Welcome

“My” monastery stands solidly on a hill overlooking a stone quarry, several small villages and Halle, one of the most industrialized cities of the former East Germany, whose dull gray walls bear droop-shouldered witness to the coal dust that clouded air and lungs. But the church on the hill squares its shoulders and stands proud. At the top of the hill, you have left the smog behind. Dull gray gives way to gentle red brick. The church is all flowy curves and sturdy solidness, cross-shaped, proclaiming silently. No pews, no pulpit. Wide columns and high, rounded ceilings. The simplest of windows, just a touch of red to catch the morning sun. In this church, the magnificence of God’s glory takes a distant second to the simple necessity of Geborgenheit. Germans voted this word the most beautiful word in their language last year—Geborgenheit is sitting safely ensconced in your grandmother’s lap. Geborgenheit sings “Under the shadow of your wings I will rejoice, to find a dwelling place secure.” Geborgenheit is waiting for you in the bosom of St. Peter’s Church on the hill.

And the brothers are waiting, too. They are waiting to welcome you into their little community with their great big hearts. You are welcome to join in a worship service, to stay for lunch or even for a week, if you’ve the time. You are invited to sing, to worship, to wash tables and dry dishes, to fast intentionally and to eat heartily, to hold your silence and to celebrate with shouts of joy. On Easter morning, again, the house bursts at the seams with more visitors than you’d think possible. Children giggle and shout and search for hidden treasures, adults sit around improvised tables and chat and the Easter joy is palpable. If you come to the church on the hill, the brothers will invite you into their rhythm, into the mystery. They will offer you the chance to join in the fun, to dance and pray and throw up your arms and ventilate your old stuffy thoughts a bit...

...and to just plain be.