I think we may have discussed this before, but in honor of Halloween weekend I thought I'd bring it up again.
Growing up in the ALC, my family had a very ambivalent attitude towards Halloween. We were allowed limited trick-or-treating, but we could never dress up as anything "supernatural." No ghosts, witches, vampires, demons, etc. allowed. I was a cowboy one year, and a clown another. There was never anything church-sponsored for Halloween. As far as the church was concerned it didn't exist.
As a teen I remember my parents being invited to a Halloween party being put on by some fellow Laestadians. It was billed as a "Reformation Party" even though people dressed up in Halloween costumes, there was bobbing for apples, etc. However in the middle of the party someone gave a little talk about Martin Luther, his 95 theses, and how even in the middle of a party we needed to be serious about our faith. This, I believe, was considered progressive.
Since my childhood, Halloween has become fodder for the culture wars in the United States. Many of my former Laestadian friends and family have left for conservative evangelical churches that associate Halloween with Satanism, neo-Paganism, and other feared isms. I find it ironic that they now have an even more reactionary view towards Halloween now than we did growing up.
I'm interested in hearing about what other branches of Laestadianism do or don't do for Halloween. Is it celebrated in Scandinavia at all?
As someone wise once said, what WE make of it is what matters.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Milla Clementsdotter and the Readers
Matt Perkins has a new post about Mary Lapp, the Reader movement, pietism, and Laestadianism out on his blog this morning. I think it's worth checking out.
Lapin Maija, by Matt Perkins
Since I finished reading Lars Levi Laestadius and the Revival in Lapland, by Warren H. Hepokoski I've gotten more interested in the Reader movement. Many of the on-line sources place Laestadius within the Reader context. What I find fascinating about the Readers are the extremes of their belief, with Hepokoski reporting that some Readers actually thought they were Jesus Christ, and that their pronouncements superceded Scripture.
The more I read about Laestadian history, the more I can sympathize with why Laestadius would start his movement, but I also sympathize with why the established church found it so troubling. It's fun to imagine myself back in the 1850s in Finland. Would I be a Reader, a Laestadian, or would I support the state church? Would I come to the same conclusions my ancestors did?
Lapin Maija, by Matt Perkins
Since I finished reading Lars Levi Laestadius and the Revival in Lapland, by Warren H. Hepokoski I've gotten more interested in the Reader movement. Many of the on-line sources place Laestadius within the Reader context. What I find fascinating about the Readers are the extremes of their belief, with Hepokoski reporting that some Readers actually thought they were Jesus Christ, and that their pronouncements superceded Scripture.
The more I read about Laestadian history, the more I can sympathize with why Laestadius would start his movement, but I also sympathize with why the established church found it so troubling. It's fun to imagine myself back in the 1850s in Finland. Would I be a Reader, a Laestadian, or would I support the state church? Would I come to the same conclusions my ancestors did?
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Boundaries, and those who cross them
I read an interesting article this morning by Carl McColman about boundaries which reflected upon a couple of mutually paradoxical points.
On the one hand every community, religious or otherwise, has boundaries that determine who is in and who is out of the community, define norms for acceptable behavior, etc. Sometimes boundaries are helpful, but other times (and here I'm thinking about my own Laestadian upbringing and the stories many others have shared on this site) boundaries can be very damaging, promoting fear of "the other," conformity, and stifling creativity.
On the other hand, Christians have the example of Jesus, who constantly got in trouble with the religious and secular authorities of his day for crossing boundaries. Looking at the theology and the stories the church tells about Jesus this theme is even more pronounced. Jesus violates the boundaries between human and Divine, between body and spirit, between heaven and earth, between death and life.
from That which is different by Carl McColman
As ex-Laestadians, we've all crossed a pretty large boundary. What has it meant for you to be a boundary crosser? Has it changed the way you think about boundaries in general? What boundaries, if any, are still meaningful?
On the one hand every community, religious or otherwise, has boundaries that determine who is in and who is out of the community, define norms for acceptable behavior, etc. Sometimes boundaries are helpful, but other times (and here I'm thinking about my own Laestadian upbringing and the stories many others have shared on this site) boundaries can be very damaging, promoting fear of "the other," conformity, and stifling creativity.
On the other hand, Christians have the example of Jesus, who constantly got in trouble with the religious and secular authorities of his day for crossing boundaries. Looking at the theology and the stories the church tells about Jesus this theme is even more pronounced. Jesus violates the boundaries between human and Divine, between body and spirit, between heaven and earth, between death and life.
from That which is different by Carl McColman
[W]hile there may be boundaries that separate believer from non-believer, love -- true love, the love that comes from God -- knows no boundaries. So we who live inside the boundaries have to learn how to love through the boundaries. I’m not sure what that looks like, because it sounds like something that could easily be condescending or "second rate." But I don't think love operates according to a caste system. Jesus didn't say, "Love your Christian neighbors as yourself," nor did he say "love your neighbors as yourself, and of course this means different things depending on whether your neighbor is a believer or not." So here's the paradox: the boundaries of Christianity remind us who we are: a people who have given our lives over to love. Remove the boundaries, and our identity is in jeopardy. But it is that very identity that calls us to cross the boundaries with the lavish, prodigal love of God.
As ex-Laestadians, we've all crossed a pretty large boundary. What has it meant for you to be a boundary crosser? Has it changed the way you think about boundaries in general? What boundaries, if any, are still meaningful?
Friday, September 25, 2009
Three Free E-books about Laestadianism
Warren H. Hepokoski's research on the Laestadian movement has been mentioned here before, but I thought I'd highlight these links to his writings again since being recently made aware that his books are also available as PDF files for off-line reading.
Lars Levi Laestadius and the Revival in Lapland, by Warren H. Hepokoski (HTML) (PDF)
The Laestadian Movement: Disputes and Divisions 1861 - 2000, by Warren H. Hepokoski (HTML) (PDF)
The Laestadian Movement: Background Writings and Testimonies, Warren H. Hepokoski (PDF only)
Lars Levi Laestadius and the Revival in Lapland, by Warren H. Hepokoski (HTML) (PDF)
The Laestadian Movement: Disputes and Divisions 1861 - 2000, by Warren H. Hepokoski (HTML) (PDF)
The Laestadian Movement: Background Writings and Testimonies, Warren H. Hepokoski (PDF only)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Communion, Laestadian Style
Some recent comments from Pyhä got me thinking about Laestadian communion again. :-)
See also Sacrament of Communion, by cvow, and Laestadian Communion, by free2bme for previous posts and comments on this topic.
One thing that I didn't see described in the previous posts was a detailed description of the communion service, which I will now do from an ALC standpoint.
These services were always long. Typically an ALC church service lasts an hour, but subjectively seems a lot longer. This is because the congregation plays such a passive role, and the sermon lasts such a long time (at least thirty minutes, often longer.) Because so much time is dedicated to the sermon, very little time is dedicated to anything else. The typical order of service would include an opening hymn, a prayer, another hymn (accompanied by passing the collection plate), the sermon, another hymn, and you're done.
The sermons were generally incoherent and spontaneous, because writing the sermon in advance was thought to "quench the Spirit" and King James phrasing was not always limited to the Bible reading, but also to the pastor's own utterances. Even as an adult with an education I still often cannot discern the point of any given sermon. At best, it is a stream-of-consciousness free association of Laestadian theological and moral sentiments.
Communion was not every Sunday. It was typically once a month, and on special occasions such as Holy Week. Communion added time to the service, as it was generally tacked on the end of the hour-long service described above. Depending on how many people were in attendance, this could add another 30-45 minutes to the service. Confirmation Sunday (worthy of a blog post in its own right) was a marathon in pew-warming, with larger than usual attendance, all the confirmation specific stuff, plus the long sermon, plus communion!
The Communion part of the service started with the congregation reciting the Apostle's Creed. Then we'd launch into "O Jumalan Karitsa, joka pois otat maailman synnit, armahda meille päälemme..." Sometimes we kids would call it "the Mailman song." I never knew this was the "Agnus Dei" or what any of the words meant until I was an adult and left the church. All I knew was that it was a moment of great solemnity, with the a capella drone of the words as the elders in the congregation slowly made their way up to the communion rail.
I had mixed feelings about Communion. On the one hand I liked it because it was a more interesting service. We got to sing more, and there was always the possibility that a member of the congregation would stand up before us and publicly confess their sins, sometimes very emotionally with cries and tears. Usually they were pretty general about what they had done, but once a man confessed to cheating on his wife in front of the whole congregation! One would hope that he had talked to his wife about this beforehand, but no matter what the offense, the congregation would always respond "you are forgiven in the name and shed blood of Jesus Christ." Whether this is touching or trivializes the whole idea of forgiveness and absolution I do not know. As far as I know there was never any pastoral follow-up regarding what got confessed in front of the congregation.
On the other hand, Communion was an anxiety producing event for me. In confirmation class I had learned that if you take communion "unworthily" you were "drinking damnation unto oneself." Therefore it was very important to make sure that you had no unconfessed sins (confessed to God, or to the confessor, according to Luther's Small Catechism). I would usually try to solve this problem by doing a blanket "forgive me for everything" prayer (in addition to specific items) right on the rail before taking the elements. I did this in my head, not out loud to everyone. :) Yet I also worried that this wasn't good enough, and felt guilty about confessing for the same things over and over again. It was as if a slate of sins would accumulate through the month, then they would get "wiped clean" after confessing and taking communion. But then the sins would start accumulating again, sometimes moments after having them wiped away!
In addition to the theological/existential anxiety of Laestadian communion, there was also the logistical anxiety. Typically old people would commune first, followed by "the youth" contingent, and then all other adults. Young children were not allowed to receive. It was entirely up to you to decide when to come forward, and as a teen I was often worried that if I went up "too soon" or "too late" that there would not be room for me at the rail and I'd look like an idiot. I'd have to time my approach just right to make sure that I could get a spot at the rail before it filled up, but arrive too soon and you'd have to stand there before the previous group got dismissed.
Once at the rail and in the kneeling position, the elements were consumed in the most submissive posture I've ever seen in any church. We weren't allowed to touch either the communion cup or the wafers of bread, instead keeping our heads bowed until the presider came by, when we would tilt our heads upward with our mouths open, very much like a baby bird looking for a worm. The wafer would be placed in our mouths, and the wine would be poured from the communion cup directly into our mouths as well. Given how submissive this posture is, is it any surprise that there are no female Laestadian pastors or communion assistants?
There were times when all of this needless anxiety made we want to skip communion altogether. But if you were in attendance, eligible, and didn't take communion, it would prompt questions from the pastor and whispers from the rest of the congregation. So not partaking was not an option. With communion only once a month, though, one could arrange to be out of town, or sick, and manage to go a few months without the sacrament.
I attend a church with a liturgical tradition now, and as such the Eucharist is the high point, climax, and focal point of every Sunday service. There is a feeling of celebration, and an expectation of meeting Christ in the sacrament. I can't imagine trying to avoid communion now, and there is no anxiety surrounding it. I still take communion seriously due to my upbringing, but I can't imagine placing the strictures on it that we did as Laestadians, and I still don't really understand the Laestadian approach to communion.
See also Sacrament of Communion, by cvow, and Laestadian Communion, by free2bme for previous posts and comments on this topic.
One thing that I didn't see described in the previous posts was a detailed description of the communion service, which I will now do from an ALC standpoint.
These services were always long. Typically an ALC church service lasts an hour, but subjectively seems a lot longer. This is because the congregation plays such a passive role, and the sermon lasts such a long time (at least thirty minutes, often longer.) Because so much time is dedicated to the sermon, very little time is dedicated to anything else. The typical order of service would include an opening hymn, a prayer, another hymn (accompanied by passing the collection plate), the sermon, another hymn, and you're done.
The sermons were generally incoherent and spontaneous, because writing the sermon in advance was thought to "quench the Spirit" and King James phrasing was not always limited to the Bible reading, but also to the pastor's own utterances. Even as an adult with an education I still often cannot discern the point of any given sermon. At best, it is a stream-of-consciousness free association of Laestadian theological and moral sentiments.
Communion was not every Sunday. It was typically once a month, and on special occasions such as Holy Week. Communion added time to the service, as it was generally tacked on the end of the hour-long service described above. Depending on how many people were in attendance, this could add another 30-45 minutes to the service. Confirmation Sunday (worthy of a blog post in its own right) was a marathon in pew-warming, with larger than usual attendance, all the confirmation specific stuff, plus the long sermon, plus communion!
The Communion part of the service started with the congregation reciting the Apostle's Creed. Then we'd launch into "O Jumalan Karitsa, joka pois otat maailman synnit, armahda meille päälemme..." Sometimes we kids would call it "the Mailman song." I never knew this was the "Agnus Dei" or what any of the words meant until I was an adult and left the church. All I knew was that it was a moment of great solemnity, with the a capella drone of the words as the elders in the congregation slowly made their way up to the communion rail.
I had mixed feelings about Communion. On the one hand I liked it because it was a more interesting service. We got to sing more, and there was always the possibility that a member of the congregation would stand up before us and publicly confess their sins, sometimes very emotionally with cries and tears. Usually they were pretty general about what they had done, but once a man confessed to cheating on his wife in front of the whole congregation! One would hope that he had talked to his wife about this beforehand, but no matter what the offense, the congregation would always respond "you are forgiven in the name and shed blood of Jesus Christ." Whether this is touching or trivializes the whole idea of forgiveness and absolution I do not know. As far as I know there was never any pastoral follow-up regarding what got confessed in front of the congregation.
On the other hand, Communion was an anxiety producing event for me. In confirmation class I had learned that if you take communion "unworthily" you were "drinking damnation unto oneself." Therefore it was very important to make sure that you had no unconfessed sins (confessed to God, or to the confessor, according to Luther's Small Catechism). I would usually try to solve this problem by doing a blanket "forgive me for everything" prayer (in addition to specific items) right on the rail before taking the elements. I did this in my head, not out loud to everyone. :) Yet I also worried that this wasn't good enough, and felt guilty about confessing for the same things over and over again. It was as if a slate of sins would accumulate through the month, then they would get "wiped clean" after confessing and taking communion. But then the sins would start accumulating again, sometimes moments after having them wiped away!
In addition to the theological/existential anxiety of Laestadian communion, there was also the logistical anxiety. Typically old people would commune first, followed by "the youth" contingent, and then all other adults. Young children were not allowed to receive. It was entirely up to you to decide when to come forward, and as a teen I was often worried that if I went up "too soon" or "too late" that there would not be room for me at the rail and I'd look like an idiot. I'd have to time my approach just right to make sure that I could get a spot at the rail before it filled up, but arrive too soon and you'd have to stand there before the previous group got dismissed.
Once at the rail and in the kneeling position, the elements were consumed in the most submissive posture I've ever seen in any church. We weren't allowed to touch either the communion cup or the wafers of bread, instead keeping our heads bowed until the presider came by, when we would tilt our heads upward with our mouths open, very much like a baby bird looking for a worm. The wafer would be placed in our mouths, and the wine would be poured from the communion cup directly into our mouths as well. Given how submissive this posture is, is it any surprise that there are no female Laestadian pastors or communion assistants?
There were times when all of this needless anxiety made we want to skip communion altogether. But if you were in attendance, eligible, and didn't take communion, it would prompt questions from the pastor and whispers from the rest of the congregation. So not partaking was not an option. With communion only once a month, though, one could arrange to be out of town, or sick, and manage to go a few months without the sacrament.
I attend a church with a liturgical tradition now, and as such the Eucharist is the high point, climax, and focal point of every Sunday service. There is a feeling of celebration, and an expectation of meeting Christ in the sacrament. I can't imagine trying to avoid communion now, and there is no anxiety surrounding it. I still take communion seriously due to my upbringing, but I can't imagine placing the strictures on it that we did as Laestadians, and I still don't really understand the Laestadian approach to communion.
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