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July 18, 1965. Engulfed as the jet plane piloted by Jeremiah Denton came crashing to the ground in a ball of flames, setting the stage for seven and a half years of captivity in Hoa Lo Prision in Hanoi, better known as the Hanoi Hilton. There, along with 700 other Navy and Air Force airmen, he suffered isolation, malnutrition, disease, and torture. He, like the others, endured the trauma by shouldering some very basic principles -- patriotism, fellowship sustained by coded taps through the walls of solitary confinement, memories of family, and a faith in God. It would be hard to say which was most important, for each sustained the dignity of a man's humanity and self-worth.
Denton recounted his ordeal while confined in the Hanoi Hilton in a must-read book titled When Hell Was in Session. Of the many stories he recounts, one remains with me as none other. On his way to the latrine, Ed Davis passed word that he had a gift. There he found a cross woven from strips taken from a broom. Denton wrote, "I was deeply touched by the cross; it was my only really personal possession..." The officer kept it hidden in the pages of his propaganda pamphlet, thinking that would be the most unlikely place suspected or inspected. It was an unfortunate assumption as one day the guards inspected his cell, discovering and confiscating the forbidden cross. The guard threw the cross upon the filthy cement, stomped it with his boot, and then threw it into the open sewer.
A Vietnamese work crew was sent in to repair the tousled cell, as the culprit stood outside, bayonet pricking his neck. Denton, returning to his cell, outraged, began to rip apart the pamphlet, only to feel a lump among the pages. There, woven out of straw, was a beautiful cross. The workers, in collaboration with one another and at great personal risk, re-created Denton's symbol of faith and hope. The cross was a reminder of his personal relationship with God, and as the workers knew, a universal expression of hope. The members of the camp came to call the cross and accompanying story "Denton's Cross."
There is a special need for us to feel especially close to God. A relationship transcending friendship, for we are kindred -- truly a child of the beloved. In our private apartments at our personal Hanoi Hilton, we are able to grasp the cross and utter the word "Daddy." Childish? Then Jesus is the most boorish babe of us all.
Nailed to the cross, Jesus spoke the word "Abba," which in the Aramaic means "Daddy." It was the desperate plea of a child to a parent. It was a cry for solace and comfort. It came from excruciating agony, tears mingled in blood. It was the final act of a child recognizing one's father. It was the ultimate expression that Jesus understood himself to be, like none other on earth, the Son of God.
Jesus, as a hen who gathers her brood, longed for the children of Israel to be able to say "Abba."
Denton recounted his ordeal while confined in the Hanoi Hilton in a must-read book titled When Hell Was in Session. Of the many stories he recounts, one remains with me as none other. On his way to the latrine, Ed Davis passed word that he had a gift. There he found a cross woven from strips taken from a broom. Denton wrote, "I was deeply touched by the cross; it was my only really personal possession..." The officer kept it hidden in the pages of his propaganda pamphlet, thinking that would be the most unlikely place suspected or inspected. It was an unfortunate assumption as one day the guards inspected his cell, discovering and confiscating the forbidden cross. The guard threw the cross upon the filthy cement, stomped it with his boot, and then threw it into the open sewer.
A Vietnamese work crew was sent in to repair the tousled cell, as the culprit stood outside, bayonet pricking his neck. Denton, returning to his cell, outraged, began to rip apart the pamphlet, only to feel a lump among the pages. There, woven out of straw, was a beautiful cross. The workers, in collaboration with one another and at great personal risk, re-created Denton's symbol of faith and hope. The cross was a reminder of his personal relationship with God, and as the workers knew, a universal expression of hope. The members of the camp came to call the cross and accompanying story "Denton's Cross."
There is a special need for us to feel especially close to God. A relationship transcending friendship, for we are kindred -- truly a child of the beloved. In our private apartments at our personal Hanoi Hilton, we are able to grasp the cross and utter the word "Daddy." Childish? Then Jesus is the most boorish babe of us all.
Nailed to the cross, Jesus spoke the word "Abba," which in the Aramaic means "Daddy." It was the desperate plea of a child to a parent. It was a cry for solace and comfort. It came from excruciating agony, tears mingled in blood. It was the final act of a child recognizing one's father. It was the ultimate expression that Jesus understood himself to be, like none other on earth, the Son of God.
Jesus, as a hen who gathers her brood, longed for the children of Israel to be able to say "Abba."
