Passing the Peace in Iceland

As a seminary graduation gift, my wife checked off a bucket list item and got me/us a trip to Iceland. I’ve long wanted to go, especially since my foray into the Lutheran church. There’s a deep (albeit bloody and violent) Lutheran history there and the national church in Iceland considers themselves Lutheran (*it gets really interesting when you explore the time when the worlds of Christianity and Paganism first started to dance together; but this is for another entry). My dear professor, Dr. Sam Giere, always sprinkled in these amazing stories of his work with the Icelandic locals and the folklore they carry.

The Lutheran church isn’t known for its iconic churches. We don’t have Durham Cathedral or St. Peter’s Basilica. Surely, we do have a lot of lovely churches, but nothing epic. The most iconic church that we have - I’d say - is in Reykjavik, Iceland: Hallgrímskirkja (translated: Hallgrims Church). Visiting Hallgrímskirkja was my number-one priority (before the Blue Lagoon, of course, which we visited later in the week). They hold a midweek Mass every Wednesday, so we intended to set out early that day to catch it. However, due to extreme lingering jet lag, we slept in.

“Ah, that’s okay,” I assured Alex and Rory as we speed-walked through Reykjavik up the rainbow-painted street. “It’s a giant church, no one will even know we’re late if we sneak into a back pew.” I confidently slowed my steps and took in the scenery as we approached the church.

When we walked into the main entry space (aka the ‘narthex’ in Lutheranspeak), we were met by a man at a table in front of a wall of giant closed doors. “Sorry, the church is closed to people attending Mass, but you can visit our gift shop.”

“Oh, no - we’re actually wanting to attend Mass, if possible,” I said.

After a puzzled pause and a delighted smile, he ushered us into the nave. “The Mass is in Icelandic, but if you go to the altar, you’re more than welcome to join in.”

As we walked into the majestic main nave, we saw a small group of about 20 people sitting in chairs around the altar. The priest, in full vestments, uttered words in Icelandic in concert with those gathered.

Terror struck my heart.
We were not anonymous.
At all.

They may as well have blasted a huge spotlight on us when we walked in. But, we worked our way towards the altar, eyes drawn heavenward and jaws on the floor. It was like walking through a dream. For so long, I’d experienced this place through a screen and yet here we were, attending midweek Mass. Snap out of it, Jonas. Don’t trip and fall.

[Here’s video footage of us trying to sneak into a pew before being waved UP FRONT 🫨.]

We were kindly waved forward by the others and took our seats. The priest took a moment to break the third wall and warmly addressed us in (perfect) English while handing us a brochure (in English) and prayer book (in Icelandic).

Then they continued the service and that’s when it hit me…

Even though I don’t understand the language, I am intimately familiar with the cadence of the prayers and the tune of (some of) the hymns. It was a sort of Pentecost moment. Even though we spoke in different tongues, there was a unifying element beneath the words that tied us together.

I tried my best to heighten my senses and just… Be there. Like, really be there. It was one of the most incredible liturgical moments of my life so far.

Another thing stood out to me during the short service…

In the church contexts that I’ve been in so far in the US, ‘passing the peace’ is typically (to be honest) my least favorite part of the service… Here’s how we, in the US, seem to do it. We immediately gravitate to those closest to us and engage in smalltalk while avoiding eye contact with everyone else. It turns into an abbreviated version of coffee hour but more exclusionary. I absolutely abhor it and have put it down on my list as something to address in my own liturgical ministry.

Well, the Icelanders showed me how it’s done…

During the passing of the peace at Hallgrims Church, everyone makes a point to shake hands with everyone else, even (especially) clueless foreigners like us. But it’s not a brief handshake or overly-intrusive hug like we do in the US. When they walk up to you, they approach you softly but intently and look you warmly in the eyes. Then they reach out both hands, palms up, and invite both your hands into an embrace before saying, simply, “Peace of Christ.” Then everyone moves on to the next person. It’s abbreviated, but super deep and intentional. They absolutely nailed what the passing of the peace should be like. What a gift to have experienced it and I can’t wait to bring it forward into whatever context God puts me into.

But back to Iceland. (Because it got even better.)

After the brief Mass and some small talk with the priest, we were invited to join the community for coffee hour in the gathering room (yes, most Icelandic people speak English wonderfully). As we walked there through the church, the huge doors opened and a swarm of tourists armed with smartphones and DSLR cameras flooded into the nave snapping away. Meanwhile, we walked past them into this beautiful room where they prepared coffee (Iceland is a coffee-drinker’s paradise, btw) and crepe-like Icelandic pancakes with all the fixin’s. They loved meeting Rory (Iceland is also a very kid-friendly culture) and took interest in us (without being overbearing). The woman we sat across from had been a member of Hallgrímskirkja for decades and explained to us the history of the church (which I may share with you in another entry because it exemplifies the Icelandic nature of hospitality) and a lot about Icelandic culture in regards to their Scandinavian siblings of Sweden, Denmark, Norway, etc.

Iceland is full of touristy activities. Their economy largely relies on tourism. You can spend a lifetime on things that have been designed to cater to foreign onlookers like me. But Christianity will always be an intimate and local experience that has long been for smaller settings around a table with siblings in Christ. I’m so fortunate to have been led back to the church and I’ve never been prouder to be in a more liturgically mainline denomination where the cadence and rhythm of church carries its resounding tone throughout the globe.