Stave Churches

Pastor’s Epistle—July, A.D. 2015 B

Cathedrals of the Forest

Whenever someone asks what I would do if I suddenly inherited a vast fortune, my first response is always the same: I would build a stave church.

A stave church is, to me, one of the most beautiful works of art ever produced by the Church. There used to be some 900 of them throughout Norway, though only 29 are left there today. The United States has a few of her own: I know of stave churches in Florida, North Dakota, Wisconsin, and, of course, at the Hjemkomst Center in Moorhead, MN.

When the Gospel came to the great white north, Viking shipwrights turned their talents toward houses of worship, thereby erecting masterpieces of pine and tar. Stave churches are named for the long pine trunks that provide the central supports for these towering, slender structures, reaching high into the heavens. Jointed, without any nails whatsoever, stave churches prove astonishingly flexible, able to withstand snow and wind and Atlantic storms. Some of them have been in continual use for almost a thousand years.

That they look like pine trees, roof upon roof and spire upon spire, is no accident. Norse mythology envisioned the universe as a great tree containing in its branches all the worlds of Creation, its peak reaching up into Heaven, its roots plunging down to the dead. Ever since St. Boniface, Germanic peoples have held up the evergreen tree as a symbol for Jesus Christ triumphing over the oak of Thor. Even the exterior wooden tiles resemble nothing so much as pinecones.

Inside the worship space, the lush sap smell of Creation, punctuated by incense, fills the windowless interior. The Northmen were no strangers to darkness, and here the shadows focused the congregation’s attention on the burning tapers at the altar, the glittering chalice of Jesus’ Blood, and the brightly painted images of Christ and Mary with the Apostles and Saints. High in the rafters were carvings of devils and pagan gods, with even Odin himself appearing, his head mounted upon the staves like a hunted deer. Outside, dragon heads and twisting serpents festooned the peaks and doorways of the church, reminding us of the dark powers of the world which Christ has conquered and subjected to the light of His authority.

Each stave church has its own legends. Some are said to have been built by trolls or moved by elves. Some had miraculous crucifixes that sweated healing oil on Midsummer’s Day. One was lost in the forest for 200 years, only to be rediscovered with a bear hibernating at the altar. The bear’s pelt still hangs in the sanctuary to this day. In every instance, the underlying message is this: no matter how frightening the forest outside, the love of Christ is stronger than all the powers that threaten us. Kvitekrist, “the White Christ,” has overcome the world.

If all goes well, then about the time that you read this my wife and I should be in Norway (on a very belated honeymoon), exploring some of these very stave churches. They are a reminder that the Church is far grander, and far more beautiful, than we usually admit. Even the Vikings, the terrors of medieval monasteries, can be overcome by the grace of God in Christ Jesus. May God bless you in this summer season, and we’ll see you in a couple of weeks.