Kirchgemeinde Diemtigen, Switzerland

 We visited several ancestral villages in the Bernese Oberland region today.  Each was beautiful, both in its outer life, its buildings, and in its unique setting.  Of these, I wish to introduce you to the Kirchgemeinde Diemtigen, a Reformed Church in the village of Diemtigen, which is part of the Canton Bern.

The earliest signs of people living in this village go back to the Bronze Age, many centuries before King David.  Careful use of the soil has enabled people to continue cultivating crops on the relatively flat areas of the valley, while every inch of mountain slope that can grow grass is then used for hay or, if too steep for people or machinery, for grazing.

We obviously haven`t a clue when the Stucki and other ancestral families showed up, let alone from which ancient immigration, but we do know that this area was a hotbed for early Täufer/Anabaptists in the 1520s and beyond, and that Peter Stucki (from nearby Wimmis) was martyred in 1538.

Janice's and Sue's mother was Anna Stuckey, so we were interested in seeing the many signs of various Stuckis thriving in this beautiful place.  How hard it must have been for some to leave it.

The structure of the present church is similar to other Reformed churches of this Canton:  very plain yet sturdy wooden pews, the pulpit raised high (or it seems that way with the relatively low ceilings), a row of individual seats surrounding the front of the church (in imitation of where monks once sat), relatively small windows, a massive pipe organ in the back balcony, with places for a choir (likely in the old days), a baptismal font front and center, and no altar. (I do not know how often communion is served, but Zwingli had to compromise.  He wanted it daily, but the council voted for four times a year.)

 

The children may have been creatively involved in organizing displays of local animals, neatly arranged on various window sills.

We saw a cemetery across the valley and its field, so we investigated.  

 

Since I grew up across the street from a cemetery, these quiet parks have always fascinated me.  Each country has its customs.  In this part of Switzerland, land is at a premium, as it has been for centuries.  So the rule is this:  You can rent a plot on which you will be buried, but the location of the plot is determined by when you die--not by family ownership.  Those who died in 2013 were buried with all the others who died that same year.  Recently, these plots have been arranged in intimate circles with a planting in the center.

 

The individual plots are then carefully tended, often weekly, for 25 years or so, unlike plots in Vancouver which are quite desolate and seldom visited because of distance, schedules, and cultural tradition.  In Europe, I almost always see someone tending a grave of a loved one.  In this cemetery, each plot was liberally planted with blooming flowers.

 

 Some stones recalled interests of the deceased (I neglected to photograph the gravestones featuring cows, biking, and skiing).

 Some recalled a beloved home nestled in the local mountains.

 

More recently, couples have erected stones which creatively symbolize two beings in relationship.

 

But solid as some of these stones are, their proud statements do not continue indefinitely.  Land is at a premium.  

Caskets are made of wood and are expected to rot over time, as is only natural, along with the body, which is also natural.  Then, depending on the local tradition, about 25/35 years later, a notice is posted, informing families that they are to remove all stones, etc. they might wish to preserve.  If they do not wish to preserve anything, the cemetery will dispose of them.  After all markers etc are removed for, say, the plots filled in 1995, a special machine goes through and digs down about two meters, pulverizing everything (of course nothing remains by then).  Grass is then planted, the soil resettles, and will eventually be ready to receive the next crop of boxes.   

 

I find it makes excellent sense, but maybe that's just the Swiss in me.

Evan