All the Churches Painted White

The sanctuary at Roskilde Cathedral

There are approximately fifty million churches in Denmark, a country of approximately five-point-eight million people. Almost all of these churches are at least three hundred years old, and almost all of these churches are painted white on the inside. They might be filled with ornate benches, marble baptismal fonts, or gold altarpieces, but the walls will almost always be white. That’s because Denmark was one of the first countries to officially adopt Martin Luther’s teachings and reject Catholicism in favor of Protestantism. Luther believed that the institution of the church—the clergy, the buildings, icons, saints, liturgical music, etc.—should fade into the background to allow the written word of the Bible, which people should read and interpret for themselves in their own languages, to take center stage. This meant that the intricate Catholic murals lining the walls of most Danish churches were painted over, and any and all writing found in Danish churches is in Danish, not Latin.

The sanctuary at The Church of Our Lady, Copenhagen Cathedral

There is a state church of Denmark, which all Danish citizens belong to and pay taxes for unless they specifically choose otherwise. Danes return to the church to mark major life events with the traditional ceremonies: mostly just baptisms, confirmations, weddings, and funerals. Some Danes go to church at Christmas and Easter too, but I don’t believe many Danes go year-round. I heard it described as “cultural Christianity”—most Danes adhere to Christian tradition for the sake of the tradition itself, not because they feel connected to Christianity itself. Almost every Danish teen gets confirmed because they receive presents and a party afterwards.

Palace chapel at Fredericksborg Castle

I don’t know if most Danes are still spiritual, or if they still feel something when they go to church. It probably varies, just like it does here in the States. But when I see an American church, I know it has a community that goes with it—a group of people who sing, a group of people who pray, a group of people who plan and bake and talk, a group of people who sit in the back every Sunday and think, a group of people who show up every Easter and Christmas, a group of people who believe. Granted, I’ve never belonged to any of those groups, except the last one, but it’s comforting to know that they exist, that they’re there if I ever wanted to join. The churches here feel much more tied to the past—they’re museums, really, for art and history and architecture. That’s not really a bad thing, it’s just different. And so, knowing what I know about the Danish church, I find it a little unsettling to go into these old churches because I don’t know anything about the groups who frequent them. The sense of community isn’t as strong—I think because all of Denmark is one large community. The country is so small and so homogenous that people don’t need to create their own groups, like church congregations. They all live by unspoken rules, in harmony with the state. The U.S. is so large and so diverse that we must carve out our own niches, find our own groups.