Reflections

When I left for Iceland one of my questions was what it would be like to have a “profound experience of darkness,” as our syllabus puts it, and how Icelandic homes and public spaces compensate for the winter lack of sunlight. Well, we all noticed that it wasn’t nearly as dark as we thought it would be. We also noticed that there’s something luxurious about rising “before dawn” at 10 a.m. (Easy for us to say – we didn’t have to go to work!) As for the evenings, the sun set around 5 – not much different from home. And maybe it was the fantastic food and the fabulous company, but the darkness seemed full of light and life until the very wee hours of the morning.

I was also delighted to find an abundance of windows. The Icelanders know what windows should be like. The Scandinavian aesthetic of steel, concrete, and glass is lovely to behold and to dwell in, and from its low angle the sunlight is gathered and directed into homes and other buildings through huge, glassy expanses of picture windows. And all those windows seemed to boast fantastic views, whether it was the 11 a.m. sunrise, the long afternoon of pastel twilight, or the bright lights of the city gleaming at night.

Best of all, there are whole towns devoted to greenhouses, such as Hveragerði, which we passed on our way to Skálholt. Between the sun and the geothermal radiators (hot water, 100°C, piped straight out of the ground), they are able to grow not only tomatoes but also tropical things like bananas.

(Speaking of green energy, we saw one of Iceland’s hydrogen filling stations, which was right alongside the regular gas station. There was even a “line” of two cars. We also learned a bit about the possibilities of canola oil for fuel from our hostess, þóra, who is researching how the long summer days can produce bumper crops in the north of Iceland.)

Another of my questions had to do with mythology and how it influences the culture and Christianity. I didn’t see a tremendous amount of this on the surface, but I did get a few people to tell me stories about Odin and Loki and the Jotuns. I also enjoyed an evening with Anna Rún looking at the sculpture of Einar Jónsson (www.skulptur.is) in a beautiful book of photos. Many of the sculptures are highly mythological, and we had a lot of fun figuring out what they all meant. I also passed Ari’s pop quiz on Tolkien. (I was impressed at how many aspects of Icelandic landscape and culture are subtly referenced in LOTR. For example, the horses—gorgeous!!—in the myths have names that end with “fax,” which means “mane.” Just like Shadowfax. Also, if you like horses at all, you must see the Icelandic horse’s special gait, called the tölt: click.)

My third question had to do with contemplation. I said that I hoped to meditate and maybe learn a new spiritual practice. What I was really seeking was a break from the anxiety of a very stressful semester. I read this in the Poetic Edda:

The foolish man lies awake all night
and worries about things;
he’s tired out when the morning comes
and everything’s just as bad as it was.

Very true. This reminded me of Job 3:26:

"The thing that I fear comes upon me,
and what I dread befalls me.
I am not at ease, nor am I quiet;
I have no rest; yet trouble comes."

It’s clear that worrying doesn’t help one bit. None of us by being anxious can add at all to our span of life (Mt. 6:27). Yet, I still find myself worrying. A lot.

Two things happened on this trip that may help to change that for me. One was participating in the communion service at Skálholt by reading, in English of course, the New Testament reading for epiphany: Ephesians 3:1-12. I have never participated in any service, least of all in a foreign country in a place like Skálholt – a church that is, in a very real way, the spiritual center of Iceland. When you look at the photo at the top of this blog, you can see that this is not an old church – it was finished in the 1960s. What you can’t realize without going there is that the site is absolutely ancient, the center of Christianity since 1000 B.C.E. But when you go, and see the stone coffin in the basement, walk through the ancient tunnel to where the village used to be, when you read the names of all the bishops going back 1,000 years – you start to get a sense of the place. Participating in the morning and evening prayers there was a beautiful, meditative experience, charged with familiar phrases in a new language (Faðir vor, miskunna þú oss, Drottinn). Participating in the communion service was something I would certainly never have dared to do. Luckily, Sam didn’t give me an option. So, I had the tremendous honor and blessing of declaring the mystery of Christ before a congregation of pastors at Skálholt. I did it in a shaky, too-quiet voice, and the timing was awkward and unrehearsed, but that didn’t take away from how I felt.

The other thing that happened was the earthquake in Haiti and the death of our friend Ben. If Matthew 6:27 didn’t hit home before, it does now. I don’t want to say too much about this right now, but here are a few thoughts. He died with a song of praise to God on his lips; in our grief, we who remain are bound more closely in love with one another and in our God, whom we trust will wipe all tears from our eyes; and none of us, by being anxious, can add at all to our span of life.

Iceland was everything I hoped it would be, and so much more. Twilight, water, ice, volcanoes, horses, friends, family, songs, prayers, tears, laughter, lectures, rocks, trees, geysirs, hot springs, surf, stars, poetry, mythology, feasts, joy, and sorrow. I can’t wait to go back – probably some June.

Lord God,
You comfort us in sorrow and laugh with us in joy. Thank you for all the wonderful experiences, hospitality, beauty, and love that were showered on us in Iceland. Be with us as we mourn the loss of our friend, and bring comfort and aid to those who are grieving and suffering in Haiti. Let those of us who remain love and serve you in all we do and experience. In Christ’s name we pray. Lord, have mercy. Amen.