Kristallnacht 80 Years Later




Kristallnacht Observance 2018, November 6, 2018
University of Louisville Interfaith Center
Bishop Bill Gafkjen, Indiana-Kentucky Synod, ELCA

On November 9–10, 1938, Nazi leaders unleashed a series of pogroms against the Jewish population in Germany and recently incorporated territories. This event came to be called Kristallnacht (The Night of Broken Glass) because of the shattered glass that littered the streets after the vandalism and destruction of Jewish-owned businesses, synagogues, and homes. https://encyclopedia.ushmm.org/content/en/article/kristallnacht

Led by ELCA pastor Austin Newberry and Hillel Director Elana Levitz, Episcopal LutheranCampus Ministry and Hillel, the Jewish Campus Ministry, at the University of Louisville convened a gathering of students, faculty, and community folk at the university’s Interfaith Center on November 6, 2018 in observance of the 80th anniversary of this terrible atrocity. Speakers included Fred Whittaker, a science and social studies middle school teacher at St. Francis of Assisi Catholic School and dedicated Holocaust educator, Fred Gross, Holocaust survivor and author of "One Step Ahead of Hitler: A Jewish Child's Journey Through France," students from St. Francis School, and Lauren Kasden, who sang a part of the Kaddish with us. I was honored to speak near the end of the event. This is what I said:

Thank you, Austin. Thank you, Elana. Thank you both for creating this holy space. Thank you to the two Freds and Lauren and students from St. Francis for filling this holy space this important evening. And thank you, all of you, who are here this evening. It's important that you are here. I believe that a Spirit bigger than all of us has drawn us here this night.

In April of 1994, the Church Council of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America – the national governing body, if you will, of the brand of Lutheranism of which I am a part – adopted a statement called the “Declaration of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America to the Jewish Community.” I want to read some portions of that declaration.

​In the long history of Christianity, there exists no more tragic development than the treatment accorded the Jewish people on the part of Christian believers. Very few Christian communities of faith were able to escape the contagion of anti-Judaism and its modern successor, anti-Semitism. The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America feel a special burden in this regard because of certain elements in the legacy of the Reformer Martin Luther, and the catastrophes including the Holocaust of the 20th century, suffered by Jews in places where the Lutheran churches were strongly represented.

There's a paragraph explaining why we continue to honor Martin Luther in some ways. And then, there is this paragraph:

In the spirit of truth-telling, we who bear his name and heritage must, with pain, acknowledge Luther's anti-Judaic diatribes and the violent recommendations of his later writings against the Jews. As did many of Luther's own companions in the 16th century, we reject this violent invective. And yet more do we express our deep and abiding sorrow over its tragic effects on subsequent generations. We particularly deplore the appropriation of Luther's words by modern anti-Semites for the teaching of hatred toward Judaism or toward the Jewish people in our day.

Grieving the complicity of our own tradition within this history of hatred, moreover we express our urgent desire to live out or faith in Jesus Christ with love and respect for the Jewish people. We recognize that anti-Semitism is a contradiction and an affront to the Gospel, a violation of our hope and calling. And we pledge this church to oppose the deadly working of such bigotry, both within our own circles and in the society around us. Finally, we pray for the continued blessing of the Blessed One upon the increasing cooperation and understanding between Lutheran Christians and the Jewish community.

​In 1994, twenty-four years ago, I was serving as Lutheran Campus Pastor at Penn State University. We had email then, just barely. When this message arrived in my inbox that spring, I printed it off and walked twenty steps down the hallway at Eisenhower Chapel at Penn State University and knocked on the door of my colleague and friend Tuvia Abramson, who was then the Director of Hillel. I knelt before him and I read this statement to him. Tuvia embraced me and we wept.

That terrible atrocity eighty years ago...that quiet moment when two leaders embraced one another in quiet repentance and grace on the campus of Penn State twenty-four years ago…the death-dealing act of terror on the Jewish community just over a week ago...place names like Pittsburgh and Charlottesville, Orlando and Jeffersontown….this moment, right here, this particular night in the life of this nation…even Scripture itself across traditions…all these converge to call us, to compel us, to be active participants in God's own mission to heal the torn fabric of human community.

It starts in our own hearts and moves from there…into our own families…our neighborhoods…our churches and synagogues and mosques…our communities…our nation and our world. But it begins in each of our own hearts, as we live with humility and solidarity and advocacy.

Humility, to me, means standing under or below. It's kneeling before each other, admitting our own complicity, our own silence, and seeking forgiveness and reconciliation. Standing below one another, not over one another, in humility.

Solidarity: standing alongside another, standing with one another. As Fred Gross suggested, solidarity means getting to know one another for who we are. It’s rejecting and overcoming stereotypes…standing together against fear…honoring one another for who we are and getting to know each other for who God has made us to be. Standing alongside one another.

​And advocacy: standing for one another, speaking for one another. Tweeting opposition when the bad stuff happens, yes, but advocacy is more. It’s stepping out in every way that we can – with our voices and with our bodies – to stand against the wave of violence and hatred that is upon us. Standing for one another.

​Dear sisters and brothers, this is a holy moment. Across our traditions we are called to humility, solidarity, and advocacy. As we do, wonder of wonders and by the grace of God, together we become means by which the Holy One will knit together again the torn community of this world. There is no more holy task. And I'm grateful to be in it with you.




Declaration of ELCA to Jewish Community

The Church Council of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America on April 18, 1994, adopted the following document as a statement on Lutheran-Jewish relations:

In the long history of Christianity there exists no more tragic development than the treatment accorded the Jewish people on the part of Christian believers. Very few Christian communities of faith were able to escape the contagion of anti-Judaism and its modern successor, anti-Semitism. Lutherans belonging to the Lutheran World Federation and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America feel a special burden in this regard because of certain elements in the legacy of the reformer Martin Luther and the catastrophes, including the Holocaust of the twentieth century, suffered by Jews in places where the Lutheran churches were strongly represented.

The Lutheran communion of faith is linked by name and heritage to the memory of Martin Luther, teacher and reformer. Honoring his name in our own, we recall his bold stand for truth, his earthy and sublime words of wisdom, and above all his witness to God's saving Word. Luther proclaimed a gospel for people as we really are, bidding us to trust a grace sufficient to reach our deepest shames and address the most tragic truths.

In the spirit of that truth-telling, we who bear his name and heritage must with pain acknowledge also Luther's anti-Judaic diatribes and the violent recommendations of his later writings against the Jews. As did many of Luther's own companions in the sixteenth century, we reject this violent invective, and yet more do we express our deep and abiding sorrow over its tragic effects on subsequent generations. In concert with the Lutheran World Federation, we particularly deplore the appropriation of Luther's words by modern anti-Semites for the teaching of hatred toward Judaism or toward the Jewish people in our day.

Grieving the complicity of our own tradition within this history of hatred, moreover, we express our urgent desire to live out our faith in Jesus Christ with love and respect for the Jewish people. We recognize in anti-Semitism a contradiction and an affront to the Gospel, a violation of our hope and calling, and we pledge this church to oppose the deadly working of such bigotry, both within our own circles and in the society around us. Finally, we pray for the continued blessing of the Blessed One upon the increasing cooperation and understanding between Lutheran Christians and the Jewish community.


Do not fear. I have redeemed you. You are mine.


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This post consists of the scripture passages and text of the sermon I preached during the opening worship of the 2018 Indiana-Kentucky Synod Assembly, which began just under a week after the shooting at West Noblesville Middle School in Noblesville, Indiana.
The recorded audio version may be found here

Isaiah 43:1-2, 5-7
But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. Do not fear, for I am with you; I will bring your offspring from the east, and from the west I will gather you; I will say to the north, “Give them up,” and to the south, “Do not withhold; bring my sons from far away and my daughters from the end of the earth— everyone who is called by my name, whom I created for my glory, whom I formed and made.”

Luke 4:16-21
When [Jesus] came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he began to say to them, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

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Grace, mercy, and peace be yours in abundance, dear sisters and brothers, from God, our Creator through the Lord Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Friday morning, this past Friday morning, I was sitting on our deck off the back of our house working on this sermon. All of a sudden, a news helicopter flew over the house and that made me realize that the air was also filled with the sound of sirens.
Living where we live, I assumed that there must have been a car accident. We live near some major roads and, unfortunately, this happens with some frequency, so I set down my tablet and paused to pray for whoever was in that accident. As I was praying, a notification popped up on my phone to tell me that there had been a shooting at West Noblesville Middle School, fifteen minutes from our house. I knew then that all the commotion I had heard was first responders on their way to tend to those who were in need.
I was reminded immediately of Benton, Kentucky, another community in our synod, where this past January two students were killed and some eighteen injured at Marshall County High School in Benton, Kentucky. One of our congregations, St. Matthew by the Lake Lutheran Church, is in Benton.
Truth be told, I wept and prayed.
Then I did what any contemporary bishop does. I texted our pastor in Noblesville, Teri Ditslear, to offer her support and prayers. She responded as I knew she would. "I'm already at the high school." They had bused all the kids from the middle school where the shooting had happened to the high school and Pastor Teri was there.
Thankfully, only two people were injured, and nobody was killed, in great measure because of the quick response of one of the teachers. Like Pastor Teri and the first responders and so many others who gathered with that community, who entered that community, who came up alongside those who were suffering – to bear their suffering, to offer whatever companionship they can offer, to offer them human touch, human presence – that's what the church does.
That's who we are. It's who we are called to be. It's who we are sent to be. It's why Jesus came. He said it in the temple that Sabbath day so long ago: "I'm here to set people free. I'm here to move into the lives of those who cannot see. I am here to proclaim release to the captives." And then, we saw him do it. Over and over and over again, Jesus went deep into the suffering of God's people, of all people, especially those whom others were not going to be with. "This is why I came," Jesus said.
By entering their suffering, entering our suffering, our trauma, our sin…by going deep into the ways in which we hurt and harm one another and break and shatter human community…by entering into the depth of it all, going all the way to Hell.
And there, right there in the midst of it all, somehow, in the amazing wonder and grace of God that is a mystery beyond my comprehension, new life was born.
Jesus gathered it all up into his very self, into God's own self. Our suffering became God's suffering. And, wonder of wonders, wounded by that suffering himself, Jesus carried it all the way to the cross, entered the depth of death. I don't know exactly what happened during the next couple of days, but I do know this: on the other side of hell, Jesus left it all wrapped in a white linen on the floor of an empty tomb and rose up from the dead to offer new life to the world.
That's what Jesus does and it's what we do because we are Jesus people.
Sisters and brothers, we are marked indelibly with that cross on our forehead and sealed forever in the Holy Spirit. The spirit of Jesus is sealed in our hearts and that spirit shares our suffering, our sin, our pain, our hurt, and somehow in the midst of it all, offers new life – wounded – but new and abundant and lasting life.
Jesus calls and claims us to follow Pastor Teri and all of the others like her, including those gathered in this room who know the deep and abiding love of Jesus for them that sets them free to go deep into others suffering share to share that life and love with others.
We are, after all, people who have heard the ancient words echoing down through the centuries to us. Did you hear it just a bit ago?
Now thus says the Lord, the one who created you, O Noblesville, the one who formed you, O Benton:
"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned and the flame shall not consume you. Do not fear, for I am with you and I will bring your offspring and I will gather you.” I will offer new, abundant, and lasting life and the restoration of human community.
Sisters and brothers, this night, these days, hear these words: "Fear not. I have called you. You are mine."
Hear them in the bit of bread and the sip of wine. Hear the promise in the rippling waters of the font. Hear it in the peace passed from one to another in this assembly. Hear it in the word spoken and silent in your hearts and from the lips of others. Hear it in the presence of a sibling in Christ, a brother or sister who comes up alongside of you to walk with you, in your own suffering, if only for a moment.
Then rise up as part of the resistance to step into the world and into the depth of its pain to say by your presence, "Fear not. God has claimed you. You belong to God and in the amazing mystery of God, wounded, you too will find new, abundant, and lasting life. And we'll find it together."
Thanks be to God.


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