Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

Heard of him? In the last few years, I keep running into his name. It's listed with Christian martyrs; excerpts of his writings are included in compilations. While at my in-laws' house for Christmas, I spotted "The Cost of Discipleship" tucked into the bottom row of a bookshelf. I pulled it out and dusted it off. Time to acquaint myself with Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

I knew that he was killed by the Nazis for his faith. I figured it was pretty black-and-white: Bonhoeffer must have said something like, "God doesn't agree with Hitler," and so Hitler had him executed. I was surprised, though, to learn the complexities of the story leading up to his death. Ben's dad lent us a radio theater drama of Bonhoeffer's life which we listened to, riveted, as we drove back from Ohio. The evolution of his theological thoughts are fascinating in themselves. To envision the course of his life, though, is an entirely emotional, craggy experience. As the hours passed in the car and we moved through the first, then the second, and onto the third disc, I felt the static roar in my brain settle to a still quiet. Even now as I mentally review it and try to bundle together my reflections, I'm having difficulty. Martyrdom -persecution- is indeed an uncomfortable thing to contemplate.

For obvious reasons, the family-oriented organization that put together the audio drama omitted certain details of Bonhoeffer's execution that are extremely disturbing. In my haste to put out of my mind the unsettling fact that Bonhoeffer died for his faith, I embraced the quick, brief description of it presented on the discs. He was hanged. Quick, easy.

But it was not quick and easy. Read the expanded account and you'll want to scream. Or throw up. Oh yes, Lord, I'll do whatever You want me to do... just nothing unpleasant like that.

As a young Christian, I threw the word "persecution" around like it was light and airy. I was eager in my zeal to prove how new and different I was. Years have passed and the more mature I become, the more complicated my faith seems to be. How deep the Father's love for us, how vast beyond all measure... How do I mimic such a love in a world so corrupt? Before I went into the Air Force, I used to receive a monthly newsletter listing people around the world being persecuted for their faith. It was strange, sitting in my bedroom in California and reading about individuals on the other side of the globe enduring torture and death for what I occasionally skipped on Sunday mornings. I canceled the subscription as I relocated several times during my military training... too complicated, you know, to keep updating my address.

But now I have met Dietrich Bonhoeffer, and so I have revisited the unfriendly face in the corner of my own faith, that figure cloaked in the gray and crimson red of martyrdom.