We drove West, away from Amsterdam. We wound through smaller and smaller villages until we neared the coastline. Land shifted from urban blocks to undulating dunes. Weeds and shrubs resisted the force of the wind clinging to the sand. We drove for nearly a mile into an unoccupied expanse. Then we saw a break in the landscape. A small gate swung open onto a winding dirt lane. I turned down the road. The bushes and grass gave way to gnarled trees. It felt like driving into a small, confined, and dangerous trap. The tree branches reached out like hands trying to latch onto the car.
Finally, the vegetation thinned. A clearing emerged. We parked and began walking toward the sea. A kiosk was filled with information, all in Dutch. We vaguely knew what we were looking for, so we began to walk down a trail. In the distance, we could see a flag snapping in the crisp sea breeze. In just a few minutes, we came to a long set of stairs that led to an imposing rock gate.
We stepped inside to see a long narrow rectangle about the length of a football field, but not even half its width. It was surrounded by a raised walkway and panels filled with names. Within the inner rectangle was a patchwork of 40-50 smaller squares and rectangles. Each was filled with grasses and beautiful purple flowers. Butterflies and bees filled the air like a fine mist. The garden plots also held small flat stones. They were each engraved with names and dates. Many of them had photos or mementos resting on their tops. It was a quiet and holy place.
In the final days of WW2, the Germans executed over 400 Dutch citizens for their involvement in the resistance movement. Most were older teens and young adults. They hid Jews, stole ration cards, published the truth, and bombed bridges. The Nazis hid their bodies in these sand dunes. After the war, the mass graves were discovered. This memorial was created to honor the resistance movement. While in the Netherlands, we saw repeated evidence that the lesson they took from the war was the impossibility of neutrality in the face of evil. Their country is still grappling with guilt. So many people turned away from responsibility. Over time, these resistance fighters have grown in stature and importance as the moral conscience of the nation.
Overlooking the memorial is a pillar topped by a classically shaped urn. As I was photographing the scene, my camera paused on the handles. While looking through the zoom lens I saw that they were angels. Then I saw the cross on the overlooking hilltop. I tried to preserve the moment by pushing the shutter and taking a picture.
It is hard to look at sacrifice. It is hard because we want life to be easy. We want to find the path of least resistance. We want to get along and go along. We don’t want to have to suffer. It’s often easier to bury our heads in our hands. Sometimes we turn our gaze away from the difficulty acting as if it does not exist. But there on the hilltop is the cross and Jesus’ invitation, “Take up my cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). In the face of evil, we cannot be neutral. Instead, we have to live out the life of a disciple, one who follows Jesus, through words and actions. We must stand up for the Gospel of love and truth in the face of a world that so easily sees division, criticism, hatred, and fear. It will cost us, but it is the way of our Lord.