The Blood of Vikings

The world we live in has a lot of anger, fear, and anxiety. Watching the latest presidential inauguration in the United States this week, I'm disturbed that the conservative imagination in North America seems to be driven by anger, retaliation, and a return to an imagined utopia that never really existed. That imagination now drives those in power south of our border and potentially those who will soon lead Canada. As a person of faith who grew up in the evangelical tradition, it's crushing to see that faith culture driving the anger that resides in the White House.

There is a lingering foreboding sense that tiny embers of hope and compassion are about to be snuffed out under a heavy boot of power.

Those in power will call this progress.

It’s as if Moses lost the argument, and the people are returning to Egypt.

If this resonates with you, acknowledge that it's all real. The fear, the anxiety, and the emotional exhaustion are not imaginary. I've had all three of these unwelcomed visitors knock on the door of my heart.

One day, I had a thought that helped. It may help you too.

You see, I have the blood of Vikings in me… At least there's a chance, anyway.

My paternal grandmother was Danish. From what I've been told, part of my family comes from the Isle of Funen in Denmark, a land of storytellers and warriors of ancient times. I've learned recently that in 2018, a large Viking Hall was unearthed in that area of the world.

From the Vikings exhibit featured at the Royal Alberta Museum back in 2019

Pretend for a moment that you could travel back over a thousand years and visit that Viking Hall on the Isle of Funen. As you enter the hall, you find it full of Vikings feasting, throwing axes, punching each other out and having a good time. Cool stuff like that.

Maybe you could sit down by a warrior named Hans Kickassson… my ancestor, at least my made-up version. He had just returned from driving ships to new lands, fighting hordes, singing and crying, "Vahalla, I am coming!"

"Ah-ah, ah!

Ah-ah, ah!"

My real-life Scandinavian ancestors were likely a lot less spectacular. Yet, they lived, worked, laughed, cried, created, destroyed, and were afraid. They overcame challenges, and they were crushed by forces that were greater than they were.

And they survived. How long? Long enough.

They survived and passed life along to the next generation and many generations after that. That gift of life survived until it reached the hands that type these words. I'm their legacy.

You, my friend, are the legacy of survivors. The eyes that read these words contain DNA autographed by generations of survivors from all over the Earth. Your bloodline contains strength.

Granted, very few of our ancestors made history or did anything extraordinary, but that doesn't matter.

They lived and often outlived extraordinary times.

So will we.

In a thousand years, the autograph of our lives will reside in the hearts of those ahead of us. They will have struggles of their own but will take comfort in knowing that their ancestors lived through the tumultuous years of the early 21st century.

This week, I've read and re-read a section of scripture that ends with a rousing challenge to not give up hope and to continue the pursuit of all that God wants for us. After reading it a few times, I've started to imagine myself hearing this charge from some kind of Viking Warrior. So feel free to read it aloud in your best Viking voice!

“So take a new grip with your tired hands and stand firm on your shaky legs. Mark out a straight path for your feet. Then those who follow you, though they are weak and lame, will not stumble and fall but will become strong.” - Hebrews 12:12-13

If existential dread decides to knock on the door of your heart this week, may it turn and run when it realizes it’ll have to contend with your inner Viking!

Thank you for reading friend.