But back to July! Although my Dad's primary purpose in coming to Europe was to learn more about the Anabaptists, it was unavoidable that we would encounter some mainstream Reformation, as well (e.g., as with Zwingli and company in Zürich). Because Wittenberg was roughly a 45-minute train trip from Berlin, we decided to make a day trip out of it in order to go visit the church where, in 1517, Luther committed arguably the most incendiary act of the nascent Reformation. He nailed his 95 theses to the church door, declaring, among other things, that the sale of indulgences was unbiblical, and claiming that salvation was only bestowed upon man through the grace of God to those who believed in Jesus Christ. Naturally, these ideas did not sit well with the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor, who had him excommunicated and declared an outlaw. Luckily for Luther, among his patrons was the elector Frederick III of Saxony, who was able to keep him safe from arrest and death at the hands of agents of the Pope and the Emperor. There's much, much more to Luther's story than this, but the most revolutionary act of his life occurred in Wittenberg, and so there we went.
The former Augustinian monastery (and later, partly converted into Luther's home) which was dismantled after the start of the Reformation; Luther first served here as a monk, and after the monastery's dissolution, lived, worked, and lectured here.
The town hall, with some sort of emergency services fair blaring techno music (not kidding) in the market square in front. (Statue of Luther barely visible on the left.) Later, Dad got to see them cut apart a car with the Jaws of Life. NEAT.
The right side of the market square, with the towers of the St. Marien City church (the state-sponsored, "official" Protestant church) visible on the left.
Approaching the castle church of Wittenberg, with its crazy-distinctive tower, and the first line, in German, to the hymn "A Mighty Fortress is Our God--penned by Luther, of course--printed around it. This is where the 95 theses were hung, and where Luther and his Reformer pal Melancthon are buried. (Interesting trivia: It's called "castle church" [Schlosskirche] 'cause it's a portion remains of a castle built here in 1489 by the elector Frederick the Wise.) The church's foundations are over 500 years old, but most of the existing building was constructed in the late 19th century.
Luther's grave in the Schlosskirche.
I don't know why, but it seems that the choir stalls are always the fanciest part of a church. These date to the 19th century and were donated by a handful of the princes of Germany, whose crests they bear.
I'm not going to kid you, the interior of this church was pretty foofy. I guess that's what you have to do when you have a couple of electors and famous Reformers buried there.
Look at this insane pulpit...not only is it seriously ornate, but the staircase to it goes around and through the stone pillar.
My favorite of the princes' crests on the choir stalls. Who wouldn't think "bug-eyed bull with his tongue sticking out" when designing the family crest?
The so-called "Theses Door," as it is now...a bronze door inscribed with Luther's 95 theses in their original Latin. The original door with the actual nail hole was destroyed in the Seven Years' War (1756-1763).
I thought the city of Wittenberg itself was extremely charming and clean...and with a few unexpected Art Nouveau-y touches. (Ok, we're in Germany...I should start using its proper German name, Jugendstil. It's just so much prettier in French.)
Look! An adorable wee little baby canal!
Too charming. Although I think all the cleanliness (and restoration of the city church, Melancthon house, etc.) is gearing up for the 500th anniversary in 2017.
Crikey. Lunch at the Wittenberger Kartoffelhaus: YES, PLEASE. I think I've finally come around to the realization that the humble potato is, in fact, possibly my favorite food. There's nothing you can do with it that's bad...and so a whole restaurant dedicated to it was exactly in my wheelhouse. Somehow, I managed to not write down what everyone ate here: I just know we started with a plate of flat, fried potato cakes topped with cheese and tomatoes, and then ate the German equivalent of a twice-baked potato, and that my dish (pictured here) involved potatoes and bacon and eggs. It could have benefitted from a slathering of cheese, as well, but that's about the only thing that could have improved it. (Also, we got stuck here during a quick-and-violent rainstorm, so the kind folks at the Wittenberger Kartoffelhaus let us move indoors, and then served me the largest bowl of milk-with-a-splash-of-coffee ["cafe au lait," but more lait than cafe] I've ever seen. Or consumed. That was a lot of dairy.
Post-lunch, we paid a quick visit to the St. Marien City Church, the dual towers of which you can see in two photos above. The front was completely covered in scaffolding, and for some reason, I was unaware that we could take photos inside until we were on our way out 'cause they were closing the place for worship, so this is the best I came out with. Bits of this church date to the 13th century; Luther was married here, and his children baptized here; and he preached here regularly. The gold-ish painting you can see at the left is the 1547 altar piece by Lucas Cranach the Elder, with a panel each for the Lord's Supper, a Baptism, and Confession, featuring Luther, Melancthon, and other Reformers.
This cool little picture of the castle church that someone painted on an electrical box. Nifty.
What I'm reading: just finished Evening, by Susan Minot. It's fiction, and definitely a departure from my usual light fare, but I think it's good for me to branch out every once in a while. (This is gonna get a bit heavy here, but bear with me for a moment.) I really, really struggle with the idea of loss; just having friends move away, or even losing touch with people I've valued, is difficult for me, and contemplating the idea of anything more significant--the death of someone truly close to me, for example--is enough in and of itself to induce a fluttery panic in my chest and tears in my eyes. I don't like thinking about any of this, and when I do, I cannot even imagine how I might survive loss on that kind of scale. So every now and then, I feel compelled to read things that will convince me that if others can survive these things, then I can, too. (Although I've had Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking on my shelf for a few years now, and can't quite manage to get to it just yet... But I did get through What Remains, by Carole Radziwill, a while back, and an essay here and there in the various autobiographies I've read recently...the reservoirs of strength that people find in themselves never cease to amaze me.) That, along with the fact that this was an interesting premise, convinced me that I should read this book. Anyway. Evening is the in-and-out-of-lucidity recollections of a woman, on her deathbed with cancer, of her multiple marriages, her children, and the one true love of her life, with whom she spent only a weekend. It was maybe not my favorite book of all time, but it kept me reading, with the way it wove together the clear memories and hallucinations within the main character, with the interactions of her children, visitors, and nurse as auxiliary characters. the and it had some really nice passages in it. The surreal bits where she's hallucinating were tough to get through (lots of stream-of-consciousness and running on), but the clear memory portions are extremely descriptive and somewhat sympathetic. While I had a difficult time connecting with the love-at-first-sight affair of the two lovebirds (they were shallow! impulsive! manipulative! but that's just my opinion), this book is gorgeously written. My favorite part was a brief, lovely, if slightly sad, stream-of-consciousness remembrance of the marriage proposals of all three of her husbands. It was just beautiful and amazing how much emotion and storytelling the author can pack into one looooong paragraph/run-on sentence. Now that's writing, folks.
And now, for something lighter. Well, depending on how you prepare it. My favorite things: I feel as though I should tip my hat, here, to the noble potato, given my revelation earlier in this post. Scalloped! Fried! Baked! Mashed! Broiled! Pureed! Stuffed! Topped with just about anything! In stews! Soups! Burritos! Pasta! (See: gnocchi.) With or without skin! (Take that, banana.) With anything, under anything, as a side dish to anything! What's not to love?? Really, a boiled potato is the potato at its most unimpressive, in my opinion, but that's certainly not the potato's fault. Even just a little salt can fix that right up. The potato: always a winner.
Next up: Münster. A lovely, bustling little city with a really dark Anabaptist episode in its past.
Hey, if you're ever interested in reading something of loss and pain, but exquisitely beautiful too, you gotta find "Shadowlands" by William Nicholson. It's a play based on C.S. Lewis and his wife, their relationship, and her fight with cancer. (We actually performed it, but I liked just reading it. There's also a movie with Anthony Hopkins.) I loved the whole cast, the language and dialogue, and the story itself. Clearly the author has read a lot of Lewis' writings on pain and suffering. It's wonderful.
ReplyDeleteAND, we miss you!! I can't wait to see you guys this Christmas! Love you tons!