Beautiful Holland – Paula Kuitenbrouwer

in Dutch: Lebuïnus put

Visiting Lebuïnus Church’s Well in the Netherlands

It is six o’clock. My husband and I leave the comfort of our warm bed for an hour of meditation after which we skip breakfast and head for Central Station on our bare feet. Having done penance and being in a spiritually heightened state before our pilgrimage to the Church of St. Lebuïnus is a good thing. That is, ideally. Nobody needs to know that we sleep till 8, after which we enjoy breakfast, a comfortable 1st class journey, and a coffee -with cake- near the main church of Deventer, a Hanseatic League city at the Dutch river IJssel.

I am eager to visit a well and my husband is perfectly fine with a nice day out for whatever reasons. Recently, I read Katherine May’s Enchantment in which she and a friend visit Black Prince Well in the village of Harbledown (UK). Reading her reflections on visiting a well made me question how many sacred springs and wells I have visited in my life. I can list a few abroad, mainly in the UK like Bath, Winchester, one near Hadrian’s Wall, and few in Italy, Germany and Austria. In the Netherlands, my home country, I have visited Springendal since my early youth. ‘Springendal’ loosely translates as valley of springs, which shows there are a few natural springs.

I like to visit a well again and do it right, although, like Katherine May, I have no idea what right is. Katharine May mentions that ‘You are in fact the one who fills the well’ because we seem to have forgotten the rules of engagement. Should I use the water to draw a small cross on my forehead? Should I sense the well giving me energy? At Geology and History class we learn how springs and wells are formed and how vital these were from prehistoric times till the time of tap water. But spiritually, we seem to have forgotten what to do near a well. Or perhaps not.

The evening before we plan our visit, I Google the well. I can’t find information when and how it came into existence. Is it man made and later Christianized? It looks like it. There are no records of any wonders that happened after drinking its water. Pilgrimages in the 13-14^th century took place to venerate the remains of Saint Lebuïnus, not because of the well.

We arrive at a large church that -far back in time- most likely started as a wooden hut placed near or over a well. This is the church of Lebuïnus, who was an 8th century Anglo-Saxon missionary. Lebuïnus (Lebuin, Lebwin or Liafwin) was an apostle of the Frisians and patron of Deventer but born in England. In between Lebuïnus’s preaching the Gospel in the vicinity of Deventer and dying there in c. 775, there is a lot of building, church burning, fleeing to Germany, and returning to Deventer. If you think erecting a church as a straightforward job, you think wrong.

The colossal church we visit today was completed in 1525. We walk around the church and find it a delight. The sun shines and the sand-coloured stones give it a soft feel. The interior of the church enhances this impression with its friendly pastel palette of off-white, soft peach pink, and Naples’ sand yellow. It is what some would describe as the inside of a human body, that of flesh. We enjoy its wonderful frescoes. They have the same peach-creamy hues which are very appealing. No bright Medieval blue, red, and yellow, but pastel coloured Bible scenes and lots of botanical decorations.

It is time to enter the 11^th century crypt and to see what I came for, the well. We are used to dark and gloomy crypts, but this one is different. Similar to the church, the crypt has whitewashed walls and is full of soft light. Open apertures filter the light from the church windows which give this crypt a luminous feel despite its strong Romanesque pillars.

There is no reference that this is a sacred well, no information. Later, a volunteering church lady tells me that it is connected to the river IJssel, which runs nearby. The well itself is a hole in the ground in the centre of the crypt. An ugly metal grid is placed over the well, it is the kind of grid you use for brushing off mud from your shoes. This cheap modern grill allows you to see the well and to offer coins but it speaks volumes in frugality.

Today there is no water in the well. Looking through the grid is still pretty because of its stone walls and the layer of donated coins. In my imagination, I picture how the well looks like with water covering the coins. On my way out of the church I ask the same church lady if the water has permanently receded. Absolutely not, but since the Dutch allow the river to overflow and take up more room, there is less flooding in the crypt. This, the lady says, is a good thing because with the water also comes muddy residue. The lady goes on saying that the crypt has been a safe house for nuns during times of religious battles, as well as a bunker for those seeking safety during WWII bombardments. Nowhere in her story do I sense a reverence for the water well.

Deventer’s Lebuïnus Church close to the river IJssel

We sit down in the crypt and so does an older man. He closes his eyes and goes into prayer. A few tourists enter but they -respectfully- keep their voices down. There is a prayer book, an altar and two burning candles with the Α and Ω symbols. The crypt is a welcoming place. But that cheap grid leaves an impression that this well is not important. At home, it takes me half an hour to find its name, ‘Lebuïnus put’, meaning Lebuïnus’s well, despite that it most likely dates to the Bronze and Iron Age. Archeological findings confirm Deventer as a very old river side settlement.

Early Christianity had to allow pagan elements, like this well, to bind folks to Christianity. Should the church crack down too hard on pagan traditions, this would estrange those who still held ancestral beliefs. Gradually pagan elements were neglected and ‘deliberately’ forgotten. Perhaps this well will suffer this fate too. That said, it might have been Christianized by Lebuïnus but even that isn’t mentioned in the church.

Winchester Cathedral does it better. It tells the amazing history of its well and its hero. This cathedral lies on a hill and is situated over its well. Diver William Walker (1869–1918) saves Winchester’s church from imminent danger of collapse as it starts to sink slowly into the ground. Walker shores up the walls by putting concrete underneath them. He works six hours a day—in complete darkness, because the sediment suspended in the water was impenetrable to light. He is commemorated with a small statute whilst inside Winchester cathedral many holy men lie in their large and richly elaborate graves. I will never forget this disproportionate honour. Imagine William Walker having been a woman; her statute would be as small as a pinhead. That said, Winchester’s well is part of its historical narrative contrary to Lebuïnus’s well that is missing an information board. For many it will just be a hole in the ground, safely ‘sealed’ with a grid.

William Walker, more at Winchester Cathedral website.

We visit Lebuïnus’s well on a day when it is dry. If healing properties are connected to water, one has a problem. But if beneficial qualities are related to a place, rather than to water, then the absence of water is no problem. The water level in the IJssel River is high. The church lady expects the water to rise in the well during the day. I would have loved to see that because looking at coins feels like looking into an old treasure chest.

That said, the coins tell a story of how we behave near a sacred well. We haven’t collectively forgotten how we interact with holy places. We trust the well with our wishes and because we understand reciprocity, we offer a coin. And why do we offer a coin? We have no idea but offering something metal goes as far back as the Iron Age.

Archeologists believe that during the Iron Age anything metal that had lost its form and gained a new shape by the fires of a blacksmith testifies of having a soul. Perhaps this was because on a chemical level metallurgy wasn’t understood and the processes like welding or metalworking looked magical. Sometimes an Iron Age sword of shield was not even utilized but offered to gods who resided in lakes. These offerings took place in western Europe, and we still do this; we offer coins to wells and fountains.

The Witham Shield is **an Iron Age decorative bronze shield dating from about the 4th century BC**. The shield was discovered in the River Witham, England in 1826. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Witham_Shield

We sit near the well and are invited to trust our prayer to the crypt prayer’s book. We offer a coin, a kind gesture to the well itself, because it isn’t about the money, it is about offering a metallic object that we -far back in time- regarded as having a soul. Our offer is not a lifeless object, no object of monetary value, but a spiritually valuable object. We have learned from our ancestors that there is something beneficial about interacting with sacred springs. It allows and perhaps invites our prayers and welcomes our offerings. More than any other thing, except perhaps for a cave or a tree, we share intimate thoughts and feelings with a well, especially on an emotional or spiritual level. We are in communion with it.

I leave a prayer in the crypt’s prayer book. I do not feel comfortable with sending a wish list up to the saints above for myself but for someone else I am happy to pray. Our financial donation is done via a digital payment system at the exit but not before I look for a postcard. There is no postcard of the crypt or the well. It is a good thing I had knowledge of the well before visiting the church because I might have overlooked it.

Lebuïnius’s well has survived under the immense weight of our shifting religious preferences. However, it now seems overlooked. What we need to do is offering coins and interacting with it. And above all, it should have a less industrial grid. Otherwise, perhaps it might be forgotten as the geological, historical, and perhaps spiritual reason why this massive church was built on the banks of the river IJssel.

It is my wish that next time we will visit Lebuïnus’s well it will be decorated with an exquisite and artistic grid, like that of Glastonbury’s Chalice Well.

Paula Kuitenbrouwer, Drs. M.A.

I invite you to enjoy this website that is full of art, art-musings, reflections, diary entries, literature, art-history, and more. I am Paula Kuitenbrouwer freehand-drawing & commission artist. Art is often seen as a luxury but when it comes to joyful, sad, or memorable events in our lives, we are in need for art. Please, feel free discussing commissioned art with me. I was taught drawing and painting by Spanish-Dutch artist Charito Crahay and Dutch artist Johan Kolman. I have an M.A. in Philosophy and enjoyed a few courses at Oxford Department for Continuing Education. Currently, I live with my husband in the Netherlands. Our daughter studies abroad. My portfolio is at Instagram and my shop at Etsy.

In my hometown of Utrecht, on two Rococo houses alongside the ‘Nieuwe Gracht’, stands Hercules holding the sky onto his shoulders. The ancient story goes that Hercules has taken up the firmament for Atlas allowing the old Titan a brief moment of respite to take up one of his labours.

I had to correct Hercules’ legs because all reference photos are taken from street level, and Hercules stands on top of a four story house, and it therefore the statute showed too short legs. I’ve elongated Hercules’ legs to create a level frontal view.

Hercules looks strong, but he is a demigod and demigods can do things we mortals can not. Yet, the maker of this statute, the Dutch sculptor Ton Mooy, has given Hercules a tormented expression.

I kept wondering why I like this Hercules. When I was about to draw his hair and face, I remembered. I had seen this kind of hair and facial expression before. Hercules has the same hair as Vercingetorix (see photo) and a similar tormented expression as the statute of the Dying Gaul (see photo), an Ancient Roman Hellenistic sculpture. There is beauty in showing that extraordinary strength and bravery often comes with pain.