St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

March 15, 2009

It happens so very quickly – the first murder! In the beginning, the universe… so very good and beautiful. Then Adam and Eve in the garden, and everything going haywire; they’re out, living east of Eden. Then there’s chapter four:- two brothers, Cain and Abel; sibling rivalry, jealousy, hurt feelings, anger, violence, death. Cain kills Abel – a fundamental statement says the Bible, of what we humans are capable; of what we humans seem to do over and over; we’re good at it, killing each other.

In this story, there are no secrets – there never are with God; sure, you can hide from other people, play games, create good defenses. Never works with God… almost by definition. “And the LORD said, “What have you done? Listen: your brother’s blood is crying out to me from the ground!”” Murder cries out; there are always consequences spilling into the future once blood is spilled.

Cain tries to diminish his responsibility. When God questions him, “Where is your brother Abel?” Cain responds, “I do not know; am I my brother’s keeper?” … Well, no… you weren’t, Cain; but God makes it clear that in fact Cain was his brother’s keeper; that’s part of what it means to be human; we are all called to care for each other, to recognize each other’s humanity, to protect that, to stand together. “You bet you are your brother’s keeper!” is the unspoken response of Holiness.

When we choose the way of murder, of death… well, let’s be clear -- the way of sin … well, says Scripture, then life falls apart. Cain’s actions have exiled him from the centre of his true self; he is a wanderer and a fugitive, no longer at ease on the land or in his own skin. --

Now, fast forward into the 20th century and add a lot of technology; and all of a sudden the Cain and Abel story is being writ large in our own times in the Holocaust. The murder of sister and brother is told over and over, six million times; transport trains, death camps, gas ovens, soldiers and guards; humanity turning on itself as if stricken with an auto-immune illness; not our brother’s keeper, but his killer.

I read that there are over two hundred and fifty films about the Holocaust… think “Sophie’s Choice,” “Schindler’s List,” or “Life is Beautiful;” think… well, “The Reader.” Nominated for best picture; best director; received the Oscar for Best Actress. It’s a powerful film, whose centre point is the trial of several women who were prison guards at Auschwitz and surrounding camps, who are now accused of murder by two witnesses who survived, a mother and her daughter. These guards, including one Hanna Schmitz, were responsible for choosing sixty women each month, women who were too sick or worn out to continue working, who were to be shipped off to the ovens of Auschwitz, so as to make room for new, slightly stronger replacements. “Did you know what was going to happen to those sixty women?” asked one of the judges, directing the question particularly to Hanna; who answered, “Yes. We had to; it was our job; the women had to go to make room for the new ones.” There is a long silence in the court.

But it gets worse. Near the end of the war, these guards were escorting several hundred prisoners to a more secure camp. On one particular evening, the prisoners took shelter in an old church. However there was an air raid that night, and when the bombs started falling, the church took a hit and went up in flames. When the desperate women attempted to escape the burning building, they discovered that the doors were locked – from the outside. The couldn’t get out. The guards ignored their screaming, and would not unlock the doors. Again, that question, “Why?” And the answer that Hanna gives is frightening: “We were the guards; it was our job; what could we do? If we unlocked the doors the prisoners would have escaped.” More appalled silence in the court. Finally, almost in desperation, Hanna turns and faces the judge, and in all sincerity asks, “What would you have done?” And that’s the question that hangs in the air… for all of us, no?

It’s Cain… in each of us; snared by hunger for more… of whatever; or fear that there isn’t enough... of whatever. Which brings us to the place of violence. But that almost feels too dramatic; in this film the ability to be a guard at Auschwitz was so ordinary; just go along, don’t look too closely; do the job. I read that there were eight thousand guards at Auschwitz, and that was only one of many camps. And those guards had families, friends, neighbours, communities… everyone knew what was happening behind those strands of barbwire, behind those closed doors. Or they were expending a lot of energy in not knowing; in looking the other way. Or they had simply become numb, on automatic; feeling powerless. The three “A’s” were being faithfully lived out -- Anaesthetize; Avoid; Acquiesce.

It’s what Hannah Arendt so long ago labeled “the banality of evil.” It just happens; and we humans feel … trapped? caught? acquiescent? numb? Deliberately or vaguely obtuse, willing to enjoy the benefits. Cain is nothing special; happens all the time, over and over. Do you remember Leonard Cohen’s poem, “Everything You Ever Needed to Know about Adolph Eichmann”?

Eyes Medium
Height Medium

Weight Medium

Hair Medium

Distinguishing Features None

Number of fingers Ten

Number of toes Ten

Intelligence Medium

What did you expect?

Talons?

Oversize incisors?

Green saliva?

Madness?

Holocaust films help us confront the ordinary evil that is in the world. We are always tempted, however, even here, to point the finger at others, those evil Auschwitz guards, those Nazis, the German nation… not us; not me and you. But I worry, sometimes that my grandchildren might some day come up to me and ask, “Why? You knew what was happening in the world -- that 25,000 children died everyday from poor nutrition and lousy water supply; that proper drugs and medications for HIV/AIDS and malaria could have saved millions of lives, that life on too many of our country’s First Nations reserves was strangled by poverty, despair, abuse and suicide.” They will look at me, and ask, “How did this happen? How could you look away? How did you live with guilt? Did you do anything to bring about change? What part of being your brother’s and sister’s keeper did you not understand?”

Medium… no talons, no green saliva; no Joker wandering in from another film. Just human beings stuck, trapped, guilty as charged. Easy to condemn, but this movie doesn’t take the easy way out. Yes, denunciation of monstrous evil. But also understanding. You see, we don’t get to the trial until the half way point of the film, and by that time we have developed a different connection with Hanna. The Reader opens with Hanna helping a young lad who is sick.. She cleans him up, and escorts him, almost guard-like, to his family home. “You take care, Kid,” are her parting words. A Good Samaritan kind of action. This chance encounter leads to an affair between these two, Michael and Hanna. Yes, there is the problem of their age difference… Hanna is 36… and Michael, fifteen; on the other hand, there is playfulness, delight; a weekend in the country, with Hanna on her bike, her hair streaming in the wind, laughing. Hanna and Michael make love; it feels tender, passionate, on fire. Yes, there’s also other stuff; but you end up caring for Hannah.

Then, of course, there’s her secret… she is illiterate; which explains so much… her guardedness, quick anger, defensiveness, her shame. During the trial, Hanna is so ashamed of her illiteracy that she chooses to plead guilty to crimes she didn’t commit so as to avoid exposing her secret. You feel sorry for her; on the other hand, the crimes she did commit were heinous. It’s hard to sort out feelings; it’s hard not to like Hanna, or at least to feel sorry for her; except what she did remains monstrous. Condemnation and understanding… a paradox. Is this what it means to live as a human being – to recognize that all of us will at one time or another act as Cain; sometimes for reasons we don’t comprehend – secrets that twist our actions; but sometimes for very ordinary and understandable reasons? Maybe this is what we have to figure out how to live with.

I think this is the kind of paradox which Jesus was addressing over and over in his ministry. He says, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick… I have come to call not the righteous but sinners.” And these aren’t just nice words – because Jesus has just asked Matthew the tax collector to come and follow him,. and the day finishes with Jesus sitting down for supper with a bunch of Matthew’s friends… your basic gathering of sinners and fellow tax collectors. Now remember, we’re not talking here about folk from Revenue Canada; I know they can be irritating and frustrating, and sometimes you feel like you want to scream. But first century tax collectors were a very different animal. They worked on behalf of the Romans; with muscle to back them up -- those legionnaires, with their swords and spears at the ready. And crosses in the background. Tax collectors were fellow Jews; they knew how the community worked, and who had done well that year; they knew how to extract the last denarius from each household. And they made sure that there was a healthy profit margin for themselves. Frankly, not that much different from an Auschwitz guard. About as ordinary, and brutal, and self-serving. Another one of those jobs that somebody had to do. But it didn’t seem to deter Jesus; ““What I desire,” says Jesus, “is mercy, not sacrifice.”” Mercy… no one is left of God’s circle of love; there’s room for Matthew, and all the other tax collectors of the world; there’s room for Hanna, all the other eight thousand guards from Auschwitz; there is room for Cain. And if there’s room for the likes of them, then there’s room for you and me.

But this is not a story about cheap grace. No one is outside the circle of God’s love; but no one is excused from walking the hard road of redemption. Cain is a murderer, and a fugitive. But even then he was not abandoned by God; the story tells us that God marked Cain in a way that everyone immediately recognized… they knew him as sinner perhaps, but they also knew that he was under God’s protection, and should not be harmed. Which gave him opportunity to change. And Matthew, when he was called, he chose to follow Jesus. Which meant that he could no longer be a tax collector; and I suspect that there was a lot of stuff inside him, in his heart, that also changed. And in “The Reader” – well, the final third is all about redemption, as both Michael and Hanna seek healing for the wounds they have received; and for the wounds they inflicted. Call it repentance; call it living through and beyond guilt; call it healing; call it making amends; call it grace.

Take Michael. He was deeply wounded by his affair with Hanna; this was indeed, an abusive relationship, despite the delight of a young man in discovering the joys of making love. Hanna’s secret… her illiteracy… twisted their relationship; and eventually to an abrupt ending with no good byes or explanations, leaving Michael forlorn and heartbroken. And this was all before the trial, when Michael discovered that the woman he had loved was a murderer. This became his secret and he told no one. Hanna hurt Michael; and he betrays her in response. He knows he should visit Hanna during the trial, if only to try and convince her to publicly acknowledge her secret illiteracy, since that would make a major difference in sentencing. Michael makes all the arrangements for such a visit; he walks through the prison gates; Hanna is brought into the visiting room. But then Michael can’t, won’t follow through; he turns his back on his sister, and departs…. his moment of betrayal. There are consequences… Michael becomes a withdrawn man, distant, detached. His marriage flounders; his daughter feels rejected; lovers come and go.

But “The Reader” is not a “lecturing” film, but rather helps us see two people attempt to discover redemption, although they might not use such religious language. And it is not directly intentional. But it does happen; there are moments of grace. For instance, Michael begins to read and record all the books that he and Hanna had read so long ago; all those and then more. He packages up the first bundle of tapes, along with tape recorder and batteries, and mails them off to Hanna, who has been sentenced to life imprisonment. These tapes, Michael’s voice, his presence – they become Hanna’s life-line and they open up her world; Michael’s strange act of kindness triggers new possibilities in Hanna… she learns to read, and to write; painfully, laboriously, almost destroyed the tape-recorder in the process, as he listens over and over, connecting sounds to words. And once she is able to read, she chooses to learn more about what happened in the camps. It’s almost as if her illiteracy functions as a symbol of our human unwillingness to plumb our own depths; to be honest about ourselves and our history.

All of this happens over ten years. There were times I wanted to shake Michael… because I wanted him to do more. Once Hanna had mastered basic printing, she wrote to Michael, and asked him to write back. Which he refused to do. Once again this movie sends us into a disturbing conflict of feelings, You understand Michael, yet he could have done more. Maybe? Isn’t Michael called to be his brother’s, his sister’s keeper? And yet he did something… and as a result Hanna learned to read. Subdued hope -- first steps, and second and third ones when they happen. Maybe that’s all that’s possible; maybe that’s enough?

The movie comes to a tight ending when Michael goes to New York, to visit the little girl who survived the burning church outside the gates of Auschwitz, now a grown woman. Hanna has died, but she asked that all her money, some several thousand marks, be given to this woman. Who will not accept them – “It feels too much like an absolution that I am not able or willing to give.” Not absolution, suggests Michael, but recognition. A recognition of how Hanna’s illiteracy shaped her actions; especially when you try and imagine the family she must have grown up with, parents who didn’t recognize or perhaps care that she didn’t learn to read and write, where Hanna became trapped by secret shame., and no one noticed. Not an excuse for her actions, but a recognition. And further, that her learning to read as she served her prison time led to changes, perhaps to repentance. The woman refuses the money, but agrees that it can be used to alleviate Jewish illiteracy; and, she takes the tea box which held the money; she remembers a tea box from her childhood, the one that was stolen from her in Auschwitz so many years ago. She takes this replacement, and puts it upon her mantle, beside the photograph of her family, the one that was murdered in the camps. Another gesture of healing? Maybe.

There’s also a moment of grace for Michael. This camp survivor asks him about the nature of his relationship with Hanna. He prevaricates; but she demands honesty. So finally Michael tells his secret, his torment over Hanna; it is the first time he has ever told his story. His listener offers judgment, “Did Hanna ever acknowledge what she had done to you?” She also offers understanding and recognition.

The film has a subdued ending, suffused with hope; not a lot maybe, but some. Michael takes his daughter to the graveyard where Hanna is buried. We seem them side by side, a closeness of body already nudging; Michael begins to speak; softly….”I was fifteen, and one afternoon, when I was sick....” It’s another step on the road of redemption; telling the story of what has been done to us; telling the story of what we have done, and not done. And seeking to make amends; to repent; to change; to discover the face of mercy in the midst of evil.