The breakaway church was a reluctant response to the decision by the National German Evangelical Church to endorse allegiance to the Führer’s anti-Jewish policy. The National Church had become so infected with national socialism that brown Nazi uniforms were even worn, and those of non-Aryan extraction were forbidden to hold official positions. As the Reich Church became more and more pro-Nazi, it became of necessity more and more compromising, racist, and political, with the state viewed on almost an equal plane with the church as God’s agent.

Under the leadership of Bonhoeffer and others, therefore, the Confessing Church was formed and thereafter assumed an active role in denouncing the Nazi programme. Its goal was not to overthrow the Nazi regime but rather to preserve the scriptural truth and integrity of the church. It was a risky and unproven path of spiritual, political, and personal resistance. Hitler declared the Confessing Church illegal the following year.

Though he followed the events with keen interest, lending support in whatever quiet ways he could, Baron von Dortmann was not a churchman and knew his calling lay in other areas. He could not have been more delighted, therefore, to learn of the forming of the seminary at Finkenwalde, less than an hour’s drive from his own home. And during the past two years, he and Bonhoeffer, who was twelve years his junior, had become deep friends of the spirit.

He pulled into the small compound of buildings, stopped his engine, and got out. He strode toward the largest of the structures, the original abandoned school, which was now being put to educational uses of a far loftier nature than had been originally intended, and walked inside.

He found Dietrich in his room, at his desk, pen in hand.

“Ah, my friend,” said the young pastor, rising and greeting the baron with outstretched hand as the latter walked through the open door. “It is good to see you again.” Bonhoeffer motioned him to a chair. “Please sit. I’m just finishing notes for Nachfolge.”

“Has it not already been delivered to the printer?”

“Yes, but I cannot keep from finding bits to change and add and tamper with. The life of a writer is a constant frustration, Heinrich,” he added with a laugh.

“You will have to let your manuscript be at some point or no one will ever read the book,” rejoined the baron.

“Of course you are right. The printers will impose it upon me if I cannot impose it upon myself. But discipleship is such a vast topic of such vital importance to God’s followers that I cannot stop myself from thinking of things I must add. With every lecture I give to the young men here, I find principles coming out of my mouth that are new. I am learning as much as they!”

“It is a sign of a growing Christian. I should think you would be worried if it were otherwise!”