Marienkirche

Every time I go into a city, I have a list of at least two churches, most time three or four, that I want to see or that interested me when I looked at the city. Of course, you have your run-of-the-mill gorgeous cathedral, like Prague Cathedral or the Berliner Dom, but I also try to pick churches that are interesting for historical or architectural reasons. St. Mary's in Berlin is like that. It's got this mural around the inside called the Dance of Death, dating from the 15th century, recently recovered under centuries of paint. It dates from the time of the Plague and it shows people from all walks of life "dancing with death, moving at a slow and dignified gait."  I'm kinda fascinated with the whole thing, so I figured I'd look for it.

I searched for it after I found the Berliner Dom, looking at my directions and my map and figuring out that it was on the same street as the Dom. I walked up and down the street, consulting my handwritten instructions to turn right after the river. Running out of time and frustrated, I walked towards the square where I was going to meet up with Christine again, thinking I had time at least to check out one of the churches surrounding the fountain.

I walked into the one with an open door, thinking I could glance around for a bit. It was literally less than two minutes from my intended destination and I had at least twenty to poke around. As I walked in, I noticed that they had this plastic protection over the walls. I also noticed a sign that said that an organ concert started five minutes ago and I couldn't go in without paying. It wasn't much, but I didn't have the time to wait for an organ concert to finish. As I turned to go, thinking that I'd catch up on my writing as I waited, I noticed a skeleton on the wall in a white cloak, talking to a bishop or a duke or someone else like that.

Exactly like this picture I had looked at of the Dance of Death. In Marienkirche. In Berlin.

Well, goodness.

I looked around for a while outside, taking pictures of the tower with its late add-ons and baroque dome, convincing myself that I'd return sometime soon.

I came back on Sunday morning because I had already seen the Berliner Dom and a smaller church could be nice. I left extraordinarily early got to town extraordinarily early and sat in the nave of the church for a good half an hour or forty-five minutes before the service began. I got to listen to the choir practice. It's funny how choirs everywhere have the same quirks. I could tell what the director wanted them to do differently from the way he stopped them and the way his words affected the way they sang. All choirs have the same laugh, too, so I could tell the director had made some joke about churches or singing in general. It was almost fun, guessing what these German people were talking about in their different language.

I started writing in my journal, trying to note the structure of the nave (there's this awkward section of pews that's sideways- they were moved after WWII when the pulpit was moved to the second pillar) and the decorations. Marienkirche actually weathered the war quite well and artifacts from other churches that weren't so fortunate were moved here. Soon the church started to fill with people and I guiltily put away the camera with which I couldn't bring myself to take pictures. The normal members of the congregation sat near the front. Another church surveyor, like me, sat near the back of the sideways section, staring around the church when the organ and choir started.

I jumped to put my notebook up when the music started. Choirs are meant for a space like this, with the glorious echoing. It's wonderful and beautiful and I almost think that every stone used in a building such as this were worth it, if just to be able to hear this song, sung this way, just to hear the way the notes from the organ bounce around the sanctuary, following us in worship.

It was also wonderful to have a bulletin with music and words. I don't speak any German, but you can recognize the order of service and guess when the words make up the Apostle's Creed or the Lord's Prayer. They're pretty universal. I mean, you never know what you're missing in translation, but it's pretty easy to find God the Father, Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord, plus the Holy Spirit among all of the other words I can't identify. It made mumbling along much easier. They also sang a hymn based on Matthew 7, which I knew! It was even the same tune, just in German.

There was a baptism of a young girl, maybe in the upper elementary grades. I was very confused as the pastors left the chancel to talk to the congregation. I even got a little nervous- what could they make us do? What sort of things happened in services when I wasn't paying attention? But they just talked to the girl and her family, and then the whole family walked up to the chancel to stand behind and support her as she got baptized. It was really wonderful to see. It's a good bit different from infant baptism, though they used the same amount of water from the font.

As the service progressed, I was feeling pretty confident, even though I understood not a word of the sermon, and felt good enough to walk up for communion. I would feel like I was cheating if I took it at a Catholic church, but a Protestant church should be fine, yeah? So I walked up to the front of the church with the rest of the masses and they had us form a circle. I watched as the head pastor along with two associates, one of whom was a woman, made their way around the circle, offering first the little circular wafers and second the glass of wine. I was super thankful when the person in front of me dipped the wafter in the wine, taking communion by intinction rather than sipping from the cup. I don't think my little Methodist soul could have stood that much difference in one morning. I like my grape juice.

Then, after everyone had been served, the pastor said something and people around the circle grabbed the hands of the person next to them. We had already passed the peace, but I smiled and held the hands of the two men on either side of me, knowing that they would have no idea what I was saying but glad they were welcoming me into their circle. Maybe we were blessed or maybe we were sent out with a good word, but we passed smiles around the circle. Then one of the children broke the moment and we all walked back to our seats.

I walked out of the church after the postlude, quite happy with my first service overseas. I dunno, there's something wonderful about not understanding a word that was said and yet, feeling like I'm a part of something. I mean, knock ritual and tradition all you want, but it's extraordinarily comforting. It's wonderful to have universal aspects to the church. As much as well disagree, it's good to know that there's still something there. Music, though goodness knows no one agrees on one kind, even within one congregation. Baptism, though it often has a differently weighted importance. Communion, though what it really means can be different for each creed.

And, of course, if we forget, there's always death on the way out of the church. We might not agree on where everyone ends up afterwards, but we all know how everyone leaves this space we share. It's a good reminder, every now and then.