Taking refuge in an old Berlin church where Bonhoeffer once taught.
A photo meditation on breathing walls and speaking stones; and a blessing for the weary pilgrim.
Dear one,
these last weeks I have asked myself more often than before: where can I take refuge? Where will be a safe haven, when everything fails? And what is it this time demands of me?
I know that many of you are asking those questions also.
And just like the tormented soul in the Hildegard of Bingen illumination cries out to mother Zion so did I.
Then mother Zion bent down deep and whispered into my soul. Memories of a visit to an old Berlin church during our last sabbatical flashed into my consciousness: “Zionskirche” (Zion’s church).
Built by the emperor in Berlin, Germany, Zionskirche1 from early on faced disputes between its more conservative and more liberal wing (sounds familiar?).
Later the young Dietrich Bonhoeffer taught here struggling with a rowdy confirmation class. Another 50 years later the peaceful revolution in East Germany grew under its roof into a movement which brought down the Berlin Wall.
And so this (mid)weekly blessing invites you to take refuge in Zionskirche right here with me, if only for a moment, to be encouraged by the courageous who went before us and to breathe in some peace.
It was a rainy and gray day just like many of the Berlin early Spring days. Though most of the church was under construction a volunteer offered a warm welcome at the entrance hall. Bread and coffee for the weary pilgrim, candles and open doors to the tower and the upper church. Upon entering the upper church over a beat up stairway I could feel its history seeping through its old walls and into my bones. Every crack and peeling paint was a reminder of times gone by, times of peace and upheaval, evil and blessings.
When ever I am back in my German home country places like this get me deep in my bones. They trigger memories of my own journey, good and not so good, some I look back with fear and trembling and some with gratitude. All of them are part of the web our stories are stitched from. Every one has a place of cracked walls and stones telling their story which is deeply connected to your own.
Sometimes we enter a building laughing and chatting, busy with other thoughts or conversation, or even with the honest interest to learn about its history eagerly reading or listening to the information offered. But all this keeps our mind from entering the present moment in order to become one with the place.
The first word in the monastic rule of Benedict is: “Listen.” It means not just listening. But to listen with our whole being. To listen with the ear of our heart. Then even stones might tell you their story.
And sometimes a place overcomes us with its presence. All of a sudden the conversation ebbs, and we enter into the present moment with the place we visit. It is a sacred moment, as Kierkegaard has it, where the eternal and the temporal mingle, and when we become part of a greater whole. It is a brief moment when transcendence breaks in and we are one with all.
So come on a contemplative walk with us through Zionskirche. Walk slowly, let your heart enter in. You can even light a candle with us at the end. May it bring you to the place and moment you need to be. And may each candle shine its light into the darkness.
The mark of solitude is silence, as speech is the mark of community. Silence and speech have the same inner correspondence and difference as do solitude and community. One does not exist without the other. Right speech comes out of silence, and right silence comes out of speech.
— Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1954). “Life Together”
A Blessing for the weary pilgrim.
After reading this contemplation my husband Chuck has written this blessing for you and all of us:
Building Zion: A short blessing from Zionskirche
You cannot know if the stone you lay
for a church floor or cellar or
curving winding stairway
will host a martyr’s foot,
blessing it in unregarded passing.
Or support a box of candles used
for prayers for freedom marches.
Or hold a table with a basket of bread
for hungry visitors, and the poor.
But now is the time.It is in your hands.
You cannot know if you are building Zion.
But build
and wait
and pray.Then you, and your work, are blessed,
even before the martyr or candle or bread arrives.CH
Blessings to you always, Almut with Chuck and little one
PS: As always, do leave us a word, a line, which spoke to you. Thank you.
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About Almut
Almut Furchert, Dr. phil., Dipl. Psych. is a German American scholar and practitioner, a psychologist turned philosopher turned writer, traveler, photographer, retreat leader and mother of a kindergartener. She has taught and published on authors like Kierkegaard, Buber, Frankl, Yalom, Edith Stein, and Hildegard of Bingen. Almut is also a Benedictine Oblate and lives with her family in a little college town in MN.
About Cloister Notes
A letter for dancing monks and weary pilgrims in the intersection of psychology, philosophy and spirituality. Contemplations on being human to deepen your path, nourish your heart and build wisdom within.
more about Zionskirche in English you can find here.
Thank you both for again sharing your gifts of word, thought, poem and pictures with us. When I read your post this morning it was as if I went on a journey in many ways. Such a beautiful way to begin my day. It was as if I was transported yet I was still sitting at my desk. Blessings to all.
Thank you, Almut and Chuck for your lovely thoughts, images and blessing. One thing that caught my eye was the Moravian star hanging from the ceiling I remember a few of these photos from your sabbatical. Nothing more, just thank you.🙏🏻