To my widow,

Upon the honor of my captors, this letter, this last piece of me, shall be delivered into your hands.

Magdalena, my dearest, I am to die. The pain makes it hard to write, and I have little time to give you the full account of injustices, treacheries, and all else that has happened to me, but you will hear them from another’s mouth. I have suffered too much for my mere human strength, and if they were not to kill me in the morning, I should still perish. But with that comes the pride that I die as a martyr for my faith. God be my witness, I bear no misgivings, and my testimony does not flag or falter. The Hutterites need men who carry the Word until the stake, and I am perfectly willing to let this body burn for His purpose.

I will die—I am sure of it—I will die. But, O Magdalena, how you would weep! For months, we sang hymns to fight the pain of floggings. And when our captors learned of the solidarity that goes beyond chains, they locked us up in cells as criminals. But what crime have we committed? Our Scriptures are one, and my God is theirs, and they know as much I the words of Christ when He said: “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.”

I know all men must die; at least, in flesh, they must. Bone and muscle decay, but that is the natural order of things. It is the soul that lives on through a hundred centuries. They cannot kill what God breathes into man. Neither can they stop what God desires. If they burn us all today, then tomorrow fifty more will rise. Indeed, that is the power of my God.

It remains for me to advise you on your life, but I trust your good character completely. Live right that you may come to Heaven, and in God’s safety, we may lay eyes upon each other again.

Magdalena, you know I love you and wish you all your life. I am so sorry to have bound you with me. From the beginning, I accepted my fate, and I am far too beholden now to recant. Do not mourn me too much.  You have never been brought up soft. Remember how I was alive—yet, I am alive and I will be alive. I have always been alive, and the temporary failure of my body should not change that.

Goodbye. The hour is now. I write no more.

Hans Schmid