TThis summer my husband and I took a cruise through the stunningly beautiful fjords of Norway and Denmark, stopping in towns and villages along the way. At the heart of every little hamlet stands a beautiful wooden church (or stone church if the original wooden church burned down). And without exception, our guides told us, with varying degrees of satisfaction, that “nobody goes to church in Norway or Denmark anymore.” The devout Lutheranism of my ancestors, which so shaped and influenced my grandparents and parents, is dead and buried.
According to the leaders, the question now is what to do with all the church buildings. The parishes are no longer able to take care of them, so the upkeep has to be paid for by the city and state. In most cases, the churches, if they are open at all, have become “cultural centers” for concerts and plays and are well maintained.
Yet in the middle of downtown Bergen, Norway, at the end of a spacious square, stands St. John’s Church, currently covered in an unsightly white fabric, with its steeple sticking out oddly from the top. Our guide told us that this had been the case for some time because there was disagreement about what to do with the building. It was unclear whether the church was actually being renovated or whether it was just roofed over to protect passersby from falling rocks.
In June this year, a huge Palestinian flag was painted on the fabric. The flag has since been removed, but the incident highlights a sad truth: Islam is the only religion that grows in mountains.
Christianity may be dead in Scandinavia, but religious fervor is definitely not. Everywhere we went, we were treated to passionate lectures about climate change and sustainability. Electric cars are mandatory and garbage disposal is nothing short of a miracle. Bergen has an expensive, elaborate pipe system that, according to our guidebook, transports and transforms garbage immediately. Anyone who dumps it here is immediately redeemed, consecrated and recreated there. Norwegians may no longer care much about redeeming their own garbage, but they are deeply pious when it comes to redeeming their garbage.
On our last stop in Norway, our ship docked in Kristiansand early Sunday morning and we headed into the heart of the beautiful port city where Kristiansand Cathedral, one of Norway’s largest churches, dominates the square. Although the website advertises services at 11:00 am, we could find no outside signs, the doors were locked and there were no people about. We returned later with a guide who knew nothing about the services but told us about the daily organ concerts for tourists.
Although the exterior is made of neo-Gothic stone (three previous churches on this site burned down), the interior is a mix of painted and unpainted wood, typically Norwegian and beautiful. I imagined my ancestors gathering here to sing and was sad to see how empty it was on this Sunday.
As we continued on to Denmark, I thought about Seaside Hotela popular and charming Danish TV series that I watched in preparation for our trip. Set in interwar Denmark, it follows the ups and downs of hotel staff and wealthy summer guests. A feast for the eyes, well worth watching, if only for the food scenes in the kitchen – the mound of dill on herring or the whipped cream squirted on each Royal Copenhagen dessert plate. The light from the sea playing off the whitewashed floors and William Morris wallpaper bathes the cast in a seductive glow.
I remember both Babette’s Feastthe exquisite 1987 Danish film based on Isak Dinesen’s story and Ingmar Bergman’s 1955 masterpiece Smile of a summer night. In addition, Ibsen is frequently quoted. Two of the show’s characters are actors, and their “real” stories often intertwine with the plays in which they appear; the actress who plays Nora in A dollhouse ultimately leaves her domineering husband in “real life.”
Ibsen, Dinesen, Bergman. But there is a crucial difference between the works of these authors and Seaside Hotela character who is omnipresent in the first but conspicuously absent here: God. There is no prayer, no church-going. Adultery and extramarital sex are incidental. The torment and guilt of their goddamn theatrical predecessors are nowhere to be found. That wouldn’t be surprising in a contemporary show, but for a series set between 1922 and 1945 in a once deeply religious country, it’s almost shocking. The show’s creators clearly calculated that no one would miss him, so God is on the cutting room floor.
Some scenes in the series are set on the northern tip of Denmark, in the nearby port city of Aalborg, the penultimate stop on our cruise. As we explored the medieval town center, we again heard the now-familiar refrain: “Nobody goes to church,” but our guide excitedly led us to Aalborg Monastery, where she proudly recounted the story of the Churchill Club, Denmark’s first organized resistance during the German occupation.
A group of 14- to 17-year-old boys from Aalborg Cathedral School were appalled by the general surrender to the Germans and committed several acts of arson, vandalism and theft in the spring of 1942 before being arrested. The two boys who founded the group were sons of the monastery priest and lived in the rectory. Was it pure coincidence that the courage to resist came from two young men who were involved in the daily life of the church? Could there really be a connection between “going to church” and the willingness to fight evil? I refrained from asking our guide.
On the last day, when our ship docked in Copenhagen, church towers and golden domes glittered in the sunlight, and The Little MermaidEdvard Eriksen’s iconic bronze statue looking out to sea.
There is no better known Danish writer than Hans Christian Andersen, and The Little Mermaid is certainly his best-known fairy tale. As I wrote on these pages many years ago, it is a profoundly Christian story full of redemption, suffering and joy. It bears very little resemblance to the silly, superficial Disney retelling. That is how the two versions begin. There is no need to tell you which is which.
Far out at sea the water is as blue as the petals of the most beautiful cornflower and as clear as the purest glass; but it is deep, deeper than any anchor can reach. Countless church towers would have to be stacked on top of each other to reach from the seabed to the surface. That is where the sea people live.
Ariel was sixteen, the age at which a mermaid should be thinking about marrying a merboy and settling down. But Ariel had other things on her mind.
How does Andersen measure depth? With church towers stacked on top of each other. The Little Mermaid may be a story about sea creatures, but it is set in a world infused with God, and that world no longer exists. Disney won.
There is no place for God in Denmark, and no need for him in Norway. The faith of my fathers is dead. Only the church towers remain – they direct our eyes to heaven and remind us of what we have lost.
Kari Jenson Gold’s latest work for The most important Was “Why the left will not condemn the rapes of October 7.”
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Image of Avda Berlin, provided by Wikipedia, public domain. Image cropped.
