What makes Minnesota Paganism Minnesotan?

IWitch Hat Tower, Prospect Park, Minneapolis

Much of the initial influential literature on American Paganism was either penned by Californians -- like Starhawk or Zsuszanna Budapest -- or featured the Bay Area community as its focus. In this cultural context, Yule (Winter Solstice) was celebrated with an overnight vigil on the beach, followed by a plunge into the Pacific Ocean when the sun rose.

It's no doubt very moving and lovely. But it's not such a good idea in Minnesota.

Adapting a religious practice to a climate is obviously necessary in the case of Paganism and its characteristic reverence for place. Adapting to the surrounding larger culture is a process that contemporary Pagans engage in as part of honoring the land they live on as well.

When I began my research years ago, I heard many questions from people who assumed that since I was focusing on Minnesota Paganism, would I be encountering a good deal of Scandinavian practices from the Old Country? Would I have to learn Swedish or Norwegian? Was I going to have to learn to choke down lutefisk? In some ways, the questions told me that the average person was recognizing that for many, embracing a Pagan lifeway is a returning to cultural roots. What it also told me was that the myth of Minnesota being the Land of Homesick Scandinavians still holds sway in much of the country.

It would be too easy to blame A Prairie Home Companion for promulgating this myth when it's actually much older and subtly ingrained. The formation of this perception of Minnesota and its inhabitants goes back to the cultural impact that immigrant Swedes made when they began settling in this state. But Minnesota is not strictly a New Scandinavia; the Twin Cities most certainly aren't. Taking a good look at Minnesota's pop cultural iconography -- Vikings (both historical and football mascot), the Peanuts Gang, and Lake Woebegone -- you realize very quickly that there really are lots of people in Minneapolis and Saint Paul who don't look and act in those ways. Decades of immigrant community influxes have made the Cities truly cosmopolitan and diverse.

Likewise, In the subcommunity of Paganistan, a diversity of affiliations and practices is reflected. There certainly are folks who are Northern European in their identifications, and who research the Pre-Christian languages and culture of Scandiavia and Germany. The Minnesota Heathens, and its affliated organizations like Asatru and the Volkshoff Kindred engage in studies of the Havamal and other literary works of Norse cultures for inspiration and direction. The re-envisioned work of the Volva, a role sparsely historically recorded but known to be an ancient Norse healer and oracle, is expressed through the music and drama of Kari Tauring's songs and ritual performances. Organizations bearing names like Lodge Ygdrassil and Runestaven also nod to the Northern European cultural influences that weave into Twin Cities Paganism.

But that's only part of it all. The diverse influences on Paganism have, over time, resulted in a unique Minnesotan Pagan culture. In much the same way that a fusion of influences resulted in American music -- varied but culturally distinct-- and the same process in cooking traditions made for the exuberant blending that is American cuisine, American contemporary Paganism is a rich, spicy mix of distinct religious expressions that has a unique look, form, and process. Contemporary Pagans re-embrace their roots, but they also re-interpret them constantly, and that keeps the traditions living.

And yes, there are Minnesotan climactic influences on Paganistan's religious culture as well. Many of the elders in the community regaled me with stories of the outdoor Yule celebration where the mead in the offering bowl turned into a delicious and potent sno-cone, and of attempts at lighting Yule wreath at Imbolc being nearly thwarted when lighter fluid couldn't evaporate in the freezing cold. (After a good dousing with fluid for the sixth time, and the uttering of a poetic expletive by an attendant, a thirty-foot column of flame shot up into the air. The wreath did burn.) The community's Minnesota May Song, sung traditionally every Beltane by the Wiccan Church of Minnesota, also nods to this:

"I got up in the morning, much to my surprise,
I walked out to the garden, and fell down on the ice!
It is the first of May-o, it is the First of May!
Remember, Minnesota, it is the First of May!
We sing to you of flowers, of butterflies and bees,
But when we woke this morning, it was only ten degrees!
It is the first of May-o, it is the First of May!
Remember, Minnesota, it is the First of May!"

Indoor rituals make lots of sense in Paganistan. A good Minnesota potluck is a tradition folks in the community happily retain. And honoring the Mississippi River as the waters of Isis works just as well as the faraway Nile. Granted, there is theological debate among Pagans here about that sort of thing (debate is another long-standing tradition in Paganistan); does the Mississippi deserve honoring on its own terms, not as a replacement Nile? Isn't it appropriate to honor Isis there? All of the above? In the midst of all that, the Mississippi gets the honor it deserves by folks in the community, and that is really what they agree matters most -- along with honoring each other as community despite differences of opinion and experience. That honoring of difference is what's remarkable about contemporary Paganism, why scholars and researchers are increasingly paying attention to it, and probably the most unique cultural pattern Paganistan expresses.