A fish called 'Haver'

OK

plenty of problems to deal with

today,

sounding with O

and starting with

K:

my friend,

Kevin Haverty is sixty

today;

we knew him a

half-decade less—

he’s

here, in

this poem, he’s been on my mind. His

woe-be-

gone fish has died

on my my time

and

I don’t

really know how to put that to rhyme:

he asked

on our last day

of work, “won’t you

please

take this

negligent burden from me?

Every

fish else I’ve man-

aged to dump. Just

this

lonely

last sucker and

I can

go free. It’s faith-

fully cleaned this

tank

and will

yours.”  I told him a lie—that I’d toss

the blame

fish out my car

window on my

drive

home. “Me

too—so you see where we stand. I got

luggage

to pack and much

on my mind.

Please.”

So I

did. I bagged the poor catfish and

hurried

on home. I rolled

down the window

and

hurled out

a prayer. King Lear came to mind: “Poor

naked

wretches, wheresoe’er

you are. I have

ta’en

too little

care of this.” Then “this set down this

set down

this” jettisoned

in—a blurring

of

Magi

in Eliot’s play. I took the

doomed fish

and stared at its
frown. ‘This set down

this set

down this.’…

The drive ended home, I dumped the

black load

in the depth of

my tank, too much

ta’en

with poor

fishes like it, I let him swim

free, and

he did. He lived

full in his fate

and

he died

yesterday. The other fish pecked

at his

body at rest.

I didn’t know then

that

he was

n’t with us. Divining his source,

his chaver,

he was—for here’s

where other pro-

blems

begin.

His name (if I gave it) was ‘Haver’

for ‘friend’.

In Gaelic it’s

Nonsense—a bab-

bling

end. But

Haver is how I referred to

the fish:

“How goes, little

chaver, and how

are

you out-

swimming Kevin, who died yester-

year? Your

cancer was cured

—his not—hard to

take

cheer…” but

I’ll never presume. Here’s food for

your day.

You died when I

wanted your world

yet

to stay.

You faithfully hoovered the brack

of my

tank. You friended

poor wretches, the

least

of these

fishes, and how now we honor

your life

and your trade? How

silly it seems,

how

terri-

bly vain. From one dying hand to

kindred

shell game, never

to gamble a-

gain.

Now hush,

little chaver (your semblance to Bach),

take cheer

and no nonsense

and ultimate

calm

that this

set down this is what everyone

gains in

forgettable flits

and cleansing re-

mains

You did

what you needed, for us and for

you. You

lived and then died,

for us to cons-

true...

or not—

to fathom, I'm over my head:

a man-be-

gone fish is (shall

we say?) god-damned

dead.

Not here

to flaunt what we know is the law—my

father

‘God damned’ only

once in recall

and

surely

not over a scarpering fish, nor

a screed

about someone

who crossed a mere

line.

It was,

rather, an inchoate jab at

dispa-

rate deeds. We suck

what we want, we

sieve

what we

need and we live or we die on that

fragile

thneed. Bemoan the

poor precedent

that

buries

this plea: we’re poor naked wretches

who pine

less to be free

and more to be

known

as hav-

er, as friend, as nonsense  can be.

as fish

or foul, as man

(rest in grace) as

me.

Baptism of Joshua Paul

(Sermon by Joseph Vold, October 12, 1969)

TEXT: John 9: 24-41

If we had a person here in our midst who had been blind from the day he was born, and now on this day, he hears the word of a physician —and follows it and of a sudden —he is no longer blind but can see —SAY WE WITNESSED THIS we would be overwhelmed by the event.  He was blind, but now he can see —oh,! we would be amazed by the fact!  We would be mightily impressed, and would never forget it.

BUT THAT HAPPENED HERE TODAY IN OUR VERY MIDST.  Through baptism.  It has happened to this child, Joshua Paul.

In the catacombs of Rome where early Christians gathered to hide from hostile authorities to keep from being killed and to live and to worship, they left on the walls frescoes, pictures of what they treasured.  The story of the man born blind appears seven times in catacomb art, most frequently as an illustration of Christian baptism.  This story was taken by the early church as an interpretation of what happens in baptism.

When the early Christians were about to baptize a person who had been prepared and was brought forward to be a member of the Body of Christ, i.e. the church, they read Chapter 9 of John —the story of the man born blind and healed through washing —they read this chapter together.

The early Church Fathers referred to baptism as the washing away of blindness.  Tertullian opened his book (or tract) on baptism with the words ‘Happy is the sacrament of our water, in that, by washing away the sins of our early blindness, we are set free unto eternal life.’

Augustine comments on our text:  “This blindman stands for the human race ....if the blindness is lack of faith, then the seeing (illumination) is faith ....  He washes his eyes in that pool which is
interpreted ‘one who has been sent’; he was baptized in Christ.”

I would like to draw from the entire ninth chapter of John for our sermon today to show what God does in baptism.

FOR THE MAN BORN BLIND WHO IS MET BY CHRIST AND HIS LOVING ACTION: Instead of darkness or blindness, there is light and ability to see.  There is much stress on the fact that the man in our text was born blind.  It is mentioned —this fact of being blind at birth —no less than seven times.

Now when we consider a little child —that cuddly little bundle who is so winning —mostly because he is so small and helpless and dependent —we overlook this fact of his being blind.   Unless he is enlightened, unless he receives the vision of God he will remain in darkness —He will not know who he is and what he came into the world for.  But Christ comes and brings enlightenment starting with the washing of baptism.  The one who has the Christ and his light through faith has the vision of God.

But how can such a little child be enlightened?  He does not know, surely he does not know what is going on.  He cannot have faith or comprehension.  So some will argue.

The only way this little one is going to know of Christ (have the vision of God) is if the church loves him —and, loving him, teach him of the good news we have.  The first and second —and third lesson —and all the way through the last lesson we teach should be this: God loves you so much that he has adopted you to be his own, and we, the church, love and care for you as a brother.  You start teaching that lesson from the very first day.  We know that an infant child may not understand much but he surely feeds on love —and he is nourished by the love that people can give to him.  The parents can love him just because Christ has loved us and gave His life for us.  The parents can be patient and forgive because Christ forgives us and is patient with us and keeps bringing us back.

The child is going to know of Christ as the church shows care for him.  The child will know of Christ as people in the church live the life of Christ, live the way of the cross in the community.  He will not know the fullness of the faith as a baby or as a little boy —or as a young man.  BUT LOVE CANNOT FAIL.  He will know someday.  He will know the greatness of what has happened to him in the claim of God in baptism —the miracle of new life —someday I believe that.  I am filled with high hope for him because of the Word of God.

Now in the ninth chapter of John we see a gradual dawning —an increase in knowledge for this man who received his sight from Jesus.

The Jews —it is the way of the world with, or against, the baptized —would not accept that Jesus had accomplished the restoring of sight to this blind man.  They hounded the man who had been born blind.  “How were your eyes opened?”  The man Jesus did it.  “Where is he?”  I don’t know.

Later on they wanted to press him further on this matter so they asked, “What do you say about Jesus?”  The former blind man said:  He is a prophet.

Now in the part of the chapter that is the text for today the Pharisees (or Jews) are pressing him again and are trying to teach that Christ is not good or able to heal blindness.  The man says plainly to them: I don’t know whether Jesus is a sinner or not, but once I was blind, now I can see.  The man has great power.

Growing recognition of the fact and the power of Jesus as the one who gives light and goodness in life —This is the thing that happens to the child who is brought up in the baptismal covenant.  He doesn’t know all the answers about Jesus, but he learns of his life and his power —because of what Christ —and the Body of Christ —can do and has done for him.

When the man who had been born blind answers the Pharisees that someone who does such great things —so good —has got to be from God —he gets clobbered by the Jews.  The baptized, who live by their baptism, may share the same reaction from the world —but they hold fast to Christ who gives light and life.

Finally this man is confronted again by the Christ who tells him who he is and asks, “Do you believe?”  He said, “Lord, I believe,” and he worshiped him.

The child who is baptized may not know the fullness of the truth of Christ, but as he experiences the power of God through the Church —through loving people as well as the Word and Sacraments —he will one day also fall down and worship Jesus as the Lord.

He will someday know how much he needed this act of baptism, this washing away of blindness of the natural man.  He will someday know how necessary it was for God to come to him and to give forgiveness and light.  He will know that he passed from blindness to the vision of God through Christ (Once I was blind —now I can see).  He will know it because of the church, the caring, faithful, loving, teaching, acting church.  And he will be glad for the judgment of God.  The judgment of God upon this little one baptized here today is YES, you are my child.

That’s what I want to teach him to know the rest of the years I have to be his earthly father and his brother in the church.  Will you help me to teach him that?

AMEN: YES, YES and it shall be so.

I want to teach my children...

Dan, you can deal me in - but only if we can get more than two people at the table!  Meanwhile, here is my offering for February.

A month ago Josh brought over a few boxes of Joe Vold’s school notebooks and sermons.  At first glance, Dad’s sermons were not well organized, maybe partly from being moved from parish to parish and from file cabinets to boxes, but probably this was more a reflection of the Joe Vold way of life.  He always liked Abe Lincoln, who was said to have written the Gettysburg address on the back of an envelope, and throughout the Concordia years Dad seems to have taken this to heart.  Everything is written on 5.5 x 8.5 half sheets, usually recycling the backs of bulletins, always handwritten in a single draft.  Sometimes the 5-6 page sermons were stapled, but when they were loose they did not always stay together in the box.

I did not set out to dive into these sermons, but on first browse I was immediately intrigued.  For all that went on in the late sixties, Dad did not go off the message of salvation too much, which was intriguing enough, but then there was also a sermon just after the Apollo 11 moon landing, and references to flower children, Mai Lai and Vietnam War, tensions in the middle east, race relations at home, a political convention in Chicago.  And then, within only minutes of opening the second box, I came across the sermon that I am sharing with you all today, the message Dad delivered on the day of Joshua’s baptism.  I’ve already given Josh a copy of this, and it is at Mom’s suggestion that I am posting this to the Symposia.  So here you are, a Joe Vold sermon fully transcribed.

I have since spent a few weeks of evening hours doing my best to put the Concordia Scandia years in order.  The sermons were sometimes dated but more often they had only cryptic clues of their season.  I now know, for instance, that Oculi Sunday occurs before Exaudi Sunday.  Yes, there was also a three year lectionary cycle of scriptural texts, except that Dad would not regularly write down the specific text reference. When one is not writing to the future and is speaking to people who have bulletin references in front of them, not much more needs to be said on the sermon page than a self-direction to “Read the Text.”

So, thanks to the lectionary calendars that were also in the boxes, I did.  And thanks to all the stray pages, when paper styles and ink colors weren’t enough to reorder things, I read more of the sermons than I had first expected to.

After Concordia, Dad seems to have started dispensing of formalities, perhaps not needing to write out the sermons as much, or being less inclined to preserve the paperwork.  There are still quite a few loose pages with Bejou references, though, and I look forward to getting to these.  But so far, I am just through the end of 1969.

I will post the baptism sermon separately, but here are a couple of notes and quotes from various other sermons that jumped out at me.

At least twice, Dad brought up the hymn Joy to the World out of season, in October and February.  “Isaac Watts was a forgiven man --a free man --a man who couldn't contain himself.”

Written six months before Josh was born: “I want to teach my children that they have a name and a goal.  They have names, Jonathan and Daniel, but they have another name, and it is Christian. ...Christian, do you know your name?”

In a sermon on how all “ask-seek-knock” prayers are answered:  “What is it to pray if it is not to pray in the Spirit, with the Spirit, for the Spirit?  ...For when a man asks and seeks and knocks for this, he asks for everything there is.”

In a sermon titled “Your Life Is In God’s Hands”: “There will be a triumphant end ---a harvest that is abundant.  I am thinking of my brother, Paul, who has been in surgery this week. ....The insignificance of the beginning and the triumph of the end!”

After Apollo 11: “To have the power to live in love for and in peace with those around you --with your neighbor --that is greater than walking on the moon.”

On a Sunday before Thanksgiving: “People don't give thanks because they have plenty... They give thanks when they clearly recognize that what they have is a gift.”

On “Refreshment Sunday”: “My father was a simple man.  He loved the Gospel of John and he taught me to love it too.”

“When you hear the words, This is my body given for you, and you believe that God loves you so much he died for you, you will know what it was like for the poor man who found a treasure in his field....”

Lastly, I can still hear Dad speaking often of the “little ones” who are, as we all are, children of God.  How neat is it to see that phrase first appear prominently in a sermon for Joshua’s first sign of the cross!

A Queen of Spades

The following poem is based on an exercise I like to do with my creative writing elective, the newest installment unfolding as we speak. Deal out cards to see what you/your fellow players get. Enforce that three random pieces from those cards enter into your poem. In my case, I was dealt the Queen of Spaces (easy!), the Jack of Hearts and the 9 of diamonds, plus two other cards that I can, by rules of this game, discard. My deck of cards had an extra feature of Russian churches pictured within--they, too, could factor in the process of writing freely with random factors playing foil. This poem began as my students began, about 15 minutes after our hand was dealt. Admittedly, I've put some extra time in its present draft:

A queen of spades

            doesn’t need a knight—she

                        operates by day looking all alone

                                    for creatures in their ninth and kills them

                                                royally, without a warning call.

You’d say that ninth

            is past due anyway:

                        why should felines get

                                    what striving, writhing blastulas

                                                remotely cannot hope?                    

Why weep for

            fortunes—kings and queens—

                        if, like Macbeths, they only dwell on

                                    only death, such heavens and such hell?

                                                Why play our hand in cat-

scratch all-indulgent

            lands, and all the while

                        the Queen of Spades sits patiently,

                                    seizing nothing not her own. She isn’t

                                                Jezebel or any of her clones.

                         

We go to churches,

            temples, mosques to

                        stand against this queen. We do

                                    not win, we rather sing the futility

                                                of her cause and thus

                       

We take her in.

            She’s lonely, after all,

                        and probably she kills to have

                                    some friends. An educated guess, of course,

                                                and one we’ll have to fill.