Franziskaner Klosterkirche

The first building of the Franziskaner-Klosterkirche was constructed in 1250, the year after the Berlin Convent of the Franciscan Order was created. The first and second building were finished by 1350, and there was a restoration of the church in approx. 1500. By 1926 there was extensive restoration of the church, presumably to preserve it's historical significance and place among the Weimar Republic. In 1945 there was heavy destruction of the church through American and English bombing. From 1959-61 There was extensive restoration and clearing of the debris from the bombings during WWII. Since 1993, from May through October there are exhibits and cultural events held through the monastery. 2003 began the preservation and restoration of the historic landmark. The Klosterkirche is a Gothic style monastery.

FUN FACT: The monastery was also established as a high school in 1574. It had many famous alumni, including Otto von Bismarck. It had an excellent reputation due to it's thorough and comprehensive education. Many alumni became well known public figures.

The standing front of the Kirche


We were there!

Rachel-
Upon first viewing of the church, I was most struck by how obvious the TV tower was over the gothic front of the former cathedral. The Fernseherturm is such an omnipotent thing in Berlin, you can see it from almost anywhere. It's really odd to juxtapose this image with that of the ruins of the church. It made me recall the Sebald reading where he discussed the juxtaposition of the ruins with the people trying to live on through them-- the eternal clash of the modern with the not-so-modern. While walking through the church, as one is wont to do while walking through any ruins, I couldn't help but wonder how the church had looked in all it's former glory. Was there stained glass in the church? What did it look like? Who had lived there? These sort of contemplative memories reminded me again of Sebald's recounting of many different stories of destruction during WWII.

After walking around the church for a bit, I noticed that there was a sort of info booth there with a man who looked to be a docent. I approached him, starting with the eternal "Sprechen sie Englisch?" He told me that it wasn't a problem, so I asked him whether or not he had any interesting facts about the church that we might not have been able to find online or in historical resources. He didn't quite understand my English, so I switched to German. He then sold me a (quite useful, actually) pamphlet for one euro and proceeded to talk to Michelle and I about how many people he knew who were living in Germany who didn't speak German. He said he was proud of me for continuing to speak and learn German, and that I should keep speaking it here and take advantage of the "sound around."



Michelle-
As our trek began towards the Franciscan monastery, I was not sure what to expect from the ruin. Would there be gaping holes in a columned disintegrating construction, accompanied by vines draping from a Babylonic open air rooftop? Who knows. But upon exiting the beautiful U-Bahn station nearby, I found that the monastery definitely fulfilled my fantastical expectations of what a classical "ruin" should look like. The gothic style of the building was still apparent in what was left of the monastery: the two walls standing had huge pointed windows that stretched practically the whole length of the walls. It was certainly eerie being able to walk throughout the monastery, meanwhile aware that the roof and other crucial elements of the building were missing. After reading more about the building, I found that citizens, living in the post-WWII desolation of Berlin, often used wood from the monastery's rubble in order to heat their homes and cook. Anonymous, author of A Woman in Berlin, attests to such activities. However, a gifted preacher affiliated with the monastery soon after began lecturing Berliners on the evils of using such holy wood for mere practicalities. Eventually, enough money was donated out of guilt to restore and clean large portions of the ruins.

This leads me to contemplate Jennifer V. Evan's article, Life Among the Ruins. How did Berliners engage with their surroundings in order to survive in a post-war environment? How was the importance and value of place negotiated in times of need? One may answer these questions with a contextual analysis of the Franciscan monastery: a place that was once holy and forbidden to desecrate was recreated into a space of abundant firewood in the postwar mood. Such an example illustrates the idea that a space will only take on the value that it is given, and can be altered instantly based on the creation of a mass need (i.e. firewood). In conclusion, visiting the monastery was a startling experience; the ancient ruin's contrast against its vicinity to the lush and consumeristic world of Alexanderplatz was especially apparent. The TV tower peeking through the ruin's gaping windows was another achingly beautiful depiction of Berlin's visual spectrum.


Dan-
My thoughts of the Franziskaner Klosterkirche were of a divided nature. As I strolled through the ruined building, I felt that connection to a historical place and time, centuries before my own life, that gives weight and perspective to the human experience. At the same time, knowing why and how the building found itself in such ruin conflicted with the beauty of its current form. The void of the building, in that it is a shell, a fraction of its whole, makes the form seem mysterious and engaging. Similar to the painting we saw in class, the abbey has plant life running through its structure. The idealized blend of nature and structure is formed within this space, but rather than Speer’s thousand-year leap into the future, the building stands changed after only sixty-five years. The conflict in my mind is between the truth that yes, as it stands now is intriguing to my mind as a connection to an ancient past, but also that to see it as it is reflects a recent history of unimaginable violence. The Franziskaner Klosterkirche exists as a monument of great beauty and suffering, something that could be said about the entirety of Berlin.


Anna-
Though it was strange and fascinating to see and touch a church of such age, being at the Klosterkirche made me think more of the 19th century than the 13th. The 19th century aesthetic appreciation for ruins would have loved the Klosterkirche, and it pleased my aesthetic sensibilities in the same way. The combination of brick walls and mossy floor and open sky also reminded me of Schivelbusch's discussion of the architects who were pleased that the bombing of World War II had cleared so much empty space, and who wanted an urban countryside. The ideal of urban countryside combines with the aesthetic of ruins in an interesting way. On the other hand, it was strange to think both of the beauty of the place and the violence that created part of its appeal.