Lessons from the Wood
August 19, 2007
Luke 13:10-17
While this text from Luke is often seen as difficult and challenging, in at least one small way, it might also be seen as a foundational statement of the Jesus movement. Someday I might expand on that little provocation, although this morning I’m mostly going to reflect on my two weeks down at Camp Hanover. Let me simply say, almost in passing, that in this text, Jesus reminds us that the traditional definitions of kin and family are secondary, at best, to the new bonds of community he invites us to engage.
I am often reminded of those new bonds more powerfully when I spend time in the woods.
However, 10 days ago when it hit 104 degrees – the highest temperature recorded in Richmond in more than 30 years – it did occur to me to wonder why it is that I am drawn to a place with no air conditioning, few creature comforts, the certainty of being chewed on by many bugs and the absolute guarantee of being besieged at least a few times by hot, whiney children.
So, by way of explaining to you why your pastor disappears into the woods for a couple of weeks each summer to serve as pastor in residence at the camp and conference center of our neighboring Presbytery, let me offer this morning a few brief lessons from the wood.
1. I go back, in part, because family ties are strong and Ensign roots run deep in the sandy soil of Camp Hanover. I go back, then, to be reminded of who I am, where I come from and to whom I belong. Of course, in a place grounded in a philosophy of small-group, decentralized camping, a powerful communitarian ethic prevails that never fails to draw me – and everyone open to the experience – beyond the familiar, the kin, the tribe. The Jesus movement, of course, begins in redefining those fundamental notions and in insisting that God is not a tribal god of one people but is, instead, sovereign Lord of all history.
As usual, at camp, we learn these lessons best through songs, so we’re going to sing together now The Family of God, a song written by a fine Presbyterian youth leader, Beth Watson.
2. Of course, a strong sense of community and 600 wooded acres do not guarantee that everything will be hunky dory. As we welcomed campers the first day, I met a social worker who was on hand to greet one particular client, a 12-year-old boy who suffers bi-polar disorder and a whole string of other difficult challenges added to the already steep slope of early adolescence. As they say, “wherever you go, there you are.”
All of the problems, brokenness and sinfulness of the world are right there at camp, too. Perhaps it’s just that in a place apart it’s easier to set realistic goals because there are fewer pressures to succeed and consume and distinguish one’s self. So for this one child the goal was simple: could he make it through the week and overcome his deep shyness and home-sickness. The first few days of camp, when I looked in one him when kids were playing on the main field, he tended to be by himself – a sure recipe for homesickness to kick in. But whenever I looked in on his group, I noticed that they were reaching out to include him in every activity, to welcome him and make him feel part of the group.
I never witnessed any great salvation drama with him or any miracle healing – but I did see him meet his parents on the last day of his session. He’d made it through. One small step along the road to wholeness for a child whose life has had too much of brokenness. At the end of the week, if he’d learned or felt or experienced nothing else, he had lived this one true thing: God holds him in the folds of divine heart and hands.
Again, such lessons are best reinforced in song, like the old favorite, He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.
3. As the bumper sticker reminds us, “grace happens.” Grace happens everywhere. God is no more present in the woods than in the hustle and bustle of the city. But we do slow down more at camp to pay attention to grace and to name it as such. Ending every day with time for reflection, kids learn to pay attention to the highs and lows of each day and to give thanks for it all. The lows reflect life in the woods: bee stings, heat, tiredness; and life in community: arguments, folks not doing their share, chores that had to be done. Sometimes highs are literally high: kids giving thanks for the experience of walking across a plank 65 feet up in the trees. Sometimes the highs are closer to the earth: giving thanks for the mudslide. Sometimes the high of the day is a good shower!
In all the years I’ve been going to Presbyterian camps, I’ve never witnessed any dramatic conversion experiences. Even at camp, we’re decent and orderly, and don’t tend to put too much emphasis on “born again” experiences. Still, I’m sure I worked with future pastors and church leaders during the past two weeks, because every season at camp produces them. In the 50 years of camping at Hanover, more than 150 campers and staff have gone on to become ministers of word and sacrament.
The rhythm of life in the woods is such that the long arc of relationship is encouraged: both the arc of human relationships in friendships forged for a lifetime and the longer arc or relationships with God nurtured in the day by day growth of small groups of kids and adults seeking to grow closer to one another and to God in the midst of God’s good creation. The rhythm rolls alongs Day by Day.
3. Along with the blazing heat of the past two weeks came, naturally enough, a few spectacular thunder storms. We had lightning and 40 mile per hour winds several times. At such times, the grown ups herd kids to safety – get ‘em off the field and to the tree line, out of the water and into shelter as quickly as possible. Then stand in awe of the power of nature and of nature’s God.
Of course, one doesn’t stand in awe too long, because storms bring out fearfulness and homesickness, so stories get passed along, guitars come out. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the stories of the Bible developed under precisely such circumstances. The children get scared; the elders tell them stories and sing them songs to reassure them.
We have lost so much of our capacity for passing the stories along. Instead of making our own music and telling our own stories, we let TV do it for us, and we are so much impoverished for it. Perhaps, for me, what draws me back to the wood over and over again is to dip my own feet in the ancient stream of stories that flows so freely there; to witness kids not only learning the stories, but learning how to pass them along to the next generation.
After all, the root meanings of the word “religion” have to do with being bound to and by stories. I go to the woods to witness the rebirth of such religion in the lives of countless children and young adults – and, in myself.
I go when I find that I need a little light.
We’re going to close this morning with one last song, that speaks directly to that need for light. This one was written and recorded by my good friend, Noah Budin, and it’s called Joshua’s Band.
Luke 13:10-17
While this text from Luke is often seen as difficult and challenging, in at least one small way, it might also be seen as a foundational statement of the Jesus movement. Someday I might expand on that little provocation, although this morning I’m mostly going to reflect on my two weeks down at Camp Hanover. Let me simply say, almost in passing, that in this text, Jesus reminds us that the traditional definitions of kin and family are secondary, at best, to the new bonds of community he invites us to engage.
I am often reminded of those new bonds more powerfully when I spend time in the woods.
However, 10 days ago when it hit 104 degrees – the highest temperature recorded in Richmond in more than 30 years – it did occur to me to wonder why it is that I am drawn to a place with no air conditioning, few creature comforts, the certainty of being chewed on by many bugs and the absolute guarantee of being besieged at least a few times by hot, whiney children.
So, by way of explaining to you why your pastor disappears into the woods for a couple of weeks each summer to serve as pastor in residence at the camp and conference center of our neighboring Presbytery, let me offer this morning a few brief lessons from the wood.
1. I go back, in part, because family ties are strong and Ensign roots run deep in the sandy soil of Camp Hanover. I go back, then, to be reminded of who I am, where I come from and to whom I belong. Of course, in a place grounded in a philosophy of small-group, decentralized camping, a powerful communitarian ethic prevails that never fails to draw me – and everyone open to the experience – beyond the familiar, the kin, the tribe. The Jesus movement, of course, begins in redefining those fundamental notions and in insisting that God is not a tribal god of one people but is, instead, sovereign Lord of all history.
As usual, at camp, we learn these lessons best through songs, so we’re going to sing together now The Family of God, a song written by a fine Presbyterian youth leader, Beth Watson.
2. Of course, a strong sense of community and 600 wooded acres do not guarantee that everything will be hunky dory. As we welcomed campers the first day, I met a social worker who was on hand to greet one particular client, a 12-year-old boy who suffers bi-polar disorder and a whole string of other difficult challenges added to the already steep slope of early adolescence. As they say, “wherever you go, there you are.”
All of the problems, brokenness and sinfulness of the world are right there at camp, too. Perhaps it’s just that in a place apart it’s easier to set realistic goals because there are fewer pressures to succeed and consume and distinguish one’s self. So for this one child the goal was simple: could he make it through the week and overcome his deep shyness and home-sickness. The first few days of camp, when I looked in one him when kids were playing on the main field, he tended to be by himself – a sure recipe for homesickness to kick in. But whenever I looked in on his group, I noticed that they were reaching out to include him in every activity, to welcome him and make him feel part of the group.
I never witnessed any great salvation drama with him or any miracle healing – but I did see him meet his parents on the last day of his session. He’d made it through. One small step along the road to wholeness for a child whose life has had too much of brokenness. At the end of the week, if he’d learned or felt or experienced nothing else, he had lived this one true thing: God holds him in the folds of divine heart and hands.
Again, such lessons are best reinforced in song, like the old favorite, He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.
3. As the bumper sticker reminds us, “grace happens.” Grace happens everywhere. God is no more present in the woods than in the hustle and bustle of the city. But we do slow down more at camp to pay attention to grace and to name it as such. Ending every day with time for reflection, kids learn to pay attention to the highs and lows of each day and to give thanks for it all. The lows reflect life in the woods: bee stings, heat, tiredness; and life in community: arguments, folks not doing their share, chores that had to be done. Sometimes highs are literally high: kids giving thanks for the experience of walking across a plank 65 feet up in the trees. Sometimes the highs are closer to the earth: giving thanks for the mudslide. Sometimes the high of the day is a good shower!
In all the years I’ve been going to Presbyterian camps, I’ve never witnessed any dramatic conversion experiences. Even at camp, we’re decent and orderly, and don’t tend to put too much emphasis on “born again” experiences. Still, I’m sure I worked with future pastors and church leaders during the past two weeks, because every season at camp produces them. In the 50 years of camping at Hanover, more than 150 campers and staff have gone on to become ministers of word and sacrament.
The rhythm of life in the woods is such that the long arc of relationship is encouraged: both the arc of human relationships in friendships forged for a lifetime and the longer arc or relationships with God nurtured in the day by day growth of small groups of kids and adults seeking to grow closer to one another and to God in the midst of God’s good creation. The rhythm rolls alongs Day by Day.
3. Along with the blazing heat of the past two weeks came, naturally enough, a few spectacular thunder storms. We had lightning and 40 mile per hour winds several times. At such times, the grown ups herd kids to safety – get ‘em off the field and to the tree line, out of the water and into shelter as quickly as possible. Then stand in awe of the power of nature and of nature’s God.
Of course, one doesn’t stand in awe too long, because storms bring out fearfulness and homesickness, so stories get passed along, guitars come out. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that the stories of the Bible developed under precisely such circumstances. The children get scared; the elders tell them stories and sing them songs to reassure them.
We have lost so much of our capacity for passing the stories along. Instead of making our own music and telling our own stories, we let TV do it for us, and we are so much impoverished for it. Perhaps, for me, what draws me back to the wood over and over again is to dip my own feet in the ancient stream of stories that flows so freely there; to witness kids not only learning the stories, but learning how to pass them along to the next generation.
After all, the root meanings of the word “religion” have to do with being bound to and by stories. I go to the woods to witness the rebirth of such religion in the lives of countless children and young adults – and, in myself.
I go when I find that I need a little light.
We’re going to close this morning with one last song, that speaks directly to that need for light. This one was written and recorded by my good friend, Noah Budin, and it’s called Joshua’s Band.
posted by David Ensign at
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