"Hospice" by The Antlers | A Pastoral Reflection

Instantaneous information and access are cardinal virtues of our time, and reflections on albums released eight months ago are decidedly uncool. Reviews come out at or before the release of an album, and a revisit is only appropriate within the confines of "Best of" lists. Or 5, 10, 20, or 25 years later, when it has become a classic.

Well, Hospice, by The Antlers was released last summer to much critical acclaim, but I didn't hear about it until the year end lists started coming out in November and December. I didn't acquire the album until last week, and am grateful to receive its witness. Now this is not a blanket recommendation of the album. It's dark, haunting, brooding, at times nightmarish, and everything else you'd expect from an album entitled Hospice. But as someone who interacts with hospital patients, dying people, and grieving families on a semi-regular basis, I find the albums's stark honesty devastatingly beautiful.

I won't attempt to reconstruct the entire narrative of the album, nor review it, but only to share some ways in which its poetry has spoken truth into me as a pastoral caregiver. The opening lines are telling: "I wish that I had known in that first minute we met, the unpayable debt that I owed you. Because you'd been abused by the bone that refused you, and you hired me to make up for that." As a pastor, I often enter situations completely oblivious to the stories of one or more of the people immersed in a difficult situation. History, upbringing, core convictions, and biases toward tall people influence the coming conversation and subsequent relationship long before I enter a room. Expectations are rarely clear, and after the fact, we pine, with The Antlers, for a little foreknowledge, background, anything that would have prepared us for what's about to transpire.

In Hospice, Sylvia is the patient who grew up with an abusive father, and has become an abusive patient to her caregiver. The caregiver isn't faultless, as a lack of boundaries has allowed this abuse to escalate. He wants to be more than a caregiver. He wants to be her savior. On the song "Atrophy," over sparse but slowly building instrumentation, he confesses: "I'm bound to your bedside, your eulogy singer. I'd happily take all those bullets inside you and put them inside of myself." After these lines, the music builds to a cacophonic roar before pulling back to the singular voice, nearly whispering "Someone, oh anyone, Tell me how to stop this. She's screaming, expiring, and I'm her only witness." Later, in the heartwrenching song "Two," the caregiver mourns that "There's no open doors, and there's no way to get through, there's no other witnesses, just us two."

In my ongoing dialogues with God, this line has entered my mind more than once. "There's no other witnesses, just us two." Yesterday, it struck me why this line refuses to leave me alone. Much like the tragic protagonist of Hospice, I have been guilty of overidentifying and overinvesting. There have been times where I have assumed this responsibility of sole witness to the sufferings of another. Even while confessing with my lips that God is with them in their pain and suffering, I have been guilty of making it about me. Pastoral care should never be something that I need in order to feel useful as a pastor. It should not be the place where I pick at the things I hate in myself that I happen to see in others.

I, more than anyone should be the one to point to and embrace the third witness. And when it feels like "just us two," the time is ripe to embrace the presence of that mysterious Other, the self-giving God who knows the deepest suffering that human life has to offer, both in the pain of a Son who suffered the worst sort of death imaginable, and of the Father, who had to witness the unbearable tragedy. On the other side of suffering with Christ is hope. Tragically, for the isolated and suffocating suffering of Hospice, there is no other side, even after Sylvia's death. From the Epilogue, "When I try to move my arms sometimes, they weigh too much to lift. I think you buried me awake (my one and only parting gift.) But you return to me at night, just when I think I may have fallen asleep. Your face is up against mine, and I'm too terrified to speak."

I'm sure Hospice will continue to provide me with rich reflections appropriate for such a time as this Lenten season, and will serve as an ongoing reminder that caring for the hurting is a sacred task, and should never be attempted alone. The Kingdom of God gives us a hopeful alternative to the nightmares of Hospice. Not a sparing from suffering, but the promise of hope, the joy of resurrection.

Shared Pregnancy - Labor Of Love (LOL) 5K Walk/Run

Run with me, or walk if you prefer. Help set up, hand out water, or cheer for runners. It's for the kids, you know? No better way to spend the Saturday of Labor Day weekend.

Shared Pregnancy - Labor Of Love (LOL) 5K Walk/Run

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This New Life

Though I started in the office on Monday, my first official function as pastor of Bretton Woods Covenant Church was attending the Covenant Midwinter Conference, the annual denominational gathering of the pastors and missionaries of the Evangelical Covenant Church. It is difficult to describe how it felt to walk around with a nametag that read "Bretton Woods Covenant Church, Lansing, MI." It was great to sit once more under the teachings of my former professor, Klyne Snodgrass, to participate in workshops with John Wenrich, Al Tizon and Wayne Gordon, and to hear a powerful message from Gary Haugen. It was an invigorating experience, yet a bit of a whirlwind. I was reminded again and again of the centrality of the word of God, a truth that comes alive as I sit in the office this week preparing to proclaim the word.

So beginning in my first call to pastoral ministry is like settling into a new life. It's a life God and I have been preparing for a long time, but it is now a reality. This feels like a transition from 'student' to 'pastor', but I know I won't be a very good pastor unless I remain a student. I am a student of Scripture, a student of peoples' lives, a student of the city of Lansing, etc. There's something to all that 'lifelong learning' talk I've heard.

Though it is only my fourth day, I have to say I am encouraged. I am excited about the ministry at Bretton Woods, and I love all it entails: visiting the sick, crafting sermons, envisioning God's ministry for the church, and loving people from all different walks of life who are united in the power of the gospel.

I know there will be less encouraging times when I'll have to recall this vitality, when I'll struggle to believe it. But I thank God for this day, and for all the wonderful people who've made these first stages of transition so smooth.

I'm a Pastor!

As of about an hour ago, I am officially the Pastor of Bretton Woods Covenant Church in Lansing, MI. My first day in the office will be Monday, February 9 and my first Sunday will be February 15. It's incredible. Marcie and I (and a whole lot of our friends and family) have been praying for this moment for years, and now it's here. It's surreal, it's exciting, and it's sacred. I can't wait to get started. So my days as a stay at home dad are numbered, and I will enjoy them to the best of my ability.

It's truly humbling to be living into this call, a call which I first sensed a little more than 10 years ago and now am able to realize as the pastor of this wonderful little church in Lansing. I'd refer you to the website, but it's not currently functional. I think the pastor should get to fixing that right away.

So thank you to all who pray for us. We sense that God has made this happen, and we know many of you have prayed for just that. We look forward to life in Lansing, and thank God that it's only an hour away from where we live now.

Now it is with great enthusiasm that I now say "Go Lugnuts!" (the single-A baseball team in Lansing), and with slightly less enthusiasm, yet endless respect for Tom Izzo, I say "Go Spartans?!?" I'll have to work on that.

First Funeral

This past Tuesday, I conducted my first ever funeral service. I knew Alice Mae Kinney since I was a little kid. She was my mom's best friend's mom, and she lived 85 years. It was an honor to be able to conduct the service.

It was a time for lament and grieving, and it was a time to witness to the resurrection of Christ. It was a reminder that death doesn't win. I had a lot of adrenaline coursing through my system that morning, as these are weighty matters, but I felt God's presence with me, and that's just what I needed. I pray that God will continue to bring comfort and peace to her family and friends.

Reflections on Completing Seminary

I will complete my M.Div in less than...

...wait for it...

...keep waiting...

A little longer...

... ...

... ... ...

SIX weeks.

If you skipped to the answer before reading all the ellipses, you're no fun. And probably a communist.

Your political stances aside, I'm not entirely sure what to think or feel about this finishing of seminary. I'm excited, but a bit scared; relieved, but a bit apprehensive.

I've enjoyed the journey. I started in the fall of '04, just before the last election (the release of Bush version 2.0). We lived in Chicago for a year, Indianapolis for two, and now Grand Rapids for nearly a year and a half. Addison was born in Indy, and though it seems weird, she will forever be a Hoosier. I've been a full-time student, a full-time pastor, a full-time chaplain, a part-time student and a part-time pastor, not necessarily in that order.

In the next step, I'll be a full-time pastor. I've had a great experience so far working with the Evangelical Covenant Church to find a church that's the right fit for us and the church. The right fit hasn't come quite yet, but we've learned a lot from each conversation, each interview, each encounter. I've met great people from a few different search committees who demonstrate hearts for Christ and his church.

Early in the journey, I think my call to ministry suffered from a lack of mystery. I felt such a strong call at such a young age (16) that I just dove in headfirst, and honestly, it didn't always require that much faith. I've always felt pretty safe.


But now, being less than six weeks away from the end of seminary, I don't feel as safe. I'm excited for what God has for us, but we've reached a point where we must rely on faith. There's no other way. And no matter how much we prop up our faith with experiences and reason, it's still scary.

'Cause if there's one thing we know for sure about God (or at least Aslan), it's that he's good.

Not always safe.

But good.

He's the King, I tell you.

Sault Ste. Marie Youth Mission Trip

What a week.

On Saturday, June 16, I left with Sam, Seth, Stuart, Tim and Neal (students from my youth group) for a Youth Works mission trip to Sault Ste. Marie, MI. A lot happened over the course of the trip. I’ll throw down some highlights for your education, edification and pleasure. And for my own sanity.

Father’s Day
Over Saturday night, we spent the night at Saranac Community Church along with the crew from Libertyville Covenant Church. Because of this fact, my wife and daughter were there with me on Sunday morning, which just so happened to be my first Father’s Day. It was a wonderful gift to be able to spend one last morning with the loves of my life before heading off for a week-ish. Father’s Day actually means something once you become one. Weird.

That night, we arrived in the SOO around dinner time. My boys didn’t know what to think about Youth Works after the first evenings’ activities. Everything was very corny, and they just weren’t in the corny mood. I was a bit worried that they wouldn’t have that great a time.

We had found two loves by this point, though: hackey sack and inventing new slang.

Early Week
Monday, we got into the swing of the mission. We took a ferry over to Sugar Island and worked with Bud Byron at his Cultural Camp. We helped move their main sign closer to the road, weedwacked a TON, and painted a bunch of picnic tables and a couple sheds. Our new slang reached new levels, and the boys covered their bodies in paint. Neal got some wicked paint tan lines. It was pretty much a jiminy jehemoth.

Later that evening, the boys loosened up quite a bit. In a bit more corny mood, the evening activities no longer bothered them. What a bunch of jokemasters.

Jerad Birge, RIP
We were hacking on Monday night before bed, when Seth received a text message. After a bit of clarification, we found out that a good friend of Seth, Stuart and Neal had died. He was also good friends with Zach, another kid from the youth group who did not come on the trip.

At first, the guys were just in shock. They made some initial comments, and we went upstairs to get ready for bed. After a while, I asked them if they wanted to go downstairs to talk and pray. They did, and I’m glad. They opened up, shared stories, and I could feel the group gelling and growing closer by the moment. It was really tough, but it was good for everyone to talk and get out their frustrations, as well as brainstorming ways to honor Jerad’s memory. Little did we know that Zach was back home putting together a tribute video of Jerad that would be shown at his viewing and funeral.

I continue to pray for Jerad's family and friends. May the peace of Christ be with you all.

Midweek
That news changed the complexion of the trip. The guys thought much more deeply about everything that went on. They were more gracious with others, and they served wherever they could. We picked up trash all day on Tuesday. It was a bit depressing, but the guys had a good attitude about it.

That night, I shared what happened with all the adult leaders and the Youth Works staff. Unbeknownst to me, the Site Director emailed a prayer request to all the staff in the US, Canada and Mexico. Over 300 Youth Works leaders were praying for my boys and for Jerad’s friends and family.

Wednesday, we did Kid’s Club. It was pretty fun, and the guys did a great job with a modern day Moses skit. Tim’s old man voice is hilarious. “Get off my green!”

Some Great News
Later in the week, I received two pieces of good news to temper the bad news we received from home. One was news that some dear friends are pregnant. Pretty sweet, but I’m not sure if it’s public yet, so I’m not using names. This news was a huge answer to prayer.

The other one was Marcie’s job. She will be working as a Human Resources Generalist at a large and well known Christian college in Grand Rapids, MI as of mid-July. This was also the answer to much prayer. It’s a perfect job for Marcie and right in her field. Her major at TIU was Business—Non-Profit and Human Resources, and now she’ll be doing Human Resources at a Non-Profit. Pretty sweet, eh? For you Office lovers, she’ll be Toby, but hopefully her boss won’t hate her as much at Michael Scott hates Toby.

Late Week
Thursday, we went out to someone’s house on Lake Superior to play football, throw the Frisbee, and hang out. I didn’t know until afterwards, but Stuart and Neal had an impromptu funeral for Jerad out on a beautiful part of the beach. They fashioned a cross out of some sticks and watched some pigeons congregate in Jerad’s memory. I was so impressed that the boys did that.

Later that night, we had a footwashing ceremony. Some honesty from a new friend made the experience extra emotional for me, and I couldn’t stop crying. As I prayed for and washed the feet of each of the boys and girl (Sam was the one girl on the trip from my church and was technically registered on the trip with Libertyville, but is really part of our church), the tears poured out of me uncontrollably. I felt the Spirit’s presence in a very real way. I pray that the experience was as memorable for them as it was for me.

The Trip Back
On the morning of Friday, June 22, BZ decided to break his van about five miles after we had left the SOO, so we stayed an extra three hours before heading back home. We got some pizza, shared some children’s stories, reminisced of the old days, and thanked each other for an awesome week…which it was.

Eventually Bucky Cook (give him a call if you ever have car trouble in the SOO) fixed the great white beastly van, and everyone made it home safely.

Epilogue
It was the best mission trip I’ve ever been on as a leader. God orchestrated things in ways I would never have expected. My group totally exceeded my expectations, and Christ was glorified in amazing ways.

Believe it or not, that’s not even the half of it. But that’s enough for now. Thanks for reading.