A Band of Brothers | Lifesigns Magazine

The bullets whizzed past their heads like killer bees on steroids. Hundreds—no, thousands—of them. It was an ambush, and Jones, Richardson, Johnson, and Kowalzki were running for their lives toward what looked like an old bombed-out church. The rest of their platoon ran north toward a storefront as the Nazis kept up their relentless barrage of 1,500 rounds per minute from their MG42 machine guns. The intel was obviously wrong. Jones and his platoon thought they were going into Schonbach to set up desperately needed food and medical stations for the locals. Schonbach was a small, quiet municipality a few miles southwest of the much larger city of Saarbrücken, Germany, just a few miles north of the French border. Their platoon was part of the mission making its way toward Berlin.

Jones, Richardson, Johnson, and Kowalzki were a band of brothers who had been together since boot camp. They all signed up to fight in World War II because they knew they had to stand for America and freedom. Jones was the oldest at 25 and the obvious choice to lead the others. The higher-ups saw leadership in Jones during boot camp. He was a natural-born leader, and people gravitated toward him. He didn’t try to be the leader; he just was. No matter what he was doing, others looked to him. In grade school, out on the playground, everybody looked to Jones to get the kickball game going. In chemistry class, when nobody would pick Marybeth as their lab partner, Jones would choose her. No one ever said anything—not because they were afraid of Jones, but because they intuitively knew he was doing the right thing.

Jones and the other three were inside the church by now, somewhat safe from the swarm of lethal bullets. The old church was barely intact, with a roof over their heads and three walls supporting it, but the wall where the altar and pulpit stood was almost completely gone. The riser that held the pulpit and communion elements was the only thing that looked sturdy. The remaining remnant of the wall looked as if it would collapse with the slightest movement. Jones decided the safest plan was to stay close to the entrance and keep low.

This band of brothers had been through hell over the past two and a half years since joining the war. For whatever reason, God had seen fit to put these four men together, and together they fought Hitler and his regime. They had built a bond stronger than blood.

Richardson was the funny one. He found a joke, or at least something funny, in just about every situation they faced. That was refreshing at times and aggravating at others. As the firefight continued outside, Richardson walked to the pulpit and started mock-preaching to the other three as if he were the pastor on a Sunday morning.

Kowalzki yelled, “Get down from there, Richardson. You ain’t good enough to preach anything to anybody. Well, on second thought, you might want to keep preaching and bore the Nazis to death.”

Suddenly, an explosion broke through Richardson’s sermon and shook the three remaining walls. Behind Richardson, the last part of the back wall crumbled onto the platform, narrowly missing him. With lightning-fast reflexes, Richardson dove forward into the first row of pews and slid under the second row, where the pews would shield him from scattered debris.

This was just one of many narrow misses these four men had experienced over the past few years. Jones yelled out an order to get under the pews. It was a useless order, because the other three instinctively knew what to do.

Jones yelled out to Johnson through the dust and debris, “Get on the horn and see where the rest of the platoon is.”

Johnson quipped back, “Sorry, sir. Looks like the radio mic got cut when I dove for cover.”

No communication. No real cover. No backup. They were on their own—just the four of them against the rest of the Nazis. How many there were, and how heavily armed they were, was unknown. At least these four were together. Each man trusted the others with his life. What they had been through over the years created a bond so strong that each one would have been more than willing to lay down his life for the others. No questions asked. No hesitation to act. They just would.

The four stayed under the pews for what seemed like hours. Then the doors of the church swung open with such force that the four men jumped and banged their heads on the pew seats above them.

“Jones, you in here, sir?” came a deep Southern accent. Rollins was from Alabama—Dothan, Alabama. That was about as far south as you could go in eastern Alabama before you hit Florida. His accent was thick, almost to the point that you might think he was from another country.

“Rollins, is that you?” Jones yelled.

“Yeees, sir!”

“We’re over here.” With that, Jones and the other three came out from under the pews, scratching their heads.

“What happened Rollins?” asked Jones.

“Sir, a few local bad guys got hold of a small ammo supply. They saw us coming into town and started their own little local war. We ran for cover into the storefront, and you guys ran toward the church. We were able to hold them off for a few hours until they ran out of ammo, and then we overtook them rather easily. Before that, though, they had one grenade left and chucked it toward us a few hours ago. We did not suffer any casualties, but several of the guys got hit with shrapnel. It was nothing we couldn’t handle, so then we came looking for you guys.”

“Good job, Rollins,” Jones complimented. “Everything else good?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rollins.

With that, the platoon was back together, and the job of setting up the medical and food stations was underway.

This is simply a story, an allegory, a parable. The characters are fictional, but in real life, a few of the relationships we build over a lifetime can be as thick as Rollins’s Southern accent. We were not meant to live or do life alone. In the beginning, God said it was “not good for man to be alone.” God then created Eve. God wasn’t just putting man and woman together; He was declaring the importance of relationship. God made man for Himself, so both could enjoy relationship with one another without one existing at the expense of the other.

We live in an American society that often approaches relationships with a “What have you done for me lately?” mindset. We often expect the other person to fulfill something missing in our lives. God did not say He created man because He had a need that only man could fulfill. Nor did He say man was incomplete and needed a helpmate simply to fill a void. God wants relationship. We want relationship.

In my six decades of living, I have found a few relationships where, no matter how long it has been since we talked or saw each other, we seem to pick up the conversation and relationship right where we left off. Whether it was six months ago or six years ago—I don’t usually go that long, but you get what I’m trying to say—our bond is that strong. However, those relationships are few. Not everyone I meet is my best friend, or even a friend. King Solomon once said, “A man that has friends must show himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticks closer than a brother.” I must show myself friendly if I want friends, but there is someone who is closer to me than my own brother. That illustrates the importance of friendship. Yet friendships that close take time. Your life and mine are full of ups and downs—hurt, sorrow, pain, joy, excitement, and happiness. The people who go through life’s ups and downs with us are not always our blood family. Often, they are people with whom we have developed deep relationships over the years.

My wife and I have been married for 37 years, and over those years we have learned a few things about family and friends. We have many people in our lives whom we consider friends. Those people have changed our lives, and we are better because they are in our lives. We pray that we have been the same for our friends and others. Still, we have concluded that the close circle of friends we can cry with, suffer with, yell at and be yelled back at by, rejoice with, hurt with, and be excited with is small. As my wife likes to say, “My circle is small.” As a matter of fact, Jesus’ close circle of friends was small. He had His blood family—His mother, father, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins—the multitudes, the twelve disciples, and then the three: Peter, James, and John. Those three had the privilege of going to the Mount of Transfiguration with Him, an intimate moment He had with His Father that the three witnessed.

I believe deep friendships take time and are built by doing life together. They should not only shape us, but also allow us to make a meaningful impact on others.