The Voyage Back Into the Wilderness

In June 1939, Dietrich Bonhoeffer stood on the deck of a ship bound for New York. Friends in America had arranged everything — a teaching position at Union Theological Seminary, safety from the Nazi regime that was tightening its grip on Germany, and a platform to influence the world from comfort. It was a reasonable offer. A good offer. No one would have blamed him for staying.

He lasted twenty-six days.

The temptation was real. Like bread offered to a starving man, America promised Bonhoeffer provision, security, and prestige — three things the wilderness of Nazi Germany could never guarantee. But something deeper than comfort anchored him. He wrote to Reinhold Niebuhr: "I have come to the conclusion that I made a mistake in coming to America. I must live through this difficult period in our national history with the people of Germany."

Bonhoeffer boarded a ship back to Berlin, back into the wilderness, back toward suffering he could see coming. He chose faithfulness over safety, calling over comfort, obedience over self-preservation.