Peripatetic Curmudgeon
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Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Amsterdam--Hidden Mennonite Church
Amsterdam—July 25, cont. The Hidden Mennonite Church
So, Adriaan Plak walks us to the “hidden church.” We go
across the canal and west a little ways from the University Library. We
approach a door that is plain . . . it does not stand out from any other door
on this street-front building. In fact, that is why it is called a “hidden
church”—meaning it is not recognizable from the street.
We walk inside and can see immediately that we are in a
large facility with a very church-like feel. (There is the secretary’s office,
the coffee machine, and stacks of bulletins, brochures, and other church
paraphernalia.) We walk around to the sanctuary. It is pretty plain: dark
wooden floors and pulpit, large balcony with painted posts and railings. A very
interesting art piece is on the pulpit. You’ll see a picture of it. There are a
couple of nice chandeliers—the only decorative pieces.
The center of the sanctuary has folding chairs. In the old
days they were stacked in the foyer before the service began. Each female churchgoer
took a chair after paying a five-cent piece and carried it somewhere into the
middle area. The surrounding benches were intended for the men. The children
from the orphanage that the church operated and paupers usually sat in the
gallery.
In walked a slight, younger middle-aged guy who introduces
himself as Marcel Alblas. Adriaan excuses himself and Marcel takes over. He is
engaging, obviously loves to talk (and talk about his church--he is the
facility manager and guest host) and has a wonderful if understated sense of
humor.
Marcel says he grew up in the “Bible Belt”—the one in
Holland— which means it was “Reformed” (his words.) It was very conservative:
no cinema or swimming on Sundays. That strictness was too much for his family
and pushed them toward a more liberal outlook.
He is definitely what you might call a “liberal” (you might pick up on
that in some of what he said; see below)
He took us on a tour of the church and unloaded more about
the history and practices of Mennonites in Amsterdam than we could possibly
absorb. (I took notes as fast as I could.) It was an enjoyable conversation and
fascinating. Once again, it was almost too much to believe—discovering this
church, being here and hearing all of this was nowhere near my mind a few short
hours ago.
Here is short summary of his comments:
In the earliest days, from 1530, during the times of
persecution and weirdness (he mentioned the “naked
truthers”), Mennonites met
in private homes. At the beginning of the 17th century, when the
Protestants began to tolerate the Mennonites to a certain degree, they began to
meet more often in central gathering places. Still, they did not publicize to a
great degree the locations of these places.
The Mennonites were allowed to have a meeting place but they
could not be visible from the street, could have no clock tower, and no church
name. Marcel commented that the city fathers managed the churches like they
managed the drugs and prostitution: tolerate them but know where they are so
you can keep an eye on them (thus the “coffee shops”, the Red Light
District—and hidden but registered churches.)
In 1607, the first building was built on this site. This
meeting place was called “Near the Lamb.” One might think this was a use of the
biblical reference to Christ the Lamb. Actually it referred to a lamb on the
gable of the nearby brewery. The lamb is still the church’s logo.
In 1639, a larger structure was built on and in 1839, the
roof took its present shape. Over the years, the complex continued to grow. It
was used for meetings, a library, and Bible classes. This is a large facility.
It is the headquarters of the General Mennonite Society and the Mennonite
Centre for Congregational Building. Marcel refers to it as “the Vatican of
Mennonites.”
A library was founded in 1680 with a pastor’s small
collection, to be used for the benefit of preachers. This collection expanded
throughout the 18th and 19th centuries through many
endowments and has grown into a collection of books by and about Mennonites unequalled
in the world. Guess where it is . . . it is “on loan” to the University of
Amsterdam across the canal.
There is another library used by the Mennonite Seminary
(which uses space in this church also). This library contains literature in the
field of church history, doctrine, biblical studies, and ethics.
He showed us a large multi-purpose room. This is where the
Church Board meets. This is also the room where they feed the homeless on
Friday nights. It is also the room where they welcomed the Queen a couple of
years ago.
“Mennonites have a strong belief in strict separation of
church and state,” he said. “We have a hard time voting for so-called
‘Christian political parties.’ They sometimes take hard stands on issues they
claim are ‘Christian’ but these are positions with which you or I or some other
Christian may not agree. Sometimes they do not act like Christians at all. Best
leave politics to politicians and faith to believers and the church. We can
sort things out.”
“The Netherlands is not a Christian nation but it has
Christian values. That is why the state
takes care of the elderly and homeless. That is also why we do not send our
children to the state-funded religious schools but to the public schools,
instead.”
The pastor is not called “pastor”. He is called a “teacher”
(leeraren)—which is what his role is
in the church body. The pastor is just one person in the congregation—he is not
“higher” than anyone else. Actually the congregation is the ruling body. The
pastor gets one hour a week. At the beginning of the worship service, the
president of the congregation shakes his hand and introduces him. At the end of
the hour, the president comes up, shakes his hand and sends him back to his
seat.
During Reformation time, this was the biggest church in
Amsterdam, Marcel said. Today, it is the smallest. It has consistently grown
smaller. I asked him the same question I asked Adriaan: “Will this church be
here in a hundred years?” “Of course it will,” he replied. “Because the spirit
is still alive in people who seek truth and who wish to be free. We don’t have
all the truth but we are near it. We are always seeking it.”
Mennonites believe strongly that faith is demonstrated in
deeds. For Marcel (and apparently this church), that means several things. It
means they feed the poor and have children’s ministries. They are also
gay-friendly—open and accepting. Next month they will host a gay wedding. (This
is actually not a big issue in Amsterdam, as you may know. Homosexuality is
very public and openly accepted. Amsterdam Gay Pride is socially and
politically active. The “Gay Monument” is not far from this church. The big,
pink, balloon barge is hard to miss in the annual Canal Parade. I saw a picture
. . . .)
They believe that every person is responsible for “writing
his own creed.” That is, each person defines his own understanding of and
experience with God and is responsible for how he expresses that faith. “We
don’t dictate how others should believe. People are not expected to check their
mind at the door (for example, evolution is not even an issue; science and
religion walk hand in hand),” he said.
“Attendance is not expected every Sunday of every church
member. It is just as important that members live the faith. They should
occasionally use a Sunday to do some kind of service. Then they come to church
to be recharged.”
This church sponsors a public forum on social issues each
month. They bring in speakers from the community who speak and lead discussions
on a wide range of topics. Apparently this has become quite a popular event.
Other churches around Holland are copying the model. Marcel was very proud that
one of the speakers coming soon is an outspoken atheist who will lead a
discussion on why she rejects faith in God altogether. The name of this event
is called in Dutch, “Dopers Café.” It roughly translates “The Baptist Café” but
its English appearance has a different connotation.
Mennonites may be progressive here in the big city but they
have not forgotten from whence they came. Marcel brought out a big,
leather-bound book, a quite old one by the looks of it. We could not find a
publication date in it. He said they put this book on the altar every Sunday
morning. When he first saw it, he was put off. “What is this?” he asked. “Are
they worshiping this book instead of God?” Then he learned why the book is made
public on a regular basis. It is put out every week to remind the people of
their heritage and of the people who’s faith cost them their lives. It is an
antique copy of The Martyr’s Mirror.
So, we have now seen the spectrum—there are very
conservative Mennonites with the traditional dress and lifestyle; the more
“moderate” (as we met in Langnau); and today we meet the urban liberal. Each
church has adapted its faith and practice to its surroundings. Somehow, though
I think he would respect his Dutch brother, Hans Jützi down in the Emmental
might not agree with some of the social positions and biblical interpretations
of Marcel Alblas up in Amsterdam. Marcel might think that the country version
of Mennonites is a bit restrained—but he would insist that every believer must
“write his own creed.”
Here is the illustration of the fact that the movement
grounded in “evangelical humanism”, rigorous biblical study, and insistence on
freedom to live one’s faith as conscience dictates and the Spirit leads is
capable of manifesting itself in a stark array of disparate expressions.
Oh yes, one other thing: when I mentioned to Marcel that I
was from the “Baptist” tradition in the United States, he said, “Oh, you are
part of the English!” I wasn’t sure just what he meant. He led us to a large
display on the long entrance wall and showed us a schematic description that
portrayed the history of this Amsterdam Anabaptist congregation. Refugees from
across Europe had come together in this church. There were Flemish, Frisian,
other European groups . . . and an English group. The names of all the deacons
and preachers (“teachers”) of the congregation from the very beginning up to
present were there.
And there, right
there in the middle of the display, up at the top, under the column heading
“English”, dated 1608, was the name: “John Smyth.”
So, this is the place. This is the place for which I have
been looking. This is where those English “Baptists” and those Dutch Mennonites
came together, worshiped, studied, discussed, argued and prayed. It was from
here that the little English group eventually went back to England and then to
the New World, taking with them some portion of the legacy of faithful European
Anabaptists.
I guess I got my answer . . . today . . . the last day of
the journey.
Oh, yes. After this amazing day, we finally made it to the Old Church. There are some photos below.
And, I dropped by "Our Lord in the Attic". They had my notebook.
Oh, yes. After this amazing day, we finally made it to the Old Church. There are some photos below.
And, I dropped by "Our Lord in the Attic". They had my notebook.
Walking along the canal towards the "hidden" church. Actually, you would never know there is a quite large church facility behind the black door with the arched top, in the center of the picture. The Catholic Church next door is much more obvious!
The front door of the "hidden" church.
This is the sign that hangs over the door. "Mennonite Community" (or "Fellowship")
The Lamb symbol is taken from the "Lamb Brewery"which was nearby.
A metal plaque on the exterior wall above the door shows a lamb (to symbolize this church) and a sun and a tower which are the symbols of two nearby "hidden" churches. The plaque reveals that they knew about and cooperated with each other.
“A book lies open on the pulpit. Pages flutter as if playfully caught up by the wind to be suspended frozen in the air.” This is the poetic description of a sculpture by a local artist on exhibit this summer in the church. The sculpture is done in alabaster.
Marcel gently holds the church's old copy of The Martyr's Mirror.
The wall display which shows the history of this church. It names all the deacons and pastors (teachers) who have served in this church from its beginning. Each column represents Mennonites from various regions who came together.
In the middle of the display is the "English" column. Two very familiar names, John Smyth and Thomas Helwys, are right at the top. Note that they are listed as "leeraren" or teachers of the church in 1608.
This sign beside the door next to the church door indicates this is the meeting place for the Mennonite Seminary and the General Mennonite Society.
After we left the hidden church, we walked down to the Old Church. Here are a few photos.
A brief history of the Old Church in Amsterdam.
Note the rather dismal tone, both in terms of how the Protestants treated the formerly Catholic cathedral as well as how the "new church" eventually replaced.
A confessional booth in the Old Church. This would have made a perfect wardrobe for a C. S. Lewis play.
The Old Church has a floor of grave stones and a wooden ceiling.
The organ of the Old Church. It is interesting to note that these very nice appointments are maintained in a church that is rarely used a church anymore.
This is the grave of Rembrandt's wife.
Every church has a first song and a last song in its worship service. These hymn boards were in every church we have seen.
The dark, somber pulpit has a highly polished brass railing.
When we build a balcony or a loft for our sound booth, we can use a spiral staircase like this one.
Amsterdam--The Holy Grail (sort of)
Amsterdam—July 25
The Holy Grail (sort of)
I have a confession: I came here to Amsterdam not certain we
would find much to add to our Anabaptist journey. I had scarcely done any
research—it had not yielded anything to which I could relate. Besides, where
does one even start to look in such a big, sprawling city?
Today is our last day in Amsterdam. Tonight we fly back to
Zurich and then home. We have only odds and ends on our agenda today: go back
to the Old Church and check it out; then maybe go by “Our Lord in the Attic” on
the remote chance my notebook is there. Not too exciting, really.
Do not misunderstand: the past three days have been great.
Amsterdam is a fascinating place to visit. Our experiences here have provided
some great stories and prompted important thinking. But this is it. No dramatic
conclusions—just pack up and go home
My suspicion proved accurate: I don’t really have anything
from the past several days that added substantively to my study project. That
leaves me with a bit of an empty feeling, maybe even a tiny touch of
guilt: I should have looked harder; I
should be doing something more; there should be a good way to wrap this up. I
began the day with these feelings but no idea of how to get a grip on them.
First, a little back
story: when we were in Langnau, weeks ago, I did an Internet search one
evening looking for information on Menno Simons (knowing that we would be
coming this direction near the end of our trip.) I came across the webpage of a
“Menno Simons Center”. The information as to its “what and where” was vague so
I emailed the director of the Center who was listed on the website.
Surprisingly, he emailed back almost immediately and told me
the Center was “virtual”; i.e., entirely on-line—there is no “place” to visit.
He mentioned, however, that there was a very large collection of Mennonite
writings at the University of Amsterdam and that perhaps I should arrange a
visit there when in the city. He said the “professor of Anabaptist studies”
(who knew there was such a person?!) at the university was on holiday but I
might be able to find the curator of the collection, a certain Adriaan Plak.
I essentially dismissed the idea—it is summer, the
university is going to be closed and quiet, people will be hard to find, I probably
could not get access, I can’t read Dutch. Very likely, the University itself
will be hard to locate. (In these ancient cities, the universities typically do
not have a central campus—the buildings are scattered all over the place.) The
suggestion went into the “good idea but highly unlikely” file. I jotted down
the information on the only piece of paper I had at the moment, a corner of a
used napkin, and stuck it in my wallet. Then, I basically forgot about it.
Now, back to today.
We start our trek to the Old Church. We decided to go a different route and
take some back streets, going where we had not gone before. We were uncertain
as to exactly where we would come out but it would be fun to explore.
Well, we came out of a narrow street onto a main
thoroughfare and found a canal in front of us. As we considered the best way
across, Sarah said suddenly, “Look. There is the University of Amsterdam.” What
do you know . . . a big sign on the buildings right in front of us, directly
across this canal. How did that happen?
We crossed the closest bridge and continued down side
streets into the University area, still not sure where we were. On one building
I noticed a plaque that read “Academic Offices”.
In that moment, the email from the director of the Menno
Simons Center surfaced in my mind. What was it . . . something about a
“Mennonite collection” at the University of Amsterdam, a curator I should try
to meet? No way—the chances are slim to none.
But, why not . . . what is to be lost by looking around? I fished around
in my wallet. Sure enough, crunched in a wad was my little note on the napkin.
I took the next right. Why? I don’t know. It was just there,
a long corridor with sort of a cloister look to it. I spotted a man putting books from boxes onto
a table. That looked promising. I stopped and asked him if he spoke English.
Politely he nodded his head. I asked him if he knew where the University
Library was. He said, “You are under it.” “You’re kidding. May I go in?” I
asked. He nodded again, “Check in at the desk, over there.”
We crossed the courtyard to the entrance of a newer looking
building. Surprise, there were people milling about everywhere—it is anything
but quiet around here. Inside the building, I discovered that, lo and behold, I
had walked into the international annual meeting of the Society for Biblical
Literature! Suddenly, I felt I was in familiar territory—I probably know some
of these people.
This was cool! I took a minute to wander about in the crowd,
hoping to see some of the SBL exhibits, maybe even a familiar face. Then, I
made my way to what looked like a guard station. I held up the half of a used
napkin and asked the guy if he knew where this was (my scrawl read, “Collection Mennonitica, Bijzondere
Collecties University of Am. Adriaan
Plak”)
Amazingly, he shook his head up and down. Then, he gave
directions to a branch of the library located a few blocks away (two canals
down, one across—really.) He said I might find someone there but he did not
know if I could get in.
The directions he gave took us back to the exact place we
had spotted earlier! We retraced our steps and found the address. The door was
unlocked—we cautiously stepped inside. (Will it be a dead end? Will anyone be
around? Will it be closed to non-students?)
Inside, there was another reception desk and a very nice
lady. Somewhat apologetically, I showed her my crumpled piece of napkin. She
said matter-of-factly, “Yes, that collection is upstairs. Go up there, leave
your backpacks in a locker, and then go through the double doors. You’ll find a
woman there who can help you.”
We go up the stairs, leave the backpacks, and walk through
some glass doors into a nicely appointed office area. At the main desk, a very
pleasant but smartly dressed lady with a confident, no-nonsense air looks up. I
must have been a sight: dressed in t-shirt and wrinkled pants, no appointment,
no idea what I am doing. I hope she speaks English. I hope she doesn’t throw me
out. She says, “May I help you?”
What else can I do? I hold forth my grimy scrap of paper and
point.
Without hesitation, as if on cue, she says, “Let me ring Mr.
Plak. He is in his office.”
Mr. Plak did not answer. (No surprise to me—no one is ever
around in the summer.) But she says, “I know he is there. Follow me. I’ll take
you to his office.” Oh, OK.
We walk down hallowed halls of ivy, through the rich
furnishings of an aged but undoubtedly storied building, past vast collections
of books and statues and serious academics in tweed jackets, gray beards and
reading glasses pouring over great tomes. We turn the corner into a suite of
offices. She approaches an open office door. This wonderful lady puts her head
in and speaks to someone in Dutch. A distinguished man gets up from his desk,
comes over, introduces himself: “Adriaan Plak. Please, won’t you come in?”
For the next hour and a half, Adriaan Plak and I talked
Mennonite history, theology, and the contemporary religious situation in
Holland and Europe. The ceiling of his spacious office is at least 14 feet
high—and every square inch is filled with books. As it turns out, the Collection Mennonitica is basically
right here in this room.
As we talked, I could not pull my eyes away from the
bookshelves. There they are: basically all the works by and about Zwingli,
Grebel, Manz, Hübmaier, Sattler, Riedemann, Marpeck, Simons—these men I have
been talking, reading, and thinking about and following across Europe this
entire month—all in one place. As my eyes sweep over the titles, I have this
surreal sense that they all came together here to greet me at the end of the
trip.
I have come to the Holy Grail (well, not exactly, but
close!) The story of the Anabaptists that started down in Zurich, wound its way
up through Germany and into Friesland and northern Holland (and eventually
throughout much of the world) is recorded and stored in the collection that
surrounds me here in this room.
What just happened? Why were all those people so quick to
help me get here? Why did this man happen to be available at this moment? Why
did he so generously give his time to a scruffy foreigner off the street?
Actually, I was so overwhelmed by this whole turn of events that it took me a
few minutes to collect my wits and engage in some semblance of a knowledgeable
discussion (and by that I mean put together enough words to sound half-way
coherent. Thank goodness they speak English.) It is a distinct possibility that
I just looked like a complete idiot and everyone simply took pity on me.
This has been a long story. But I had to tell it. How else
could this month have ended except right here . . . here, in the middle of the
biggest Anabaptist collection in the world, chatting with its curator, getting
a tour of the whole thing. He gave me his card and said, “If you have any
questions or need anything, email or call me.”
It was so fun, such a thrill, and not a little enlightening.
I will share more of our conversation in another post. By the way, I did not
take any pictures of the collection or the library—it might have been a bit
pedestrian on my part to do so but more to the point, I had left my camera in
the locker.
Oh yes, two other things.
First, in our conversation I remembered that one of the
questions I had hoped to answer on this journey concerns the English/Dutch
connection back in 1608-1611. Just how much did the European Anabaptists
(Menno’s followers) influence the English Baptists who came over with John
Smyth in that time frame and vice-versa?
Adriaan says, “That’s a good question. I’m not sure. There
is very little written on that. But perhaps we can find something.” He peruses
his catalogue and sure enough finds one book that may address this topic. He
rolls his 10-foot tall library ladder around to the stack behind his desk and
climbs way up, retrieving a little volume. He says, “Take a few minutes to see
if that is worth something.” As I flipped through it, he printed out the
catalogue information so that I could look for a copy back in the states. Are
you kidding me . . . . ?!
Second, that conversation led to him to ask if I was aware
of the “hidden Mennonite churches” in Amsterdam. This is a total surprise to
me. After I told him I had no idea, he says, “You should go see one.” I say,
“Where do I find one?” He says, “Why don’t I show you? We can walk there from
here.”
We went downstairs and found Karen and Sarah, who had been
in the library coffee shop all this time. The four of us, Karen, Sarah, Adriaan
Plak, and I stepped out into the bright Holland sunlight and strolled along the
canal to the nearest “hidden” Mennonite church.
No photos . . . just an amazing tale!
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Amsterdam--Red Lights and Churches
Amsterdam—July 24, cont. Red Light District and churches
After leaving the “Our Lord in the Attic” church, we went
past the Old Church. This is the original city church, dating back to the
1300s. We will come back to it tomorrow, because closing time has already past.
We walked around the church a bit, just taking in the
interesting shapes and structural features of this medieval structure. One fact was impossible to miss: this old church is in the heart of the Red Light
District.
Amsterdam has taken a pragmatic approach to prostitution.
Street prostitution has been made illegal. In its stead, legal, licensed
(complete with tax number) prostitutes operate within the bounds of tiny
cubicles that line the narrow alleyways branching off the main street. Honestly, the sight of so many of these doors is an overwhelmingly sad and tragic sight. Enough said about that for now.
More to the point of this brief reflection: the presence of
this and at least five other churches in this part of town raises some
questions in my mind. I mean, some of the most obvious of the prostitutes’ cubicles
share the alley with the back of the Old Church. When you walk out the "back
door" of this ancient cathedral, you are looking into the doorway of half a
dozen of them. Barely 200 yards up the street is “Our Lord in the Attic”. St.
Nicholas’ and the four other Catholic churches that serve this parish, desiring as they
say “to provide pastoral and diaconal work . . . for the marginalized”, are
within blocks.
My questions? The churches have been here a long time. Did they slow
the incursion of prostitution and drugs into this area for any length of time? Did
they try? What did they see as their role? What was the reaction of the congregations to
the advent and eventual legalizing of these activities?
What impact did the culture exert on the churches? Did the
“world” finally “win” . . . did the churches simply cave to the inevitable? Did
they redefine their roles in the neighborhood? Will these churches eventually
cease to exist in this place, becoming interesting but lifeless museum pieces?
What is the role of these churches today? Are they in exactly
the right place, where depravity and debauchery are on full display, in order
to bring a safe, sanctifying, saving grace to the place . . . or should they
relocate (not an easy prospect in light of the giant cathedrals they have constructed)? Do they reach out to men and women who are desperate, lonely, and afraid
. . . or just hope these people will find their way in? Can these people even find a place in the church? Do the churches really make any significant
difference in this place? If so, what does that difference look like? What
should it look like? Is the world too strong, the brokenness so pervasive, that
the churches will likely never be able to turn this part (or for that matter,
any part) of the city back toward moral and spiritual well-being? Should they even
try?
I would ask the same questions of our church . . . or any
church, anywhere.
This is the "back door" of the Old Church. Across the alley, on the right, prostitutes occupy the cubicles day and night. I marveled at the casual ease with which families with kids wander these streets.
This is the view across the way from the front door of the church. What is not easy to see is the "coffee shop" behind the trees. At this coffee shop you can buy much more than a latte.
There are customers at these doors even in the afternoon.
Down a narrow alley, just off the main street. Proverbs 5:8 comes to mind (actually all of chapters 5, 6, and 7.)
Amsterdam--Haarlem, ten Boom house
Amsterdam—July 24 Haarlem, ten Boom house
We headed back to Haarlem (with walking, tram and train
rides, it is only about 45 minutes.) This time we went straight to the ten Boom
house. Naturally, the next tour in English was not for another 1½ hours, so we decided to go for another walk about Haarlem. We also found a wonderful little café with great
sandwiches for lunch. Then back to the ten Boom house.
Situated over the family-owned clock and watch shop in the
center of Haarlem, the ten Boom house was known in the area for being a place
of refuge. Casper ten Boom and his family were deeply faithful
Christ-followers. They demonstrated that faith in ready and generous service to
others. They were particularly active in doing social work in their
neighborhood. Their home was known as an “open house” for anyone in need—there were
always a few extra people living there—along with the parents, 4 siblings, and
3 elderly aunts.
Casper had many friends among the Jewish population. As the
persecution of Jews increased during the war, he knew he had no choice but to
offer them shelter. In doing so, of course, he put himself and his children
(the mother had died earlier) at risk of their lives—this non-violent
resistance against the Nazis was purely an act of faith in which he trusted
that God would somehow provide.
They smuggled bricks into the house and built a false wall
in Corrie’s bedroom, creating a space (entered through the bottom shelf of a
bookcase) where fugitives could hide if and when the police came. In time, they
sheltered Jews, students who refused to cooperate with the enemy, and members
of the Dutch underground resistance movement. The fugitives stayed until it was
“safe” to smuggle them elsewhere. The ten Boom house became a center of
underground activities that led to the saving of hundreds of lives.
In February, 1944, the family was betrayed, probably by
neighbors who observed all the activity in and out. The Gestapo raided the
house. In the following hours, the family and about 30 friends were arrested. (The six people who were
hiding behind the wall were not discovered. The police remained in the house
for several days, convinced there were Jews hiding there, planning to starve
them out. After 2 ½ days, the police left and the Resistance liberated the
six.)
Caspar and Corrie’s sister and brother died in the
concentration camps. Corrie survived Ravensbrück. For 32 years, she travelled
around the world, visiting 64 countries. She carried a message of love,
forgiveness, and the power of Christ who can overcome all, even the worst misery and
suffering. She wrote numerous books (“The Hiding Place”, perhaps one of her
best-known, is still being translated into other languages to this day.)
Her story is one of love for persecuted strangers as well as
for the persecutor. She lived out a faith that finds a way to forgive an enemy
who took everything away from her. This is a testimony of loyalty to the Jews
and of steady, resolute, yet non-violent resistance to evil. It is a story of
grace and obedience to the Lord.
We toured the house, preserved much as it was in 1944.
(Actually, the house is a museum, run by a non-profit foundation whose purpose
is to keep alive this spiritual heritage of the ten Boom family of Haarlem.)
The false wall has been opened up so that you may see the space behind it.
Documents, photos, and other mementos of that time tell the story in vivid
detail. The jewelry store downstairs rents the space from the foundation; the
rent helps with the maintenance of the museum.
This is a powerful and moving story. Once again, the theme
of non-violent, peaceful resistance arises. Once again, I ask myself the
questions: “Is my faith the kind that would stand in the face of death? Would I address evil with love? Would I forgive the worst kind of enemy?”
The ten Boom jewelry store on the street. The museum is to the left, down the narrow alley.
The plaque on the wall beside the door leading into the ten Boom house.
The hole in the wall allows you to see the very small hiding place.
I did not take too many other pictures in the house--it was kind of dim lighting and cramped space. I did not want to disturb the other visitors and don't think that too many of the photos, seen out of context, would make much sense anyway.
Amsterdam--"Our Lord in the Attic"
Amsterdam—July 24, cont. Our Lord in the Attic
We returned from Haarlem and Corrie ten Boom’s house. The
rest of the day was so interesting that I needed to make a separate post.
We decided to leave the train station and walk down the
street that goes to the Old Church in Amsterdam. There are several stories
here. First of all, the Old Church is the oldest of the city churches—perhaps
that is self-evident. Furthermore, we had to walk through the Red Light
District to get there—unavoidable: the church is in the middle of the District.
Before that, however, we came to one of the newer churches in the city, St. Nicholas' Church. This
one dominates the skyline as you step out of the central station. So we start there with the story.
St. Nicholas’ church is a beautiful, solemn church. It
opened in 1886. The Catholic Mass is celebrated in Monastic style, using both
Dutch plainchant and polyphony. Choral Vespers is sung on Sunday in Gregorian
chant. This church and the others that make up the city center parish are,
according to a pamphlet in the foyer, dedicated to being “a source of
inspiration for a living faith . . . (and) ensuring a broad scale of pastoral
and diaconal work is maintained in the city centre . . . for the rich and poor,
for faithful churchgoers and for the marginalized.” This is significant, a
worthy goal, in light of where the churches are located.
We proceeded from St. Nicholas’ down into the Red Light
District. The main street follows a canal—busy constantly with boatloads of
revelers. The street is lined with bars and seedy shops. It is very crowded
with not only young adults—students on holiday, 20-30-somethings who live in
the area—but older couples, families with kids, all kinds of people. This area
of town is a tourist attraction of the first order. I guess people see it
circled on the city map and just have to come see what it is all about.
Anyway, we are making our way through the throng and almost
by chance look up at a sign that is hanging over a door right on the street. It
says, “Our Lord in the Attic.” We had to stop and find out what this was about.
The most fascinating story was waiting.
In 1578, the Protestants took over the city. They not only
stripped the Catholic churches of their icons and altars, they also outlawed
Catholicism in the city. The Old Church (to which we are making our way) was Catholic
up to that time but was converted to Protestant by what is called “The Great
Alteration.”
Catholic churches were driven underground. By 1656, there
were 62 underground Catholic churches in the city. (Actually, by the mid-17th century, the
Protestants knew of their existence and tolerated these “papist meeting places” as long as they did not meet publicly, thereby reducing “the nuisance they caused.”)
In this particular instance, a Catholic businessman in 1663
bought three adjoining houses in this area and over the course of two years,
built a church inside. He cut through the floors to create the vaulted ceiling
of the church. He cut through the walls to make the chancel long enough to seat
about 150 worshippers. This clandestine church met for 200 years. The priest
lived in quarters inside the building, complete with kitchen facilities.
Freedom of religion came to The Netherlands in 1798. St.
Nicholas’ church was built a hundred years later. The Church in the Attic
became obsolete. The building was acquired and is being restored by a private
group to its original structure and colors. We had to take the tour. I hope the
photos do it justice.
Here is the fascinating thing: we were just in Haarlem,
thinking about Corrie ten Boom and a story of faith and persistence, of
non-violent resistance, of people who were willing to pay the price for their
convictions. We have spent the better part of the past month exploring the
stories and places of Anabaptists who were driven underground for their faith,
who were persecuted by Catholics and Protestants alike but who were committed
to live their faith, no matter what the price.
Now, we come to the flip side of persecution: the
Protestants drove the Catholic Church underground! These were simple people of
faith who wanted to worship according to their traditions and convictions. They
were seeking the same thing the Anabaptists sought. They were willing to go to
great lengths, to sacrifice safety and comfort. It wasn’t just the “radicals”
who were persecuted. Even though in many places the Catholic Church was the
persecutor and perpetrator of great suffering, here we find people of that
faith who were suffering in the same manner.
The issue is one of power. The group that is in control is
the group from which we have most to fear, regardless of their “good”
intentions. A power group always operates from a particular ideology, be it
socialist, fascist, or other. These groups pose threats to personal freedom and
responsibility. Equally dangerous is the power group that operates from a
religious ideology and motivation. Now "God" is brought into the mix and the group
justifies its actions as “God’s will”. This so easily leads to fanaticism and
extremism--and every other group is seen as an adversary, a competitor, and
possibly worthy of extermination.
We do not want to have any religious group, not even a
“Christian” group, in charge of the civil government—not Catholic, Protestant,
Evangelical, Islamic or anybody else.
We did not get to the Old Church today. We spent too much time in the Church in the Attic. We will come back tomorrow.
Set-back note: I left my little notebook in which I have been taking notes somewhere. I think I left it with The Lord in the Attic. I did get distracted by my conversation with the guy who was at the desk while I was retrieving my backpack from the storage locker. I didn't realize it was gone until we were well down the street. Fighting the growing Red Light District crowd, I hurried back up the street to retrieve it. But too late--by the time I got there, the church was closed. Oh well, perhaps we will have time tomorrow to come back and check to see if it is there. If not, I will just have to recreate the stories from memory. That could be a problem.
St. Nicholas' Church across from the Central Station.
Stained glass windows installed after WWII.
The altar of St. Nicholas' Church.
The organ in St. Nicholas.
A closer shot of the altar . . . pretty fance, huh?
The sign on the street in the Red Light District that caught our attention.
This is a sign inside the "secret Catholic church."
So, the builders of this clandestine church tried to get everything in that would make it a traditional Catholic church in which the worshipers would feel comfortable and at home. This is the font for holy water you encounter when you come up the darkened stairs from the street.
This is the worship center and altar. Notice that it goes up three stories. We are standing on the bottom level. There are two levels of balconies above. Note also that this bottom level is already two levels up from street level.
This is the altar complete with crucifix, altar paintings, and a statue of God at the top. The pinkish purple is the original color of the sanctuary.
We have a sacristy and vestments.
We have a Mary chapel.
This is another holy water font going down the back stairs.
The confessional which is in a back part of the house, above the street but below the sanctuary.
Yep, about all you need for a functioning Catholic church in an attic.
We did not get to the Old Church today. We spent too much time in the Church in the Attic. We will come back tomorrow.
Set-back note: I left my little notebook in which I have been taking notes somewhere. I think I left it with The Lord in the Attic. I did get distracted by my conversation with the guy who was at the desk while I was retrieving my backpack from the storage locker. I didn't realize it was gone until we were well down the street. Fighting the growing Red Light District crowd, I hurried back up the street to retrieve it. But too late--by the time I got there, the church was closed. Oh well, perhaps we will have time tomorrow to come back and check to see if it is there. If not, I will just have to recreate the stories from memory. That could be a problem.
St. Nicholas' Church across from the Central Station.
Stained glass windows installed after WWII.
The altar of St. Nicholas' Church.
The organ in St. Nicholas.
A closer shot of the altar . . . pretty fance, huh?
The sign on the street in the Red Light District that caught our attention.
This is a sign inside the "secret Catholic church."
So, the builders of this clandestine church tried to get everything in that would make it a traditional Catholic church in which the worshipers would feel comfortable and at home. This is the font for holy water you encounter when you come up the darkened stairs from the street.
This is the worship center and altar. Notice that it goes up three stories. We are standing on the bottom level. There are two levels of balconies above. Note also that this bottom level is already two levels up from street level.
This is the altar complete with crucifix, altar paintings, and a statue of God at the top. The pinkish purple is the original color of the sanctuary.
We have a sacristy and vestments.
We have a Mary chapel.
This is another holy water font going down the back stairs.
The confessional which is in a back part of the house, above the street but below the sanctuary.
Yep, about all you need for a functioning Catholic church in an attic.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Amsterdam--Haarlem (St. Bavo's), Rijks
Amsterdam—July 23
Today we decided to go to Haarlem (about 17 km outside
Amsterdam.) The main reason for going was to see Corrie ten Boom’s house.
You know the story: the ten Boom family harbored Jews,
members of the Dutch resistance, and others who were hiding from the Gestapo
during World War Two. But more of that tomorrow . . . . .
Much to our chagrin, we discovered the ten Boom museum is
not open on Monday! So, here we are in Haarlem with no other plan. What do you
do when your plan is interrupted? You just start walking, anticipating that
there is another plan in the making, an adventure waiting to happen, a surprise
around the corner. God always knows what is next and He simply invites us along for the journey.
We came to the massive Great Church of St. Bavo’s. Named for
its patron saint, St. Bavo (who knew?) who died in 653 AD. The old church has
existed in some form on this site since then. Construction on the present
church, following a fire in 1351, was begun in 1370. The rebuild required almost
200 years; the completion year was 1538.
Doesn’t it make you stop and think about church building
projects? A couple of years, 5 years—these seem like long stretches to us when
it comes to constructing a church building. Our emotional and physical (if not
spiritual) as well as financial reserves run out relatively quickly. It is
difficult for us impatient, driven moderns to wait; even harder for us to live
with a partly finished task.
We are generally quite concerned about our comfort and making sure our facilities are just right for us and our needs.
We are generally quite concerned about our comfort and making sure our facilities are just right for us and our needs.
What if it took us 200 years finally to finish our building?
Talk about building for those who are to come. The folks alive today, who are
making the plans, investing the time, putting up the money, will never get even
close to seeing the final product. In fact, their great, great grandchildren
may never see it. You gotta have some kind of vision, a huge, generous vision;
a faith that sees the big picture and looks into history—the history to come,
not the history behind—recognizing and affirming that God is about much more in
the world than you and your little piece of time yet also realizing that you
play a role in this stream of holy history.
Obviously, we know that our church is not the building
(although sometimes the place—the building—helps us quantify the entity). The
point is, we are always in the building process. We are always building a
church—for those who are here and even more so, for those who are to come. It
is incumbent upon us to have a huge, generous vision. We have to see the big
picture: this church is us, in our time and place, but it is also for many more
to come. And what about them? How much do we take them into consideration as we
“build” our church today? Our little piece of time matters in the history we
are making; i.e., this church we are building is not finished here.
So, the surprise for me today was the prompt from an ancient
church building; the thought that long building projects are symptomatic of the
more fundamental task of building a church that is forever. That makes me want
to stop and think some more about how we go about our business . . . .
Plus, there were some funny things that I observed that were most apropos!
Plus, there were some funny things that I observed that were most apropos!
We returned to Amsterdam with some daylight left (we are far
enough north that daylight lasts until 10:30 anyway), so we decided to go the
Rijksmuseum, the national museum. This monstrous place holds a vast collection
of memorabilia from the history of The Netherlands. It has displays regarding the
birth of the Republic through the uniting of seven provinces (two of which were
called Holland), the Republic as an international superpower (the Dutch once
had the largest navy in the world), a treasury of silver and goldsmith work, a
marvelous Delftware collection from the “Golden Age of The Netherlands”, and a
considerable collection of paintings from the Dutch Masters, including many
Rembrandts and his students and Vermeer and his Delft contemporaries. We stayed
in this museum until they ran us out.
OK . . . some pictures from around Haarlem. It is lovely, quaint; has canals; it is a little quieter than Amsterdam. We decided that if we worked in Amsterdam, we would live in Haarlem and commute.
The inside of the old train station.
The first canal you come to as you walk into town.
Same as all over Holland--lots of bicycles and people bustling about. This is mid-morning on Monday.
I was taken by this row of old houses, now apartments along a side street.
This building, on the town square, has the same style as those apartment buildings, set off by the pointed facade in front.
Looking across the town square from the church--it is a clear, warm day (there are apparently not may of these) and everyone is outside at a cafe.
St. Bavo's from the north.
St. Bavo's from the south west.
These little shops are built right into the side of the church, inside the buttresses that hold up the external walls of the church. They are clearly add-ons, not a part of the original structure. Somebody had the ingenious idea that these nooks were perfect for shops. They are now a permanent addition!
St. Bavo's from the south east. Now you can see why it took 200 years to build.
The Müller organ with 5068 pipes (the longest is 32 feet long.) In 1766, Mozart was 10 years old when he played here. G. F. Händel also played this organ.
The sign by the organ commemorating Mozart's appearance here in 1766.
Gotta love that pulpit, oldest part of which dates from around 1434. The bannisters are formed by two brass serpents, symbolizing evil fleeing from the world.
The choir is closed off from the front by a masterpiece of medieval craftsmanship, a brass screen from 1517.
This is the first church of this size we have seen with a wooden ceiling.
Way up in the corner of the ceiling is the date of its installation.
The chancel from the organ end of the building.
This is the first church we have encountered (there are others--this is just the first one we have seen) in which the entire floor consists entirely of grave stones. People with a little money and or notoriety could purchase a burial place in the church.
There are about 1500 gravestones in the floor altogether, the oldest of which date back as far as the fifteenth century.
The gravestone floor is polished to a sheen by the countless feet that have trod here. Walking on the graves of your forebears might be a powerful lesson concerning the passage of time and the importance of making your own life count.
To wit: a marker on a floor gravestone--skull and crossbones on top of an hourglass. Beware: you have only so much time and then you wind up here.
There are three model ships, beautiful craftsmanship, which were a gift to the church from the Shipbuilders guild, dating from somewhere in the 16th and 17th centuries. They are modeled on the ships that were built in Haarlem at the time.
In the back of the choir there stands a communion board. On its reverse side, seen here, is a report of the siege of Haarlem in 1573. Line 8 reports that the people were so hungry that "ja honden en catten waren wilbraet gheheten"; i.e., "dogs and cats were called roast game."
Every church, no matter where you are, has to have good coffee, gravestones or no gravestones.
This is the "Coffee Corner."Note: medieval surroundings; very contemporary espresso machine. Just sayin' . . . .
We don't have real problems. This is a cannonball in the wall, placed there as a reminder of the Spanish siege of Haarlem in 1573.
This means, basically, "Bread Bench." It tells the poor where to come to get their daily portion of bread.
This is the "Holy Spirit Bench" (also the "Bread Bench".) The Hold Spirit Masters handed out bread to the poor at this bench, which dates from 1470.
I had to take this series of pictures. This is the monitor of a closed circuit, live video feed that shows what is going on up in the organ loft. A concert is going to be taking place later today and the organists are preparing and practicing. (We actually got snippets of organ concerts in several cathedrals we visited--it is the season of organ recitals and concerts.)
You can see one of the organists sorting and stacking large pieces of sheet music (there was a sizable stack of these sheets and each sheet looked to be several pages taped together.)
He works and works to get the stack just right. He sorts and resorts until finally he is satisfied and then places the whole stack on the organ. Then he sits down.
The next musician comes up and immediately begins to resort the stack, apparently not satisfied the music is in the right order. I was mesmerized by this activity, going on in real time just above my head in the loft of an ancient cathedral in Haarlem, Holland. Apparently, it is the same all over the world: getting the right music, getting it in a usable format, taping multiple pages together thus having large, unwieldy sheets to manage, getting them in the right order, and then everyone agreeing.
This is encouraging, right?
A lovely canal just outside the church.
On the train back to Amsterdam, we tried to get a shot of one of the very few traditional windmills we saw anywhere in the country. The train was moving rapidly, there was reflection in the window, it was too fast to zoom in quickly--but I almost got it. Sarah got a better shot that I will share.
Delftware in the Rijksmuseum.
Cupid is telling everyone to hush as he (she, it?) carefully draws an arrow in order to shoot it into the heart of unsuspecting victim.
Sorry . . . I did not do very well in shooting Rembrandt in the museum. But I tried.
The famous Vermeer.
Rembrandt's famous "Night Watch."
This was cool. We watched how they move taller boats up and down the canal. Some bridges go up from the center.
Other bridges pivot on top of an offset pier, creating a passage wide enough for the largest tour boats. This was amazing engineering. The interface between bridge and street was almost invisible due to the very close tolerance in the curved joint.
The big boat goes through . . . .
The little guy sneaks in after it . . . .
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