It started in a moment of boredom. The boys of Summer Camp Group 12 were milling around, hoping for another chance at the archery range, but weighing whether it was worth the wait. A trail leading straight up the mountain beckoned, as trails always do, and four of them eagerly answered the call. What started as a simple hike became an unplanned "mountaintop" experience, the pivotal event of these boys' week at camp. And if we care to notice, there's even something valuable for grown-ups who hope to guide spiritual growth, too.
The first thing the four pioneers noticed was the purity of the air, and the openness of the view once they'd reached the first plateau (you always feel like you've conquered something when you finally stand higher than anyone at the bottom). To their credit, they stayed within range of my voice, so that when it was time to come down, they immediately reappeared over the crest of the hill and made their descent.
As a camp counselor, you get used to hearing about everything a kid tells you "you have to see". I had forgotten how an insect can stop kids dead in their tracks, begging further inspection, or how any path but the most obvious one was of course the one they would choose, or the absolute indispensability of a walking stick to an 11-year-old (I understand that one boy smuggled one home on the bus). So when they told me I "had to climb" to where they'd been, I filed it away under one more marvel of nature that they'd soon forget.
But it turns out there was more than scenic beauty that had struck the boys up there. There were, they said, four trees that laid themselves out as the endpoints of a giant cross if viewed from above. They even saw at that time a cross-shaped cloud formation in the sky. One said he felt clean and pure up there (his words), like all his sins had been washed away - "even the sin of Adam"! Could we, they begged, hike up there as a group for our evening Bible study time?
The choice was mine. I could try to redirect or defer their obvious interest, I could commandeer the situation and try to control where it was heading, or I could come along and see what developed. Knowing it was futile to try to steer them away and barely able to keep up with them, I opted for the third choice. Up the hill we went, this time as a group, and each time we stopped to catch our breath and take in the view, it only fueled our desire to go higher and higher. When we finally reached the top, they were elated - elated at the view, elated that they'd all made it, and excited about the mysterious presence of God that seemed to be there. As I sat off at a distance, my lungs heaving and my legs aching, the boys decided the place demanded a memorial, and began to hunt around for materials to erect a cross. They busily scavenged for wood and rocks. Aside from some minor engineering advice and the muscle to lift rocks too heavy for the
m, this was their baby. One boy, after some arm-twisting, agreed to give up a length of rope he'd found earlier that day. Another would later haul a small cinder block all the way up the slope to serve as a base for the vertical post. Another built a small fire pit; when it was later pointed out that it wasn't a good idea to encourage fire-building in a forest, he was persuaded to convert it into an altar.
And so the construction process continued over two days, with the boys proudly augmenting their original design and finding materials at the bottom of the hill that ended up at the top. It was agreed that "Holy Mountain" should remain a secret until all the building was done, at which time they would happily share their discovery with the rest of the groups, which they did in a moving hike and ceremony Friday morning.
But an idyllic spot wasn't the only thing they had discovered. For in the process of building something special for God, of going to a place that was special and rich with his spirit, and of dealing with the inevitable conflicts that sprang up around design and construction, their hearts were opened. As the boys worked, I was able to read to them about Moses' ascent up Mount Sinai to meet with God, and how his face became radiant each time he did, so that the Israelites were afraid to approach him. We read about the people of Israel's generosity in giving of their own wealth and materials in order to build Solomon's temple. We read how when, after that temple had been destroyed and the people exiled, on their return they listened to Ezra read the Book of the Law and they wept because they realized their own disobedience. And whenever we climbed the hill, we began by reading Psalm 24:3-4, which says, "Who may climb the mountain of the Lord? Who may stand in his holy place? Only those whose hands and hearts are pure, who do not worship idols and never tell lies."
I was moved that God was meeting these boys, here. If we deviated from the published curriculum, I'm sure that's forgiveable. These 10 and 11-year-olds were prompted to think about grace and presence and holiness in a way I'm convinced no printed workbook could have done. This is not a boast. I write this instead because the experience with them ratified my belief that kids can have thriving relationships with God now, that they can pray meaningfully for themselves and for each other, that they can be excited about the work of God in their lives, and especially, that we ought not believe that true faith cannot blossom until the crises of teenagerhood set in, as if the true Christian life is limited to battling adult-style temptations and restraining mature sin.
It has become fashionable for those of us in children's ministries to say that parents are responsible for the spiritual development of their kids, and that the church just plays a supporting role. But buried in that assertion is a questionable premise - two really: that parents can make spiritual development happen (they can't, any better than churches can), and conversely, that if parents do nothing, there won't be spiritual development. But this is a view of kids that reduces spirituality to something like subject matter. It is pretty true that unless a kid is introduced to the formal study of algebra, he or she won't learn algebra. Nonetheless, they will still interact with concepts like quantity and equality and balance and measurement, and so whether or not the word "algebra" is ever used, a student whose world is rich in concepts dealing with numbers will, in fact, be exposed to algebra.
What a mistake to think that kids' conceptions of God are limited to what we put before them! Kids think about all manner of things, and God is one of them. Even unchurched kids from irreligious families have thoughts about God and a personalized understanding of how he works (a theology). Kids do not come to churches as empty containers, waiting to be filled. They come as multi-dimensional human beings - already spiritual, already social, already cognitive, already moral, already physical. The job must be to come alongside what's already happening and to somehow shape that. But we can't know unless we spend time and observe; and we can't shape unless we have some idea of where we ought to take kids.
The value of camp, of course, is that life is shared for an extended period so that waking and going to sleep, playing, eating, studying, and navigating the normal crises of everyday life are shared. I can learn a lot about a kid by watching him suit up to climb the tree for the zipline or observing her join a game of Red Rover. Could it be that the real "work" of spiritual guidance is to get kids to see themselves, spiritually, for what and who they really are? And that is: loved by God; created for a reason (not by accident); marred by sin yet retaining that spark of the divine; considered worthy to die for; treasured by God and called to holiness; forgiven, cleansed, and set free. These are ideas that our kids can wrap themselves around and stake their lives upon. How do we get that truth inside of them? It does not come from lecturing. It is, rather, the fruit of discovering. Creating environments and experiences where kids just might become eager enough to seek it for themselves is the greatest gift we can give to them.
The boys of Group 12 came down the mountain Friday morning knowing that they may never lay eyes on their handiwork again. But by that time, it wasn't about keeping the find for themselves. I think I'm right in saying that their common desire was that other kids, years into the future, might somehow have a piece of something as neat as they'd experienced. My hope is similar, but a little different: it is that every parent and every youth leader who has been charged with the spiritual growth of kids gets to witness some time when the spirit of God runs ahead in front of you, so fast and so far you can't catch up, and so profoundly that you don't want to.
The first thing the four pioneers noticed was the purity of the air, and the openness of the view once they'd reached the first plateau (you always feel like you've conquered something when you finally stand higher than anyone at the bottom). To their credit, they stayed within range of my voice, so that when it was time to come down, they immediately reappeared over the crest of the hill and made their descent.
As a camp counselor, you get used to hearing about everything a kid tells you "you have to see". I had forgotten how an insect can stop kids dead in their tracks, begging further inspection, or how any path but the most obvious one was of course the one they would choose, or the absolute indispensability of a walking stick to an 11-year-old (I understand that one boy smuggled one home on the bus). So when they told me I "had to climb" to where they'd been, I filed it away under one more marvel of nature that they'd soon forget.
But it turns out there was more than scenic beauty that had struck the boys up there. There were, they said, four trees that laid themselves out as the endpoints of a giant cross if viewed from above. They even saw at that time a cross-shaped cloud formation in the sky. One said he felt clean and pure up there (his words), like all his sins had been washed away - "even the sin of Adam"! Could we, they begged, hike up there as a group for our evening Bible study time?
The choice was mine. I could try to redirect or defer their obvious interest, I could commandeer the situation and try to control where it was heading, or I could come along and see what developed. Knowing it was futile to try to steer them away and barely able to keep up with them, I opted for the third choice. Up the hill we went, this time as a group, and each time we stopped to catch our breath and take in the view, it only fueled our desire to go higher and higher. When we finally reached the top, they were elated - elated at the view, elated that they'd all made it, and excited about the mysterious presence of God that seemed to be there. As I sat off at a distance, my lungs heaving and my legs aching, the boys decided the place demanded a memorial, and began to hunt around for materials to erect a cross. They busily scavenged for wood and rocks. Aside from some minor engineering advice and the muscle to lift rocks too heavy for the
m, this was their baby. One boy, after some arm-twisting, agreed to give up a length of rope he'd found earlier that day. Another would later haul a small cinder block all the way up the slope to serve as a base for the vertical post. Another built a small fire pit; when it was later pointed out that it wasn't a good idea to encourage fire-building in a forest, he was persuaded to convert it into an altar.And so the construction process continued over two days, with the boys proudly augmenting their original design and finding materials at the bottom of the hill that ended up at the top. It was agreed that "Holy Mountain" should remain a secret until all the building was done, at which time they would happily share their discovery with the rest of the groups, which they did in a moving hike and ceremony Friday morning.
But an idyllic spot wasn't the only thing they had discovered. For in the process of building something special for God, of going to a place that was special and rich with his spirit, and of dealing with the inevitable conflicts that sprang up around design and construction, their hearts were opened. As the boys worked, I was able to read to them about Moses' ascent up Mount Sinai to meet with God, and how his face became radiant each time he did, so that the Israelites were afraid to approach him. We read about the people of Israel's generosity in giving of their own wealth and materials in order to build Solomon's temple. We read how when, after that temple had been destroyed and the people exiled, on their return they listened to Ezra read the Book of the Law and they wept because they realized their own disobedience. And whenever we climbed the hill, we began by reading Psalm 24:3-4, which says, "Who may climb the mountain of the Lord? Who may stand in his holy place? Only those whose hands and hearts are pure, who do not worship idols and never tell lies."
I was moved that God was meeting these boys, here. If we deviated from the published curriculum, I'm sure that's forgiveable. These 10 and 11-year-olds were prompted to think about grace and presence and holiness in a way I'm convinced no printed workbook could have done. This is not a boast. I write this instead because the experience with them ratified my belief that kids can have thriving relationships with God now, that they can pray meaningfully for themselves and for each other, that they can be excited about the work of God in their lives, and especially, that we ought not believe that true faith cannot blossom until the crises of teenagerhood set in, as if the true Christian life is limited to battling adult-style temptations and restraining mature sin.
It has become fashionable for those of us in children's ministries to say that parents are responsible for the spiritual development of their kids, and that the church just plays a supporting role. But buried in that assertion is a questionable premise - two really: that parents can make spiritual development happen (they can't, any better than churches can), and conversely, that if parents do nothing, there won't be spiritual development. But this is a view of kids that reduces spirituality to something like subject matter. It is pretty true that unless a kid is introduced to the formal study of algebra, he or she won't learn algebra. Nonetheless, they will still interact with concepts like quantity and equality and balance and measurement, and so whether or not the word "algebra" is ever used, a student whose world is rich in concepts dealing with numbers will, in fact, be exposed to algebra.
What a mistake to think that kids' conceptions of God are limited to what we put before them! Kids think about all manner of things, and God is one of them. Even unchurched kids from irreligious families have thoughts about God and a personalized understanding of how he works (a theology). Kids do not come to churches as empty containers, waiting to be filled. They come as multi-dimensional human beings - already spiritual, already social, already cognitive, already moral, already physical. The job must be to come alongside what's already happening and to somehow shape that. But we can't know unless we spend time and observe; and we can't shape unless we have some idea of where we ought to take kids.
The value of camp, of course, is that life is shared for an extended period so that waking and going to sleep, playing, eating, studying, and navigating the normal crises of everyday life are shared. I can learn a lot about a kid by watching him suit up to climb the tree for the zipline or observing her join a game of Red Rover. Could it be that the real "work" of spiritual guidance is to get kids to see themselves, spiritually, for what and who they really are? And that is: loved by God; created for a reason (not by accident); marred by sin yet retaining that spark of the divine; considered worthy to die for; treasured by God and called to holiness; forgiven, cleansed, and set free. These are ideas that our kids can wrap themselves around and stake their lives upon. How do we get that truth inside of them? It does not come from lecturing. It is, rather, the fruit of discovering. Creating environments and experiences where kids just might become eager enough to seek it for themselves is the greatest gift we can give to them.
The boys of Group 12 came down the mountain Friday morning knowing that they may never lay eyes on their handiwork again. But by that time, it wasn't about keeping the find for themselves. I think I'm right in saying that their common desire was that other kids, years into the future, might somehow have a piece of something as neat as they'd experienced. My hope is similar, but a little different: it is that every parent and every youth leader who has been charged with the spiritual growth of kids gets to witness some time when the spirit of God runs ahead in front of you, so fast and so far you can't catch up, and so profoundly that you don't want to.
