The Sermon Ruin

Text: Dorthe Lind Thornton 

Foto: Anders beier

The sun was low in the sky, like a fiery white ball hovering over the misty horizon far out at sea. Sea fog enveloped the coast in a greyish white veil, giving welcome cover to the shadows bobbing up and down at the water’s edge. The ship’s wooden hull scraped hoarsely against the beach rocks as the crew sailed it ashore. As they dragged the low-keeled wooden ship further up onto the beach, he turned his gaze towards the trees along the shore and noticed for the first time that his arms were heavy and tired. His cowl felt clammy against his body, and the blisters on his hands were searing. There had been Illness on board, so he had had no one but himself to man the oars on the trip, but now he was on land. His name was Jon. He was simply dressed, barefoot and unarmed. Around his neck, under the cowl, hung a chain with a small cross made of gold and enamel. It had been given to him by a fellow believer, in the Kingdom of Byzantium. The cross felt warm against his chest and reminded him of why he was here. 

This is how it must have played out when, according to an old legend, an Irish monk named Jon had come ashore along the Bornholm coast. He had been sent by the Christian church in Ireland to convert anyone who still professed to believe in Norse mythology. The people of Bornholm had already encountered Christianity on Viking expeditions or trade journeys abroad and to the rest of what is now Denmark, but it had proven exceptionally difficult to convert them from their belief in the Norse gods. In his book, ‘Bornholmernes Land – Øen i Øst fra 1944’ (The Land of Bornholmers: the Island in the East), parish priest P. Hjorth Lange, Østerlars, writes: “The rumour of how a cowled, frugal man such as Jon was able to move about freely and dine with kings and noblemen at castles and manors had presumably reached the island before him, and when Jon, according to the legend, began to express his honest opinion about the sacrificing of horses and human beings at the sacrificial feasts of Odin and Thor, about what went on at the sacrificial feast for Freya, the Norse goddess of fertility at the equinox, about the circumstances in which thralls/slaves were living, about the exposure of infants, bacchanals and much more besides, which had previously been a matter of course, palpable animosity quickly welled up against him, forcing him to seek refuge in an almost inaccessible cave along the steep rocky coast north of Hasle.”

From here, Jon was reputed to have continued his sermons from a pulpit carved out by the forces of nature in the rock above his cave. Over time, the host of inquisitive locals who gathered on the beach grew and allowed a new religious persuasion to emerge. One can almost imagine it: the tenacious inhabitants of Bornholm, listening with scepticism, and the murmuring of the crowd that arose when new acknowledgements were pronounced. No one knows for certain whether the legend is true. Even so, there is hardly a child or adult on Bornholm who hasn’t at least once descended the numerous stairs leading down to ‘Jons Kapel’, a hollow – or dry cave – in the detached rock formation, Jons Kirke. The stairway starts at the rescue path along the coast and descends to the beach through a cleft in the rock with vertical walls. It ends a little way before you get to the chapel, so you have to be rather agile to move across the final stretch of boulders and rocks. A number of other dry caves are located south of Jons Kapel: ‘Jon’s vestry’, ‘Jon’s bedroom’ and ‘Jon’s pantry’. In among the many boulders along the beach there are also a number of giant kettles, the biggest of which is known as ‘Jon’s baptismal font’.

Another relic from the proliferation of Christianity on the island in the Middle Ages is the Chapel of St Solomon on the northern tip of Bornholm, which was built in the early 1300s. By following the green signposting along the Hammer Peninsula coastline, starting from the peninsula’s car parks, you will come past the ruin of the small, beautifully situated chapel, only a stone’s throw from the water’s edge. Although Solomon’s Chapel is enclosed by a stone wall, it doesn’t seem to have been surrounded by an actual traditional churchyard, because no trace of medieval graves has ever been found in the area. It may also seem strange that a chapel was once placed in such a relatively desolate location, rather than near farms or settlements in the area. Over time, attempts have been made to explain its siting: some believe that the chapel was built here because an old sacred spring – Solomon’s Spring – had its source in the embankment to the north-west. For centuries, soothing, healing qualities had been attributed to the water from sacred springs, and in the early Middle Ages, the worship of springs was firmly established in Denmark. Others believe that the location of Solomon’s Chapel is because the archbishop of Lund had ordered it to be built here during the era of the large herring markets that arose at many sites along Baltic shores in the Middle Ages. Many fishers would come here to have their catches blessed, before selling them at the market to merchants from present-day Germany, and perhaps also in gratitude for having returned from their sea voyage in one piece. 

No matter why it is located where it is, the atmosphere at Solomon’s Chapel is unique. As you stand by the chapel at dawn or dusk, you can easily imagine how life must have been lived around the chapel centuries ago. And by giving yourself the time and peace of mind to gaze across the water, feel the wind and listen to the sounds of nature, you can sense the special quality of this site. Even to this very day. 

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