Kirche St. Maria Magdalena

Winterberg-Elkeringhausen (51.204300 | 8.574155)

Healing

Small village church with an unusual artistic design of the interior and the windows from 1999.

I am standing in front of a village church, like many in the Sauerland. White walls, gray roof, the rectangular tower only slightly towers above the neighboring houses. But when I step through the gray-painted entrance door, I experience a blue wonder. And then a red one. I am overwhelmed by a play of red and blue tones, an unusual joy of color, a surprising brightness. The walls with their terracotta, which becomes lighter and lighter towards the sky, radiate warmth and protection. In contrast, the pointed arched windows with their water-blue glass as the base color set cooler accents without appearing cold.

At first I see nothing more than abstract spots in the window paintings, golden yellow, pale white, blood red, floating in blue. Only when I get very close and play with different angles do I discover the first contours. Even closer: a face. Very close: the face of a beautiful woman with a head veil. Almost hidden, as if in a search picture. Hans Joachim Bexkens, 67, deacon of St. Maria Magdalena, explains to me the idea behind this form, which is more suggestive than revealing: "We are flooded with images in everyday life. Loud, intrusive, overflowing. We wanted images that people could approach. If you have the patience and look closely, you will be delighted by the subtlety of the portraits."

As I meditate in front of the windows, the thought occurs to me: there is a reality behind the striking. Love at second glance. A force in the delicacy.

When the church, which was built in 1863, was due to be redesigned in the noughties, the entire Elkeringhausen community was allowed to decide on the design. They voted for the designs by Bonn artist Anja Quaschinski. The decisive factor was "that she emphasized the femininity of the church". For Bexkens, this is also an expression of appreciation "for the many women who serve God everywhere". For centuries, everything feminine was devalued in the Catholic Church, equated with temptation and sin. This included the discrediting of Mary Madalena, a friend and disciple of Jesus, as a whore possessed by the devil. Biblical research now knows which passages have been misunderstood or deliberately misinterpreted in order to turn a saint into an imperson.

This church pays homage to a woman who followed Jesus and was faithful to him in the greatest suffering on the cross, when the male disciples had abandoned him, and beyond death, when the disciples doubted the resurrection. A colorful monument to one who remains.

Three windows on the left, three on the right: for Bexkens, they mark stages of spiritual processes that he is familiar with from his other work as a chaplain for police officers and firefighters. He assists them after operations that have been particularly stressful, such as accidents with serious injuries and fatalities. "If you take your time and look at the portraits, you can trace an entire life with its highs and lows." Is it just Mary Magdalene's? Or is it also your own, reflected in the blue pictures? Beginning on the left-hand side, the windows tell of serious illness, expressed in the Bible as "possessed by demons"; of the encounter with Jesus, which instantly redirects an entire life path; of healing and an outpouring of gratitude; of phases of darkness and depression; and finally, after parting and death, of hope and brightness. In Hollywood, this would be called a "happy ending". But where would we be without this prospect that all is well or will be well?

When Deacon Bexkens provides pastoral care to people who have lost a loved one, or to police officers who have been traumatized in the line of duty, he does... nothing at all. He just listens. Later, when the wounds slowly heal, he takes people into his church. He walks with them from window to window, from stage to stage of the journey. On the left-hand side, it leads through the suffering, "which is part of the process", and then, in front of the windows on the right-hand side, "I put the people back in place". In this way, the church becomes a therapy room where minds are healed, not with promises of a someday. But in a very practical way, here and now.

Was there ever criticism of the flood of color? "During the transition period, when the walls were already red but the windows were not yet blue but made of clear glass, a woman complained to me: 'I feel like I'm in purgatory. No, I'm not going in there anymore'. A little later, we had a Benedictine monk as a guest. He knew about the story. At the end of his sermon, he said: 'Well, if purgatory is as beautiful as this church, I don't even know if I want to go any further.'" The lady then returned to the service.

Author: Michael Gleich