“The Year of the Warrior” vindicated. A little.

When I wrote The Year of the Warrior, I took a historical gamble. I included among the buildings at Sola farm, where the hero lived, a heathen temple.

That may not sound too audacious, but in fact I was flying in the face of all the research I’d done on Viking life. In book after book, I’d read that historians believed there were no temples in the Norse religion; that religious ceremonies were performed either in the open air or in the chieftain’s home.

But Adam of Bremen, in his history of the bishops of Hamburg, insists that there was a temple at Uppsala, Sweden. And having a small shrine just seemed right to me, so I put one in the story.

And now this, from the Archaeology News Network:

Located at the site of Ranheim, about 10 kilometers north of the Norwegian city of Trondheim, the astonishing discovery was unearthed while excavating foundations for new houses and includes a “gudehovet” or “god temple.” Occupied from the 6th or 5th century BCE until the 10th century AD/CE, the site shows signs of usage for animal sacrifice, a common practice among different peoples in antiquity. Over 1,000 years ago, the site was dismantled and covered by a thick layer of peat, evidently to protect it from marauding Christian invaders. These native Norse religionists apparently then fled to other places, such as Iceland, where they could re-erect their altars and re-establish the old religion.

I love being right. It doesn’t happen very often.

One thing that puzzles me is that the article suggests that similar temples have been discovered outside of Norway. Why has no one told me about this?

Velcome To Dystopia

Dystopia is that disturbing place where some of your friends say you are headed in a handbasket, and everyone’s talking about it with the movie debut of The Hunger Games this weekend. So what’s your favorite or most respected dystopia?

Robert Collins has a good list of ten in The Guardian.

Shane Dayton of Listverse has his own list of 12 (with some natural overlap).

What do you think?

Breendonk

Europeanne writes about her trip to Fort Breendonk, once a Nazi concentration camp north of Brussels. What will keep abuse like this from happening here? Are we at risk of entertaining ourselves into a stupor that will allow evil men to go unchecked in America?

Breendonk

“If this is war…”

Author Sarah Hoyt, who was kind enough to let me post on her blog not long ago, hit one out of the park yesterday, with an outstanding post entitled “War is Hell,” which addresses the currently popular accusation that conservatives are waging war on women.

War is where the enemy decimates your numbers – like, say in China where abortion is killing mostly females.

War is where you are kept from learning – like in most Arab countries, where women have restrictions placed on their education.

War is where your houses are burned, your children taken away into slavery, your goods looted, and you are dragged away in chains.

In the United States, right now, women have preferential treatment – by law – in any company that gets federal funds (which heaven help us, right now, is most of them.) Women live longer than men. Cancers that affect females get more money and more attention than those that affect only men. Women have the right to be sole deciders on abortion, and if they decide to keep the child and make the man pay, he pays. (This by the way is a complete reversal of the “penalty” of sex which used to fall mostly on women.) And if he doesn’t pay, he goes to jail. Divorce courts award custody to mothers overwhelmingly. Oh, and in college campuses, women outnumber men.

If this is war it is war on men. And I’ve had just about enough of everyone who claims otherwise.

Read the whole thing.

Reading from Aardvarks to Augustine

Al Mohler laments the passing of the printed Britannica. “My guess is that, all things being equal, a boy my age riding along in the family’s Prius this summer is more likely to be playing Angry Birds on his iPad. Left behind is the unexpected serendipity of reading about the mating habits of aardvarks. Is this progress?”

Heh, he has a point, though it would be better served by another example, don’t you think?

Modern Irish Hymn: “In Christ Alone”

Happy St. Patrick’s Day. I may spend the day in the kitchen, making Irish soda bread and tomorrow’s lunch, but you go have fun or something.

We are wonderfully blessed to have a Northern Irish couple writing music for modern church. Songs like “In Christ Alone” and “The Power of the Cross” are contemporary songs worthy of the hymnal for their lyrical richness and musical flow. See the rest of Keith and Kristyn Getty’s music on their site. I see they are holding a St. Patrick’s Day sale on their website, 17% discount.

Patrick of Ireland’s Morning Prayer

“Today I arise, through the baptism of Christ—His cross; and His grave; resurrection; ascension; and final descent, for the judgment of doom.

“Today I arise, while God’s angels serve…” (Read on)

Father Ailill on St. Patrick’s Day

Despite being always full of great good wishes for all the Irish on the feast day of their patron saint, I have too much integrity to stoop to the low trick of pretending to be Irish, when I’m obviously not.

So to keep the discussion at the high level of authenticity it deserves, I have instead asked for a guest column from a true Irishman beyond suspicion, Father Ailill, Erling Skjalgsson’s priest:

To all the elect within the range of this message, whether Irish or Norse, or even Scot or English, yea even unto the barbarians of distant lands, wherever you may be, scattered about the islands of the earth,

Greetings.

I, Father Ailill, have not been unaware of doings among men since my Elevation nearly a thousand years ago. I have paid some attention to the course of the world, and to the state of the Church, and I have but one word for all of you, small and great, learned and uncouth:

Stop it.

I mean it. This has gone beyond a joke.

Where does one start? The excesses of your generation would make scrap enough to fuel a thousand bonfires, but in view of the day I’ll just draw your attention to the way you mark—I’ll not say observe—the saint day of Patrick of Ireland.

Now I happen to know Patrick myself. He lived far before my corporeal time, of course, but since my Elevation we’ve become fairly chummy, and I’ll tell you, just between you and me and the hearthstone, it’s best not to raise the subject of St. Patrick’s Day in his presence. If it’s all a joke, you may as well know the guest of honor doesn’t get it. He said to me once, “If I’d known they’d honor my memory by getting drunk on green beer and puking all over policemen, I’d have gone to Frankia and become a hermit. I’m not kidding. St. Augustine never lets me forget about it. And I’ve taken to avoiding Boniface altogether, because he never sees me but he starts singing that ‘Frosted Lucky Charms’ jingle, and then gets to giggling.” Continue reading Father Ailill on St. Patrick’s Day

“A Culinary Journey Through Time”

Dave Lull directed me to this web page, advertising “the first ever cookbook based on archaeological finds.” If you want to eat like a cave man, or a Viking, this would appear to be the book for you.

Will I be purchasing a copy? I don’t think so. It would require me to actually, you know, cook stuff. Not that I can’t cook when I’m cornered, but one of the consolations of bachelorhood is that nobody really expects you to cook in a serious fashion.

The picture of a Viking house in the article is pretty good, but the floor puzzles me. It looks flat and clean. To the best of my knowledge, Vikings pretty much always had dirt floors, usually covered over with rushes, which would be taken out and replaced periodically.