Kirche St. Dionysius

Kirchhundem-Rahrbach (51.037795 | 7.977586)

Simplicity

Interior of the parish church built at the end of the 13th century with impressive statues of saints and one of the oldest organs in the region.

Simple. And moving. These are the first words that come to mind when I enter Kirche St. Dionysius. The brown-beige walls, with restrained painting on the Gothic pointed arches, radiate warmth. The usual baroque overload is missing. The twelve apostle figures surrounding the chancel also radiate simple humanity, peasant faces, simple gestures, no pathos. I have the feeling that I recognize neighbors, friends and acquaintances from my home village. A church on a human scale. No stately architecture in which the faithful should feel unworthy and powerless.

This church is completely improbable. Built more than 760 years ago, in small Rahrbach, by a certainly not wealthy community of no more than 200 souls. How could farmers who barely made a living on barren mountain slopes build a church with a 33-metre high tower? How was that possible, Mr. Tillmann? Even for him, who grew up with the church, it is nothing short of a miracle. Reinhard Tillmann, 70, before retiring from the Post, even more committed in retirement than before, in the music club, for the youth and good hiking trails. And for the Kirche St. Dionysius, through which he leads groups.

He talks about rivalries with "the Lutherans" on the other side of the mountain, in Siegerland. About the priest Heinrich Spickermann, who clashed with forest owners, who argued about whether a body should be buried on Protestant or, as he believed, Catholic ground, and who, when he finally attacked the bishop, was summarily taken into protective custody. "When he was released," says Tillmann, "he turned up on a Sunday, rushed into the church, dragged the substitute priest out by the collar, uttered the words 'here I am the priest' - and was back."

With the same vehemence, he brought about the second miracle: Rahrbach got an organ. At the beginning of the 18th century, this was as unlikely as building a soccer stadium in the middle of the forest today. But Spickermann wanted to. He donated a large sum himself and got his flock to donate as well. There wasn't much cash in circulation back then, so it was all the more astonishing how much money was raised. Those who didn't have any gave the organ builder a few pounds of butter, a dozen pints of beer, a few kippers or planks. Older pipes were bought, new ones cast from lead, and a master carpenter was brought in from out of town. Spickermann, not only a quarrelsome man but also a music lover, was able to play the organ from 1702.

Reinhard Tillmann's stories make it clear that it was not a single person who managed all of this. It was the will and strength of the congregation. "Do this in remembrance of me", Jesus instructed his disciples at the Last Supper. To celebrate it, you need a place, as the farmers from Rahrbach must have seen it. A good place, without frills, but not sparse, and music that sings of joy, and fresh flowers at the altar, and candles should burn, and figures of the saints should be set up so that we can look at someone when we pray and ask.

It is no loss that the richly decorated, baroque-gilt pulpit has been given to another congregation. It would not fit. The essentials are simple. The soul is simple. The only thing that is complicated is our ego-mind, which is burdened with ideas, preconceptions and prejudices. I am touched by the clarity and concentration with which this church speaks to me. It also inspires me for my own work: could I simply leave out some of the frills and flourishes when writing?

Reinhard Tillmann, the church storyteller, embodies the power that comes from a clear will. For example, he designed the poetry trail that starts at the church, had to overcome an exhausting bureaucratic hurdle to do so and then laid out the trail with others from the village. As we walk the 7.5-kilometer circuit together, he tells me another village story. A few years ago, one of his friends, a 45-year-old father of two, had a life-threatening case of leukemia. The only hope for a cure: a suitable stem cell donor had to be found. A search for a needle in a haystack due to possible rejection reactions in the body.

The people of Rahrbach accepted the challenge. They organized a hall where potential donors could be tested. 1,500 came. The volunteer fire department managed the traffic. A large bakery provided bread rolls and cakes, the butcher sausages and meatballs. Four doctors and 20 nurses worked free of charge. Stem cell donors were found for twelve people in need in Germany and abroad, and the patient received a donation from the USA. "He's back to his old self today," says Reinhard Tillman happily.

To me, his story sounds as if the village had built another church that day. Just like that.