THE SINGING MARTYR

PASTOR SCHWEITZER was a Lutheran minister who went to Latvia from Germany as a youth. When Russia annexed Latvia after World War I, Pastor Schweitzer was among the first to be im- prisoned by the Soviets, mainly because he was of German birth. Later he was convicted as a foreign spy and sent to Solovetiki, an Island in the White Sea between Archangel and Murmansk. The concen-tration camp was known as “the prison of no hope on earth.” Some of the guards were thieves and criminals who had served in the Red Army – a cut-throat lot. Among the prisoners were teachers, professional men, workers, intellectuals and those who were “religious”. Pastor Schweitzer stood out, a tall, white-haired figure. After the regular “cultural and educational lectures” which all prisoners were forced to attend, Pastor Schweitzer would seize every opportunity to witness for Christ by word and song. In his documentary “God’s Secret Armies”, Joseph Johnston tells of the indomi-table courage and infectious joy of Pastor Schweitzer: The guards, both convicts and civilians, had a mortal fear of the old pastor, whose spirit no amount of “corrective” disci- pline, hardships, starvation, or torture could break. Well over sixty, Pastor Schweitzer was assigned to the back-breaking task of pulling a sleigh into the woods and out again when it was loaded. But he always went to work with a hymn on his lips. When the guards beat him with whips or rifle butts, the saintly old man would look up at them and mutter, “God forgive you.” After the fifteen-minute break for the usual meal of thin barley soup, hot water and a crust of bread, Pastor Schweitzer would set up a rough timber cross and lead his fellow-sufferers in prayer and singing. Often no one dared to join him and the old man would go through his service alone. Eventually he was put in solitary confinement in a cell a hundred yards away from the barrack-room. But day and night the other prisoners could hear his voice from the solitary cell, raised in songs of praise to the Lord. It was a blistering cold night in January 1947 when Lublinski, the new commandant, released him with the warning to cease his “infernal singing”. He came into the barrack quietly in the middle of the night. In the dark of the frigid barracks, Pastor Schweitzer sat on his cot. “Brothers,” he said more faintly than ever he had spoken before, between racking, tubercular coughs, “will you join me in singing...? I could not be with you on Christmas.” From all corners of the black barrack, voices joined in the sacred song, Pastor Schweit-zer’s above them all, leading their spirits and their thoughts back to the days when they were men. Lublinski stormed into the room. The singing continued. He grabbed the old man, hysterically beating him with the butt of his pistol about the mouth, nose and eyes. But not a scream nor whimper did he wring from Pastor Schweitzer. “I’ll teach you. I’ll break you. I’ll show you something you’ve never dreamed of,” screamed Lublinski. Four convict guards dragged the old man away. For a few minutes his voice could still be heard singing. Then came silence. In the morning, when the prisoners turned out, they saw in the middle of the company formation a block of ice on the ground. Lublinski had played the hose on Pastor Schweitzer in the Arctic night. Frozen into a human statue, the body of Pastor Schweitzer lay in the attitude of martyrdom - his arms outstretched, forming a cross. The singing saint had slipped away from his frozen temple of clay. But he is still singing! - The Flame Sponsored by: Lemon Blossom Guest House 4 Kerk Street, Potchefstroom Tel: (018) 297 1137 Cell: 082 803 3872