65° - 01.11.1969, Blaðsíða 28

it be Heaven or Valhalla. The people I have work-
ed with have, among other things, disliked all
matters of confession, not because they felt lightly
but because they felt deeply. Countrymen don’t
talk easily of their feelings and when the Christian
faith is part of them, discussion is difficult ex-
cept, perhaps, in the case of a bereavement.
During the vast transitional period in Iceland
of the last twenty five years I have seen creeds
fade in the light of new experience and dogmas
scoffed at, which in the past would have been blas-
phemy. Twenty years ago I listened to stories
about Hidden People an dElves; about prophesies
of churchmen which came to pass; about natural
phenomena which almost made my hair rise.
These things have passed in a mechanical and
technilogical age which, in some way or another,
has penetrated to the most remote valley of the
country. I must admit that I prefer the single-
mindedness of the Iceland I knew before the
tractor took over from the horse, the mechanical
grass cutting machine from the scythe, and the
pretence from honest endeavor. I share the hope
with others that Iceland in her crave for rapid
modernization will not decivilize, which is
civilization gone rotten. The Icelander, I fear,
has still to realize that the machine, when
mastered and directed by the human spirit,
can lead to a noble enlargement of life. On
land and at sea there is now machinery which
has wrested from nature a provision for human
life, so that there is no longer a need for long
spells of monotonous toil and a bitter struggle
for bread. There seems to be growing in Iceland a
kind of mechanical philosophy of politics, where
everybody, eventually, will have his neat little part
in the state machine. In such a bagman’s paradise,
where life would be rationalized and aided with
every material comfort, there would be little satis-
faction for the immortal part of roan. But I must
be tolerant and remember that change is inevitable,
at once a penalty and a privilege.
I have learned many things in Iceland but I
believe that the Call I mentioned earlier has been
the basis of my learning. If I hadn’t had that, I
would long ago have packed my bag and left Ice-
land for good. During the first ten years of my
ministry I knew little of the comforts which make
life pleasant. For almost seven of those years I
lived on the Arctic island of Grimsey with the
island’s population of seventy-five souls. Although
I had by then a wife and children it was a lonely
existence and somewhat primitive. As an only
child, brought up in a comfortable Scottish home
I had grown to take much for granted.
These first ten years, I felt, were either to make
me or break me. I am glad I got through them
with a self-reliance I never thought I could acquire,
an insight into human nature laid bare and a
mistrust for sophistication in ordinary lives. And
I was glad I had inherited a sense of humour from
my Scottish parentage. It often kept me going
during the long dark winters and raging snow-
storms from the Arctic.
When I was on the Island of Grimsey I will
always remember one cold and stormy August
afternoon when an Icelandic Fishery Protection
vessel arrived with a vice-Bishop of the Church,
a county lieutenant and other dignitaries to do
some business on the island. A few days previously
I had bartered some meat from my little farm
with the captain of a Finnish herring boat. He had
little to offer except potatoes, jam and a caSe of
Scotch whiskey. The party from the Fishery Pro-
tection ship made its way to my house. Most of
the people were feeling the effects of their rough
voyage from the mainland and asked me, ever so
circumspectly, if I could oblige them with refresh-
ment. Luckily I had the case of whiskey and
straightway produced a bottle. Legally speaking,
the whiskey was smuggled. Further the bottle
which stood on the table had no tab stating that
it had been bought at any of the Government’s
Wine and Spirit stores. To make things even
worse, this sort of whiskey was not sold in Ice-
land. For a moment the situation was embar-
rassing while the county lieutenant looked at the
bottle, seemingly deep in thought. The vice-
Bishop, a j ovial and highly intelligent man broke
the awful silence. With a smile he addressed the
county lieutenant, a chief man of law and order,
and said, “Mr Jack, a Scot, must be good at
keeping things a long time. No doubt he brought
this bottle with him from visiting his parentis in
Scotland. Isn’t it one bottle per person that the
customs allow into the country?”
“Of course, of course!” the lawman answered
with a smile and sat down looking relieved. I gave
the five visitors what they wanted and soon the
bottle was finished. I fetched another from the
case. The county lieutenant didn’t look while I
filled his glass but his secretary with a glow on
his face like the midnight sun said, “lovely
whiskey, lovely whiskey, We’ll have to get the
government to bring it in for sale.” With some
old fashioned hospitality I gave each a bottle be-
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65 DEGREES