The Hand Extended in Munich

In 1947, Corrie ten Boom stood in a church basement in Munich, having just spoken about God's forgiveness to a crowd of defeated Germans. A man approached her with his hand outstretched. She recognized him instantly — the former S.S. guard from Ravensbrück, the concentration camp where her sister Betsie had died. He had stood at the shower room door, sneering at the humiliation of naked prisoners.

Now he was smiling, telling her what a fine message she had given. "You mentioned Ravensbrück," he said. "I was a guard there. But since that time, I have become a Christian. Will you forgive me?"

Corrie's hand froze at her side. She who had preached forgiveness could not lift her arm. She described the moment as the longest seconds of her life. Then she prayed silently, desperately: "Jesus, I cannot forgive this man. Give me Your forgiveness."

Mechanically, she thrust her hand forward. And as their fingers clasped, she felt a warmth rush down her shoulder and through her arm. Forgiveness flooded where bitterness had lived.

This is the mystery Joseph understood when he wept before his brothers in Egypt. The men who threw him into a pit and sold him into slavery now trembled before him. Yet Joseph saw past their treachery to the sovereign hand of the Almighty: "God sent me ahead of you to preserve life." Providence had rewritten betrayal into rescue. What was meant for evil, El Shaddai bent toward redemption.