at long last, part two of two: Amsterdam...the conclusion.

So. When last we met, I believe I had just finished raving about dinner at Humphrey's...where we ate outside, on the ridiculously sloping sidewalk, 'cause it was really warm outside, but presumably even warmer inside, since Europeans deplore air conditioning (what environmentally-concerned jerks). After dinner, we meandered back to the hotel on foot, and I took the following picture (among many, many others...it's what I do).

Ooh, church spires on a canal! How very picturesque. (Don't you just love how it's still this light at 9:00 at night? Being this far north does have its advantages, sometimes.) Anyway, bear with me for the story here.

Warning: the following is heavy on the text and on church-related info...but boy. You couldn't make this stuff up. Or even plan for it all to happen, for that matter!

A weeny, woony bit of back story to the string of events that follow: while we were in Langnau, Dad had been doing a little research and discovered that there was a Mennonite collection at the University of Amsterdam. He contacted the head of the collection, just on a whim, but didn't hear back from the guy, so we all more-or-less wrote that connection off and went on our merry way. 

Back to the present: on our final day in the city, we really had no agenda other than to return to Our Lord in the Attic, to see whether they still had a little notebook that Dad had accidentally left behind, so we figured we'd head back there, then check out the Oude Kerk afterwards, since it was in the same neighborhood. We decided to take a different route than we had the day before, just to see a little more of the city, and so we sorta just struck off in the general direction of the Red Light District. At one point, we emerged from a tiny side street onto a major canal, and directly across from us was a building marked "University of Amsterdam." We all knew that most European universities are scattered throughout their respective cities, rather than being located in a single, central campus, so I said something stupid along the lines of "Hey, there's the University of Amsterdam. Wouldn't it be hilarious if that's the building with your Mennonite collection in it?" Five minutes later we came across another U of A building, where we found a gentleman stacking books in a narrow, covered passage, and on yet another whim, Dad asked him where the library was. The man told us that we were actually under it. He was kind enough to point us to an information desk nearby, and there Dad got instructions to the Mennonite collection, which was a short walk from where we were. Off we went again, and just a few minutes later, we were standing in front of the same building I'd spotted earlier across the canal...which turned out to be the building we were looking for. We went inside and found that the man Dad had e-mailed was actually present, and that the extremely pleasant woman at the desk near his office was more than happy to see if Mr. Plak had a few moments to talk with Dad.* As it turned out, he did...and so Mom and I went and sat in the building's cafe while Dad spoke with the head of the university's Mennonite studies department for an hour and a half. (What a gracious person, is what I say! And super helpful and informative, according to Dad.) As they were wrapping up, he suggested that we pay a visit to a hidden Mennonite church, which, in keeping with the theme of the day, was just a short walk from where we were. Um, yes, please.

Mr. Plak had an errand to run in roughly the same direction as the church, so he was kind enough to lead us there and to introduce us to the caretaker...and just to show you how hidden this church still is, it turned out to be literally around the corner from Humphrey's, where we'd eaten dinner the previous evening. In the photo above, it's the building on the far left, behind the tree. This building is practically invisible, even when you're standing right in front of it, and we'd probably been past it four times by now. Craziness. 

A slightly better angle: the spires are actually a small Catholic church, and the Mennonite church is the short red-brick building with the stepped roof, to the left of the spires and in between the trees.

Anyway. The caretaker (and apparent tour guide) was an absolutely delightful man named Marcel, who, although not a member of this particular church, was extremely familiar with its history and with the beliefs of the people who worship there. As we've seen, Mennonites come in all flavors, from modern and more liberal to extremely conservative and traditional, and, as one might expect from a church located this close to the most famous Red Light District in the western hemisphere, this one tended more towards the former. Once again, since Dad was smart enough to take notes, his blog entry on the hidden church is really complete and much better written than this one. However. Here's my summary.

The beliefs and practices: as with all Mennonites, the concept of adult (rather than infant) baptism and a definite separation of church and state are considered to be extremely important, defining principles. The church reports to no central governing association (which might otherwise determine denomination-wide doctrine); i.e., the church congregation governs itself. The church has an official pastor, but he is called "teacher" and gets exactly one hour per week on the pulpit. Additionally, they are a "free" church like the one we saw in Langnau, in the sense that they have no state or government ties at all. Church members must profess a belief in Jesus Christ; be baptized as adults (unless already baptized in another denomination), as the result of a conscious and independent decision made by themselves; and write their own personal confessions (i.e., defining, and taking responsibility for, their relationship with God). Church members are not expected to attend church every week, but to live their faith through service, and to attend church as more of a time for a spiritual recharge and for fellowship. This means that they have social ministries including a food bank and hosting public forums issues dealing with society and faith, and also that they are deeply involved in their local community...which, in this particular instance, means tolerance and welcome for all (e.g., they hosted a gay wedding last month...!).** 

The building: before the 17th century, Amsterdam's Mennonites met in private homes; during that century, as tolerance increased, Mennonites were allowed to meet in groups, although they could not advertise their churches in any form. (Marcel said that the state regulated Mennonite churches in the same way that it now regulates prostitution and the "coffee shops;" that is, they all exist within a legal framework, so that they can be supervised.) The church building on this site date to 1607, although it was enlarged in 1639, and an outdoor walkway was covered over sometime later. (What I find particularly fascinating is that this church building is directly across a very small courtyard from a Catholic church...which, as Marcel commented, given the history of animosity, must have led to some interesting interactions between congregations. [No kidding.]) The building itself eventually expanded to encompass two entire addresses on the street, and it now houses the church itself and associated offices/meeting rooms, as well as the General Mennonite Society, the Mennonite Centre for Congregational Building, and the Mennonite Seminary. All in this very understated, still mostly-hidden location.***

This building is deep: here's the enclosed walkway that used to be an open public thoroughfare. Through the window down towards the other end of the hallway, to the right, is where you can look across the courtyard to the Catholic church.

Look at this sanctuary! Marcel said it could hold as many as 900 people. Something about it felt very comfortable and worn-in...and maybe that's why this room felt to me like a historic church in America. Never having visited a historic Mennonite church in the US, I can't explain why I had this thought, other than I think this is actually more-or-less how I always envisioned those churches...simple decoration, lots of wood, a very pronounced historic feel, and a clear departure from the jeweled Gothic cathedrals and marble-filled Baroque churches of the old world. 

The installation on the pulpit is called "Flight." Yes, those are actually pages suspended in the air overhead. It was interesting to see something so modern in a space that felt so time-worn, but it made sense: the pages are supposed to represent the Word, going forth into the world.

The wee church sign outside the building...I'm guessing its size is a remnant of the laws of years past.

The front of the church building. 

The symbols of the three churches that united to form this one: the tower, the sun, and the lamb (the last of which has been the emblem of this particular hidden church since its inception, and which was adopted from the symbol of the brewery on the street's corner).

Also fascinating was the church copy of the Martyr's Mirror, the chronicle of stories of early Anabaptist martyrs--which was originally published in Dutch in 1660. Clearly, this copy was not that old, but we figured that it dated back at least to the early 19th century. When Marcel first arrived at the church, he wondered why they had this book displayed so prominently on the altar: were they worshipping it? Later, he learned that the book is brought out every Sunday morning to remind service attendees of their heritage, and of the sacrifices that were made by their ancestors for their faith. Pretty important stuff, in light of all that we've learned about the Anabaptists and their faith.  

The Martyr's Mirror.

"Doopsgesinde" (in modern Dutch it's "doopsgezinden") is the Dutch word for Mennonite. And also for Anabaptist.

I really appreciate that this book is kept so obvious and accessible: it's quite easy, for most of us, and lots of the time, to lose sight of the fact that our (i.e., American) religious freedom arose only as the result of great sacrifice...but for European Mennonites, we've seen twice now that their history is treasured and kept alive and nearby. Marcel also showed us a family tree of sorts for the church, which included several local groups of Amsterdam Mennonites, along with groups from Waterland (north of Amsterdam), Friesland (northern Holland), France, and--drum roll, please!--England. The nature of this Dutch-English connection was an important question for Dad at the outset of these travels, and here was the answer: John Smyth, considered one of the founders of the Baptist denomination, had spent four years here, in this church, as a pastor ("teacher," in the Dutch).

Ok, so this may have been the worst place ever to take pictures...a nice, dark hallway, but with a glass-covered board directly across from the only window in the space. This is the "Summary of the Mennonite Community in Amsterdam and the Names of her Teachers." Across the top of the chart you can almost make out the names of the groups that came together to eventually form this church. (The bottom half of this board demonstrates the eventual intermingling of all of these groups into the aforementioned three churches, which eventually became this church.)

This one's terrible, too, but more 'cause it's out of focus. There he is, right in the middle: John Smyth.

And there you have it, folks: the answer to Dad's Big Question, in a church we didn't even know existed, where we were taken by a man whose afternoon just happened to be free, whom we met in a building we found mainly by accident. I don't know how many coincidences you can string together and still call them coincidences, or at what point you might have to start believing that something bigger is at work...I can only report the facts, ma'am. (And seriously, read Dad's post. Seriously.)

After our completely unexpected, fascinating, and revelatory visit to the hidden church, and our utter adoration for Marcel (who has a seriously fantastic, and quite dry, sense of humor, and let us take up at least two unscheduled hours of his time), the Oude Kerk was a bit anticlimactic. Here it is, nonetheless.

Dramatic angle no. 1, and smack in the middle of the Red Light District. (As I was taking this photo, my right shoulder was towards a long wall full of prostitutes' windows, which are directly across this narrow little alley from the church. Craziness.)

(This is a different street, but this is roughly what the windows looked like. Not to be too indelicate, but there were some large ladies in a few of these.)

Dramatic angle no. 2, near the main entrance. This place is Amsterdam's oldest building, and parts of it date back to 1300.

Insanely high wooden staircase. Wonder where that open door halfway up the wall goes...?

Another all-gravestone floor. Over 10,000 people are buried here, with records of burials between 1523 and 1865 (the last burial) still in existence. 

Even Rembrandt's wife Saskia is buried here.

One of the misericords in the choir. There are 36 of them, and each one is unique. Most date to between 1480 and 1500 and survived the Reformation's iconoclastic riots 'cause the seats fold down. (Clever, thorough rioters.)

Wooden ceiling joint. You can see just a bit of frescoing here and there, which was rediscovered in 1956 (the vault paintings had been covered over with black paint during the iconoclastic riots in the late 16th century).

Wide-angle of the whole interior. It's still fairly spartan, even since the 16th century. 

The 1724 Vater-Müller organ.

Once we'd seen all there was to see at the Oude Kerk, it was time to start heading for the airport. But first, snacks back on the Leidseplein! One more round of Dutch deliciousness in the pleasant sunshine. Mom and Dad had some lovely sandwiches, and I went for some Dutch croquettes, which were essentially giant bitterballen. Mmmm.

Croquettes, mustard, and some nice grainy bread.

Ooh, I just realized that I've finally, finally come to the end of describing the month of July...and I feel like I should make some sort of profound statement. I'll try to keep it as short as possible, although I've proven time and again that that's an impossibility for me. At any rate, here goes.

In the course of my travels with Mom and Dad, I learned heaps more about the history of radical Protestantism than I ever would have on my own. I've come to appreciate, and consciously so, our religious freedoms, the prices paid by those who fought and died for their faith, and those aspects of my own faith which adhere to the original Anabaptist tenets. I marvel at the sheer improbability of the way in which all of that somehow survived the late Middle Ages, then came across the Atlantic to find its way into my family, and I am truly grateful that my parents saw fit not only to emphasize these ideas in my own upbringing, but to revisit them again, with me, as an adult. It was a powerful and educational journey, and I am so glad that we got to experience it all together.

Next up: brief trips to Paris to visit Mike and Jess, and then a weekend sojourn to Italy (say it with me: ahhhhh, Italy).

*She said, and I quote, "I can see that he's in his office, but he's not answering his phone. Let's go see if he has some time." Yet another administrative assistant who's clearly keeping the joint running, whatever her title. Respect your administrative professionals, people. Without them, phones go unanswered, problems remain unsolved, meetings unscheduled...regimes crumble. Just sayin'.

**If this church were in Zürich, I'd attend it, without question. I love that they welcome everyone, emphasize public service, govern themselves, and encourage open discussion. And incorporate adult baptism and a belief in the separation of church and state, which are things I've come to value highly. Sadly for me, this church is very clearly a product of both its particular history and its location, so it probably couldn't exist here. Sigh. It's nice to know it's there, though.

***Couldn't really fit this in anywhere else, so here goes. Other building-related anecdotes: 

• Marcel showed us a high-ceilinged, but very bare-bones, room which fronted the canal. He explained to us that it's both the room where the church would feed and entertain the homeless on Friday nights as well as the room where they hosted the queen a few years ago. (He explained also that the queen's retinue insisted that any room in which the queen was entertained had to have its own bathroom...so she got to use the same one as the Friday-night vagrants!) 
• There's a giant, and really fairly decent, painting in the stairwell, done by one of the church's sponsored orphans from times long past, that that was actually created in competition with another church. "Our orphans are better than your orphans," is how Marcel explained the circumstances surrounding its creation. Heh.