Kohlhagen

Kirchhundem-Kohlhagen (51.044686 | 8.076475)

Find solace

Over 500-year-old place of pilgrimage around the Church of the Visitation of the Virgin Mary in the middle of nature, with a small pilgrims' house and a labyrinth.

"I lift up my eyes to the mountains: From whence cometh my help." (Psalm 121). The couple hiked up from the village below. Now they are standing and talking to Sister Thomasa on the steps of the pilgrimage church. They talk about garden herbs. As they say goodbye, the nun wishes them a "wonderful day". They both turn around again and the woman says: "To be honest, it's not such a nice day today." Sister Thomasa looks at her with watchful eyes and waits. The woman hesitates, it is clear that she is struggling with herself. Then she says: "Our son was diagnosed today. Cancer. That's why we came up here." Where is help coming from? - "We'll be thinking of your son," says the sister, "we'll keep him in our prayers. I wish you a lot of strength now."

When they have left, the nurse says to me: "Look..." We had previously talked about what makes her so happy to look after a place of pilgrimage: "People always come with a request. A family member is ill. Someone is dying. Parents are worried about a child who is at risk of going astray." And what can she do then? "Simply be there. Listen to them. People know that everything they entrust to me is in good hands in my heart." That is true presence, I think: receiving, listening, empathizing.

I lift my eyes to the mountains..." In some years, 30,000 pilgrims make their way up to Kohlhagen, 500 meters above sea level. To pray, to seek solace in difficult times or, as one priest put it, "to let the Mother of God have their backs". For them, the pilgrimage church is a place to recharge their batteries. They are attracted by a Pietà from the 15th century. Although small in stature, it dominates the left side altar. It looks rustic, rather roughly carved from the wood, somehow fitting in with the harsh landscape of the surrounding mountains and valleys. But what captivates me is her posture and facial expression. She, who has just had to cope with a heavy loss, the cruel death of her beloved son on the cross, seems to be looking... yes, where? Depending on the axis of her gaze, she either focuses on her son or gazes strangely blankly into the distance.

She places three fingers of her left hand on her heart - is she pointing to the Trinity of God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit? And then the facial features: Because I am used to seeing the face of a Pietà marked by pain, I thought I recognized it here too at first. But the longer I linger and let it sink in, the more her face seems to relax. It shows kindness. A strange calm. Even joy at the "it is done"?

Perhaps it is this ambiguity that attracts those seeking solace in droves. Most of them on foot, on the many crossroads that lead to Kohlhagen. School classes and kindergartens first come in buses and then, after a cheerfully noisy picnic at the edge of the meeting place, become unusually quiet. And finally, every two years, the pilgrims on horseback and in carriages. They will continue to find blessing and support there in the future. The "Poor Handmaids of Jesus Christ" will be replaced by Pallottine priests who want to run a spiritual center on Kohlhagen in the future. The hospitality for everyone, whether they are doing well or not, will remain. The Madonna too. She has been there for 500 years. And looks at the son, into the distance, at those who confess and ask, more enigmatic than the Mona Lisa.

Author: Michael Gleich