Kirkkugøta

On our drives around the islands, there are many lovely churches.

Timber churches.

Churches with beautiful door openers.

Churches with turf roofs and windows stained with the reflection of the sunset sky.

Until today, doors locked tight.

This morning, my best friend and I set off for the northernmost point of the Faroes accessible by car. We knew we would pause for worship somewhere along the way.

We found a beautiful place to stop and do morning prayers from Daily Prayers for all Seasons. As we finished we heard church bells down the road.

We followed the sound of the bells.

The church door was open, and we joined our Faroese neighbors for worship.

As I sat in this exquisite space it didn’t matter that I couldn’t understand one word spoken or sung. My spirit understood perfectly.

The reverence of the people gathered (so many and all ages). The thoughtful architecture. The hymns accompanied by an organ where the congregation embraced being the choir.

During the sermon, I could pray and look at the beauty that surrounded me and let that be the voice of God.

No one greeted us but I felt welcome.

No one gave instructions, but I knew when to stand and to sit because of those surrounding me who did so with such familiarity that it was like a choreographed dance.

It was if everyone had in their spiritual dna to answer the ringing of the church bell and pause and worship God.

It wasn’t a party. It wasn’t a social hour. It was a people being with God.