Steps Through Two Dictatorships" (2) by Gerd Skibbe

Excerpts taken from Walter Krause’s Diary, published in 2005 by Edith Krause, Walter Krause in seiner Zeit, p. 138:

»In April ’47, Gerd Skibbe was to fill an errand from his mother: to travel to the island of Usedom to the village of Mahlzow to buy fish. I was happy to go with him; for once again we would have an opportunity to engage in gospel conversation. Sister Julianne Skibbe, Gerd’s mother, packed a pair of wooden shoes for the fisherman’s wife. She asked Sister Edith Schade,(then responsible for genealogical work in the Church), if she would like to go too, and if she would like to try out a pair of wooden clogs. Because for all other shoes one had to have a coupon, Sister Schade agreed. Thus the 3 of us walked down to the Peene River where we boarded a ferry to take us to the island. On arrival we found out that the Soviet Army officers were checking everyone’s passport. »What’s all this?« I thought to myself. We were under the belief that the time when people were arrested in the street, or in their workplaces - never to be seen or heard of again, or to be sent to some far off prison camp in Siberia - was behind us. What on earth was wrong? First the Soviet officers looked at the passports. Gerd Skibbe and Edith Schade had come without theirs and were told to step to the right. I carried mine, which was made out in 4 Languages. Brother Suhrmann, (a leader in the coal mining industry after the war) had obtained it for me, in Steinpleiss. I was told to step to the left. The proceedings were executed in utter silence. As all of about 30 people had been checked, all the people to the right were told to leave. So Gerd and Sister Edith Schade were free but, the rest were told to go inside a building and stay there under guard. Gerd and Edith discussed the situation then came inside the building to inform me that, whatever might happen, they wished to stay with me. I refused their offer, fearing mainly for Edith’s safety among so many Russian officers. The 2 however did not change their mind. As nobody objected they stayed. »After some time had passed, a huge military truck arrived. We were told to climb into it and sit down on the floor with the Soviet soldiers guarding us with machine guns. There we sat while they stood over us. This forced ride across the beautiful island of Usedom did not exactly delight us. The ride of 42 kilometers ended in the village of Heringsdorf. The truck stopped in front of one of the old holiday villas. The Soviet commander told us to get off the truck. There the people were divided and sent to different rooms in thebuilding. The 3 of us were separated, as were the men and the women.

»Whilst we were waiting, darkness fell upon the world. One by one we were taken before the commander, who also sat in a darkened room. The reason for this was that at times they cut electricity supplies. At that time we did not realize it and took it as just another way by which the Soviets upset the Germans. Sister Schade told us later on that she was afraid because of the darkness, hearing only the voice of the interpreter and the man asking so many questions. Somewhere in the far corner beds were squeaking. Later as the electricity was turned back on she could see that for the second investigation they were in a watch room. It was fitted with bunk beds in which soldiers were sleeping. »As the first interrogation was linked to the second, the commandant led the latter without an interpreter. At this time we did not know that Gerd Skibbe had been one of the first to be questioned. He was dismissed and waited for us in the street. Sister Schade stayed, and settled down in the doorway of the well-lit kitchen, where the Soviet soldiers came to get their evening meal. Later Gerd also came in to sit with her. Finally I was informed that I had been mistaken for a Nazi leader by name Swede Coburg (»Gauleiter« Party area-leader of Pommern) who they did not want to escape. The commander told me that there was a »Brother« (Gerd) and a »Sister« (Edith) waiting for me, that because we were not afraid of them in any of their questioning, and we had all told the same story, we were free to go. Before I left the room, the officer shook my hand, opened his uniform jacket and informed me that he was a believer too. On a chain he wore a picture of the Madonna. »Together we left the building, and as we found ourselves on the street, we bowed our heads to say a prayer of thanks. Then we walked along the road to return to Wolgast. »Now as Sister Schade had these wooden clogs on her feet, not being used to such shoes, she walked as far as Koserow, then could not go any further and ask to have a rest. … Gerd knew the local baker and knocked on his door. It was after 2 am. The baker told us to go to the barn where we could sleep on the straw. No sooner had we settled down than a heavy thunderstorm broke loose. Rain came down in bucket loads. How happy we were to be inside this barn were it was warm and dry! The love and loyalty of my faithful companions gave me hope and strength to go forward in the labors of the Lord.« (end of quote)
   

    

Shortly after this event, Walter Krause received support through Brother G. D. who came from Saxony. He was a very special sort of missionary. He was 19 years old and his mission president, Walter Stover, had called him, as his family were of good standing and G. himself displayed signs of loyalty and faith. In reality, however, this young man was everything a Mormon missionary should not be. At the time no one knew where his dual aspirations would take him. In the end, however, such deception was short lived. Walter Krause soon became aware of G.’s hidden ambition, and would have sent him home without any further ado. But destiny ran faster than expected. The first to really notice that there was something wrong with this young man were my mother and I. We found him smoking in my father’s woodshed, a room filled with tinder dry wood and wood chips. It stood amongst many old German timberwork houses that had survived hundreds of years. Nervously G. swung his arms through the air to dispel the smell, but to no avail as the smoke had filled the room. After he had exposed himself, he smoked when and wherever he felt like it. G. was supposed to help me cut the wood in our small factory. Little did he care about it. He preferred sitting in the warm living room. When I surprised him whilst he was reading Decamerone by Boccacio, he hid it immediately, and this made me suspicious. I was curious, searched for the literature, found it and read 2 pages. No, that was not the right kind of book for a Mormon, so I asked him: »Why did you bring this book to our home?« He shrugged his shoulders and replied: »I’m old enough for it.« Such was the case when G. reluctantly came to help me to transport timber from the forest 15 km from Wolgast. We lifted the heavy 2 metre-long logs onto the truck, an old, slow vehicle powered by wood gas. Exhausted, we climbed on top of our load, and let the sweet, spring air warm our backs as the truck crawled its way home.

As we entered the small village of Zemitz, G. decided to take off his shirt. To my horror, I saw the glowing colours of the Nazi flag, with the swastika, printed on his singlet. As we drove through the new green of the village alley, he sat like a statue and everyone could have seen him wearing the red, white and black NAPOLA emblem (NAPOLA means the special school for future leaders in Adolf Hitler’s Third Reich) that encircled his chest like a ring of fire.

Picture Wikipedia: Napola

I felt like jumping off the rolling truck. Two years had already passed since losing the war. Two years of looking at the ruins and agony of all that barbaric Hitler fascism had left behind.

Even though most Germans found it difficult to bow to all that Soviet power had decreed, actions like the one G. displayed on that day were against all normal reasoning. For under that sign not only had every single family of Germany endured great suffering, but all of Europe - yes even half of the world. Thousands of cities had been levelled to the ground. All of a sudden I understood the reason G. just loved to conduct our meetings whenever Elder Walter Krause had to visit other branches. Most of the members were old enough to be G.’s parents. In the early days we stood up to sing hymns. The commands to stand up and sit down were given by the hymn director. »Up!« and »down!« G. would call out to us, as though we were subordinates. To my surprise, all investigators and new members were obedient and nobody complained. It could be that they thought it was the right way to behave. I became scared of G. and I did not dare inform his senior companion. Oh, had I only done this, it would have saved unnecessary worries! But I did not want to be a traitor. Some weeks after G. had exposed his political inclinations, the officers of the Red Army arrested him in Stralsund. At the time he sat in the first class waiting room of the railway station, which was allocated to the officers and civil employees of the Red Army. Now and then the military police would check the passports of all present. G. spoke perfect Russian, loved Vodka and had acquired a large repertoire of dirty jokes, which I was exposed to for 2 years of Russian occupation. 

Part of the education at the NAPOLA was to be able to be a special agent for the Nazis, and as such, G. had been weaned away from any religious affiliation. Poor Walter Krause! Following G.’s arrest, Walter was summoned to appear before the Commandant in Stralsund. This officer told him that should there be a repeat of such an event as described above, G.’s life would not be worth much to Russian authorities. For 20 years G. journeyed through many prison camps, in Siberia’s coal mines, working in water-filled holes. There he would have ample opportunity to curse his fascist educators, who had left him like an outcast dog. G. and I met some 20 years later, in about 1968, at a Church meeting in East Berlin. I did not recognise him. He approached me, telling me who he was and, yes, then I recognised him. He petitioned me to be his friend again. But I had many serious doubts. Somewhere deep inside our souls there seems to be a mechanism that does not permit us to turn off feelings of mistrust as perhaps we should. I uttered a few empty words. He must have felt an inner pain, knowing that I had rejected him. What he needed was a welcome word and an embrace. It saddens me to know that I just left him standing there.

He passed away soon after that. Yes, I could have done much for G., had it not been for my constant fear of being watched at all times by the »Stasi«.

This accusation will be mine to bear. He did after all return to us. Perhaps I just refused to see the good in him until it grew too late. The fear that he possibly worked for the authorities held sway over my heart. Let’s face it, there was sufficient of that all around us. We the »Mormons,« especially the leaders, were considered members of a dangerous American sect. We had to be extra careful. The famous dedicatory prayer (1976) by President Monson on the hills of Radebeul had not yet been uttered. For that we needed to wait. However, it changed the position of our church and gained recognition for us by government authorities from 1980 onwards. But that event was a very long way off. … Our waiting was the curse of a desperate era.

Throughout 1947 I was assigned to our district president, Walter Krause. I was put in charge of the welfare program, and had to deliver the food rations sent to us from the Church in Utah to the suffering Saints. Thus once or twice a week I transported the parcels throughout Mecklenburg and Vorpommern. They contained canned meat, corn, tomatoes, peaches and sacks of wheat.

Our Church had established a well-functioning program in 1936 to help their members. Thousands of tons of wheat were delivered to the people in Germany. The Russians gave their consent (signed by the military commanders in Karlshorst) that Red Cross and Soviet military administration would be supplied in conjunction with that of the Church. Until 1949 hundreds of bags of wheat had passed through my hands, as did a lot of other food products, clothing and shoes, all transported by train. Never did I lose any of the assigned items. Total strangers would often see me struggling with the heavy boxes on the platform, and would lend a hand. I never had to defend those precious gifts from our brothers in the States. Always aware of the sacred trust that had been placed in me, I was very careful. That was the era in which millions of people experienced severe hunger. Those who could went out of the big cities, to trade their precious carpets, pictures and other valuables for potatoes, butter, or grain.

I remember seeing a fat girl sitting on a huge heap of potatoes, in the waiting room »Bahnhof Zoo« in West Berlin, looking like a malicious guard dog. Old and disabled citizens died of hunger. Typhoid ran rampant. As I look back on it, it was truly a miracle that I found the necessary room on the constantly overcrowded trains. I always found a place for myself as well. That was amazing, especially when we consider that until 1946-47 on average 20% of people could find no room in train carriages. They would travel sitting on the roof, or standing on the foot rails outside the train. All that was not really dangerous for me, except for the beautiful burning eyes of the girls … but I was obedient and said to myself, »Be careful, later on, Gerd, you will find the best young lady for you.« And that idea, given by my father and other leaders in the Church was true - I could feel it.

Owing to the Church passport that I carried, and on showing the care assignment document, the authorities let me travel twice in the special carriages set aside for Russian generals. Their actions astonished me. This document, supplied by the mission president, with countless stamps of travelling assignments is kept to this very day, in my book of Remembrance. As I travelled, I saw many, many cities in East Germany. Not all were destroyed like Berlin. Schwerin and Stralsund where undamaged by the allied air raids, but Berlin, Demmin, Neubrandenburg, Dresden and others lay in black and grey ruins. It was depressing to see the rubble and the hopelessness.

Years later I understood that the hand of God, recompensed the German nation, and all they had decreed upon the heads of their fellow beings. Had Nephi not foreseen all that self-generated misery long before my day? »But thus said the Lord God: O fools, they shall have a Bible; and it shall proceed forth from the Jews, mine ancient covenant people. And what thank they them the Jews for the Bible which they received from them? Yea, what do the Gentiles mean? Do they remember the travails, and the labours, and the pains of the Jews, and their diligence unto me, in bringing forth salvation unto the Gentiles? O ye Gentiles, have ye remembered the Jews, mine ancient covenant people? Nay; but ye have cursed them, and have hated them, and have not sought to recover them. But, behold, I will return all these things upon your own heads; for I the Lord have not forgotten my people.« 2 Nephi 29: 4-5

Had not all of these predictions come true as regards the German nation? Had not their pride, their hatred towards the Jews, fallen upon their own nation with the most gruesome reality? In the years since, I have asked myself the questions: »How could a crime of such magnitude ever have been executed? Why did the Europeans, especially the Germans pursue the Jewish nation?« I found the answer in the works of Evangelical pastor and college teacher, Hartwig Weber. In his Lexicon for Youth on page 330 , he confirms: »Anti-Semitism is a product of heathen times, brought to full flourish by Christians ... officially and in principle ... After the tolerance edict issued by Constantine the Great, Anti-Semitism was able to unfold and became universal and lasting. The Christian Church made it an important component of their teachings ... Gregor of Nyssa, by 370, called the Jews ›the enemies of mercy‚ advocates of the devil, haters of the good ...‹

In the year 1215, at the 4th Lateran council, they demanded that all Jews and Arabs should carry an identification tag. As a result, Jews were committed to wear yellow or red hats and a yellow ring on their coat. Jewesses had to wear a band on their bonnet. In 1450 ghettos began to be erected, and ... in only one night (1572) the leadership of the Huguenots was exterminated … The history of Christianity is one of amalgamation of power and war since the days of Constantine …« Here Weber states the generally negative inclination of the old reformer, Martin Luther: »His hatred grew even as he did, in years becoming more grotesque … His hatred toward the Jews is like a black shadow over all he taught. ›First: burn down all their synagogues and their schools, to be sure to cover all that would not burn with earth. For no one should ever have to see neither a single stone nor any evidence of their existence.‹ …«

No, not so Mr. Martin Luther!

It was never Hartwig Weber’s intention to rewrite the facts of history. »Neither the evangelical, nor the catholic leaders had the courage to speak up on behalf of the persecuted Jews ... For the churches themselves were driven by an ingrained anti-Semitism. Only inasmuch as their own safety and power stood under attack, did they oppose the Nazi state … The destiny of millions of Jews seemed to be a waste of time. Among those who called themselves Christians were about 300,000 Jewish converts. In 1933 there were 29 Jewish men in the service of the Church … In 1941, leaders of the Evangelical Church (Kirchenkanzlei der Deutschen Evangelischen Kirche) demanded that special documents should be signed by top officials, to declare that all baptized non-Aryans were to be excommunicated from all German Christian societies.« Jugendlexikon Religion, Rowohlt 1988, p. 49

In 1948 my father told me that, whilst in Norway, he had learned to speak English, with the intention of leaving behind the bombed, burnt cities of Germany after the war, and imigrating to the United States of America. He thought that his children would be far better off in Zion, than serving the serpent called Communism, even though most Germans had no intention of doing so anyway. However, on my father’s return back home, he reconsidered his options and came to the conclusion that it was far more important to stay, to spread the message of the restored gospel, to help in the establishment of branches and wards among his own bewildered and war-torn nation. Yes, we were under no illusion - most people where not interested in investigating the Church. But we could try. Father asked me never to roam too far, and although I always had the feeling that true happiness was had to be in some far off place, like Canada or Utah, I heeded my friendly father’s words. Unbelievably, as the months passed, the communists succeeded in calming us all down. On the walls of many buildings they hung posters and covered large areas with huge placards informing us of how their regime would establish peace, and that the Soviet Army would remove fear from the earth. This was their way of indoctrinating us. Russian soldiers were the best people in the whole world. My friends and I bent with laughter. Still there was some truth in it all. For by now the people just longed for some kind of freedom and peace, no matter how it came. But anyone with the slightest disapproval of the system became a victim.

Young Russian soldiers where trained like savage animals. They were victors without consideration of human rights. Wherever they could, they forced their ideologies upon the German people even though their propaganda said the opposite. We learned to live with the lies. Didn’t the prophet, Joseph Smith, declare it to his friends that such systems are of Satan? The latter tried to force his ideas of ›Good‹ upon the souls of men and thus would break their free agency.

In the spring of 1949 I left Wolgast and became an apprentice in a tree nursery in Prenzlau. As Walter Krause’s family had also moved to Prenzlau I became their boarder. At first, as such work demands, I felt like a slave and I wished to close that chapter of my life as soon as possible. Until mid-July we lived in the city’s old army buildings. Then those huge buildings were claimed by the newly created East-German military. This was curious! 3 months before the state German Democratic Republic was proclaimed, on the 7th of October, they created their army It was there that our Church meetings were conducted and, directly above us, were the meetings of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Occasionally I visited their congregations. We spoke together in a friendly way. Three months later the government declared their faith forbidden.

Sometime later, in the summer of 1950, huge banners were hung from the windows of what used to be our meeting rooms. The banners were 20 meters long, bright red, and stated: »Greetings to our brothers in Korea, fighting against the US Imperialists.« That suggested that the aggression had been started by South Korea and that the peace-loving North Koreans had become the helpless victims. All the young people of the town were gathered by the SED (the only really existing party in East Germany). They showed us propaganda movies of the North Korean Freedom Fighters and of how the puppet regime of the South had collapsed. Disappointed, I sat through those mendacious presentations asking myself how all those events could really have occurred. And then I remembered: hadn’t Adolf Hitler played the same tricks on us?

On the first day of battle the northern fighters had penetrated 60 km into South Korea! Something was wrong there. Hadn’t they implied that the Americans and the South Koreans were the aggressors? Impossible! Offenders have the advantages because of the surprise effect. Sure, I was young and not really well educated, but I was not stupid. It was always the same story: the search for more power, just like under Hitler and Stalin. They have the same father, even the man, as described in The Book of Mormon : »How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! Art thou cut down to the ground, which did weaken the nations! For thou hast said in thy heart: I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God; I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds, I will be like the Most High. Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit. They that see thee shall narrowly look upon thee, and shall consider thee, and shall say: Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms? And made the world as a wilderness, and destroyed the cities thereof, and opened not the house of his prisoners?« 2. Nephi 24, 12-17

I spoke only with trustworthy people about my objections. »You should be more responsible!« I told myself. However, the fact that I was small was always a great obstacle.

The wrong way

One day I met a young man who said: »Come and learn to be a youth leader.« Following his invitation I visited a congregation of boys and girls, all 17-20 years old. I enjoyed the fellowship of those youth, all clothed in blue uniform shirts signed with the symbol of the rising sun and the letters FDJ. (Those were tokens given by the communist leaders, and meant Free German Youth). I did not overlook the beautiful girls who were there. After all, in those days the practice of critique and self-analysis was in full swing in those meetings. In a way it overlapped with the teachings of the Church: »We need to improve our own character; we have to work hard to change; we can never say, »It is done.« All people must try to better themselves at all times - only then can we ever achieve a better world.« At first I just longed to know that this was indeed the goal of all FDJ members. That’s how my thoughts changed. Stalin did not look so black and red after all. Even on Sundays I would speak about it in my talks at Church. To my astonishment one of the police officers appeared in our sacrament meeting in his full uniform. He had to make a report for his authorities. And thus I began to talk about the need for improvement at all times.

Into my mind came the words of the prophet, Joseph Smith: »The appointment of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is to bring to pass the improvement of all its members.« This sounded like music to my ears because it also was the slogan of the GDR. Of course, it is a longing embedded within the soul of every human, no matter when or where they live.

This is what The Book of Mormon and The Holy Bible say: The small inner and the large outer peace are chain events of correct choices, or as Isaiah has written: »And the work of righteousness shall be peace; and the effect of righteousness, quietness and assurance for ever.« Isaiah 32:17

The police officer came twice, and again I preached the same sermon: that we all have to do our best. All the while I was speaking from my own, somewhat red-colored, viewpoint. On one hand the sweet sound of the gospel and on the other the tempting tones of the pied piper. Thus swung the pendulum of my emotions, to and fro.

Our branch president, Max Zander (who had also moved down from Wolgast and was my teacher in vocational [technical] school), let me speak my mind. I was a counselor to him at the time. As I had not broken any gospel teachings, Max saw no need to intervene. The curious police investigator was convinced: Mormons are progressive people. He decided not to return. At this time we needed a special certificate for every meeting from the police. After that event it was easy.

A little later I saw that policeman’s daughter, as we worked together in the huge tree nursery. One day, at harvest time, we received the directive from our boss and his clever son, to stack grain bundles outside. So we were left alone together for long periods of time. It was obvious that she was pregnant. She looked at me with hungry eyes. Yes, I felt like man. But into my mind came the teachings of my father: »Never touch a woman, unless she’s your wife.« Thank God, I received better thoughts. That kind of situation made me more aware than ever that we must never push aside eternal laws.

It is true we are people with free agency, not slaves of our passions.

At times my heart and my head were at war with one another. As I was accustomed to working with people and ideas, I was elected to be the political youth leader of our school (Kreisberufsschul-Aktivleiter) for 600 or more students. Even so, I never made much fuss over my religious beliefs. Thus I began to lean on both sides. Once I spoke to a huge youth congregation against communist goals in regard to pro-North Korean propaganda. That was a big mistake. But once more my guardian angel protected me. Nobody reported me to the secret police. What luck! In those days, at the age of 20, I met an old classmate, Dieter Kavelmann. He walked proudly in the blue uniform of the National Police Force. (Kasernierte Volkspolizei) A lot of young people were employed in the professional army of the GDR.

Picture Wikipedia German Barracked Peoples Police

Later the color changed

 Clinging to his arm was a very beautiful lady. Above us sounded the hiss of a modern Soviet fighter, the sign of a new society about to begin. I looked at Dieter’s braided silver shoulder trims. In spite of his 21 years, he had already been promoted to an advisory position. He looked right through me and made a comment about the strait jacket I was wearing. Yes, I was no more then a poor apprentice. To tell the truth I wished to get rid of my strait jacket as soon as possible. He was a somebody and many times I felt like a nobody in the tree nursery which I hated even more then my own weaknesses. Dieter realized almost instantly that it was only because of my strong moral principles that I did not have the power to break the contract I had with my boss. He laughed at me. Not only did he look happy, he was!

Dieter was aware of my religious views, which he judged to be illusions. »Come to us!« he said, »You have a pre-military education, just as I do. We are looking for good people. Come and join us!« It all sounded like music in my ears. »Yes!« he said, »and you have a clear head for ideology.« With glowing colors he painted a fabulous picture. »Poor Gerd, all you earn is 50 Marks per month. If you come to us, before you know it, you could be earning 800 instead. Move! Get away from a boss who only uses you.« Throughout this conversation directed at me, he looked at the slender blond clinging to his side. »Within 6 weeks it could all be yours. You can talk, and you’re not bad-looking. In fact you would be just perfect.« The lady beside him smiled.

As for myself, I could feel my face turning bright red with shame and envy. There was only one question that bothered me: »If you do back out, who will be in charge? Who will be your leader?«

»No!« I answered firmly.

»Why do you hesitate? What’s wrong with you?« Dieter asked.

I shook my head. This would be the way to deny my faith. Can a lie change the truth? Not even with the best intentions. The only thing that will save us from all these ins and outs of confusion and error is the desperate will to seek for the truth unceasingly.

»With their money they will buy your soul,« I said, only to myself. At the same moment the dark form of Joseph Wissarionowitsch Stalin appeared clearly in my mind - the cold expression of his face, a face that was displayed on almost every corner of each street. Many fell for this man, who had, like Hitler, destroyed the lives of millions of people. He was a mass murderer, and I would not let those in his service paint his life colors on me. Never did the ordinary working man assign jobs to boys like Dieter to turn brother against brother. It was the will of one man to rule the world. Yes, that was the hand that drove Stalin’s clock, and to which Dieter responded. It was the clock that directed the rhythm of his daily life. All of a sudden I knew that it would be wrong for me to wear that really good-looking uniform. I understood that I was not born to live the way he did, because I had insights that would never permit me to do anything careless.

»Listen, Gerd,« he hollered, »I tell you, there is no God. We must take our lives in into our own hands. Why are you so afraid? This is a new era. Fling all your worries overboard and live, man!« I shook my head and his face looked strained. After that encounter we never met again.

I stayed as an apprentice at the nursery, counting down the months of boring drudgery. To study at university I needed my school-leaving certificate. I went to catch up on schooling by visiting the Laborers and Farmers Faculty, a special school for latecomers. That was also was the wrong way, as there students had to make a statement of loyalty to communism. In doing that I would have to deny my belief in God. So I judged my situation as a test of self: »If you can endure the apprenticeship for one more year, Gerd, then you will be able to endure most things in life.« My goal for the future was to be able to endure - to hold on. It became the most important focus for the remainder of my apprenticeship. Wasn’t that what the Church had always taught me? »The most important task you will ever do on this earth is to build your character. You must learn to live with the things that weigh you down.« If I could honorably free myself from all unpleasant circumstances, I would surely never want to free myself from the duties that came my way because of my callings in the Church. Those burdens, if we wish to call them burdens, were precious to me. As I immersed myself in that thought, my head filled with wonderful ideas. »Gerd, you know things that most people, like Dieter, will perhaps never know. You know of the reality of the Holy Ghost, you know that …« An unexpected shower of beautiful love and intelligence fell upon me - an overwhelming feeling of happiness that, in the silence of that moment, also confirmed to me: »Yes, Joseph Smith is a Prophet of God, and Gerd, you know that there is a God - a God of power to cause your heart to leap for joy.« It was one of those breathtaking moments that lifted the soul from the dust of the earth to the portals of heaven. This is the anthem the choir sang with so much devotion, last New Year’s Eve at the concert hall in Schwerin: »Brothers, over starry shores surely dwells a loving Father. Joy, eternal flame of Heaven, where all mankind join as brothers, where your gentle wings abide. All people, all people, for the minutest span of eternity.« These gentle wings had fallen upon me, to bring me peace and to comfort me. »Over starry shores above surely dwells a loving Father.« A Father, my Father!

Months passed with the sweet surety that I was a child and son of a great and eternal God. This meant that in reality, not just in my imagination, I was heir of the greatest and noblest royalty ever to be.

With all that I had perceived and knew, I understood that my behavior needed to reflect my beliefs. I needed to look beyond the daily little discomforts. I needed to concentrate on the future, defending my beliefs both internally and externally. It was my hope and duty to help the Church to grow. For only through and by its teachings could we ever hope for order in society. Only through its word would the world know peace. Nothing would hinder me in my resolutions - nothing would throw me. Well, that’s what I thought. But, oh boy, what a mistake! All my good, noble thoughts and feelings somehow did not hang around for too long. With the first sign of doubt or careless thought they would disappear. Even the ideals we recognize as good and honorable are only thoughts - they are seeds of the spirit. If we are not constantly mindful and on guard, the wind will carry them in whatsoever direction it may please. Not much later, the spirit of the time endeavored to take hold of me again.

August 1951 had arrived, with the gathering of students and youth from all over the world to Berlin, to demonstrate that all world nations should be of their persuasion – the communistic, atheistic worldview. (3. Weltfestspiele der Jugend und Studenten ). A dangerous spirit came like a pleasant summer wind, ever so gently to the mind. At the gathering, the Free German Youth sang: »In August, in August when the roses bloom …« At first I hesitated to accept the invitation to drive to Berlin, because it was a communist festival. I had no idea that, above everything else that was on the program, it would also be the world’s greatest sex party. We traveled in freight cars fitted with rough wooden benches and straw so we could sleep on the journey.

Once in Berlin we had a long march before us. Now and then massive troops of thousands of people would stop to be told where in Berlin, the city of rubble, they would be able to find lodgings for the next 6 days’ stay. Not wishing to be part of the masses I separated myself from my group to find the home of my Aunt Bertha. There, in the middle of the grey sidewalk, sat a 30-year-old man in a blue uniform shirt. I recognized him as the Baptist preacher from Prenzlau. He showed obvious signs of exhaustion from the heat and humidity of the day. He had endured endless miles of walking in all that confusion, among thousands of youth who had poured into the streets of Berlin. It had all had a bad effect upon him. Pale as a ghost, he sat groaning. Folks just passed him by, stepping over him. Nobody seemed to notice or care. I stopped to talk with him and we stared at each other in surprise. »Whatever are you doing here?« My eyes questioned him. »You do not belong here. Did you, like all these blue shirts, join the ranks of these atheists? If you could only see yourself!« The preacher possibly had the same thoughts about me: »What is a Mormon doing among all these communists?«

»I have come to observe all that goes on here,« I explained, jumping to defend my own conduct. However, to tell the truth, the world of blue and red summoned me more strongly than ever before. Let’s face it; Mormonism would never have a chance in this part of the world. All the bright blue shirts seemed to grace this grey city that still consisted of huge mountains of rubble.

Never before had the world of communism appeared so easy and free. My aunt welcomed me with open arms. She was so happy to see me. As I was not wearing the blue shirt, she thought I had come to visit her. »No, Aunty Bertha, I’m here because I’m an adventurer!« I told her.

The next day, I followed the main stream and landed in the Friedrichstadt Palast. Enthusiastically I listened to Swajtoslaw Richter’s performance of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in B minor. Whilst gathering with thousands of youth, the flow of the music held us all in a spell. I joined in the rhythm of clapping and cheering with the blue-shirted crowd. Together we drifted from one free concert (by world famous artists) to the next. It was a beautiful feeling to have the same interests.

The hours flew by. Close to midnight I found myself talking to a lovely young lady beneath one of the old steel lamps that had survived the rain of bombs. I had met her that Saturday evening. In the background stood the dark silhouette of the blackened ruins, and the partly-demolished home of No. 9 Mehnerstraße, near Alexander Square. (That was my aunt’s residence.) I saw the delicate features of the young girl’s face - the street lamps lending a magic glow to her long blond hair. No painter on earth had ever painted such beauty, with such a background. Between the black fragments of burned brick, roofing tiles and timbers still hung the smell of horrific nights spent in fear underneath a clear sky. In my mind I saw the two elderly, paralyzed, catholic ladies, who, unable to flee into a shelter, had hidden for 3 years under their heavy dining room table every time the city came under attack. There they would petition God for safety. Often I wonder whether their praying had been the reason that only that particular section of the huge building had remained intact. Or was it all just coincidence? No scene is ever forgotten as long as people share their interests. Countless are the pictures within my mind, pictures of people’s lives and their struggles to survive - people I have never met, whose lives have touched me.

»Take me with you to your room,« I heard the young woman whisper. Already I regretted ever having been so bold as to seek such adventures. For the past 2 hours we had passed countless couples in love. Could I not be one of them? Why should I miss out? What were these questions? You are a Mormon! You do not wear a blue shirt, you do not think act like others around you do. For you there are only 2 options: either you give in and let your passions carry you, or you go to Church in the morning. Short but fierce was the battle within.

The following morning, after having been expelled from the »S« train by FDJ guards for not wearing the blue shirt, and after having to walk a long distance, I finally arrived at the brand new building of the Mormon Church in Dahlem, West Berlin, near the mission headquarters in Hirschsprung Allee.

But I had not removed the FDJ emblem on the collar of my old jacket, to show that I was a visitor from the GDR. (It was the emblem of the rising sun). Out front, on the rostrum, sat a friendly, well-dressed American. He looked at me and smiled. I was sure that smile was for me. It was the most beautiful, uplifting smile I had ever encountered, coming from the countenance of a fellow male. Perhaps, the worries and the self-accusations of the previous night, perhaps the inner battles endured were still written on my face: having to excuse myself, after explaining to the girl the reasons for not following her request, and then withdrawing myself so forcefully from the scene. I could not act against my inner conviction. I could not commit such a wrong. Thus I sat there, in a chapel filled with friendly, quiet people, like a child who had been absent from home for too long. Everything was so familiar, yet at the same time so strange. In our Sunday School I talked a lot, of nonsense. They discussed one of the passages from the Sermon on the Mount. To be honest I was much more interested in me - I longed to know if there was a truth that would free me from my trying circumstances.

At the close of our Sunday School on that August morning, 2 elderly ladies entered the chapel, well-dressed in light-colored summer attire. They were accompanied by 2 missionary elders into the large room in which hung the impressive pictures painted by Brother Burden. The latter was a member of the Dresden Branch and had painted scenes from the life of Jesus Christ in a classical style. Memories took me back to Wolgast and the Jesus at Mrs. Stolpe’s home. His searching glance was filled with compassion for all our weaknesses and trials, which we humans seem to be so good at heaping upon ourselves. He sees our desires and all our wants - especially all that is not of benefit for our souls. I had no intention of eavesdropping but seeing and hearing the way those 2 missionaries taught the investigators about the First Vision held me spellbound, as though an unseen magic had fallen upon me. The 14-year-old Joseph had wandered unto the woodland, where he had bowed himself in prayer among the tall trees, to ask God to settle the petition of his heart. He had been unaware of all the knowledge he had left behind the veil at the time of his mortal birth; that in the Pre-existence, before the foundations of mother earth were established, (perhaps before the Big Bang, under the hands of the most intelligent Spirit being: Jesus Christ), Joseph was ordained to usher in the last and final gospel dispensation. All that had occurred in a world of spiritual circumstances where time is measured and felt according to the eons of the Gods. It wasn’t so much what those young men said, but the manner in which they shared the principles. Somehow it all touched me deeply. There was not the slightest exertion of fanaticism or sanctimony. In a plain, illustrative way, the missionaries painted the scene of Joseph kneeling, whilst the power of the Destroyer fell upon him – and then in a heavenly vision 2 personages of light stood above him in the air.

Calling Joseph by name, one of them pointed to the person beside him and said: »This is my beloved Son, hear him.« Was this the great event for which the apostles of old had longed for? (They had longed for the return of Jesus Christ to restore his kingdom, after people had changed his teachings and thus perverted all of Christianity over thousands of years.) Or was this just a forerunner to the scene? Christ had promised that he would return to gather his own. How great Joseph Smith’s astonishment must have been! All he had hoped for was perhaps a voice, perhaps a cloud - not beings who were gods but who had the form of people on earth. What he beheld in no way resembled the teachings of many earthly churches or their ministry. Their teachings were: God is only spirit, 1 spirit consisting of 3 spirits. Whatever we are to make of such a precept I don’t know, but I know that all of Christianity confessed this sentence: the »Lord Jesus Christ, the only-begotten Son of God, begotten of the Father before all worlds (eons), Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father.«

They try to explain that which is impossible to understand: »Nevertheless not three Gods, but one God. Not three Lords, but one Lord …« Moreover, it is unbelievable that the Roman Catholic Church warned all mankind: »This is the right Christian faith. Whosoever does not believe this faithfully and fully, cannot be saved.« I know that this faith was professed by Emperor Constantine, who acted against the original teachings of the Church. This same Constantine murdered 20 Members of his own family. No, never will I accept such a lie. Still, what did it matter that I could not believe such a concept? In answer to Joseph’s questions regarding which of all the sects was right, and which he should join, he was told that he must join none of them, for they were all wrong. The personage who addressed him said that all the creeds were an abomination in his sight, that those professors were »all corrupt …« I felt this to be true. I could see what my father had seen: »The clerics of both the Catholic and the Protestant churches welcomed the First World War with joy ...« Their creeds were like a cake - all was right, except they used cement instead of flour. Nobody could eat and digest what they had baked. It was God who had said it, not Joseph. I could understand it, not with force, not by the will of characters like Constantine, but because the gospel means freedom, and remembrance of our parentage; that we are a children of God, endowed with talents from him; that we can be brave; that we can search for The Pearl of Great Price; that we can act according to our own conscience and that we can keep the commandments of our Father in Heaven. The power is in us to make the choice between good and evil. This stands in opposition to the teachings of the world. I love Joseph because of his honesty and courage. Even though he was hunted and persecuted, he lived to follow the promptings of God and to restore the true gospel of Christ to the lost nations of the earth. Ever since reading the reports in our attic I had believed in the Restoration, even though in the past month there had arisen some small doubts. I could only blame them on the convincing effects Marxism had on me, and on our society. I had to come to terms with it because I had to live with it. The atmosphere that radiated from these two missionary Elders lifted my soul insomuch that I felt happy not to have surrendered to the wild onslaught of my feelings. I was thankful and humbled when thinking about how close I had come to step onto the tightrope, pretending to be a acrobat. In my folly I would have fallen to the ground and broken my back. I was I, and this ›I‹ was perhaps more delicate than I had suspected. I was more fragile than others out there. Perhaps I would have become entangled in a net of new feelings and emotions or, worse still, because of my disappointment with myself, given up the fight and just drifted along with the tide of human passions. As so many other young people of my age, with all the entanglement I would have lost my precious freedom.

After the 2 ladies had departed I walked towards the missionaries. They were the same age as I was. I asked if they could understand the struggle I had with myself lately, how I felt as though I sat tottering at times, not knowing which way to turn. I stood on the firm ground of Mormonism, but on the other hand, realised that the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was so minute that it would never be able to change the affairs of this world. It would never be able to conquer the problems, the lack of freedom and injustice of many nations. This was the reason for my indecision. The missionaries told me that they would love to talk with me. We agreed upon a date at their unit in Breitenbachplatz. Together we had a wonderful time. Three months later, after having completed my apprenticeship at the nursery, I registered at the Greifswald Institute for teachers, with hundreds of other students. I had excellent leaving results from my vocational school and took all the desired requirements with me. The months till Christmas only seemed like days. On weekdays I was a student of Marxism, but on Sundays I was an active Mormon. At first I had no problems with that. At last I had time to study and learn, instead of slaving in the fields with a spade and rake, in the rain or snow, the wind and stone hard soil in order to make some boss richer than he was already. Here, at the Institute, I never toiled, never bent a finger, or so it seemed to me. With pleasure I immersed myself in my studies. My love for politics and history made it easy for me to learn. In the fall of 1951 our Church gatherings were held in a separate room of a local pub. There were 6 of us, sometimes 7 members in attendance. I did not mind that it was small, smoke-filled, and smelled of stale beer. As many new students had moved into the city, because of the university in Greifswald, every little room, every little space available was offered as accommodation for them. Thus the local authorities cancelled our access to our little room, so our church meetings were held in the bar, which was closed to the public on Sundays. Situated next to the bar was the clubroom, the stomping ground of the students with whom I shared semesters at the Institute. As there was only a makeshift, sliding door between their room and ours, they could listen to every word that was spoken at our meetings. This is how they found out that I, their fellow student, was a »Mormon preacher.« There we were in this uncomfortable, unpleasant, smelly environment, between bar and regulars, partaking of the Sacrament. On one so memorable Sunday, Brother Arnold Riemer, a new convert and painter by trade, preceded my address. He was the only active male adult besides me. He spoke about Ammon as he stood before King Laman: »I am a man; and man in the beginning was created after the image of God, and I am called by his Holy Spirit to teach these things unto this people that they may be brought to a knowledge of that which is just and true.«

Alma 18:34. Arno spoke perfectly. Like an artist he played a wonderful melody upon the strings of our hungry souls. The longer I listened the more I desired to be as Ammon, a just and true man. It was one of the talks where speaker and listener forget place and time. This untrained orator had woven an unseen link between our hearts. Silently we listened to every word as it fell from his lips - pure inspiration - and we forgot the smell of stale beer and pub taps. We understood that only through opposition can we discover the beauty of truth and liberty. Our world of unrighteousness and lies was no more than a hellish reality.

Two days later, in December 1951, Karl Kleinschmidt, the famous Protestant Cathedral preacher from Schwerin, a mighty thinker and member of the atheist party of SED, came to address students and faculty. He delivered a most controversial speech. Even as I had tried to mix fire and water, so did he. With great energy Karl Kleinschmidt fashioned the impression of achieving the possible from an uncertain source. We saw how it rumbled in his head. He related a story about one of his pastoral visits to an 80 year-old man, who freely admitted: »Oh dear, you must know, Pastor, you have come to the wrong man. More than 20 years ago I left the evangelical church. I am a communist!«

»Well then,« the preacher replied, »in this case I have come to visit a comrade. Congratulations! You are not wrong, you are the right man.« The rough manner in which this representative of the state and the evangelical church laboured to win us over, was not appealing to me. Following his enthusiastic advert to convert us to a new age, out of the 300 people in the Hall, Stralsunder Strasse 1, I asked him if he, as an educated, modern pastor, approved of the fact that infants are baptised and thus become Christians against their own will. I had settled down in the balcony of the ugly, old building and had a perfect view of Pastor Kleinschmidt. I thought to myself, »Here goes - he will stumble and fall. He is not prepared for this kind of attack.« But, to my amazement, there was not even a trace of surprise evident on his broad face. He never hesitated for one second. Even though all could feel the justification of the reproach, the 50-year old spiritual leader turned to face the questionnaire: »Comrade,« he said, »If you get married and you have children, may we assume that they will be citizens of the same state? Is that so? Is this a forced rape upon their free will? No, of course not!

Neither is the fact that you are born into a church.« Much applause followed his saucy excuse. The answer was so simple, even though most people should know that it was not the truth. But it was good enough for that time, and the pressure of the moment was reduced to nil. One hundred and one questions should have followed in succession. Karl Kleinschmidt continued as he started. His positive movements, his broad forehead and his speech reflected his iron will to satisfy his precepts. He desired to belong to the elite of our nation. It was not enough to be a cathedral preacher. He emanated a strongly longed-for growth, for power and security. Unwittingly he held an imaginary mirror into which we both gazed. He could not see me, but I saw into his soul: this man was no preacher. There was no evidence – not one sentence uttered - that would prove his faith in God. As a member of the leadership in the important German-Cultural society he was assigned to speak to us. As a like-minded person he represented Walter Ulbricht who was the head of the communist party in the GDR. Ulbricht was a devoted follower of Joseph Stalin, but Stalin was a mass murderer –his goal was to win us for the political party of the GDR. He was the friend of Johannes R. Becher the author of the GDR Hymn: Auferstanden aus Ruinen … (Risen from the ruins )

After Mr. Kleinschmidt had ended his godless speeches on the policies of socialism, I knew precisely what I had to do. At the next lecture in which they would spread their blended lies I would withhold my applause. Lecturer Kirchberg conducted a discussion on a novel by the title

The Mother by Maxim Gorky. »With absolute duty and sense of responsibility towards, and love for the GDR, we are to report all individuals we may encounter who commit wrongs against the GDR state.« I sat in the front row, and at the close of Lecturer Kirchberg’s brilliant speech, as I had promised myself, I did not clap nor stomp my feet on the floor with those cheap shoes. The goodlooking, 30 year-old Kirchberg stared at me sitting motionless. Instantly he threw a number of questions at me. So I told him, without thinking of the consequences, exactly what my views where on the matter at hand. With his 180 centimetre stature he towered over me, not only physically. Especially all the females on campus regarded him as one of the superior intelligences.

He felt as though he could crush all unworthy opponents. He did not seem to be the type that would use the horse whip on his fellow beings. He had much more the appearance of royalty – using his natural charm to win people’s attention, and he knew well how to use it. This vain creature would not be satisfied until he knew the reasons for my refusal to applaud him: »Because, I do not believe in your point of view. I believe it would not matter that a person is brown (like a Nazi), or red (like a communist) to commit such a deed. Betrayal is betrayal.« As I did not wish to cause a scene I gave my answers very quietly. In dismay Kirchberg shot up: »This is a question of basic fundamentals! We are responsible for our republic! We already have enough enemies. Do you per chance wish to stand on the opposite side?« He came down on me like a hammer. Obviously he suddenly felt observed by others and feared to appear in the wrong light, so he said loudly and roughly: »The Proletariat will ask of us the wheres and whens. By your behaviour you must prove on which side of the fence you belong. It is important that every individual supports the ideals of the GDR state! All who are against the colour red will feel the fist of the working class in their neck!«...

38 years later the wall come down:
Only a couple of minutes before:

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