On Sundays, there was the obligatory mass, to which, in my childhood, Oma never missed to take me with her. Our priest, Father Funk, knew how to discipline his flock: there was no coughing, no sneezing - nobody dared to move. Otherwise he would stop in the middle of his sermon and he would frown at you. But there was on thing our dear old priest couldn't control, and that was our eyes. Holy Mary on the left, St. Roch on the right - I have mentally scanned every inch of these two paintings, time and again, till I knew them by heart. No wonder that, while visiting the church in summer 2006, I have immediately noticed that what was hanging there on the wall was not our Rochus. Compare this painting with the one on the previous page (of which I have placed details here on the right).
			This painting is a copy.
			The more I look at it, the more I get the feeling that it comes from the hand of somebody who used to paint for Orthodox churches and who was trying his hand with this more realistic style. Not that this would be the point, the point is:
			Who has replaced the painting and what has he done with our original, more valuable one?
			The painting of Saint Mary got replaced as well, and other items and old books are missing, as I've been informed. Knowing who has got access to the inside of the church (the content of which has been bought by us, thus being still our property), I deduce that it has been done by the same man who sells the gravesites of our ancestors, thus turning us into liars - because we have promissed these ancestors to watch over their sleep, by engraving "Ruhet in Frieden" or "Ruhet sanft" on their headstones. To look away would mean to betray our ancestors. This same man is cutting the beautiful old trees in our church park for burning wood (it looks like there is always money at stake where he turns up), thus depriving the new children of Triebswetter of a pleasant environment. As a Catholic, it hurts me to expose one of our priests (whom I don't know), but good old Father Funk - may he rest in peace - has thought me to always tell the truth. And it is only the truth that can stop injustice - hopefully soon, before more irreparable harm is done. I've got a strange feeling when I read my pledoyer for Father Leclerq on previous pages, and when I think what I am doing right now, here. I would be only too happy to be able to say one day that I was wrong - but what about all the witnesses, what about all the evidence?
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