Breaking the silence: Potsdam’s Garrison Church and the history of Brandenburg-Prussia

You may have noticed the cobwebs beginning to collect on this blog. That is mainly because I’ve moved to lovely Potsdam, capital of the German state of Brandenburg and former residence of the kings of Prussia (and later the Kaiser). Been busy with our new home and getting settled in. I have to say I love it here, because as you may have noticed, I have a thing for history, and Potsdam is loaded with it…or perhaps “burdened” is a better term. The following story is a good example of this.

Burdened by history and controversy

A major controversy is raging in Potsdam and has been for some years. It revolves around the old Prussian Garrison Church in the center of Potsdam. You can read up on that church and its overshadowed history at Wikipedia, but here some more thoughts about it. I would also highly recommend the book “Iron Kingdom: The Rise and Downfall of Prussia” by Christopher Clark (link to Amazon here).

The Church of Holy Paranoia

The Garrison Church was the parish church of the Prussian royal family, which of course later became the Imperial family headed by the Kaiser. You must understand that this church was intricately interwoven into Prussian history, and that history was one defined by paranoia fed by invasion and persecution from outside and within. (As the saying goes, you’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you.)

Prussia — which began as the Mark of Brandenburg, the eastern march of the Holy Roman Empire — was a place of poor farmland (much of it swamp) and little natural resources. It also had practically no natural borders and thus was more or less defenseless. As a march or borderland it was constantly under threat of invasion or attack from the east, which in the early Middle Ages was still largely pagan and very hostile. That almost certainly shaped the Prussian mentality.

Later on during the Renaissance, Brandenburg was a major scene of the horrors of the Thirty Years’ War, in which Swedish and Austrian troops swept back and forth plundering and destroying, regardless of whether the townsfolk who got in the way were themselves Protestant or Catholic. While the Thirty Years’ War was on the face of it a religious war, in reality it was just a war of conquest and plunder, and the people of Brandenburg bore the brunt of it. Whole towns were wiped off the map, entire cities like Magdeburg destroyed. That this was in the name of Jesus was all the more grotesque.

Add to this the peculiar path the Protestant Reformation took in Brandenburg. It went Lutheran fairly early on, and the great mass of the people remained so until the formation of the GDR. After the Augsburg Settlement in 1555 ending the War of the Schmalkaldic League (a settlement later reinforced by the Peace of Westphalia at the end of the Thirty Years’ War), effectively only two churches were legal in Germany: Lutheran and Catholic. Technically after Augsburg it was now allowed to be Protestant, but only if you were Lutheran — Calvinists or Nonconformists need not apply. Meanwhile the treaties also stipulated that each local prince would determine his territory’s church as “summus episcopus” or “head of the church”, with only those two options on the table, Lutheran or Roman Catholic. Things went awry when the Elector and Markgrave of Brandenburg, Johann Sigismund, converted to Calvinism in 1613. From then on it was a constant source of conflict in Brandenburg and its successor Prussia, as the royal family stuck to Calvinism, while the people remained Lutheran (and largely High Church Lutherans at that).

Thus the Prussian royal family developed a paranoid streak a mile wide thanks to repeated invasion and desolation and also thanks to constant challenges to their faith from all directions, Lutheran and Catholic. Their response was on two fronts. The first was to develop and maintain a huge and efficient military to defend itself. Prussia was, as the adage went, not a country with an army, but an army with a country. There was a lot of truth to that, as Prussia became a thoroughly militarized society — while this was nothing unique for the time, Prussia was notable for being an extreme case. The second front was this: After many decades of constant trouble because of their insisting on staying with Calvinism and trying to convince their people and other princes to accept that, the royal family eventually came up with its own solution — forcing the Calvinist and Lutheran churches in Brandenburg-Prussia to merge into a single united Protestant Church in 1817. Thus the Prussian royal house and the church in Prussia were intricately linked, arguably far more so than in any other European state, with the monarch taking an extremely active role in shaping the religious life of his subjects.

The result was a potent — and ultimately fatal — mixture with the King of Prussia at the head of one of Europe’s premiere armies and also at the head of its United Church. The Garrison Church was thus the physical representation of that fusion of military and church as manifested in the Kingdom of Prussia. If any building was a symbol of Prussian religious militarism, that was it.

Thing is, the Prussian nobility kept its distance from the Nazis in the interwar period. While the former Kaiser and his supporters certainly liked the idea of Germany rising again and were in theory allies of the Nazi’s revanchist and irredentist nationalism, the nobility and Prussian military officers viewed the Nazis with a great deal of disdain (and in some cases outright worry…but all too few). In the end, however, Hitler and the Nazis convinced a number of old Prussian nobility to join forces with them, and that team-up was celebrated in the so-called “Day of Potsdam” at the Garrison Church — where, ironically enough, many old Prussian noble and military families worshipped, whose members formed the backbone of the Stauffenberg conspiracy that would later try to assassinate Hitler.

The end of the church — against the people’s will

Fast forward to 1968 and East Germany. Potsdam was mostly spared from the war, and the Garrison Church was still intact. It still had a parish using it. However, the GDR leadership was determined to wipe out any traces of Prussian militarism and drive home their view that East Germany was a “New Germany” freed from the chains of its past. So the East German leader, Walter Ulbricht, decreed that the church must go — over the very vocal opposition of the people of Potsdam. And it was torn down, replaced by a (rather ugly) computer center in the typical Commie style.

Fast forward again to today, 25 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Moves have been afoot for some time to rebuild the church as a true copy of the original. The EKD, Germany’s mainline Protestant church (to which the successor to the Prussian United Church belongs), and various — in some cases quite nationalistic — groups have joined forces to do so. Yet this has been extremely controversial, precisely because of the church’s powerful symbolism and attachment to the Prussian military regime. What’s more, many people in Potsdam simply don’t want the church back for a lot of reasons — besides the problematic symbolism and worries about a rebirth of nationalism, there is also the point that many other churches around Potsdam are falling apart and in dire need of cash, so the money could surely be better spent there, saving what still exists rather than making a copy.

The rebirth of the church — against the people’s will?

One argument supporters in the EKD make is that the new copy would (if they have their way) be dedicated as a “church of peace and reconciliation” to try and atone for the Day of Potsdam and all that resulted from it. They have enlisted various politicians to support their cause, such as Sigmar Gabriel from the Social Democrats. There is definitely a great deal of national interest in this church being rebuilt, and lots of donors across Germany have given substantial funds for it to be done.

Yet the level of opposition in Potsdam itself is intense, and from what I gather, it is growing. Earlier this year, opponents of rebuilding the church succeeded in collecting over 10,000 signatures from Potsdam residents on a petition to block the project, and in a city-wide plebiscite about the city budget, Potsdam residents also overwhelmingly called for blocking funding of the project, well ahead of all other budget propositions on the ballot.

Thing is, I am a big fan of historical buildings and love Potsdam for its wealth of them. (Some sneer at it and call it Prussian Disneyland. Oh well.) When there is a groundswell of broad support, rebuilding landmarks can go a long way to supporting reconciliation — like the Frauenkirche in Dresden, which was supported by Coventry, whose cathedral was also destroyed in the war. However, in this case something seems seriously wrong — a great mass, possibly a majority, of the local people absolutely don’t want it, and it seems to be a bad joke that a “church of reconciliation” can’t reconcile with its opponents and just keeps steaming ahead regardless of any opposition. That the church was torn down over the objections of its parishioners and the townspeople was a crime in and of itself, but why compound it by stomping all over local feelings a second time?

Reconcile, not divide

This is not to say I am myself totally against rebuilding it (though I do think the money could be better used elsewhere). If I were calling the shots in the city and state governments, I’d probably build it while making sure it is used to instruct and warn about its dark past. But I do think the rebuilding campaign needs to do far, far more to try and get more people on board, especially if they are serious about the church’s mission to be a place of reconciliation. Simply shrugging off criticism and blaming opponents for not being reasonable is not the answer. If they fail in that attempt at reconciliation, then frankly I think the whole project deserves to fail. There is no point to a place of reconciliation that is itself divisive.

(No) Catholic alternative? And a new cathedral

Here is an interesting article about the Old Catholic Diocese in Germany from Deutschland Radio, a state radio network. The title, "(K)eine katholische Alternative", is deliberately provocative – the Old Catholics are often portrayed as being an alternative to Rome, but the report makes clear, that a true alternative is a long way off simply because of the reality on the ground.

Here are some excerpts, translated from German and edited for brevity by me:

The Old Catholics are able to record a small increase in numbers

The Old Catholic church is an association of independent Catholic churches. It was formed in 1870 because a majority of the Bonn seminary faculty's professors refused to accept the dogmas of papal infallibility and supremacy. As a result of this protest, in 1873 the Old Catholic Seminary was founded at the University of Bonn.

Two years after his ordination as bishop, Matthias Ring can lay hard numbers on the table: The Diocese of Old Catholics in Germany counted 15,420 members in 2011, over 100 more than in the previous year. More Old Catholics are in Germany than in any other country save Poland, with its 19,000 members, and somewhat less in Austria and Switzerland. Together with the members in the Netherlands and the Czech Republic, the Union of Utrecht, the European association of Old Catholics, can claim over 70,000 members.

Bishop Ring says for Germany that the Old Catholics are growing, if slowly. For some years, about three or four new members join for each one that leaves. More than half of the new members come from the Roman Catholic church – like Bishop Ring himself, who says:

"A church that is mainly one of new members has a certain inner dynamic. Every new person brings new ideas along. That is not always easy, especially at the local parish level. Though of course two or three people can also have a lot influence. That is of course also an opportunity. So one can do much more in a small church than in a large one. But that is a dynamic process that doesn't always go smoothly."

Matthias Ring is a wandering bishop. [Note: this is a sarcastic reference to episcopi vagantes, a topic that has long been a thorn in the eye of European Old Catholics – literally means "wandering bishops".] Between Easter and Advent, he has over 100 engagements where he celebrates church services far from his episcopal see in Bonn. Sometimes out in the boondocks, sometimes in big cities like Munich, Augsburg or Hannover:

"We are an urban phenomenon. That was the case in the 19th century – in the city, one could belong to a minority. And I believe that will stay that way. We naturally also have more rural regions where we are in effect the popular church, such as in southern Baden, where I see a very positive development. But such small rural parishes have it difficult."

For example, upper Franconia in the Free State of Bavaria. The local parish is spread out across Coburg, Bayreuth, Weidenberg and Neustadt an der Orla. The services in Münchberg were cancelled for lack of interest. In the main center at Weidenberg, however, one finds a lively parish with a choir, a flute group and board game evenings. A parish member, Lothar Adam, writes:

"In the outer regions of our parish where there are only occasional services, there are not many Old Catholics. Our history is tied to the refugees from the Sudetenland, who brought their Old Catholicism with them. Not many of those are left. Often when their spouse was not Old Catholic, then the children were not as well. Out in the extreme diaspora, we have the problem that the numbers are shrinking."

The opposite development, growth in urban areas, can be seen in new Old Catholic parish churches being built in Hannover and Augsburg. The new Old Catholic cathedral in Bonn also demonstrates a new confidence. €7.5 million was spent by the building owner, the federal state of North Rhine-Westphalia, to renovate the Church Holy Name of Jesus near Beethoven's birthplace. The church was formerly the location of the university Roman Catholic parish.

Of 640 members of the Bonn Parish of St. Cyprian, only 100 are over 65. In Bonn, there is an Old Catholic kindergarden and the only Old Catholic seminary in Germany at the University of Bonn. Founded in 1873 by Bonn seminary professors, a majority of whom refused the dogmas of papal infallibility and supremacy, today it has 40 students, among which are four candidates for the priesthood for the whole diocese.

The Dutch Archbishop of Old Catholics, Joris Vercammen, is chair of the Union of Utrecht, founded in 1889 as the European federation of several smaller national Catholic churches independent of Rome. He regrets the wave of departures from the larger Roman sister church, because most turn their backs on Christian life altogether. The Old Catholic Church, with its synodical-democratic organization and funded by the national church tax, stands ready to welcome the disappointed. Does he have a vision to grow by a factor of ten? He says, "no problem":

"That has to be organized. That has to be structured. That is a different job for a million than for 100,000 or 200,000 people. But we are able to organize that, that is not a problem. But the ideals must stay, for that is our calling."

The blessing of bells for our new church

After struggling for years after its founding in 1955 and drifting from church to church as guests, our Old Catholic parish in Hannover finally fulfilled the dream of having our own church, which was consecrated by Bishop Matthias Ring in September. The diocese came together to help finance the construction, which all told cost around €1 million, which all came from the parish itself, the diocese, the Bonn parish, and numerous donations from individuals.

However, the church is still lacking some things that were planned, in particular bells. If you look at pictures of the church, you can see the bell tower on one side of the roof, between the church and parish hall, but it is as of now still empty.

As a sign of the warm ecumenical relations we have with the other parishes in the area, the next-door EKD Lutheran Parish of St. James (Jakobikirche) donated one of their bells for us to install, which as it happens is g´´. We then ordered a second bell, which is e´´ and thus goes well with the smaller, older bell, and it was cast in a small ceremony. The bell will then come to join its older sister, and both will be consecrated Bishop Matthias in the name of our patron, Maria Angélique, on November 18. I'm happy to say that it was entirely financed by donations, to the tune of €12,000 -- something which I never dreamed would be possible just five years ago. But it is a further sign of how our parish is really flowering in recent years, by the grace of God and the hard work of our members, in spite of the general decline of churches in Germany and Europe as a whole.

The bells will be installed in early December this year and will be heard for the first time, fittingly enough, during the Christmas midnight mass, where we will no doubt sing "Ding! Dong! merrily on high" or something similar. (Hey, I always loved the Gloria in that hymn...one of my favorite carols.)

Ordination of deacons in Koblenz, and the future of the north

Hat tip to Walter Jungbauer for the link to the photos.
Update Yet more pictures are available from Heike Kiefel. Many thanks!

On 3 October 2011, day before yesterday, three deacons were ordained by Bishop Matthias Ring in Koblenz. (I had hoped to go myself, but because of my day job and a critical deadline Tuesday, I decided against it.) One of them, Jörn Clemens, will be our full-time deacon in Hannover, which will be very welcome for our rector, Oliver Kaiser, who was under immense strain and pressure during the whole project of building the church.

Stefan Neuhaus-Kiefel, a priest and vicar in our diocese, took lovely photos which you can see on his photo album page. Additionally, Heike Kiefel also posted pictures from the service. Many thanks to both!

Not only was the planning of the church and managing its construction a Herculean task, but the position of rector of the Hannover-Lower Saxony parish was already taxing enough. Our parish has by far the largest territory of any in the diocese, essentially the entire state of Lower Saxony, and also by far the most members, around 1600 scattered around the state, with clusters in Hannover, Osnabrück, Braunschweig and East Frisia. By way of comparison, the average parish in our diocese has around 300-400 members and usually is only a few Landkreise (roughly the German equivalent to a county in the US) at most. The parishes in Nordstrand (an island in the North Sea close to Denmark) and Berlin also have similar problems, but are smaller in membership -- though it has to be said that Nordstrand's rector has to drive even farther, since his parish is responsible for mentoring the Hamburg parish, which has no rector of its own, and the small number of Old Catholics in Bremen.

Thus the situation in the northern part of Germany is particularly problematic for anyone to manage -- just plain too much area for one person to cover, in both cases of Hannover and Nordstrand. Until recently, the parishes in the north (Hannover, Nordstrand, Hamburg) were not even in their own deanery, but rather were directly under the bishop, with the vicar general (roughly the Old Catholic equivalent to an Anglican archdeacon) acting as dean.

The good news is that this is finally changing. Some months ago, right after he was ordained and took office, Bishop Matthias initiated a project that had been proposed by the rectors and vestries in the north. This project envisions a dramatic reconstruction of the parishes and their pastoral care. First and foremost, these parishes are now in the Deanery North (Dekanat Nord), and our rector was promptly elected dean. Second, the cluster in Osnabrück will be split off and made into its own parish, although the pastoral care will still be in the hands of the Hannover rector. Third, the so-called Speckgürtel (literally "bacon belt") of Lower Saxon counties adjoining Hamburg will be split from our parish and attached to Hamburg's, and eventually Hamburg will have its own full-time priest, thus relieving Nordstrand of the considerable strain of caring for Hamburg and Bremen.

Another bit of good news that is coincidental, but further helps this project, is that we have a new priest (albeit non-stipendiary) who lives in Osnabrück and who serves as a part-time priest there, saving our rector the effort of driving to Osnabrück every Sunday evening to conduct the services there (a good two-hour trip each way, roughly 160 km).

And now that we have a full-time transitional deacon, who will be ordained as a priest and become our vicar, the load on all the clergy in the north ought to dramatically lessen. Which is good, because frankly the load on the priests in Hannover and Nordstrand was downright inhuman. So I'm particularly happy that Bishop Matthias supported this project so well, and am also happy for our priest, who can now spend much-needed and much-deserved time for himself and his family.

So where to from here?

I'm hopeful that this new plan will also have a positive effect on mission work. "Mission" is a bit of a dirty word 'round these parts, but let's face it, membership in all churches here is in free-fall. It is not at all unusual to hear parts of Germany being described as "post-Christian". Many people have turned their backs to the church -- or rather all churches -- not least because of pedophilia scandals and maladroit handling of them. The deeper reason, though, is because the churches have singularly failed to stay relevant to people's daily lives and to actively reach out and spread the Gospel, rather than just sit and wait for people to walk in. The contrast with the US is striking. There, it is still common to attend church every Sunday; that is almost unheard of here, and saying that you do generally raises eyebrows.

In the US, the building of a new church would attract some mild attention, but not much, since it just isn't that unusual. In fact it seems like Americans are constantly building and re-building churches. But here, the fact that a parish is actually building a new church, in a climate where dozens of churches are being closed down and shuttered, was something of a sensation.

We got a lot of free press for it, and indeed attendance at the church's consecration was immense -- in the ballpark of 300 people. Our attendance has also noticeably gone up. Whereas our average Sunday attendance was around 17 or 18 people each Sunday, since we began using the new church at Easter Vigil in 2010, my rough estimate is that the average is now around 25 or even 30. In fact, what amuses me a little is that whenever I think our group is rather small, I count the people attending -- and invariably it's the old average, and rarely below it.

So we have lots of opportunities, and I think the hand and glory of God is clearly recognizable in all of this. We now have a great chance to stem the tide of the collapse of the church in Germany, maybe even to turn the tide, at least in our area. And we have the chance to revitalize ourselves after the strain of building our church, to reconnect with who we are and to carry the Gospel into our neighborhood. And that is all worth celebrating indeed.

Glory be to God on high, and on Earth, peace, goodwill towards men.