Wurmbrandنموونە

February 29, 1948, began on a leisurely note. Richard bent down to kiss Sabina good-bye and stepped from his home into the brisk Bucharest air. The lanky thirty-nine-year-old pastor set out on his short stroll to church, winding from Olteni Street through the picturesque Vacaresti neighborhood.

It was a familiar walk peppered with parked cars. Signs of life at that early hour were few. The quiet Sunday venture freed Richard’s mind to think about the main points of his morning sermon. Historic buildings loomed over his head, flanking the street and reminding him of his city’s rich history. He zigzagged his way to his Lutheran church, where his wife would meet him in a half hour. Later that afternoon, he would officiate the wedding of their young friends, but for now his soul—like his soles—followed the topography of his Sunday-morning routine.

When a black Ford van approached and two men jumped out and grabbed him, Richard quickly realized his plans were futile. There would be no meeting his wife, no preaching his sermon, no officiating the afternoon wedding. Moments later, he was forced into the back seat of the van with a gun at his temple, the captive of a cadre of secret police. The Ford barreled down the street toward an unknown destination. Richard stole glimpses of his surroundings through the windows, but the brutality of his captors robbed him of the ability to focus clearly. The vehicle raced through the city center and then slowed as it approached a towering set of steel gates.

Richard couldn’t tear his thoughts from the politician he knew who committed suicide in his prison cell only weeks after his kidnapping and arrest. Will I suffer the same fate? Richard wondered. Then he remembered the message “Do not fear” occurs exactly 366 times in the Bible, one time per day for an entire year, including leap year. For Richard, it was providential that he was abducted on February 29, a reminder that he wouldn’t need to fear what men could do to him. Fear was one emotion he would not allow to enter his prison cell. With God’s help, he could endure torture, ill treatment, disease, and even death so long as others could see Christ in his eyes.

The previous evening, Richard and Sabina had hosted a few friends at their home when one of them said about the politician, “He must have gone through hell.”

“Richard, what do you think hell is?” another friend asked.

As the bars of the gate slammed shut behind the vehicle, Richard assumed it would be one of the last sounds he would ever hear.

“Hell is to sit alone in darkness remembering evil you have done,” he had replied.