There’s no getting around it: the Nazis got around it. This is the story of the Maginot Line.
Bloodied and embittered after the staggering losses of the First World War, France vowed she would never again be invaded by the Germans next door.
So between 1930 and 1935, War Minister Andre Maginot oversaw construction of an interconnected series of fortifications between the two countries.
The Maginot Line stretched the whole 150 miles along the shared border with Germany, from Belgium on the west to Switzerland on the east. Spaced along the line were 50 concrete forts, all within cannon range of each other, with pillboxes interspersed among them at regular intervals. Each fort housed 1,000 soldiers and was connected to the others by a maze of tunnels through which troops and supplies could move invisibly. At the time, it was the single largest construction project in Europe’s history.
Once the wall was up, France slipped smugly into a dangerous and deceptive sense of security. Military leaders like Charles de Gaulle warned that national defense should also include a highly mobile force, but their concerns were ignored. After all, an invading army couldn’t climb the Swiss Alps, or get tanks and heavy guns through the forests of Belgium, and the Line covered everything between.
But in May 1940, as the Germans kept much of their army facing the Maginot Line as a diversion, the Nazi air force bombed Belgium, opening a corridor so Hitler’s army could march around the western end of the Maginot Line. Tanks and heavy artillery kept to the roads while thousands of troops threaded their way through the dense, “impassable” forest. Since all the big French guns along the Line were aimed at Germany and couldn’t be turned, France soon fell.
Today, the concrete fortresses still stand — used as homes, wine cellars and night clubs — but “Maginot Line” is synonymous with narrow thinking and numbing complacency. In some quarters, that makes it an apt symbol of the church.
Let’s be clear. In the struggle between good and evil, it’s valid and necessary for the people of God to take a position and get serious about “defending the truth and sharing the Good News with others.” (Phil. 1:7) Paul says, “Stand your ground. Put on the sturdy belt of truth and the body armor of God’s righteousness.” (Eph. 6:14). But to stand doesn’t always mean to stand still.
Too often, the church surveys the enemy then digs in and cops out. We build a wall against the world and retreat behind our spiritual fortifications. Oh, we’re busy. Too busy, in fact. In the safety and security of our buildings, away from the eyes of outsiders, we amass spiritual ammunition we’ll never use. Planning and drilling take the place of praying and doing. And since we pose little threat to the forces intent on enslaving the world,they leave us alone, at least until we grow smug and complacent.
Among many, the church is so offensive precisely because it’s so defensive. Rather than taking positive action, we carp and complain about the evils out there and do nothing except ensure they don’t invade the church. We rail against abortion, but seldom support pregnancy centers; decry the plight of the poor, without leaving our fortresses of faith to lend a hand; and bemoan the mounting toll of drugs, AIDS and abuse while avoiding their victims.
The problem isn’t a lack of love, but a complacent preoccupation with the most obvious threat — a frontal assault on the church. But while our big guns are aimed in our own defense, our enemies are overrunning the political, social and moral landscape on every other front. They don’t have to go over us. They’re getting around us, and soon we’ll be overwhelmed.
Before it’s too late, we must be progressive and proactive, shrugging off our isolation and taking the fight to the enemy. We need Christians on the streets and in every circle of influence. In Matthew 16:18, Jesus calls the church to action and says not even the gates of hell will be able to stand against it. We must be the invaders. Any other line of reasoning is indefensible.