Skalholt in the Darkness

We have landed in Iceland and had a blessed couple of days trying to get caught up on our wakefulness.  So far we have seen the downtown area of Reykjavik, the new Harpin music house, the Icelandic parliament, Reykjavik city hall, one of the local geo-thermal heated swimming areas, and made our way to Skalholt in the center of the country.  Skalholt is the area where the country converted to Christianity from the old forms of Nordic religion in the 11^th century.  The Bishop of Iceland was also centered here up until the 19^th century as well as the country’s seminary for up and coming pastors like myself.  It is situated in a beautiful valley between mountains and plateaus on all sides, behind which the sun seems to playfully rise and fall in a low-lying manner, barely illuminating this sacred place of Icelandic Christianity and history. 

Yesterday morning I arrived here with the early group of students who traveled with some of the pastors attending the conference and our professor, Dr. Sam Giere.  Fortunately, (or unfortunately as the case may be) we cannot speak Icelandic and were not expected to attend the sessions that the other pastors are present and gathered here for.  As a result, we had time to play cards, explore the beautiful church and take a wonderful walk through the freezing snow and frigid windchill.  I was told that the winters here were warmer than those in America but am so far finding that to be baloney. The closest frame of reference I have for yesterday’s hike through the snow is the January whether of North Dakota, which, by all available accounts, is colder and windier than any place I have ever lived.  I hope that it warms up so I can experience some of the milder weather that I was promised.   

            The church and worship in Skalholt are truly magnificent.  The chapel is the fourth in a thousand years of Christianity in the country, and is a mere two-thirds the size of the original chapel that was built here in the 11^th century- an impressive feat for some recently Christianized Vikings without many trees present locally to build such a place of worship.  The trees for the first chapel were apparently brought over on medieval ships from Norway and then drawn by horse a couple hundred kilometers inland where they were then incorporated into the largest Scandinavian structure of its day.  Simply impressive.  Unfortunately, that building eventually burned down and, a few centuries later, they now have a newer building that is smaller but nevertheless wonderful.  Even better, the space inside proves itself to be more than worthy of the magnificent chants and prayers that Icelandic worship is laden with.  Their worship consists of a far more intentional and complete form of prayerful singing that many Lutheran churches in the U.S. seem to have left behind.  I am seeing here now that our changes in worship may have been a bit hasty as there is a beauty which has been left behind.

There is darkness all around us here.  It pervades our time, our sleep, our waking, our moving and our vision (if that is possible).  There is more light than I thought there would be actually, but it is by far more dark than light this time of year in this land of ice.  I have found it particularly difficult to wake up in the lingering darkness.  This comes as somewhat of a surprise to me because I am not very good at waking up when the sun is around and did not think that a lack of sunlight would make any difference.  It turns out that I can be even worse at stirring when the sun is not present to help me along.  My host shares my distaste for darkness in the morning, revealing the other day that he would prefer to follow the daylight savings time practice of most of the United States.  I guess you can live in a place all your life and still not prefer everything about it, even in a country as beautiful as Iceland.

            Yet, I asked another one of our hosts, Gunnar, if he liked the darkness in Iceland and he responded differently.  We were walking at the front of the group through Reykjavik when I posed the question, “Do you like the darkness?” Gunnar paused for a moment, considering my question, and said simply, “Yes, I do”.  Judging that I was looking for a little bit more in his answer, he thankfully continued.  He explained that the external darkness of this northern land forces people to shine an inner light more strongly.  If they are to continue in happiness and well-being through the dark months, they must be bright themselves and not rely on bright light shining in the sky to light their spirits and bring them joy.  He also explained the real joy of the fireworks that are shot off in bulk around this new year time.  He said, “You know, in America you celebrate the fourth of July in the summer time with fireworks to celebrate your country’s founding.  Here, the fireworks mean something different and shine all the more brightly because they are in the middle of our time of complete darkness and they light up the sky like you can’t believe”.  He meant no disrespect, I am fairly sure, to our celebration of the fourth of July.  Rather, he used is as a point of comparison to when we shoot of the most fireworks.  I have to say that I can really see his point.  I imagine that if I lived this far north the fireworks around the time of winter solstice would not only represent a celebration of the nation, they would also embody the persevering light of the soul.  I am grateful that they have ways of coping.

      Dear God, light our way in this foreign land that we may brightly see the work you do among your church and your people.   Be with our family far away as our family is extending here across the sea.  Bless the mission of the church in Iceland that Skalholt will not fade into history for the people of Iceland but will continue  to shine for generations to come .