jesseslife.com

Wiesbaden is the capitol of the german state of Hesse. I really don’t know anything else other than its a) the most industrial city we’ve seen so far and b) it’s really close to the Frankfurt airport. See, the plan was to drop off one of the three of us on Thursday. Then, the remaining two of us would find a cheap room in Wiesbaden for Thursday night, see the sights, get some sleep, then part our separate ways on Friday. The last guy would hop a plane to Greece for the next part of his vacation, I would take a train to Berlin.

What we didn’t count on was the Doktor’s Convention in town that had all the cheap rooms booked. We were stuck at the Very Nice Raddison SAS in Weisburg. Oh well, it was still less than Munich per night.

One of the things to see in Wiesbaden was the Neroberg, a hill bording on a mountain on the north edge of town. While the famed cable car wasn’t working (we couldn’t find the bottom of it anyway) we did find a very nice cafe on the top. The weather was beautiful and therefore we had to enjoy a tall beer.

After finishing off the beers and a little schnitzel, we explored the forest on top of the mountain. The “Ranger Hans” signs were a little silly (translated: “Dead trees are full of life….”), I found it very commendable that there was such wild forest so near the city.

There was one experience that will, however, stick to me for a while, mostly because it gave me a sense of perspective on why all these churches and chapels were built. Perspective nothing, it was a beat over the head with a big stick. You see, there exists the misnamed “Greek Chapel” on top the the berghof. It was actually a Russian Orthodox church built by Duke Adolf of Nassau to commereate his wife Elizabeth, who died during childbirth in 1845. The tour book claims “An impressively bearded custodian turns on atmospheric music for you”. It’s true, he had an incredible white frizzy bead. But in addition to the facially endowed man, was the sarcophogus of Elizabeth rendered in white marble. It ranks very far on the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Elizabeth is rendered in a sleeping pose, draped with silk bedclothes. The folds of the silk and the proportions of her face were not only extremely realistic, but crafted very lovingly. I now know you can carve marble into silk with compassion.

So here I am, studying this immensely beautiful structure, listening to Russian choir chants, all is bathed in candle light from the votive candels, when I hear a heartwrecking sob from someone right next to me. It comes from this little lady, maybe 50, dressed all in black, standing with her shoulders hunched and her head down. She was the picture of grief, having just lit a tall, white votive candle. There was no doubt that she had lost her soulmate. She hadn’t lost her cat, she hadn’t lost her mother. From the sound of her stifled deep sobs, you could tell that if sher were alone, the stone floor would be wet at her feet from her tears. I felt out of place – indtruding, but the story her half-dozend sobs told was so compelling and so tragic that I couldn’t turn away.

That’s when I noticed the small boy, about 8 years old, standing a foot to the right and a foot the rear of the woman – his mother. He was also dressed all in mourning, but in the style of morning that a mother would dress her younf child. Black for the loss, but still shorts and a short sleaved white shirt underneath so that he could sill play if he wanted to. That’s what children of that age should do.

But he wasn’t playing. He was standing a respectful distance behind his mother, his shiny black shoes toghether, his scrawny legs almost as white as Elizabeth’s silkmarble.

I’m sure that some of you have seen the footage of when Jon-Jon Kennedy saluted as his father’s casket went by? This little boy, with the same sense of earnestness and maturity, slowly reached up and ever so slowly, ever so gently, patted his mother’s back to comfort her. At that point, she gave up trying to constrain herself, and at that point, I realized I was in the midst of a very private moment.

And as I quickly snuck out of the chapel, I understood what it was. It was an expression of grief, just as real and just as valid as the crying of the old woman or the touch of the young boy. Duke Adolf had lost his soulmate. He was so bereived, that he built, not merely a tombstone, but an entire structure, hoping that it would match his grief.

And now when I look at a Christian church, all I can see is grief. For the people so loved their god or savior, that they expressed it in a way that transcended their existance. Just like Duke Adolf transcended his limited life to grieve for his wife. Just like that little boy who transcended childhood and became an adult in the 10 seconds that I watched him.