Some Things I Noticed About Norway and Norwegians

 

I’ve known about my ancestors in Norway all my life but never had gone to trace my roots in person as some of my family had.  I was inspired to do this trip while reading Lars Myting’s trilogy, which I have written about elsewhere on this blog.  I hummed and hawed about it until Judy said – go now, you’re just too old to wait.  So, we did, and I have written a piece about the journey to my roots – too long for this blog, but if anyone wants a digital copy, let me know.

There are some things I noticed about Norway and Norwegians:

Language: I remember a few phrases and words of Norwegian from my youth but didn’t need to try any of it – everybody speaks English!  And, except for some older folks, speak without an Norski accent – pretty much an American accent.  One rare occasion, in a grocery store, I was looking at the label of a product and asked a man what a word meant.  Flustered, he said he didn’t know but hurried halfway across the store to get his wife who came running to translate.  Norwegians sure are helpful. We only encountered one older woman (maybe actually younger than me!), who didn’t speak English. 

“Uff da! is a Norwegian expression which I grew up with.  Said in a situation of dismay at hearing bad news, or surprise, relief and such.  My mom worked herself to the bone on the farm, and at the end of an exhausting day would collapse in a chair and say, “Uff da”.  Often used with humor, there is a gravestone in my home church which has two words engraved besides the name of the deceased, “Uff da” - like “Well that’s over, and it was kind of tough!” When I moved back to the farm to retire, I told Aunt Minda about my ambitious plan to raise vegetables and market them at farmers markets.  Minda just said, “Uff da” – she knew how much work that would be and how unrealistic. I have found that Uff da is really more Minnesota Norwegian than Norway Norwegian. I think it is not used much in Norway and has faded in use in Minnesota as well.  The next generation doesn’t use it much.

Water:  The water pressure at the tap is much greater in Norway than at home.  Several times I turned on the faucet in the sink and the water came gushing out splashing on me and the floor.  That is actually another “Uff da”.   There is a lot of water in Norway, which we saw first-hand in Telemark where we spent most of our time. The Norwegians are good engineers and dug the Telemark Canel in the 1890s – “the eighth wonder of the world” they said.  Lardal, on Lake Bandak, is where my ancestors came from, a pristine water setting, now a destination for campers and vacation homes.  The threats from climate change are more on the side of too much rain, flooding, landslides than drought.  We experienced heavy rain and storms our last weekend, which affected train schedules and did some damage.

Wood:  Norwegians have a special relationship with wood. The first thing I noticed upon arrival in Oslo was the wood floors in the airport at Gardermoen airport - wow - no concrete here.  Everywhere we went we saw large houses and barn built with wood. Then there are the incredible Stave churches built in the 13th century.  Our friends Arne and Gro lamented the tearing down of old villas of wood construction in their neighborhood to construct multifloored apartments, as in Oslo they are running out of space for building in prime locations.  Norway's land area is over 25% forests, and we drove through miles of beautiful tree covered mountainsides in Telemark.

Lars Myting wrote a book titled "Norwegian Wood: The guide to chopping, stacking and drying wood the Scandinavian way" - a runaway best seller in Norway.  From a promotional blurb: Building a fire and collecting firewood is one of mankind's most fundamental skills, and few know this better or love it more than Norwegians, where the climate has obliged generations to hone and share their knowledge of tools, trees and heat".

They pick up after themselves:  It was after harvest time in September, and all the farms looked cleaned up and neat, lawns and fields mowed and ready for winter.  No junked cars or rubbish here.  In Norway there is not as much garbage because they recycle just about everything and everywhere.  Checking out at the grocery store, everyone has brought their own shopping bag.  When we stood there looking at a pile of items we were buying, the checkout clerk asked nicely, “Do you want a bag?” a little bit surprised.  Far cry from the millions of plastic bags used in Walmart every day.   Arne, who was a construction engineer, told me that concrete plants generate a lot of CO2.  At Norway’s huge concrete plant engineers have devised a way to capture and transfer 400,000 tons of carbon a year for transfer and deposit in used oil wells, far under the floor of the sea.  First in the world.

Roads and cars:  Most of the roads we drove on were two-lane and narrow, with little or no shoulder.  Had to keep alert on curvy mountain roads.  However, it seems that for decades Norwegians have been building roads through mountains rather over them – lots and lots of tunnels.  Oslo has moved much of the traffic under-ground so the streets above are not so congested.  Public transportation is available and encouraged by the government. We found the train system to be excellent. The government wants to transition to electric cars, and 90% of new sales in the last few years have been electric.  There is nationwide availability of charging stations, with as many or more charging stations as gas pumps at filling stations.  There is a kind of contradiction here, though, given that much wealth in Norway comes from pumping oil from the North Sea to countries in Europe.

The streets:  There are homeless people in Norway, but we didn’t see any.  The rate is one of the lowest in the world.  Looking up statistics, there are about 3,300 homeless people in the country.  There are about five times that number just in the Bernalillo County where we live here in New Mexico.  Children walk to school, - no school buses – and we were told parents don’t worry about their safety.  The whole downtown area of the shops and museums are nicely designed for walking.

Churches and religious life: There are beautiful churches and cathedrals in Norway, but many closed on Sundays or with few attending services.  In the rural area where my great-great grandparents came from, we saw most of the village churches from the outside, and only one that was open for service the Sunday when we were there.  The pastor has to rotate to eight different churches, meaning services every two months.  There is a severe shortage of pastors, at least in the rural areas. The Stave churches were amazing, built in the 13^th century, and only 28 survive.  The Myting trilogy tells of pulling one down and replacing it with more functional structures in a fictional village in the 1880s, apparently something based on historical reality.  There have been some lost to arson as well, so they are vigilant.   All the cemeteries and churches are well maintained and cared for – it’s important to have a beautiful spot to lay the remains of loved ones. 

It seems there is still a remnant of the Haugean pietistic movement. We encountered Norwegian missionaries in the various countries where we worked overseas, as very dedicated and faithful servants of the poor for the sake of the gospel. One of those is Petter Skauen, a friend and colleague I knew and worked with in Central America in the 90s.  For years he labored tirelessly at peacemaking in Guatemala, bringing enemies together to talk and negotiate, leading to the peace accords brokered by the UN between the insurgents and the government after almost 30 years of war and bloodshed. He was honored last year with an award from the King for his service.  He epitomizes the Norwegian quest and role in peacemaking in the tradition of the Nobel Peace Prize.  Now somewhat broken with illness after a lifetime of service, we were honored to share a meal with Petter and his wife Gunn at their home in Frederiksted.  We had much to share, as they had served as missionaries in Ecuador as well as Central America – same as we had. 

Emigration:  From the first organized emigration in 1825, the next century saw the departure of 800,000 Norwegians, mostly to the US.  One of three Norwegians left.  There are now more Americans of Norwegian ancestry in the US than Norwegians in Norway. They feel a fond connection to our country as a result.  Gunn Skauen said as we departed their home, "We always looked to America as a place of hope and freedom of expression, but now..."  - showing concern about what is happening in the US, she said, "Trump is on the front page of the paper every day!"

I spent my 87^th birthday in Lardal, the village my great-great grandparents, Knut and Mari Aaker, left with 6 or their 7 children 180 years ago.  This trip was a wonderful way to bring closure to a longtime desire to see the places they came from and imagine the enormous courage it took for them to make their emigration journey.  I was satisfied and thankful.

 

I’m Wondering

 

I spend a lot of time wondering these days.  I am prompted to wonder when questions come to mind about both the troubles and the mysteries of life.  These are musings that often do not have easy answers, but given some time for reflection, understanding may become clearer.  Taking a quiet walk, for example, often clears the mind.  In Spanish there is not a direct equivalent for “to wonder”, but instead the phrase me pregunto (I ask myself) is an excellent way to describe the beginning of an internal dialogue with oneself. 

In fact, some questions will never be answered in this life.   Recently I was wondering about whatever happened to Dan Gerber.  Dan was a young Mennonite volunteer working in a hospital in the highlands of Vietnam many years ago.  That was before our time in Vietnam, so I didn’t know him, but the story of his disappearance was haunting.  He was abducted by Vietcong insurgents and was never heard of again.  I think of the suffering and wondering his family went through for years – not knowing what happened to him. 

In the present time I am troubled by political rhetoric and violence and wonder how this is going to end; I have questions like the one Parker Palmer posed in one of his books: “Why do some citizens say they love democracy, but constantly put it at risk with name-calling, fear-mongering and ruthless scapegoating?”[i]

Parker Palmer said that he became a writer because he was born baffled.  He wrote, “Like writing, faith has a way of dealing with things that baffle us until we look at them through new eyes.  By faith we understand that the visible has its origin in the invisible”. (Heb. 11:3).   

Bafflement is sometimes my state of mind these days and this causes me to wonder:  Are there any leaders out there who can inspire us out of our predicament? I am somewhat addicted to reading New York Times commentators who give opinions about baffling questions – and I suppose I mostly read the writers who tend to reinforce my perspective.  But in truth, I don’t look just to so-called liberal writers, I find consul in some conservatives too.  Millions apparently get their information from the internet where truth can be hard to discern – do people wonder if what they read and hear is really true? Not enough apparently.

Wondering is akin to pondering.  One of my favorite images from the Gospels is that of Mary “pondering these things in her heart”.   One translation reads, Mary was deeply disturbed (by the words of the angel) and wondered what they might mean. Luke 1:29

One definition of the word wonder is a feeling of amazement and admiration, caused by something beautiful, remarkable or unfamiliar.   Richard Rohr describes wondering as “standing in disbelief, standing in the question; standing in awe”.[ii]   He says that letting these three “standings” remain open inside is a good way to grow spiritually. 

Isn’t it great that we are created with minds that allow us to ponder and appreciate the wonders of life we encounter every day?  Wondering can lead to hope rather than despair, peace rather than turmoil.  In the face of the baffling questions, I recommend taking a few minutes each day to sit in quiet contemplation, breathe deeply, welcome the Indwelling Spirit and embrace the moment just as it is.   It can be wonderful.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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[i] On the Brink of Everything: Grace, Gravity and Getting Old, Parker J Palmer, 2018

[ii] The Naked Now, Richard Rohr, 2022

On Reading a Trilogy

 

 

  I had never read a trilogy until now and that speaks to the fact that I was not an avid reader earlier in life but now find much pleasure in reading, later in life. The Sister Bells trilogy by Lars Mytting, a best-selling Norwegian author, kept me captivated throughout its more than 1300 pages.  In reading the three books I was immersed in a saga from another time, place, and culture; accompanying people with whom I felt a deep affinity – hoping the best for them, cringing with empathy for their suffering, and celebrating when they overcame great challenges.  I suppose part of my identification with this story and its people is that my own heritage is Norwegian.  My ancestors came from rural Norway and settled in rural Minnesota; great-great grandparents Knut and Mari Aaker emigrated to America in the 1840s.

Reading the trilogy was somewhat like taking a long trip and coming home feeling impacted by encounters with people, places and cultures other than my own and being satisfied with the experience; in fact, inspired by it.  As with some of the many long international trips I took during my working years, I often came home to experience a bit of reverse culture shock.  I almost always traveled alone and had experiences which I could not easily explain or share with others when I returned. When friends and colleagues would ask, “How was the trip?” I knew they didn’t expect me to go into a monologue about the impact the experience had on me personally; so, I would say, “It was good”, and leave it at that.   Oh, I could write a report, but that was not very interesting and nobody read it, so I tried to develop a way to write stories about the places and people I had encountered.

When reading an engaging and well written book we often come to the end and feel like talking about it with someone. But usually there is no one at hand to discuss it.  For many years I tried to capture my experiences and their meanings in my journals – personal and private reflections. Now it is in writing on this blog.

A trilogy obviously consists of three books which are presented as distinct stories on their own, setting up the place, characters and events and creating suspense and “I want to know more” in the first book; building on a larger saga and aiming for closure and an ending that ties it all together by the end of the third book. There should be an “arc” of the story and in this case as with other epic sagas the arc carries the story through several or many generations.   

That pretty well sums up my reading of these books, The Bell in the Lake, The Reindeer Hunters, and The Night of the Scrouge. The arc of this story reaches back to the 1600s in the rural Norwegian village of Butangen telling the myth of twin sisters of the Hekne family who were conjoined at the hip but became skilled weavers of wonderful tapestries. Two church bells are fabricated by their father to commemorate the twins after their deaths. This legend is foundational to the story of the Hekne family and the community starting in 1880 and going through WWII.  The character arc is carried by Kai Schweigard, the local pastor, who in 1880 was a sort of representative of civilization in a largely illiterate agrarian population.  Through many changes and turmoil of society, modernization, two world wars and the loneliness of his position, he carries on as pastor, leader and consoler to the saints and sinners in this village.  He is a crucial figure from the first of the story to the last.  In an interview with the author, it was interesting to hear him say he was “proud of Kai Schweigard” as if he was a real person.  Lars Mytting is also a master of character development with the three generations of the Hekne family, especially the strong women who labor in and challenge the male dominated culture of the times.  At the end of book three there is a list of all the characters, a few of whom were actual historical figures, and brief descriptions of each – and there were many.

Some of the themes of the story are births attended by a midwife in primitive conditions, death and burials in the cold of winter, folk myths about the bells, poverty and extremely hard work just to survive.  This slowly changes with the coming of electricity, machines, vehicles, roads and education.  This is somewhat the experience of my own family on the farm in Minnesota.  My parents worked hard through the depression of the thirties and lived without electricity and modern appliance and farmed with horse drawn machinery for the first decade of their marriage.  I was born in 1938 and was about 8 years old by the time we got electricity, plumbing and running water in our house.  Imagine living in darkness and cold of winter in Norway in the 1800s, or Minnesota in the 1930s – or a village in the Andean mountains of Peru today!

Norway is now a modern, prosperous and, according to surveys, happy country.  But in the great sweep of history, this is a relatively recent phenomenon.  Resilience is the word to describe the generations of this story.  It also describes people in many rural villages I was privileged to visit and work with in the third world over almost four decades.  People are still struggling for dignity and a better life for their children in the face of great odds. It is the epic story of humans over the centuries.

For more about Lars Mytting and his philosophy of life and approach to writing, check out this link. And click on “more about Lars”. Well worth reading. say that you can spend 18com/ bout it About Lars Mytting — LARS MYTTING

 

Brothers in a Boat

 

Sometime in mid-summer after the first crop of alfalfa was in the barn and before the grain harvest, the brothers would go fishing – though there really never was a time on the farm when it was easy to get away, especially in the summer. 

After morning chores, they got their fishing tackle organized, dug some angle worms and with a lunch packed by mom and a thermos of coffee, they took off.  It was about 20 miles to any of the lakes over by Faribault and they had to get back in time for milking in the evening, so they wasted no time.   Those brothers were my dad, Arnold, and my uncle Leonard, also a farmer who lived on the original Aaker farm down along the Zumbro river. 

They stopped at a bait shop to buy minnows before arriving at French Lake, or maybe Roberts, or Dudly Lake.  All those lakes were good for crappies or sunfish and an occasional bass. If they wanted bullheads, which they usually didn’t, they went to Cannon Lake. They didn’t have their own boat or outboard motor, so they rented them for the day, and headed out to the spot where they had caught “a mess of fish” the last time they were there.  They threw down the anchor and settled down to try their luck.  It was the easiest kind of fishing – put a worm or minnow on the hook, test the depth, put on a bobber and cast the line out. 

Then, finely, it was quiet – and they relaxed for the first time that day.  Silence, except for the sound of a gentle breeze splashing water against the side of the boat; a duck vigorously flapping its wings as it took off or voices heard from shore – maybe children leaping in the water.  It’s amazing how sound carries over water.  They usually didn’t have to wait long for the first bite, but there was always time for conversation in the quietude – not about anything in particular.  They had theories about the best or worst condition for fishing; when and where – the wind coming from the north or was it the south, whether cloudy or sunny conditions were best; calm water or some waves? the right time of day.   They shared a bit of gossip about a neighbor and chuckled, or talked about how the crops were doing.  Quiet conversation.  Men talk best in a boat.

I never owned a boat either but did have opportunities to go fishing with my brother Vern in his boat on Lake Eunice, where he and Donna had a cabin.  Vern owned a pontoon and that is an especially comfortable way to be out on the lake.  I was away for long periods during my working years and always felt contentment going back to Minnesota and Lake Eunice when I came “home”.  Vern liked to reminisce about our years growing up on the farm, remembering neighbors, cousins, and classmates – country school and playing football in high school.  We talked quietly out there on the boat; conversations with my brother were always of that kind - being the quiet and gentle man that he is.

I don’t remember that we got into any topics of depth or substance.  Certainly, we didn’t talk about the meaning of life!  But then, there it was! We were experiencing the meaning of life –
the contentment that dad got in just being with his brother in the boat and fishing, without the pressures of the farm for just a few hours.  And how I felt savoring those times and quiet conversations with Vern.  Few words are needed or expected when you are in the boat with your brother.  It’s true - men talk best in a boat.

 

Tips for Growing Very Old.

The writer, Roger Rosenblatt, is eighty-five years old.  In 2000, he published a book called “Rules for Aging,” a sort of how-to guide for navigating the later years of one’s life. He was sixty at the time and thought he knew a thing or two about being old. Twenty-five years later, he has a sequel, which reflects advice for growing very, very old. In a recent New York Times opinion piece, he gave ten tips of advice for people as old as he is, like me at 86.  But the advice is really good for any age. 

These tips are humorous and laced with wisdom.  They apply to my life – with my own take on them.   

1. Nobody’s thinking about you.

It was true 25 years ago, and it’s true today. Nobody is thinking about you. Nobody ever will. Not your teacher, not your minister, not your colleagues, not your shrink, not a soul. It can be a bummer of a thought. But it’s also liberating. That time you fell on your butt in public? That dumb comment you made at dinner last week? That brilliant book you wrote? No one is thinking about it. Others are thinking about themselves. Just like you.

My take:  Do you ever notice how often you tell someone about something that has happened to you, and they immediately talk about themselves and what happened to them?  It happens to me all the time. Their story is so much more interesting than mine!  I count it as a blessing that I have a handful of friends that actually do think about me and listen.  And that includes my wife!    

2. Make young friends.

For older folks, there is nothing more energizing than the company of the young. They’re bright, enthusiastic, informative and brimming with life, and they do not know when you’re telling them lies.

My take:  This is so true.  I am blessed to have grandkids that are really fun to be around and to talk with.  They are studying and thinking about things that didn’t even exist when I was young.  And sometimes they are even interested in my opinion – a real plus. 

3. Try to see fewer than five doctors.

I wish I could follow this rule myself, but once I grew old, my relationship with the practice of medicine changed significantly. I now have more doctors than I ever thought possible — each one specializing in an area of my body that I had been unaware existed. They compete with one another for attention. This week’s contest is between my kidneys and my spleen. I know all these doctor visits are prudent and inevitable. But when one’s social life consists of Marie, who takes my blood, and an M.R.I. technician named Lou, it’s hardly a good sign.

My take:  I don’t even have one doctor!  They are called PCPs these days – primary care providers.  It’s not that I don’t want a PCP, it’s that after one visit they leave.  New Mexico has a major problem that way.  Good doctors leave the state because of liability insurance and law suits.   (The trial lawyers lobby against any laws to change this).  But I have been blessed to have good doctors when I needed them – especially six years ago when I had several emergency surgeries.  At present I don’t need any specialists so when I do see a PCP, she says that everything is going well – just keep doing what you’re doing! 

I am proud of grandson Henry who is in his third year in medical school and aiming to be a surgeon.  He talks about things he is learning and I am fascinated, though often don’t fully know what he’s talking about.  And that’s all right!

4. Get a dog.

Just do it. Dogs are rarely trouble. They take more naps than you do, and they listen to you intently. That’s because they think you might have food, to satisfy their bottomless appetites. Care not about their motives. No creature on Earth will ever find you more fascinating than your dog does. I’m excluding yourself, of course.

My take: Fully agree!  Our little mutt, Tupence, is our constant companion.  She is always trying to figure out what we are talking about and gets extremely enthusiastic about the little things in life – example “let’s take a walk!”.  Only downside is that we outlive them, at least so far, and it is a sad thing to let go of such a good friend.

5. Don’t hear the cheers.

This applies at any age, really, but perhaps a little more to people in later life, who are given lifetime achievement awards and other statements of how wonderful they are. Pay no attention to those accolades. Just proceed to live the life you’re living, giving it whatever it requires.

One makes a great mistake believing the grand things said about him or her, even if those things are true. Especially if they’re true. The important thing, at any age, is to do the work. The work is far more satisfying than a truckload of compliments. It also takes the place of self-love, always a good thing. (But don’t worry. You’re still fabulous.)

My take:  I do a fair amount of reminiscence about my life, and sometimes read through my journals of the past, or write on the blog like I’m doing here.  Letting go of the need for recognition and control is the most freeing thing I can do to get the most out of life right now – thankful for a life that has been very ordinary – yet fulfilling.    

 

 

6. Everyone’s in pain.

If you didn’t know that before, you know it now. People you meet casually, those you’ve known all your life, the ones you’ll never see — everyone’s in pain. If you need an excuse for being kind, start with that.

My take:  Everybody likes to talk about their aches and pains, especially but not only old people.  It just takes one question to prompt a telling of their history with knees, hips, shoulders and lower back pain.  I find that all the time on the pickle ball court, and those “seniors” are among the healthier ones!     

7. Listen for Bob Marley.

You have more free time to observe and appreciate the world these days, so do it.

 

My take:  Every day, indeed!  I like the Bobs – both Dylan and Marley, and listen to them occasionally. Our preference is classical.  Many sources available – radio, streaming, CD and even long play records collected long ago.  I also sing in the choir at church, and at home by myself with the guitar – old songs. In my next life I want to be a musician!  Maybe the best is listening to the song birds in the early morning. 

8. Join a gang.

This advice is meant for men more than women, because women are always part of one group or another. The value of socializing comes to women naturally, which is why the world would be better if women ran it. They know how to get along in groups. Men, on the other hand, are solitary, static things. Generals without wars, astride iron horses. They don’t band together naturally, but they ought to, especially when too much solitude leads to self-conscious gloom. Join a gang — that’s what I say. I do not mean a motorcycle gang, simply a group of guys who share an interest. Joining a gang also serves society at large. It keeps us off the streets.

 

My take:  I have several gangs.  One is a group of about fifteen pickle ball players who gather every weekday morning to play.  All of them in their sixties and seventies, except for Mike and me in our mid-eighties.  Pickle ball is the best invention ever for keeping seniors active, and it is a very sociable activity.  The other place that gives opportunity for meaningful interaction and relationships is our church community.

9. On regrets.

They’re part of life. Learn to live with them.

My take:  Yes, I have a few.

 

10. Start and end every day by listening to Louis Armstrong.

“West End Blues” or anything, really. I won’t tell you why. But you’ll thank me.

 

My take:  A morning ritual is good.  Mine usually starts by listening to a meditative song on a prayer app.  Our end-of-day ritual is often to do the NYT mini crossword puzzle together. Just keep the brain going, you know.

 

The Story of a Stave Church

 

 

“The Bell in the Lake” is a compelling and well written novel by best-selling Norwegian author, Lars Mytting.  The story is set in Gudbrandsdal, a beautiful valley of lakes and rivers where farm families are eking out a subsistence living on small farms on steep mountain sides; their large families living in poverty most of the year.

It is 1880, which is etched in my mind as the year my grandparents, Olaf Aaker and Ellen Solberg, were born – not in Norway but as children of immigrants who had left rural Norway in the 1840s and 50s to come to settle in Minnesota.  My great- great-grandparents Knut and Mari Aaker left a similar rural setting (Telemark) as that described in this book.  From what I have read about the conditions in rural Norway that prompted my ancestors to emigrate, Mytting gives a realistic depiction of rural Norway at that time; very small farms, poverty, high infant mortality, seasonal hunger, but also strong community bonds and the central role of the local Lutheran church, especially the pastor. 

There are three principal characters; Astrid Hekne, whose forefathers had forged beautiful twin bells for the village’s Stave church in the sixteenth century. The bells were a memorial to and named for twin sisters, literally joined at the hip, but still able to weave beautiful tapestries that developed a semi-occult legend which persisted through the centuries.  The bells, which are said to ring on their own in times of danger, play a central role in the story.   Astrid has dreams of a life beyond the drudgery of daily life on the farm where marriage and a large family would be expected to be her destiny in life.

Kai Schweigaard has recently arrived in the village of Butangen to serve as the new pastor in the centuries old stave church*.  The young pastor has bold plans to replace the drafty old church with a new one, and prominent Germans in Dresden offer an opportunity.   They want to disassemble the church and send it to Germany to be reassembled as a kind of museum.  This will provide funds to build the new church, which will be a large and functional – though not artistic – building.  The Germans send artist and architect Gerhard Schonauer to make detailed drawings and a plan for carefully taking down the church and shipping it to Dresden.  The author develops intriguing relationships between these three characters related to their personal needs and distinct feelings about the stave church.

The story melds old Norse myths and legends with Norwegian church and political history, as rural culture and customs confront a modernizing world.  The plot develops with dramatic tension and effect based on historical reality, great character development and overall good writing.  I came upon numerous lines that caused me to pause and ponder – imagining life, faith, culture, birth and death in that time and place.   As always in a good story, decisions and choices are made that lead to irreversible and sometimes tragic results.

I wonder about the hard life and challenges my ancestors faced in Norway in the mid-1800s as the family discussed leaving everything behind and emigrating to America.  I know a lot about the place they came to, but I never went to see the place from which they came.

This is the first book of a trilogy. I look forward to reading the second,” The Reindeer Hunters”, which picks up where this one ends.

*Stave churches were constructed between 1150 and 1350 and were framed around wood pilers (staver in Norwegian) and had Christian as well as Viking symbols and styles. Below is a picture of one of the most famous of the existing churches, the Borgund Stave church.  There are only 28 surviving stave churches in Norway.  Several replicas have been constructed in the United States, including one which we have visited in Moorhead, Minnesota.

https://www.lifeinnorway.net/wp-content/uploads/2018/05/exterior-borgund-church-768x594.jpg

JR and Kyle

 

The homeless are ever-present on the streets I traverse every day here in Albuquerque, especially in the part of the city where we live.  I usually drive right by them.  But I can’t deny feelings that arise inside as I wonder about their lives and situations, and also a twinge of guilt while trying to avoid judgement of them for their situations.  (Well, he looks like an able-bodied young man!  Why isn’t he working?”) Occasionally we roll down the window and hand out a dollar or two – though I realize that a dollar today is worth even less than ten cents was in the days when the phrase “buddy, can you spare a dime” was coined, perhaps during the depression. 

Through our church we donate to several organizations that work with the homeless, which I rationalize as a better alternative than giving to “panhandlers” holding signs that say, “anything helps – God bless you”.  We have volunteered several times at two of the organizations, where we learned about both the scope of the problem and their proposed solutions.  I do believe these programs do much good. 

What is the answer to this burgeoning social and human problem?  The New Mexico legislature struggled with that question in their recent session.  Many bills introduced and a few passed regarding housing, health care and costs of groceries.  I am glad that good people are working on the problem, and we advocated for one of the low-cost-housing bills this session. 

Recently I befriended two homeless men who are regulars on the nearby street just across Walmart’s parking lot.  Kyle and R.J. sit on the curb near Wendys, and I have had a few visits with them, offering to buy them meals at Wendys where we could sit and chat.   They have told me about their daily routine – sleeping in a secluded spot “behind a wall” along a trail, getting up early before someone (i.e. police) sees them.  Kyle emphasized that they pick up their trash and dispose of it, and then they go to the local dog park where their recently acquired dog gets exercise.   They stay away from Central Avenue, the street heavily populated with homeless; “lots of them approach us asking if we have beans or clear” slang for meth and fentanyl – and I believe them when they say they are uneasy about addicts and that they don’t use.  They are also apprehensive of crime, a pervasive problem in Albuquerque – “there was a homicide over by the bridge on I-40 two nights ago, and we had slept near there the night before”, said RJ.

Kyle has an obvious limp and uses a wheelchair, though he can walk the short distance to the bathroom in Walmart, using the wheelchair as a walker.  He had seizures awhile back when they were in Oregon, resulting in nerve damage in his leg – the right one quivers as he stands and talks with me.  He also lost several teeth when the seizures threw him to the ground.

RJ is the stronger of the two and now a type of caregiver to Kyle.  Neither of them has been with family members for years, though there are phone contacts.  They seem to be committed to each other, so they are not totally alone.   RJ also has health issues, a hernia that needs attention and bad teeth.  I encouraged them to contact Health for the Homeless, but the prospect of dealing with the health system seems a bit daunting – just thinking about how to mobilize themselves for an appointment.  Having a dog adds to the challenges of moving about.

They have been “traveling together” for a decade, and I asked what they see for their future.  RJ seems a bit depressed, but both talk of their hope of get a piece of land.  Kyle said they saw a note on a bulletin board when they were in Taos – “you can get an acre of land for $500” he exclaimed.  I pictured in my mind an arid and isolated piece of desert – how would they subsist there?  Their hopes are up, though.  R.J. has been waiting for a check, his inheritance from his mother who recently died.  The last time I talked to him he said that after many calls, the insurance company had told them the check is in the mail.  How would anybody get along these days without a cell phone?

And then they were gone.  I don’t see them anymore when I drive down Eubank Avenue, but I think about them.  I picture them in my mind as children of God and worthy of dignity.  For me, Kyle and JR put human faces on the statistics of an estimated 2,740 homeless in Albuquerque.

The last thing Kyle said to me was, “thanks for the meal, and thanks for talking to us”.

 

Preparing for Lent

 

I have been thinking about what spiritual practices to commit myself to during the 40-days of Lent, which begins this year on March 5^th, Ash Wednesday.  Lent often comes upon me earlier then I expect, and I find that I have not given enough thought to how to observe this important season of the church year as we walk with Jesus toward Good Friday and Easter.  An important part of Lent is to nurture and grow spiritually.  So, what does that mean?

A good description of spiritual is given in the book “Praying with Body and Soul” by Jane Vennard.  Vennard’s definition of spiritual, is “all that has to do with one’s relationship with God”.  Therefore, the spiritual life is a life lived in relationship to God.  A spiritual practice is that which we do to deepen and strengthen our relationship with God. 

The traditional practices which are meant to deepen our relationship to God during Lent are prayer, fasting and almsgiving.   In some traditions these disciplines are seen as obligations, but these are really practices that can free us up to be mindful of how the Spirit is working in our lives.  

Prayer and almsgiving (giving materially and of ourselves in service to the needy), are pretty much a part of my ongoing life, individually and corporately.  I don’t know anyone who thinks they do these things well enough or perfectly; I certainly don’t.  But fasting?  That’s something altogether different. Certainly not much a part of my Lutheran upbringing.

Fasting is the practice (and discipline) of giving up food, or something else, for a defined period of time to make space in our lives to be more intentional about our relationship to God.  Vennard writes that when we fast “we create emptiness in our bodies and space in our lives.”  I have found the notion of emptiness to be true in my experience with fasting.  Going without food for several meals certainly gets my attention.  It heightens my awareness of Jesus’s emptying himself for me, and the rather minimal hunger I experience is minuscule in comparison to the hunger of so many people in the world.  That, to me, is what a spiritual practice should be – an activity done with intentionality and in response to God’s love for me.

I am thankful that St Luke Lutheran, where we worship, observes Lent with a Wednesday evening soup and bread supper followed by a contemplative service featuring Taizé music and some silence.  In the choir we are learning, Faure’s Requiem in preparation for the Good Friday service.  Singing and listening to music are eloquent forms of prayer to sustain one’s spiritual life.   

I haven’t quite decided what my fast will be this year but there’s still some time to ponder – though Lent is almost upon us!   Think about it.

 

 

 

 

“The Spirit Helps Us in Our Weakness”

 

 On October 31, 2001, I wrote a paper for my mentor at that time on the theme of Prayer and Meditation. The horror of 9/11 was fresh in our experience.  There have been so many other tragedies in the world since that time –but this reflection so many years ago still resonates for me. 

Here is what I wrote:

There were three weeks between the time of the great trauma of September 11 and our spiritual direction session.  Yet, the effects had not worn off, nor I suspect, they will never be far from our consciousness.  As I thought about our upcoming meeting, I wondered what would be different this time.  I thought back over the preceding weeks and was aware that during the immediate post-attack period I was constantly in prayer.  Or at least I thought of it as prayer, and it felt so. 

Even when I was not consciously in verbal or mental prayer utterances, I could not escape the gnawing feelings inside.  Tears came, stories touched me and contrasting feelings surged through my innards – often just a sense of wondering – almost a blank – asking what the meaning of this could possibly be.  No answers to the questions of why.  I was aware at times that this was prayer as I tried to continue my daily routine.  Usually, verbal interactions were inadequate.  “It’s really unbelievable, isn’t it?”  “It’s terrible, just awful!”

What kept coming to me was something I read recently about prayer being our deepest desire and longing coming up against the deepest needs of the world.  In that sense there is no escaping prayer.  There were, in fact, more calls for prayer from public figures during this time than I can ever remember hearing before.  I wondered “what are people doing now when they pray?”

Perhaps the hardest this to get into my mind is the idea that prayer is initiated by the Spirit.  All my life I have heard and followed the opposite approach that says I have to - “go to prayer”, “Pray for so and so”, “Let us pray”, or “Don’t forget to say your prayers”. 

Marjorie Thompson wrote, “Like the spiritual life itself, prayer is initiated by God.  No matter what we think about the origin of our prayers, they are all a response to the hidden workings of the Spirit within” (Soul Feast, p. 31) So I think that what has been happening for me is simply an attuning of self to the internal communication and ponderings already going on, that is, the working of the Indwelling Spirit. 

Most of the members of the group are pastors.  They are used to prayer, frequently called upon to lead in prayer, and, I think, they are practitioners of daily prayer in their own lives.  They are accustomed to voicing prayers of petition, praise, adoration, thanksgiving and confession.  But the usual list does not include the prayer of lamentation.  The many prayers voiced during these days publicly, were about petition and intercession – supplications for the suffering of survivors and the nation. 

This is a time of deep pain, mourning and questioning – also of anger and calls for revenge.  Yet is it not also a time to listen, to be still, to be “attentive to the presence of God”?  as Douglas Steere calls it.

Before we began our usual time of silence, I asked who wanted to go first today.  Even as I asked that I knew I wanted Jane to be the first to share and I asked her if she would.  She is always very honest about her personal spiritual life, and I suspected she would set a good tone.  So, after ten minutes of silence, she began, and it was so – a good tone.

There are five in this group besides me as the facilitator.  I have been with three of them for a year already, but the other two are recent members.  They are just finding their way as to how this method works, so I wanted them to have the chance prayerful listening before they talked.

Jane shared her feelings of horror and sadness in reaction to the attacks.  In addition, being single and living alone, she has felt isolated and lonely throughout these days and weeks.  Being the only woman in the group and the only single person, her sharing often reflects this reality.  I am not sure if the rest of us can fully empathize or understand her, though she often expresses how meaningful the spiritual direction group is for her.

One of her comments stands out.  She said that even though she led others in prayer during those days, as expected by virtue of her role as pastor and chaplain, she found she did not easily pray herself.  She expressed some of the same numbness I have felt; a sense of being transfixed while watching and hearing about this tragedy day after day.  I got the feeling, though it was not explicitly stated, that the others identified strongly with what Jane said.

The time of response and feedback was quite tender and respectful, reflecting what we have heard so much about since the attacks – that life is precious and fragile, and that we are now more mindful of how special and sacred our relationships are.

William Barry says that if we understand prayer as a personal relationship and follow through on the consequences of that definition, then we will find that strong emotions, even strongly negative or painful emotions, are not foreign to prayer.  Indeed, they are the stuff of prayer.  (Paying attention to God, p. 28) In fact, I have found myself shouting out, verbally or internally, at something or someone in times of anguish – letting go of anger, frustration and sadness.  Was it God I was complaining to?

As each of the others took their turn at sharing and the topics varied – they were not all focused on the tragedy and its aftermath.  One talked about a delicate situation in his marriage, another about the sacredness and beauty of creation as seen through the window now and each day this autumn, and yet another about his continuing struggle with his pastor position and life transition.  It was as if the sharing from Jane and our silence and verbal reactions after that had been a catharsis and expressed for all of us something that struck a chord of truth.  The time together was special while still being about the ordinariness of our lives.

Reflection:

I have spent much time in solitude this month (we were living on our farm in Minnesota and some days went by without seeing any other people while Judy was at work).  I threw myself into hard physical work, but sometimes just sat gazing at the view – looking out on the Aaker farm in the valley below where my ancestors came and settled 150 years ago.  And while uttering short words of supplication, I have been in silent wordless prayer too – at times feeling the presence of God and at other times not so much.  I like the notion of simultaneity; that we can be active and focused on outer tasks while at the same time our inner self is experiencing the Indwelling Spirit.  Sometimes I feel as if I try to grasp and understand too much.  During the last several years I have read many books on prayer and meditation, gone on retreats, met with a spiritual director, and listened to many talks – worshipped regularly.  Yet, I like of the simple answer expressed well by John Main, who wrote: “Meditation is not learning to do, it is learning to be.  It is learning to be yourself, to enter into the gift of your own being”.

Last year at a retreat where centering prayer was being introduced for the first time to some of the participants, one man, who was about the most extraverted person I have met, asked what the goal or benefit of this silent prayer was supposed to be.  Of course, the answer he got was not very satisfactory to him, that there is no explicit goal – we are to be in the “presence”, and that is all it is.

Reading the spiritual leaders and saints of the centuries, I have come to believe that the experience of a “felt union with God” is rare and illusive, even for lifelong practitioners, but when it happens you really know it as the Divine presence.  When I recently heard someone explain that for her the purpose of this kind of prayer and devotion is, ultimately, service to others, that helped put things in perspective for me.  My life has taught me that there is much satisfaction in service to other, and I will continue to strive to follow Jesus in that way as long as I am able – even though inadequate and insufficient to meet the great needs of the world.  The more I study and practice meditation, the more I realize the importance of simplicity.  Indeed, that is really what I seek – simplicity.

Again, to quote from John Main, the English Benedictine priest, “As a goal simplicity is something very unfamiliar to us.  Most of us are carefully trained to see that only complexity is really worthy of respect.  To understand simplicity, we have to enter into it ourselves.  We have to enter the simplicity of God and be simplified ourselves in the process”.  (Moment of Christ: The Path of Meditation, p 26)