The Viking Christians: The Day Valhalla Died

Six years ago, I published the last novel in the Dancing Priest series, Dancing Prince. A good deal of it is set on a fictitious island named Broughby in the Orkneys, off the northern coast of Scotland. One of the characters, Erica Larsson, becomes the romantic interest of Thomas Kent-Hughes, the reclusive son of King Michael who has gone his own way and avoided the royal limelight. 

Thomas, or Tommy, leads an archaeological team that discovers what looks like a Viking tomb, except that it is carved with a cross, a very Christian cross. And Erica writes a story, of novella length, entitled “Island,” which imagines how such an anomaly could have happened. Vikings destroyed churches and abbeys; they didn’t get buried as Christians. Or did they?

 

I read a lot about the Vikings as research for Dancing Prince. If I’d included everything I learned, it would have made another book. But I did write the story that Erica would tell, and the publisher agreed to include it as an addendum with the novel. And I explained the story and how it came to be in a post entitled “The Story of the Novella ‘Island’”. Dancing Price, like it four predecessors, is classified as “alternative contemporary history.” Island is historical fiction, and it was the first time I attempted anything in the genre.

 

As it turns out, considerable information exists about the Viking Christians, or how the Vikings turned to Christianity. This past weekend, I stumbled across this short video, which describes what happened rather succinctly. It’s a fascinating story.

 

Top illustration: “Ansgar Preaches the Christian Doctrine in Sweden” by Hugo Hamilton (1830).

 

Some Monday Readings

 

Best Way to See the Renaissance? Get the Panoramic View – Joel Miller at Miller’s Book Review.

 

The Quiet Theology of “All Creatures Great and Small” – Beth Ferguson at GC Discipleship.

 

Rare Miscalculation: The Gamble That Backfired on Conservatives (aka, how we got the income tax) – Jason Clark at This Is the Day.

Can someone help me understand?

Today, I've been watching a recording of a talk Thursday by Nina Shea, the Hudson Institute's director of the Center for Religious Freedom, on the State Department's announcement Thursday designating Christians, Yahzidis, and others as victims of genocide by ISIS.

The announcement was a surprise -- the State Department had indicated as recently as the day before that it needed more time to make a determination about Christians, despite the evidence that this has been going on for years and that the sexual enslavement of Christian and Yahzidi women and girls long predated John Kerry as Secretary of State.

It's easy, perhaps too easy, to say that State did what it did because the issue was beginning to bubble up, this is an election year, and that various officials didn't want to repeat what happened with Franklin Roosevelt - who ignored or disregarded the growing evidence that the Nazis were persecuting the Jews before World War II and staining his legacy. 

Perhaps those are the reasons. But it shocks me to my soul that our government would deliberately ignore this horror, for whatever reason, in spite of the evidence in front of its eyes. And it feeds the narrative that this Administration is hostile to Christians in general.

Is this what all this political anger in our country has come to? Can someone help me understand this?

Related links:

The speech and discussion by Nina Shea.

Secretary of State John Kerry’s Statement on Genocide Designation.

U.S. Senator Tom Cotton (R-AR) Response to Kerry’s Statement.

Nina Shea’s response to Kerry’s announcement.

Photograph: Secretary of State John Kerry announcing the State Department's genocide designation, March 17, 2016.

The Politics of Despair, the Despair of Politics

I grew up in Louisiana, spending the first 21 years of my life in what likely was the most politically corrupt state in the union. Deception in politics and elections was an art form.

In the fall of 1971, the television room of my fraternity would be packed on Sundays at 9 a.m. (Sundays at 9 a.m. – after Saturday night football parties!) to watch a half-hour political program by one of the candidates for governor. The man’s name was Puggy Moity (pronounced mo-TEE), running in a crowded Democratic primary. At that time, the Democratic primary was where you had to vote if you wanted to vote.

Puggy Moity

Moity, with his thick southwestern Louisiana Cajun accent, would make the most outrageous statements about the other candidates. Some of the statements out-and-out lies. Others were partially true. A few might have been wholly true. The problem – and the fun – was guessing which were which, and what would this crazy guy come up with next. But deception was the name of the game.

Two decades later, in 1992, I became involved in a congressional race in Missouri. I didn’t have an official position or set of duties; I was the guy whom the candidate’s wife would call to ask if a course of action seemed wise, especially the course of actions being advocated by the intelligent and experienced political advisors from Washington, D.C. The fact she was asking spoke volumes. The campaign manager hated me, which paled in comparison to how the consultants felt.

The candidate was up against a one-term incumbent who had likely been elected in a fluke win. The incumbent was known as something of a pit bull, and not above “going negative,” especially if something sounded like it might work (truth and accuracy were not considerations). My candidate’s consultants wanted to reply in kind. But that’s not who the candidate was. He wanted to win, yes, but he was also a decent human being. His wife essentially had me play the role of hair shirt. I rewrote TV and radio ads. I helped derail negative strategy. I rewrote speeches. Yes, the campaign manager and the consultants hated me.

The 1992 election outcome

The election happened in the context of the first Clinton election, a Republican political scandal in Missouri, and a general rout nationally for Republicans. My candidate was a Republican. He won decisively. No other Republican won a significant office in Missouri that year.

Another two decades have passed. It’s a different world than 1971 and 1992. What I find most different is the intensity of the anger people, including myself, seem to have. The day after the Iowa caucuses, my wife asked me who I would be supporting. I surprised her and myself with the anger I expressed.

I know where my anger comes from. I see deceit on the Democratic side, and I see deceit on the Republican side. One candidate’s strategy seems to be brazen out the serious legal issues that are mounting - blame everyone, or anyone except the one truly responsible. Another candidate is full of jingoistic bombast. Still others try to appeal directly to evangelical Christians. Sixteen years ago, I listened to that appeal from George W. Bush and his chief advisor Karl Rove, and I believed it. I don’t make that mistake any more.

Photograph by Alex Grichenko via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

Last week, Alan Noble of Oklahoma Baptist University posted an article on the Christianity Today blog: “To Hope All Things About the American Voter.” Elections in the United States seem to have become all about winning, that the ends justify the means, even if it means you have to engage in deception. Noble was asking the question – should Christians embrace this or try to rise above it? Should we tolerate a system that tries to deceive voters or model and be something better than that?

The Ted Cruz campaign apparently engaged in some deception in Iowa, utilizing a tactic first developed by MoveOn for President Obama’s reelection campaign in 2012 – essentially trying to embarrass voters and implying they had been graded.

Noble is right. We need to rise above the deception. We need to be thoughtful and prayerful. I think we should stop participating in political polls. And no candidate should take Christians for granted. Politicians need to be taught that our allegiance is not Republican or Democratic of Socialist or Libertarian. Our allegiance is not of this world. We don’t opt out of the system, but we do know where our priority – our first love – is.

Top photograph by Kai Stachowiak via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.