FIRST VESPERS, FIRST SUNDAY OF ADVENT

Creator of the stars of night,
Your people’s everlasting light
Jesus, Redeemer, save us all,
And hear your people when they call.

7th century hymn translated by John Mason Neale

Advent begins again tonight, Saturday. It is a time for reflection, hopefully a respite from the insanity of what people call “The Holidays.”

I am reading a favorite Christmas book, Jostein Gaarder The Christmas Mystery.  Although it has a young boy as the protagonist, I’m not sure it is really a book for children. It would work for teens, but they might be put off by a little girl chasing a lamb. The truth is this is a very complex, sophisticated book. There is the story of Joachim and his family who each day open a door in the mysterious Advent calendar. There is the story of Elisabet Hansen who travels from Norway to Bethlehem and from the present back to the time of the birth of Christ collecting on her pilgrimage four shepherds, three Wisemen, five angels, Quirinius the Governor of Syria, Augustus the Emperor of Rome, an inn keeper, and seven sheep. There is also the story strange flower seller, John, who made the calendar. Then there is the story of Elisabeth Hansen who may be Elisabet Tebasile who may be the Elisabet of the Advent calendar story even though she says she isn’t.

Confused? What do you expect from a book by a former philosophy teacher. Here’s an example of the story. Watch carefully what the Wiseman Caspar says. The first speaker is the Angel Impuriel, something of a wise-guy.

“God created only one Adam and one Eve as well. They were little children who played hide and seek in the Garden of Eden. For there was no point creating a Paradise if there were no children who could play hide and seek in it. But then those two little rascals ate the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, and they grew up. That was the end of playing in the world, but only for a short while. Soon grownup Adam and grownup Eve had children of their own, and the grandchildren. In this way, God made sure there would always be plenty of children in the world. There is no point in creating the whole world if there are no little children to keep on discovering it. That’s how God goes on creating the world over and over again. Her will never quite finish, for new children keep on arriving, and they discover the world for the very first time, Yes indeed!”

The two Wise Men looked at one another.

‘Well, well!” said Balthazar.

And Caspar added, “This explanation is perhaps a little dubious. But all good stories may be understood in at least two or three ways, and only one story can be told at a time.”

All good stories can be understood in at least two or three ways–that is a deep idea, but essential for anyone who wishes to understand Holy Scripture.

Around 2700 years ago the prophet Isaiah spoke to Israel.

For a child has been born for us, a son given to us;

authority rests upon his shoulders;

and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

His authority shall grow continually,

and there shall be endless peace

for the throne of David and his kingdom.

He will establish and uphold it with justice

 and with righteousness

from this time onward and forevermore.

The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this.

Isaiah 9:6-7

The people of Israel understood this in one way. A few hundred years later the Jews in exile understood it in another way. And a few hundred years later Christians understood it in still another as a prophecy of the coming of Jesus. That is the beauty and mystery of God’s revelation, always the same, but always new.

I don’t expect to be chasing a little lamb on my Advent pilgrimage, but who knows. May the Lord bless you on your journey and gret you on your arrival.

Come, Lord Jesus!



The picture at the head of the blog is of a quilt on the blog FRIARside Chats Hosted by the Office of Vocations, Franciscan Friars (OFM), Province of St. Barbara, serving the western USA
friarsidechats.blogspot.com/





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WHAT'S IN A NAME?

My parents named me Wayne Alan. I know there were several other combi- nations of names they consid- ered including one version with Mark after the doctor who delivered me, Samuel J. Mark. I don’t know exactly why they settled on the name they did other than my mother thought Wayne couldn’t be turned into a nickname of any kind. She was right, although no one seems to have considered that my initials spell WAK, pronounced “wack” which has all sorts of possible perversions (like wacky) so I avoided using all three initials.

Your name is your name, unless you’re someone like C. S. Lewis who didn’t like the name “Clive,” so one day he announced to his family he was to be called “Jack” and so he was.  I’m no Jack Lewis so I have remained Wayne without variation for 60 years.

If I had chosen a name, I would have liked to have been John, after my grandfather, John Theodore Kofink. I would have liked having the family connection. My grandfather was named after his step-grandfather, Johann Theodor Steis. My Uncle got John as one of his middle names, but my father, Lawrence Howard, wound up with given names that appear nowhere in our family tree. Maybe it’s a good thing that I wasn’t called John, since the next generation in the family has a John Kofink (my second cousin once removed, I think).

For a middle name, I would have chosen Martin. That name also appears in our family. Grandpa’s youngest brother was Walter Jacob Martin Kofink. My desire to have Martin as a middle name isn’t for family reasons exactly. The Martin I had in mind was Martin Luther. There is a slight family connection there. My 11-time great-grandfather had been one of Martin Luther’s students at the University of Wittenberg, but I simply have long admired Martin Luther.

Occasionally I wonder what sort of name I would have had if my mother had remained a Catholic. As I have been told on good authority, Wayne in NOT a proper Catholic name. There was no Saint Wayne, and I am unlikely to be canonized. I was born on April 21, St. Anslem’s Day, so I might have been saddled with his name. No, no, Anselm Kofink is too much to be afflicted with, although maybe I could have gotten by with an initial. The renown Lutheran Pastor Adalbert Raphael Kretzmann was always called A. R. as his brother, Otto Paul, was always O. P.

I didn’t wind up Anselm. By the time I was born my mother had become a Lutheran. That was ironic since in the 18th century my mother’s  ancestors had been given land to move to Hungary in order to provide a bulwark against Turks and to keep the territory from becoming Protestant. Maybe it’s a double irony because yours truly is not only a Protestant Pastor, but an Oblate at a Catholic Monastery, Saint Leo’s Abbey. An oblate is a sort of associate of a Benedictine community. We don’t take vows, but we are expected to say the Daily Office, read the Rule of St. Benedict, and practice lectio divina.

When we make our oblation, we take a saint's name which appears as our middle name on the certificate of oblation. Here come’s the triple irony: my saint is Martin of Tours.  So while I never had the first name of John, I did manage to become Wayne “Martin” Kofink. (Scary thing is it could have been Wayne Anselm Kofink since Anselm was a Benedictine.)

Now here come the quadruple irony.  Martin Luther was born on November 10 and baptized the next day, which happens to be, ta-da!  St. Martin’s Day. He was named Martin after Martin of Tours.

Here’s an abbreviated version of one of the legends about Martin of Tours who lived from 315 to 397.
 

One winter’s day, more severe than usual, so much that people were dying from the extreme cold, Martin, who was wearing only a cloak and military arms, happened to meet at the gate of the city of Amiens, a half-naked beggar. The man of God recognized that a being to whom others showed no pity, was, in that respect, left to him. Yet, what should he do? He had nothing except the cloak. Taking his sword, he divided his cloak into two equal parts, and gave one part to the poor man, while he again clothed himself with the remainder. The next night, when Martin was asleep, Christ appeared to him dressed in that part of his cloak with which he had dressed the poor man. As he contemplated the Lord with the greatest attention, the saint recognized the clothes Jesus was wearing. Then he heard Him cry out loudly to the multitude of angels standing round: “Martin, a simple catechumen, clothed Me with this robe.”

Last week was St. Martin’s Day which I observed in my praying of the Office. The first antiphon for the day (a verse red before and after a psalm) was this: “What a splendid man whom neither toil or death could conquer! Martin did not fear to die nor did he refuse to live.” What a great message. Don’t be afraid to die, but don’t refuse to live either.

Martin was born in Savaria, Pannonia which is now Szombathely, Hungary. My grandmother was born in Lovrin, Hungary about 275 miles away. About the same time the Austrian Habsburgs were enticing my ancestors to move to the area (to keep it Catholic) , they were also busy suppressing the Catholic Benedictine Order. They closed the great Pannonhalma Archabbey in Hungary which was dedicated to St. Martin of Tours. I’ve lost track oh how many coincidences or connections or ironies that is for this Lutheran Benedictine not-named-Martin-but-Matin-anyway.

Even though my name is plain ol’ Wayne, there is  rich tapestry of influences in my life, Lutheran and Catholic, Martin of Tours and Martin Luther. What’s in a name? Whatever you put there. And the best name is when God calls you “my child.”

May the Lord bless you on your journey and greet you on your arrival.

Wayne






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REASON FOR THE SEASON

Sorry, I didn't have time to finish a new blog for this week. Occasionally time marches on and parades right over you.

As we approach the comming of Advent in two weeks, I remind people of the true meaning of the season. The picture is "The Annunciation" by Fra Angelico. The text Luke 1:30-31 in the Authorized Version.

And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary; for thou hast found favour with God. And, behold, thou shalt conceive in womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.

May the Lord bless you on your journey and greet you on your arrival. And should you encounter an angel on on your pilgrimage who asks something of you, answer: "Let it me to me according to your word."

Wayne







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SERENDIPITY III

Well, I stumbled into something again. (No, it wasn’t a pond. It has been six or seven years since I walked into a pond one dark night.) The library book store has put out Christmas books for purchase, and I discovered The Christmas Stories of George MacDonald. For the cost of $1.00 I couldn’t pass it up.  I wrote about MacDonald some blogs back SERENDIPITY, but this was all new stuff to me. The book is published by David C. Cook Publishing Company. That was the first happy memory for they were the publishers of the Sunday Pix, a cartoon/comic strip version of the Bible issued in weekly installments. It was one of the things that made it worthwhile going to Sunday School when I was a kid.

The MacDonald book is illustrated by Linda Hill Griffith, an author and illustrator of children’s books. The pictures are gentle, with many details to delight the eye. The picture at the head of this blog is hers. You will notice that the baby Jesus is a blond, round-faced northern European cherub, nothing at all like a middle-eastern peasant. Well, everyone in the illustrations are pleasant-looking, British people except for the mean characters who are sharp-featured, sneering folk. I do like the slightly uneasy look on the babe’s face as if Jesus is not quite sure he likes sharing his bed with a hungry donkey.

Anyway, the illustration is for MacDonald’s poem “The Angel’s Song.” As I mentioned, this was all new to me, but I only had to read the first stanza to recognize it:

      From heaven above I come to you,

      To bring a story good and new:

      Of goodly news so much I bring,

      I cannot help it, I must sing.

Goodness, that is an English translation of Martin Luther’s Christmas hymn “Vom Himmel hoch da komm ich her.” (It would have been nice if Luther had gotten the credit for the original.) I know it better in the Catherine Winkworth translation.

      From Heaven above to earth I come,

      To bear good news to every home;

      Glad tidings of great joy I bring,

      Whereof I now will say and sing.

It’s really a miniature Christmas Pageant. The first verses are the Angel addressing the shepherds, then the shepherds go off to Bethlehem, and then we follow reacting with awe at the sight of the Christ Child

      Ah, dearest Jesus, holy Child,

      Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled,

      Here in my poor heart’s inmost shrine,

      That I may evermore be Thine.

Two verses of that Luther hymn were used by J. S. Bach in his Christmas Oratorio. Ah, that brought back (or brought Bach) happy memories of singing the six cantatas that make up the Christmas Oratorio in college. I sang the last three Cantatas in January of 1970 or 1971. Usually the Roosevelt University Choral Concert was just before Christmas, but I think that year it was delayed to January, so we sang the cantatas for New Years’ Day, the Sunday after New Years, and Epiphany. Bach, as a good Lutheran, knew that Christmas ran from December 25 to January 6.  In December of 1971 I was still hanging around the university even though I had graduated. My future seminary in its great wisdom had refused to admit me as a student because I had taken too many music courses, and they wanted me to take a bunch of liberal arts courses to prove I wasn’t stupid. I don’t think non-musicians have any idea how difficult courses in music theory and analysis are, but that’s the way things were. So I was taking courses, and the Concert Choir was going to sing the first three cantatas, so I volunteered to sing with them.

I still have my vocal score for the Christmas Oratorio complete with many notations on diction, intonation, notes to watch out for, and an occasional indication of when to help the tenors sing an entrance.

The director of all choral activities was Dr. David Larson. I consider it a great privilege to have studied with Dr. Larson and wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. Now the curious thing is that Dr. Larson spent much of his professional life teaching in Japan. Readers of my blog SERENDIPITY II might recall that Pastor Marvin Tack, who also had a great influence on me, spent much of his life in Japan.  No, they didn’t know each other, BUT they both did know somebody else, Pastor Norman Nuding who also had a role in my eventual pursuit of the Lutheran ministry.WHEN YOU GROW UP PT. 3

This is a wonderful time of year for memories, especially Christmas memories. I know the Scrooges out there are grumpling about rushing the season, but I love it. I love the dark nights as fall slides into winter. I love the coming season of Advent. I love the dozens of books of Christmas stories and poems that I read each year.  I love the wonder of the Word made flesh, our Lord Jesus.

Last verse, in the Winkworth translation.

Glory to God in highest Heaven,

Who unto man His Son hath given,

While angels sing, with pious mirth,

A glad New Year to all the earth.

May the Lord bless you on your journey and greet you on your arrival. And may your pilgrimage be accompanied by the singing of angels.

Wayne

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