George Grant. T.F. Rigelhof

to his studies. His mind races this way and that. He remembers what his friends have said to him. And what he has said to them. It’s a jumble of competing voices. When he can no longer hear himself think clearly because there’s been too much talk all day, too much to sort out, he starts a letter to his mother. He writes some words about the dominance of evil in the world, gets up, paces some more, sits back down, writes what is closest to his heart,

      If one is a Christian one must be forced back without doubt that one can never fight. Force cannot vie with force. Christ could have called on the angels to tear the temporal power of Jerusalem into ten billion fragments but he didn’t because he realized by passive resistance he won in the long run because he realized that if he let tyranny, stupidity & foolishness be destroyed they would crop up again. But as he made the permanent protest of nonresistance in the end he would create a far greater victory in his example; of course the world has not accepted the example but it still stands unflinching. Therefore if one is a Christian one cannot fight. Of course if one isn’t there is no reason in the world why one shouldn’t fight.

      The question no one can answer for him is how much of a Christian is he, really?

4

       The Conscience of an Objector

      All hell breaks loose. Two planes crash. One comes down in the field next to the woods where George has been cutting logs with some companions. They run to the field but before they get there, a German parachutist comes down fast only a hundred metres away. The woodcutters duck behind trees and wait. There’s no movement under the chute after it touches down. They investigate. The German is dead – his face intact, his body smashed. They move toward the plane with their axes. It’s an English one. They look inside and see the pilot all burned up. They smell burned flesh, feel the heat, and see flickers of flame. The plane is still on fire, still dangerous. They back away. Quickly. The ammunition boxes ignite. Bullets rip the air. They dive for cover. This is George’s first direct encounter with war. It is August 1940.

      George Grant, October 1941. “I am not my own.”