D U G N A D

D U G N A D
Say it with me: 
dugnad (doog-nod). . .
It’s a Norwegian word I learned this week when I was reading an article by Phyllis Cole-Dai; it’s an ancient word, traceable to the Viking Age, when villagers would labor together to bring ships ashore after long seafaring trips.
That’s dognap. . .
In later centuries, Norwegian farming communities would work together to prepare for harsh winters and to survive other hardships. 
Dugnad. . .
In the 1940s, Norwegians rallied to resist five brutal years of Nazi occupation.
  Dugnad. . .

Traditionally, dugnad is the collective effort of individual Norwegians who sacrifice their personal desires, and allow their own sense of “normal” to be temporarily disrupted, for the benefit of their community or country.

On March 12 of this year, after the first Norwegian died from COVID-19, Prime Minister Erna Solberg called for a national dugnad. She asked everyone in Norway to band together to reduce the spread of the disease. As a result, the country contained the outbreak, avoiding massive numbers of infections and deaths.

To my knowledge, I don’t have any Norwegians in my family tree. But a concept similar to dugnad lives in my, in OUR DNA. I call it “love of the neighbor,” or “commitment to the common good,” or “civic duty,” or even “patriotism,” in the best sense.

I know. . .one person’s definition and perspective isn’t the COLLECTIVE’S and I’m often hurt and disappointed when I’m naive enough to think so. . .

I credit my upbringing, my spiritual life, and my liberal arts education, my Master of Divinity in Social Ethics and Pastoral Care among other things, for cultivating in me a deep respect for others. But I suspect that I was born with the seed of this sensibility, just as you were. It’s part of our nature as human beings. How could it not be? We’ve had to count on one another to survive since the dawn of history.

Sometimes, though, that seed of  US gets buried so far down inside, we don’t even realize it’s there. We lack fellow feeling. We’d rather do our own thing than devote ourselves to a common purpose, even in a crisis. . .and isn’t that what we are currently seeing/showing/feeling over these past few months. . . ?

I keep hoping that we can find ways to strengthen our faith in one another. Maybe we could start, right where we are, by sharing frankly what we believe in—one person speaking at a time, while the rest of us listen. I mean, really listen, without mentally picking apart what we’re hearing. Listening so well that when the speaker finishes, we offer only our thanks, without commentary. We now understand better, and that’s enough.

Let’s try it, shall we?
DARE WE?
I’ll speak first, if you don’t mind, since I’m already at it:

I believe in greeting each new day with a bow of gratitude. In nurturing the promise of children. In being faithful to friends. In being kind to strangers. In trying to love without clinging.

I believe in neighborly potlucks and pots of coffee. In bicycles and flowers and porches; early morning walks or afternoon strolls in silence and solitude. In sanctuaries and wilderness. In letting things be. In sometimes losing myself in order to find myself again. In the necessity of pulling colorful weeds out of sidewalk cracks in the delight of UNPLANTING flowers or just buying them and giving them away. In striking a fine balance between freedom and responsibility. In the power of naming. In the duty to vote. In buying a cup of coffee for the car behind you in line and driving away before they have a chance to flick their lights or honk their horn in gratitude. . .

I believe that the universe is big and our place in it isn’t even a speck, yet what we do and say matters. I believe that joy is fleeting. That life is hard. That equanimity is possible, even in the midst of suffering. That life is a fragile web of kinship. That death is always close. I believe in the smallness of what I know, the value of what you know, the vastness of what we can know together, and the existence of what we can’t know at all. . .

I believe in trees, especially old ones, and in the ever-changing sky, which has no borders, only ongoing, never-ending horizons. I believe that what’s good for me is bound up with what’s good for you. I believe in stepping over the line of what’s nice for the sake of what’s right. I believe in poetry and stories and music and art and dreams—everything that helps us to question who we are and to imagine who we might become, together. . .

I believe in you. . .

D U G N A D
I am often the weakest link
to find the strongest of strong
connections
that hold and support me
when I have fingerless hands
to grab
to hold
anything that’s good
for me and others
Seldom the strongest
frequently the weakest
the mainest of the main
is being a part of the chain
Often am I
the thread missing from the tapestry
the puzzled piece
that completes the jigsawed riddle
the punctuation mark
that ends the sentence
the dot that connects the dots
and in the missing
am I forever found
to be often lost
and found again
and yet found once before
being lost
A connection
A link
not deserved
but owned
all the more
to be extended
to the
dugnad
in you

THIS SIMPLE. . . ?
BE THE OUTSTRETCHED HAND
THAT GUARANTEES ANOTHER’S
NEVER TO BE EMPTY
. . .THAT COMPLETES THE NEVER-ENDING CIRCLE

HAND IN HAND
LINK BY LINK
HELP ME
IN MY WEAKNESS
IN YOUR WEAKNESS
TO MAKE STRONG
WHAT CAN NEVER BE ACCOMPLISHED
a l o n e