In the early Summer of 1993, North Park University’s choir toured Sweden, Russia, and Estonia, beginning with a traverse of the old country from west to east. We sang in seven or eight churches, one of them the Tibro Missionskyrka depicted above on an actual postcard (again, ask your parents … let’s just say a postcard involves the Post Office and a stamp). In 1993, the Missionskyrka proudly sported a certain 1970s and 1980s Scandinavian chic. Look out Ikea.
In a homage to our Swedish roots, the North Park Choir’s long tradition had been to end every concert with four verses of Lina Sandell’s well-known hymn Trygarre Kan ingen vara. (Children of the Heavenly Father). For our American audiences, we typically sang the first three verses in English and a fourth in Swedish. However, for our Swedish audience, we learned all four verses in Swedish and proudly displayed our language prowess (or lack thereof) to our native-speaking audience.
Children of the heav’nly Father Safely in his bosom gather
Nestling bird nor star in heaven Such a refuge e’er was given.
God his own doth tend and nourish, In his holy courts they flourish
From all evil things he spares them, In his mighty arms he bears them.
Praise the Lord in joyful numbers, Your Protector never slumbers
At the will of your Defender Every foeman must surrender.
Though he giveth or he taketh, God his children ne’er forsaketh
His the loving purpose solely To preserve them pure and holy.
After one of our concerts in Sverige, perhaps in Tibro, our bemused Swedish hosts somewhat sheepishly informed us, “Here, Trygarre Kan ingen vara is a children’s song. We don’t really sing it like that.” In essence, we were being told our concert denouement was akin to a touching, harmonized version of Jesus Loves Me. Odd, and a bit kitschy, at least to them.
Fine, it was not for them to understand our traditions, handed down from our grandparents and great-grandparents (or in my case, their surrogates). Today’s Swedes were not our grandparents; they are not the descendants of those who forged their way in a new land, striving to adapt to a new reality while retaining some sense of the past. Today’s “Swedish Swedes” were not present at our choir’s American concerts over the last hundred-plus years to in-lay the tradition of Trygarre. At the end of any choir concert here in the States, the Director invited North Park Choir alumni to the stage for the final rendering of Trygarre. I see the tears on Ella’s face as she stood with her 80-something grandmother, clinging together on stage as we all sang the final rendition of Sandell’s classic.
Memories, traditions, roiling, rolling, mixing together, giving meaning and weight to our past. These visions of parents, grandparents, friends, family, Sunday worship, Christmas Eve Candlelight service (Julotta, for those of Swedish descent)–hot candle wax running down your hand from holding the candle during Silent Night, Sunrise Easter Service, the funeral of a stalwart Christian attended to by the hymns of Lina Sandell and the tunes of Oscar Ahnfelt–the vision of my father at the pulpit, his atonal, tenorous voice leading his congregation in a contemplative hymn from the past.
These are the waves of my memory crashing over the beach. I cannot call on them to stop. You have your own memories and traditions. Embrace them. Amen; I pray they will point you to Christ, as mine do.
