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Reformation Day

Our Lutheran friends celebrate Reformation Sunday on the last Sunday of October. But that’s because most Lutheran parishes have ceased celebrating feast days on their proper day, preferring to transfer them to the closest Sunday. (In all fairness, we Anglicans aren’t much better. How many parishes celebrate All Saints Day on November 1st with as much pomp as they do All Saints Sunday?)

The actual Day is October 31st. This is the day that Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the Schloßkirche (the Castle Church) in Wittenburg. Wikipedia posits that Luther may have chosen Hallowe’en because the church would be “open on All Saints’ Day specifically for people to view a large collection of relics. The viewing of these relics was said to promise a reduction in time in purgatory similar to that of the purchase of an indulgence.” This was exactly the sort of practice that Luther was denouncing.

As our contribution to the day’s observances, we present the text of that great “Battle Hymn of the Reformation”, Luther’s “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”. Herewith are the original; a translation by Catherine Winkworth; and by Frederick H. Hedge. Winkworth is represented several times in the 1940 Hymnal, and her translation is more faithful to Luther’s original; but Hedge’s poetic phrasing earned him his only entry in the 1940. (Our apologies for the extreme width of this post, which will probably make you scroll right, or maximize your browser window. But we thought it would be useful to compare the translations side by side.)

Martin Luther (1529) Catherine Winkworth (1863) Frederick H. Hedge (1853)
Ein’ feste Burg ist unser Gott,
	Ein gute Wehr und Waffen;
Er hilft uns frei aus aller Not,
	Die uns jetzt hat betroffen.
Der alt’ böse Feind,
Mit Ernst er’s jetzt meint,
Gross’ Macht und viel List
Sein’ grausam’ Ruestung ist,
	Auf Erd’ ist nicht seingleichen.

Mit unsrer Macht is nichts getan,
	Wir sind gar bald verloren;
Es steit’t für uns der rechte Mann,
	Den Gott hat selbst erkoren.
Fragst du, wer der ist?
Er heisst Jesu Christ,
Der Herr Zebaoth,
Und ist kein andrer Gott,
	Das Feld muss er behalten.

Und wenn die Welt voll Teufel wär’
	Und wollt’ uns gar verschlingen,
So fürchten wir uns nicht so sehr,
	Es soll uns doch gelingen.
Der Fürst dieser Welt,
Wie sau’r er sich stellt,
Tut er uns doch nicht,
Das macht, er ist gericht’t,
	Ein Wörtlein kann ihn fällen.

Das Wort sie sollen lassen stahn
	Und kein’n Dank dazu haben;
Er ist bei uns wohl auf dem Plan
	Mit seinem Geist und Gaben.
Nehmen sie den Leib,
Gut, Ehr’, Kind und Weib:
Lass fahren dahin,
Sie haben’s kein’n Gewinn,
	Das Reich muss uns doch bleiben.
A sure stronghold our God is He,
	A trusty shield and weapon;
Our help He'll be and set us free
	From ev'ry ill can happen.
That old malicious foe
Means us deadly woe;
Arm'd with might from hell
And deepest craft as well,
	On earth is not his fellow.

Through our own force we nothing can,
	Straight were we lost for ever;
But for us fights the proper Man,
	By God sent to deliver.
Ask ye who this may be?
Jesus Christ is He,
Of Sabaoth Lord,
Sole God to be adored--
	'T is He must win the battle.

And were the world with devils fill'd,
	All eager to devour us,
Our souls to fear should little yield,
	They cannot overpower us.
Their dreaded Prince no more
Harms us as of yore;
Look grim as he may,
Doom'd is his ancient sway,
	A word can overthrow him.

Still shall they leave that Word His might,
	And yet no thanks shall merit;
Still is He with us in the fight
	By His good gifts and Spirit.
E'en should they take our life,
Wealth, name, child, or wife--
Though all these be gone,
Yet nothing have they won,
	God's kingdom ours abideth!
A mighty fortress is our God, 
	A bulwark never failing; 
Our helper he amid the flood 
	Of mortal ills prevailing:  
For still our ancient foe 
Doth seek to work us woe; 
His craft and power are great, 
And, armed with cruel hate, 
	On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide, 
	Our striving would be losing; 
Were not the right man on our side, 
	The man of God's own choosing:
Dost ask who that may be?  
Christ Jesus, it is he; 
Lord Sabaoth his name, 
From age to age the same, 
	And he must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, 
	Should threaten to undo us, 
We will not fear, for God hath willed 
	His truth to triumph through us:  
The Prince of Darkness grim, 
We tremble not for him; 
His rage we can endure, 
For lo! his doom is sure, 
	One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, 
	No thanks to them, abideth; 
The Spirit and the gifts are ours 
	Thru him who with us sideth:  
Let goods and kindred go, 
This mortal life also; 
The body they may kill; 
God's truth abideth still; 
	His kingdom is forever.

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