Sometimes Divine Providence sends you a sign that’s impossible to ignore. This happened to me on July 4, 2008. I was touring Bavaria, in southern Germany, with my wife. Our objective was a particular church that had come highly recommended by a famous European tour guide named Rick Steves. He’s the producer of many travel videos and the author of a dozen or so books.
Steves had drawn our attention to the Pilgrimage Church of Wies. It doesn’t enjoy the notoriety of the Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome, or the Cologne Cathedral in northern Germany. One of the reasons for this is that, relatively speaking, it’s out in the middle of nowhere. But Steves said, “The Wieskirche is Germany’s greatest Rococo-style church, and this ‘Church in the Meadow’ looks as brilliant now as the day it floated down, fully formed, from heaven.” That piqued my curiosity!
Near the village of Steingaden, about a forty minute drive northeast of the world-famous Neuschwanstein Castle, the Wieskirche was built in the mid-1700s … in the middle of a farmer’s field! It was reputedly the site of a miracle in 1738, when a wooden figure of Christ being scourged by the Romans was seen to shed tears. Well, as you can imagine, that report started a rush to Bavaria by believers from throughout Europe to see this miraculous wooden figure.
Eventually, so many pilgrims made the trip that the Steingaden Abbey decided it was time to build a church at the site. That was the first thing that drew my attention when we arrived: this church seemed to be out in the middle of nowhere.
The Fourth of July in Bavaria in 2008 was unseasonably hot and humid. I really appreciated the air conditioned car we were driving in. The sky was overcast and through holes in the lowest layer of clouds, I could see thunderstorms starting to build to the west. I said, “We’d better get in and out of this place. I don’t want to get stuck waiting out a thunderstorm in the church. We still have to drive to Munich this afternoon.”
The church was small and unassuming from the outside. A parking lot about a hundred meters from the knoll the church sat on had a dozen cars and a couple of tour buses. A group of people, mostly elderly, was trooping down the paved path from the church. Good, I thought to myself, we might have the place to ourselves for a little while.
As we stepped through the door and into the sanctuary, I involuntarily gasped. The walls and ceiling were painted in scenes that rivaled the Sistine Chapel in the Vatican. What was especially noteworthy was how light it was inside. Most Renaissance (and earlier) churches in Europe are depressingly dark. What few windows they have are usually small, and high up, in the clerestory.
But the Wieskirche’s windows were both wide and tall. Daylight fairly illuminated everything. I began shooting pictures with my camera, knowing that they wouldn’t do it justice.
As I’d hoped, we had the place virtually to ourselves. There were maybe four or five other people in there with us. I remembered a story a high school friend told me about sneaking off from a tour of the Vatican and slipping into the Sistine Chapel alone. He lay down on the floor and just looked up at the ceiling for nearly 15 minutes before a tour came in. So, I did the same thing.
Halfway down the aisle from the back of the church to the altar, I lay down on the cool stone floor and just stared up at the ceiling, snapping a few pictures, frustrated that I couldn’t get the zoom lens on my camera wide enough to get the whole ceiling in one frame.
Then the door to the church opened, and about fifty elderly German pilgrims entered, led by one of their number who might have been a retired clergyman. There didn’t look to be anyone in that group under seventy-five years old.
As I got up off the floor and walked to the back of the church, the group settled into about four rows of pews on one side of the aisle, near the back. Their leader had them open hymnals from the racks in each pew. Instead of singing, they turned to responsive readings near the back of the book.
While all this was going on, I noticed that it was getting darker inside the church. Not as much light was coming through the windows. And I heard a low rumble of thunder in the distance.
My wife and I stood behind the last pew and silently looked at the stunning beauty of the interior of the church. Meanwhile, the pilgrimage leader began reading the lead from the responsive readings. And the rest of the group responded at the appropriate time.
I didn’t understand what they were saying, because I don’t speak German. But I did understand when the response was “Amen!” And in an instant after fifty people said that, a lightning bolt cleaved the sky above the church, and the whole place shook with the thunder. My eyes grew wide, and I looked over at my wife ― whose eyes were just as wide as mine! I shook my head very slightly, thinking, Naaahh … couldn’t be.
The thunder rolled off into the distance, and through it all, the pilgrim leader continued his part of the responsive reading. And four rows of the faithful, dutifully, intoned, “Amen!” And in less then a second, another huge crash of thunder rattled the church. I looked at my wife again. Eyes just as wide!
But we didn’t do anything. The responsive reading continued, and once again the pilgrims, a little louder this time, said “Amen!” And for a third time, thunder rocked the church, this time louder than the previous two times.
Okay, that’s it, I thought. I grabbed my wife’s hand, and we slid into the last row behind the pilgrims. I found a hymnal (all in German of course) and I started looking for the page they were on. Glancing over the shoulder of the woman in front of me, I noted the page number and turned to it.
I couldn’t figure out where they were in the text, but when they all said “Amen!” again, my wife and I said it with them! Yes, there was another thunder roll, but not so intensive. We continued participating as best we could, until after a few minutes the thunder started dying away in the distance. And the pilgrims concluded their responsive reading, got up, and filed back down the path to their bus.
My wife and I remained in the pew a few minutes longer, waiting out the rain, marveling at the beauty of the Wieskirche and the experience we’d just had.
A more surreal experience, I’ve never had. It was …
“Amen” . . . BAM!
“Amen” again, and . . . KA-BOOM!
Three times. One for the Father, one for the Son, and one for the Holy Ghost! A memory that will live with me forever …