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A Soldier’s Only Hope

Lars’s Memorial Day post on Friday reminded me of a book I picked up several years ago in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. It’s From the Flag to the Cross: Scenes and Incidences of Christianity in the Civil War, by US Army Chaplain Amos S Billingsley. The book has many notes and expressions of faith from those who came in touch with the Union chaplaincy during the war. Billingsley includes records of his own ministry and the people he spoke to in hospitals, prisons, and camps.

He tells the story of visiting the gangrene camp next to Hampton Hospital in November 1864-65 about midnight. He entered one soldier’s tent in the dim light of the moon, noticing a small candle burning within.

On approaching him, he warmly grasped my hand, and, upon inquiring how he was, he replied, “I am very weak; I don’t think I’m going to live long; and I have sent for you hoping you could administer a word of comfort, and write a letter of sympathy and consolation to my wife and children.” “I trust you were not without hope?” “Oh no! I have a glorious hope. Christ is my only hope, and he is growing more and more precious every hour.”

“The pious, heroic John Lambert, with his legs burned to the stumps, with his body pierced with ruthless halberds, with his fingers flaming with fire, with dying breath exclaimed, ‘None but Christ! NONE BUT CHRIST!’ Think you would be afraid to die?” “No, I think not. I die for my country, and, dying for Him who died for me, I have nothing to fear; I don’t fear death, thank God! I trust he will give me the victory over it.” “You seem to have it already.” “I have got the victory!” said the dying Rutherford and he left the world shouting glory. I asked him, “What word shall I send to your wife and dear children?” “Tell them I died happy in Christ. He lingered a few hours, and God took him home. How striking the transition! How glorious the change! From a lonely, dreary gangrene camp to the throne of God in heaven! Here, he wore a soldiers garb; there, robed in white, he wears a crown of glory, and bears palms of victory. I visited two other patients at the same call; one of which was so far gone, it was then too late to get his dying message to send home to comfort his bereaved friends. He was a good man. Such were my visits to this suffering camp.

Whether we spend our days on anger, reacting to the latest news prompt, or on sentimentality, wanting to get the family together for smiles and meals, or on kindness, building or rebuilding our communities, we have only one hope. Maybe we’ve lived constructive lives, earning the praise of our peers. Maybe we’ve wasted our lives on self-indulgence, which could also earn the praise of our peers. Nothing we do opens or closes more avenues of hope. We have only one, the work of Christ Jesus on the cross.

Because this is true, we can take comfort when someone professes new faith on his death bed, despite the life he leaves behind. We cannot judge a spiritual transformation when the subject has no opportunity to bear the fruit of his faith. Even then, we cannot judge a man’s heart perfectly. What we can do is look to Christ and point others to Him as well.

For Memorial Day

Color Guard of the 23rd Ohio Volunteer Infantry Regiment.

Look at these guys. How old do you think they are? They enlisted them pretty young in those days, and a lot of boys lied about their ages to get in. Now they’re Civil War soldiers, an occupation Bruce Catton described as “more dangerous than anything we know about today.” No small chance of getting shot, and the risk of dying of accident or disease was twice as high.

These are the images that make us pause. Which is good. These guys paid the price so we could have the freedom to call America a racist, Nazi hell hole today.

We ought to ponder these images.

But it’s wrong, I think, to stop there. That’s what I dislike about the Vietnam War memorial in Washington. No disrespect meant – I know it’s a profoundly meaningful place for many people. But it’s the first war memorial in America that ever just said – “Men died, and these are their names.” Nothing about the aspirations they fought for. Nothing about the cause.

That’s understandable, of course. By the time the monument was built, America had decided there was no cause.

That, I think, is the greatest dishonor.

Maybe –very likely – I know nothing. I never went to war – avoided the draft for Vietnam. But I don’t believe the Narrative we’ve seen in every war movie made since Vietnam (with a couple exceptions, like We Were Soldiers), that all soldiers fight unwillingly, and take drugs and commit atrocities to dull the pain. A lot of guys reenlisted for Vietnam. I choose to believe that a lot of them did it, at least in part, because they believed in the war. Believed they were fighting to prevent the horrors that did in fact come to pass, after America abandoned its South Vietnamese allies.

One of my college textbooks stated baldly that old men start wars so that the young men will be killed, and then those old men can take the young women.

Somebody actually thought that was worth putting in a book.

Young men don’t cling to life like old men do. Young men race fast cars, and climb sheer mountain walls, and blow stuff up while drinking, because they want to face death, to show it what they’ve got. War disillusions them quickly, I have no doubt. But those young men in that picture had something more than youth. They had pride. They were warriors.

I think we should remember that when we think of them. They were not mere victims.

Dante and the Stars

This interview with astronomer Sperello di Serego Alighieri, a descendant of Dante Alighieri, gets into interesting territory.

Half the time it seems to me that things like string theory are attempts to get around the implications of the universe’s having a beginning, because string theorists don’t want it to.

The thing with those kinds of theories – you can call them theories, but it’s more speculative philosophy than science.

Because it is in principle untestable.

Yeah, it is not testable. It’s the same thing as multiverse theory, maybe there are many universes, OK, we can talk about it, but so what? It’s not testable. But even then, in a multiverse scenario, it is entirely possible to ask whether someone can have created all these universes. I don’t think that it is possible for science to say that God does not exist. But also the other way: religion should not close down inquiry into how the universe developed; this is up to scientists.

Then they get into Galileo and how Jesuits reformed the Chinese calendar.

Strange Things Found in Books

I have found a few casually interesting things in books over the years: old newspaper ads or a library card. Notes written in the margins have been the most engaging thing I’ve found. In fact, I have my mother’s Bible with many marginal notes. (She passed away two years ago this month.) One of these notes marks Isaiah 41:9-10 as my Dad’s verse.

Laurie Hartzel of the Star-Tribune collected reader submissions for strange things they have found in books, including a vintage postcard, a banana peel, and a diamond ring.

Appreciation: ‘Atlantic Crossing’

“Wistful” isn’t a word I use often (not in front of strangers, anyway), but I’m feeling a touch wistful now that “Atlantic Crossing” has finished its run on PBS Masterpiece. It’s the most famous thing I’ve ever had a hand in, so there’s a sense that my fifteen minutes are over now. Future generations of my family will say to their kids, “Yes, your great-grandfather and great-granduncle had a brother who never married. Weird guy. Religious. Grumpy all the time. Wrote some novels, and did some kind of translating of Norwegian movies and TV shows. Wrote subtitles or something.” [Voiceover: “But they were mistaken. He was a not a subtitle writer, but a screenplay translator. They are different things.”]

What follows is not a review of “Atlantic Crossing.” I cannot do a review. My legal obligations to the people I work for prevent me saying anything negative about the production in public (assuming I even have any criticisms to make). I want to talk about the things I appreciated in this remarkable and memorable production.

First of all, I think it was masterfully produced. The visuals were tremendous – taking advantage of the glorious Norwegian landscape in the segments filmed there, and beautifully recreating the US in the 1940s. There was a real epic quality to it all, especially in the first and last episodes.

I found all the actors’ performances top-notch. Sofia Helin, who played Märtha, is not actually the right physical type – she should be taller and slimmer. But she did an excellent job of portraying an essentially shy woman, trained to act as a public figure as a matter of duty, who is then forced to get her hands dirty in practical politics. The strain shows under the gracious facade.

The performance that impressed me most was Tobias Santelmann as Prince Olav. Frustrated in his military ambitions, he grows jealous of his wife’s relationship with the US president – although he virtually pushed her into the situation. At last he gains perspective when he realizes that many people have made greater sacrifices than he has, and he steps up into a wiser maturity and greater responsibility. There’s a movie called “The King’s Choice” (I reviewed it here), which is often compared with “Atlantic Crossing” in terms of historical accuracy. One thing I disliked about the movie (which is very good, overall) is that Olav doesn’t look very impressive in it. I think “Atlantic Crossing” gave him his due, though with a dark side.

The performance most Americans talk about, though, is Kyle MacLachlan’s as President Franklin Roosevelt. “Creepy” is one description I’ve seen, though I don’t think that’s quite fair. I think MacLachlan created a faceted, nuanced portrait of a pre-feminist American alpha male. He’s charming, easygoing in company, empathetic, and never in doubt that any woman he makes a pass at will take it as a compliment. It was a (publicly deniable) given, in those days, that powerful men deserved some sexual perks, and could be good guys in spite of it. Ted Kennedy and Bill Clinton were in the same tradition. Kudos to the producers for not papering this over, I say.

Oh yes, the script translation, though it takes an exquisite sensitivity to perceive it, was excellent.

Celebration in a time of Covid

From last year, a “distanced” celebration of 17 May, Norway’s Constitution Day. No doubt today’s celebrations were similar. The tall old man on the balcony is King Harald V, the little boy on the “Atlantic Crossing” miniseries.

“Ja, Vi Elsker,” the Norwegian national anthem, says this (roughly translated by me):

Yes, we love this land, as it rises, tree-covered and weather-beaten, over the water, with its thousand homes. Love it, love it, and think of our fathers and mothers, and the saga nights that descend with dreams upon the land.

Norwegians in houses and cottages, thank your great God. He will protect the land, however dark things may appear. All our fathers have fought for, our mothers have cried over, the Lord will quietly alter, so that we will have our rights.

I don’t know the third verse.

Sweet and sour times

As we enjoy the collapse of Western Civilization, there are at least a few consolations to be found in the gradual reduction of lockdown restrictions. In Minnesota, our venerable governor has graciously eliminated occupancy limits in restaurants, and allowed us to go maskless out of doors, as long as we aren’t too friendly about it.

So I went crazy on Saturday and ate at a Chinese buffet for the first time since the Troubles began. Chinese buffets had come to occupy a disproportionate portion of my consciousness, such as it is. Many had already closed even before the pandemic; I feared the lockdown had wiped them out completely. I have an idea the place I went to had been open for a while, actually. But one of my great horrors is having someone tell me, “You’re not allowed in here,” so I waited until I was fairly sure it was OK now. (If you’re in the area and wondering where I went, it was Ocean Buffet in Brooklyn Center. In my experience, the majority of their customers are always Chinese. I tell myself this means something.)

And it was good. Not as good as one imagines after a year of abstinence, but good. I had to wear plastic gloves, provided at the door, at the steaming tables – the cheap kind of gloves made of the same plastic they use for produce bags in the grocery store. Prices have gone up, of course, but that’s a given. I felt a sense of closure. (Or anticlimax. I always get those two confused.)

Reduced restrictions means it looks like there should be some Viking events this summer. I need to take final action on getting my dead tree edition of The Year of the Warrior printed. The printer was going to get back to me, and hasn’t so far. I suppose I’ll have to call him. That book is loooooooong, you know, like something out of 19th Century Russia. It will be expensive to print.

My great fear is that I’ll sink a bunch of my savings into a stock of books, and then the lockdown will return and all my venues will vanish. And I’ll be left with a basement full of stock.

And my basement leaks a little.

Lag-rolling

Old stone church with three side windows

If you’re looking for harbingers of a possible better summer this year, in terms of the lockdown, here’s one – I’m booked for my first lecture of 2021.

The location is Madison, Wisconsin – a bit of a drive, but if I sell books like I did the last time I spoke to these people, the Tre Lag Stevne, it will be worth it in book sales. The Tre Lag Stevne is a gathering of organizations of descendants of immigrants from particular regions of Norway.

They told me they wanted me to do a presentation on the Old Stone Church (pictured above), which I’ve written about here before. It’s the original building of my home congregation, Hauge Lutheran in Kenyon, Minnesota; it’s on the National Register of Historic Places.

My natural grandiosity took over, of course, the moment I accepted the invitation. I rapidly prepared a comprehensive presentation on the whole Haugean movement – about which I’ve also written here before. The Haugeans were a pietistic Lutheran lay movement that began in Norway in the early 1800s. I prepared a brilliant PowerPoint (tastefully illustrated), about not only the Old Stone Church, but the entire history of the Haugean movement in Norway and America. Not neglecting the sociological and political antecedents and consequences. I have many insightful things to say on this subject.

Then I asked, and learned that they already have an expert (some guy with a Ph.D, as if that impressed anybody) coming to talk about all that stuff. What they want from me is the story of my own church.

I’m not sure I’m as well qualified to do that.

But I’ve got till August. I’ll come up with something.

Meet the boss

Cover of "Atlantic Crossing" series showing Sofia Helin

A few weeks back, the Sons of Norway organization (of which I am a member in good standing) interviewed my boss, Linda May Kallestein, about the Atlantic Crossing miniseries. Link here; I can’t embed it.

Aside from working as a translator, in which enterprise I serve as a subcontractor, Linda May was a co-writer on the series, with Alexander Eik. In this interview she talks about her Norwegian-American background, and her experiences in writing and filming.

About 18 minutes.