LONGYEARBYEN, Norway (AP) 鈥� The warm glow of Svalbard Kirke鈥檚 lights gleams on the snow-covered mountain slope from where the church stands like a beacon over this remote Norwegian Arctic village, cloaked in the polar night鈥檚 constant darkness.
A century after it was founded to minister to the coal miners who settled Longyearbyen, the Lutheran house of faith is open 24/7, serving as a crucial gathering point for a community navigating a drastic change in its identity.
The last Norwegian coal mine in Svalbard 鈥� an archipelago that鈥檚 鈥� was slated to close this year and only got a reprieve until 2025 because of the energy crisis driven by the war in Ukraine.
For the lone pastor in this fragile, starkly beautiful environment, the challenge is to fulfill the church鈥檚 historical mission of ministering to those in crisis while addressing a pressing and divisive contemporary challenge.
鈥淲e pray every Sunday for everyone who鈥檚 affected by climate change,鈥� the Rev. Siv Limstrand said. 鈥淲e also have a role to play as church when it comes to thinking theologically, about what are we doing to the creation.鈥�
On treeless land hemmed by glaciers, mountains and deep fjords, Longyearbyen is a town of visible paradoxes.
The open water of the rapidly warming sea laps up against old coal mining conveyors. Tourists come by the environmentally unfriendly planeload to seek pristine wilderness they can only explore with guides armed against polar bears.
Right below where the first mine was built, Svalbard Kirke beckons to its fireplace-warmed lounge that opens into the sanctuary. A cup of coffee or hymnbooks in multiple languages are always available 鈥� as long as visitors first remove their shoes in the entryway, as miners used to do with soot-covered boots.
鈥淵ou don鈥檛 have to be very religious. They have room for everybody,鈥� said Leonard Snoeks, whose daughter sings in , and whose wife is working on the city鈥檚 transition to renewable energy.
The switch this year from coal-fired to diesel-powered energy production at the plant 鈥� which prompted the mine鈥檚 original decision to shut down 鈥� is expected to halve carbon dioxide emissions even as the search for long-term, cleaner alternatives continues, said Torbj酶rn Gr酶tte, Longyearbyen鈥檚 energy transition project leader.
As change swirls faster than the snowdrifts covering Longyearbyen鈥檚 few miles of paved roads, the church鈥檚 anchoring role seems poised to remain the only constant.
It attracts miners who have attended funerals for colleagues who died on the job over the decades, as well as newly arrived scientists and tourism workers seeking to integrate in the increasingly diverse community where people now tend to stay only a couple of years.
Store Norske, the Norwegian company still operating the remaining mine, built the first church in 1921 in Longyearbyen 鈥� which translates as 鈥渢he town of Longyear,鈥� the surname of the American who established the first mining operation here.
For decades, the town鈥檚 two supreme authorities were the mine鈥檚 executive and the church鈥檚 pastor, old-timers say.
The first pastor was also the teacher in the company town that for most of the 20th century was inhabited by single miners and the mining executives鈥� families. Outside town limits, a few trappers continued to hunt, a long tradition in these glacier-covered islands.
Miners and their families also made up the Russian towns in Svalbard. At the surviving one, Barentsburg, coal is still extracted under a century-old international treaty that grants rights to all signatory countries. Relations with Longyearbyen, which had normalized after the end of the Cold War as miners traded visits by boat and snowmobile, nearly a year ago.
Trond Johansen was 17 when he arrived in Longyearbyen in 1971 on a plane chartered by the mining company that landed on an ice field 鈥� the airport would be built a few years later.
Sipping black coffee on a mid-January morning in the town鈥檚 sleek caf茅 that offers knitted wear and artisanal chocolates, the retired miner recalled when the main entertainment was at the church.
Before TVs, let alone anything like the plush cinema soon to open in the town鈥檚 new art gallery, Johansen and fellow miners gathered on Wednesdays to watch four-week-old videocassettes of news broadcasts from the mainland 鈥� though they skipped over the weather forecast, Johansen added with a chuckle.
鈥淚t was a fantastic place to grow up, more free probably than many places, and you had the wild and the excitement with polar bears lurking around,鈥� said Bent Jakobsen, who was born on Svalbard and works at the Norwegian coal mine like his father and brothers before him.
But today he jokes the mine鈥檚 closing will turn him into an endangered species just like the iconic Arctic predator.
鈥淚 can be stuffed and put in the museum, me and the polar bear,鈥� Jakobsen said.
Svalbard鈥檚 natural environment has been changing fast, too. There鈥檚 no more ice on Isfjorden, which translates as 鈥渋ce fjord鈥� and whose feet-thick ice cover used to be traversed by polar bears in winter until a dozen years ago.
鈥淓verything except the darkness has changed,鈥� said Kim Holm茅n, a special advisor to the Norwegian Polar Institute who has researched climate in Svalbard for decades. At this latitude, only the January moon glows around the clock.
Swept by the Gulf Stream ocean current and increasingly surrounded by open water, which accelerates heating, Svalbard is warming even faster than the rest of the Arctic, according to both Holm茅n and data from the Norwegian Meteorological Institute.
Compared to the 1961-1990 normal, winter temperatures of the last decade averaged 7.3 degrees Celsius (13.2 degrees Fahrenheit) warmer. It's been a dozen years since Svalbard hit -30 degrees Celsius (-22 degrees Fahrenheit), which used to happen regularly decades ago.
鈥淧lants, animals, birds, the whole ecosystem is changing,鈥� Holm茅n added, as cold-adjusted species struggle and new ones arrive.
Unusual winter rains unsettle the snowpack, which has led to more avalanches, including a deadly one a few days before Christmas in 2015 that ripped through town, killing two people.
One of them was a friend of Svalbard Kirke鈥檚 then-pastor, the Rev. Leif Magne Helgesen, who had already been working on raising awareness of the changes he was observing on the island.
鈥淎s a pastor on Svalbard, you鈥檙e the northernmost religious leader in the world. That gives you a pulpit,鈥� Helgesen said.
鈥淭here are three main ethical challenges we need to deal with and have a prophetic voice in the church: Poverty, conflict, and climate,鈥� he added. 鈥淚t鈥檚 hypocritical to only talk about life after death. We also strongly believe in life on earth and life today.鈥�
He started including prayers about climate in regular worship services. He also worked with the church鈥檚 then music director, Espen Rotevatn, to create vocals and instrumentals for a climate change Mass 鈥� including a rite of penance for piano with deep, haunting notes and upbeat, Blues-inspired passages.
鈥淪ome lyrics are dark, but much of it is filled with hope,鈥� said Rotevatn. He has been lobbying for the mine to close, which he said was a very unpopular cause just a few years ago.
From a Christian perspective, some might argue that God can fix everything 鈥� but Rotevatn shares a different view he believes is more common in the Norway's churches.
鈥淲e have a responsibility for the earth that is given to us, to (not) destroy it, which is what we may be doing now,鈥� he said.
Rotevatn is now the principal of Svalbard Folkeh酶gskole, an alternative higher-ed institution in Longyearbyen that he hopes to run as 鈥済reen鈥� as possible, including with solar panels. For several months in the spring and summer, the sun never sets in Svalbard, just like it never rises in winter.
In that constant darkness, keeping a light burning becomes more than a metaphor for Svalbard Kirke.
鈥淧hysical openness and accessibility to me not only symbolizes, but it is also 鈥� an ideal for what a church should be,鈥� said Limstrand, who became pastor here in 2019, nearly thirty years after her ordination. 鈥淧eople can come in totally on their own terms.鈥�
Among a couple dozen congregants at a mid-January Sunday afternoon Mass was a Hindu family from the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh 鈥� two scientists and their 18-month-old daughter, whom they named Svalbie after the archipelago.
鈥淕od is God, it doesn鈥檛 matter which religion. We feel good, peaceful and calm, similar to how we feel when we go to temple,鈥� said environmental chemist Neelu Singh.
She and Svalbie started coming to church for the weekly 鈥渂aby song hour.鈥� To the church piano鈥檚 accompaniment, new parents sing to their babies in a circle before sharing lunch with the pastor and church staff.
鈥淵ou feel connected with the community and get a chance to be social,鈥� said Singh, who believes hers was the only Indian family in Longyearbyen when they moved here four years ago.
What Limstrand calls 鈥渟piritual hospitality鈥� also extends outwards from the red-slatted church.
Before the pandemic, she hosted regular visits by Catholic and Orthodox priests to minister to their congregations 鈥� including Poles at remote research stations, Russians and Ukrainians in Barentsburg, and a few Filipino workers at the town鈥檚 only supermarket who happily reminisced recently about those moments.
The pastor herself travels to celebrate services beyond the church 鈥� including once at in a broad valley.
鈥淗ow many priests can you ask to come to a dog yard in -11 (degrees Celsius, 12 degrees Fahrenheit) to baptize two kids?鈥� said their mother, Karina Bernlow, who runs Green Dog with her husband and arrived in Svalbard 11 years ago after a stint in Greenland.
In this time, Bernlow has already seen Longyearbyen transform from a community where mining families lived for generations and extended a warm welcome to outsiders, to a mix of short-term workers who hardly ever meet outside their jobs.
鈥淎 place without history, that鈥檚 what it鈥檚 turning into. I can see how it鈥檚 disappearing,鈥� she said as the wind, and the dogs, howled outside a log cabin near her yard. Bright lights marked the entrance to the last Norway-operated mine on the opposite mountainside.
鈥淭he church is a bridge-builder. A place like this, with so many nationalities, it鈥檚 really important to have,鈥� she added. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 go to church very often, but I know it鈥檚 there if I need it.鈥�
That is exactly the kind of church Limstrand wants to foster in order to serve this changing community.
Here, people feel at home when they come to worship by the rose-filled altar, because they have already attended a concert, or a community gathering, or the Tuesday night coffee hour, when hot-off-the-griddle waffles are smothered in brunost, Norway鈥檚 traditional caramel-tasting cheese.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not the pastor鈥檚 church, it鈥檚 not the Church鈥檚 church, it鈥檚 not the church council鈥檚 church, but it鈥檚 our church,鈥� Limstrand said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 something that is shared, it鈥檚 not something that is guarded.鈥�
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Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP鈥檚 collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.
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Giovanna Dell'orto, The Associated Press
