‘Gold nugget in the Gaza Strip:’ Inside a Berlin church surrounded by Arab neighbors it doesn’t always understand”

By Sara Ferro

BERLIN, Germany – Tucked into the Arab-dominated neighborhood of Neukölln in the Kreuzburg area of Berlin is a stucco building rimmed with perfectly manicured grass, ringed with lush evergreens, and punctuated with a simple cross atop its hexagonal roof. Above the arched entrance is an unassuming sign, Kiezkirche Rixdorf, or “neighborhood church Rixdorf.”

The sign is just a whisper, and whispering might be how to describe this evangelical Baptist church’s voice in and to its community. It certainly describes the church’s relationship to Berlin’s and its own complicated histories (see separate story here).

Stepping inside this gated oasis, visitors are met by an uncomplicated, warmly lit sanctuary configurable for almost any sort of event or activity. On Sundays, visitors can expect to be welcomed by virtually every member of the congregation and pastoral staff, and they are likely to be offered coffee or water or perhaps even a beer. Get there a little early and you can see and hear the worship team running through their choruses, the plucks of a ukelele reverberating off the central building’s high ceiling.

But, to listen too closely would be to risk not hearing the many whispers of history throughout the sacred space. In fact, even a cursory glance around the worship hall is met with artifacts from Kiezkirche Rixdorf’s rollercoaster past, beginning with the four-foot-tall remnant of an Allied Forces bomb just to the left of the main entrance.

Eviscerated down the middle and flared at the end like a seashell, the bomb is just a few feet from the unpretentious cross that serves as the focal point for worship at the front of the sanctuary.

The rusted fragment now standing dutifully at attention is what is left of an explosive that “destroyed our church,” said Michael Löwe, caretaker of the church and its immaculately curated grounds, garden and buildings, and the third generation of a family that has anchored this church through the ages. But, Löwe says, do not mistake the message of the bomb. “This should be a symbol [that says], ‘Don’t make war. Keep peace.’”

Negotiating identity

The bomb, and Löwe’s meaning assigned to it, has added resonance because of the U.S. war with Iran, Israel’s incursions into Palestinian territories, and most of all tensions in Berlin over the flood of immigrants flowing into the city since the early 1990s. Kiezkirche Rixdorf’s neighborhood is home to Arabs and/or Muslims from several war-torn countries, including Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan. Keeping the peace would seem to be ambitious.

Germany’s capital city is attractive to immigrants from all over the world, particularly since the “open-door policy” of former Chancellor Angela Merkel instituted in 2015, according to the Center for Global Development. Since then, more than one million refugees, primarily from the Middle East, have come to Berlin for a better life.

Much of the tension here is related to national, ethnic and religious identity, and the degree to which immigrants from Muslim nations are perceived as being unwilling to assimilate. Many are perceived as being far more interested in preserving their own norms and ways than in becoming German, whatever becoming German might mean in practice.

The borough of Neukölln, and in particular its Nord-Neukölln quarter, is one of Berlin’s many Middle East-flavored neighborhoods. Arabic appears on the façades of rows of shops that advertise stylish hijabs and döner kebab. The boisterous sounds of Persian and Kurdish buzz through the air. And while there are roughly 80 mosques and Muslim prayer rooms in Berlin, according to visitBerlin, with many in Neukölln in particular, there are also about 20 established Baptist churches in the capital city, including Kiezkirche Rixdorf.

“This [church] is like a gold nugget in the Gaza strip,” said Jens Kämereit, a deacon at Kiezkirche Rixdorf and a native of Hamburg.

Just as Israel is surrounded by 26 Arab nations, many of which would rather Israel be erased from the map, Kiezkirche Rixdorf is very much a pro-Israel congregation surrounded by Arab “neighbors.”

For last year’s October anniversary of Hamas’s surprise attack on Israel, Löwe put a discreet yellow ribbon on the church’s information board just outside of the building in support of Israel. Two teenage girls in hijabs spat on the building as they walked down the street, he said. Löwe ran after them to talk with them, but the girls cursed the church and Germany rather than engage in conversation, he said.

“Why do you come to Germany if you hate us?” Löwe said he wondered at the time. “Go back to your country. Live in your freedom there.”

However, the very next minute Löwe describes the positive relationship he and the church enjoy with a Palestinian couple next door.

“It’s very deep, and it is for me a good symbol that peace has a chance,” said Löwe, who was a teenager in Berlin when the Berlin Wall came down in 1989. He becomes quite animated when recounting memories of the end of such physical division between east and west, retrieving photos of the period from his residence that is part of the church complex.

“No one could imagine that that wall would ever not be there,” he said. “It just was a part of the city. Then the impossible happened. We should believe that miracles can happen, because they have happened.”

Prejudices and the police

Manuel Roggatz, a pastor at the church and Löwe’s nephew-in-law, said that when pastors have attempted to preach on the streets of Neukölln, German police have told them to stop. Yet when Muslims engage in proselytizing on the streets, the police do not step in.

The police’s actions seem to say, “We don’t want you here, but for the Muslims, it’s okay,” Roggatz said. His issue, then, is with a perceived lack of freedom of expression and association, not with the Arab residents of the area, he said.

“Some (Arabs in Germany) want to talk, some of them say they want peace, that they want to live” in harmony with everyone, including Christianity,” Roggatz said.

Like Roggatz, Kämereit said he had not had negative interactions with the Muslims of Neukölln.

Syrians Abdul Zaiter and his friend, Kenanah, who did not wish to state her surname, both are Muslims in their early 20s who came to Berlin to continue their studies. They each now work in a small Arabic home goods store on Karl Marx Straße in the heart of Neukölln. Kenanah has been in the city for roughly three years; Abdul has been a resident for 12.

“Some believe we pray too much,” Kenanah said. But, overall, most people she talks to don’t discuss religion at all, she said, pointing out that she has many Christian friends and many who are atheist.

“They don’t have any problem with anyone else,” she said. “They are very, very friendly.”

She said she has never had a negative interaction with a Christian in the community; Zaiter reported the same.

Reaching out

What does outreach look like for Kiezkirche Rixdorf? Kämereit said the church is discussing allowing interested Arabic groups use of the church and its spaces for events. 

“We are discussing, ‘Is that for us?’” he said. “We don’t know.” As for his own views on the question, Kämereit seems fairly certain: No. “I think that’s not the way for us,” he said. “Those who enter the church should be coming in to know Jesus.”

Löwe did not quite agree. In his view, the church should actively reach out, build bridges, and evangelize.

“We try to be an open church,” said Löwe, whose friendship with and affection for Kämereit was obvious. “We don’t have the resources for outreach at the moment, but we try.”