Koinonia

Koinonia is a bit of a buzzword. A lot of churches use it as a catchy name for an organization or a certain way of thinking about a church activity. It is not just because it is trendy to integrate Greek into programs. It is such a helpful word that captures much more than any English word might in translation. It means the common life of people, fellowship, cooperation, and sharing. It is bigger than a simple sharing of interests or affiliation. Koinonia is like building a brand new transcontinental railway. The people swinging the hammers in unison, harmonizing in labor songs, supping together after a day’s work, and sharing a tent for slumber.¹

Salem Presbyterian has an interesting history. We began as the 5 pm service of Redeemer Presbyterian Church, but this service was not a repeat of the morning gatherings. It flourished into its own cultural community, even a few years before we began meeting in West Salem. Now we are our own church, with a unique geographic footprint, and while our history roots our identity, in many ways we are searching for some markers to define our present and future.

That is why it says “est. 2013” on our bulletins. While we have bonds which run deep through Redeemer Presbyterian Church and our years as a site with the Redeemer Church Network, we ventured out on our own in 2013. There are perhaps two crucial ingredients that produced the church that is Salem Presbyterian Church – est. 2013. The first was the support and roots we have at Redeemer. Those are gone, but not forgotten — the way a person’s identity is forged in their childhood home, but with the reality that in adulthood it becomes one’s own responsibility to steward and cultivate that personhood. The other was what might be called “Friday Night Leadership.”

“Leadership” was the essence of koinonia. Before we had elders, servant leaders, a senior pastor, Google Docs, a church retreat, there was just a tall Associate Pastor named Ben and a crew of Christians interested in praying and taking on the work of the church. As the systems of our church became formalized it was difficult to figure out what to do with “Leadership” and attendance dwindled. It seemed there were now elders, servant leaders, staff, and of course Google docs capable of supporting the structure of the church. It was collateral damage in our maturation, but it might be for the better that we took a break from “Leadership” so as to learn how vital it was to healthy church.

Taking time to raise up leaders in shepherding and mercy ministry was really helpful for Salem Presbyterian Church. But it is apparent that we still need everybody to pray and work together — all of us! The common life of the church means coming together without too much official business to just worship God and bind together to make his body closer and more hospitable. Somewhere between our large worship gathering and our small group discipleship gatherings in homes, there needs to be a space where we get work done and leave space for informal prayer. “Leadership” might give the impression that certain leader qualifications might be necessary to participate. Of course back in the day, “Leadership” was the church’s leadership, but now we have official leaders. What we need to safeguard and recapture is the normal, everyday, knit together quality of laying track together, supping together, and resting together. That is why we are bringing koinonia into the mix.

We will gather quarterly to sing songs, pray, and divvy up little tasks giving every person in the church access to a little ownership on the work of Christ’s Kingdom in our little city of Winston-Salem. Each quarter we will focus on one facet of our threefold mission of Worship/Community/Outreach. Our first gathering will be focused on “community”, specifically our small groups and our late summer church retreat.

 

¹I do not mean to romanticize a history so rife with cultural violence and slavery, it is simply an effective metaphor.

The Case for Summer Church

I mulled over this post for a week or two thinking there was still time to polish it, but alas the summer already struck its first blow to our church community gathering. It may seem weird to make a case for going to church year-round. The fact remains, summer church attendance is lower than the rest of the year — a lot lower. Last evening at Salem Pres our attendance was half what it has been for 2014. It was a sudden drop too. My guess is the reason is not because people weigh the facts and make a willful rejection of the gathered community. I think we just need a pithy argument to have in the back of our minds when we are tempted to skip church for a beach trip or because we are spent from a great summer weekend.

I want to start by setting aside a few uncomfortable thoughts. First, there is a fair argument against measuring church health by numbers. Second, I am a pastor so I might be motivated to measure my success by worship attendance and thus browbeat the congregation toward worship commitment. Conversely, it would be unhelpful to keep these from making some helpful suggestions. It is not helpful to wish for summer to be the same when it simply is not in most churches. So this is a case for what is healthy and helpful about making a conscience effort to attend church.

I understand the temptation. The logic goes, “if we leave the beach in time to make it back to church, we will really be cutting a day off our trip.” Or perhaps you think as I have thought, “I have not had any down time after this packed week/weekend.” I offer three counters to this logic. First, is for God. He made the church his bride. We show our love to him by assembling each week and glorifying with him, engaging with him as more than individuals, but as his family, his beloved collective.

Second, it is a good thing to come and hear preaching and take the Lord’s Supper and hear each other singing. Yes an extra day at the beach is nice and it seems wasteful to not take full advantage of such an opportunity. But the assurance that God is with us and among us is a far greater treasure, though more difficult to embrace and appreciate. This leads me to my third reason, it is important for others to see you at church. You may feel like things are going well, but they are not for your brothers and sisters. The lonely, the jobless, the broken, they need you to sit among them in church and confess your sins with them. They need to hear you singing and be encouraged that God is real and with us.

The author of Hebrews, more than a few times, begs his congregation to not neglect the fellowship. Its not because he wants good numbers or he thinks are bad people if they skip worship. Its because “we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. (Hebrews 12:1-2 ESV). For God, and for your brothers and sisters, plan to be back from the beach by Sunday. Push aside the hectic weekend not by lounging at home, but by relaxing in the respite of liturgy, prayer, silence, music, preaching, and the supper. Cut the road trip short, rush in the church doors late, though you smell of sweat, saltwater, and sunscreen. Plan your summer around gathering for worship, not because its the good Christian thing to do, but because it is hard to be a human being. You, and your brothers and sisters need you to. I need you to gather with me to follow the founder and perfecter of our faith.

 

Books I Love & Recommend:

Institutes of the Christian Religion by John Calvin

Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry

Resident Aliens by Stanley Hauerwas and William H. Willimon

Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works by Anselm of Canterbury

Gilead by Marilynne Robinson

Moral Vision of the New Testament by Richard Hays

Life Together by Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy by Eric Metaxas

The Long Loneliness by Dorothy Day

Engaging God’s World by Cornelius Plantinga

Songs of Innocence and of Experience by William Blake

The Art of Fiction by John Gardner

Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture by Ellen Davis

The Trinity by Augustine of Hippo

Life in the Trinity by Donald Fairbairn

The Bondage of the Will by Martin Luther

In the Name of Jesus by Henri Nouwen

Reaching Out by Henri Nouwen

Celebration of Discipline by Richard Foster

Christian Attitudes To War, Peace, and Revolution by John Howard Yoder

God’s Revolution by Eberhard Arnold

On Choosing a Seminary or Divinity School

After a few years of wandering blogs and websites looking for rankings, reviews, etc. on seminaries and div schools, I found almost nothing objective.  There are arbitrary lists out there, mostly listing well known schools like Harvard, Yale, and Duke, without any qualification for the list.  What would the factors be for such a ranking?  It is really impossible to rank schools on a field of academia so subjective.  You can’t rank seminaries like medical schools.  The spectrum of theology is three-dimensional, from conservative to liberal, baptist to reformed to catholic, and so on.  The plane does not exist on a line, but in a sphere. So I thought I would write a little piece, hoping it might pop-up on some Google searches, and help some future seminarians choose their own adventure.

BOOKS YOU’LL READ:
Talking to people at a school you are interested in can be helpful.  A good question to ask is if students are reading influential theologians or if they are reading about influential theologians.   No one ever influenced the world with a book of block quotes by someone quoting someone else. Its also a lie to think pastors should only be focused on practical learning only, not academic.  Anyone getting a theological degree is a smart person who people will want to ask tough questions to!  Martin Luther and John Calvin were pastors.  And if you hate those guys, you’ll never be able to disagree with them credibly unless you actually read them and not some contemporary caricature of them. Two interesting discussions I was a part of in seminary were around Augustine and Calvin. Both discussions, in different classes, saw people having to confront their biases towards these theologians because we were reading their actual primary material. A number of people who truly despised Calvin were surprised by the beauty of his writing because they had built an impression of Calvin on their experience with Calvinists. Conversely, some Calvinists in a class were shocked by Augustine, “The Doctor of Grace,” for his very strong leanings towards works-based salvation. Basically go somewhere that will have you read people like Augustine, Aquinas, Luther, Calvin, Barth, etc. Even if you are not interested in them, they set the foundations of theological discussions.

LANGUAGES:
Are the students learning languages, reading primary sources?    Bonhoeffer once quipped that when he came to America, he noticed liberal Christians would often mock and laugh at fundamentalists, but that they couldn’t really hang with them intellectually.  Language  has nuance, so you if you want to think for yourself, then you should be able to interpret what something says in its original language. One semester of vocabulary words will aid rough translations, but never lead to interpretation. The irony here lies on the poles of the theological spectrum.  Both liberals and conservatives seem to stubbornly submit to party-line systems and put learning vocabulary over robust language work.  Conservatives seem to embrace commentaries, trusting other conservatives and assuming to only learn the language so the English commentary makes sense (and maybe to throw in cool Greek words to a sermon). This contributes nothing new to the conversation and it ignores the fact that theology needs to be done in every generation. On the other hand, some liberals like to cling to a loosened view of the authority of scripture in support of the economical decision to replace language classes with other courses of a greater interest. No matter one’s view of scripture’s authority, scripture is the playing field for theological discussion. Any persuasive argument should be able to understand the other side’s argument and critique it so learning language and grammar for Greek & Hebrew lends credibility and confidence in one’s opinions.

CHOOSING A SCHOOL:
Choosing a divinity school  on the name of the larger University is really not a good metric. This is true in any post-graduate education. The undergraduate programs may be weak, but there may be one really strong post-grad department. Conversely, the prestige of an undergraduate college does not transfer if the post-graduate department is weak. It might work to go to a big name school for business or law as a networking move. No one leaves seminary with the promise of hot jobs and huge compensation packages, no matter the institution.  A better approach for this outcome is to start a cult.  In the words of Creed Bratton, “I’ve been a part of a number of cults…You have more fun as a follower, but you make more money as a leader.”  The goal of seminary is the actual education.

So picking a school might start with your career path (at least as much as you can guess at this point!) Perhaps counter-intuitive to some, many evangelical schools can be the best foundation for further work in a Ph.D, Th.D, or Th.M. This is because some require more classes in original languages and interpretation. Classes in contemporary practical thought on social justice ethics and moral theology are sometimes most interesting, but not preparatory for the next level of academics. Some very small evangelical seminaries have excellent faculty and rigorous programs that can prepare students to really think for themselves.  At the same time, divinity schools in larger universities have excellent libraries, the opportunity for learning across disciplines, and provide diverse perspectives.  Really, there are lots of good schools, evangelical seminaries to divinity schools at universities, you just cannot rank them like undergraduate colleges.  Look at where people you read went to school, before their Ph.D.  Lots of theologians come out of Yale, Harvard, Princteon, Duke, Vanderbilt, etc., but its amazing the diversity in the paths they took to those Doctoral programs. I made the mistake of having a bias against two schools I now really respect. One was because I did not know the name, but was impressed with the graduates. Over time, I came to learn how strong a divinity school it is. The other, I had a theological bias against, but came to meet graduate after graduate who was incredibly well-educated.

If the goal is to go into ministry, then pick a school that will be equip you for ministry. Planning to be ordained in a denomination? Then picking a school in your denomination might best prepare you. Other students will be going through the same process and faculty will have the inside line on how to prepare. If you want to get outside your denomination to be exposed to new thinking, an ecumenical or non-denominational seminary might be best. Whether prestige in the world or a perfectly tailored theology, pick a school on its curriculum, not name.

CHOOSING A DEGREE:
One mistake I have heard over and over again is for people who want to go into social non-profit work going to divinity school. Christians with a heart for social justice ought to pursue degrees in Social Work, Public Health, Counseling, and Non-profit management. Of course, there are many theological implications and many people end up in non-profit work out of seminary. Building a robust theology of mercy and justice is something one can do well in divinity school and there are exceptions. If your passion is to empower a group of people through education or development, other degrees will be more competitive for jobs and grants, and they will perhaps give you more tools for your work.

Today, the MDiv is not alone at the master’s level. Many seminaries offer a wide range of degrees. The MDiv is a great degree that usually incorporates biblical studies, theology, history, and practical intern work. My friend once quipped how cruel it is that you do more work than almost any master’s degree, but end with the least pay and respect. I have great respect for the MDiv, you learn at least one ancient language, study philosophy and theology at a master’s level, and learn to incorporate it into the practicing life of the church. That is a lot of work, some would say the same as a law degree, but you do not get to be a Doctor on the other side.

Most denominations require an MDiv for ordination and if they do not require it, they implicitly favor it. I personally did an M.A. I am Presbyterian and I was warned by my Presbytery and others outside it, that even though it may not be a requirement, most Presbyterian denominations will not consider M.A. grads as candidates, even if they are ordained. Still, there are a number of other good options. Some Master of Arts degrees can be good for seminary students. Students planning to work in a non-denominational church without ordination guidelines might look at an M.A. If your church has a robust training life through internships or work you already do, you can save the time of internship credits. Most schools do not recommend this, but it seems to be the way students are going.

Going the academic route, the most prevalent advice is to pursue an interdisciplinary degree. The MDiv might be the best option for this, but at some schools, the M.A. has more room for academic work, including writing a thesis. The ATS (Association of Theological Schools), which is an accrediting organization in North America, defines the MDiv as a degree for pastoral work and the academic M.A. as a basis for post-graduate work.

Regardless of M.A. or MDiv, a lot of Doctoral programs recommend a Th.M as a way to make oneself more competitive. This seems especially true for the M.A. The Th.M is also the minimum degree to teach at an ATS school, you can check out their guidelines here http://www.ats.edu/Accrediting/Documents/DegreeProgramStandards.pdf

CONCLUSIONS:
I left seminary at Gordon-Conwell in Charlotte grateful for 3 things. One, my friends who were from different traditions who challenged me while worshipping, laughing, and learning together. Two, my professors, who required 2,000 pages of reading per class, per semester. This, plus learning 2 languages and writing a thesis pushed me to care about my intellectual output. Three, the feeling that I had been humbled and transformed. I am convinced that ranking seminaries is a bad idea, so I hope this can help some students approach school by choosing the type of place that will humble and transform them.

Baptizing a Baby Boy

Bonhoeffer at Tegel Military Prison

A little less than a year before his death, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was in Tegel Military Prison, writing to his good friend Eberhard Bethge.  Their letters are extraordinary, they might be my favorite thing of Bonhoeffer’s to read.  They walk this incredible balance between theological reflection and simple companionship.  I had a professor who would always note the tragedy of how many great theologians have guarded their writing from being infused with their personal spirituality, in favor of unambiguous clinical terms.  Thankfully, we have so much writing from Bonhoeffer’s personal journey, to inform our understanding of his theology.

I was reading near the end of Letters and Papers from Prision.  Bonhoeffer is writing a letter to Dietrich Wilhelm Rüdiger Bethge, a tiny babe, the first son of his protege and friend Eberhard, who married Bonhoeffer’s niece Renate.  In a preceding letter he laments his imprisonment, not the conditions, but that he cannot fulfill Renate and Eberhard’s wish that Bonhoeffer would baptize little Dietrich.  He sends them a few suggestions for scripture to read  at the baptism…

You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus,
(2 Timothy 2:1 ESV)

My son, give me your heart,
and let your eyes observe my ways.
(Proverbs 23:26 ESV)

But the path of the righteous is like the light of dawn,
which shines brighter and brighter until full day.
(Proverbs 4:18 ESV)

Reading the letters, Bonhoeffer comes off so gitty for them, about their child, and so hopeful for an impending faith in his life.  He promises in another letter that he is still working on some sort of sermon/letter for the service.  In May 1944, he pens a beautiful letter to the boy, starting it, “You are the first in a new generation for our family, and therefore the oldest representative of your generation.”  He talks about how young Dietrich will meet his great-grandfather(Bonhoeffer’s father) and hear stories of the 19th century, while looking forward to possibly seeing the year 2000.

Bonhoeffer uses the span of these years to reflect on the changes in the world over the time and what it means to the Christian faith.  He talks about how he is grateful that the boy will bear his name and that he is sad he could not be there for the Bethge’s wedding, his birth, and now baptism, because, as Bonhoeffer puts it so mildly, “he is at present sharing the fate of many good Germans and Protestant Christians.”  In other words, Nazi imprisonment.  The joy in the letter, reflecting on their family, the huge Bonhoeffer house (young Dietrich’s great-Grandparents house) where so many wonderful gatherings happened, and the hope that he will grow up with “soiled-hands” and a quiet learnedness before the Lord.  He hopes for the family’s future, “Today salvation has come to this house.”  (Luke 19:9 ESV)  A few letters later, Bonhoeffer notes he is writing Eberhard on the day of the baptism, praying for the day, as he hears air-raid sirens outside.  He prays an attack will not foil the event.  The drama of the sirens, set against the image of a moment when a gentle little German baby is being sprinkled with the baptismal waters, is overwhelming.

I do not long for my son, the oldest representative of his new generation in the Pfeiffer family, to grow up in the chaotic violence of 1940’s Europe.  I hope he will enjoy the “bulwark” as Bonhoeffer puts it, of a good home.  At the same time, I hope Silas, who bears Dietrich as his middle-name, will have the paradoxical desire for wild abandon in the name of the Gospel.

Shake It Out

Raising A Glass To Summer

I saw some tough curve balls in the last year.  My abroad program in Germany was cut because of funding, later I lost my job, and my church looked increasingly like a non-committal boyfriend.  A year ago I thought this summer would have me as a bi-vocational pastor, who’d studied in Germany, and ran a local business.  Alas, you cannot control the plaintiff when the ordination call never happens, the money falls through, and well, poor planning couldn’t pay for you anymore.  I felt a bit rejected this year.  I believe in the sovereign power of God, but that is not fatalism.  People can still screw things up and stain God’s plan.  When things work out on the other side, its all to God’s glory, but he steers us through life as much as he cleans up our’s (and other’s) messes.

The month of May 2012 has been a good one, one of the best.  Erin will tell you I have no shortage of hairpin turns in my life.  Revelations and renewals chase me down with the poise of a wild horse.  Those moments usually look something more like me yelling out a window, with a prophetic fist swinging at society, like Peter Finch in Network.  In a departure from my usual calculation, speculation, inquisition, I am going to write something unabashedly optimistic, cloying, and saccharine.

I’ve been having something of an Ugly Betty coming of age, a dejected post-teen rising into adulthood.  I picture myself driving a Jeep Wrangler with the top down, pumping my fist to Florence + the Machine’s, “Shake It Out.”  I’m proud to belt these lyrics from my figurative Jeep,

And I’ve been fool and I’ve been blind
I can never leave the past behind
I can see no way, I can see no way
I’m always dragging that horse around
All of his questions, such a mournful sound
Tonight I’m gonna bury that horse in the ground
‘Cause I like to keep my issues drawn
It’s always darkest before the dawn

Sing it Florence! (If that’s even your name?)  So what of cafes and Germany and Presbypiscopal ordination?  I am a dad and a graduate and a writer.  I am going to spend this summer singing to my son, harvesting our garden, reading new books, checking in with old ones, writing, discussing Bonhoeffer on our porch with good food and friends.  Sometimes I get so hot and bothered by dysfunction that I forget how irrelevant it can be.  None of the past year changes my life now, so I ought to rise out of it with some pride and joy.  Yeah, “we could have had it all“, but like a British female pop-star, I am going to take these lemons and make an epic ballad album out of this summer!

Silas: The Story Continues

So Silas is rolling onward in life, day 4 is almost in the books, here are some thoughts on the past days.  Things are going pretty well.  The second morning in the hospital, Saturday the 12th, we had our first man-time.  We had a stroll through the 3rd floor of Forsyth, I sipped on coffee…he slept, the whole time.  I daydreamed about future man-time, where I will explain to him the importance of a man having a dog (as he and I do in Piper) and why fire is awesome.  Later in the day we saw our friends Chris and Sheri, whose son Jude was born on May 9th.  Sheri leaned over to her son, hinting his eyeline toward Silas, and with impressive wit given the likely lack of sleep she quipped, “This is one of the only people in the world you are older than.”

My other favorite comment came from my sophomore roommate at CU, Jayson.  Jayson was a frosh when we were randomly placed together in the Smith Hall.  In one of his first days at college, he comfortably slept through the night.  He settled right into the college experience, but his sophomore roommate was less adjusted.  I stirred him from his slumber in the middle of the night, convinced an intruder had snuck in our second floor balcony door, passed our beds and subsequently posted up in my closet.  I whispered, “Jayson, JAYSON, get your hockey stick, someone is in my closet.”  He inquired a few times, “really?” and as he started to really listen to me, I realized how absurb my irrational fear was and just whispered back, “nevermind.”  He commented on a picture I posted, “Congrats ole roomy! Hopefully you’ll handle the monsters in His closet better than that one in ours! Have fun!”

If you are curious, you can read about the Silas we named him after in Acts of the Apostles 15, 17, & 18.  We pray our son would be a rebellious troublemaker for the Gospel:

[4] And some of them were persuaded and joined Paul and Silas, as did a great many of the devout Greeks and not a few of the leading women. [5] But the Jews were jealous, and taking some wicked men of the rabble, they formed a mob, set the city in an uproar, and attacked the house of Jason, seeking to bring them out to the crowd. [6] And when they could not find them, they dragged Jason and some of the brothers before the city authorities, shouting, “These men who have turned the world upside down have come here also, [7] and Jason has received them, and they are all acting against the decrees of Caesar, saying that there is another king, Jesus.”

(Acts 17:4-7 ESV)

You can read about Silas’ middlename-sake, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, here.  The picture above is a photo of Dietrich Bonhoeffer in my office, watching over Silas.

Some have asked about the hymn “All Things Bright and Beautiful” that we listened to after the delivery.  Here is a link to the version we listened to, by Sleeping At Last.

Silas Dietrich Pfeiffer: The Birth Story

Eric (S) Brian (I) Paul (L) Nick (A) Greg (S)

Silas’ mama is one prompt and organized lady.  She very gracefully keeps her committments in order, so it is no surprise that Silas started to come on his due date.  Erin came to visit me at Whole Foods, knowing I was antsy on the due date.  At 3:30pm we sat at the counter looking out at the sunny May afternoon while I ate a quick salad.  Erin was very uncomfortable, sensing the pregnancy was nearing its end, but not imminently.  All of a sudden she felt a new tension, a contraction!  Her water broke, but her contractions were inconsinstant and far apart.  I walked her to her car, she refused to let me drive her home early and not finish the 2 hours of work I had left.

I kept my mind occupied cutting a huge wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano, which is sort of like cheese surgery.  With an hour left in my shift, Erin called my cell phone, but I could not pick up, so I asked her to text me or call the store.  We agreed she’d call the store if it was an emergency.  Turns out she called twice and was put on hold, without telling the person picking up, “I AM IN LABOR HERE!”  She is very polite.  It was a very sweet and midwestern thing to do to wait her turn in the order calls were received at Whole Foods Market Winston-Salem the afternoon of May 10th.  All of a sudden, her contractions (90 minutes after the first one), were 4 minutes apart.

I rushed upstairs to tell some folks I was bolting.  I hopped in my car and drove maniacally home, which is incredibly rare for me.  I am, and I imagine my first born son will be, a follower of all reasonable rules, of which I include traffic laws.  As soon as I got home, Erin was pacing in the kitchen, clearly working out the changes in her body.  She looked graceful from that moment and has not ceased from being beautiful and natural through incredibly emotional and physical challenges.  We pulled away from the house and our neighbor Shekia was pulling up.  She is one enthused mother, so I yelled out the window as we passed “HAVIN’ A BABY HERE!”  To which she responded with a huge smile and fist pump.

We pulled up to the hospital and we stood at the 4th floor front desk, waiting to admit her.  Another young lady strolled up and said calmly, “they sent me home and told me to come back when it felt more consistent.  Now it does, so I can stay?”  Next to her, sat Erin, posted up in a wheel chair, in a full body marathon.  Needless to say, Erin was convincing enough to get in first.  They checked her and sure enough her water had broken and she was dilated 2cm.  As that happened, Leslie, Erin’s best friend from college, maid of honor in our wedding, and an awesome nurse, walked up.  With Hannah, our friend and doula en route from Chapel Hill, Erin’s mom Jean, and Leslie, we had the team almost assembled as we headed for the delivery room.

The room was so serene, with low lights, hard wood (ish?) floors, and lots of space.  Erin’s mom Jean is a nurse, Leslie is a nurse, and Hannah is a doula and lactation consultant, so my role was primarily snack getter, massage giver, and DJ.  Erin worked her heart out, her contractions were coming so fast, which you will see the fruit of as the story goes on.  Hannah arrived at 6:45pm and the ladies discussed if it was time for an epidural. On a side note, as a passionate observer of communities, it is clear to me that our society has lost the feminine bond in child birth.  Our experience was unique and compelled me to realize how much child birth is something so uniquely feminine and requires men to really encourage the women of a community to work together in a birth.  Along with our crew, the nurse and delivering Doctor were women.  I understood the importance of these dynamics beforehand because Erin explained what she has observed beautifully with some women in other countries.  But, also how men have really impeded that opportunity with their presence and opinions.  I later quipped this reminded me of our church at times.

Erin opted for an epidural and Leslie stayed in the room with her.  Jean, Hannah, and I went to the waiting room, where we all learned a new phrase.  A mother was chasing a defiant toddler and looked at us saying, “I’ma have to beat him like its his birthday.”  I thought, “hmm, Silas’ birthday will be different than at your household.”  And also, “what the heck do you do for birthdays at your household?!?”  When we came back in, it was around 9pm and Erin was checked at 5cm.  We guessed things would slow with the epidural, though Hannah said she was given a conservative dose, so it may not slow much or fully limit Erin’s ability to feel and progress.

Erin was given penicillin, which she described as “a burning hot anvil crushing your arm.”  So she was really never free of pain in the process.  Around 10:30pm, Leslie ran home and we decided to get some rest.  By the way, Leslie gave birth to her daughter Ansley a week earlier, so she is amazing to balance feeding a newborn, recovering from child birth, and supporting her friend in labor.  We rested our eyes, though when not catching a quick cat nap, I was pacing on my toes in the room, in the hallway, in the bathroom.  I was not nervous really, especially surrounded by so many knowledgable women.  I was just impatient to meet my son and for my wife to move past the pain.  Around 1:30am, the nurse came in and checked on our slumbering bunch.  Erin was resting and Jean and Hannah had thankfully fallen asleep for a brief moment…they both were so physically active every other moment.  Right then Leslie texted to see if she should head back.  The nurse checked a drowsy Erin and was silent after.  Erin assumed this meant no progress, but I saw Rhonda (that’s the nurse) had a smirk on her face. She was 10 cm.  I woke up the crew, apparently in a hilariously professional fashion, saying, “Umm, ladies, you may want to wake-up now.”  We texted Leslie, “good timing, get on down here!”  I kept thinking of Bruce Willis in Ocean’s 12, when Julia Roberts fakes going into labor and he says, “Uhh, Doctor, you may want to call the rice paddy.”

Rhonda was prepping the room, we put on Bach’s Cello Suite and we read Psalm 20.  Rhonda had Erin do a few practice pushes.  In true Erin fashion, she was focused, determined, athletic, so Rhonda just kept her pushing, shortly thereafter calling the Doctor.  The Doctor came up and Erin just kept pushing, mind you we have been at the hospital for 8 hours, she started labor 10 hours before.  She was focused, pushing, focused and pushing.  So in the zone, Rhonda paused her, took her hand and without saying anything placed it on Silas’ crowning head, which brought a tear to Erin’s eye and clearly brought out what her Harvard friends called, “Martha!”  Martha is Erin’s first name, and her grad school friends use Martha when Erin’s determined and competitive alter-ego emerges.  She was determined to meet her son, focused, pushing, focused, pushing, eyes closed, crunched forward.  Her mom put so much energy into helping, holding her leg as she labored on her side and feeding her ice chips.  Leslie spoke sweet encouragments and shot photos, and Hannah coached Erin and explained to me even the most elementary things, which I couldn’t understand.  She kept sprinting on, Erin has always favored sprinting over endurance.  All of a sudden, eyes closed, focused, Dr. Hatch said to her, “Erin look,” which she did not, “ERIN LOOK!” and his face was out.  With one big push he came to live on this earth at 2:35am!  I turned up the music and we listened to “All Things Bright and Beautiful”, praising God as we all hummed or sang along, including some of the staff.

His eyes were so bright and observant, everyone commented.  He was placed right on Erin’s chest and he stared so intensely into her eyes.  It was like you could see dust particles between their gazes, the way light comes in through blinds and a beam draws a line from the window to the floor.  My first thought was adoption.  We have been trying to adopt and our closest friends are raising adopted children.  What a tragic world we live in where that fettered gaze is unlinked.  Thankfully, people choose to raise those children out of whatever circumstances broke the gaze.  I thought to myself then, it was God’s willingness and Christ’s too, to let that gaze be broken between them, Father and child, so that we might see God’s shining face as he intended when he created us.  The way Silas looked at Erin must be a mere hint of what Moses’ face looked like when he asked the Lord, “Show Me Your Glory.”

He was weighed and measured…7lbs. 11 oz., 21 inches, a surprisingly average sized baby from the ingredients of Erin & Austin.  We will see if that lasts.  We moved to our room, Erin and Silas in a wheel chair, me looking like Clark Griswold with a cart full of luggage, a purse, a camera bag, and a birth ball.  We exitted the elevator to the 3rd floor and exhaustingly/excitedly anticipated our first moment just the three of us.  But wait, the nurse stopped us at the nursery and asked us to hand him over for a few hours!  We had no idea this was coming and they took him behind the glass.  We stood their, so tired, and both teared up.  Like in Raising Arizona, we felt like Ed, “I LOVE HIM SOOO MUCHHH,” and H.I., “What? Are You Kiddin? We got a family here!”

We slumbered a few hours before his return.  At least thats what I tell myself, but I know Erin merely shut her eyes, thinking incessantly about her son.

Lightning

The dawning sun, a cliche for sure, but its a transcendent metaphor.  I cannot imagine dawn inspiring fear.  The sun drips up onto the local stretch, imminent and steady in its creep.  I think rather the punchy stab of a lightning bolt is better.  Lightning, strangely, is not incredibly scary.  A streak flashes from heaven to horizon and provokes an awesome smile, quickly replaced by a brace for the inevitable thunder.  Our household, to say the least, has seen a flash of lightning.  Flashes of our son’s birth, finishing my Masters, elicit grins, which fade like dark at dawn, replaced by the imminent and steady creep of fear of the unknown.  It is thrilling and I cannot wait to capture with words whatever fills these mysterious gaps.  In the meantime, please feel free to check out two new papers I added.

https://austinpfeiffer.wordpress.com/work/essays/academic-writing/

the shipwreck

I will be reading this poem Sunday 12.18.11 at Salem Presbyterian.