3 May 2014

Deep, at the Root

This post is dedicated to so many people, people who gave me gifts of vision and insight, of art and music, of mind and understanding.  So this is for Carl Otto Albert Hiller, Flora Meyer, Norman Gienapp, Rita Henning, Ms. Wasmund, Louise Hiller, Marcus Schweder, Paul Gibson, Michael Bicklen, Prof. Zawoiski, George Hoyer, Joanne Koerber, Adalbert Rafael Kretzmann, and Betty Kretzmann, Robert Bergt, Mark Bangert, Art Halbardier, David Hogan, Jon Rollins, Gertrude Döderlein, and so many others who gave me the gift of seeing and loving beauty.  Dankeschön.

It’s cold and a bit drizzly but we still make the hike down Praterstraße in order to catch our train to Leipzig.  This long walk takes us through the modern realizations of the new city scape that was to remake Dresden.  In my younger days, I might have appreciated it, but right now it seems to be “all mall, all the time.”  It is quiet, however, with not too many pedestrians.  We catch our train, and soon we’re off into the Saxon countryside – which is quite beautiful.  The spring green meadows are punctuated with rapeseed fields’ bright yellow and gleaming in the sun.  This is a Saxonian milk run, but who can complain for €14, round trip.

Arthur has never been here, but he immediately spots what I noticed the first time that I was here, a couple of years ago, and that is the wonderful sculpture that adorns not only the civic buildings, and churches here, but also the commercial buildings as well.  I quickly take him to one of my most favorite of places, Riquet, a wonderful coffee shop opposite Speckshof, a wonderful warren of commercial passages, like those in Paris.  Riquet is a fine place and we stop first to see what the offerings are.

I finally spring for a slice of the Eierschecke, and Arthur is soon involved with a very series cake filled with sour cherries, and a little schlag. 

Each of the Höffe has different architectural aspects and ornamentation, and each one is a delight.  The stores gleam like jewels and beckon one in.  I am leaning backward to take the picture above, when suddenly I hear a brass choir begin to play In dir is Freude.  At once I am bent over in tears, and recall a couple of other moments in my life when this has happened.  The first was at the Louvre in Paris when I came upon the Nike of Samothrace.  Looking at it, I realized that what all those people had told me about beauty was true – and I cried out of the joy of knowing that.  Here I am reminded of my deep Lutheran roots, now nourished by other traditions - but deep roots they are.

We are in Bach’s other church – Nickolaikirche, and later in the evening we will come back for a concert here.  Right now it is enough to look at the beauty of this neo-classical room with its pillars crowned with lily of the valley.  We walk around a bit, and then decide to go to Thomaskirche, the other Bach church. 

On the way over there we stop by the Mädler Passage with its wonderful sculptures, where I buy a pair of reading glasses.  I love German glasses.  We also stop in at the Altes Rathaus, but decide not to go in. 

Thomaskirche, at its heart, is a medieval building, and I think that I gravitate to it more.  The altarpiece is stunning, and the message of the artwork and windows is unabashedly Lutheran – Christian.  We immerse ourselves in this a bit, and I remember another moment where my roots began to show.  It was right after I had decided to seek reception into the Episcopal Church as a priest.  I was standing in the choir at Trinity Church in San Francisco, and we began to sing the hymn Jesu, meine Freude.  This one choked me up as well, reminding me of all that had been given – was I giving it up?  (No, but it’s good to know your roots.)  Thomaskirche moves and will continue to move me for not only what it was under Bach, but also what it continues to be.

We grab lunch, a delicious fish.  Hordes of people are circling the church – there are pilgrims there.  After lunch, full 40 minutes before the three o’clock concert is to begin we go to the church.  It is packed, and we are lucky to find a seat.

We quickly realize that we are not at a concert at all – it is a service.  It is Gottesdienst.  The Pfarrer in his robe and befchen greets the assembled people (who are sitting in pews, standing along the edges, propped up at the columns in the aisles) and greets them in the name of the Good Shepherd, a hint at the following day's readings.  Here is what we were treated to:

Prelude: Toccata und Fuge d-Moll, Max Reger

Mottet: Singet dem Herr nein Neues Lied, J. S. Bach

A Reading: The Gospel for Easter III

Gemeindelied: Der Herr is mein getreuer Hirt (Evang. Gesang. 274) sung between choir and congregation.

Ansprache: A crystal clear homily on Jesus the Good Shepherd

Prayers

Vater Unser

A Blessing

Kantata: Du Hirte Israel, höre, J. S. Bach.

The bulletin asks us not to applaud and no one does.  The people leave in silence.  In it all, I feel as though I have been steeped in all that I have been taught over time, steeped in a concentrated wine of its essential goodness. 

We go back to Nikolaikirche, and for all its beauty, it doesn’t even touch the Thomaskirche experience.  This is a concert, and in spite of the greetings from the dressed down Pfarrer, and his closing prayer, there is applause, and it remained only a concert.

We rush back to catch a 6:00 train to Dresden, and arrive back tired but exhilarated.  A small statue greets us as we make our way back up Praterstraße. 

Beauty seems to follow us.