to be a stranger
I have been blessed to be part of some wonderful communities, beginning with my biological family: four older sisters and two parents, all loving. St. John's, Silsbee comes next: my first church community, where I learned the spiritual practices of the Episcopal tribe. But those two were part of me before I was conscious enough to know I was part of a community.
Camp Allen was the first community I was conscious of entering . You've heard plenty of my Camp Allen stories, but here I'll mention that when my parents were ready to leave after dropping me off and getting me signed in, they had trouble finding me to say goodbye because I was helping another camper get moved into the cabin. I jumped into that welcoming community with no hesitation. I was 8.
I even found transitioning to college life in San Marcos fairly easy, not only because I went there with one of my friends from camp, but because so many other freshmen were moving there looking for a new community as well. It was easy because we were starting together. Part of that college community was a branch of my Episcopal Tribe called "Canterbury." I may not have gotten plugged in there, except for the urging of my parents, and the welcome of Susan Hanson. Susan was the lay chaplain of Canterbury most of the time I was in college. Susan found out that I played guitar and led music at Camp Allen, so quickly recruited me to lead music there, and I did. It was from Canterbury that I started to hear about other camps across the Episcopal Church like Camp Crucis (Fort Worth), and Camp Capers (West Texas.) I eventually went to work at Camp Capers one summer, and that's where I first learned what it was like to be a stranger in one of those spiritual communities.
I had a wonderful summer at Camp Capers. Let me start with that. It is a beautiful camp on the Guadalupe River with comfortable cabins and staff quarters.There is obviously a strong sense of community among the Camp Capers community, but when I arrived, I felt like a stranger.
Most of the rest of the staff had grown up attending Camp Capers just as I had grown up attending Camp Allen. I knew all about Camp Allen customs (though I didn't know they were customs) and knowing nothing about Camp Capers customs. As welcoming as the staff was, I had a sense of being an outsider, a stranger to a place that was so familiar to everyone else. Eventually, I felt more at home there, but I won't forget that experience of being the stranger, the outsider. That was a gift I cherish. I've been the stranger in other communities since then, but that was the first.
It is difficult to be a stranger entering a new community. It takes a great deal of courage to show up where others know each other, and already know the customs. It probably has something to do with our tribal history, and the way our psychology has evolved. But I don't have to know a great deal about that evolution to know that the experience can be daunting.
This is why, in a room full of people who have sung the Creek Nation Alleluia Chant week after week for the past year, we still teach the chant every time we sing it at Between-the-Bayous. It is part of our theology of radical welcome.We teach it again and again because when a stranger shows up, we want to be ready to help that one to belong as quickly as possible. We want to lower as many barriers as we can because just showing up was a feat in itself.
The deeper reality of God's Kingdom is that since we are all creatures of God, we are all God's children: all members of God's tribe. It may be our tendency to pay attention to those things which make us different from one another, to identify whether another person is in our tribe or out, whether a person is a friend or foe, but Christ invites us to see one another as God sees us. We are all God's children and all God's family.
I have experienced that all inclusive family in the particular communities I have been in my whole life beginning with my biological family, St. John's, Camp Allen, the Episcopal Church, and Camp Capers. But those smaller communities are only a foretaste of the full reality of God's all embracing community. They are a glimpse of the Kingdom of God that is wider than we can imagine.
I give thanks for the experience of being a stranger at Camp Capers and in other situations so that I can be prepared to welcome the next one who feels like a stranger. That is a call to each of us who count ourselves friends with the world's stranger: Jesus. Christ, the eternal stranger and the one at the center at the same time. Christ welcomes us in and stands at the edge ready for us to welcome him in.
I even found transitioning to college life in San Marcos fairly easy, not only because I went there with one of my friends from camp, but because so many other freshmen were moving there looking for a new community as well. It was easy because we were starting together. Part of that college community was a branch of my Episcopal Tribe called "Canterbury." I may not have gotten plugged in there, except for the urging of my parents, and the welcome of Susan Hanson. Susan was the lay chaplain of Canterbury most of the time I was in college. Susan found out that I played guitar and led music at Camp Allen, so quickly recruited me to lead music there, and I did. It was from Canterbury that I started to hear about other camps across the Episcopal Church like Camp Crucis (Fort Worth), and Camp Capers (West Texas.) I eventually went to work at Camp Capers one summer, and that's where I first learned what it was like to be a stranger in one of those spiritual communities.
I had a wonderful summer at Camp Capers. Let me start with that. It is a beautiful camp on the Guadalupe River with comfortable cabins and staff quarters.There is obviously a strong sense of community among the Camp Capers community, but when I arrived, I felt like a stranger.
It is difficult to be a stranger entering a new community. It takes a great deal of courage to show up where others know each other, and already know the customs. It probably has something to do with our tribal history, and the way our psychology has evolved. But I don't have to know a great deal about that evolution to know that the experience can be daunting.
This is why, in a room full of people who have sung the Creek Nation Alleluia Chant week after week for the past year, we still teach the chant every time we sing it at Between-the-Bayous. It is part of our theology of radical welcome.We teach it again and again because when a stranger shows up, we want to be ready to help that one to belong as quickly as possible. We want to lower as many barriers as we can because just showing up was a feat in itself.
The deeper reality of God's Kingdom is that since we are all creatures of God, we are all God's children: all members of God's tribe. It may be our tendency to pay attention to those things which make us different from one another, to identify whether another person is in our tribe or out, whether a person is a friend or foe, but Christ invites us to see one another as God sees us. We are all God's children and all God's family.
I have experienced that all inclusive family in the particular communities I have been in my whole life beginning with my biological family, St. John's, Camp Allen, the Episcopal Church, and Camp Capers. But those smaller communities are only a foretaste of the full reality of God's all embracing community. They are a glimpse of the Kingdom of God that is wider than we can imagine.
I give thanks for the experience of being a stranger at Camp Capers and in other situations so that I can be prepared to welcome the next one who feels like a stranger. That is a call to each of us who count ourselves friends with the world's stranger: Jesus. Christ, the eternal stranger and the one at the center at the same time. Christ welcomes us in and stands at the edge ready for us to welcome him in.
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