Julotta

When the beloved Swede and I were newly engaged, he took me to visit the church where he and his family worshiped.  My father-in-law had emigrated from Sweden as a child and had always been a member of a denomination with strong Scandinavian roots.  We walked into the sanctuary, and I swear, everyone's hair and eyes were the same color.  The blond-haired, blue-eyed congregation smiled politely at me, the tall, dark-haired, brown-eyed visitor.

Because once upon a time, my hair really was brown.

Anyway, I quickly scanned the church bulletin which was filled with names of folks from the congregation--Johnson, Swenson, Anderson, Lindquist,  I felt like raising my hand and announcing, "My grandmother's maiden name was Donaldson," in hopes that the good Scandinavian folks would accept me as one of their kind.

During communion I tasted my piece of bread and recognized a familiar flavor.  It was Swedish limpa bread, for crying out loud.  These folks were serious about maintaining their Swedish heritage.  I wouldn't have been surprised if, instead of wine, the communion cups had been filled with coffee.

Some years later when our daughter was nine years old,  we were heavily invested in reading The Little House on the Prairie series.  Stories of immigrants and pioneers had captured her imagination.  I saw that a local church, founded in 1898 by Swedish immigrants, was hosting a traditional Julotta service at 6:30 Christmas morning.  The senior beloved Swedes had recently moved nearby, and I thought attending this service with them would be a lovely way to celebrate Christmas morning.

It seemed a good idea at the time.  At 5:00 Christmas morning, I wasn't so sure.  We had to wake our children (what kind of parents wake their kids Christmas morning?) and drag them out the door past the tree and its pile of waiting presents.

Temperatures had dropped overnight causing light rain to freeze on roadways.  I watched out the window as a pair of headlights appeared and a car slowly made its way down our street.  It had to be my in-laws, I thought.  Surely no one else would be out at that time, in those conditions.  We cautiously made our way over dark, twisting roads, breathing silent prayer for one unfortunate traveler whose car had fallen prey to the slick conditions.

The tiny sanctuary in the church was lit only by candles placed on the windowsills.  We slipped quietly into the wooden pews and were called to worship:

Varen icke forskrackta.  Se, jag badar eder en stor gladje, son skall vederfaras allt folket...

 Do not be afraid.  I bring you good news of a great joy that will be for all people...

Winter in Sweden is cold, dark, and dreary.  Because of its geographic location, winter days are long and dark until the solstice on December 22.  Christmas celebrations, in contrast, are rich with images of light dawning and candles glowing.  Throughout the service, in both Swedish and English, we listened to scriptures and sang hymns celebrating the birth of the One who is the Light of the World.  As the service progressed Christmas morning dawned, the sun's light slowly overcoming the dark sanctuary.

At the close of the service, we were treated to coffee (of course), mulled cider, and Swedish breads.  We listened to the stories of elderly members as they reminisced about Julotta services they had attended as children.  Many told of how their parents and grandparents used to travel by sleigh, bundled in blankets, to welcome the dawn of Christmas.

It was a blessing, sharing with these folks a celebration of their Swedish heritage.  Even greater, however, was the opportunity to rejoice in the heritage which both the beloved Swede and I share.  We are privileged to know that, for each of us, generations of relatives have called upon the Lord and taught the scriptures to their children.

...surely (we) have a delightful inheritance.  Psalm 16:6

And, at the end of that Christmas day, celebrating Julotta was what our daughter said she enjoyed most.

All hail to thee, O blessed morn!

To tidings long by prophets borne

hast Thou fulfillment given.

O scared and immortal day,

when unto earth, in glorious ray,

descends the grace of heaven.

Singing, ringing, sounds are blending

praises sending into heaven

for the Savior to us is given!

(Traditional Swedish carol)

Telling my Christmas story over at emily's place:

  

 Also linking with Faith Barista's Thursday Jam: