Vikings in Search of Holy Sites

From the time my sons were small, I have told them that they are direct descendants of the Viking explorer Leif Erikson. The genealogical evidence for this has not been found yet, but I know it’s just a matter of time.

I got my travel gene from Leif, who visited America five centuries before Columbus arrived. (Clearly there is such a thing as a travel gene, which must be recessive because I’m one of the few members of my extended family to have it.) Though I’ve never been to Norway, I’ve always taken pride in being descended from those hardy, brave Viking warriors of old.

Then I went to Ireland, and a certain depressing pattern emerged. We’d be touring a picturesque historic site when my husband would look up from the guidebook and say, “Lori, here’s another place that was once a thriving center for culture and civilization before your relatives came and killed everyone.”

This is an exaggeration, of course. Many times, the Vikings would simply round up some captives to keep as slaves, steal all the treasure in the area, and then burn a few houses before leaving in their longboats. Most of the villagers, I’m sure, went on to lead full and productive lives.

But there was a recurring theme to the Viking visits to Ireland, one that accounted for a common prayer of the period, “From the fury of the Northmen, good Lord, deliver us.” This was a popular prayer in monasteries especially, because the Vikings loved visiting Christian holy sites, though it must be admitted they were more interested in their gold and silver altar pieces than the prayer services.

When a friend visited Scandinavia, I was eager to hear his stories, especially when I heard he had visited a major exhibit on the Vikings at a museum there.

“So how was it?” I asked. “They were a pretty bloodthirsty lot, right?”

My friend shrugged. “Not so much. The impression I got was that they were just misunderstood farmers.”

Riiiiiight.

But apparently there’s something to this, as I discovered a couple of years ago when I was visiting Nordic Fest**, an annual celebration of Norwegian-American culture held in my home town of Decorah, Iowa.

There was a Viking encampment set up as part of the festivities, staffed by Nordic-looking lasses and burly guys. I made a joking reference about marauding Vikings to one of the them, and I could see her hackles rise.

“All that nonsense about bloodthirsty Vikings is simply false,” she snapped. “The Vikings were peace-loving farmers who would go on trading trips after the crops were harvested.”

As I travel the world searching for holy sites, I often think about my Viking ancestors, those misunderstood farmers who also sought out holy sites. Blood will tell, yes?

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**At this same Nordic Fest, there was a parade with a float from a local radio station that was running a promotion involving a free trip to Ireland. Emblazoned on the side of the float were the words: “Let’s send the Norwegians to Ireland.” When my husband and I saw it we both cried out in dismay, “No! Not again!”