Scripture: Matthew 6: 24-34

No one can serve two masters; for a servant will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and Wealth.  

Hygge is about preparation for winter, with preparations beginning in July. It’s about making winter livable and lovely.  The Danes have succeeded at making hygge a way of life, and they are the happiest people in the world (yes, it’s been measured). They’re happy without snowbirding or tropical breezes.  The satisfaction they feel, even in winter, is linked to the intention they give to how and where they live and how they prepare for winter. And hygge isn’t just about the right lights, cozy socks, and sunny nooks; it’s also about food. 

Even today, preparations for winter begin in the summer, though they may not be as intense. Preparing for winter requires storage of food and fuel. Before supermarkets made it super easy to get strawberries in the winter, folks harvested summer's bounty to survive the winter.

In, The Little Book of Hygge, Meik Wiking says, “The high level of meat, confectionery and coffee consumption in Denmark is directly linked to hygge. Hygge is about being kind to yourself —giving yourself a treat, and giving yourself and each other, a break from the demands of healthy living. Sweets are hyggelige. Cake is hyggeligt. Coffee or hot chocolate are hyggeligt, too. Carrot sticks, not so much. Something sinful is an integral component of the hygge ritual. But it should not be something fancy or extravagant. Foie gras is not hyggeligt. But a heavy stew is. Popcorn is. Especially if we all share the same bowl” (53). 

The indulgence is loving. It’s food that’s made by hand and cooks for a long time in a slow cooker or Dutch oven. It’s kneading dough or rolling out cookies with people you love. This indulgence isn’t downing a whole package of Oreos or the sleeve of Thin Mints you stashed in the freezer. It’s not polishing off the Doritos alone on your sofa. It’s not fast food you stuff in your belly on your way to the next meeting or practice. 

Hygge is hard in the US because we have plenty of calories but often lack nourishment, we have plenty to bake but often not enough time to bake it. Our busy lifestyles value speed and results over patience and gratitude.  

The northern European states that live so happily, even in winter, have a culture that invites balance between work and life. A culture that expects families to bake together and makes that time possible. Their food regulations help make the average meal a little more nourishing.  

Hygge doesn’t have to be gourmet food.  It’s about valuing intention over ingredients. How hyggelig a food is also lies in its preparation—the longer the better. “Preparing hygge food is about enjoying the slow process of it, about appreciating the time you spend and the joy of preparing something of value. It is about your relationship with the meal” (Wiking 64).

It’s a sensitivity to what makes us well and whole. Our Scandinavian neighbors apply this to food but also the way they make space for well-being in their work schedules. It's not just about hunger for calories, it's consumption with intention. Hygge is about simplicity and restraint - making a piece of chocolate cake with family go a long way, so it becomes an experience instead of just dessert. It’s about buying less and perhaps spending the same—quality over quantity and really weighing how it serves your needs. 

The cultural fabric we’ve woven in the US makes hygge almost impossible. Almost. The Danes and their Scandinavian neighbors have basic standards of living that we just don’t choose in the US. They don’t have medical debt and student loans keeping them awake at night. They have created significant social support for income, family leave, and housing, making hygge something everyone can afford. The cities are structured to build community and wellness into the daily lives of people. A society built with all its inhabitants in mind, focused on well-being, is a powerful thing. 

We might be tempted to think hygge is about buying more candles, crockpots, and blankets. But it’s really about intention and not a suggestion to buy more stuff. Winter reminds us of our hunger.  Perhaps our bodies have an ancient memory to keep us alive, making us more hungry in winter. And this is the time when we must examine our hunger.

Meik Wiking says, the Danes pay more taxes but they see it as an investment rather than a burden. No more healthcare by church spaghetti feed and no more school bake sales to pay for playgrounds and textbooks. Barbara Hayden says Danes pay the highest tax rates (close to 60% in 2019) and, “most people believe that their country will be better off if everyone is educated, healthy and taken care of when necessary” (Hygge: Unlock the Danish Art of Coziness and Happiness 20-21). 

This is how they manage their hunger. 

Hunger is a part of winter. Our modern comforts, fully-stocked grocery stores, and organized city blocks give the impression that we may not really be hungry. But winter hunger can make us wolfish. 

The wolf, an archetype, is the predator we fear the most. They’re the bad guys in fairytales and nursery rhymes. They’re tricky and ravenous in literature, movies, and even Disney cartoons. History had elevated our fears of them howling in the moonlight. Medieval Europeans hunted wolves under January’s Wolf Moon, Anglo-Saxon kings demanded wolf pelts for payment, and England’s Edward the I ordered the extermination of wolves in 1272. We love to hate wolves. Werewolves took this fear a step further. Anyone seen as different or somehow threatening was branded as a werewolf and wolf charmer (those who can make a wolf attack or not) and were tried as witches in the late Middle Ages.

But wolves are essential to the ecosystem. Their re-entry into Yellowstone National Park restored aspects of the landscape. They changed everything because they restored balance. And researchers who study wolves remind us how the pack is all about the well-being of their community. The wolf pack protects one another, moving with care to ensure the safety of their most vulnerable members. They’re sensitive to the needs of their community. Their bodies are made to survive feast and famine. And they do what they have to for survival, even if it means venturing into a cattle pen in the dead of winter.  “They are sensitive animals, exuding delicate emotion - magnificent parents, devoted children. They attack livestock only in extreme desperation. And if we eradicate them altogether, then where does that leave us? The wolf is a part of our collective psyche, as elemental to our thinking as the sun and the moon” (May 156). 

Maybe the wolf reminds us of our own hunger and fears of famine. Maybe they remind us of the “wild potential of the lands outside our busy, well-lit towns and cities, of the capacity of nature to still be red in tooth and claw” (May 157). What if we listened to our wolfish hunger—were in tune with it? What if we honored those hungers and met them with intention? 

If we listen to our hunger and think like the wolf, perhaps we wouldn't feast without the whole pack. Instead of self-preservation, our hunger would invite sharing. And in this understanding, we would begin to understand what truly satisfies our innate hunger.

“In the depths of our winters, we are all wolfish. We want in the archaic sense of the word, as if we are lacking something and need to absorb it in order to be whole again. These wants are often astonishingly inaccurate: drugs and alcohol, which poison instead of reintegrate; relationships with people who do not make us feel safe or loved; objects that we do not need, cannot afford, which hang around our necks like albatrosses of debt long after the yearning for them has passed. Underneath this chaos and clutter lies a longing for more elemental things; love, beauty, comfort, a short spell of oblivion once in a while. Everyday life is so often isolated, dreary, and lonely. A little craving is understandable. A little craving might actually be the rallying cry of survival. Perhaps the wolf is such an enduring motif of hunger because we see in them a reflection of our own selves in lean times. In winter, those hungers become especially fierce” (May 158).

There is a clear statement in the Gospel of Matthew, “You cannot serve God and Wealth.” It’s so clear but no one puts it on a poster, t-shirt, or bumper sticker like John 3:16 or something terrible from Leviticus…because for most of us, it would be better to forget it was there. You cannot keep storing up, hoarding, and feasting while your neighbors are starving and loving God. You cannot have three houses while your neighbors long for a safe place to sleep. You can’t keep worrying about material things and balance sheets at the expense of the community's well-being. 

When Dr. King died; he was unpopular. Because he was working for equity and leading the Poor People’s campaign. When people work to love God, they shift their priorities and practices, and they hunger for justice rather than stuff. We can do the work of making sure everyone goes to bed safe, warm, and well-fed. We can do the work of easing debts and changing our healthcare system. We can make sure kids have all they need to eat so they can focus on school. We can do this work. We can be hungry for the well-being of our whole pack.  But it takes awareness and intention.  

May it be so. Amen.

Questions for Reflection:

• What food is most nourishing to you in winter?

• What patterns would help you be most whole?

• How does the theme of the wolf resonate in aspects of your life?

• How can you be more intentional about satisfying your hunger and the hunger of those around you?

• What learning about our community’s hunger can you do?

• How might that learning have ripple effects in your life and community?