My sole regret
about our trip to Germany is that we saw no more than *zero* Germans
wearing lederhosen. I was sorely disappointed, so the "Best Dressed"
might have been meant sarcastically. Probably. Although Germans do have an impeccable sense of fashion.
Now that
may’ve been a little disappointing, but the rest of our time in the
marvelous land of bratwurst was anything but. Not only did I have an
amazing time exploring Eastern Germany with 49 close friends, learning
about Martin Luther, seeing all kinds of historical monuments and
beautiful cathedrals, climbing all over the walls of an old castle, and
celebrating my 19th birthday with a 4:00 AM win against Duke, but I also learned a lot about Lutheranism, as well as my own personal faith.
We toured
nearly all of the historic sites from Martin Luther's life, and we
gained a lot of insight into Luther's perspective and his ideas about
Christianity. What I got the most out of, however, was not learning
about Lutherans in the 16th century, but seeing Lutherans today. On our
first Sunday there, we worshiped at the Augustinian Cloister in Erfurt,
where Luther had first become a monk. Barely any of them spoke more
than a few words of English, but I instantly felt a sense of community
and kinship with the other worshippers around us. Even though we came
from completely different cultures and didn’t speak the same language,
we were all there for the same purpose, and that was more than enough.
This was only one of several times that we got to meet and worship with
other Lutherans.
Strangely
enough, some of the strongest memories of the week that I have were made
in a place not directly related to Lutheranism at all. This place was
the Buchenwald concentration camp, which we visited for an afternoon on
our first Saturday in Germany. There's no way I can adequately describe
this experience and what it meant to me in this limited space, but I
will do my best.
We
arrived at Buchenwald in the early afternoon, after eating lunch in
Weimar. Soon after arriving, we watched a short film about the events
that occurred there, and then split up into small groups to wander the
remains of the camp. There were only a few buildings still standing,
including the gatehouse and its fence, the disinfection facility, the
crematorium, and a few other random barracks. Most of this area,
however, consists solely of rows and rows of rubble. The remains of the
many buildings that housed prisoners so many years ago.
Now
for a while, I took care to walk around these tall piles of old
building materials, but eventually I began to question my reasons for
this. Why walk around these monuments to memory when I can just as
easily walk all over them? I began to do just this, walking directly on
top of the rubble. I didn't try to stop myself from thinking about
what these buildings represented as I worked my way through and over
them, but instead I made sure to recognize this. With every step I
took, I acknowledged the reality -- the brutal reality -- of all the
pain, death, and hate built up beneath my feet. This was immensely
gratifying and thought provoking for me. I wasn't carefully walking
around these memorials, quietly paying my respects; I was taking care to
walk on and above them, and I could see much farther and clearer
because of that.
Another powerful experience from our time there occurred at the very end. Right before we left, the 50 of us gathered near the entrance of the camp, in a circle around a special plaque. This is a famous plaque, adorned with the names of the many different ethnicities and nationalities of the people who died here, and kept at a constant temperature of 98.6 degrees. After each of us had knelt down to touch this living memorial to so much death, we crowded together, tightly gathered around the plaque. Then we all put our arms around each other and said a prayer over it. This was an incredibly powerful and moving experience for me. I don’t know if it was the sanctity of that spot, the power of the memorial and what it stood for, or the fact that we were a community from far across the sea, coming together closer than ever before to mourn the lives of these people we had never met. What I do know is that I don’t want to forget that moment, and I don’t think I will.
