“You can’t have a party without food.” The words sounded like an authoritative declaration when he spoke them. Are they written and preserved in someone’s party etiquette guidelines? Who knows? You could argue against the statement, but why would you? Food appropriate to the occasion does significantly add to a social gathering. I heard the statement made while listening to a tour guide in a small Lutheran Church situated on a hillside at the edge of Kulusuk, Greenland.
The church had already claimed its own unique spot in my mental collection of religious structures. This was the first time I had even seen a polar bear skin displayed on the wall beside the cross of Jesus. The guide’s presentation piqued my interest, especially when he mentioned that there were differences between the Lutheran church on the western side of Greenland and those on the eastern side where we were visiting. You don’t get very far into a theological education without learning about the many disagreements and schisms that have divided the Christian church’s family tree. Was Jesus Divine or human? What books are to be included in the Bible? Do the elements of the eucharist become the actual body and blood of Christ or are they better understood as symbols, or are they in fact unnecessary as Quaker’s contend? I’m no stranger to religious differences, so I asked if he could tell us about what separated the Lutherans in the country. My hopes of some new, juicy slice of church history that had fallen between the cracks of my education were quickly doused.
“Well,” he said, “they confirm new members to the church in May and we wait until July.” I confess that answer left me mildly disappointed. It reminded me of the time I met with a group considered to be more “liberal” within its country’s religious group. When I asked what separated them from the others, their response was equally surprising. They responded that their members were allowed to wear short sleeved shirts and they sang more contemporary songs than the other group. I have known music choice to be divisive among churches. Minutes from an Indiana Quaker business session in the early 20th century warned that installing an organ in the meetinghouse would allow the devil inside. It was eventually installed anyway. I enjoy many of the older hymns, but would be fine with some contemporary music so long as they didn’t insist that I dance. That is more due to having two left feet than any sort of theological objection. But choice of shirt style was a new one for me. If I had to choose churches based on sleeve length, I’d definitely be applying to the short-sleeved group, especially given the climate of that location. Although if tank tops were permitted I might reconsider my membership.
Our Greenland guide continued with the reason for the confirmation division. On the eastern side of the country, they import almost everything by ship. When the ocean off their coast freezes in the winter, ships cannot reach their ports. They literally stock up for the winter. As they await the arrival of Spring, supplies are occasionally exhausted before shipping lanes open. Those potential shortages apply to food as well. The waters may not thaw until June. No one wants a party without food, so the Church moved confirmation to July to ensure that ships will have been able to replenish supplies, and sufficient food is available for a party. For that reason, their confirmation date was moved to later in the year.
Part of me wonders why the entire Greenland church couldn’t have moved their date to match is beyond me. There may well be a good reason, but I have seen choice of carpet color split a congregation. More to the point, personally I am not sure I would remain in a location where it was possible, even probable, that my community could regularly exhaust its supplies and run out of food. Honestly, I suppose that can happen anywhere under the right conditions. Much of the world lives some version of the challenge on a regular basis. Some experience hunger due to lack of food or funds. Others live in so-called food deserts where access to food is inconvenient and reliable transportation is not readily available. Even here in plentiful Indiana, we sampled a taste of that condition during the pandemic when empty shelves often greeted us in our supermarkets. Fortunately, those were short-lived experiences.
In the midst of the Greenland experience, the guide’s comments added to a forming perception of life in this icy land that some call home. However rugged and hearty I thought a person needed to be to live in Iceland, life there seemed like a piece of cake compared to this neighboring island. Greenland is no place for wimps or weaklings. Here, life is not easy. Food can be (but isn’t always) scarce. Employment opportunities are limited. The rugged terrain symbolizes the nature of life here. It takes concerted effort to survive.
Survivorship is often associated with disasters. People survive car crashes or fires or earthquakes. It is a term linked to those described as victims as they cope with whatever trauma they have experienced. And then there is the description of those who die, who are survived by . . . . From those practices we may equate survivorship only with the most trying and desperate of times. But, in fact, it is part and parcel of life in general. We use the term loosely in statements like, “I survived the day.” or “I survived that meeting.” However true those expressions may be, we also piece together a network and lifestyle of support and provision that allows us to be nourished, to cope, and to maintain our life’s ambition. When it is challenged or threatened, or when life becomes chaotic, we double down on our efforts to do the things we need to do to maintain and perhaps improve – to survive the moment so that we can continue onward. In some sense, survival is the name of the game.
Reliving that sequence in my own mind, it becomes obvious that survivorship is undergirded and hastened by a partner known as resilience. Some years ago, I had the opportunity to stand on the beaches of Normandy. A guide recounted the events that occurred there. He pointed to craters formed by dropped bombs, once barren but now covered with green grass. Beyond the area stood a town once devastated but now rebuilt and reborn. This was a place that had survived. Even better, thanks to its resilience, it had recovered.
Similarly, standing in Viet Nam we marveled at the lush green foliage of the jungle as a local recounted the horrors of war. We listened to how agent orange defoliated the area, leaving it barren to hinder the enemy’s ability to hide. Some 40+ years later, the land seemed to have recovered, and the area was brimming with life, in large part thanks to a resilient population that had survived.
Greenland is similar but different. The people aren’t surviving ravages inflicted upon them by other segments of humanity. They are facing nature and the natural cycle of things. That may well mean the challenge is more permanent and relentless. In a terrain that could be described as a frozen desert, complete with a beauty that inspires awe and wonder, I suspect one benefits from a survivor mentality. Not as a victim or one who is traumatized; but as a hearty, tough soul who will not be defeated, who greets the morning with determination, and finds joy in tasks that must follow.
As it is in Greenland, so it also is with life. Wherever we call home, it will likely come with its own set of challenges. They may not be as potentially threatening as food supplies, but they can present sufficient challenges to disrupt our sense of contentment. Perhaps our task is to hunker down. Lean in. Change our rituals if necessary to cope with reality while maintaining our identity and convictions. You probably don’t need a polar bear skin on the wall, but I may be mistaken!
