"above all things..."

 

"somebody with a hurt that I could have helped,

somebody with a hand that I could have held,

when I just can't see past myself,

Lord, help me be...

"a little more like mercy, a little more like grace

a little more like kindness, goodness, love, and faith

a little more like patience, a little more like peace

a little more like Jesus, 

"a little less like me..."

The above lyrics are from Zach Williams' song, "Less Like Me," and speak to the kind of hope I see as a natural part of the camp experience each summer.  Let me explain.

From January first, throughout the summer, and into the cooler days of autumn, I pray for camp(s).  Part of that prayer is looking for relevant spiritual insights and precedent-setting cases of divine law in the weekly Bible lessons that include passages from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy.

This morning's study of scripture included two prayers that were like bookends, holding the camp experience in the middle between them.  

The first is a passage from I Chronicles that has often been referred to as "the Prayer of Jabez:"

"And Jabez called on the God of Israel, saying, "Oh that Thou wouldest bless me indeed, and enlarge my border, and that thine hand might be with me, and that Thou wouldest keep me from evil, that it may not grieve me." 

This prayer has been lauded in song, sermon, and in a popular book by that title.  It's a prayer that has always puzzled me in its popularity.  Of course I can seen the attraction to a prayer that would bring fulfillment to the promises that Jabez is asking for.   

The other prayer is from III John in the New Testament: 

"Beloved, I wish above all things that thou mayest prosper and be in health."

This prayer, although familiar, has never reached the level of spiritual pop culture recognition that the "Prayer of Jabez" reached in the early days of the 21st century with the publication of its namesake book.

Seeing these two prayers together in this week's lesson, was eye opening for me.  And what I see at camp sits right in the middle of those two prayers.  

As campers our children arrive at camp as guests to be, as a favorite hymn promises, "cared for, watched over, beloved, and protected," -- by staff, counselors, nurses, practitioners, and camp/bunkhouse moms/parents. Their context is one of being the recipient of blessings. 

But exposure to the very nature of camp, starts to nurtures the seed of Christ-like selflessness in them.  They watch a counselor -- tired from a full day of mountaineering or sailing -- rise in the middle of the night to pray with a homesick camper.  The experience the power of selfless service, generosity of heart, extraordinary patience, and seamless grace.  

And their lives begin to take on the purity of John's prayer for others.  Their greatest desire becomes," I can't wait to be on staff."  I know with our daughters, even though they had the opportunity of staying campers for two more years - and being served.  They couldn't wait to be on staff - and serve.  

What happens in their lives -- and in Scripture -- between those two spiritual bookends?  For me, it is the presence of Jesus - and his followers today. It is his Christly example of unselfed love that shifts our prayers from "enlarge my borders," to enlarge my heart.  From bless me, to one of "that thou may prosper and be in health."   

It astounds me that of all the things that John could have wanted for himself, those closest to him, the church he has grown, the community he was in fellowship with -- he would pray for the health and prosperity of one of Paul's followers -- not even his own "tribe," -- as what he wished for above all things.

I will leave this here -- but not before giving thanks for every counselor, staff member, director, facilities technician, and camp mom/bunkhouse parent I witnessed living John's prayer every day this summer. 

thank you. 

offered with Love, 

Cate

"make this place your home..."

"Settle down, it'll all be clear.
Don't pay no mind to the demons
they fill you with fear
The trouble, it might drag you down.
If you get lost, you can always be found.

Just know you’re not alone.
I’m going to make this place your home..."

Phillip Phillips' beautiful song, "Home," must be singing through the spiritual ether tonight.

First, I found myself thinking about its lyrics in the car this evening, then discovered that it has been referenced in a new Question of the Week, "How come I still feel lonely when I'm not alone?" on TMCYouth, and then found that another friend had posted a link on Facebook. I am not surprised. This song speaks to the universal desire to know that we are not alone.

My own thoughts, in connection with its lyrics, have been resting with Mary Baker Eddy's spiritual interpretation of the final line of David's 23rd Psalm, from Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures:

"And I will dwell in the house,
the consciousness of Love,
forever..."

In my faith tradition, Love is another name for God. To know that I dwell in the consciousness (the Mind) of Love, of God -- forever --is my "dearest spot" on earth.  Or in heaven.  This is my one true home. This is where I know that I am always welcome, always safe, always secure. This is where I can rest my heart, and my hopes.

From as far back as I can remember, my favorite time of day has always been that moment when I first wake up in the morning. That space of time between being conscious of my thoughts, and becoming sentient -- or aware of my surroundings. Before I even feel the coolness of the sheets with the tips of my toes, or hear a bird, or open my eyes to make sure that the world is as I left it the night before, I am certain I am living. I have experienced conscious being.

I don't need to see, hear, feel, taste, or smell anything to know I am alive.  To know that I am me.  For me, this is "home."

I clearly remember a late fall day when I was 15. We'd just moved 2,500 miles across the country to a new state, a new town, a new house, and most unsettlingly, a new school.

Every day I felt like a stranger in a strange world. I felt foreign. My body was changing, I had no friends, the styles were different than "back home," and nothing made sense...except those moments before I became sentient.

I lived for them. I would try to make them last as long as possible. I would allow my sense of self to steep in the warmth of "just being" with God, Mind. I had thoughts. I had dreams and ideas. I had beautiful images, words, feelings. I was me.  I was at home in this place.  

The longer I stayed there, the better my day went. I wasn't getting up, rushing to get ready, and then waiting for the world to confirm for me who I was.  I wasn't asking it to tell me  whether I deserved to be liked, appreciated, or seen as a viable person to talk to, befriend, or even just acknowledge as a legitimate being.

From this space, I knew I was worthy.  Before the first blush of dawn I'd already connected with the "me" who was chock full of wonderful thoughts and feelings.  I'd already spent time with the "me" who had interesting ideas, thoughts that delighted me.  From this conscious place, I realized that I had questions, and those questions were ones that I could never have "made up" on my own.

I don't know that this will make much sense to anyone else, but in that place of consciousness -- of my oneness with God -- there were no strangers, no demons, no loneliness.

I still go there...now, more than ever. It is my favorite place to be. It is the home of my heart, my work, my life, my very sense of being.

It is where I can always be found...

with Love

Kate