Ordained - a novel. Part I.

The reception committee (a black page)

The exact date of this episode is unknown. We also do not know the name of the minister involved. What we do know is that it happened sometime between the end of World War II and 1990, in Jönköping, Sweden.

Europe was considered a third world country when it came to New Church evangelization. This was ironic of course, since Emanuel Swedenborg was European. When the church in Sweden and Denmark had gone without the presence of a pastor for several years the bishop in Bryn Athyn, Pennsylvania, decided something should be done. Even if no one was keen on a permanent posting into this dark religious climate, he could ask someone to take a couple of months paid holiday there. One of the older, near-retirement guys would fit the bill. They were often more than happy to fulfill such an ambassadorial role. It implied prestige and gave reputations a boost. As long as it was paid. And temporary.

This was how the American minister landed up in Stockholm. He used this city as his base for a 2-month tour of Europe. He was put up in the large manse in Bromma, which the church owned. He was not given a car, which he initially thought was odd, but soon got used to.

He preached in Stockholm, Copenhagen, Oslo, The Hague, Berlin, Paris, London, and Prague. At least that was the plan. He found out very quickly that the contact persons in these places were not always on the same page as he was. Sometimes the contact person wasn't alive anymore.

He knew that appearances were what really mattered, so he did arrange travel to most of these places. Berlin was the exception because it turned out that the contact person in that city had not only died from old age the previous year but had also constituted the whole of the one-man congregation there. Often he would simply meet a small group of elderly members, be invited to dinner in someone's apartment, and then be brought back to the station or airport. The members had expressed no wish nor made any arrangements for a church service, or Holy Supper, or even a doctrinal class. But the minister could officially report that he had visited the New Church in, say, Paris and had had many meaningful and promising conversations. Appearances were what really mattered.

Back in Stockholm he consulted with the board members, and he let slip that he was just a tiny-weeny bit disappointed with the size and liveliness of the New Church in the places visited so far. In that case, he was told, he should visit the Jönköping congregation. They were keenly awaiting him and they loved the New Church. He would have a very different experience there, they assured him.

He telephoned the contact person in Jönköping and arranged for train reservations. He would be met at the station by a delegation, and yes they had their own premises where weekly lay services were being held. They looked forward to receiving the bishop's chosen ambassador for the New Church in their charming small town. The minister thanked them in good spirits. This sounded indeed more like it.

He boarded the train, riding first class, as the Jönköping people had insisted he do, on a Saturday morning. The plan was to arrive in the afternoon, spend some time getting to know the folks, have dinner, and then conduct a full-fledged church service on Sunday morning. The journey took about four hours. He admired the beautiful, unspoilt landscape that unrolled outside the window. Forests, lakes, and more forests, dotted with pre-glacial boulders overgrown with green moss.

As the train arrived in Jönköping, gliding past the large lake Vättern that came right into the center of town, he looked out and wondered if he would recognize the New Church reception committee. He saw immediately he need not worry about that. On the platform four gentlemen and one woman were waiting for him. They were dressed in long gray overcoats, warm against the winter temperatures. They certainly looked official, and since they were the only people standing there, it had to be them.

The minister grabbed his luggage and exited onto the platform. And then something happened.

The five people all lined up in front of him, the woman slightly behind the men. They looked him straight in the eye and brought their right arm up at a slight angle above horizontal. The minister was slow to pick up what they were doing. He was about to speak when all five, quietly but very distinctly, with their arms still in front of them and with fingers together pointing forward, said, "Heil Hitler!" Then they lowered their arms and stood looking at him appraisingly.

The minister looked back at them, his mouth open.

"There must be some mistake..." he began uncertainly.

"No mistake, Mr. (name unknown)," the leader of the pack said. "Welcome to Jönköping and welcome to the Jönköping New Church!"

"But you just gave me the Hitler greeting!" he said with shock in his voice.

"Yes, sir. We are proud to welcome a representative of the most noble of all churches, the only one that belongs to our times, our race, the one that upholds our ideals. Welcome." He nodded, virtually bowed, to the minister.

There was silence. The reception committee was still smiling, though they could see the discomfort they had caused. They were sure the discomfort was only temporary. They offered to carry his suitcase and guided him to a waiting taxi.

We do not know what conversations were held that evening in Jönköping. We do know that the minister gave a short, prepared, standard sermon the next day in the church hall on Rosenbergsgatan. He cut his visit short, claiming a flu that had come on in the cold weather. He declined the lunch invitations that were extended and caught the 1:00 p.m. train back to Stockholm.

His official report to Bryn Athyn was terse and did not mention the reception scene on the train platform.