women, and children, the sick and elderly, the vibrant and young. The prayer was a prayer for forgiveness for unforgivable treatment.
I’ve read that it was discovered hand-written and posted in a barrack, scribbled on a torn scrap of wrapping paper. I’ve also read that it was found shoved into the coat pocket of a dead girl discovered in Ravensbruck. I’ve read that it was stumbled on and published immediately after the war in a German newspaper.
Obviously, it is difficult to trace the source of the prayer, or to even assure its veracity. But because the Holocaust revealed to us the inconceivable cruelty of mankind, I also want to believe that it could reveal — as a counter weight, an opposite — equally inconceivable human grace, possible only in communion with God.
If we think of this expression of mercy as legitimate, it might help us face any cruelty or meanness in our own lives — or even in our own hearts. We can remember this example as we stumble through our difficulties, which are not comparable, of course. We may face callousness or vindictiveness in the midst of a bitter divorce, squabbling family drama, or collaboration with ruthless professional colleagues. In those moments, we could well remember to be as compassionate and gracious as the anonymous author of this legendary prayer. Even if we aren’t personally facing any difficulties, there may be moments that require us to exercise some taste of grace. This is a full portion of it, to which we can refer for inspiration.
It is important to remember this is a prayer. It is borne from communicating with a power higher than the human position, which was immersed in its lowest point. I don’t think we humans alone could find such benevolence amid such violence. It is often said that when we come to the end of us, we find God. When we come to the end of our humanity, we find his divinity. The pray-er of this prayer, I must believe, found unearthly peace as his or her reward for showing such unnatural compassion.
Here is a version of the possibly fabled but masterful prayer:
“O Lord, remember not only the men and women of good will, but also those of ill will. But, do not remember all of the suffering they have inflicted upon us; instead remember the fruits we have borne because of this suffering — our fellowship, our loyalty to one another, our humility, our courage, our generosity, the greatness of heart that has grown from this trouble. When our persecutors come to be judged by you, let all of these fruits that we have borne be their forgiveness.”
There was another story that accompanied one version of this prayer. It was told like this:
“A man I knew returned, having also spent several years in a concentration camp. I met him in a street in Paris and asked him, ‘What have you brought back from the camp?”
“Anguish,” he replied.
“Why, have you lost your faith?” I said.
“No,” he answered, “but you see, while I was in the camp, the object of violence, of ill-treatment, of cruelty, expecting a violent death at every moment, I could say: ‘Father, forgive them, ’and I was sure that God must forgive them because I had the right to ask his forgiveness, for I was the innocent victim of their violence. Now I am free and perhaps they have not understood; they are still in their hatred and folly. And when I ask God for their salvation anguish seizes me. What proof can I bring to God to show that my prayer is sincere? I no longer suffer.’”
Can we even imagine hungering for another’s forgiveness that much? If we think about forgiveness at all, we mostly want it for ourselves and our loved ones. But to be so ravenous for forgiveness for our oppressors or transgressors that we almost regret the end of our suffering? It is nearly impossible to imagine.
Aside from making any harm or injury I might ever endure at the hands of others seem irrelevant or inconsequential, the prayer makes grace and mercy seem as unimaginably beautiful as the cruelty they suffered was unimaginably hideous. It gives me a small, earthly taste of the immense, holy grace of God.
Jaletta Albright Desmond is a self-syndicated columnist who writes about faith, family, and the fascinatingly mundane aspects of daily life. She lives in North Carolina with her husband and two daughters. Contact her at jdesmond@bdtonline.com
Columns
March 25, 2011
Remembering a prayer from the horrors of the Holocaust
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