When the state shapes religion: Denmark's pragmatic faith

We spent Christmas and New Year’s in hardcore Denmark. We were hosted by a Danish family at the very edge of the suburbs in Jutland.

We arrived in the afternoon, just in time for the festive Christmas mass at the local church. People were walking towards us, shouting that there was no room. Well, we’re Israelis. A little crowding doesn’t scare us.

It was strange to see the secular-atheist Denmark I know suddenly appear so religious. On a regular Sunday, the churches here are empty, and the question of why they are needed at all comes up quite often.

On New Year’s Eve, we peeked at the fireworks from the window and immediately turned on the television. I’m no longer at an age to frolic in this cold, and besides, the fireworks remind me of, you know what, so I preferred the screen.

The ceremony began with a speech from the new king. From there, it moved, once again, to a festive mass at a church in Copenhagen.

The camera focused on a woman. At least, that’s how I think she identifies. She was wearing the traditional clerical robes and reading the sermon.

I’ve been living here for six years and still haven’t gotten used to it. Not because it’s strange. But because it’s so normal.

Women in the Majority of the Clergy

In Denmark, women are the majority in the clergy. The majority.

How did this happen? Not because God revealed Himself in a dream to a bearded bishop.

In 1948, the Danish parliament, a completely secular body, determined that it was unreasonable for a democratic country to have a profession closed to women. The state simply forced religion to align with its egalitarian morals. One bishop agreed to ordain three women into the clergy. And from there, history.

Religion as a Public Service

What amazes me about Denmark time and again is the pragmatic ability of the state and the public to use religion, rather than religion using them.

The question here is not whether God exists, but what service religion provides to society.

The female pastor is not a representative of God on Earth. She is a public servant. An academic with a master’s degree in theology. Her role is to embrace, to contain, to manage rites of passage, and to be there for the community.

The church allows for belonging. And the question of faith, which usually stands at the center of Christianity, is pushed aside.

Thus, one can find here a secular pastor who preaches that there is no God, or a female pastor who marries same-sex couples in the name of God’s will.

Judaism, Interpretation, Binaries

It’s hard to compare. Judaism, especially in its Orthodox version, is a religion of law and halakha. Protestant Christianity is a religion of faith and grace. These are two different languages, and two theological worlds that are hard to bridge.

But Judaism is also a religion of interpretation. Halakha has always been influenced by the ideas surrounding it, to the point that in the Holy Land, it seems to have frozen.

And I, who have a secret dream of studying Gemara, am a bit envious of the Danes. Of the sweet place that religion occupies in their lives, while the secular public I belong to throws out the baby with the bathwater.

What would happen if the liberal public, instead of insisting on removing the religious from the seminaries, fought for its place within Judaism, within the study halls and synagogues?

What would happen if education and religion embraced each other, instead of rejecting one another?

And what would happen if we didn’t get stuck in the Ashkenazi binary of secular versus religious, leaving all of Judaism to the representation of the ultra-Orthodox and religious Zionism?