Norway, I Grieve

On a Sunday in July, at 10:30 in the morning, John and I made our way through the silent families that gathered around two, large areas of candles, flowers, and flags near the Oslo Cathedral. We came to stay for 5 minutes of the service - just enough time to sing a hymn. We didn't want to stay for the entire service, not understanding a word of Norwegian except "takk" - "thanks."  

But we stayed for the full hour. Something was happening that I would not want to miss: it was the Church being a place where people in deep sorrow can come to connect with each other, with silence, with music, and with the Ineffable Mystery that speaks love to us and through us. It was the Church being relevant, for such a time as this.

As John and I started mumbling through the unfamiliar words, I realized that our opening hymn was "O, Sacred Head Now Wounded." What could possibly be more appropriate? The One who walks this valley with us, himself hurt by the hurt we do to each other...  

And we stayed for the liturgy: "Lift up your hearts," the priest said in Norwegian. Really?? With this kind of pain? I watched the blonde middle-age woman in front of us wipe a tear. I wondered if she was a mother or aunt.

And the scripture: one passage read by a man with very dark skin and a thick, African accent; another by a man wearing an emergency assistance uniform; the third by the Asian Clergywomen. The Church as relevant, for such a time as this. I watched tourists come in, light prayer candles, and exit. I saw old women who had probably been coming to this cathedral since they were baptized, now wondering about what kind of world we live in, and seeing in church an alternative to hate.  

And finally, we sang, "A, Gud, vary vern i farne ar" - "O, God, Our Help in Ages Past."

Thank God for the Church that reminds us that we do not suffer alone, but that in God's mysterium tremendum fascinans, there is always, always love to carry us and to share. Takk.