Last week, we found ourselves outside the Bethlehem Chapel in Prague, the church where Czech religious dissenter Jan Hus first preached the gospel in the People’s language.
This chapel triggered a long line of memories. For 12 years, we lived in Berlin in the Böhmisches Dorf, the Bohemian village, named after religious refugees who settled there in 1737. Although this area consists of just a few blocks, there are any number of churches related to this heritage – the Bethlehem church which now belongs to the Landeskirche, a Reformed Church which a good Moravian won’t touch with a stick, and the Brüdergemeine, the Church of the Moravian Brethren, the community proper that traced back their ancestry to Amos Comenius, the bishop who was expelled from the Bohemian lands for his Protestant faith.
To this day, the Brüdergemeine has their own bishop, who traces his lineage back to Amos Comenius. Bishop Clemens was just a trifle scatty – I remember him riding a hobby-horse in a children’s production of Cinderella. Comenius, meanwhile, is commemorated by an impressive statue in the Comeniusgarten, a magical place right between huge apartment blocks, where a bearded, somewhat scraggy-looking man would let you in when you rang the bell.
Back to the Moravian brethren. On an Easter morning, the community gathered at the churchyard to commemorate their dead. Long before staunch nationalist Pastor Kuhlo had reinvented the German Posaunenchor in the 19th century, the Brüdergemeinde had their own brass ensemble. On Easter morning, they would wake us up with the sound of the trumpet, our bedroom window overlooking the churchyard.
After the service, the community, brass, bishop and all, returned to their church when they were stopped by the police, who charged them with an non-permitted demonstration. „Young man“, said the bishop, „we have been parading here every Easter morning since 1737. We do not need permission.“
We came across the Moravians again in autumn 2023, when we visited Pennsylvania. Some miles from Philadelphia, there is a place called Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, now part of the UNESCO World Heritage, founded by a branch of the Moravian brethren and dedicated to the mission of the natives.
Bethlehem, however, was not our main aim. We wanted to see Nazareth, Pennsylvania, the site of the famous Martin guitar factory,wheresome of the worlds best guitars are built (although my favourite guitar may not be among the world’s best, it was built there, too).
C.F. Martin, the factory’s founder, came from Marktneukirchen, Germany, in 1833. Legend has is that he moved to Pennsylvania because the landscape reminded him of his home. Having seen both, I remember the Marktneukirchen area to be much more mountainous, with rocky ledges, and a river that has carved out a deep bed over millions of years.
Anyway, Martin didn’t settle in Nazareth proper. He settled just outside the town – the factory is still situated at a distance from the actual settlement. The reason was his faith. Not being a Moravian himself, the Brethren preferred him to live outside their town. I received this information from the friendly owner of Vintage Instruments, Philadelphia, who had a few Martins around.
Back in Germany, we decided to finally get a Moravian star. Again, this is a very traditional thing – the Böhmische Brüder have been making decorative stars from paper for ages, and they are quite popular all over Germany. I could remember my mother hanging a star in the hall every year, and I wanted one for myself.
Needless to say, the star came unassembled. Zina and I had an unforgettable hour folding the paper bits into shape and fitting them together.
The Moravian star has now replaced the paper star visible in the background. Another six weeks, and I’ll be putting it up again.