A Bridge to Reconciliation

Back in the ‘70s a recently ordained pastor and his wife, newly assigned to their first ministry—to re-open a church in the Borough of Brooklyn, New York City, arrivedin early October, excited about their opportunities. 
When they saw the church, they realised that it was quite dilapidated and needed much work. They set a goal to have everything completed in time to conduct their first service on Christmas Eve.

They worked hard, repairing pews, plastering walls, painting and so on, and by December 18th, were ahead of schedule and nearly  finished. The next day a driving rainstorm hit the area and lasted for two days. The pastor  went to the church and his heart sank when he saw that the roof had leaked, causing a large area of plaster, about six feet by eight feet, to fall off the front wall, just behind the pulpit. He cleaned up the mess on the floor and, not knowing what else to do but postpone the Christmas Eve service, headed home.

On his way home, he noticed that a local business was having a “flea market” sale for charity, so he looked in. One of the items was a beautiful, handmade, ivory coloured tablecloth, crocheted with exquisite work, fine colours and with a cross embroidered in the centre. It was just the right size to cover up the hole in the plaster, so he bought it and started back to the church.

 By this time it had started to snow. He saw an older woman, running from the opposite direction trying to catch a bus, but she missed it.
The pastor invited her to wait in the warm church for the next bus due some 45 minutes later. She accepted his invitation gratefully and sat in a pew paying small attention to the pastor while he got a ladder, hangers, and so on to put up the tablecloth as a wall tapestry. He could hardly believe how beautiful it looked, and it covered the entire problem area.

He then noticed the woman walking down the centre aisle. Her face was white, like a sheet.
“Sir,” she asked, “where did you get that tablecloth?” 
The pastor explained. The woman asked him to check the lower right corner to see if the initials, “EBG” were embroidered there. 
They were. 
They were the woman’s initials. She had made this tablecloth 35 years before, in Austria. The woman could hardly believe it as the pastor told how had had just purchased it. 
The woman explained that, before World War II, she and her husband were well-to-do people in Austria. When the Nazis came, she was forced to leave. Her husband was going to follow her the next week. She was captured, sent to prison and never saw her husband or her home again.


The pastor wanted to return the tablecloth to the lady, but she insisted he keep it for 
the church. However, he asked if he might at least offer to drive her home. “That”, he said, “was the least I can do”.
 She lived far on the other side of New York, on Staten Island and was only in Brooklyn for the day for a housecleaning job.


On Christmas Eve the church was almost full for a wonderful service. 
Afterwards as the people began to leave an older man, whom the pastor recognised from the neighbourhood, continued to sit in one of the pews. The pastor wondered why he wasn’t leaving and spoke to him.

The man asked him where the tablecloth on the front wall had come from because it was identical to one that his wife had made years ago when they lived in Austria before the war. He told the pastor how the Nazis came, how he forced his wife to flee for her safety and he was intending to follow her, but was arrested and put in a prison. He had never seen his wife or his home again in all the 35 years in between.

The pastor asked him if he would allow him to take him for a little ride.
They drove across the Verrazano Bridge to Staten Island and to the same house where the pastor had taken the woman three days earlier. He helped the man to climb the three flights of stairs to the woman’s apartment, knocked on the door and saw the greatest Christmas reunion he could ever imagine.
   

Carol Gibson

Former Officer 

UKIT