Monthly Archives: March 2021

Today is Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week leading to Easter. It is a grand, serious, and holy drama in our part of the Body of Christ on earth, played out in liturgy, song, and prayer. We tell the story of Jesus the Christ entering Jerusalem to the cry of Hosannas and the strewing of palm branches as he rides on a donkey through the city gates. Our parishes once acted out this holy week with daily liturgies leading to the Triduum, the three days before Easter. Then on Maundy Thursday we celebrated the Last Supper, when Christ gave the Church the gift of himself in the Holy Eucharist. On Good Friday we mourned as Our Lord was crucified on the cross of Golgotha, the “place of the skull.” On Holy Saturday we prepared for Easter and the transformation of the sanctuary from purple shrouds to white lilies on the altar. Easter Eve was often a celebration of the first Easter morning, candles lighting the dark of the nave. Easter Day was resurrection day when children flowered a white wooden cross at the chancel steps.

Today, with Coronavirus restrictions and fewer numbers of the faithful, we enact a more abbreviated Holy Week. Even so, the liturgies are rich and beautiful, poetry distilled through centuries. We are a joyous people, and our liturgies embrace the transformation of mankind from despair to joy, from suffering to saved, from death to life.

I for one am so very grateful I came to the Faith early in my life so that I could experience these yearly festivals, beckoning me along my path to Heaven. It is a rich and colorful weaving of time and eternity, for with each Eucharist, eternity intersects time. Even today, from home, locked down and attending church virtually, I have experienced such grace, grace that demands immense gratitude. For grace abounds where faith, hope, and love intersect.

And so it was with particular joy that I realized my great grandfather Nicholas Nelson was a devout believer. I have inherited a number of anniversary mementos, silver with “N to C” engraved in swirling cursive letters. The most cherished of these mementos, however, is a plaque designed by Nicholas for Christine for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. He writes in careful printing, framed by leafy tendrils on parchment:

“The thoughts that fit a long life of happiness together have been said so well over three thousand years ago, that they are the best suited to convey all the meaning in my heart. And they are here repeated.“ (Here he quotes Proverbs 31)

Ending with:

“Golden indeed have been the years now registered by this Golden Wedding Anniversary, May 10, 1942.”

My grandmother’s notation can be seen at the base the frame, telling us her parents were married 56 years and 5 months and had three children: Helen Christine (my grandmother), her sister Armorel, and her brother Gilbert.

I had wondered about Gilbert who died at age 27 in Denver in 1922. In researching my Norwegian ancestors I learned from a news article that he died from appendicitis. An aunt of mine, today young at ninety-four, supplied another bit of story: Gilbert’s mother Christine was so grief stricken that she left Denver for San Francisco in the next few months. Why SF? It turns out that Nicholas’ brother Harry had a candy company there, just as Nicholas had founded one in Denver. Nicholas joined Christine in the year following and they made their way to Los Angeles.

My heart ached for Christine and Nicholas, losing a son at 27 years of age. Life was often threatened in those days, and perhaps more appreciated than today because of those challenges. Children didn’t always survive infancy. Surgery was dangerous. Infection was common. And yet they valued what was precious, life itself, family bonds that strengthened the trials.

And so I pray on this Palm Sunday 2021 that we do not forget our history, be it family or nation or world, that when the darkness settles upon us, shrouding our past, demonizing faith, scattering families, that we keep the light burning, keep waving our palms before Him as He enters the gates of Jerusalem.

For as we tell this old story of God incarnate two thousand years ago and His great acts of redemption, we remind ourselves and our world that this is an ongoing, present-day story of God incarnate. Each year we process and wave our palms and sing “All glory, laud and honor/ To thee Redeemer, King! /To whom the lips of children/ Made sweet hosannas ring.” (#61) Each year we act out the drama of His crucifixion and resurrection and His offer of salvation from death, His offer of eternal life to each one of us, His beloved children. Death is no more, conquered by the love of God.

In this way, each year we renew our own life in Christ’s life, weaving our story into His and His into ours. Our ancestors understood these magnificent truths of mankind and told the story too.

Just as we do, today, Palm Sunday 2021, as we enter Holy Week.

It has been said that America is a nation of immigrants. Why did they come here? Why do they continue to come?

To be sure, we need them. Our population is shrinking since the pill and legalized abortion. We are a people who prize the individual at the expense of the family, at the expense of authorities of all kinds. And now we are paying the price, with a surge of aging boomers requiring care, reaping our childless past. We need workers to settle in our country and take care of the boomers.

But we need immigrants to enter legally. We need to protect our country from drugs and human trafficking and Coronavirus, from foreign agents seeking to harm us. We need legal immigrants who desire to become Americans, who cherish freedom, abide by our laws, and speak our language. We need them to respect our history and our institutions, especially our religious institutions.

Especially the First Amendment to the Constitution, the free speech amendment:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

Clearly we should be allowed to express our beliefs and opinions without fear. Clearly we should encourage civil debate. And yet today opposing opinions are forced underground. In the wake of the rise of this totalitarian terror we are self-censoring, and this has been the most dangerous development of all (see a recent Epoch Times discussion of this frightening phenomenon: “Communist Tactics to Force Self-Censorship Sweeping America” by Petr Svab, March 9, 2021)

What this means for writers of all genres is that publishers will be even more hesitant to risk the anger of the mob, risk subscription counts, risk employment, risk livelihoods, risk life and limb.

The rush to cross our southern border is only equaled by the silencing of any objection to illegal immigration, and thus the silencing of law and order, the Constitution, the history and culture of our country.

My family immigrated from Norway and I have recently been researching some of the details. Each fact carries within it another question, why this, why that, what caused them to leave and come to America?

The Nielsens and the Gullicksens knew each other for many generations in the farming community of Solum, Telemark, Norway, before they immigrated to America, before Nicholas Nelson married Marta Kristin Gullicksen in 1892 in Chicago. Their families had been farmers, and all were baptized in the local Solum church.

Why did they leave to risk the long sea journey to our shores? The Gullicksens traveled with four young children. It is my guess they only spoke Norwegian. And it is my guess they wanted a better life. They became Americans. They worked to assimilate, to become part of their new community of Chicago, part of their new country, America. They learned the language, and they even anglicized the spelling of their names. Marta Kristin became Martha Christine. Nielsen became Nelson. Gulliksen changed as well over the years. They desired to share this land with other immigrants, those who came before and those who would come after.

I believe also they entered legally, probably through Ellis Island (will research that at some point). How did they arrive in Chicago, after coming into New York City? The Nielsens came first in the 1860’s. The Gullicksens arrived two months before the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Somehow they survived.

They were fearless and full of faith; their faith made them fearless or at least fearing what should rightly be feared. They knew right from wrong, according to the law of Moses, fulfilled by Christ, and they taught their children these values of hard work, honesty, kindness. Love your neighbor. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Examine your own life for sin and repent and start over. Obey and honor God.

Martha Christine (photo to the left) married Nicholas Nelson in Chicago in 1892. Their three children were born in Chicago in the years following. But at some point they left for Denver. Why? Nicholas, like his brother-in-law Ole Gullicksen (see earlier blog), founded a company in Denver.

Ole founded a furniture manufacturing company, The Churchill Cabinet Company in 1904 in Chicago. Nicholas founded the Nicholas and Rhodes Candy Company in Denver. It was listed in Denver in 1914-15 when it became a member of the Confectioners Association.

Their three children grew up in those years, mainly in Denver. My grandmother, Helen Christine Nelson, married James Headlee Martin in Denver in 1919.

And in 1920 my mother, Helen Martha Martin, was born, followed by Mary Ruth Martin in 1921. Headlee worked for Texaco and in the next few years was transferred to Spokane, where Lucy Jane Martin was born (1927). A few years after that, concerned about the moral ethos of the company at the time (according to my mother), Headlee quit and the family made their way to the West Coast and took a steamer to Los Angeles.

Ole stayed in Chicago along with many relatives. But my branch of the family were travelers, immigrants within the nation as it were, looking for something else, or forced to look, or ? Norway-Chicago-Denver-Spokane-Los Angeles. In each generation, a child, now grown and married, pulled up roots to plant somewhere else.

They embodied a frontier optimism so characteristic of America. They traveled from Norway, conquering land and language and law and labor. They survived the fire in Chicago, and the next generation moved to Denver to make their fortune there. Then following the spirit of the growing economy, the next generation went to Spokane, where Headlee made a principled decision, to stand up for what he believed, quitting his job. The sacrifice placed them in the Depression with no livelihood.

I have cobbled this story from bits and pieces and welcome family members’ corrections. As a novelist I am fascinated by human character, the depth and variety of created humanity, no two persons alike. As a Christian novelist I am fascinated by conscience, formed and informed by Christ. When this fiery spirit resides within, it burns brightly and enlightens our decisions. When this spirit is put out or ignored or denied, choices are made in moral darkness, with only concern for the self.

It is this debate between the light and the dark that is being silenced today. The fire of freedom that burns within every American is being snuffed out like a candle burned down to its last bit of wax.

We are a country of immigrants, of travelers, of creators, of doers, a people of imagination and energy. Let us protect this heritage and keep the flame burning, that fire of the first amendment, promising free speech, free assembly, freedom to practice religion, freedom to petition for redress of grievances. Let us continue to be a beacon to the world, a light in the darkness of tyranny.

Today is Passion Sunday, the beginning of the passio the last days of Christ on earth. The light of the world becomes dark only to rise again to new life and light. America celebrates this grand passion and welcomes all to celebrate with her this great gift of freedom and the promise of eternity.

As I was gazing upon some old, framed photos of ancestors on one of my bookshelves and quizzing myself on their names, whether they were the English or Norwegian branch, I noticed some volumes of autobiography near the photo of my great grandmother, Martha Christine (Gullicksen) Nelson. They were slim volumes, about 4” X 6”, hardbound dark blue, and titled Little Masterpieces of Autobiography. The first of four volumes was subtitled Greatest Americans and included Washington, Jefferson, Hamilton, and Lincoln. The volume was edited by George Iles and first published in 1885, but this edition was dated 1925, published by Doubleday, Page and Company in New York. They were part of a collection given to me by my grandmother Helen Christine (Nelson) Martin (1896-1994).

The books renewed an interest to learn more about these Norwegians who came to Chicago from Telemark, Norway in 1871.

I have been thinking of including an American history theme in my next novel, and I realized I could use this slim volume of Great Americans as research as I explored my own immigrant roots in Chicago.

I had heard via family lore that one of these ancestors founded a furniture company in Chicago. I opened an old file where I had placed bits and pieces given to me over the years, notes and jottings penned by my grandmother Helen Christine and my great grandmother, Martha Christine. From these bits I learned that Martha Christine’s brother, Ole Gullicksen (1867-1948), founded the Churchill Cabinet Company in Chicago in 1904.

A quick online search revealed the company was still in business, refashioned to construct pinball cabinets when forced to compete with lower priced mass-produced furniture. The business, named after the original location (Churchill Street), had moved a few blocks southwest.

I can see why folks love to research genealogy. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle, and each piece added is a great discovery.

I soon learned that Ole became a successful entrepreneur, helping to fund the Norwegian American Hospital near Humboldt Park. I also learned sadly that the hospital is in the process of changing the name to Humboldt Park Health to better reflect the community – a sign of the times, the rebranding, the renaming, the cancelling and erasing.

There are those today who wish to erase our history, topple our great Americans, as if to reinvent our country and reform our union. But it is history, true history, that defines us as individuals and as nations.

Looking at these Norwegians that came before me enriches my life today. I know there are many other strands from other countries that wove together to make me me, and I marvel at God’s intricate and beautiful (if also mysterious) ways. These threads of life continue into the future, and I smiled when I saw that my grandson is attending a college not far from Churchill Street: Wheaton. When I saw Naperville nearby, I recognized it was the location of one of our APCK (Anglican Province of Christ the King) parishes, All Saints.

The glories of the past – and the inglorious – all affect the present and the future.

And so as we celebrated this morning the Fourth Sunday in Lent, the lessons reverberated with these themes of identity, who we are as Christians in this long journey through time. We travel the path of faith, reliving the journey God lived among us, beginning with Abraham and fulfilled in Christ. We travel with and within the Church through these celebrations each year. We live out the past in the present so that we can live in the future. We teach our children how to do this. We teach them to never forget who they were, are, and will be.

In this way my immigrant ancestors added to the stream of Christian witness. They taught us how to become Americans – through a common language, through hard work, through a strong family life, and through a devout faith.

I wish I had known them. With research, I will know a little more. But I will know them one day more than a little, one day in the Heavenly Jerusalem.

In the Gospel reading assigned for today, Our Lord’s words rang especially true: “Every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation; and a house divided against a house falleth.” (St. Luke 11:14+) America is divided by the politics of division itself.

It is tragically ironic that we are told we must return to a segregated society, and the call to make this happen has come from those who championed southern segregation and the ownership of slaves, the Democrat Party. 

The work of Martin Luther King and many others up to this day is being abandoned and denied. We are being separated into groups by the color of our skin. We are being told what to think and how to act according to rules of race.

This tyranny goes by the name of critical race theory or identity politics. Instead of restoring identities and celebrating our differences, powerful groups seek to foment war between races.

Those who seek to bring Americans together through common language, history, and idea,  to celebrate diversity, the many cultures that have enriched our country, are deemed racists, haters, and even terrorists.

As an Anglican, I have been part of congregations of mixed race and heritage. The Anglican Church, stemming from Britain and her Commonwealth, was and is a universal church, finding its way to Asia, India, Africa, and the Americas. We have members and clergy from all parts of the world. The native culture learned English as well as the Gospel message of salvation, but Bibles were translated into their own language as well. All this continues.

We celebrate an individual’s talents, gifts that will make our parish life vibrant.

And it is the common faith, common language, and common history as freedom-loving Americans that has made this globalism within a parish family thrive. It is Christianity that has brought freedom to those enslaved, whether chained by sin or by man.

Today I fear there is legislation by decree that threatens our wonderful melting pot. There is also a silencing of those who object, a silencing carried out by powerful interests joining to solidify their power: big business, big tech, big media, big government, big trade unions. These sectors use the politics of division to silence objections to twenty-first segregation and enslavement that they see as beneficial, at least to their own sector. 

For when speech is silenced, debate dies, respect for others, their opinions or skin color or belief system, turns into hatred and demonization. When academia becomes the training ground for groupthink, and fear of reprisal keeps students and faculty in lockstep, the next generation will march to the same tune, wear the same uniform, think the same thoughts. The boot in the face associated with dictatorships is near.

One hopes for the voiceless to find their voices, to stand up when they are told to fold, to hope when they are told to despair, to light the darkness of our world.

Christians understand freedom and its importance to practicing their faith of freedom. We have sent missionaries to their martyrdoms for centuries in the name of the faith and in the name of freedom to practice that faith. We understand objective truth and are attuned to slippery lies. We are trained in logic through theology and apologetics (even the Nicene Creed), in language through Holy Scripture, the ultimate Word, and in joy through experience of the holy, the divine, the eternal in sacraments, liturgy, and prayer. We understand the nature of love and its expression, sacrifice. We submit to Love’s demands in the Ten Commandments, the cardinal virtues, the fruits of the spirit, the Beatitudes. Amidst the chaos and suffering of this world, we see a greater good and we look to a greater Love when Christ leads us into the Holy City, the New Jerusalem. We know and grow to fully understand that this life is but a prelude to one of immense joy, but also justice.

We also see clearly that our present world must follow a similar path, live by a similar rule, be part of a similar hope, that the Judeo-Christian rule of righteousness, sometimes called natural law, gives order, secures peace, encourages individual dignity, and celebrates the sanctity of life.

We are told by powerful interests to erase the past, ignore or rewrite history to suit those in power. This is not our way. This is not the way of truth, of healing, of peace. Rather, history that celebrates freedom and human dignity in its heroes is a history that unites us. We must learn from our past, the rights and the wrongs.

We are told by powerful interests that speech must be controlled. This is not our way. This is not the way of artists, of writers, of painters, of musicians. This is not the way of beauty. This is not the way of celebrating the sanctity of every person made in the image of God.

It is a time for truth-telling, for honoring America’s promise, for hope that burns in Lady Liberty’s torch. It appears that it is a sputtering flame, a flame that all the world is watching carefully. For America is an exceptional land, one we cannot take for granted. America needs us, needs our words, our prayers, our love of one another. Liberty’s flame must burn bright.