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It is now widely affirmed that pastors have much to gain from reading fiction. Luckily, there is no shortage of good fiction from around the world, a subset of which even deals directly with church life and ministry. While many in ministry will be able to read these books profitably, the stories often play out in contexts very different from our twenty-first century Nordic societies, featuring countries with different cultural assumptions and characters from different Christian traditions (Catholic, mainline, etc.). Wouldn’t it be great if people in ministry in the Nordics had a novel of their own?

Luckily, one (at least) has already been written, and a good one at that. Leland Ryken, emeritus professor of English at Wheaton College, has called it the “best Christian classic you’ve never heard of.” This book merits the attention of TGC Nordic readers, not only because it is a fine novel, but because it speaks compellingly (through fiction) of how the gospel has been at work in the past, and can help inspire Christians and pastors in their work for the gospel in the future in this specific region.

The Hammer of God (Stengrunden) by Bo Giertz, published in 1941, chronicles a single Lutheran parish in rural Sweden from the early nineteenth century until 1940. It is broken into three sections (novellas), each following the first years of a young and inexperienced pastor learning to cope with the challenges of ministry and his own immaturity (or unconverted heart). Giertz was himself a minister in rural Sweden before becoming Bishop of Gothenburg, and clearly drew from his own experiences for these stories. Here are some reasons the novel could be edifying to you:

Clarity of the gospel (through fiction)

When it comes to literature that features the church and pastoral ministry in particular, it’s hard to beat such classics as George Bernanos’ Diary of a Country Priest, Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory, or Marilynne Robinson’s Gilead, to name a few. Those should be read simply because they are great literature, and yet they also happen to deal with deeply Christian themes in Christian contexts. Edifying and beautiful works of art—whether novels or paintings or musical scores—do not necessarily contain explicit gospel explanations, nor should we expect this from their authors and creators.

However, what is unique about the Hammer of God is that it is not only a great work of literature, but the gospel of Jesus Christ is laid out clearly, both in the prose and lives of the characters. You could almost just read Giertz’s section and chapter titles to learn this: “Jesus Only,” “A Heart of Stone and a Rock of Salvation,” and “In the Place of Sinners”. The book is suffused with the great Lutheran articulations of justification by faith alone and other Reformational emphases on Scripture and the cross.

What is unique about the Hammer of God is that it is not only a great work of literature, but the gospel of Jesus Christ is laid out clearly, both in the prose and lives of the characters.

One example: early in the book, a new pastor is faced with a dying parishioner struggling with a scrupulous conscience. The man is convinced his heart is too black, his repentance has never been sincere enough, and all his good deeds were done with impure motivations. He just can’t believe in the grace of God. The pastor, despite his advanced degrees in theology, is unable to find the words to comfort him.

Finally, a former neighbor who, like the dying man, is from a simple farming family, arrives and brings the balm for his wounds: that the man only saw his sin at all “because God anointed your eyes with the salve of the Spirit to see the truth;” and that though he is a great sinner, “Jesus is still a greater Savior” (echoing a famous quote by John Newton). In short, she helped him turn away from self to “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:29).

The gospel is explicit; moreover, it is enacted through the narrative. God’s grace reaches the man through a humble neighbor who knew her Bible, not the sophisticated theologian from the city. This in turn brings this young pastor himself to a deeper understanding of the gospel, acknowledging how he has trusted in himself, his education, and his social status rather than in the unmerited grace of God.

The novel also deftly displays the various alternatives to the gospel that sinful hearts and cultural trends continue to rehash again and again through the characters. Pietism and its temptations to legalism, its predictable antinomian reactions, and the liberalism of those convinced progress means keeping in step with the times. At one point, someone drifting from orthodoxy proclaims, “The Spirit will lead us into the whole truth. What was valid in Jesus’s day is not necessarily valid today. Not even his own words are so unalterable that his Spirit cannot change them” (306). This is not an uncommon perspective in Nordic churches today.

Affection for the Nordics

The novel is set in the Swedish countryside and manages to capture the landscape and history of the region. It contains descriptions that will warm the heart of readers from across the Nordics:

”The last touch of evening sun was finding its way through the leafy crowns of the linden trees…Already there was a fresh stream of air from the lowlands, moist and cool, smelling of birch and sedge. On the right slope edging the valley, stood the church, clean and white.” (4, 10)

Finns in particular will enjoy how Giertz highlights the shared history of Finland and Sweden, especially in the wars with Russia that bookend the novel. Characters wait anxiously for news of the Winter War and are shocked at the loss of the Karelian Isthmus. In a provocative passage, Giertz meditates (through a character) on atonement, vicarious suffering, and the idea that creation is “subjected to futility… in hope that the creation itself will be set free” (Rom. 8:20-21). He wonders if just as some Russian martyrs suffering and dying in Soviet prisons camps may bring renewal to Russian Christians, so “maybe the people of Finland too suffered for the cleansing and purging of their sleeping and secularized fellow Nordic nations” (336).

We need not accept that interpretation (nor does Giertz affirm it) to see how Giertz viewed the lives and events of Nordic people through a deeply Christian lens. He clearly loves and identifies with the Nordic region. He gestures towards a pan-Nordic Christian identity that could further encourage cooperation in gospel ministry. And he does it with hope. Giertz looked at the poor spiritual health of the region and found reasons to trust in the providence of God. Amidst indifference and hostility, he knew that contending for the gospel is always worth the cost. Those themes remain just as relevant today as they were eighty years ago.

So please, dear readers, take and read!

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