A violent heart

I’ve been thinking about the French village, Le Chambon.

Like you do.

For those of you who didn’t pay attention during history class, here’s a brief lesson. After the French surrendered to the German army in WWII, what was left of the government made a deal. In exchange for the Germans staying out of south central France, centered around the city of Vichy, the new government agreed do whatever the Nazi regime wanted, including rounding up Jews to be sent to concentration camps.

Before you’re too hard on the French, remember their experiences in WWI. One and a half million French soldiers died in WWI, which amounted to 25% of all men between the ages of 18 to 30. By contrast, in the Vietnam war 0.2% of American service members between 18 to 30 died. Fifty-eight thousand war dead traumatized our country, for losses to equal the French it would have needed to be 6 million. I’m willing to cut them some slack with their “cooperation” with the Nazis.

There was a hitch in the round-up-the-Jews program. In a very rural area around the village of Le Chambon, there was zero cooperation with the government. First of all, the French weren’t particularly good at being fascists. When police were sent to Le Chambon to round up Jews, they would often stop at the local cafe, announce loudly that they were here to raid the school, and then have a relaxed lunch before going to work. By the time they got to the school there were never any Jewish children found. This was a little odd, because during the war the student body grew from 18 to 350.

The resistance was led by the village pastor, a man named Andre Trocme. He was serious about his religion and was a pacifist as well.

When I think of a pacifist, I think of a quiet, saintly person, busy turning the other cheek and not causing problems. I’m wrong about that, but it’s not all my fault. For words that actually have nothing in common, passive and pacifism sound too much alike.

Andre Trocme was kind of a pain in the neck, and the village was in awe of the screaming arguments he would have with his wife. They described him as “un violent vaincu par Dieu.” That translates as, “a violent man, conquered by God.”

I love that phrase so much. As soon as I read it, my mind leaped to a description of George Washington by Gilbert Stuart. When you think of a portrait of George Washington, chances are pretty good that what comes to mind is a painting by Stuart. He was commissioned to do an official portrait of Washington.

After Stuart completed his work, someone asked him what he thought of the general after spending so much time in close proximity. Stuart said his features were, “...indicative of the strongest and most ungovernable passions, and had he been born in the forests he would have been the fiercest man amongst the savage tribes.”

Now, Washington was never accused of being a pacifist, but he was renowned for his self-control, and his portrait certainly portrays him as dignified and composed. His image is carved into a granite mountain in South Dakota, but to know that he was actually much more like a well-tamped volcano is fascinating. A violent heart, conquered in this case by an iron will to do not what felt right, but what was most productive.

Back to France. By war’s end, this one small village had rescued over 5,000 Jews from torment and death, and did it without violence, led by a pacifist whose heart was in violent turmoil but conquered by God.

If you’re still reading, my guess is you know where I’m going. I’m from Minnesota, and my heart just swells with pride at the way so many people I know, and tens of thousands I don’t, have tamped down their own inner volcanos to take care of their neighbors as best they can. The French in Le Chambon couldn’t have saved their neighbors with an armed revolt. What they did do was so much more effective.

It’s a lesson.

Copyright 2026 Brent Olson