Squeezed between two buildings, down through a small road, sits this small lovely church. I don't have any idea on how it ended up there. It lacks the yards and gardens that surrounds most of the other churches here, in particular those that look anything old. I cannot determine if the buildings approached it, eating each piece of a surrounding garden, or it just replaced at some point a building that was torn down. I suppose that the building is from the 19th century, but only by looking at it from the outside. Since I have been around the neighborhood, this curious church stayed impassible as local evolutions took place.
The first one was architectonic. The city hall put down the apartment blocks across the street, transforming it in a park. All of a sudden, the church that has barely seen a ray of light for decades became illuminated. It becomes particularly pretty on the sunset. The reliefs on the front gain shadows, and the cold look of a lost church in the middle of the town gives place to a more provincial look, as if it was there before the town and it patiently saw the raise of the buildings around it.
The other change was in its spirit. In fact, what attracted me first to this church is that it was a Lutheran Church. The first times I saw it, it proposed masses in German and French. I was intrigued by this, there are not many Germans around these blocks. You don't hear the language, there are no bookstores, no restaurants, nothing that would point to a local German community. And indeed, my evaluation of the local German market potential proved right. At some point the German Lutheran church started a partnership with a Korean Presbyterian church. By now the French-speaking Lutheran masses are on Sunday mornings, and Korean-speaking Presbyterian on Sunday afternoons. The German-speaking one, as it seems, was squeezed out.
I cannot imagine what kind of theological debate can take place between those two communities. In any case it must be held in a low voice. The church is there quiet, going through these changes, fitting in what time brings. I actually hold it very dear, as this quiet, pacific coexistence is a solid piece of the soul of these blocks.
The first one was architectonic. The city hall put down the apartment blocks across the street, transforming it in a park. All of a sudden, the church that has barely seen a ray of light for decades became illuminated. It becomes particularly pretty on the sunset. The reliefs on the front gain shadows, and the cold look of a lost church in the middle of the town gives place to a more provincial look, as if it was there before the town and it patiently saw the raise of the buildings around it.
The other change was in its spirit. In fact, what attracted me first to this church is that it was a Lutheran Church. The first times I saw it, it proposed masses in German and French. I was intrigued by this, there are not many Germans around these blocks. You don't hear the language, there are no bookstores, no restaurants, nothing that would point to a local German community. And indeed, my evaluation of the local German market potential proved right. At some point the German Lutheran church started a partnership with a Korean Presbyterian church. By now the French-speaking Lutheran masses are on Sunday mornings, and Korean-speaking Presbyterian on Sunday afternoons. The German-speaking one, as it seems, was squeezed out.
I cannot imagine what kind of theological debate can take place between those two communities. In any case it must be held in a low voice. The church is there quiet, going through these changes, fitting in what time brings. I actually hold it very dear, as this quiet, pacific coexistence is a solid piece of the soul of these blocks.
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