It was with great sadness that I learned of the recent passing of Dr. Barbara J. Elliott. Though I only met her briefly, she was a memorable presence, exuding elegance and sophistication, an enthusiasm for culture and literature, a curious mind, and passionate faith.
In remembering her and praying for the repose of her soul, I have been compelled to return to her book from 1993, “Candles behind the Wall: Heroes of the Peaceful Revolution That Shattered Communism.” Published under her previous married name, Barbara Von Der Heydt, the book grew out of her experiences living in Germany at the time of the collapse of the Berlin Wall. When she began organizing supplies for refugees, she encountered their stories.
First-hand accounts of life under Communism conveys not only the terror and deprivation, but, as Elliott skillfully draws out, recurring themes of hope and quiet actions of peace that rippled into a bloodless revolution. The Wall fell not with ammunition and life lost but with persistent and unshakeable peace. Elliott shows how the anonymous person of faith undermined the godless regime and contributed to its rupture and dissolution.
There’s a more recent book that attempts what Elliott does, but the contrast is significant. I quite enjoyed Rod Dreher’s book, “Live Not by Lies,” especially the account of the family that spent up to seven hours a day reading aloud the likes of “The Lord of the Rings” to counteract the propaganda of Communist schools. There was, however, an off-putting sense of gloom about the work, though. Dreher’s premise is that creeping “soft totalitarianism” is on the move, an all but unstoppable force set to engulf us.
Where Elliott interviewed survivors in a triumphant state of freedom, Dreher seemed to approach his subjects with the certainty that our culture is teetering on the edge of tyranny. His fears are not wholly unjustified. And yet, what is the greatest catalyst for cultural collapse if not the premature surrender of all decent people of faith who in cowardice are convinced that theirs is a losing battle? Is it too cravenly a personal attack to point out that a man who abandons his religion, his marriage, and his country must be an inveterate coward?
Elliott’s account in “Candles behind the Wall” is a much different experience. Not one of collecting scraps and hoping simply to be left alone. The courageous people in Elliott’s collection of stories risked everything to share the truth, to bring hope, to advance the cause of Good against Evil.
After sitting in a cozy home of an evening listening to the inimitable Barbara Jean recount stories from her unique life, I am grateful to have met her and grateful to have her written words to return to.
You can read an account of her meeting Mother Teresa here, from which I excise this passage:
The tiny nun, who barely came up to my shoulder, took my hand and pressed it into her rough and calloused one, saying “Love God, Barbara,” which came out sounding more like “Luff Gott, Bahbada.”
As I stood there among the purveyors of political power in the most powerful nation in the world, self-satisfied, puffed up with what we thought was our own importance (and I include myself among them), her presence inserted a slender needle of doubt, deflating my own exalted notions of political prowess. It occurred to me, as I looked around that room in the Dirksen Senate Office Building, that one day in Mother Teresa’s life brought more good to the face of the earth than all our efforts combined for a lifetime. The thought shook me to my core. And I can see now retrospectively that she lit a long fuse in me that would ignite the fire of faith in my soul six years later.
The saints, whether world-renowned like Mother Teresa or an anonymous Christian in the Soviet Bloc, change the people around them, altering the trajectory of lives with whom they come into contact. In turn, Barbara was such a person.
Requiescat in pace.
