Humanist Weddings in Iceland: Sigurdur Runarsson on Siðmennt, Secular Ceremonies, and Nature-Based Rituals

 

Sigurdur “Siggy” Runarsson is Vice President of Siðmennt, the Icelandic Ethical Humanist Association, and one of Iceland’s best-known humanist celebrants. Since Siðmennt gained legal recognition in 2013, he has officiated hundreds of secular baby-namings, confirmations, weddings, vow renewals, and funerals, helping membership climb to roughly 6,500 in a country of 400,000. Runarsson’s ceremonies are distinguished by meticulous video interviews, playful original poetry, and the dramatic Icelandic landscapes he often uses as venues—from glaciers, lava fields, and black-sand beaches to intimate community halls. He welcomes intercultural elements, enabling couples to weave Iranian sofreh rituals, Jewish glass-breaking, or Celtic hand-fasting into a framework grounded in humanist values of autonomy, dignity, and inclusivity. Abroad, his “runaway weddings” have become a niche attraction for tourists seeking nature-centred vows. At home, former civil-confirmation students now return to him for marriages and child-namings, illustrating how his empathetic approach is reshaping Iceland’s life-passage traditions for future generations.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we are here with Siggy Runarsson. Thank you very much again for joining me. The last time we spoke was in 2019 or 2020 in an interview focused on gender equality, Iceland, and humanist ceremonies.

Iceland has a small population—around 400,000 people. Yet, a significant portion of its residents are registered with or aligned with Siðmennt, the Icelandic Ethical Humanist Association. How has that community grown so quickly in such a short period?

Sigurdur Runarsson: The main reason is that Siðmennt has become a meaningful alternative for people seeking secular, inclusive ways to celebrate life’s key milestones. We offer civil ceremonies for baby namings, weddings, vow renewals, and funerals, as well as a popular civil confirmation program for teenagers. This confirmation is a non-religious coming-of-age ceremony that serves as an alternative to traditional Christian confirmations.

In many ways, our model is similar to what our colleagues in Norway have developed. Civil confirmation, in particular, is widely embraced by teenagers and their families as a celebration of maturity based on humanist values. Funerals, of course, are another critical area where we provide celebrants and services rooted in dignity, respect, and personal meaning.

As of now, Siðmennt has around 6,500 registered members. We are a recognized life-stance organization in Iceland and a member of Humanists International, adhering to humanist principles such as human rights, reason, and secular ethics. While many of our members identify as atheists, our work appeals to a broader audience interested in a values-based, non-religious worldview.

People are joining because of the quality and meaning of the services we provide, but outreach also plays a role. Since 2013, Siðmennt has been legally recognized as a life-stance organization, which means individuals can formally register with us through the national registry. This enables a portion of their tax—known as the “parish tax” or sóknargjald—to be directed to our organization instead of going to a religious institution or reverting to the state.

In Iceland, all taxpayers contribute this fee, which is then allocated to registered religious or life-stance organizations. If someone is not registered with any such organization, the cost goes to the state treasury. Therefore, joining Siðmennt allows individuals to redirect this portion of their taxes toward an organization that represents their worldview.

Before our official registration in 2013, we operated through voluntary membership fees and donations. We continue to offer that option today, so individuals can support Siðmennt even if they are officially registered with another organization. This allows for a degree of dual affiliation, especially among those who may identify culturally with a religion but philosophically with humanism.

One of the main reasons for our recent growth is likely the decreasing appeal of the National Church of Iceland. While it still holds a privileged legal status, a growing number of people—particularly younger generations—do not feel it reflects their beliefs or values. Additionally, immigration brings people from a variety of religious and non-religious backgrounds. Some join the Catholic Church, which is growing due to migration, while others seek secular options like Siðmennt.

Our rapid growth reflects both societal shifts and the increasing visibility of humanist values and services in Iceland.

We appeal—or perhaps it’s our charm—as spokespersons not just for atheists, but for human beings in general, and humanism as it’s formally defined. I know it might not sound elegant, but in many cases, we function as the lowest common denominator. That is, we are an option that does not offend anyone.

So, for example, take marriage. People want to get married but are not religious. In Iceland, it is relatively easy to have a priest perform the ceremony with minimal religious content. Still, in many cases, it feels like hypocrisy to ask a priest for a non-religious wedding. If you are spiritual, of course, go to church. But if not, why ask a religious official to do something secular?

That’s where we come in. We offer a sincere and consistent alternative. In many ways, that’s why people find us appealing. The growth of our organization began even before we were formally established. It started with parents looking for a secular alternative for their teenagers when it came to confirmation ceremonies. That’s how the humanist movement in Iceland began. That core offering—civil confirmation—has always been the backbone of Siðmennt.

When the legal status of life-stance organizations changed in Iceland in February 2013, Siðmennt became officially registered. From that point on, our celebrants could become certified officiants—not just to perform symbolic weddings, but also legally binding ones.

Of course, our services are open to everyone. You do not have to be a member of Siðmennt to book a ceremony. A significant part of our work today includes weddings and elopements for foreigners. It has become something of a niche within the tourist industry.

People come to Iceland to elope—what we call a “runaway wedding”—and often the couple is from different religious backgrounds. They do not want to choose one tradition over another, or be forced to join a church or religious group to have a ceremony. So they decided that we—Siðmennt, Humanists Iceland—would create a non-religious, meaningful ceremony. That’s a significant part of the ceremonies we provide now.

If I remember correctly, we do about 200 to 400 weddings a year. Many of these are for Icelanders, usually held on Saturdays at two, three, four, or five in the afternoon. But many of the ceremonies we conduct are for foreigners. These are typically people taking a short vacation—maybe five to ten days in Iceland—who choose to get married here.

So they might get married on a Tuesday at 11 a.m., out on the Snæfellsnes Peninsula, by the Black Church, on a beach, or beside one of our waterfalls. That’s one of the reasons we’ve been doing more and more ceremonies in recent years—we’ve been catering to the needs of foreigners who want to elope and are looking for a secular, humanist approach rather than a religious officiant.

That has undoubtedly contributed to our growth, though it’s still a small fraction of the broader tourism industry. Before COVID-19, Iceland was receiving over 2 million visitors per year. We may be returning to those numbers, perhaps around 2.3 million tourists this year. I don’t know the exact percentage of those who come here to elope, but even if it’s just 0.0001%, the number of ceremonies will continue to grow.

Jacobsen: So, returning to the original question, you’re saying that both membership growth and the increase in services come from the developments you’ve just described?

Runarsson: Yes, exactly. What I’ve described over the last ten minutes—those are probably the main reasons for our growth, both in terms of membership within Iceland and in services for both Icelanders and foreigners.

Jacobsen: Ceremonies are a key part of your growth. In the last five years, have humanist ceremonies in Iceland evolved in specific ways? How might Icelanders have added their nuances that others—building humanist communities abroad—could learn from?

Runarsson: That’s a good question. Our colleagues in Denmark, for example, are still in a legal fight to get their organization recognized in the same way as a church so that they can conduct legal ceremonies. Sweden, however, recently changed its laws, so humanists there can now legally marry people.

As for us in Iceland, yes, ceremonies have evolved over the past five years. The structure has become more refined as our membership has grown and our funding has improved. I’ve developed my approach over time, as my profile has grown and I’ve conducted more ceremonies.

Jacobsen: You’ve likely expanded and professionalized your services?

Runarsson: Absolutely. I conduct all types of ceremonies—weddings, funerals, namings, and civil confirmations. Domestically, the choice of Siðmennt by Icelanders for their ceremonies dates back to our history. We started 35 years ago with civil confirmations. Many Icelanders now in their twenties and thirties went through that program. Some of them are now coming back to us for weddings or naming ceremonies for their children.

Our confirmation program includes a course—not religious or biblical—but focused on what it means to be a good person and a responsible adult. We have a structured curriculum for that. So we’ve been present in people’s lives for generations.

When it comes to marking special moments—naming a child, getting married, holding a funeral—we are often the go-to organization. People frequently tell us at weddings, “Yes, I had my civil confirmation with Siðmennt ten or twenty years ago.”

Jacobsen: So it felt natural for you to seek out humanist assistance for this event in your life. I suppose one question I would have is: Are there aspects of broader Western—North American or Western European—ceremony traditions that you draw from and apply to your ceremonies?

Runarsson: Yes. The basic framework of a wedding ceremony is quite similar to what you’d find in a Christian or specifically Lutheran-Protestant service. We are, of course, celebrating the same key life event. Apart from the religious content, we perform many of the same elements a priest or other religious officiant would.

Suppose you’re asking where I draw inspiration from, particularly when I’m officiating for foreigners coming to Iceland. In that case, I know they often want an “Icelandic flavour” to their ceremony. So I include selections from old Icelandic literature—both poetry and prose from the Icelandic sagas.

I read them aloud in what we imagine the old language might have sounded like—Old Norse, the shared ancestor of modern Icelandic and Norwegian, dating back to the settlement era. Then I repeat the same verse in English, so the couple and their guests understand it.

I’ve used material from the sagas, and while it might resemble what is used by the Ásatrúarfélagið—the organization in Iceland devoted to the revival of Norse paganism—I am not taking a religious approach. Instead, I’m drawing from the wisdom and poetic beauty of those historical texts. The Ásatrú community may use these materials in a more spiritual context, but we use them philosophically or culturally.

Jacobsen: That’s fascinating.

Runarsson: And of course, think about weddings you’ve attended, where a priest or officiant tells the couple’s story in a humorous or heartfelt way. We do the same. Creating a personalized, meaningful narrative is central to what we do, just as it is in many Western ceremonies.

So, yes, our approach isn’t meant to be radically different from what people expect. We’re not trying to be a spectacle or to contrast ourselves for the sake of being different. Our primary role is to marry people legally—that’s the foundation of the ceremony.

We ask the couple how they want to identify: husband and wife, partners, spouses—whatever language suits them. We include elements like exchanging rings, vows, and even the classic “you may kiss the bride” or “you may kiss the groom.”

We’ve also incorporated rituals borrowed from other traditions, such as handfasting, which comes from old Celtic and Irish customs. That’s where the English phrase “tie the knot” originates. So we’ve adopted that in some ceremonies too, just like our humanist colleagues in Scotland have.

The personalized aspect of the ceremony often mirrors what you’d find in church weddings. But what our couples are looking for is the experience, especially the natural setting. Most people who come to us want to get married outdoors in Iceland’s nature. That connection to nature plays a much larger role than it does in traditional indoor weddings.

Jacobsen: That’s very interesting.

Runarsson: When we conduct ceremonies in nature—in the Icelandic landscape—you feel that you’re off the beaten path. People come here to be surrounded by nature. I’ve done weddings in highland valleys, beside waterfalls, on black sand beaches, inside ice caves, and even on glaciers.

As officiants, we understand that we are part of the equation, but not the focus. We’re not the main characters in a staged performance. The surroundings—the crashing waves, the towering waterfalls, the glowing blue of an ice cave—those are what make the moment unforgettable.

A ceremony indoors, say in a ballroom or hall, is very different in tone and feeling from one out in the wild. In that sense, we’re not necessarily looking to mimic a particular tradition from another country or religion. What defines our ceremonies is the moment, the location, the raw elements—wind, rain, light, and silence.

Even on a dry day, if you’re close to a waterfall, you’ll still feel the spray. These natural elements often play a much bigger role in the ceremony than the actual words I write or the formal structure we use. Sometimes I wonder if people even remember what I say—because the surroundings are so breathtaking and, ultimately, it’s their moment.

It’s important to let nature have its role and to respect the fact that people have specifically chosen a location and asked meto come there for the ceremony. That intention matters. Of course, I still focus on writing a thoughtful ceremony and selecting the right words. About a third of my ceremonies are personalized stories based on what the couple shares with me in interviews beforehand—I always interview with them.

Jacobsen: Do you ever get unusual requests? For instance, when the volcanic eruption happened a few years ago, did anyone ask for a ceremony in front of the lava flow?

Runarsson: Actually, yes! I did one ceremony near the first eruption, in 2020 or 2021—can’t quite remember the exact date. It was at the top of a mountain, very close to the volcano, during its later phase, when it was still active but not as dramatic as in the beginning.

As for strange requests—I don’t think of them as “weird.” People come from different backgrounds and cultures, and that brings variation, which I welcome. Sometimes the location itself surprises me. Foreigners often know more about hidden parts of Iceland than I do—and that’s wonderful. They end up introducing me to my own country!

In terms of ceremony content, I occasionally receive requests from religious individuals seeking a secular officiant. They ask how they might incorporate religious elements into the ceremony. One option is to include religious content in their vows. I always step aside during the vows so couples can say whatever they want—spiritual or otherwise.

In the broader humanist community, most of our international colleagues respect all religions. We’re currently working on a shared Nordic project—a website dedicated to explaining what a humanist wedding is. One of the key ideas is that there are no “strange” requests. If someone wants to say a prayer before or after the ceremony, that’s not a problem.

What is essential is that the celebrant does not perform religious content or preach. But we respect the background, culture, and faith of those getting married, even when the officiation is entirely secular.

Jacobsen: Can you give an example of that?

Runarsson: Yes—last year I married a couple in Harpa Concert Hall, down by the Reykjavík harbour. Two American women—one was Persian, born in the U.S. but with Iranian heritage, and the other was from Texas.

They asked me to incorporate Iranian wedding customs into the ceremony. These customs are often symbolic, even superstitious in some cases—for example, placing a cloth over the couple’s heads or having specific foods present. I had no problem with that.

Rather than me performing those rituals, I wrote a description—almost like a brief article—explaining what her mother and sister were doing during the ceremony. It was more like a documentary narration than an active role. I stayed true to being a secular celebrant, but I acknowledged and respected the family’s traditions.

I tried to pronounce the names correctly, of course—Farsi, in this case—and made sure the significance of the actions was conveyed. That was probably the most complex request I’ve received, but I enjoyed it. It wasn’t religious in how I presented it, and the family members themselves performed the rituals. That’s the kind of balance we try to strike: fully respectful, but never compromising our humanist values.

Jacobsen: That’s a thoughtful and elegant way to handle it.

Runarsson: I also once married a man of Jewish background whose bride was not Jewish. He wanted to wear a kippah—that’s the traditional head covering—and to say a prayer. He also wanted to break a glass during the ceremony, which is a well-known Jewish wedding tradition symbolizing good fortune and remembrance. I had no issue with any of that.

We sometimes receive requests like this. Our approach, as humanists, is grounded in tolerance for all religions and all backgrounds. I do not personally perform religious content, but I am always willing to make space for it in the ceremony. Suppose the couple or their family wishes to include a spiritual element. In that case, we find a respectful way to do so without compromising the humanist foundation.

One of my favourite special requests, though, was when a couple asked me to meet them at Reykjavík Domestic Airport. They had rented a helicopter. We flew to Þórisjökull Glacier, landed there, and held the ceremony on the ice. The pilot turned off the engine, we stepped out, and I prepared the space for the ceremony. On the way back, we landed at Glymur Waterfall, which is quite a challenging hike on foot. So yes, they had the deluxe transportation option!

That was a truly memorable experience. Usually, when I officiate glacier weddings, we drive as close as we can and then hike, or the couple rents a super jeep. But this time, it was something very different. I had never flown in a helicopter before. It gave me a new perspective on my own country.

Jacobsen: So, officiating weddings has helped you rediscover Iceland?

Runarsson: My couples often introduce me to places I had only vaguely heard of or never visited. They know the hiking trails, the geology, and they have specific dreams about where and how they want to marry. I’ve been to locations I had unknowingly passed by dozens of times before but never truly noticed. That’s what happens—you often know other countries better than your own. But I love that my couples surprise me with locations that are new and beautiful.

Jacobsen: What has been the most extravagant humanist wedding you’ve ever conducted? I ask because in North America, especially in the U.S., weddings can be massive productions—costly, elaborate affairs. I imagine Iceland has some of that culture, too.

Runarsson: Yes, we have a version of that here as well. And you’re right—”extravagant” can mean different things. Butnot all humanist weddings are grand or costly. That said, I’ve done several surprise weddings, which are my personal favourite.

For example, I’ve had couples hire me for a baby naming ceremony, and then—once the baby’s name is announced—they surprise everyone by getting married on the spot. It’s very cost-effective, especially when guests have flown in from abroad. One time, the father was Icelandic, and the mother was from England. All the family came for the baby naming, and then—boom—they announced the wedding. Everything was already in place.

Another time, I was asked to be part of a surprise wedding disguised as a graduation celebration. The woman had just finished her dentistry studies, and her partner had recently completed his training to become a ship captain. They hosted a party to celebrate both milestones, and I was seated at a table as a “friend of the family,” beside the bride’s sisters.

They had hired an MC—not a celebrant, but a musician and entertainer—to host the event. We staged a little theatrical moment. The MC joked that the couple had never officially gotten engaged, and then called them onstage. He suggested that now was the perfect time to propose, and the whole thing turned into a surprise wedding. Someone placed a veil on the bride’s head, even though she wasn’t wearing a traditional dress. It was spontaneous and joyful.

Jacobsen: That sounds like a moment no one would forget.

Runarsson: It was extraordinary. These types of ceremonies may not be extravagant in terms of cost, but they’re rich in meaning and creativity. And honestly, they capture the essence of what we try to do: personalize the moment and make it unforgettable.

So someone stuck a veil on her head as a joke, and everyone was laughing and making fun—in a warm, celebratory way. Then, all of a sudden, the MC said, “Now you’re engaged!” And then he turned and said, “Wait a minute—your cousin Siggy—isn’t he here? He’s always marrying people!”

And I stood up and said, “Oh yes, I’m here.” Then I was called up on stage—and there it was: a surprise wedding unfolding right before everyone’s eyes. I still don’t know if everyone believed it at first. Many thought it was a performance or a prank. But of course, it was legally binding. She said yes, he said yes, and they were officially married.

I do enjoy the shock effect of surprise weddings. They’re not extravagant in a traditional sense, but they have their kind of drama and delight.

Jacobsen: But in terms of truly extravagant ceremonies, your helicopter wedding probably tops the list?

Runarsson: Yes, I’d say so. That was the most extravagant one I’ve done. And yes—it was my first time in a helicopter.

Jacobsen: That’s amazing.

Runarsson: There’s something truly mystical about landing on a glacier. Usually, when people go to glaciers, they’re taken to accessible spots—places where you’ll find tracks in the snow, tourist jeeps, and snowmobiles. It can feel quite busy and touristic.

But with the helicopter wedding, we landed somewhere far less touched. It looked pristine—no tracks, no people nearby. It felt like untouched nature. It was more breathtaking than any photo could capture or any story I could tell. Even after all these years, I’m still amazed by the Icelandic landscape. It keeps surprising me with new places, new perspectives.

Jacobsen: I think that’s a common experience—people are constantly struck by Icelandic nature. And people are struck by the people, too. Icelanders are very matter-of-fact, straightforward, and down-to-earth. They’re honest, but never cruelly or aggressively. That’s something people notice. And the landscape is like that, too—raw, consequential, direct. There’s no pretension. It just is. And that’s part of what makes it so impactful. Earlier, you briefly mentioned one of the most magical aspects of your work. Can you expand on that?

Runarsson: Yes—what I consider the most magical, and perhaps most important, part of my work as a celebrant is the video interview with the couple. It’s essential for me in crafting a meaningful ceremony.

I use Google Meet—mainly because it allows unlimited call time, and I don’t get cut off. I don’t record the interview like Zoom allows, but that’s fine because I take notes. I dislike doing interviews by phone. I much prefer video, and I know some of my colleagues insist on meeting the couple in person the day before the ceremony. That can be challenging to schedule, especially if people arrive late or are travelling across Iceland.

Video interviews work exceptionally well for me. I usually schedule 70 minutes, but the conversations often stretch to 2 or even 3 hours. It’s very much like what we’re doing now—a conversation—but I have a very structured set of questions that I follow.

I rarely send those questions in advance, because they lose their magic when read in an email. When I guide people through them in real time, it draws out their stories in a much more natural and meaningful way.

I always have the couple together, side by side. The interview often becomes an emotional experience. You could call it a kind of narrative cleansing. I begin with practical questions—logistics, preferences, and background. Once we’ve found a rhythm, I dig deeper into their history—how they met, how their relationship developed.

At one point, I used to think of the interview as just a task to get through. But now, I see it as one of the most rewarding aspects of the entire process. It allows me to understand and personalize the ceremony fully, and it will enable the couple to reflect on their journey together, sometimes in a way they’ve never done before.

I’m pretty good at conducting interviews, asking insightful questions, and encouraging people to open up. That probably ties back to what you mentioned earlier—about Icelanders being direct and honest. I try to use that same openness, maybe even a bit of charisma, to draw stories out of people.

I am not a therapist or a couples’ counsellor by any means—but sometimes, it feels like I’m doing that kind of work. During interviews, one of the partners might say, “We’ve never talked about this before.” For example, I might ask, “What changed when you started living together? Did you get to know each other in a new way? Were there any surprises?” Some couples have already had those conversations. 

Others respond, “I didn’t know you felt that way,” or “You never told me that.” I use light banter, humour, and genuine curiosity to help people share. And the more I’m able to write in my notes, the richer the ceremony becomes—because I have more authentic material to work with. I didn’t recognize this at first, but later I realized: this is where the magic of my ceremonies happens, not during the writing, but during the interview itself.

In the early years, I took light notes and tried to create the magic while writing the ceremony script. Now, it’s the other way around. I treat the interview as the core creative process. I write more during the interview, and I do it in a way that fits directly into the structure of the personalized part of the ceremony. It’s very intentional.

And yes, you can be Nordic, even if not technically Scandinavian, depending on definitions. I might be a white male in his mid-life, but I try to use my differences to my advantage. I’m not an American wedding salesman. I do things differently because I am different. Most of the couples I marry are American, Canadian, or Australian. But I present a soft, Nordic, Icelandic personality, which people appreciate. That distinction becomes part of the experience.

I often say that when we finally meet in person, they’ll get a “big Icelandic hug” from me—and I hug them both. I’m not afraid of physical affection. It helps create warmth, connection, and joy.

If a couple chooses an American celebrant, they may get a different kind of experience, shaped by cultural expectations. But I enjoy being Icelandic, Nordic, even “metrosexual,” as I sometimes say. And I embrace my Icelandic quirks, including our harsher-sounding language and mannerisms. I always remind couples that English is not my native language, so if I say something awkward, I ask for forgiveness in advance.

That linguistic difference also gives me a kind of license to be direct—and to conduct interviews in a way that gets people genuinely excited about their wedding. I want them to feel seen and understood, to feel like their story matters to the person officiating the ceremony.

Jacobsen: That shows in how you approach the entire process.

Runarsson: Three years ago, we held a retreat for all of our celebrants—about two or three days in the countryside—to re-educate ourselves, share knowledge, and compare ceremony scripts. One of the guest speakers was a poet and author. He writes both fiction and poetry. He came to help us reconnect with an ancient Icelandic tradition: writing poems about everything and everyone around us.

It’s not something we do so much today, but before the internet, this was what people in Iceland did for fun. We wrote poems about each other. It was a way to share, connect, and celebrate. So during our celebrant retreat, we were encouraged to reconnect with that tradition and become better writers by creating something personal and meaningful.

I started with short poems—simple rhymes. You can follow all sorts of poetic rules, but it’s still a fairly open form. There are influences from other cultures, of course—like Japanese haiku, for example—but Iceland has its rich poetic traditions. Some are based on alliteration or specific rhyme structures, depending on the placement of certain letters or sounds. I don’t even know the names of all the forms in Icelandic, but I gave it a try.

Jacobsen: So you started integrating poetry into your ceremonies?

Runarsson: Yes. I began by writing a short poem instead of simply retelling the story of how the couple got engaged. I started composing a little verse—two or three stanzas—about their proposal. I still do this for every ceremony, if I have enough material from the interview.

I took that inspiration from the retreat seriously and decided, “Why not write a poem for every couple?” I’m not an advanced poet by any means. But if I’ve done a proper interview—which I almost always do—I have enough content to create something sincere and lighthearted. And that’s the magic of it. The couple always laughs. The point isn’t to win a literary award—it’s that I made something just for them.

Jacobsen: It sounds like it comes from a heartfelt place. You’re not claiming to be a master poet—you’re just being honest. That’s very Icelandic. Not even self-deprecating, just matter-of-fact: “I’m new at this. It’s not sophisticated poetry, but it’s real.”

Runarsson: That kind of honesty is very much part of our culture. People from North America or elsewhere sometimes comment on it—they find it disarming. Icelanders are generally authentic. We don’t exaggerate. And that directness, that simplicity, is often what people fall in love with here, both in the people and in the landscape.

We have to remember that poetry is everywhere. It’s in music, it’s in storytelling. 

Jacobsen: Take Eric B. & Rakim, for instance—hip-hop legends. The Message by Grandmaster Flash.

Runarsson: I’m old enough to remember when The Message by Grandmaster Flash came out in the ’80s. 

Jacobsen: It’s still probably ranked as one of the greatest rap songs of all time. That track was profound. It captured a social reality that people were living through.

Runarsson: Think about rap battles—those verbal duels in the street where people roast each other. That’s a poetic form, too. Believe it or not, we had something very similar here in Iceland.

Before the days of streaming and smartphones, people would gather in community centers. Four or five individuals—known for their quick wit and poetic improvisation—would get up on stage. There’d be maybe 200 people in the audience, laughing and cheering. One person would deliver the first two lines of a poem, and the next person had to complete it in rhyme. All improvised, live.

Jacobsen: Like freestyle poetry battles.

Runarsson: We didn’t call it a “rap battle” in Icelandic, of course, but the concept is the same. It was a form of entertainment, often with a humorous twist. For instance, someone might start with, “This man was a good prime minister…” and another would finish with, “…but he lacked a sinister side.” It was all about wordplay.

These poems weren’t written down or refined later. They existed in the moment, for the audience. And it was a show. People loved it.

So when I say that my wedding poems are more like raps than advanced literary poetry, I focus on rhythm, rhyme, and humour. If I can include the couple’s location, pets, inside jokes, or even funny place names—and make it rhyme—they forgive everything. They laugh. And that’s the best outcome I can ask for.

Jacobsen: And it makes the ceremony unforgettable.

Runarsson: Yes. That’s what I love most—when people laugh in the middle of a meaningful ceremony. They feel seen, celebrated, and surprised. And they never forget it.

Iceland has won one Nobel Prize, and it was in literature, awarded to Halldór Laxness. Literature is deeply embedded in our national identity. With the sagas, narratives, and storytelling traditions, it’s all part and parcel of Icelandic culture.

You mentioned the sagas earlier. I read many of them in school growing up, of course, but recently I’ve started listening to them as audiobooks. Since I do much driving around Iceland for ceremonies, I have the time to revisit them. Sometimes I listen at double speed—depending on the narrator’s voice. I’ve listened to 20–30 hour recordings of Icelandic sagas while travelling between ceremonies.

What’s fascinating is that many of the areas where I work today are the same regions described in the sagas. Some of the old farm names are still in use. So not only am I discovering new and beautiful places in Icelandic nature, but I’m also reconnecting with our cultural history.

Even if I don’t use much material from the sagas directly in my ceremonies, there’s a spiritual connection. Listening to them helps me appreciate how difficult life once was in this land. It gives me a sense of humility and perspective, especially when I’m standing in my suit in the middle of Icelandic nature, protected from the elements, with heat in my car and food in my bag. People used to fight for survival here, in brutal wind, snow, and rain. Nature had a profound impact on life and well-being. Remembering that—especially in contrast to our modern comforts—grounds me.

Some sagas are written in prose; others are poetic. I’ve used select passages in ceremonies before. Halldór Laxness, of course, was a novelist. But his depictions of farm life and the emotional and physical strain caused by the elements are incredibly vivid and accurate. Even if the characters are fictional, the settings and struggles are real. His work offers a kind of reality check on our so-called modern problems.

Jacobsen: Do we have enough time or generational data yet to say whether humanist marriages perform better than religious ones? Do they last longer, or are they more stable?

Runarsson: That’s a real question—with an honest answer, I do not yet know. According to the data, the Icelandic Bureau of Statistics publishes marriage statistics. Still, these only include marriages registered and dissolved within Iceland. So, when I marry foreigners, and they divorce later in their home countries, that data doesn’t reach our national statistics. There’s a gap in the numbers.

From what I’ve seen, both among my friends and our humanist members, people fall in love, they marry, and some later divorce. It’s about people and their circumstances. The ceremony itself, and who performs it, doesn’t change the long-term outcome dramatically.

Jacobsen: That said, in a secular or naturalistic worldview, you’re not praying your problems away. You don’t expect divine intervention. You’re forced to face the negotiables and non-negotiables of your relationship in a more grounded, realistic way. That does not mean humanists are immune to delusions, of course—but certain kinds of magical thinking are just off the table. So, even couples married by a priest in Iceland are probably not thinking about it as a spiritual event?

Runarsson: Most Icelanders—even those married by a priest—don’t view the wedding as a religious ceremony. It’s a family event, a life milestone. The spiritual content is often symbolic or traditional rather than deeply believed. They’re not looking for divine blessings to guarantee a successful marriage—they’re making a social commitment, witnessed by loved ones.

So, we as a culture and people here in Iceland do not have a strong religious connection to the church. Even though many people are still officially members, they may only seek church services for significant life events, like funerals or weddings. Families might ask a priest to officiate, but the connection is more cultural than spiritual.

Now, I am not a specialist in religious history, but Protestant churches—and their ethics and ceremonial practices—are not as religiously symbolic as, for example, the Catholic Church. They do not use the same props or rituals. Incense, holy water, that kind of thing. Incense and holy water—those are more sensory rituals.

The Protestant culture is much less decorative or ritualistic than the Catholic Church. It shows both in how their churches are built and how the ceremonies are conducted. The word “Protestant” itself comes from protest. They were protesting the extravagance and rituals of the Catholic Church. And I suppose it all started with that German guy—Martin Luther?

He wanted to reform how Christianity was practiced at the time, and that led to this branch we now call Lutheran Protestantism. What I’m getting at is this: In Iceland, priests in the state church feel more like civil servants—because they are. The government pays them, so many people see them not so much as religious figures, but as public servants.

The contrast between humanist and Catholic ceremonies is powerful. But the contrast between humanist and Protestant ceremonies—at least here in Iceland—is much smaller. The public sees both as more service-oriented than faith-driven.

Jacobsen: That’s helpful context. Let’s end there for today. Nice chatting with you.

Runarsson: Nice chatting with you, too. Bye-bye.

Jacobsen: Take care. Bye-bye.

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Scott Douglas Jacobsen is the publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343) and Editor-in-Chief of In-Sight: Interviews (ISSN: 2369-6885). He writes for The Good Men Project, International Policy Digest (ISSN: 2332–9416), The Humanist (Print: ISSN 0018-7399; Online: ISSN 2163-3576), Basic Income Earth Network (UK Registered Charity 1177066), A Further Inquiry, and other media. He is a member in good standing of numerous media organizations.

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